The Power of Yes

© Conrad Pickel Studio, Inc. 2004-5

Around the time of Pope John Paul II's death in April 2005, I read (or heard) that, especially as he got older, his personal prayers would consistent almost entirely of the word, "Yes." He would close his eyes and just repeat this one three-letter word. Admittedly, as I haven't researched this to any degree, this could be entirely wrong. But, for my purposes, it doesn't really matter if it is.

I am not Catholic yet I find the history and pageantry --- and especially the ritual of confession --- of that religion somewhat fascinating. They put on a pretty good show. That's not to speak of any of the scandals that have surrounded it in the past decade, and the hypocrisy of its materialism (tho, conceded, these material things are not specifically "owned" by any one person in the Church) among other things. That's not what I'm here for today. Whatever the broader church's issues, I'm not alone in admiring JP II's personal faith and courage.

But since hearing of how he prayed when alone, I often find myself doing the same, especially at times when things aren't going well. Don't know if you could call it a prayer, though, but then again that would require a definition of what prayer is --- whether a structured argument for why God should help, have mercy, etc. or a self-administered 'centering' or exercise. Sometimes, the struggles of daily life are just going against your better efforts. You've tried seven ways to Sunday and a wire just won't cooperate with your punchdown tool, a stone for your wall won't quite fit, or your various designs or hopes have somehow gone awry.

I find it helps more often than not to stop what I'm doing, close my eyes and see in my mind how things ought to be and with each visualized success, breathe and quietly say "Yes.... Yes.... Yes." (I suppose one needs to be careful with tone and loudness. Onlookers might think it weird... in a Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally" kind of way.) And when I opened my eyes, the task I was doing often went easier. So many times in life, we just need to go to a slightly higher level of concentration on what we're doing, we need to see an example of success in order to achieve success. My use of "Yes" comes mostly when doing manual tasks, but I wonder what JP II would see when he was saying, "Yes."

But beyond visualization, there is a certain sense of joy in saying, over and over, this little word, "Yes." A positive assertion repeated in a world where all too often the answer to many things we want (even speaking beyond selfish wants) is a big, loud, "No." Sometimes you can whisper back, "Yes.... Yes."

Botany as Art

"Sugar Peas" © Ann Parker 1995

I believe I mentioned in a previous entry that I wanted to share some artwork that was on display at the Homer Babbidge Library (aka Club Homer) at UConn while I was there.

The artist, Ann Parker, calls the series "Botanical Metamorphics." Ms. Parker used a process called Photogramming (I guess it is trademarked) to capture the images, which she describes in a couple of short explanations:

"Using only a light source and a lens to project forms onto archival colour-sensitive paper, photographer Ann Parker has eliminated both film and camera to produce Photograms she calls Botanical Metamorphics. Parker's work explores the structure of botanical subjects and reveals their inner forms.

As a society we have become sadly out of touch with the powerful simplicity of nature," she says. "We are presented with an overwhelming choice of fruits, vegetables and flowers, but they more and more frequently come to us dyed, saturated with chemicals, bleached, dehydrated, reconstituted, gassed and tightly cocooned in plastic. I want this new body of work to not only amaze and delight, but also emotionally involve the viewer in the absolute beauty of botanical forms."

The pieces are rather large --- some were nearly 3' x 4' --- which was what struck me initially. The size allowed for a viewing that was like looking through a giant microscope. As you view from further or nearer, you see the object from different levels. From further off, you got the macrocosmic effect of seeing such things as a fig section, daffodils, a beautiful jack-in-the-pulpit, or "Sugar Peas" which I've included above (my favorite). But as you walked closer, mimicking magnification, there was such detail revealed in each plant or fruit that most people never get to see.

The impressiveness of Ms. Parker's work was heightened for me because, in that senior-year semester, I was taking a botany course to fill a science requirement. I hadn't expected to enjoy that class as much as I did. If the realization hadn't come so late in the day academic-wise, I might have seriously considered switching majors. Anyway, the concepts we were learning in class and the lab really meshed into the displays. You could see the individual hesperidium sacs in the citrus piece, the sclerids in the pear, the pistils, stamens and seeds. I was also in a Shakespeare course --- my first real foray into his writing, and was struck by how much the Bard called upon botanical imagery; this is especially the case with a deep reading of the often simplistically treated Sonnet 18. There are occurrences in learning that just come together, sometimes from completely different subjects that augment each other to create a higher level of understanding and change the point of view one might have had only studying one subject.

The pricing on these works is considerable --- if I recall correctly, anywhere from about one thousand to two thousand dollars. At this time, that's a little out of reach for my budget. It is my (selfish?) hope that Ms. Parker might allow these to go into poster prints, but I could allow that she might want these to be treated as non-commercial art.

Dutch Remembrances

Being in western New York (hereafter in this blog referred to as WNY) late last week for my grandmother's funeral brought back some memories. That half of my family is of Dutch heritage and there are a few things from the old farm house of which I hold strong memories from my youth. We would often visit over the Easter holiday, Thanksgiving and especially in my teenage years, during summer to help with the hay. Emigrating to the USA in the mid-'50s, my grandparents held fast to some practices, products and keepsakes which I will share here.

● Dutch windmill cookies. These were often in the old Dutch boy and girl ceramic cookie jars on the counter --- white and with crackled glazing. There are various other brands, and most are good enough, but the Voortmans were always held in highest esteem, when or wherever you may find them. But I also wouldn't want to be accused of being a windmill cookie snob. Then, there is the question of almonds or no, and I would say this is a matter of personal preference. We would usually have some of these along with tea.

● Four o'clock tea was a ritual at the farm. I suppose it comes from the close colonial connection that the Dutch share this tradition with the English. We, however, kept it simple with Lipton decaffeinated. Nothing too complex as with Earl Greys, breakfast teas or with various flavorings. My grandmother kept a kettle in an old tea cozy that was a bit discolored and had a burn mark at the bottom. We keep to this tradition of 4 o'clock tea at our house, though more so in the past few years than before. I guess it's just nice to think on the fact that many other people across the world are doing the same thing you are, at the same time. It's a nice link across humanity. I like my tea steeped for a while so there is a strong flavor, and I take 2-3 teaspoons of sugar. Used to add milk, though I don't do that anymore, as I read that it chemically negates the beneficial properties of the tea.

No copyright. Image courtesy: 1stgalleryart.com

● In what was the farmhouse's living room, where we used to sleep during our stays on the pull-out sleeper sofa, behind us on the wall was Johan Barthold Jongkind's "Winter Scene, 1846." It featured some Dutch skaters on a frozen river, a dilapidated barn, barren trees, and a man walking along the riverbank. This is probably the strongest association I have with being at the farm (besides the smell in the entry room that was like a slap in the face to those not habituated to a concentrated manure odor). The link above is to a company that does hand-painted copies of many paintings by many painters. I'll probably order one someday when I have the money.

● Lastly, there were two pillows that my grandparents brought with them from Holland. They are filled with goose-down and are quite similar in heft and hardness to a sack of cement. If you fell asleep with your hand or arm under them, you would lose all feeling in the appendage. Every one of my relatives hated them, everyone except me. Several years ago, my parents brought one home for me (I assume they got permission to take it... but it's not like anyone would complain). I don't know what it is, but I cannot stand soft pillows. Had tried many kinds that were labeled "extra firm" and one called "The Rock" and none could come close to the farm pillow. At the corners, some of the down feathers would poke out, and no matter how much you pulled them out, more would follow. The outside is a kind of smooth canvas material, striped lines of mostly orange, with yellow and brown, along with multiple stains of questionable provenance. Last fall, I got an allergen pillow cover, which conceals the appearance and helps keep the down in.

And so, that is a small list of some of my remembrances. It's interesting to reflect on the memories we associate with a certain place and how mementos, experiences and passed-down traditions can shape parts of our lives.

Goodbye, Beppa

Got word on Tuesday that my grandmother was not doing well (after several months of steadily worsening health), and after my parents left on the 6-hour trip to western New York, a cousin called and said that the doctors, "don't expect her to last the night." So when the phone rang a few minutes past midnight, I knew her struggle was over and that my parents hadn't made it in time.

When we were there last June for my grandfather's funeral, Beppa (we all called her this, Dutch for "grandmother") put on a brave and determined face. But like so many of that generation, when one goes, the other tends to follow shortly after. It is often the case that each has their own medical problems that come with advanced age, so the closeness is most likely coincidental. But it would be foolish to say that the loss doesn't impact the survivor --- a combination of stress and loneliness (my grandparents had been married for over 60 years with few days apart). I'm sure that psychologists or family studies professionals would explain it more clinically, but in simpler terms, it's similar to a quote from the television show due South --- "My mother died, and my father stopped living." Some people define grace as "the acceptance of God's will" or some-such... not being afraid to go. And yet, in this case, Beppa seemed a little tired of it all, knew what was going to happen, and accepted it. Always the stubborn Dutchie, she refused to go to a few doctor's appointments. Frankly, I don't assign blame or find any fault with this, nor do I think it was willful in any way. She was a tough old bird and fought as ever. Medically, they did all they could; they did more than they should have. At a certain point, the bodily "robbing Peter to pay Paul" of modern medicine does just as much harm as good. At a certain point, when you know what is going to happen, you just want it to be over, for whatever peace may come.

I caught a ride with my brother, sister-in-law and their children (they live just down the road) and we drove up yesterday morning in the Jeep. Made excellent time, too.... An average speed of 80-85 m.p.h. shaves about an hour from the trip. More on this later.

Western New York (hereafter referred to in this blog as WNY) is a great example of what happens when people are taxed into oblivion to support five levels of government. It's really depressing to drive through and see houses with three sides of Typar paper, sheds on their last legs, and piles of various and sundry objects in yards. This is what happens when a government is more concerned about supporting itself than its people. Browse through the WNY news and it's the same story of staunchly anti-business government, tax increases that never seem to produce anything and dramatic population flight (mainly to the Mid-Atlantic states and the South). All you can do is shake your head. That said, the grass is definitely greener in WNY than it is here in CT. We still have a lot of tan thatch while they have green lawns and fields.

The service was nicely done as those things go. It was nice to see that side of the family and a number of their friends and neighbors who came to pay their respects. As it is most of the time with me, I spent much of the wake listening and moseying around. We said our last goodbyes. This morning, they had a short burial service.

And then, we headed home. Me and my nephew watched Uncle Buck and Bedtime Stories on the car DVD player. A little east of the Berkshires there was extensive tree damage --- downed, large sections of tops split off and hanging. Might have been one of the ice storms we had this winter (and evidently, they had a worse bit). Then, a little way past the Blandsford rest area, my brother was pulled over by a Massachusetts state trooper. He was going about 80 m.p.h. in a 65 m.p.h. zone. Anyway, my brother is one who can say, with apparent ease, "Yeah, I'm on the job in ___(town omitted to protect the guilty)___" ("on the job" being the lingo that he is a police officer). After looking at his driver's license and police department ID, the trooper said, a little hesitantly, "All right.... Enjoy the rest of your weekend." So there you are, boys and girls --- proof that it pays to have badge. He relies on it too much, though, and one of these days, professional courtesy might not be extended.

A sad trip, but one that we knew was coming. Rest in peace, Beppa. Or, as I prefer, walk the fields of gold with Pakke and the Whoopkas.

Oranges

© www.producepedia.com

"An orange grown in Florida usually has a thin and tightly fitting skin, and it is also heavy with juice. Californians say that if you want to eat a Florida orange you have to get into a bathtub first. California oranges are light in weight and have thick skins that break easily and come off in hunks. The flesh inside is marvelously sweet, and the segments almost separate themselves. In Florida, it is said that you can run over a California orange with a 10-ton truck and not even wet the pavement."
~ John McPhee (Oranges, 1967)

This was one of my favorite quotes from a reading section on McPhee, whose way of interviewing and writing is quite astonishing when you do some reading as to his method. To each his own, but I will simply say that I far prefer Florida oranges. And you can quote me on that.

Back when I was attending UConn (as a commuter student) in the spring semester of 2003, I would often put an orange in the mesh pouch on my backpack. That would be the space that's designed to hold water/soda bottles --- a more recent backpack evolutionary adaptation since everyone seemed to stop drinking free tap water so they could buy a $1 bottled water with a label. During that semester I would drive in at 10 a.m. and stayed on campus all day because I had a "Law of Libel" class that was (probably still is... the instructor the department uses has a day job) only ever scheduled from 6 - 7:30 p.m. Didn't make much sense to drive all the way home in the afternoon only to have to drive back. It was like this for much of my time at the U, but it was for the best, as it pretty much forced me into the library where I would do my reading and other work for most of the day.

Anyway, I would arrive ~30 minutes early in the room in the crummy Arjona building, arrange the desks (which had been scattered hither and yon during the day) in rows, erase the chalkboard, then sit down to peel and eat my orange. It was usually my only sustenance during the day before I got home --- good thing I am a light eater. They were rather large oranges and they had to have been from Florida because they were very juicy.

Before this time I would usually 'eat' an orange by mashing and sucking the juice out of each section, then spitting out the pulp. Wasn't a fan of pulp. Grew up hating what we called "floatees" in orange juice. The semester before, though, I took a Botany course for a science credit and lab dissections really changed how I saw plants and, on the topic, fruit. When you break an orange open, inside the sections are thousands of sacs called hesperidium that contain the juice of the orange. Oranges --- as I found with all fruit --- really have a remarkable structure, when you take the time to look at how they form. But, most people who take interest in an orange do so for the taste, not to look at the hesperidium. Who can blame them?

Twenty-nine, Going On 19.

Last week after doing some bottle redemption at Yankee Spirits up in Massachusetts (which touts itself as the largest liquor store in New England) my father wanted to get some Coors for the house and camping. I carried one 12-pack, he carried another. Getting to the checkout, the woman looked at me and with an eyebrow raised, demanded my ID, even though I wasn't buying the beer --- just lugging it.

My father said jokingly he's known me all my life and that I'm 28. The woman didn't relent. Fished out my wallet and presented my driver's license. I guess this might be a new requirement to prevent of-age purchasers from supplying alcohol to those under 21 years old. The signs in liquor stores say the law is that retailers must card anyone who looks under age 27. You'd think that anyone doing this wouldn't be dumb enough to do their transaction in-store, but then again.... Almost the same thing happened about a year ago at the same store and the woman at the time said, "You look like you're about 19, and I'm pretty good with guessing ages."

Perfection, Once Again

The UConn Huskies women's basketball team won the NCAA national championship tonight over Louisville, 76-54, completing the program's third perfect season.

The Huskies finished the '08-'09 season with a record of 39-0, matching the championship teams of '95 and '02.

To those of us in Connecticut, especially northeastern CT, and especially those of us who attended the U, and especially especially those of us (me) who sat next to school-legend point guard Sue Bird --- the #1 overall pick in the 2002 WNBA draft --- in a gen-ed French class (almost the whole team was enrolled in it), the success that the women's basketball program has had over the years is inspiring. Let's not kid ourselves, the women's game doesn't prove much of a match to the men's in viewership ratings, but it's something to be proud of nonetheless. There are many, too, who hold that the women's game is a purer version of basketball, relying on teamwork, passing, and shooting accuracy as opposed to the men's Me!Me!Me!, slam dunks and rough'n'tumble points "in the paint." Each has its own idiom, I suppose.

But what I wanted to mention most of all tonight is a family friend who isn't here to share in the celebration. Last January, Marilyn DelGrasso, a neighbor down the road a short ways passed away after a long battle with cancer, among other ailments (this was just a few days before my niece, Madeline, was born, as my brother and his wife live just a little further down the road). She had worked for the state for about 30 years before she retired, and she was a huge fan of the lady Huskies. Even late in life, she went to some games, had all kinds of paraphernalia, T-shirts and such, and always watched on CPTV or ESPN. My mum would often go down to visit and watch (and get knitting help). Seemed that a bit of the spirit was gone this year without her saying, "C'mon, girls!" in her hoarse voice. She was such a kind woman, contributed much time and effort to our lake community, always made sure you took an iced tea or soda 'for the road' (~600 feet) and kept her spirits up, through thick and thin, to the last. We miss Marilyn so much, and it's times like this where we miss her more. Go lady Huskies!

"Man goes beyond his own decision / gets caught up in the mechanism / of swindlers who act like kings / and brokers who break everything"

We're all in knee-deep hearing about what caused the "financial crisis" / "economic downturn" and to try to tackle the topic in depth all at once will make your eyes sore. Besides, there are plenty of other websites with comprehensive post-mortems (or rather, it's more like an ongoing autopsy) of what went wrong, who is to "blame," what needs to be done, etc.

I'll go ahead and share a few big-scheme thoughts, though:

1. I've tried, and I can't seem to grasp how companies can be "too big to fail" as that term has been bandied about. That's not how capitalism works. More like, these companies were "too big to succeed." The ongoing intervention props up failing businesses in place of allowing them to die and letting the capital move elsewhere. Smaller business that are run more responsibly should have been allowed to increase their market.

2. It is saddening to hear stories of people who have lost money in the Bernard Madoff 'Ponzi scheme' in their retirement accounts. Saddening, yes; unpredictable, no. It amazes me how people have to learn lessons over and over... that we have such short memories and make the same mistakes. People who should know better. Anywhere there is a large accumulation of a future payment of money from a collected horde, malfeasance or forces majeur eventually shows up depleting said horde. And it is not just illegal activity to worry about. From S&L scandals, pension plans being denied (legally!) to those who busted their butts to earn them and counted it as part of their compensation, the looming insolvency of the Social Security system b/c Congress has used it as their own personal cookie jar to pay for anything but Social Security, VA benefits ever-decreasing and inaccessible despite what pols say and promise on the teevee, and the current state of affairs with 401k plans drying up and blowing away, hordes have a way of disappearing. The faces, places, and methods may have changed, but it's the same story since the dawn of man. How do you protect (and grow) your accumulation of money/goods/value? Our modern ways are just as vulnerable to Wall Street saying, "Upptt! Look'it that! The money just disappeared like a fart in the wind!" as they once were to Viking-style looting and plundering. As more comes to pass, people who bury their money in their backyards look less and less foolish.

3. How much of all this is just an excuse for companies to drop some dead weight that in other times would either be "bad PR" or invite investigations or lawsuits?

4. The endless wordings are making the problem appear worse than it is. This would be similar to the September 11 attacks being re-shown literally thousands of times in the several days after. It was unceasing. It was as if 30,000 buildings had been hit instead of three.

I can't help but believe that this has been much the same as "erectile dysfunction" as well. So much of saying that it's normal, it happens to everyone --- and all of these Viagra and Cialis commercials probably give more men the limb noodle. And Pfizer says, here's a pill to make it all go away. Coining the term "ED" manufactured a problem for our hypochondriac communicable-mental-disease society. I'm not advocating ignoring a problem, I'm just despairing of people ignoring a real solution and grasping at the words of politicians who are using the situation to further their social agenda.