My pants still fit after a series of parties this week. This, not owing to any particular self-control, but the simple fact that I wear my pants just below my belly roll. Also to the fact that said pants have an elastic waistband. Paul and I are going to partially atone for our holiday excesses by playing Smash Ball (known variously as "beach tennis," "beach ping-pong," and "frescobal" --in South America) for the next 18 hours.

I’ve been writing of late, motivated to get my act together, to “get cracking,” by the prospect of enrolling in Ellen Gilchrist’s Creative Nonfiction class at the U of A this spring. I started a piece on piloting/narrating circle-island airplane tours in Hawaii. Gary suggested that I post whatever I come up with when they’re at least half-baked. This I plan to do. Meanwhile, to lubricate the wheels of production and uninhibitedness, I offer the following piece that I cooked up a couple of years ago:


FICTION FRICTION


9.25.03 Thor’s day.

When my daughter Adele was a young girl, she would often say to me at bedtime, “tell me a story, daddy.” Just as often, I would feel this very uneasy feeling in my stomach, very much like the butterflies I usually get when I’m called to speak in front of a group. Still, she was asking so earnestly that it was pretty easy to just plow ahead. Once I got going, I usually found myself enjoying the story as much as she seemed to. It amazed me how the story seemed to take on a life of its own. The general outline, something along these lines: A sad little girl sits on her back porch after some stressful event or the other. A huge bird swoops out of the sky and stands next to her. Somehow she knows he is a friend and she’s not afraid. The bird speaks to her and explains who he is. The next thing we know she’s on his back flying up to meet the Cloud Kids who live their entire lives in the clouds.

It now occurs to me that I’d have to explain where they went on cloudless days, or maybe I did come up with some sort of explanation back then, 14 or so years ago.

I wonder what it is about making up a story that frightens me. Am I afraid of being judged as inadequate, as a poor teller of tales? Or maybe just of the unknown, of not having the answers ahead of time. A related bunch of questions and feelings concerns writing or telling stories as a whole. I have mixed feelings and thoughts about creative writing, about inventing stories that may or may not be based on what has actually happened.

Of course, now that I’m writing this, it occurs to me that stories have to be based on reality to some degree or they wouldn’t be understandable at all. Suppose I told a story that began something like: “The snarfle bleemed outside and around because the tooble sank quickly.” It actually might get your curiosity up, but I predict that if you just couldn’t make any sense out of it, you’d give up. Even that sample beginning is based on a recognizable order or syntax of words and parts of speech.

Still, I have misgivings about fiction, about stories that are invented. I don’t think I’m alone by any stretch of the mind; I didn’t make up the idea that fiction can be considered a waste of time, an indulgence, both in the writing and the reading. And I can make arguments to support that claim.

On the other hand, I enjoy a good story; both the writing and the reading or listening. And where is the line between fact and fiction anyway. Psychologists have repeatedly demonstrated that even the most honest and well-intentioned witnesses to events regularly include inaccuracies in their accounts of what happened. I also find that writing and reading stories often brings concepts, patterns, and other elements of understanding life to my conscious awareness.
It’s one thing to read from a scientific book that humans are genetically inclined to treat members of their own group with much greater regard than those of other groups. Often a deeper sense of the truth is gotten in reading a story that realistically tells the same truth implicitly, by demonstrating the principle in action rather than stating it outright.

I could go on about this. I am ambivalent. I know others feel similarly. I’ve heard them say so. I’ve heard my father say, more than once, that fiction is a waste of time. I feel and think similar thoughts about music, which I also enjoy creating and experiencing. I probably feel that way about any sort of human activity that has little or no utilitarian function, that doesn’t address our basic needs. I know there are societal roots behind these ideas, but that’s an entire book in itself.

What I do know, and my heart swells a bit in thinking back on it, is that my little girl relished the stories I made up for her and so did I. Maybe that’s all the explanation and understanding I need.


To tell of things that that never were
can stretch our minds, it’s true.
And warm our hearts and other parts
and make us feel brand new.

12.3.SAT
To say “no” to various options, various actions we might take, including mental actions, is an essential part of managing ourselves. That’s obvious enough, I suppose, but it’s valuable to me to repeat it for my own benefit. I tend to get distracted, literally “thrown off the tracks.” This can be a creative thing to do, of course, a getting out of our ruts, boxes, habits and the like. But it has its own (opportunity) costs. Truth is, I say “yes” to more things than I can manage. Most of these tasks are of my own design, which is to say, the ideas spring from my own mind, and then the executive branch of my mind either says “sure, let’s do it,” or the “ship of Dave” turns that way while the captain is looking through his telescope at the mermaids on yonder rocks, snoozing, boozing, or otherwise inattentive. Actually, the captain is sometimes aware, but has this rule of thumb that suggests that he’d better do or pay attention to this or that because we’ve got to keep our bases covered, ducks in a row, and stay on top of things. I think it’s a kind of compensation, an attempt to be acceptable, good enough, worthy, a good boy/man, perceived as in control, etc. And good to a point, but after that: diminishing returns.

I think this lack of discernment, this underdeveloped ability to steer clear of options that, while worthwhile, take time and energy away from more worthy tasks and projects, and burden the captain to the point of disorientation, stress, and strong need for heavy doses of Fukitol (the new miracle "insouciogenic" euphoriant). Stop. That sentence simply got out of hand. It’s probably a good example of trying to do too much. Here. Let’s practice brevity.
I usually try to do and think more than I can manage.
I can and will be more discerning, choosy, and discriminating about what I do and what I think about.
I don't think my cousins who see ADHD in every other person are right when they suggest that I have attention deficit disorder as well. I think I simply need to get better at being choosier about what and how much I put on my plate (in the dining room of my ship, walking down the road of life...O.K., maybe a mild case, if it even actually exists)


I’m going to post that to “Dave’s Deliberations,” the blog I set up quickly and without a great deal of planning, evaluation, or dithering. That’s another aspect of steering our ships: "who's to navigate and who's to steer?" as Dan Fogelberg put it. Nevertheless, I think only Paul is reading the blog, and he already knows that I often overflow the banks of the river. “A friend is one who knows all about you and loves you anyway.”
One more thing. These thoughts were catalyzed while I was reading in “The Simple Living Guide” by Janet Luhrs. I put the title in quotation marks because I’ve yet to discover how to italicize or underline when posting to this blog.

I'm getting ready to get ready to go, in this case, to visit my folks and extended family in Lafayette, LA, for a few days. Have you ever noticed how an upcoming trip, or visitors coming, can be good motivators and prioritizers? If so, you'll understand why this entry is brief. I feel somewhat exposed at this point in my blogging "prowess," but I'm practicing these days the fine art of taking action, when appropriate, before I've got my act completely together.

I leave you with another thought from the collection:

"The good life is one guided by reason and inspired by love." --Bertrand Russell (this is my paraphrase; I don't know exactly what he said or wrote, but it was close to that. If you find out, please let me know. I think I've enabled this blog to allow for comments by any and all)

I’m currently engaged in a thorough reorganization of my “exploratorio,” the provisional name for my studio/office/library/room of my own that we added to the northeast corner of our home back in 1995. This is the first time I’ve taken/made the time to deliberately arrange my main working, thinking, writing, etc. space since I moved in. I’m also collaborating with my wife Andrea in doing the same thing for the whole house.
After reviewing and perusing a number of books on simplifying, organizing, streamlining, etc., I wound up with a few that I checked out of the library. The one that really clicked with us was Organizing From the Inside Out by Julie Morgenstern. The book wasn’t available, so I got the video. One important aspect of her method is that it honors our idiosyncratic ways of categorizing and doing. There’s still a good bit of work to be done, and times when I and we sit and scratch our heads for a while. Still, I’m following her basic method and it’s working (with modifications and adaptations, which she encourages).

So, since the streamlining project is the main focus, I’m not reading or writing much just now. The following is another excerpt from my collection of quotes and observations that I’ve named “Worthwhile Words:”


You see, we are all ordinary. But a master, rather than condemning himself for his "ordinariness", will embrace it and use it as a foundation for building the extraordinary. Rather than using it as an excuse for inactivity, he will use it as a vehicle for correcting, which is essential in the process of attaining mastery. You must be able to correct yourself without invalidating or condemning yourself, to accept results and improve upon them. Correct, don't protect. Correction is essential to power and mastery.

-Stewart Emery


Answers to complex questions should end with semicolons, not exclamation points. --Daniel N. Robinson (Great Ideas of Psychology lectures)

“Does it matter where you sail if you’re uncomfortable on your ship?”
--Dave Fournet 6.19.03

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER

I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
I'd relax, I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.

--Nadine Stair,
85 years old.

(This passage is actually longer, but I’ll just post those first few lines) I’m planning to put the whole collection of quotes on my web site, probably after Thanksgiving.)

First, something possibly edifying:


 "" There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout:
This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me... or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision.
When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you."

--- Copyright © 2000 Stacey Charter"
http://en.thinkexist.com/

And then something....

borborygmus
grumbling of stomach, intestines, etc. Our dog Daimin has this in a big way. It showed up tonight just after he ate. I’ve never heard anything that loud coming out of any animal, humans included. At first, I didn’t realize it was coming from the dog. It sounded like kids talking outside or something. When I realized it was coming from him, and just about every five seconds or so, I got scared that he was going to let it rip any second, from one opening and/or the other. As I listened, the thought actually occurred to me that he’d swallowed some small rodent without killing it and that the little Jonah was yelling for help. With further listening and thought, I ruled out that hypothesis and went to get the leash to walk him.
He showed his usual elation at the first hint of going for a walk. We strolled around the block and he showed no signs of anything wrong apart from the car-wreck sounds emanating from his posterior half. There was no pooping or even flatulence, as best I could tell or smell. We got back home just as large rain drops began rattling the leaves. I put him out in the back yard as insurance against any untimely evacuation. He has a dry house that he uses and apparently likes, but he’s out there giving me his let-me-in bark right now as the rain abates. After I go chase my own tail on the stationery bike at the exercise center, I’ll give him a listen to see if the storm has passed, so to speak.

Borborygmus: Bowel sounds, the gurgling, rumbling, or growling noise from the abdomen caused by the muscular contractions of peristalsis, the process that moves the contents of the stomach and intestines downward. The plural is borborygmi.

Bowel sounds are normal. Their absence can indicate intestinal obstruction. Bowel sounds may also be temporarily absent after abdominal surgery.

The word "borborygmus" has been rumbling around the English language for some 200 years. Its earliest known use in English dates to 1796. The word arrived from New Latin, but traces its way back to the Greek "borboryzein," which means "to rumble."
[New Latin, from Greek borborugmos, of imitative origin.]


12:42 a.m. on the next day. Getting ready to shut down the electronics as the thunder rolls. Daimin the Noisy Dog came back inside soaking wet after his temporary exile, and was thankfully boroborygmus free.
This post is just what happened to get written today, apart from a few e-mails. I’m in the midst of the first thorough reorganization ever organized in our Shady Lane home since we moved here a dozen years ago. More on that, and the philosophical, economical, and taxonomical ramifications thereof, later.

So, I tell Gary Weidner that I'm thinking about creating a blog. He tells me it's very simple. We head to my computer. We bring up Google.com. >>more>>tools>>blogs. It looks simple. The page tells me that I can set it in 5 minutes. That was last night. Today I went back and set this up. Apart from this typing, it took well under five minutes, and would have even been faster had I not deliberated so long on choosing the template, the name, the URL, and such. I found those choices a bit uncomfortable, mostly out of concern that I'd do something that would look goofy, or dumb or something unfavorable like that. Pretty petty, but there it is. I've read that in various surveys public speaking ranks as the most feared thing amongst people in the U.S. I get nervous myself doing that, and right now, with not a soul in sight, and me typing rather than speaking, I'm still getting close to the edge of my comfort zone.

I'm planning to see if I might put things into the public conversation and inquiry that might actually encourage others, be useful to them, enlightening to some degree, etc.