We Make the Rules

I was a first-year college student at the University of Utah when an art teacher introduced me to Jackson Pollock. My teacher explained that the process Pollock used for bringing paint and canvas together was shocking to the established artists of his time.

Pollock would take paint and toss and flick it onto a massive canvas, often walking around it to get the best angle.

His paintings mesmerized and intrigued me. A number of my fellow students found his painting uninspiring and sloppy. But for several months, I found myself in the library searching for every Pollock painting I could find tucked away in the school’s small art book section.

As much as I enjoyed Pollock’s finished works it was his process I was drawn to. The fact that he was doing something that hadn’t been done before, on his terms was fascinating. I suspect at least one person told him he was going about painting the wrong way and he ignored it.

How do we assess greatness without a comparative work?

As I watch my children participate in school and church, I wonder if they are being taught to a standard determined by committee? Class grades provide a clear way to determine how well my children conform. A certain reverence, behavior, and speech are expected at church. Memorization is expected in both places.

At school, one son is penalized because the teacher can’t reach his spelling although each word is spelled correctly. Another son is asked to memorize an Article of Faith in exchange for a treat but is denied such when the teacher can’t understand a word or two.

We make the rules and you will conform. ‘Do things our way or you will be penalized’ comes through loud and clear. Don’t draw outside the lines and absolutely, no flicking paint around our canvas.

As a parent, I add another layer of expectations on each of my children. My son mows the lawn the way I was taught to mow the lawn 30 years ago. That’s how I was taught so it must be the best and only way to do it right.

To this day the way I act around my parents and siblings is more closely aligned with how they expect me to act than how I actually am.

Is it possible there’s a little Pollock in everyone, but few possess the guts to act on it?

8 Miles

“Watch out for the turtles and rabbits”, I tell my son who is pedaling his bike a few yard behind me.

The sun has set but that’s no consolation.

I still think I’m in Seattle where mid-afternoon temperatures in the 80’s can easily dip into the 50’s by nightfall. But that’s not how it works in the desert where an afternoon hovering over 100 barely retreats to the mid 90’s by the time we fill our water bottles and take to the road.

Lincoln is in on the joke and gives a quick laugh to prove he’s listening. Of course we’ve failed to spot a single turtle or rabbit on our regular rides up against the Red Mountain.

We continue to pedal and, if I’m patient, I can get Lincoln talking between breaths, and by talking I mean asking a lot of detailed questions.

“When can we add more memory to my computer?”

“How many miles have we traveled?”

“When can I tour my new school?”

Unlike a couple of my children, Lincoln does not handle vague answers well. When I reply, “Maybe next week” to his last question he comes back with, “OK, but what day?”

And if I toss out a day, he’ll want the time and you can see how his plays out.

It can be draining at times, but I can also appreciate his direct manner. It just takes me a few minutes to shift into that gear.

We finished our 8-mile ride up past the Tuachan Amphitheather where Starlight Express was being performed. As we put our bikes away Lincoln said, “I always feel good after we ride even if I didn’t really want to start.”

“That’s how it is with a lot of things in life.” I replied.

I closed the door to the garage, locked it and handed the key to Lincoln to hang up just inside the sliding door that leads to chilled air.

“Sort of like church and scouts, huh, dad?”

Top 100 Songs of the ‘90s

I watched the last two hours of this VH1 program which I’d seen portions of before today, but had never caught the top 20 songs they cover in the last hour.

Although it’s hard to take a list like this seriously which includes Britney Spears in the top 10, the tunes bring back a lot of memories, especially the four years I was in college at the University of Utah. I still collected CDs and traded them with friends who turned me on to new music. One afternoon after after finishing up a final in a marketing course, a friend gave me a CD from a band I’d never heard of, but he told me to check out track number five.

Sounds as good today as it did over 20 years ago.

A few songs like Loser and Sabotage are ones I’ve listened to many times. But nothing compares to the number of times I listened to the song below from “What’s the Story Morning Glory?”

Cleaning the Closet

In preparation for our move to Utah next week, I began packing the clothing I had hanging in my closet in to large trash bags. It is an odd feeling taking pants and shirt off hangers, looking at them, and asking yourself, “What was I thinking when I bought this?”

I filled a box full of shoes. I said good-bye to a pair of Born shoes and several pairs of Birkenstocks that have overstayed their welcome by at least five years. I packed up a handful of silk ties that I seldom wear anymore and a few belts that are a couple of inches too short.

I pulled three nearly new sweaters off hangers and folded them nicely before realizing that I hate sweaters and can’t imagine wearing them in Utah. Good riddance!

Eventually I had three large garbage bags full of shirts and pants and a large box full of shoes. I could put them on the moving truck next week, and then unpack them in Utah where I’m sure they would remain until we moved again.

Or I could pull out the Ralph Lauren shirts I barely wore and put them on eBay.

In the end I decided to place it in the garage and donate it to charity. I want a fresh start. Today my closet consists of a few shirts and pairs of pants, one belt and four pairs of shoes. Deciding what to wear to work takes no time.

I’m looking forward to organizing more parts of my life and paring back to the essentials. Getting rid of outdated clothing is easier than replacing bad habits with good habits, but that’s what I need to do. Too much clutter results in slower decision making.

I’d better get moving before Kim spots the bags in the garage and tries to sneak stuff back in my closet.

Flat Tire

As I coasted down the hill I could tell something was wrong. Rain was dripping off the hood of my jacket and onto my face making it difficult to see ahead and ensuring all my concentration was focused on keeping my bike on the road and out of the ditch.

I applied the breaks slowly as to not spin out and drifted through the green light before I could pull over to the side of the road and inspect the damage. I assumed I had a flat tire, and I was right. The wind picked up and the rain continued to come down as cars sped by me.

I called Kim to come get me and take me to work since I was already running late and had no time to repair the tire.

And then I waited.

I was disappointed, cold and grumpy. It seems like I’ve had 8-10 flat tires since I began riding about a year ago, which is probably normal given the route I take to work includes several high traffic roads and an overpass with lots of debris off to the side of the road. I try to avoid it as best I can, but that’s not always possible.

Kim would have to get Taran and Kai ready before coming to get me, and that takes time. I was getting colder and more grumpy by the minute. When Kim arrived, I noticed she’d packed dry clothing for me. That’s what I said something stupid:

“I wish you had just come instead of take the time to gather my stuff.”

Just two years ago I was spending 12 to 15 hours a week commuting to Redmond to a job I couldn’t stand. Today I work for a company I love, working alongside great people, doing a job I enjoy. Not only that but I can bike the six miles to work each day instead of spending two days worth of work in traffic each week.

I came home from work last night and cleaned off my bike and replaced the tube. Today I rode home from work in one of the better rain storm we’ve had in a while. I must have been lugging an extra 5 lbs. worth of water as I removed my rain jacket and pants and tossed them in the dryer.

My perspective had changed since I made an insensitive remark. I wish it hadn’t taken a full day to realize my mistake. Maybe next time it won’t.

Next month I’ll be riding around the streets of Ivins, Utah.

I think I’ll miss the occasional rain storms and my friends but I hope I’ll have fewer flat tires than I do today.

Balanced Conversation

Passing through Utah the over the past week I’ve been able to meet up with a number of friends and family.

Some friends are closer than others. A few prefer to speak in person rather than over the phone or Facebook. With some we discuss the same topics we have for years: work, sports or the weather. Yet we seldom drive deep into anything too deep or personal.

But I noticed something in common with those I’m closest too and have the most meaningful conversation: a near 50% balance of speaking and listening.

This seems obvious. A conversation isn’t one person speaking to another for an hour. A balance of listening and sharing comes naturally with some friends while more effort is required with others.

I wonder what my children would say the balance is when we get together? Maybe I don’t want to know the answer, but maybe that’s exactly what I need to hear.

Skating On Thin Ice

Lately I’ve felt overwhelmed.

I’ve felt this way before, but it was usually one part of my life I could pause or get rid of. When I felt overwhelmed in college I scaled back the credit hours the next quarter. A decade ago I walked away from a job that was taking a toll on my relationships and making me sick. At times, I’ve reduced the number of church or school activities we commit to and stuck close to home for a while until the feeling subsided.

This is the first time I can recall where everything feels overwhelming to the point that I don’t feel I’m doing anything very well and some things quite poorly.

Work is the lone bright spot, and one that’s not entirely easy to control. So I don’t take this for granted.

But nearly every other area of my life feels like the first time I stood up on ice skates; I’m moving, but have no control over my speed or direction and I know eventually I’m going to crash into someone.

I listen to talks at church about what I’m expected to teach my children, provide for my family while maintaining a strong bond with my spouse. But it often feels like the activities and meetings and then more meeting keep us from spending much time together on the one day of the week set aside to do so. Church is starting to feel like a weekly reminder of everything I’m not doing well.

But it’s not only church that provides a reminder.

Last week Anna forgot her lunch so I rode my bike to her school to drop it off. As I walked into her class, her teacher yelled across the room, “Hey, you forgot this morning was Donuts with your Daughter”.

Here I thought I was doing well to get up at 6 am to get my oldest daughter off to school, returning to make lunches for two more kids before getting our five-year old off to pre-school. And I have the easy part because I know Kim has been up several times throughout the night to feed and comfort our baby.

I used to stay up late to get things done I couldn’t get to during the day. And that worked well when I was single and was even passable before I married a night owl. But it doesn’t work well today, and without a Diet Coke run to the car between church meetings, I’d be fast asleep on the foyer couch by Priesthood.

I forgot I was supposed to help clean the church today. Maybe after I listen to this Mark Knopfler tune one more time. I dunno.

I’d better learn to skate. Or stay off the ice.

Doing The Math

My oldest daughter likes me remind me that I will be 63 years old when our baby turns 18. Not that it bothers me much but it has made me think about taking care of my body so that I’m able to be involved in his activities, whatever they may be.

My mother liked to tell me that she had all five of her kids by the time she was 26 years old. I was into my 30’s before our first child arrived, but she had better luck with her three daughters.

There are times I wish I had more energy to chase the kids around the yard, but am making an effort to take them to play racquetball with me on Saturday mornings, ride bikes with them, and finding other ways to be a part of their goofy lives, even if that means learning what Minecraft is all about.

By far the biggest difference I made was remove myself from the corporate rat race over two years ago. Instead of leaving the home to catch the train or bus before anyone else was out of bed, I now get up with 6 am with my daughter who is in middle school. The only thing she likes more than school is talking about school. While we sit around the kitchen table, she tells me about her teachers and classmates, and I get to see a side of my daughter I didn’t know existed.

When I drop Luca off at the bus stop, I return home and help get three more kids ready to school. Two years ago I couldn’t tell you what any of them liked for breakfast. Now know that Anna likes cereal, Lincoln loves oatmeal and Kai likes waffles. That’s progress.

I’ve had jobs that required keeping strict hours in the office if only to look busy. I’ve had jobs that required substantial travel, often weeks at a time. At my last job I spent 15 hours each week in my car or on the bus. That time away from my family added up quickly, and I often felt like an outsider in my own home.

But that has changed now. I feel blessed to have found a position that allows me to flex my schedule so I can spend time with my family each morning, requires no travels and encourages employees to work a reasonable schedule.

This morning, I noticed my daughter forgot to grab her lunch box. I was able to ride my bike to her school to drop off her lunch and still make it into work in less than half the time it took to drive to my last job.

Next time Luca reminds me how old I’ll be when our last child reaches his teens, I’ll remind her how much wiser I’ll be too. That will make her laugh.

Rise of the Drones

I found this PBS documentary on how the US uses drones fascinating. A few of the highlights:

1. The US military is currently training more remote drone pilots than actual fighter pilots.
2. The man who created the Predator never meant for it to be armed.
3. Former fighter pilots make poor drone pilots.
4. The Predator was engineered after the best gliding bird on the planet: the albatross.

http://dgjigvacl6ipj.cloudfront.net/media/swf/PBSPlayer.swf

Watch Rise of the Drones on PBS. See more from NOVA.

An Outlet

I was in 7th grade when began I writing down my thoughts in an old red binder. I eventually upgraded to larger and more sturdy binders that held my thoughts comprised primarily on sports and girls.

I’m nearing 2000 posts on this blog, and what many people may not realize is that I many posts I’ve written have been for the same reason I scribbled down my thoughts in those binders: to provide an outlet for my thoughts when my world made no sense.

As reports of the senseless shooting began filling my Twitter stream, I sat at my computer thinking about my kids who were already at school.

Except my oldest son, Lincoln, who will turn ten the day after Christmas.

He stayed home today from school because he wasn’t feeling well. While I spent the morning working my way through my inbox, he rested on the couch. Each time I checked on him I found him playing games on his iPod Touch.

I was waiting for him to turn on the TV where he would have seen reports and live footage from the school. If I heard the TV turn on, I’d go in and watch a few minutes with him and answer any questions. I don’t know if this would have been the best decision. Like many parenting decisions, I shoot from the hip more often than I should.

But I never heard the click of the remote.

And I’m glad it worked out that way because I have no answers for him. I can’t explain why someone would intentionally kill children. The cowardly shooter died so we’ll probably never fully understand why he turned to violence.

My son will surely ask what happened today and I’ll do my best to explain it at a topical level. But I’ll be at a loss for words in helping him understand why it happened.

Today I feel like that boy is 7th grade jotting down his thoughts while trying to make sense of his world. But today I understand there’s no making sense of the senseless.