to be upward bound is to be skyward leaping

We had Upward Bound's graduation tonight and this was the film the seniors and I have been working on the last few weeks. I am happy to have helped this initiative. These students have dedicated their summer to the structure of a program designed to bring them success. I'm proud to be a part of their efforts.

A.M. Buffet -- well, not really.

By the time this is posted, I will have already finished my morning bowl of cereal, which today is Frosted Mini Wheats. They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and I do my best to make this happen. I go through spurts of various kinds, but this week, because they were buy one get one free, I opted to begin my day with Kellogs. Ideally, eggs, sausage, toast and a pancake is a killer breakfast, but I don't have time for that, nor the money to frequent diners. In the meantime, I'll be happy with my milk and cereal.

Darlene

In high school, and then a little of college, my sisters, mother and I watched Roseanne faithfully. As it moved into reruns and syndication, I would watch it from time to time, but now that I've grown up (sort of) I find myself stopping the remote whenever it is on. It really was ahead of its time and I guess I sort of had a crush on the Darlene character. We were both in college about the same time, and I loved her somewhat non-conforming character. Of course, in real life, Darlene would go IVY and that was not my reality at all. I leave this opening of one episode as a reminder of the happy days they once brought.

The Art of Reflection

Cynderballs is heading to her twentieth, high school reunion, and as my older sister, I've enjoyed looking at her yearbook and seeing pictures of people I haven't thought about in twenty years. I had my memories of school, but seeing the experience through the way the class of 1988 made them, I found much more enjoyment -- especially trying to remember why I knew those people. Yesterday, KC pulled out her yearbook and I had a similar experience. It was during Sean's second birthday party, and I found myself looking at memories created after I had left the school and moved onto my collegiate life. As children, my sisters and I used to look at my parent's yearbooks and laughed at the way things used to be. Now, looking at our own keepsakes we can do the same. No one can prepare anyone for the power of reminiscing on the way life used to be. As Twain noted, "Youth is wasted on the young." Being young is so happy and beautiful.

The Way the Universe Works

During the years of going back and forth to Louisville, I often talked about my work with the refugees from Sudan in Kentucky. My brother-in-law's father, Fred, also talked about this Sudanese man he worked with while installing heaters and air conditioning systems. Anyway, I move home and begin work with the Sudanese Cow Project. Lueth is one of the guys I work with and it turns out he's the one who used to work with Fred. So, today, Lueth, Fred and I visited outside over Gatorade and laughed it up. It was awesome seeing various versions of my world coming together as family. The goal now is to begin a campaign called "Yakkety Yak Yak - You've heard it all before. Vote Lueth Yak for Syracuse Mayor." Wish us luck.

Travellin' with the Happy Blues

I found myself singing "Whoops" the other day by the band Blues Traveller. I have never followed a band, nor gone ga ga over any group, but throughout my college years I loved Blues Traveller. Whenever I saw them in concert, I was simply stoked to dance, move and groove, because John Popper's harmonica is unlike any other playin' I've ever known. In the summer months, I think about the years of HORDE tours and seeing these guys live. Ah, youth and the way it once was.

V-Ballin

Got to punch a ball around last night and stretch my arms a bit. It made me miss coaching volleyball and getting the opportunity to bump, set and spike every afternoon. Of course, I recognize my competitive self and know my frustration for playing "fun" volleyball, but I was able to bite my lip and enjoy the process. Perhaps it's the movement I value most and such sport is active happiness.

Mysterious Happiness

I haven't a clue what this plant in my front yard is, but it is tall, smells like a department store cosmetic center and appears to be a lily on steroids. I almost cut it down thinking it was a whacky weed, but then braved it out because I saw buds. When the buds bursted open, I was like, "Hmm. I need to look it up." I still haven't a clue what it is, but I've been meaning to post it for a couple of days now.

Every once in a while...

You need a little Oprah. I can't say I've watched it in a long time, but thinking about some of her better shows makes me happy. Now, I just need to find away to turn the t.v. on and to be home when she's on. I don't even catch her after show, but there's goodness in knowing she's out there, I suppose...even if she did stiff me at my graduation party from high school.

and on July 22, 2008, he finally stoops to this

from Macbeth and from memory.

Yesterday was Sunday

And with Sunday morning comes coffee (mentioned yesterday), relaxation and the ability to read a newspaper. I enjoy the ritual immensely, and laugh a bit that it has been shortened to a once-a-week ordeal, as opposed to all seven days. Even so, reading the morning news is a happy thing to do (even if the news is unhappy). This blog would be slighted if I didn't nod my head towards such print.

Lullabies to fall asleep to

Last night, my final task was to get Sean to sleep. We swam all day, played, went for a walk, had a bath, but when it was time to count sheep, he wanted to rearrange my mother's furniture. It took me a little while to put him down, and my bad attempts at lullabies didn't work, either. It wasn't until Sean had Baby positioned on one side of him, me laying on the bed beside him, and my mother sitting at the end of the bed, that he decided to finally close his eyes. I came home and looked up lullabies on YOUTUBE. I found a yiddish one. It makes me happy, and it put me to sleep, myself, last night.

This one speaks for itself.

Happiness is a.m. mocha for sure.

Cry The Beloved World

I may be a minority in my absolute love for Alan Paton's CRY THE BELOVED COUNTRY and even if I recognize that the text is slow and dull (especially to the teenagers I taught it to), there is something brilliant and special about the novel. For one, I don't think I'd ever be interested in such writing if it wasn't for my cousin's connection with HOOPS4HOPE and his work in Africa. Yet, my working within urban settings has also helped me to see that there are many parallels with Nelson Mandela's mission and the world Martin Luther King dreamed of.

In Paton's novel, the character Arthur Jarvis (before being murdered accidentally) is a political activist and writer for the rights of black Africans in South Africa. He is a white man. His father, a wealthy landowner in the countryside, uncovers his son’s history only when he arrives to investigate this son’s death. Here, uJarvis learns of a man’s devotion to creating a more just African society. In his son’s journals uJarvis reads:

What we did when we came to South Africa was permissible. It was permissible to develop our great resources with the aid of what labor we could find. But it is not permissible to keep men unskilled for the sake of unskilled work.
It was permissible when we discovered gold to bring labor to the mines. It was permissible to build compounds and to keep women and children away from the towns. It was permissible as an experiment, in the light of what we knew. But in the light of what we know now, with certain exceptions, it is no longer permissible. It is not permissible for us to go destroying family life when we know that we are destroying it…..
…Now society has always, for reasons of self-interest if for no other, educated its children so that they grow up law-abiding, with socialized aims and purposes. There is no other way it can be done. Yet we continue to leave the education of our native urban society to those few Europeans who feel strongly about it, and to deny opportunities and money for its expansion. That is not permissible. For reason of self-interest, alone, it is dangerous….
Our natives today produce criminals and prostitutes and drunkards, not because it is their nature to do so, but because their simple system of order and tradition and conviction has been destroyed. It was destroyed by the impact of our civilization (145-146).

I've tried to express myself in such a way, but have yet to find these words. So, I put them here today to make sense of a novel and framework that makes me happy.

Dr. Truth

My sister, Cynde, and I were driving her kids home from the park when they started singing, "I kissed a girl and I liked it." They are in third and seventh grade. She and I began talking about our middle and junior high school years and wondered if we were more innocent at that age. Cynde said something about secretly listening to Dr. Ruth on her walkman very low at night -- 9:30 p.m.-- and I admitted I did, too. She taught us a lot and there's a generation of us 80s kids who learned a great deal from her German accent. Of course, it was also eerie to learn that your older sister shared some of the same perversion as you did in the room across the hall. That doesn't seem right. Either way, here's to Dr. Ruth and the happy teenagers she once taught.

from Waking Life

A film that once got me to think and that continues to cross my mind from time to time. In many ways, WAKING LIFE scares its viewers because it provides crazy insights into living. Of course, I say "crazy" and this can be easily replaced with "logical", "rational", "obvious" depending on who is doing the reviewing. If you've never caught this animated tale, it's worth watching, although most, I imagine, would only be able to take it in small doses. It's a thinking film and very "heady". But, it makes me happy knowing it is out there.

Being Cheap

Anyone who has ever known me has realized how cheap I am. I won't buy something unless I get a ridiculous deal on it, clothes-wise that is, and yesterday was no exception. I found a tuxedo t-shirt for $3 and bought it. Did I need it? No. But it was three dollars and I figured I could wear it on special occasions when I need to dress up, but I don't really feel like it. It's beyond the fact that I'm also tacky. A $3 shirt is a $3 shirt and I like to feel I can master my universe with cheap, happy finds. I suppose this is the best way I know how to nod to high fashion.

cats and dogs, hippos and possums

I made it into my house, yesterday, at exactly the right time because the sky opened up and it was a downpour for the next five hours. In truth, when I moved home to Syracuse, I expected wash outs a lot more than have actually occurred. My memory of CNY is rain 24/7, sort of like Ray Bradbury's ALL SUMMER IN A DAY. I actually loved yesterday's weather because I'd just finished my run, had indoor work to do and liked the fact that there wasn't much one could do outside. I suppose if it was this way for three straight days I wouldn't appreciate it so much, but looking at the grasses and trees afterwards, I know they feel refreshed. I think the earth was parched, however, because there weren't many puddles afterwards to play in. All the water was swallowed right up.

...and 36 years later...

Spent yesterday at the folks with my sisters and their families, which resulted in a fire and the sporadic memories of growing up (with a nod to the ol' mom and dad that I bet they regret having three kids because we sort of crashed at their house and didn't leave). I can remember the days as a little boy where my mom and dad would sit with their folks talking about the good old days, and now I guess it is our time. Some things will never change at 5388 Amalfi Drive and that is wonderful. It is a place I know we all can call home because it was the base from which we all lept (and continue to return to). May there be years and years more of such times.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time I found a t-shirt that looked exactly like the one above. On one side was a caterpillar and chrysalis in a question mark and on the back was a monarch with widespread wings. I loved that shirt and I don't know what happened to it. Why did I love it? Well, it was my motto for life. Thinking about it last night, I realized even though I don't know where that t-shirt went, I can still live by its motto. Happiness is a forgotten t-shirt in a rescue mission somewhere, or perhaps in a third world country. Either way, the message is the same and I like that.

The Tao of Winnie

Corresponding with Spenser Isdahl last night, I reminded myself of the Tao of Poo and the Te of Piglet, eastern philosophy that meets honey, bees and cartoon bears. That text, and the Te of Piglet, were two books I ordered from the BMG of books right after college where I paid a penny for several texts and then canceled my subscription before having to purchase full priced texts. I suppose the fact that I paid two cents to get my two cents on being playful and young in everyday life was extremely economical and thrifty. Both books were brilliant reads that have stayed with me 15 years after I read them. In short, Poo just is while Piglet is innocently happy. From both, one can find a centered way of being. In the end, don't all of us just want to "be" free?

NPR for BRC

I'm cheap. Anyone who has ever known me -- from the days of stashing money in a tin can under my bed to the days of eating one meal a day while living in London to today where I scrounge to make ends meet -- I like free things. Nothing is free, of course, but National Public Radio feigns to be (they need donations, but when I don't have money, I don't have to contribute). All you need is a radio.
Ah, but I don't have one except in my car. So? I am able to utilize an i-Pod.
While kids zone out teachers and parents in lyrics of sex, drugs and heartache, I download essays from NPR, in particular THIS AMERICAN LIFE which is become a t.v. series (or already is) -- see attached video. For me, though, while walking, running, mowing, etc. I listen to free programming. No, I don't contribute to them financially right now, to keep their free work going, but I did a lot when I was making cash. I will again one day, I'm sure.
Stories form THIS AMERICAN LIFE or debates from INTELLIGENCE SQUARED or laughter from WHATTA YA KNOW are so much a part of my repertoire for being that I almost forgot to recognize how happy the programs make me. If you aren't turned on to the comedy, good writing, or fascinating arguments these shows allow, then I say you are truly missing out. I don't align myself with the biased media of NPR, but I do love its love of stories and good programming. Not only that, but NPR is really easy to spell.

Discovering a new thing in my thirties!

GELATO! Cold. Creamy. Delicious. This is what I had for dinner, and up until tonight, I thought ice cream was the flavor of summer. Who knew that the Italians had it right. I recommend you find a Gelato shop today and eat to your heart's delight.

Need I say more?

When it's good, it's good. I made a giant bowl of cantaloupe, watermelon, blueberries and strawberries, but it was the watermelon that stole the show. Sometimes the flavor is just blah, but every once in a while you get the grande-she-bang (and this is without eating the rind). A happy flavor for summer and an extremely hot day.

the ol' Allegory

I found this image on google images under the title "Allegory of the Cave." I sort of like it because it crosses the concept of shadowed truths with my Grannie Annie's ritual of having her grandchildren lay on their back and study their hands. She always questioned the carcass of human flesh and made us wonder what magic we could do with our hands. I am thinking about this because I am going to teach the "Allegory of the Cave" one more time this week. It is good ol' cave exploration and it is at the base of all I do and think. How are we currently trapped by our false truths and chains? What can we do to break through and discover more than we currently know? How do we know our shadows are real?

Ah, an Exotic taste

I spent last night in the woods of Tully being entertained by a Latin scholar and an anthropologist. For dessert, we had Durian -- an asian fruit that comes from a hard, porcupine shell and surrounds the gigantic seeds. Once the seal of the seed sap is cut open, it is like a custard and I guess you can call it an acquired taste. I'm all about trying new things and find happiness in the exotic. Driving past Burger King on the way home, I thought, hmmm, to some people a Whopper is exotic. This is beautiful, indeed.

This is a brief glimpse of the fireworks displayed over Louisville for Derby. Yesterday's 4th of July fiesta reminded me I probably should show the happy lights over the Ohio River. The video starts out slow, but viewers can get a taste of the firework display. The show lasts almost an hour. This is only the last few minutes.

Flashback and Rhythm

Yesterday I spent in Ithaca on Cayuga Lake at their Nature Center. Walking in their facility reminded me of the years I spent at the Louisville Nature Center and learning the teams course at Jefferson Memorial Forest. It was rather odd being at the other end of a program and participating instead of leading. I sort of sat on the sidelines in my head watching everything unravel as it usually does on a trail and with teamwork. When I came home, I made progress on a book I'm reading and paid attention to the location of a few black ants that are in my house. They are positioned in different corners and they seem to "man" the area as lookouts for predators or scouts to find food. I'm amazed by their independence and curious as to the bigger role they play to their ant colony. They are definitely on a mission as lookouts or something. I know most people would kill them off or relocate them outside, but I sort of like watching their routine of navigating their small areas of the globe and finding elation over a crush Cheerio crumb on a counter or the floor. In a way, we are all ants on different trails, playing out the roles as they've been given.

Trying Not to Take Any Day for Granted

I go to school. I fish. I find something to eat. I complain about gas prices. I have stuff. More stuff. And even more stuff. I get a note that Travis Craft, class of 2005, is in Guam and will soon head to Iraq, and I stop to be thankful and grateful of those who've served, are serving and will serve in the American armies, air force and navy. Everyone has their thoughts on politics, world affairs and the right way for life to happen. Mine is simple. I know that my today is possible because of so many who made it possible in years past and present. Tomorrow relies on the commitment of those who serve to honor what they love. Happiness, as the Greeks noted during the Trojan war, is lucky. If we are happy, we are lucky and whereas America is driven by the pursuit of happiness, I applaud Travis and wish him my best.

Super Grover and Other Odd Realities

In high school, I had one talent. I could do a Super Grover impersonation. It didn't get me anywhere. Dave Grover, on the other hand, got everywhere because he was the real Grover and as the class president and in the role of Captain Northstar (We were the CNS Northstars and Dave was our mascot) Dave shot positive energy in every direction he went.
Fast forward eighteen years and find Super Grover as an Occupational Therapist working at a Yoga Center (not too far off from his Yoda fetish). In a transitioning place in life (can you say Hello Class of 1990 thirty somethings transitioning in life) he's pushing his business into corporate workshops. Today, my role was to think about how to best teach Super Grover how to use Powerpoint and KeyNote. Over twenty years ago, Dave and I made videos of mad, psycho serial killers who destroyed young women with watermelons. Seriously. I think we were onto something back then, but time, age and education pushed us from what mattered most -- playing and having a good time. Here's to Dave, old friendships and the maxipads he once gave my mom (who would have preferred the chocolate).

Triple Whammy Tuesday

Stopped on Monday at the library to do work for the summer class I'm teaching, and I borrowed Steve Martin's memoir, BORN STANDING UP. I came home, opened it up in the sun, and read the entire book in one sitting. It was a great read and sort of out of my usual genres. I found it to be both historical and insightful. From there, I decided to go for a walk and I listened to a new podcast, "Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me." Afterwards, I returned my book and took my niece and nephew with me for ice cream. I'm currently in love with anything free. The icecream wasn't, but the book and radio show were. As my budget grows tighter and tighter, I think I will love my local library even more.