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.

the transition

Yesterday we sold our house in the Chicago suburbs and were able to breath a sigh of relief.  We've been very fortunate to be able pay for two houses for several months, but things were tight and luxury items were a thing of the past.  Now the discipline of not purchasing luxury items and remaining focused on being debt free is our goal.  It's really not so difficult for me because I don't like spending money, but I've created a monster in Cathy who pinches every single penny, stretches each one into a dime (I'm still perplexed with her ability to do so) and takes frugality to a whole new level.

Living in an apartment, after living in a spacious house, is a huge transition for us.  We can't get away from each other and sometimes we suffer from a tad too much "us time."  Solitude happens only with a trip to the bathroom and even that may not afford us ample refuge from one another.  Walking outside and being around this many people makes me uncomfortable; I prefer to be a social recluse but accept my prison term for a few years knowing we can get to a better financial place in a few years.

I wonder how my neighbors will react to my screams of "Roll Tide" this evening?  Will I be forced to explain my chant to local law enforcement?  Will we be evicted after only a few days on site?  How will my conservative yard signs be embraced by the other tenants and will my proclivities for planting them like some wayward yard artisan be frowned upon?  Only time will tell......

The nice thing is we are both a little closer to work and will save time and gas going to and fro our offices.  I'm certain the suburbs will raise the price of gas to compensate for the loss of revenue since our move, but in the short term it'll be good to keep a few extra cents.

But most importantly will be when we realize our goals and finally wind up "home."  Until then....

ROLL TIDE!!

A Lymric, an Ode, A Silly Rhyme, You're a Toad

Sometimes I kid, sometimes I joke

   On a cheap cigar I occasionally toke

Politics and Facebook, the two don't mix

   Sarcasm and wit really make me tick

I laugh at you, I laugh at me

  Sometimes I laugh so much it makes me pee

My kids think I'm crazy, my wife thinks I'm insane

  I'm the fruit of my dad's loins, so it's him I blame 

I go to work early, at times I get home late

  But watch Bama football on Saturdays because they're just great

On game day my neighbors they all run and hide

  And look at me curiously as I scream, "Roll Tide!"

I've been fortunate and lucky to travel this Earth
  To fly in planes circumventing its girth
And everywhere I go people make me smile and giggle
  Funny things I always see so much my belly will jiggle

I raise up my glass and toast you my friends
  And realize your zaniness knows no end
I can count on each one of you to make my day
  So for your good health and continence I pray

And to those of you who would prefer to say, "go to hell"
  I'll just look at you and type "l-o-l"

Because I know I got under your skin

  I laugh and laugh and will do it again

SEC versus Big 10 versus the Independents

I spent a day in South Bend, Indiana with a group of friends who have never been to an SEC football game.  We had put our heads together a few weeks ago and decided to attend the Notre Dame versus Purdue football game.  As God would have it, after several days of rain, wind and gloom, the clouds were forced to blow eastward and beautiful blue skies permeated the house that Knute built.  Yes, the Catholic church must have a direct line to the Good Lord because the weather could have not been any more perfect on a college game day.

My University of Alabama jersey on and national championship hat proudly perched upon my gargantuan head, my buddies and I tailgated for a couple of hours before making our way to the stadium.  One friend sported his Notre Dame jersey, another wore a Purdue t-shirt that he had apparently worn since he was eight years old, as the shirt seemed to be a "small" stretched across a "large" frame, and one fellow who elected to remain neutral out of pure fear for his own personal safety.

I was disappointed in the subdued atmosphere in the parking area where so many people were grilling food and pitching a football around.  No one dared talk smack to anyone from the opposing fanbase; no, everyone was very, very polite!  I was totally shocked and amazed at the level of civility on display, and a little embarrassed that the fans didn't know how to talk smack to one another.  Don't people here know how to carry on in the spirit of good fun or are the folks here morally superior to my kin back home?  By contrast, there is always much yelling and screaming at folks from other states and schools when my beloved Tide plays.  Sweet Home Alabama will be blasted from thousands of car stereos for miles around Bryant Denny Stadium.  The nauseating sounds of Rocky Top at Neyland Stadium in Knoxville, Tennessee are played until it is so ingrained in the rivals heads, they are singing along by the fourth quarter.  Public displays of disaffection and questions about someones sister's personal virtue are called into question at every turn.  Cam Newton jerseys are hung on statues of Paul "Bear" Bryant, giant oak trees on Toomer's Corner in Auburn are poisoned, grown women and men brawl before and after games and no modicum of civility is noticed in the region of the country known for politeness. 

As we began walking toward the stadium I grew excited.  I also was caught unaware when a couple of Purdue and Notre Dame fans yelled "Roll Tide!"  This made me both happy and confused at the same time; this would never have happened back home.

We found our "seats," or rather marked wooden bleachers.  A couple of elderly Purdue fans sat in front of us while a litany of Notre Dame fans looked bemused at my crimson attire.  An Irish fan from Boca Raton, Florida didn't hesitate to jump into a conversation about SEC football and its superiority to the rest of the country.  Not wanting to be persuaded without experiencing the game first, I kindly engaged him in chit-chat but consciously made efforts to remain neutral and unbiased until the game was over.   

Kick-off marked the beginning of the game and the fans were fairly loud, but not deafening.  Neither team could establish their running game and were forced to throw the ball on almost every down.  Neither team scored in the first quarter and played to a seven-seven tie heading into half-time.  The fighting Irish outpaced the Boilermakers ten to zero in the third quarter, but the fellas with the choo-choo mascot battled back in the fourth and final quarter.  God smiled on the private Catholic school one more time and the luck of the Irish allowed them the victory in an exciting final two minutes as Notre Dame battled back to win the game twenty to seventeen.

Insofar as the teams were concerned versus those of the SEC, here's my analysis: these two teams were SLOW.  I remarked to one of my buddies that watching the game was like watching some of the bigger high schools in Alabama, Arkansas and Texas I had seen.  There were some pretty big boys on the field and a few obvious NFL caliber players that stood out, like Manti Teo (sp), linebacker from Notre Dame.  The kid is a star and will be very successful at the next level, but I'm used to watching and seeing numerous kids on both sides of the ball that will wind up playing in the League. 

And I get back to the fanbases--they were very tame, nice and respectful.  This was pretty refreshing on one hand but the lack of junk being yelled at others was also just foreign to me.  "Where's the pride," I asked myself?! 

The saving grace for me?  As I stood and began walking toward a concession stand to buy a soft pretzel and something to drink, I heard a familiar chant behind me, "War Eagle!"

My head snapped back and my ears began to bleed just a little.  I turned to find two fellow Bama-ians decked in God-awful orange proudly pointing at their shirts and beaming from ear-to-ear.  Yes!  I would finally get to hear some wonderful smack talk and also get to throw some back.  All was right in the universe again and I knew the civil folks around me would get educated in the classroom of SEC.