Road trips with kids posted at our sister blog

Hi everyone,

There is a new blog post at her and me plus three.
I also added a link to follow the new blog at the top of the page.

Tips for Road Trips with Kids: http://herandmeplus3.blogspot.com/

Peace and happy travels.

Mike

Her and Me Plus Three new post

I put up a new post at the new blog, and I revamped it's look.

There is now a button to follow that blog to keep up on the family travel side of things!


http://herandmeplus3.blogspot.com

Hope all of you are great.

Blessings and hope you are living the adventures you desire.


Mike

Maybe we should just recognize ISIS...

What is the foreign policy interest of the United States of America? It is the first question of foreign policy as well as the one that seems to never really be answered!

Let me begin by acknowledging a reality that I knew nothing of until two years ago. Many of the military bases and troop commitments that the United States maintains outside the United States are dictated by treaties which the US has signed with foreign countries.  These are not open to the unilateral whims of budget hawks or dovish presidents. One of my friends who attended the United States Naval Academy educated me on this and pointed out that it appeared that not even most national politicians acknowledge or know about this.

So, when politicians proudly claim, they will not get involved in “international adventures” unless American interests are at risk? What are American interests and how do these interests translate abroad. There are several possibilities:1)human rights, 2)democratic ideals, 3)threats to the security of the United States, 4)US overall national economic interest, and/or 5)the specific interest of certain sub-groups. Finally, the dangers of pursuing any of these goals or a combination of them are magnified when the culture and region of any given situation are not taken into account.

I am not a historian. The historical wars of the Spanish-American war, the Civil War, WWI, and WWII are often counted as "the good wars." These were wars that the country took up in self-defense, or to help broaden human rights and democratic ideals. The the narrative of American exceptionalism draws on the history of these wars to support America's claim to be an exceptional country.

It should not be forgotten that even during the so called "good times" the United States was also involved in foreign activities which directly benefitted small groups inside the US with foreign income. This is especially true where democratically elected regimes throughout the Western Hemisphere were toppled by US government action to further the interests of major US corporations that were active in those countries. This is pretty vividly portrayed in the Banana Wars the United States undertook. Soon after these events, retired General Smedley Butler wrote "War is a Racket" detailing how he was commanded to use our military to foster the interests of big business and Wall Street.

It is interesting to me that despite conservative protestations that the government shouldn't choose winners in economics they are quite happy to assert the United State's right to judge and choose winners and losers in politics of other countries based on our mood. I find the idea that we should choose other countries' governments and leaders is idiotic and imperial rather than evidence of American exceptionalism.

So what interest of the US are the politicians talking about when call our country to war against ISIS?

We support Saudi Arabia (bastion of human rights who just executed 47 people) and we supported Saddam Hussein's Iraq (User of poison gas on his own citizens) in the war against Iran. How different is ISIS? They are a repressive "religious regime" so is Saudi Arabia. Have they executed people - Yes, and so have we. One of their greatest recruiting tools is that we have declared they are an enemy and attacked them.

Maybe we should recognize ISIS and see how their state progresses when dealing with their own neighbors within the international system.  Invite them to the UN and let them deal with their neighbors within the international legal framework. In the realm of politics, the politic classes of many neighboring muslim are the real targets of ISIS. In the realm of religion, it is the more complex and deep strains of Islam who have the resources to weaken ISIS.

I hope you enjoyed these thoughts. I am going to be reorganizing my blog to focus on family and spirituality.  I will of course hit on other issues, but I don't plan on spending as much time on these things.

They are frustrating and not always very life-giving or hopeful. I will still vote and sign petitions, but unless I am tabbed for the State Department or an ambassador post that will likely be it! Feel free to share any thought or reactions.

Terrorism:Paris and San Bernardino - What I realized

In the days after the Paris attacks I was distracted and had a hard time focusing. At times, I felt sick. I wanted to know the latest updates and had to intermittently unplug from following the news at all.

What happened and what was happening to me?

First, let me state unequivocally that I denounce terrorism. 

Second, I feel that is a pretty severe lack of imagination and empathy that our leaders, pundits, and media can act so totally clueless about terrorism.

Terrorism and guerilla warfare are very close relatives. It does not take much scratching beneath the surface of world events to start uncovering some understandable (mind you not acceptable in my eyes) motives and rationales for these acts.  Asymmetrical warfare has long been the hallmark of groups who are facing a threat that  can not be defeated in any realistic scenario of war in the Geneva Convention mold. 

The United States has employed asymmetrical warfare as a part of our foreign policy which fell short of declared wars. Even in our civil war raiders and guerrillas existed. (Read the wikipedia article here https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guerrilla_warfare_in_the_American_Civil_War  ). 

Our support of the mujahadeen against the Soviet Union is but one recent example (which brought us Osama Bin Laden). It is really a mystery to me that the same intelligence operators who worked with and trained these asymmetrical experts can be so willfully blind about their causes and the situations which give them rise and drive them to act. Our globe has no shortage of experience with this.  Iraq, Ireland, and Palestine are just a few locations where asymmetrical warfare was or is de rigueur.

So, what conditions create the environment for it and what nudges it into action.

First, there must be a situation where injustices against the group you belong to are apparent. 

Second, there must be an enemy which appears too powerful in the normal arena of war. This can be due to technology, numbers, or due to the preponderance of international backing of one's enemy.

Third, there must be a inability or lack on the part of official political powers to stop the attacks, protect or bring justice.

Penultimately, there must be a definitive erosion of the personal social contract which prohibits killing.

Finally, there must be a trigger to act.

You will notice that poverty is not a part of the narrative I see here. There has been some research supporting the idea that it is not poverty that leads to terrorism. (Here is an article about this from the Wall street Journal of all places- http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB110911119848561282)

The confluence of ruling powers in the middle east and around the world who are not overly concerned with justice, along with the West lending technological and political legitimacy to many of them and their oppressive violence could provide a fairly compelling fulfillment of criteria one through three. Even allies such as Pakistan have had a difficult time sustaining their cooperation with us in the face of the killing of innocents and collateral damage from our violence along with everyone's seeming inability to act justly or protect civil society. In pursuing our goals, we claim these casualties are acceptable. Is it a surprise that others will ask us how the collateral damage among their population is different from the collateral damage in Paris or California?

But what about the last two criteria? What could fulfill them?  A sense of the rules of civilization being ignored at one's expense. The loss of a loved one. The killing of innocents. The continued threats and attacks against those you consider to be co-religionaries or fellow citizens. These surely are among the ingredients that can destroy the social contract that underlies the preservation of life. Finally, what might be the trigger? A personal invitation be a leader. An attack like that of the French government on ISIS. A final loss of hope, that the powers that be will begin to act more justly in their eyes. In the internet age, one's neighbors need not be physically close and atrocities experienced in distant locations can have profound affects on sympathetic figures around the globe.

Let us not imagine that Syria and Afghanistan are the equivalent of  Nebraska with Imams preaching Islam rather than Christianity. Bashar Al-Assad is certainly not Pete Ricketts.

Living in a war zone is a hell that only the small percentage of soldiers and refugees can begin to understand. I will not pretend to be an expert on the subject. And a modern war in your own country among your family and friends must be of a hellish intensity of an even greater degree. Those immediately affected by 9/11 can understand this. These experiences likely heighten human sensitivity and speed progression through these steps and creating hearts, minds, and souls that find themselves driven rapidly through this progression toward extremism.

I found it hard to consider the violence that I saw and read about during the attacks. I also found it difficult and upsetting to see the hatred, prejudice with which we responded to the attacks.  It was our response that actually kept me awake at night. This hatred and knee jerk response to start trying to kill whoever we could find knotted my intestines and burrowed into my mind. It is the response one would rightly expect from the henchmen of a garden variety dictator not the United States of America and the French Republic. The increasing volume of the drums of war just echoed in my mind ...throbbing....Don't we have a better response than this. 

I still have to avoid some topics on social media. As someone who knows refugees who have fled war I can't read screeds about stopping refugees. As someone, who has spoken with families who have experienced the time and effort taken for immigration security checks I can't read about religious tests for immigrants. The hate, scapegoating, and fear-mongering give me headaches - like lingering paint fumes that burn when I breathe.  Seeing that the purveyors of these thoughts believe they are offering solutions makes me sad and pains my heart. I have to monitor my exposure to them. The solutions to terrorism is not nearly simple enough to be solved by bombs and more security.

As a human race, don't we have a better response than this.

Next: Can we discuss: "What do politicians mean when they say US national security interest?" and "What should our foreign policy goals be?"

Have you ever heard of the Fermi Paradox?

It is a fascinating mind bender... the basics roughly follow this outline (from a great article at www.waitbutwhy.com):

1) Given the number of stars and the different types of stars, scientists estimate there might be 500 billion billion stars like our sun. That's right 500 billion billion which is quite a few.

2) With a few more calculations we could arrive at an estimated number of 100 billion billion earth-like planets. Given this crazy huge number and given the age of the universe there should be some civilizations advanced enough to communicate with us or at least be noticed by our scientists.

 

Needless to say we haven't discovered or been contacted by alien life. Why? That is the Fermi paradox.

 

The article from “Wait But Why” posits a "great filter" - some kind of event that creates a barrier to contact between civilizations or a barrier that actually keeps civilizations capable of contact from developing.

 

I would like to offer my thoughts on what/how the filter mechanism might be active in the case of homo sapiens.
 
A type one civilization is one that has the power to harness the power of their own planet. We, the classification posits, are nearing this point. Humanity in its present state has achieved the ability to affect the whole planet. That is certain. We have destroyed vast forests, mined enormous quantities of minerals and oil. We have nearly depleted many of the world’s fisheries. We have built cities, damned rivers, and launched rockets and probes beyond the earth. We created and even used nuclear weapons that have the power to destroy the earth several times over. Yes my friends, our current technology allows us to affect and even destroy the entire earth and all of its ecosystems. We are pushing countless species to the brink of extinction and have already sent many others to the human engineered oblivion we seek to escape.
 
At our current state of development, we have a limited understanding of the cumulative effect of human population amplified by our technology on the systems of our planet.   In today’s world, we are a great distance from creating methods to govern the outsized effects our species has on the planet. Even now, we all too easily dismiss the effect of individual action regarding our planet and even dismiss the actions of whole countries to try to alleviate some of the damage we are doing to our planet. We are nowhere near achieving coordinated action taken on behalf of all of humanity. We do not yet understand the intricacy and complexity of the systems of our planet. We have not developed enough to be able to protect and sustain them. Dare I say our species has failed to learn to love the earth enough to devote sufficient energy to nurturing our home.
 
Let us create an equation with the following notations:

Let N be the ability of the Holocene age earth to maintain its equilibrium in the face of shocks to its systems.

Let P be the population of man.

 Let T be the technological level of human civilization.

Let p^T be the shock to earth’s system a given size human population can produce with a given level of civilization.

Let K be the knowledge of the cause and effects of the human produced shocks on the planet.

Let C be the ability to coordinate human action to control the effects of human produced shocks.

So the ability of the earth to maintain its equilibrium could be written as

 ∑ from the dawn of humanity to the present of   N + KCP^T -P^T

 

We know that the current maximum value of P^T is already greater than N. The human race can create a shock sufficiently great to overwhelm the ability of earth’s systems to self-correct. If the sum of the  difference between our knowledgeable and coordinated action and the human induced negative shocks to the system become large enough to overwhelm the ability of the Holocene earth to maintain equilibrium we will destroy ourselves.

 

 The great filter represents minimum achievement for science, psychology, spirituality, and politics to protect the future of humanity. It represents our physical ability to heal or atone for all of the damage we have done to our biosphere. Let's call this our particular human psycho/terrestrial filter.

 

Let's assume in the billions of years that the earth has been in existence our science's ability to "hear" or "see" alien life might, with optimism, cover the last 400 years (if we date it from the discovery of the first telescope in 1608). That is about 1 hundred thousandth of a percent of the time the earth has existed. I would call that a miniscule flash in the history of the earth. We have not had long to "hear" or "see".

 

The real question is: how long will this window remain open?

 

Will we have another 400 years to discover alien life or be contacted by it?

On our current course, I don't think we will have a100.

 

I believe we stand on the precipice of the great filter. It is a dangerous time. We have the ability and knowledge to destroy without the commensurate knowledge and ability to healt. As of right now, I think Agent Smith in the Matrix summed up our current conundrum -

 

Agent Smith: "I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet."

 
Are we a virus?
 

No, we are a form of life with a conscience and an ability to cooperate. How we develop these abilities will determine whether we pass beyond the psycho-terrestrial filter or find ourselves inhabiting a planet which can no longer bear our presence. Unfortunately, we know a virus isn't the only life capable of destruction. Humanity has shown a great proclivity for choosing destruction as a solution to almost any problem.

 

When we discover the means (likely a combination of political, psychological, spiritual, and technical) to create an equilibrium between our ability to harness and transform our planet and our ability to maintain its biosphere that discovery will be the greatest advance yet of humanity.

 

The knowledge of our earth and the ability to positively coordinate our actions will be the vehicle that will carry us beyond the psycho-terrestrial filter.

It will be the interplanetary dawn of which science fiction dreams and of which dystopian nightmares despair. This will be the light that allows us to see others in the universe and hear their voices.

 

Ite missa est.

 

Go it is the dismissal.

Freedom Whence...brooding feelings and the world's struggles

I recently finished reading American Uprising by Daniel Rasmussen.  As a follow up, I looked up a few reviews. Some provided critiques of the author’s age a few others lamented thin-ness of historical research in some points of the narrative. True the author is young. True he went to Harvard, but I did not find anyone who disagreed with the author’s main presentation of facts, and as a student whose US history courses were not nearly 25 years ago much of the insight was new to me.

Especially intriguing to me was the fact that the fledgling US government played a persistent role in asserting slaveholder authority and preserving status quo in slave-holder states in the early US. It was also refreshing to see the enslaved people given agency, creativity, and drive. This explains and contradicts the “life was good for slaves” as well as “the meek slave myth” and forms the context for a narrative of revolt and the wave of escaping of slaves from plantations as the Civil War continued prior to the Emancipation Proclamation.

A few parallels between our modern economic situation and that of the historical New Orleans environs described by the author also caught my eye. The plantation systems’ reliance on debt to finance the land and the slavery which made it possible with its connection to lower taxes and a different role for government in these areas compared too much of the country. Hmmm? Financial Crisis anyone? The relative underdevelopment of transportation, education, and other infrastructure are also illustrative in the low tax plantation focused world. Do we see any of this today?   This inspired me to write the following poem.


A heavy brooding feeling has stayed with me some days after the reading of this book.

A brooding feeling grows.

Drawing the mind down

Into the darker abyss

That lurks beneath will

A thousand histories of stupidity

Call out with their dream of forgetfulness.

Do what you do.

It is what it is.

That is the way the world is.

The numb dreamer within

Lies gulliverian among innumerable ropes.

Routine is decreed truth

Law and power are deemed right

Does a rebel inspire?

Does a martyr?

A CEO?

A lover?

Clouded by the mist of time

We seek our past in the future

Unwittingly creating paradoxes which

Our ignorance name “Truth” and “the way it has always been.”

You look out and forget that you see yourself

A wrinkle in the dream makes the face strange

A ruse that makes a fence out of a mirror.

The dreamer’s delirium threatens .

How long can you destroy yourself?

Nearly 52 years to the day. Did Abe celebrate the anniversary

With trembling pen?

Giving what he had no right to give or withhold.

Did he know the slaves were setting

Themselves free before the emancipation deemed it so?

Beginning the march toward peace

That would continue eight score and ten years hence.

When will I be free?

Hope rears its destructive head again

It has been two years and five months since I left my social work position. During that time I have learned a good deal. I have been exposed, thoroughly exposed, to perspectives of the world that I had only viewed from a distance. Economics, business, profit margins, investment, and competitive landscapes are the coin of the realm in that world.

I have spoken with countless people on the phone involved in various aspects of “industry.” A few have helped keep my faith in humanity alive. They have stretched out a hand to me. They have shared their experience. Often they cited the awareness that, “Someone else helped me. Today, I have a chance to help you.” And they do. They choose to be generous with their time which in corporate accounting may value one of their hours at more than the value of my whole day. Sometimes I hear a wise humility. Other times a calm self assuredness. Other times there is brusqueness. A few value themselves and their time as outweighing the responsibility to treat me as a human being.

In short it is a microcosm of all of the complexities of the world. It is not my contact with this “new world” that is the source of my interior turmoil. I  feel like a traitor because commuting, fatigue, child care, work and inertia have made it easy to stay away from something. Something that I never wanted to lose contact with. Something that shaped who I am and laid the foundation for my view of the world: people living at the bottom of our social order.

Some people will tell you they saw the face of Jesus in some of the people they served. I can’t say I ever saw the face of Jesus on anyone, but I did experience community. I realized the limits and possibilities of personal responsibility as well as the joys and burdens of brotherhood.

Sitting with a schizophrenic in a basement drop in center while she was dressed in a duck suit and smelling of urine is not something you easily forget, and she  is not someone who can fail to change you.  I remember her furtive glance at the others drinking their coffee. Some huddling over garbage bags holding their belongings. Many wore stained and torn clothing. She gave me a fleeting smile and a quick hug that stayed with me in many ways through the morning.   

I worked for months with another man struggling in the initial stages of HIV and some dementia. Memory, emotion, and routine swirled. How long had his life meandered? He told me that I was an angel sent by God to help him get better. Who was I to say that I wasn’t sent for that purpose? He believed it.

In the midst of these men and women, I was continually reminded of hope. Was it the life in the midst of all the supposed problems? Was it the laughter even without a car or a home? Was it the thank you for a simple cup of coffee and a short conversation? I don’t know.

Ironically, driving to work and going to the grocery store sometimes I lose that a little bit. I slip back into the self-contained circle of myself and my family. I try to remember to smile at a stranger and to reach out to my friends. Why does it always seem like there is too much to do?

Tonight I met friends at Humble wine bar in the short window of time after work and just before the kid’s bed time. The available time was short for a drink and an appetizer. When I arrived they had already been there for some time.  One was returning to medical school. Another spoke of the excitement and opportunity at a new job while a third spoke of labor abuses and fair trade. I had to ask as my heart stirred, “Do you still think you can have a meaningful job and change the world?”

They all said yes. They said it without pretense, irony, or mockery. It was a delightful moment in the short evening.

 I called my wife, and the boys weren’t in bed yet.

  I decided I did not want to miss putting them to bed. I hurried out to the car smiling. I moved quickly toward the side door of the house. I bounded up the steps and heard Charlie running to meet me at the door. I drank in his greeting and smile while tasting the exotic euphoria of that rare elixir- HOPE.

The time for mystery and adventure is over.

I have spent years of my life seeking out ways to enter into mystery and adventure. My first adventures were in religion and in reading fiction. Years later I left home to attend boarding school. Another call took me to the seminary. I traveled to Guatemala to immerse myself in Spanish. After the priesthood, social work gave me the opportunity for countless adventures. I finished writing my book. I traveled through Europe, Southeast Asia, South America, and Central America with my wife.  This was followed be a return to school and the challenge of multivariate calculus as I neared forty.  After finishing school for the third time, maybe my time for mystery and adventure was over.

Now I go to work each day from 8:30 to 5. I help change diapers and cook dinners for a two and a half year old and a one year old. Grocery store trips and potty breaks are my most common weekend activities. Travel shows help put my one year old to sleep. I am 41 and have other people and practical concerns which need to be focused on. Rent and health-care premiums preoccupy me. Any trip involving plane fare may not be in the cards for a while.

Today I realized the perspective I gave in that last paragraph is nonsense.

Watching my boy grow up for two and a half years has finally pressed through onto my consciousness that he is a mystery perhaps more intoxicating than any I have known. Even though his body is not full grown and his experience of the world is limited, he has ideas and desires of his own. God’s path for him is already twisting and turning in directions toward destinations unknown and beyond my control.

Yesterday, I said to him 3,000 times, “Be careful” as he raced about the house playing ball and climbing onto his stool to wash dishes. After one trip down the sledding hill, he was begging me, “All the way. WAY UP THERE, this time daddy.” His little boots slipped on the slippery snow. He rolled to the side a little as he lay in the snow and smiled at me.  I DID take him up higher the second time.

 I admonished him to be careful as I pulled on his pants while he did his best impersonation of a trout pulled from a raging river. This little wiggling and writhing game had already garnered him one rough fall and a head smacked on the floor when he lost his balance with two tiny feet stuck in the bottom of his pj’s.  Why did he say he didn’t need to go potty and then promptly wet his pants.

My expectation that this shouldn’t happen anymore was ruining a little sliver of my day with him. Just underneath the skin my stomach churned. A tangle of frustration and anger flooded me as I looked into my little boys blue eyes. At that moment, he saw his one year old brother climbing toward the edge of the couch and sprinted over to protect him. “Be careful, Bubba. This is too high. You can fall and bust your coconut.” He waved his little hand in front of his brother showing him he should back up. What do you do with that?

He is a mystery. A human miniature of love, desire, will and community. He is a mystery- something that had always thrilled my soul. Another piece clicked into place. Hadn’t he always thrilled my soul? From the day of his birth, riding with him in the ambulance to the downtown NICU, my heart thrilled with the reality of his fragile little life.  I am immersed with him in our little family 24 hours a day. No pilgrimage required. No determined meditation needed to open myself and prepare for the encounter. He chases after me. He wakes up when the first rays of the sun push over the horizon and start to light his room. At that moment, he comes in to wake me. “Dad, it’s morning.” No fear of missing the appointed hour of meeting the beloved in prayer. The prayer seeks me out. “Dad, come play with me.” My heart thrills.

I think it is time.

Time to stop telling him to be careful.

Time for me to stop being careful.

Time to do what I have disciplined myself for and practiced doing for decades.

 Time to stop holding back and let go.

Time to fall into the mystery.

Time to be swallowed by love and thrill in the presence of the familiar little mystery that is always seeking me.

Seeking Liminality- Another view on Travel

Seeking Liminality- Another view on Travel (sorry if you checked this when the format was not readable!)

This is from Wikipedia. (  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality )

“Liminality. In anthropology (from the Latin world limen, meaning “a threshold”) is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status bt have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete. During a rituals luminal stage, participants “stand at the threshold” between their previous way of structuring their identity, time, or community, and a new way, which the ritual establishes.

The concept of liminality was first developed in the early 20^th century by anthropologist Arnold van Gennep and later taken up by Victor Turner. More recently usage of the term has broadened to describe political and cultural change as well as rituals. During luminal periods of all kinds, social hierarchies may be reversed or temporarily dissolved, continuity of tradition may become uncertain, and future outcomes once taken for granted may be thrown into doubt. The dissolution of order during liminality creates a fluid, malleable situation that enables new institutions and customs to become established.”

For footnotes see Wikipedia page.

Sorry for the long introduction, and a quoted one at that. The topic made it necessary. I am always scanning travel blogs, and I discovered Travelerspoint had begun a section on “Travel Philosophy.”  Since travel is often on my mind (blogged about in previous post titled “HegeMoney- One thing I learned traveling around the world.” Dated August 18, 2013. ) I decided to revisit the topic. I tried to delve a little deeper into the dynamics of why I craved travel. Travel shows and books about travelers also substitute here. A significant factor in my passion for travel is my experience of liminality through travel. This experience comes to bear from many directions.

First, liminality of path. Every country, town, culture you visit has its own history. It has arrived in the present moment through a serious of conscious choices, accidental events, historical figures, religious and political sensibilities. (To a lesser degree this is true even with cities and states in my own country compared to my own. It isn’t necessary to leave the country.) Coming to a sense of their historical journey gives a “sense of the other side of the threshold.” Depending on your ability to empathize and the distance between your culture and theirs, this can be a very emotional and disorienting experience.

 Second, liminality of time. I often find a glimmer of resemblance with pieces of my past or with pieces of human history which still live in other places. This could be something as simple as places where washing is done in the river to something as deep as religious ceremonies and festivals engaged in whole-heartedly. This time liminality stretches my awareness beyond my present time and moment. It doesn’t mean that “their moment” is old fashioned or that we are “better” or “further along.” These time experiences touch me because sometimes they tap into my own deep longing. Not all of these time liminalities are good. Some of them have serious negative effects- for example, sometimes lack of access to the most current technology to fight illness and provide clean water has a serious downside. A downside which can include sickness and even death.  Whether positive or negative, this experience of liminal time reminds me of my mortality and of the mysterious flow of time.

Third, liminality of perspective. Prepare yourselves for a shocker- “Not everyone thinks like you do.” I know. Hard to believe. Especially for those of us surrounded by the Hollywood machine and the steady drumbeat of US media. There is a whole world out there- a world where using a thinly veiled “Chinese” enemy may destroy a movie’s chances to be a global hit. It is also a world where 1.5 billion people name Mohamed as their prophet and nearly a billion people identify as Hindus. Their perspective is shaped by the history of their people and their political organization. In traveling, if you let yourself you might be able to get the sense of what it is like to live in a different world not just to walk in their shoes.

Liminality is not just the romantic vision of another culture. It isn’t just voyeurism- you don’t just come to see something. It isn’t “the grass being greener on the other side of the fence” and thinking what they have is better. You can come face to face with the mystery of people, places and culture. There are possibly more things that you won’t understand than how many you will. But not understanding does not prevent you from sharing. If you are the kind of person who seeks it and who is open to it, these liminal experiences can be truly transcendent. They can pull you beyond yourself into a union with the wider world. It can be the first step not just to “loving travel” or “adventure” but experiencing love itself.

Next entry: The Role of Travel as Ritual in seeking Liminality 

The Perfect Place to Be

My face hurt. The air was brutally cold, but “Light Up Lakewood” would still go on. The side-street parking that I found left more than a short walk to the festivities. My generic smart- phone confirmed my tardiness. I guess a giant blow up slide would have to wait.

I found an open door into the large hall in the center of town. Children bundled in gigantic puffy coats tossed bean-bags onto squares marked with prizes. Volunteers smiled and handed out candy. There was no giant slide.

I spotted a young woman who appeared to be giving directions. “I’m here to help with the giant slide?” I offered with a hint of questioning. “Oh yes, they are just getting ready to set it up!”

So much for being late. Three young men wrestled with giant plastic bundles. They pushed and tugged as they man-handled the slide through the double doors. Business-like, they opened them and connected the large blower. Soon, flat formless plastic began to rise in an amorphous bulge in the middle of the auditorium. The massive peak of the slide barely fit.

Plastic. Huge. Majestic.  Children began to hover nearby. The erectors of this modern marvel briefed me on the procedures. Shoes off. Feet first. No flips. Make sure there is only one person coming down the slide at a time. Little did I know that these words would become my mantra for the next two hours. Oh yeah, and If it starts deflating re-attach the blower.  Okay, I can handle this.

Most of the time, I was just repeating cautious phrases and helping kids wait patiently before climbing the gigantic slide. There were a couple cuddly moments with big brothers helping little sisters climb, and a couple cuddly moments of mom’s (below the weight limit of course) sliding down with their little people.

After briefing my replacement, I hurried home hoping the reindeer and sled dogs would still be there when we got back. We bundled up the two year old and the baby as fast as we could, which is to say that it took us quite a while. We wanted to bring them out to see the lights and animals. I managed to get the baby’s coat on and bundle his blankets over and around the car seat. After another few minutes, mittens were on as well.  His cute Peruvian hat snugly pulled on his little bald head. He was adorable! Charlie wore his new winter coat and the “Wisconsin Badger” hat provided by his aunt.  Mysteriously, by the time we were at the car, one of the baby’s mittens was gone, and after five minutes in the car the hat was off too!

 The whole time I was hoping that we would be able to find parking close enough to arrive before the reindeer were taken home or the sled dogs headed for the hills. Luckily the spot I scouted out was still there when we returned. I unfolded the stroller while my wife re-hatted and re- mittened the baby. The car seat released from it’s base and locked into the stroller. We were on our way. The quiet hum of a crowd moving in the cold filled the air.

There were several stages with live music. Steamy vapor rose from the tables selling hot chocolate and kettle corn. We made our way through the crowd to where the corral held the reindeer. They did not seem quite as tall as the claymation Santa shows make them out to be, but hey Santa is supposed to be an elf too? My two year old  had no problem accepting them. I have pictures of my badge- hat-wearing son in front of the reindeer to prove it. We stopped to enjoy some music. We bought a led light “wand” and a bag of kettle corn before slowly making our way toward the sled dogs. Compared to my little boy the dogs did seem gigantic. One look in their direction and he was leaping into my arms. Note to self -“Giant dogs do not seem overly cute to a three feet tall child.”

At this point, my wife and I were starting to get hungry. Our newly opened wine bar was only a half a block away, so we made our move. Luckily, the hostess said our wait wouldn’t be long. It wasn’t. The smiling young lady pulled up a high chair, and we settled in for our snacks. Our order was brief and to the point- Two glasses of Malbec, cheese plate, and fire roasted pizza. The atmosphere was warm inside and filled with the pleasant holiday murmur.

The cheese plate and wine arrived quickly. My two year old loves cheese with the added bonus that grown-ups love to see a two year old sitting very seriously with a gourmet cheese gnosh. Another young couple sat one table over. Mikey caught the woman’s eyes and made flirting sidelong smiles in her direction. We struck up a small conversation.  “Mine are all at home. They are a little older, but we needed a date!”  she said. We exchanged pleasantries regarding the merits of Lakewood entertainment between bites of the cheese plate.

A short time later, Mikey began to cry.  I walked around a little while quietly singing in his ear. A fairly large group that had just been seated nearby watched us. The group consisted of about five women in their sixties and a couple of men. “How old is he?” one woman asked.

 “Almost one.”

“Poor little guy. We are here for a baptism, we miss NE Ohio.” We chatted a little more before I turned to make a few more small laps around the room.

Mikey was starting to calm down but was still upset. The same woman gathered her courage  and intercepted us on our lap. “If you don’t mind, I can give it a try. I am a grandma in withdrawal, and I hate to see the poor little guy cry!” Without a protest or a whimper Mikey dove into the lady’s arms. He snuggled into the fuzzy collar around her neck.  She started singing softly and his eyelids began to flutter.  A few minutes later he was snoring in her arms.

Our pizza came a short time later. The crust was perfectly crisp and the toppings nicely melted and hot. We chit chatted with the couple and the baptism party. I asked the proxy baby-holding lady if her arms were tired. Smiling, she said, “Not quite yet. I would love to hold him for a few more minutes if you don’t mind. You three can relax and eat in peace.”  We enjoyed our pizza and  retrieved our baby. After sitting for a few moments more of relaxation, we decided to brave the cold and journey home which was all of three quarters of a mile.

 Well wishes were exchanged. An evening was very much enjoyed. The atmosphere at Humble Wine bar had cut the chill, and the night was a success.

Lakewood is the perfect place for us to be.

Surprised by inspiration!

You never know where or when inspiration will find you

I don’t always pay attention my wife will tell you. Other times, something catches my attention and won’t let go.

                That happened to me recently.  I had gone to take my son in for his well check.  The waiting room was nearly empty. The only other people there were a mom and her little boy. He looked a little bit younger than Charlie. As is sometimes the case, we struck up a conversation. She told me that she had arrived nearly an hour early.  She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and I noticed that she had a hearing aid. She explained matter-of-factly that she didn’t have transportation of her own and she didn’t want to take chances on bus connections. “My boy’s appointments are too important.  I have to make sure he gets here and that he is doing good.”

“Maybe they can take you in first or they’ll be running ahead of schedule,” I tried to offer helpfully.

“I don’t mind. I am just glad to be here with him. Do you know that when I was little they told my parents I wouldn’t even live long enough to grow up! ”

Her son and mine were looking at each other across the table of toys in the office.  One was rolling a car and the other was ‘galloping” a toy horse. She had her bag of things for her son just like I had mine. She smiled, and her son saw her and smiled back.

In my imagination, I could see the doctors huddled around the little baby, the parents holding her fearfully. The white-coated man probably began apologetically.

“I’m so sorry. She probably won’t live past the age of ten.”

Remembering how I felt with my son in the NICU, I can imagine the father’s eyes wetting. Maybe he cried silently with quick hot tears running down his cheeks. Maybe the mother sobbed or screamed. Maybe she was silent. The little baby girl’s health issue remained a mystery to me. I don’t think it really matters what it was.  That baby didn’t know she faced long odds, but she still overcame them.

                 I don’t know the young mother’s details. I barely met her, but when I thought about her at home that night I was inspired. A life that wasn’t even supposed to happen but did. Here she was: a survivor. She had grown up. She was a mom. She made sacrifices to make sure her son was doing well.  Here was a hero that had never walked out in front of a cheering crowd at a stadium. She never made a billion dollars or appeared on the cover of a magazine.

How many people walk in our midst every day that could inspire us? People with stories of their own that are very different from ours? Different joys? Different struggles? But they are still our brothers and sisters that can inspire.

                Do you have a story of someone that surprised you with inspiration? 

I would like to know about it: Michael.floreth@gmail.com.

My boy is not always a snuggler

My boy is not always a snuggler.

It was a very busy social week for my two year old. His social calendar fills up so fast!

It looked something like this:      Thursday – meet at library with mom’s group to speak Spanish

                                                                Friday – meet with mom’s friend and his little friend K to play

                                                                Saturday – playdate, cook-out and hot tub with A &A and family.

                                                                Sunday – Visit and pizza with family in Medina.

Needless to say the boy slept hard on Sunday night. On the down-side, so much kid-time leads to a large increase in the chances of getting the sniffles. This is especially true in the heart of back to school season. All the kids are sharing the germs that summer had kept apart until now! Or possibly it could be the change in weather and an allergies. Regardless of source, he had a little sniffle already on Sunday evening as he got ready for bed.

Which brings me to today. Monday. This morning at about 6AM, I heard the ever so light sound of a two year old's steps at the foot of my bed. His cheeks were a little flushed (not uncommon when he is waking up) and he was sniffling. His eyes still looked bleary, so I had pity on the little guy, right?

“Come here bubba,” I said as I reached out to him. Wordlessly he held out his arms for me to pull him up into bed. His eyes were already closing as I lifted him through the air. He was forming into a compact sleeping curl as he neared the surface of the bed. By the time I had landed him, he was already sleeping hard again with a small string of drool trailing his cheek. Subconsciously, he burrowed into my side and wiggled to get comfortable.

About an hour later, I carried an infant and was trailed by the two year old down the hall to the kitchen for breakfast while mom got a few moments of uninterrupted sleep. The two year old, Charlie, moved slow and unsteady into the living room which is a marked contrast to his usual high energy sprint.

Despite being a little off his game, he behaved like a champ this morning. #1 on the potty-check. No bopping little brother – check. No waking up mom before he’s allowed – check. He had another big day on tap...adventures with mom and little brother! After I had headed off to work, early reports from mom were good…he went on the big potty as requested at mid-morning. When I checked in with mom at mid-afternoon the reports were excellent. Big adventures and good behavior!

When I got from work at 5:40 the house was completely quiet. If they were napping now it could be a bad sign. Poking my head in the bedroom, I saw my wife and the infant sleeping. Which meant that Charlie was still sleeping in his room. I read for about thirty minutes before I heard a barely audible whimper from the two-year old's room. I waited just a moment to make sure it wasn’t a “roll –over and go back to sleep whimper”. It was not.

In his room, a very disoriented boy sat bolt upright. Now he was crying. “It’s okay. Are you ready to wake up?”

“No!” and the crying intensified.

“Do you need a drink?”

“NooooO!”

In my most reassuring voice I began trying to soothe him. “You’re okay. It’s all right. You can lay back down.” The cry became a little frantic with this so I shifted tactics.

“Do you want me to open your closet door a little and let in some light?”

“Yes, please!” Really..., he said please in between the sniffs and gasps.

I walked to the closet and pulled the door open. Now I could see his red cheeks and the tears streaming down them.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

“Yes!” With that, I scooped up the boy and his blanket into my arms. I walked around the living room for a while with him clinging to me. His wispy hair pressed against my neck and one arm draped loosely over my shoulder. He motioned to the couch where I set him down.

After a little time, he began to come around enough to tell me about the new bouncy ball he had gotten.

“Where is it?”

“Under the couch, daddy!”

Easy prey for a daddy with long arms. A quick look and a scoop and the bouncy ball was clutched firmly in skinny two year old fingers. Now, he was smiling as he held the ball to his side. “Let’s go outside, dad. Play ball.”

“Why not I thought to myself? Why not?”

We got on our jackets and shoes, still interrupted by minor break downs and whimpering. Should I have kept him inside because of his sniffles…Ach, I couldn’t do it. At the top of the stairs he handed me the bouncy ball and took my hand. Methodically we descended and then headed to the park across the street.

It was cool and windy. I carried him across the street and deposited him safely on the sidewalk in the park. He broke into his characteristic sprint. His little arms swinging like a steam locomotive working a steep grade he ran about twenty yards. Then he stopped and asked me to put on his stocking cap... which I did.

He ran a little more. We bounced and kicked the ball. We made our way past the kids practicing soccer.

And then it happened. “Daddy, hold me.” Then a little more plaintively, “Hold me, daddy.” This sometimes happens in the park so I wasn’t too surprised. Another scoop and I had a two year old around my neck.

“Do you want to run now?” Usually, a minute of being held is enough for him

“No daddy. Hold me.”

He snuggled his head against me. The wind off the lake blew vigorously.

I sang a song with made up words softly into his ear. I'm not sure why. I used to make up songs for him all the time. This song was about a loved little boy with a sniffle. A little boy that loves to run. Who just got a bouncy ball. Memories of that little boy huddled close to my chest in the NICU welled up. Memories of a little boy that could only sleep if we held him followed in quick succession. Drives for feedings and his first tear flashed in my mind’s eye. First steps. First falls. Wild giggles and his bright blue eyes. A toe lit by an oxygen monitor in the hospital.  Intense realization bore upon me that my boy was still all those little boy moments and baby moments and infant moments even as he snuggled in at two years old. The million past moments and the present fused in a white hot now. That little boy felt as solid and real as the whole world.

 My boy is not always a snuggler, but he was today.

I paused in my improvised song to take a deep breath. A few hot tears ran down my cheeks. The wind pounded against my ears, and a small soft voice continued the song, “and the little boy likes to kick the bouncy ball.”

 I was glad it was so windy. That could always be an excuse.

I am a racist. United States of America fifty years after the dream.

I am a racist

This is not an argument for being racist. This is a description of why I think I am a racist and why many of you probably are as well.

In the lead up to the 50^th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s “I have a Dream” speech there was extensive discussion of the state of racial affairs, equality, and justice. I found several points from Up With Steve Kornacki’s  to be especially insightful.

First several truths. The wage gap, life expectancy gap, education gap, infant mortality gap, and death penalty gap still exist in the United States of America in 2013. In each of these cases, studies show that race is a significant factor for outcomes in every area previously mentioned. Second, our schools are nearly as segregated now as they were before “Brown v. Board of Education.”

A great piece from Christian Science Monitor on "How far we have come."
http://www.csmonitor.com/Photo-Galleries/Infographics/Race-equality-in-America-How-far-have-we-come#720435

So then, what is a racist and what do the previously repeated truths about our American society have to do with racism.  One of the participants in the panel, outlined his insightful train of thought in roughly this way.  If I am a man involved in public affairs involved in the exchange of and debate with others of differing opinions I may find myself confronted by someone pushing a policy that I consider racist. Do I call this man a racist? Not necessarily. Something else needs to happen. The motivation for the policy may not be race. I should endeavor by clear discussion to show him that the intended policy has disproportionate and unequal effects on different races. If after this he continues pushing for and supporting his policy on specious grounds then I have no choice but to determine that he is a racist. A person that continually supports policies that disproportionately affect any one race is a racist.

A second panelist, joined the discussion at this point. “It may however not prove advantageous to call the person a racist. It may not be productive and in the end not lead toward better solutions.”

I believe the second point brings out the underlying tension between intentional and accidental racism. I think most of us would err to the side that says unless someone pursues a course of action specifically to harm or deny a good to a specific race they are not racist. On the other hand, I think the time has arrived for us to move toward the higher standard offered by the first panelist.

I spent some time reflecting on race this week. First, I thought of moments when meeting or even passing by others of a different race I have been more nervous. Let me be blunt. In walking past a group of African-Americans I have felt differently than I would toward a group of white kids. I am not even sure what the proper terms to express that reality are. I also thought about my support of systems of education and economics that undoubtedly produce racist outcomes. Countless studies show that many of the standardized tests that shape education are racially biased. I know employees of different races still are not paid equally for experience and qualifications. I know that being white opens doors for me that are closed to others. I know that I am involved with both of these types of offenses. The stock protestation that “I have black friends” is of no consolation or defense of this.

After fifty years of hearing about the dream it is time to raise the bar. The countless people of color who struggled for the decades leading up to to the civil rights act demand it. The great number of Caucasians, Asians, Latinos, Native Americans and others that joined them demand it.  It is time to raise the bar. If you support policies that proaogate these unjust outcomes between races you are a racist.

I can’t stop being a racist by myself. I need neighbors and a community that help me form the relationships and friendships where I will no longer see people of a different race automatically as “the other.” The fear inspiring other who we do not know so often lies at the root of the “unintentional racist.” You may not go out of your way to harm them, but you certainly will not join the fight to help them.

It is time for us to be honest. Fifty years later. We all must fight to form communities of justice. We must fight to tear down institutions that discriminate without speaking the word “race” or “black” or “African-American” out loud. In our struggle to better our country we can all rise together, but to do this the forces that pit us against one another must be brought to light and overcome.

Fifty years is long enough.  

Time-Warp and Soul and Friends

Time-Warp and Soul and Friends

This Sunday, I replaced a burst tire on a scoot bike for my two year-old. A friend at work generously gave it to me. It involved a small amount of sweat, some strategy, and a little skill. After I carried the little bike up into our second floor flat, my son beamed and hopped as he chanted, “My bike. My bike.”  Carefully balancing him on the bike, I pushed him back and forth through the living room and dining room. His sense of excitement did not dim. Sometimes a friend appears in an unexpected place with an unasked for gift. This shook my consciousness just enough to open a crack for a new perspective to work its way into my mind.

  

Later in the park across the street from my house, a free concert drew hundreds of listeners. I was struck by the turn-out as well as the planning of the city of Lakewood that makes events and uses of public space a priority. A strong sense of community flowed from the gathering. The crowd included grandparents with walkers down to children in strollers and my baby in my arms. Opportunities for soul and roots are liable to pop up at any time. A strange feeling of witnessing a piece of American nostalgia hovered in the back of my mind as a Souza March bounced down from the band-shell and washed over the crowd. The nostalgia lent the event a sense of purpose not a sense of backwardness.

Finally, at the close of the evening a college friend called. He asked some insightful questions and helped me strengthen my commitment to be more open to forming roots of my own and holding myself accountable for making choices that increase the soul in my own life. The word “friend” peppered the conversation that lasted several hours. I felt challenged to work discovering and creating what I wanted rather than hunting for it in travel. Travel, while enriching, does not erase the weaknesses the traveler brings in his own soul.

Travel helps me be open to people. In the routine of daily life, work, and family it is easy for me to walk past people and hard to take the time to hear about the people and things that give meaning to their lives. Also, a clueless traveler is often afforded a courtesy and people may share with them what they may not share with a neighbor. Maybe a traveler is given the benefit of the doubt precisely because their travel acts as in indicator of open-ness to their culture and life. Maybe cross-cultural travelers are forgiven for breaking the normal boundaries of curiosity. Who knows?

So how do I cultivate my sense of travelers open-ness at home?

How do I nurture a welcoming personality that lets people know I will value what they share even if and especially if their view and life is different than mine?

Do I create a space that allows for sharing without placing my demands or expectations on others?

Do I make the effort to engage with others who share these interests with me or do I keep my interests to myself?

Strong questions for someone who prides himself on being mindful and open to others.

Any thoughts or tips?...I am humbling waiting.

In this light I would like to share a link with a good family travel blog I found...

http://www.fourdotsonthemap.com/

HegeMoney- One thing I learned traveling around the world.

In the last four months, my international travel itch has returned.  My first trip outside the United States consisted of a month long trip to study Spanish in Guatemala. Friends questioned me regarding the safety of the endeavor.  Online touts and ex-alumni of Guatemalan language schools emphasized the clarity and quality of Spanish spoke as well as individual attention and affordability.

What I experienced there affected me more deeply than the language which I loved. The teachers in the school not only spoke Spanish but most of them spoke an indigenous language as well.  I encountered and came to know real human beings from another country. I encountered a country with a history, present, and future. For the first time, I smelled the dignity and soul of another land.

I have taken to watching a couple travel shows to scratch this resurgent travel itch. I enjoy them, but they continually beg the question: What is it about travel that draws me?  I have come up with four answers that cover most of what I enjoy. Some of it positive and some of it not so much, but like many things the human experience is never totally pure or clear. First, I value the encounter of authentic people and cultures …what I will call “soul” or “roots”.  Second, I believe travel offers the opportunity for the traveler to enter a liminal space which allows one to see things from a new and unique perspective.  Third, my travels often allow me to encounter life with a level of technology and insulation stripped away. This could be described as quaint by some, primitive by others, or even like the good old days. Finally, travel offers in a heightened and compressed space the opportunity to appreciate the unique and special aspect of my life and the lives of those I meet.

This all brings me to a fundamental question of dignity and intention that Anthony Bourdain summed up so well in the episode where he visited Laos. “What if by doing our job well we hasten the destruction of that which we love?”  Ah, that struck me. It has always been something I feared. You can never go home again and you can never return to a place you visited and expect that it has remain unchanged.

There are many reasons for this. The first and most positive  being the transformation that can occur within the visitor and the host. There are other more insidious changes that can arise. One deals with money and the tensions it brings. “Ah, would you want to rob someone in a developing or third world country of the chance to have a better job or a tv?” questioned one economics professor. Unfortunately I fear that the choices offered each day can be more harmful and long lived than a tv or job might indicate. Possibly more so for citizens of  “undeveloped”  countries than they are for those in developed countries.

I fear this because what I have discovered that I treasure and value most in my travels is the “soul” and rootedness that I find still present in certain places. As I look back on the more than 60,000 miles I have traveled this is the surest indicator of my impression of a country. This is probably because I continue to feel challenged by the sense of rootlessness and soullessness I find in my own life.  I don’t think it is coincidental that “world happiness rankings” are filled with “less developed” countries who are happier. In my travels I would say this is true on the individual level as well. Many “less developed countries” are filled with happier people. Not all countries of course and not all people. This is also not to glorify the “death dealing” poverty that many face every day. These I believe are separate issues.

The money itself carries power and many of the implicit assumptions of a  “modern developed” economy. Even if students and travelers arrive without an agenda their presence and money subtly shift and change the opportunities and choices that everyone else encounters. In economics this is called a “market distortion” and is usually when used in terms of the government buying or subsidizing a service. It could be applied in this situation as well since these “foreign” demands are not indigenous to or arising from within the local market. The assumption of our current system is that an “indigenous market” only has value to the extent that it delivers a greater amount of utility or return to someone, but how can you measure the value or even the presence of “roots” or “soul”.

                I would not want to take away any person’s right to choose that job or that tv, but as a rootless,  cultureless denizen of the developed market I would like to share with them what I see in their lives and ask them what they see in mine. Then they could choose, and I would remind them that they will choose again tomorrow and the next day because the future arrives everyday as the sun rises.

Beginning, Middle, or End?

Beginning, middle, or end?

It was nearly a year ago that I began working as an analyst at Freedonia Custom Research. I had just graduated from the Masters Program in Economics at Cleveland State. The excitement of beginning work as an economist thrilled me. My wife was four months pregnant. My oldest son celebrated his first birthday a month earlier.
So was this the beginning, middle, or end? An even better question, the beginning, middle, or end of what?
One Saturday afternoon, my wife suggested we call our trusty sitter so that we could "go on a date."  Luckily our sitter was available...
My wife and I ordered twin medium cappucino's and settled in at one of the tables in our local coffee shop. She pulled out two index cards and handed me one. "On one side write your dreams accomplished, and on the other side write dreamss you still want to accomplish." Her eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief.
My list of dreams accomplished looked like this...
                                             finish my book
                                             have a great family
                                             go on a world trip/adventure and connect with people
                                                            (blog here... http://tourdeflor.travellerspoint.com/toc/
                                              have a great marriage
                                              find a job
                                             be dedicated to my spiritual life

My list of  dreams to be accomplished looked like this...
                                              Publish my book
                                              have more adventures with my family
                                              start my own business
                                              stay in closer contact with my extended family
                                               play more
                                               see a stage of the Tour de France.

Over the last year, my wife and I have begun having more adventures with the family. Substantial progress has been made on this dream. We took the boys tent camping for the first time. We visited the Toledo Zoo with my Aunt Lauren and Uncle Fred. FYI, the hippoquarium is a winner!  We  have also been visiting the Catholic Churches for the Diocese of Cleveland pilgrimmage.  more on this to come and will be appearing here...http://florethusa.travellerspoint.com/

Another dream I am well on my way to accomplishing is to play more. My son is constant reminder to be present and play with him. His little voice constantly pipes up, "Daddy, come play." "Daddy, over here." "Daddy, play cars." "Daddy, come this way." are just a few variations on the theme. Now his little brother at around six months has joined the chorus. The smiles and giggles are unmistakeable...the time to play with him has arrived as well.

I am trying to breathe a little more, eat a little less, enjoy a little more and worry a little less. The priest at mass last weekend had a great reminder for me. He was what I could only describe as wizened. His gray hair was thinning where it remained and tousled where it was thinning. His neck rose gauntly from the large billowy vestments.  "Why should you worry if you are moving into a future filled with God and his mercy."

Indeed, why should I worry.