San Francisco, part 1

Other than the few months I lived in Concord, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've been to the bay area. It's a special place. Such a unique city, with such a unique character. And that bridge. That giant masterpiece of a bridge, pure in design, elegant in character, and so jaw-droppingly beautiful. More than just a connection between the chaos of the city and the serene beauty of Marin County, that bridge serves as a poignant symbol of the power and industry of the people that built it. And, ironically enough, it has a special place in the hearts of three cowboys from Arizona.

The first of those three cowboys was my grandfather Reggie. Reggie came from a family of cowboys, mostly old Texas Rangers and their ilk, but by his time they had all settled in Arizona. Reggie did not have an easy life. He was 10 in 1929 when the stock market crashed, forcing his father out of business and spliting up the family. He and his dad took jobs with the CCC, the Civilian Conservation Corps, created by President Roosevelt to help give Americans meaningful work. The CCC was responsible for many of the improvements done to our national and state parks; my grandfather spent most of the 1930's up on Mount Graham in eastern Arizona building roads and campgrounds. In fact, he lived in a tent for over 12 years, if you include his time spent in North Africa during World War II. Somewhere in there, he got married, had a child, then left for basic training to fight the Axis. He was a Master Sargeant by the time the war was over, and a master carpenter. His job in North Africa was to build airfields for the Army Air Corps' fleet of B-24 heavy bombers. He was there for some of the first Allied raids on Axis territories. One in particular was Ploesti. The following exerpt in part describes Ploesti:

"Ploesti is to the US Air Force (successor to the US Army Air Corps) what Tarawa is to the US Marine Corps. Because a third of Germany's oil came from the Rumanian fields at Ploesti, it was the most heavily defended target in the German Reich, even more than Berlin. The air attack hoped, but failed, to achieve surprise and the result was bloody for the attackers.

They pushed their attack with a blind determination and a complete disregard of their own lives unprecedented in air warfare. The Marines at Tarawa fought like madmen because they had no choice: stranded on the beach they either advanced or died where they lay. At Ploesti, however, each and every aircrew had a choice of proceeding or aborting, and the conditions were such that no one could have blamed them for aborting - in most armies, soldiers are not expected to commit suicide when the issue is not one of life and death.

Of the 178 aircraft out, 163 made it over target. Of these 41 were lost in action, 8 in Turkey, and 5 due to miscellaneous causes. Three hundred aircrew were killed, 140 captured, and of the crew returning, over 440 were wounded. The B-24 carried a 10-man crew, so casualties ran to 55%. Only one in six bombers were in flyable condition with the mission complete. The 30% aircraft loss rate is appalling in terms of modern loss expectations, and was so even for those desperate days."

5 Medals of Honor were awarded for the Ploesti raid. In subsequent years, my father would tell me of how Grandpa Reggie would see planes start taking off from his airfields before dawn and keep taking off all day into the late afternoon, when the first ones would start returning. He said sometimes, half would come back. My Grandfather experienced a lot of death.

Eventually, the war ended, but it still took him six months to get home. Grandpa Reggie ended up circumnavigating the globe. He left the US from the east coast, sailed across the Atlantic, spent 3 years in North Africa, then sailed through the Suez canal, and across the Indian and Pacific Oceans home. He spent several weeks in Bombay, another experience he talked about often. He said he thought he grew up in poverty until he spent time in Bombay.

It was the end of that journey around the globe that forever connected him to the bridge. He was on the deck with his fellow weary countrymen as his transport ship approached the bay and sailed under the bridge. It was the first piece of America the master carpenter had seen in over 3 years. The technological grandeur of the bridge stood in stark, beautiful contrast to the primitive existence of wartime North Africa and Bombay. As he would later recount to my father, it was the most beautiful and moving sight he had ever seen. This was his homeland. This is what they fought for. Grandpa was home.

End of part 1.

Moments

There were 3 moments today. Moments like the kind that stick to your mind like a cholla hitching a ride. Except I don't really want these to go away.

The first was in the car with Natalie. I had just picked her up and we were on our way to watch the Cardinals game at Doug's house. There were going to be several people I knew, and some of their children around Natalie's age, so it was a good plan. As we were leaving the house, Nat was a bit cranky, so I turned down the CD player in the car and chatted with her for a while. That's when she started asking for ru-vick. "Daaaaaady, I want some ru-vick." She does this from time to time. She's not afraid to ask for anything, and 3-year-olds have an interesting vocabulary. It's kind of like adults singing the words to a song we can't quite make out the lyrics to, so we just sound it out.


Or maybe we just say what we want it to sound like. Like I'm sure that Nine Inch Nails song goes like this: "I got a duck shaped like a triangle...you give a toaster to Bob." Or better yet..."Like a virgin...touched for the thirty-first time!" Okay I'll stop. But it's hard to catch the meaning if that's how you hear it.

After many attemts to interpret, she finally said, "No daddy, turn the ruvick back on!".

Ah.

I get it. Turn the music back on. And then something extraordinary. She says "No, not that one". So I start skipping through the CD and she stops me at "Stay" by Oingo Boingo:

Go--Don't you go
Stay with me one more day

Stay. Stay. I wish I could sweetie. But if I do you'll lose me anyway. You need to know I'm not going anywhere. Someday you'll understand.

The second was a moment that I shared with millions of people. The Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl after winning the NFC championship today. Talk about the year of the underdog. For that matter, the decade of the underdog. The Red Sox, then the White Sox, then the Clippers making the playoffs...the list goes on. Boise State. George Mason. Utah. The list goes on. I said to myself about 15 years ago I couldn't handle the constant dissapointment of following the Cardinals. So, I said two consecutive 8 win seasons is what it would take to get me back. Well, this is season number 2 and lo and behold, they are on their way to the big one. Unreal.





Moment number 3 came as we were driving home. It was twilight and we were driving down the 51. Nat was quietly sitting in her booster seat, looking out the window at the traffic and freeway walls rushing past. She looked peaceful, content in the back of daddy's car, and probably a little tired from running around Doug's backyard and swimming with the kids.


Yeah, I said swimming. Arizona in January, gotta love it. Also gotta love pool heaters.


Anyhow, as I glanced at her, it felt like one of those moments I should be watching. So, I tilted the rear-view mirror so I could see her (I don't need to see behind me, I'm always the fastest thing on the freeway) and began absorbing what I projected she was feeling right then. There is nothing more satisfying as a parent than to watch your child when you know they are pondering things. Who knows what they actually ponder in those moments, but to see that, to feel that with them, knowing what they are doing, that they are in the act of learning...fills you with love and fear for them. Love because you feel the human connection, and you are happy that they are progressing on the human journey. That was mostly what I was feeling. But there was a small amount of fear. Fear because you know they are developing the ability to abstractly ponder the metaphysical, good and bad. And that means that someday they will have the ability, like all of us, to go to dark places with their mind.


As we pulled off the 51 and merged with the I-10, we took the carpool ramp which rises up high out of the freeway trench and provides a great view of downtown Phoenix. Right about then, as Peter Frampton was imploring his love interest to "Show me the way" on the CD player, I saw Natalie's eyes change as we came up on the ramp and she took in the view of the city. Like something I would do. And then I realized, or remembered, moments shared are greater than moments alone.

Trail Running

IS AWESOME! Well it's cool anyway. I just started running again, and have done a few trail runs. So different from running on asphalt. So different from mountain biking, yet similar. You don't have to concentrate on not falling down. We learned to run before we learned to ride, so it's a little more automatic. Which is cool, because it allows you some extra brainwidth to think about other stuff while you run. Like the scenery. Or the music on your iPod. Or life in general. Or all of the above. Brilliant.

Today D and I hit Hawes from the Usery side. I'm going to guess I ran about 4 or 5 miles, 30 minutes out (slight downhill) and about 40 back. Felt good. The whole time I felt strong, no cramps, soreness (yet) or suffering to speak of. Just a good, long-for-me trail run. Even threw in a few Fred Astaire moves off some rocks. It was cold, but I warmed up quickly, and as always, the conversation was great. In fact, and again as always, it's the type of conversation that can truly numb -or heal- the the pain caused by having to live our lives right now.

So as we run, we talk about Lance. His story. His victories. And, his detractors. Lance Armstrong, love him or hate him, is one determined MoFo. THAT dude, if anyone, figured it out, ran with it, and didn't look back. It's funny though. Someone accomplishes great things, or does something people can't understand, and all they can do is dig around to find out how he cheated. As if it's impossible or absurd to believe it might have happened just how he has repeatedly said it did. How sad are the masses. For they have obviously never felt a passion about anything deep enough to even be able to relate. Or if they have, it's been so long they don't remember.

I turned around before D. I don't want to push it as my body is readjusting back to running. Even though I went for a solid hour no problem at a good clip, I'm still feeling little muscles I didn't know were there. So, at the turn around point, we plugged in our iPods, D kept going, and I turned around. I never use an iPod when I'm on the bike. Too distracting. But while running, it's enlightening. You get into a groove, and suddenly everything becomes more clear, intense, powerful. The views of the desert, the lyrics, the undulating flow of the runner's desert trail. Ah, once again, like movies, family, good friends and good music, I've re-discovered something else that was sorely missing from my life. Another way to commune.

And...bonus...even though it probably pales in comparison to the money pit that is mountain biking, it's something else to spend money on! Woo-hoo!

Today's run ended with a Chai Latte, good music, and some immovable sunglasses. Seriously, Sophia Loren, how old are we?

God is not a lawyer

Life is white
And I am black
Jesus and his lawyer
Are coming back
Oh my darling, will you be here
Before I sputter out

-Eels, Novacaine For The Soul

I love the view of most Christians that somehow, somewhere, as we watch the DVD of our lives in front of God and the chosen, that He will be sitting there, checklist in hand, documenting all the parts where you went off course. Kind of like Santa Claus, but without the big bag of toys, or the recurring annual festivities. Just a room key at the end. I hope my room in hell has cable.

For that matter, I love even more how churches evolve. While they start with honorable intentions, (mostly) over time, they become nothing more than quick-study online law schools. They're only purpose, aside from taking your money, is to help you pass the exam. (The difference with real law schools is that those actually train you how to THINK)

And the cycle continues. They all start the same way. Some dude shows up on the scene, doesn't dig it, and starts a movement. Jesus, Martin Luther, Mohammed, Moses, Joseph Smith, even Ghandi...all the same. And as all good things do once everybody jumps on the bandwagon, the founder leaves, subsequent leaders screw it up, and it becomes a money making machine. The money changers and lawyers step in, the very ones the founders railed against in the beginning. And Mossimo shows up at Target.

Sorry, but God is not a lawyer. If he is, I just became an aetheist. Seriously, can you imagine? God and the glorious afterlife being nothing more than a lawyers convention? Shoot me now. No don't! I don't want to go to that crazy convention!

The greatest irony, and the greatest tragedy, is that all those guys found some sort of inner voice, had the stones to follow it, tried to share it, and then their subsequent organizations do everything they can to squelch everyone else's inner voice. Cie la vie.

I'm looking forward to the next revolution. Think about how amazing it could be, if you put it in the context of the Jesus story. That dude had stones. If he'd have lived today, he would be walking into the New York Stock Exchange and shutting it down in the morning, then publicly shattering the credibility of the Judicial Branch in the evening. It would be all over CNN. As would the execution, by the Legislative Branch after the Executive Branch turns a blind eye, the following morning.

God is not a lawyer. He's a parent, and not a dysfunctional one. All good parents want their children to fly, something we'd never learn if we didn't get pushed out of the nest from time to time.

Journey and Destination

The aim of life is not to arrive at the grave quietly in a well preserved body,but to slide in sideways shouting, "holy shit what a ride!". At least that's how George Carlin saw it. And George Carlin was not a flawed individual. In any way.

My friend and I had the journey vs. destination discussion again today. Last time it was a pretty serious conversation. I was thinking about the destination, my friend was more concerned with the journey. My friend opened my eyes. It's journey time for me. That much should have been obvious from the beginning. I didn't just get off one crazy train just to get on the first one that pulled into the station. No matter how perfect it seemed, there were no tickets. Not yet anyway. But I'll be first in line when they are.

But the journey vs. destination discussion doesn't end there. It can't. Too many applications. Drinking, sex, riding, careers, relationships...why do we do it? For the journey or the destination? What about addictions? Are they present because of the journey they provide...or the destination? And for that matter, what about life in general? Does it exist for the journey or the destination?

The pendulum is always swinging. Physics dictates that a pendulum will only swing as long as friction does not slow it down. Check it out. Seriously, at ASU there is this big pendulum that swings in the physical sciences building. It's like 2 stories high, and because the Earth's rotation does not affect it, it spins around on it's vertical axis once every 24 hours. So, they set up these little weights under the pendulum, like dominos, at certain angles underneath its impending path. As the Earth spins, the pendulum stays in the same place, like a gyroscope. Every so often, to prove how powerful a pendulum is, it knocks down one of the weights, and keeps moving. Pendulums are powerful, but susceptible to friction. That's why we have to wind our watches, power our clocks. If we don't the pendulum will stop. Effort. That's what keeps the pendulums swinging. Without effort, the pendulum will stop.

There are many pendulums in our lives. The spiritual pendulum. The physical pendulum. The mental pendulum. So many pendulums within us. Waxing and waning, like the phases of the moon. So I ask you...what is happiness? The ability to control those pendulums? Stop them from swinging? Or learning to ride them, like a child on a bike with the wind in her hair, finding the harmony in their inevitable dissonance? What about when two sets of pendulums come together? What if one set swings wider than the other? Should the less-developed pendulum dictate what the more developed one should do? I think not. To shackle yourself to a less developed pendulum is to sell yourself short. Why would anyone shut themselves off just to be with someone who can't understand why? Well...I did. For 10 years. 10 YEARS. If you couldn't figure it out in 10 years...buh bye.

I don't care where the pendulums are in other people's lives. They just are. Everyone has many pendulums, swinging inside. There are many pendulums that make up what you are. If you can't figure out what that means, at least humor me, but go back to school, and call me when you graduate. In the meantime, this train has left the station. This flight has left the runway. Journey vs. destination? Who cares. Journey AND destination...both are important. One without the other is like Thelma without Louise. Laurel without Hardy. Batman without Robin. Wallace without Ladmo.

Journey without Destination. Destination without Journey. How crazy is that? Embrace them both. Run with both. Don't ignore one for the other.

Journey vs. Destination is a false dichotomy.

To live for both is to really live. To really LIVE.

Luke

Luke was born yesterday. He's probably very gullable. Today is the only day that he can say that yes, in fact he was born yesterday, if someone was to ask him if he was born yesterday. Luke is my first nephew. 7-ish pounds. My little sister Ashley had a c-section (after 24+ hours of labor) yesterday morning around 8am. I went by the hospital yesterday after he was born, and the day before to offer love and support and advice to Ashley and my brother-in-law Matt, but I didn't stay long. I remember when Natalie and Ethan were born, the family rush was a bit stressful. Well, not so much for me because I was glad for the company, but for a mother in labor, you kinda just want to get it over with with minimal interruptions and definitely no pictures. But on the flip side, when it's a family member, and you've had kids of your own, you feel drawn there. Maybe because you remember how special an event it was for you to see your own flesh and blood come into the world and start their own journeys.

Speaking of journeys, Luke should have a good one. So far, his parents have done things right. I failed as a big brother though. I never had the talk with Matt, though I still should. It will be a completely different talk, but should still happen. All brothers should have the talk, as should all fathers. The purpose is to let a prospective family member know that you love and cherish your sibling. Translation: Don't screw up. The reason the discussion would be so diffferent now is because I know him better. He's still young, but he's solid. My sister is in good hands. But she still has 3 older brothers. 3 fierce brothers. 3 fierce uncles. 1 family.

We're a fierce bunch. Getting in is not easy, even as patient as we can be. There's been 3 so far that were chewed up and spit back out. Then there's the ones that are still here, 2 in the flesh, and 1 in spirit. Robbie will always be with us. He stayed, and even though he's gone, he was one of us. Angela has it. And now there are the ones that were born into it. Natalie, Ethan, Luke...the next generation, and possibly the first that will have a strong sense of identity and purpose.

But for now, Luke is new. He's innocent and perfect. Enjoy it, kiddo, cause the punches will come. But know that you got good parents, good grandparents, 3 fierce uncles, and 2 cousins that'll be there for you.

Don't ever forget that Luke. You are not alone. Your tribe will protect you. Remind you of what you are and where you came from.

Don't ever forget.

Or at least one of your fierce uncles will come by to remind you.

This is your Captain speaking

...we have reached our cruising altitude of 37000 feet and will be turning off the fasten seatbelt signs shortly. On behalf of Second Chance Airlines, our flight crew would like to welcome you aboard, and would encourage you to order from the in-flight minibar. Seriously. We have a free in-flight minibar, please take advantage of it. You'll note, we are aboard a Boeing 737-900, equipped with 2 CFM 56-7 Turbofans each capable of producing 27000+ pounds of thrust. We'll eventually be cruising at 511 miles per hour at 39000 feet. All that being said, you can just remember that we are faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and as always, your crew is dedicated to truth, justice and the American way. Have a nice flight, and thank you for choosing Second Chance Airlines.

Seems like this flight has been leveling off these past couple weeks. Sure there's still some turbulence, and I'm still learning, but the current co-pilot-trainer knows what's up. Flown these skies before. Just sets the auto-pilot and tells me not to worry. In fact, for the most part, she is back in the cabin, enjoying coffee (and probably drinks) with the crew. I got this bird in hand. And that's good. Cause if I need anything, I can just call her or one of the flight crew into the cockpit, but for now, I'm good. Flying solo. The only problems are 1) I don't know how much fuel we have and 2) I'm still not sure where we're going. Minor issues though. I can put down in any one of many places along the way, re-fuel, and take off again. My crew knows where I can put down safely and re-fuel. Eventually, so will I.

I like this crew. We are all from the same tribe, for the most part. The old co-pilot was not. That's why we are in a new 737-900. The old 737-200 crashed and burned and we were lucky to get out alive. But Second Chance Airlines gave me,well, a second chance and here I am, flying again, on my way. Every time we take off, the crew tells the passengers what to do in case of an emergency. They demonstrate how if there is a loss of cabin pressure, that these little masks will fall from the ceiling, and that it is important that everyone get their own mask fastened and the oxygen flowing before assisting anyone else. Good advice in general. If you don't have oxygen you're of no use to anyone, and will eventually pass out.

On the previous flight, the cabin de-pressurized pretty quickly. Shortly after take-off, I started gasping for air. There were no oxygen masks. I just dealt with it; we had a destination to get to. I never quite figured out what that destination was, but after a LONG takeoff and slowly getting to altitude, I realized that the co-pilot was more interested in spending time with the Air Marshall that was on board. Damn Air Marshalls. Think they know everything. It's like they have a gun, so they have to use it for something. Well like they say, when you're a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.

I got tired of being pounded on the head.

I've been solo in the cockpit now for longer than I can remember in my adult life. It's starting to feel natural. Eventually though, I'm going to have to pick up two special passengers and carry them to the right destination. Right now, my 737 is not equipped with passenger seats. Left all those on the old one, which the old co-pilot seems to be rebuilding. Good for her. Right now all I have is a much improved airframe and great in-flight and ground crews. Ultimately though, I'm going to have to set down and outfit this bird with seats and hopefully a permanent co-pilot. With a good co-pilot, I'd be able to go back and hang with the crew and passengers sometimes without worrying about crashing. Wouldn't that be nice. If we're good enough together, we may even be able to program the autopilot well enough that we could head back into the cabin and enjoy time with the crew and passengers together. Is that too much to ask?

Ah the possibilities, when you're faced with nothing but the wild blue yonder.