Jack's Guide (the Renaissance Person's Guide to Survival in a Shaky Economy)

Notes on a passing

I went to a memorial service a week or so ago, for a friend who recently passed away,  crossed over, made his transition, kicked the bucket, assumed room temperature, became immortally challenged- however one chooses to verbally circumlocute the reality of his death.  If I sound flip about it, please understand-  if you knew said referenced friend, you'd surely realize that he'd have it no other way.  I do not make light of his passing, rather I honor him by not taking it too seriously.  This was Cotton's way- to don life like a loose garment; to engage fully and to bear all with a nod and a wink.

Too maudlin for ya?  Perhaps this is due to the stigma we typically associate with the taking of the Big Dirt Nap.  Not to resort to cliche, but how many times have we all heard, "He's gone on to a better place", or "It's all part of the cycle of life"?  All these platitudes amount to whistling in the dark as we traverse the graveyard; we say them to assure ourselves that what lies beyond is not so scary.  I'll agree heartily that the Unknown is always a bit frightening, and that little is less known about than the ceasing of our mortal existence.  All the more reason, Cotton and I agree, to live it up today- to make the best of what's right in front of us now.  Not in a hedonistic, sky-is-falling, let's-get-it-on way, but rather in the sense of latching on to life's ebb and flow- to go with the tide instead of swimming against it.   Surely there's ample room within that philosophy to express all the stubborn individuality one requires in order to satisfy that particular urge.  Again, my buddy Cotton was the poster boy for such.

Why, you might ask, should I be posting about these frothy issues on a blog about creativity and productivity?  If you have followed my posts with any regularity, you'll know already that I can spread that topicality pretty thin.  Today's rationale, to wit:  I observed regularly the creative way that Cotton saw life and the world.  I watched him engage life and those around him, in remarkably unique ways.  He played the part of the cliched "dirty old man", commenting constantly from his wheelchair to the cutest and most youthful females, about how sexy they looked; ......if he were only thirty years younger; ...and so on.  And they loved him for it.  He made being a lecher look respectable.  I can only hope that one day I'll be able to pull that off with comparable grace.  As for being productive, I believe that one of the most productive things a person can do is to motivate people, and to entertain them; to make them smile.  And that is consummate Cotton.  You will be missed, buddy.  

The Price of Passion

It has occurred to me that whenever I speak of a labor of love (such as this weblog), I am referring to passion.  Based on that association, it must follow that every smidgeon of every activity I have done for the past year or so must qualify as such, since I've not earned a penny for most of it.  To clarify, I'm trying to be funny here (got right by you, didn't it?); obviously, there is much that we do of necessity, just to survive, that we never get paid a red cent for, and which we would hardly define as activities of passion.  

I have engaged in a fair amount of volunteer service work in my day, and I think the benefits of engaging in these activities are as essential to my well-being as any paycheck I ever picked up.  I'm not bragging here, I had to do it.  Not as in I had a court order dictating it- it wouldn't quite be "volunteering", then, would it?  Rather, I have been, I believe, answering a natural call.  I think from my Mom's side of the gene pool, I got this need to feel helpful, and from my Dad's side, the stubbornness to make it happen.  Anyway, what I'm slowly getting around to is that it makes me feel better when I take the time to do stuff for someone else.  It has become a passion of mine, but it begs the question: "Is it selfish or altruistic?" The answer (in my humble opinion): Neither.  And both.  

Check it out..... I do something that helps somebody (in theory, making them feel better), and I experience pleasure (or satisfaction, or joy, whatever....) for having done it.  What does it matter the motivation? Who cares why I did it if everybody wins?  I really don't need to know how many angels will fit on the head of a pin.

Okay, I wasn't going to talk about service work; I was going to expound on engaging in one's passions without having any expectations.   Sounds like a topic for another post.

In the meantime, some pretty pictures to look at:

I have always liked the Burt Bacharach/Hal David song that inspired this painting:

The coolest ever kids' bedroom, I think, is this one:

Pirate Ship Bedroom (link)

Make Up Your Own Holiday Day

Extensive research (like, two minutes on Google is pretty extensive in short-attention span land, right?) has revealed to me that today's commemorative assignation was instigated by the Wellness Permission League, an apparently ad hoc organization started by Pennsylvanians Tom Roy and his wife Ruth, for the sole purpose of appearing to possess the authority to invent such holidays as the above-referenced one, as well as others- for example, Eat What You Want Day ( May 11th), Northern Hemisphere Hoo-Dee-Doo Day (February 20th ), and Call in Because You're Well Day ( November 30th).  In order to be deemed adequately credentialed to create Panic Day (March 9th), the Roys transformed themselves into the International Sky is Falling Committee.  

From the LA Times:  

Roy and his wife, Ruth, have created these holidays, along with at least 37 other special observances, celebrated across the country. They are listed, soberly and with majestic prestige, in Chase's 1997 Calendar of Events, the nation's annual bible of extraordinary occasions.

   Chase's is America's foremost authority on special days and events. It is consulted by officials and plain folks from Washington to Topeka to Hollywood, for its listing of presidential proclamations, the date of the Kansas State Barbecue Championship, or the selection of movies placed on the National Film Registry. It is the most complete compendium of such things available.

"Mere frivolity!", you may well exclaim.  But my hat's off to these folks, who obviously recognize the benefits of not taking oneself too seriously.  And on a blog nominally devoted to creativity and productivity, it seems quite obvious to note here the most fertile of the muses, at work.  Judging the productive valuation in inventing weird holidays..... well, that depends on your yardstick for "productivity".  For me, if it makes somebody smile, it meets my definition of that word.  Hey, small town.... nuthin' to do....., might as well.

So, despite my lack of credentials for doing so, I am declaring today Bass Fiddle Players Day, or, alternately, Feel Good Despite Yourself Day.

Today's architectural features, from DesignMilk:

House C (link) 

Florida Beach (Australia) House (link)

Fire and nice

An interesting day, yesterday was.   

I've been out of sorts for a week or so, with what passes for me as a sleep pattern gone all off-kilter. This, for me, can result in a miserable state.  Part of it was physical in nature, manifested first as a kinked-up neck a few days ago, followed by a knot of sharp discomfort in one of the few previously pain-free spots in my lower back.  No, lumbar issues are not news to me, and unless I get off my butt for some vigorous exercise soon, they will likely not be getting any better.   Back to the point.  Since I had resorted to using a prescription muscle-relaxer the day before, which pretty much knocked me out, I woke yesterday morning in a hangover-like funk, barely willing to haul myself from slumber and in no mood to feel optimistic about anything.  I hate narcotics.   I felt like I needed to pick up a white chip or something.  Anyway, despite my worst efforts to the contrary, I have picked up some tools over the past ten years or so, which I can use to get out of such a sorry state.  After a few supportive calls to a couple of struggling friends, I felt much better, likely because it gave me an opening to vomit forth all my own troubles.  Interesting how that works.

So by this time I’m back up.   To the point where I’m actually enthused to be done with breakfast (both mine and the cats’) and able to sit down and take care of some music responsibilities, including sending new songs to a vocalist friend we recently started working with.  She is really a quite capable singer, but as yet still a little rusty for not performing for a long time.  I’m jacked about working with her.   It feels wonderful to resurrect my flagging energy level for my music projects.  Maybe one day I’ll get good enough at it to bring in some income.  I keep telling myself that, but truth is, I just enjoy it- usually, more so when when I don’t take it so seriously.  Again, interesting how that works.

I had just received a phone call from a potential client (I tell ya, everything’s going to be fine), when I went outside to go to my storage room, which is right beside the entry to the rental apartment (my own residence until a few months ago), facing away from the street and out of my immediate line of sight.  As I rounded the corner, I saw smoke billowing and my friends, who also happen to be the almost-brand-new occupants of my former residence, scrambling around with containers of water and throwing them at a growing conflagration. My house was, basically, on fire.   A plastic bucket which they had placed by the door to receive dead cigarette butts had caught up and the entrance to their space was no more than a moment or two from being engulfed in flame.  To cut to the chase, we were able to subdue the small blaze just in time, thanks, in part, to the fact that the structure next to said bucket was either glass block, thus un-burnable, or sheathed in sheet metal .  Another moment or two and we’d all have been standing out on the street scratching our heads and wondering where we’d be sleeping tonight.  As it is, the damage amounts to replacing a screen door and the door frame and outside trim.  If I needed to find something to be grateful for, it was readily available, in the form of my still-standing abode.  I think my friends/tenants expected me to be freaked out about it, and I’m still not sure why I’m not, unless it is again an instance of bringing tools to bear and dealing with stuff in a practical and un-emotional fashion (new territory for me).  Interesting how that works.

I went on to meet with that potential client, and went through the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, realizing what a close call we’d had and feeling much gratitude.  As concerned as I have been about a shortage of work, having to downsize and relocate, etc., I continue to believe I have a guardian troll (not yet being myself deserving of an angel), or that there exists something like a benevolent universe out there, that looks out for me (and for other sometimes-clueless individuals), as long as I continue to do my part.

My recent situation has made me study more closely my current shortcomings, and perhaps dwell on them a little too long.   I figure by now I am (we are) over the worst of recent situations regarding the economy, etc., and I look forward to getting back solidly on track.  I hope and trust that you do, too.  Interesting how that works.

 

March Madness

I am not necessarily referring, by the title of today's post, to round-ball, although I have  watched every ACC tournament game played this season, observing with chagrin how my Tigers displayed their customary lapse in credibility at the hands of those dastardly Tar Heels.  (I can only hope that Duke teaches them some humility today- I'll be watching.)

No- there's something afoot about March, and it has nothing to do with basketball, or any other athletic event.  Just look at the history of and the cliched adages about the month, to wit:

- To start off, the month's very name derives from the Roman god of war, Mars, which hints at the month's potential for conflict and/or combustible situations.

- "Beware the Ides of March" (meaning the middle of the month, not the one-hit wonder band), historically significant as the date of Julius Caesar's mortal encounter with his old buddy Brutus and pals.  Today the aphorism is considered an augury of craziness around the second or third week, which happens to coincide with the celebration of Saint Patrick's Day..... go figure.

- "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb" (making it the most schizophrenic of all the months, with the obvious exception of January, named for the two-faced Roman god Janus, who never knew whether to scratch his watch or wind his a**.....)

- March was once the first month of the year, usurped in 1752 by January and February, and leaving it, no doubt, fuming over the loss of prestige and inclined to act out.

- The Spring equinox, which falls on the date of March 21st, was a time of great significance to the ancient Druids (is that redundant? I mean are there any modern Druids?), signaling the start of the growing cycle and calling for the sacrifice of fertile virgins to assure a good crop- which I am sure has occurred to more than one rabid basketball fan.  Aren't there always  too many cheerleaders on the sidelines, anyway?  Oh, wait, we were talking about virgins, weren't we?

-And, speaking of virgins, "The first day of spring was once the time for taking the young virgins into the fields, there in dalliance to set an example in fertility for nature to follow.  Now we just set the clocks an hour ahead and change the oil in the crankcase."    - E.B. White, "Hot Weather," One Man's Meat, 1944

-The modern belief that eggs are delivered by a rabbit known as the Easter Bunny comes from the legend of the Goddess Eostre. So much did a lowly rabbit want to please the Goddess that he laid the sacred eggs in her honor (quite the achievement in and of itself), gaily decorated them, and humbly presented them to her. So pleased was she that she wished all humankind to share in her joy. In honor of her wishes, the rabbit went through the entire world defecating jelly beans and distributing these little decorated gifts of life.  (modified from Wikipedia)

"A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King."
-  Emily Dickenson, # 103

So, enough with the sayings, etc.   I am quite thrilled to have got through January and February and the anguish affiliated therewith.  March should be a piece of cake.

And from London, today's architectural feature- kind of an organic, wrap-around domicile which I found, once again, at Design Milk:

Use the link above for more photos and the story.  Go Devils!

Tool worship

 

I once had a Swiss Army knife that boasted several dozen assorted functions.  It was about an inch and three-quarters wide, and at that, cumbersome.  When Wenger, the company that makes these remarkable artifacts, touts the one shown below as featuring a loop allowing it to be hung from one's belt, I gotta wonder.  I guess it works with the current youth fashion craze which inspired that articulate little tune, Pants on the Ground, 'cause if you hang this mammoth tool from your trousers, that's precisely where they're likely to end up.  Compared to my own Big Swiss Army Knife (BSAK), this thing looks like one of those monster earth movers next to a Radio Flyer wagon.

In my humble opinion, this represents a perfect manifestation of the great American affliction I call "tool envy".  On discovery that my handy BSAK had gone missing, I made the decision not to replace it, reasoning that I had little to compensate for.   Let me re-phrase that..... 

I really am surprised that I'd never been aware of Tool Worship Day, which is the official designation of the commemoration which we celebrate today.  I find myself wondering, "Why such  a sobering label?", rather than National Tool Day, ToolFest or, perhaps, Tooloween?  I suppose it is in truth appropriate, given the reverence in which many of us hold our implements of construction, productivity, and/or creativity.  I think I can honestly claim my chair in the company of the Brotherhood of Gearheads, which august assemblage includes, in my definition, a love of hand and/or power tools, computers and internet technology, or artists' accessories (or any and all of the above).  I find, too, that as such, I can sometimes be guilty of another syndrome, which I call I-don't-care-if-it-works-I-gotta-figure-out-how-it-works-itis.  I have a sneaky suspicion that a lot of you other red-blooded males, especially, also suffer from this disorder.   I have come to reason that this malady can make me waste a lot of time, figuring out not only how things work, but frequently I must know why, too, which becomes yet another exercise in unnecessary toil.  I have to take it on faith that some things just work-  I don't need to know how or why.  Kinda like Nike.... "Just believe it".  Not a skeptic's philosophy, true, but it works for me.

I haven't posted any recipes lately (too busy for much fancy cooking), and came across the following collection of  citrus-related concoctions (mostly sweets, of course).  I am partial to the 2-minute Microwave Lime Cheesecake (shown below), though I'm not sure I have a jar like that.

dem low-down, rainy day, mortgage due blues

Nope.  Ain't even goin' there.   

Though as I sit here it qualifies by all standards outside as a lo-down rainy day (Bob would insert a pump handle here-  smile if you get it....), and the mortgage is, in fact, due next week; there are really no blues to be had 'round here.  It remains an essential part of my philosophy to believe that things are and will be fine as long as I let them be and, of course, provided I do my portion of the work.  Having recently accomplished what was (in my humble opinion) such a big chunk of said portion, it would be so easy to lapse into excuse mode, give myself a slap on the back and some down time (does a nap count as down time?) and (for a family-friendly rendering....) goof off. 

So a few minutes away from the "work" and "music" computer, to prop my feet up (with what in my lap?... yet another computer....) and do a quick post, are justified, I think.

It's nice, though, to take a break from "work".   Yes, I have plenty of that today, some of it paying gigs, most all of it productive and/or creative, and every bit of it makes it onto my gratitude inventory, as I contemplate lunch, the rainy traffic sounds of the city, and a funny way to end today's post.

Sleep Awareness Week

Yes, dear ones, it is real and official.  March 7 thru 13 has been anointed Sleep Awareness  Week, by no less an authority than the National Sleep Foundation, whose motto/slogan is "Waking America to the importance of Sleep"......... Does anyone besides me find that somewhat amusing? Or contradictory, at the very least?  I mean, if anyone is a big fan of sleep, you're (sort of) looking at him, or reading him.... I think you get the idea.  And as such, the very last thing I want is to be roused from total immersion in my rich and varied dream life, to be informed how important to my health and sanity that activity was.  Go figure.

I do, however, heartily endorse this organization, catchphrase-challenged as they may be.  Regular and frequent hibernation is one of my all-time favorite activities- never mind the beneficial results.  If alcohol and drugs were half as wonderful as slumber, I'm sure I'd be hooked on them, too.  But the snooze frequently induced by those things would be perhaps better described as, well, a coma.  At least, that's my recollection.

Whenever I abandon myself to bed down, bunk, catch forty winks, catnap, conk out, cop some z's, crash, doze, dream, drop off, drowse, fall asleep, fall out, hit the hay, hit the sack (or rack), lay about, nap, nod off, relax, repose, rest, retire, sack out, saw wood, slumber, snooze, snore, turn in, or zonk out, I enter a state of bliss, wherein I am generally deemed wonderful by all I meet, and am possessed of abilities I find extremely useful and enjoyable, like the ability to fly, or being irresistible to women.  I find it no great stretch to understand how this state is essential to mental well-being- so much so that I find myself frequently in danger of snooze-button satiation, that manifestation of hedonism that can make me miss entire mornings, if I am not careful. Fortunately (I guess), I am made of sterner stuff than that- I can usually drag myself from somnolent bliss into the too-often hateful world of reality, griping and groping for the thermostat.  (I normally turn the heat down when I sleep- which makes my morning waking all the more hairy.)

So, now that you know the importance of this week's focus, you may choose to visit the Sleep Foundation's website, or not.  They have fascinating information, though I fell asleep reading it.  Which, I suppose, may have been their plan all along.

Whenever I come across interesting stuff, I like to include it here for your review.  Today I found (thanks to Design Milk)  this interesting conversion of an Airstream trailer, into a live/work space.  I have recently been so engaged in making efficient use of space (downsizing by half will do that), that this appealed to me.  (Lots more photos if you click on the link above)

Random Promises

Anyone who knows me (or who has more than a passing acquaintance with this specific venue in the blog-o-sphere) probably already knows why I haven't written.  It's not that I don't care, or have forgotten you all.  No, I have rather been busy trying to put to work some of the practices of which I frequently preach  (....well, perhaps not so frequently these last couple of months).  The whole concept (a very loose one, at that) behind the blog is twofold:   A) we all have many more personal resources than we usually take advantage of, whilst "tryin' ta make a livin' dese days" and, B) ultimately, hopefully, how to put said talents to fruitful work. 

Not that I am attempting to justify my lapse (dare I call it a relapse?) into slacker-dom, or slacker-ness.  As the title of today's post suggests, these are but random promises, no excuses allowed.  I have now gained a tenant (along with the accompanying increase in rental income), cut my overall expenses by downsizing into a surprisingly comfortable smaller space, and am seeing a few jobs come trickling in, with promise of more to come.  The first of these pledges is that I will write more- I promise.  I love doing it, and some of you seem to enjoy the results thereof.  So far, it also comprises the overwhelming percentage of my writer's resume, and looks much more credible if kept up to date.

Back last fall, before all my recent residential upheaval and re-settling, I launched what I still hope will be a do-able project: a story about the place where my mother grew up, and where I have come to consider "home".  I spent some time last fall doing some research, which lead to another as yet unrealized project- sorting through and doing digital scans of several boxes of family photos.  I have come to realize that perhaps this project (the story, that is- not the photos) needs more time to develop.  One recent idea is to relate it from the point of view of one of my sisters, who comes to discover that she is re-living, in her dream life (or something like that) our mother's childhood.   Anyway, in the process of seeking a writing task more easily accomplished, I may have found the perfect answer. 

I have for years been searching for a travel journal I wrote (pre-laptop, by hand- can you imagine?) about twenty years ago, while working and traveling in the Middle East and Europe.  In the process of making my recent move, I discovered the missing notebook, and intend to transcribe and re-compose those stories, for my own indulgence and for the enjoyment, I hope, of others. 

So, I may just set forth these stories, as I get to them, in future posts......  How's that for a random promise?