It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

You thought this title was about Christmas and New Years?  Boy are you wrong!  The most wonderful time of the year for me is the BCS national championship game, more commonly referred to as the SEC Crystal. 

This marks the seventh year in a row that a Southeastern Conference football team will play for the national championship.  It marks the fourth year in a row there has been much rejoicing about football in the state of Alabama, as The University of Alabama brought home the big boy trophy in 2009 and 2011, while cross state rival Auburn University won it in 2010.  This will also mark the seventh year in a row there is much gnashing of teeth across the nation, especially outside the SEC.  Screams of "easy schedule," "down year," "media bias," and other such nonsense permeates the minds and lips of the unknowing armchair football analyst.

Remarkably, the SEC has demonstrated its dominance in collegiate football year over year by not only winning championships, but by placing the most talented athletes in the National Football League.  Names like Mark Ingram, Cam Newton, Trent Richardson and on-and-on reverberate throughout the League.  And while the cries of a playoff resound around the country, this year alone, had there been a playoff, would have allowed for two SEC teams to play in it.

There are certainly talented athletes at every major college football program, but to deny the current superiority of the SEC is to deny reality.  Will there be a significant polar football shift some day?  Possibly.  But that shift may not happen any time soon, as the conference's focus on winning national titles is only outdone by, well, nothing.

My prediction for the upcoming national championship game, which pits number one Notre Dame versus number two Alabama is this:  an Alabama victory by no less than ten points.  After the game we will hear about the strength of a probation ladened Ohio State team and how it could have beaten Alabama, or someone will note that Bama was beaten by SEC newcomer Texas A&M, but none will want to admit that the University of Alabama has created a dynasty among the collegiate faithful. 

So, with that I bid everyone a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  And I would also like to bid everyone a very merry Roll Tide Roll!!

Rammer jammer yella hammer

Give 'em hell Alabama!

Rooooooll Tide Roll!



A New Thought!

Writer's block, with me at least, doesn't typically occur after deciding upon a topic.  On the contrary, my sticking point normally hits me when I'm searching for a topic, attempting to force my writing rather than allowing it to just happen.  Contemplative Buddhist monks and laymen tell new followers to allow thoughts to happen naturally during meditation practices; forcing thoughts from your mind will often prove disruptive and frustrating.  Eventually, the practitioner will learn to clear his/her mind during practice providing for a more fruitful meditation. 

Following this example, I sometimes grow frustrated when I can't develop or get my head around a topic.  Frustration breeds more frustration and suddenly I find myself upset at my own inability to formulate a simple thought; the brain synapses seem to have stopped working altogether!  I grow moody and irritable and soon I can't stand being in my own presence.  I feel for those close to me who are confronted with my personal inability to form even the most simple of cognition. 

Finally, after moving through the psychological grieving steps, I accept the fact I will never again be able to put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, thoughts to monitor.  Yes, as much as it pains me I embrace my defeat, finding its unsavory kiss one I want to wipe away but like a bad wreck I'm unable to move my eyes from the ghastly sight.

I move through a mundane life: arise, shower, work, home, sleep, rinse, repeat.  Day after day, I walk this Earth like a robot, my inability to put one unique thought together dragging me further down the rabbit hole.  I grow depressed and wonder about the great thinkers of the world and wonder why they were gifted with gloriously rabid minds.

And then it happens!  When I stop pushing the baby from its womb, the head appears.  Like childbirth, the thought is barely recognizable but quickly takes shape.  The proud father beaming from ear to ear, knocking those around me into walls and on the ground as I sprint to find my computer.

Okay, maybe that last paragraph is a little self indulgent and embellishing, but I do go looking for a computer or at least a pen and paper on which to jot down my idea.  I once again become engrossed in the idea, imagining a story line or theme and soon begin working.  That's where I am now--the idea, the process and the initial creative steps--and I'm very happy. 

The Common Goal

Cathy and I are very blessed and fortunate to have great jobs, as frustrating as they sometimes are, and the ability to work toward a common goal.  Since we've purchased our vacation/retirement home, we've become laser focused on paying it off and planning our future.  We don't take vacations, nor do we go out; we enjoy our time together and know we have a plan, and that makes us both feel good.

Do we think about sitting on a beach and just taking it easy after stressful days, weeks and months at work?  Of course we do.  We both long for some downtime and an escape from reality, but we keep plodding along hoping to finally realize our dream.

I would thoroughly enjoy some time on my bike, listening to the engine and loud pipes screaming along some back country highway.  Sights and smells of America are always on my mind but just a little out of reach for the moment. 

Cathy would like to hang out on a sandy beach or by a pool with little to do, with little on her constantly occupied mind, just the sound of the ocean and wind.  I know she gets weary of being the constant caretaker and needs a break, but onward we march.

Now, I certainly don't want to paint a picture that we are sacrificing anything.  Sacrificing means giving up necessities--at least in my mind it does--we are only postponing those things we want to do so we can have the things we desire.  So, neither of us are looking for sympathy, I'm simply expressing that we are fortunate and we understand that.

So, when that day finally comes....when we have that deed in our hands and I'm no longer enslaved to a bank, don't look for us, we'll be traveling and having fun.  And that is why we remain focused on our common goal.

Grand Design or Incredible Chance?

As I jogged on a nearby path in a local forest preserve, I couldn't help but take in the simple grandeur all around me.  The beautiful fall foliage, clean smells of nature and clear blue sky allowed my mind to drift as my foot falls pounded beneath me.  Magnificent yellows, golds and reds burst forth from maple and oak trees, while small purple wild flowers swayed gently in the constant breeze.  A shallow creek flowed over small and medium sized rocks while ducks and geese floated along its waters.

I breathed deeply enjoying the scents nature had to offer and wiped away a couple of tears torn from my eyes by the wind.  When my heart was steadily pounding in my chest and my breathing began to labor, I focused my mind on everything around me.  I paid close attention to the crunching of fallen leaves as my feet landed on the select few in my way.

At some point and time during my jog (I don't recall how long I had been on the path) I considered how perfectly in synch everything seemed to be.  It occured to me that those who do not believe in a higher power are looking at things too simplistically.  If you consider that our planet's orbit around the sun had to be just right to support life, that conditions have to be almost exact for a planet to support water, that our sun has to be a particular size so as not to burn us up or freeze us to death, then you are dabbling in the arena of unbeknownst statistics.  Taking it a step further, were you to look around you at all that nature has to offer, from the tranquil grasshopper thinking about which plant to jump on to the racoon scavenging for food to a grown man with average intelligence jogging in an area attempting to soak in his surroundings, then you have to believe in a higher power. 

I definitely am not attempting to preach at you, faithful reader, only offering my perspective into and on life.  The natural order of things seems to me to have been meticulously thought out and perfectly made.  That all of this may have been left to chance defies logic, or at least my logic. 

As I continued my jog I caught a drift of a skunk and thought that God must have seriously twisted sense of humor.  A couple of jogs ago I ran right behind a small possum focused intently on whatever it was trying to catch.  I remember thinking that either that was the dumbest possum in the world or perhaps it was deaf.  No matter which, Darwin obviously wasn't always right when he thought that only the strongest would survive.  I didn't mess with this nasty looking little animal and he simply stared at me as I continued to run past him.  Was it divine intervention that kept us from having a scuffle?  I don't really know, but I do know I trodded on leaving the little fellow to his own devices.

The next time you find yourself outside the confines of some man-made creation stop for a moment to decide for yourself if everything around you was a result of chance or maybe some grander design.  You might amaze yourself with your answer.

Insomnia Strikes Back

Insomnia is not funny.  Other than getting to watch movies I haven't seen for fifteen years or so, there's no benefit I can find to the disorder.  There's only so much of the news I can take, only so many bizarre websites to peruse and only so many books I can read.  Yes, I can find no good reason for an inability to sleep when my body feels run down.

The fact that I can't shut my mind down is perplexing.  Staring blankly at a darkened ceiling is extremely boring and frustrating, as is replaying the day's events over and over.  Why is it then I am forced to suffer?

There are some who will remain nameless who would claim this is my karma.  Others still prefer more poetic reasons and call the insomnia my albatross.  Perhaps they who call it the strange dead bird are correct, as I sit here typing about the strangeness of it all to you.....the faithful reader. 

I imagine my brain as lit Cloud City, a nerdish allusion to George Lucas' Star Wars films, where the planet is inhabited by humans and other space creatures in buildings high in the planet's sky.  There are miles and miles of blue sky and warm clouds, occasional buildings interrupting the aesthetics of it all.  Radio transmissions cross the sky from com link to com link, as do the synapses firing across my mind not allowing me to drift into a peaceful sleep.

And now my thoughts continue down memory lane, thinking of The Empire Strikes Back, admiring Han Solo for being frozen in carbon by Darth Vader.  When I was younger I used to imagine that Solo would have gone insane while entrapped in the carbonite, but I was wrong.  Han was able to sleep to the point of temporary blindness.  How I long to be temporarily blinded after sleeping for a year or two.  I imagine he was pretty hungry after being thawed though, but that really doesn't have anything to do with what I'm talking about here.

So, I'm hoping to drift off in a while.  Maybe Darth Vader will visit me tonight and he and Boba Fett will allow me some time to rest.

Will Someone Pass the Prozac?

Whatever shall I do with myself after the election?  So enamored with news, polls, statistics and political conversation, I fear spontaneous human combustion when I have nothing else to hold my attention.  Yes, I realize I still have Alabama football, but even the regular season will be over at the end of November. 

I have begun researching counselors and therapists to get me through the rough times, my detox certain to set in on November 7th.  Prozac and Wellbuten may be my friends for six months at least, perhaps more.  Romney-Obama.  Obama-Romney.  The chant echos in my head and comes to me in my dreams.  At what point in my life did I start caring about this stuff?  Why can't I do anything in moderation?  Why can't I get my wife to stop watching O'Reilly or Hannity?  When will the NFL be fun again?

Gallup, Pew, Rassmussen and Politico.  The presidential elections have captured my attention the past sixteen years, but moreso the past three cycles.  Joe Biden has become one of my favorite politicians ever; I would love to have this guy over for dinner and a beer.  No, I don't agree with him politically, but wouldn't I be the hit of the neighborhood if I could throw a party with Uncle Joe as my keynote speaker and guest?  I've got to compose a letter to him.  Perhaps he'll pencil me in after January!

The University of Alabama is 5-0 thus far this season.  They shut out two football teams in back-to-back victories, and during every commercial, during each time out, I found myself turning to news channels or checking some of my favorite news and political websites for information.  Those who know me probably fear for my personal safety after reading this.  It's scary!

I don't know.  Maybe I should plan a weeklong hiking trip.  No phone, no internet, no television, no human interaction.  Perhaps deep in the woods I could convulse and shake with no witnesses then return to my normal self, my addiction finally kicked. 

But in the interim I have twenty-nine days left to sate my thirst for everything political.  I can watch Ryan and Biden debate then watch the President and Romney go at it two more times.  I'll remain glued to the television and listen to the radio in hopes my candidate is winning in the polls and pulls through in lavish fashion!

And now, I must turn my attention to the most recent USA Today poll of likely voters. 

Paper or plastic: A deeper look at publishing

As many of you know, I enjoy writing.  For me, it serves as an outlet of sorts as ideas form in my mind, get shuffled around and begin to take shape.  Writing is a conduit into other worlds, realms, dimensions and lives unavailable in my current physical state.  How's that description for deep thinking?  I would quote myself, but that's simply self-righteous and way off topic, so pardon my transgression.

I enjoy telling stories; some believe I embellish (Kerry Lee) and create fairy tales from real life events.  Personally, I consider my stories to be accurate reflections of true events, colored in real life pastels for your amusement.  Much to the disdain of a few who have read what I think of as a humorous autobiographical look into a lot of silliness that has occurred over the course of my lifetime, I continue down the path of publishing peril.  What this means is someone has read my conglomeration of stories and warned me not to pursue publication.  That warning has been heeded because I need to do some (a lot of) re-writing.  Taking the excellent advice my friend has given me and using that advice as a gift (after licking my wounds from the resounding verbal kicking he gave me) has been beneficial.  His "gift" has allowed me a lot of time to reflect on my writing style and how I present my stories in written form.

I've also been forced to ask myself "why," as in "why do I do this?"  Why would I take time to put into words what I can articulate orally so people can read it?  Writing has become, or has been for a long time, an addiction for me.  Pen to paper or keyboard to monitor is no different than a painter and his canvas.  This is how I create and I thrive on it.  But there's a bigger piece to the publication of my words and stories that gave me pause for some introspection.

Seeing our, or my anyway, work published in hardback or electronically is a rush.  Knowing people are reading and enjoying what I write is a form of self-indulgence and ego boosting like no other.  I can admit my linguistic narcissistic pleasures to everyone as my epiphany has fully revealed itself to me.  As with most twelve step programs, admitting you have a problem is the first giant leap you'll take!  I wonder, however, if other writers will admit the same or at least take the time to self-reflect on why they write?

So there it is--you have looked into my writer's soul and seen my Achilles heal.  I feel better now, but this albatross will once again drape my neck and the words will have to be written.