Father's Day: Reflections on Family

Wendy, Dad (Denny) and Lori.  Father's Day.
Palmer, Alaska

Normally, I would not post a picture of Lori without her permission, but this is my blog and she will never read it.  I love this photo.  It captures in a second everything that I love and admire about the Stratton family.  Dad is amazing. He sold his family business when he was in his forties and moved his entire family to Alaska.  They all agreed to it, some grumbling more than others, but they chose to stick together.  They chose to be a family through thick and thin.  They treat each other with respect.  They are kind to one another.  They laugh together.  They are not a family who dwells on an individuals problems, but neither do they ignore the pain.  They are very German, and do not discuss private matters amongst outsiders, or around each other for that matter.  They embody the philosophy of stiff upper lip, and carry on with life.

My own birth family is quite a bit different.  Everything and anything is open for discussion.  Nothing is off topic.  Discussions, even arguments can occur in privacy or out in the front yard, volume turned to full, for the majority of the neighborhood to overhear.  We don't mind.  Okay, I did, but what was I to do?  We loved each other dearly, but respect of personal space was not a priority.  Your space was my space, and vice verse.  Life happened at breakneck speed, was highly dramatic, and carried on at top volume.  Our love was full tilt, and I miss it.

I love both my families.  I love the quiet, calm, content of the Stratton family, but I also love the all out, full bore, no holds barred love of my birth family.  I need both families.  I have a big soul.  I need all the love I can get.

Hanging Baskets

Lobelia and Marigolds May 2013

I learned how to make a hanging basket yesterday.  I enrolled in a class with a couple of friends, and an instructor taught us how to make a basket that will grow into a lovely garden of Lobelia and Marigold.  The concept is relatively simple, but building a beautiful basket takes patience, and attention to details.

I enjoyed making this basket.  It was completed in stages.  First, you must carefully line the metal basket with 6 mil plastic.  The bottom must be perfectly flat, and the sides gathered into neat darts that can be neither too wide nor too narrow.  The darts must not interfere with the holes that will be punched in the plastic to accommodate the flowers.

Next, you punch holes in the plastic:  four rows of holes following the pattern of the metal weave.  You place six Lobelias plantings in each row.  The technique for placing the delicate shoots is brilliant but cannot be rushed or the seedlings will be damaged.

Each row must be carefully placed, and care must be taken to pack the dirt into all of the spaces without damaging the root balls.  Open spaces will fill with water and stagnate causing rot.  The open space in the center of the flower basket is back filled with rich soil as each layer is planted.  You build from the bottom until the basket is filled with soil,  and all the Lobelias line the outside.

In the top, you plant another six Lobelia seedlings tilting them outwards, then you plant three annuals of your choosing in a triangle pattern in the center tilting these out as well to create a full effect.  We planted Marigolds.

I found the process of building the basket very relaxin; and, as I labored, I began to see each step as a metaphor for many events in my life.

For instance, the plants inserted into the sides of the basket must be staggered in the rows.  The instructor told us to place the first row left or right of center of each break in the wire partitions, then do the opposite in the next row following this spacing pattern all the way to the top.  To produce the fullest effect, to cover the open spaces in the plastic, it was critical that we staggered the plants.  Over time, the trailing Lobelias will cover the plastic.  I wish our politics could be staggered or rather offset in such a way.  Those whose political views lean right of center have their place in making decision for our communities as do those who lean left of center.  I may not agree with those whom I oppose, but my studies of nature lead me to believe that the stress created by opposing forces have produced some of natures greatest creations.  Artist understand this principle of dynamic tension, and have mimicked it in their works of art throughout the history of humankind.  The problem with dynamic tension is that it does not produce immediate results, but solve problems and fills voids over time.  Large groups of people governed as we are in this country cannot hope to make changes immediately; and, although slow change is painful. it our best hope for finding appropriate balance to all of our complex needs.  Opposing forces in politics are needed to produce the best product.  We must be willing to let the tension happen if we are to enjoy the fruits of the energy expended in the proper management of government.  Like my basket, the initial product of politics can be ugly and crude, and seem to have no function, but with time, the voids are filled, and needs are met, and beauty is made manifest.

Another thought that came to mind was how the process of making the basket continues long after the flower basket is put together.  Every step in the building process was achieved only after the completion of the previous step.  No step could stand on its own measure, and all steps had to be carried out in a precise order.  I rebelled at first.  I wanted to punch all the holes at once.  I wanted to cut my plastic off at the top at the beginning.  As I fought the process, I realized people fight order in our modern age.  Maybe the sheer press of rules leads us to rebel, and very likely we need to rebel in certain circumstances.  How do we know when to rebel? What circumstances should lead us to rebel?   I was able to curb my impatience by keeping focused on the end product:  a planter that would be ripe and full of Lobelias and Marigolds having no open spaces or exposed plastic.  In short, I knew what look I wanted as my end result.  The end result wasn't what I saw at the end of the building process, but rather, what would be produced many weeks from now.  Perhaps having a clearer goal in society of what we as citizens truly want for our communities would help us know when to stand up against unnecessary rules and when to accept the process needed to reach our goals?

Finally, after I came home, I had to set up the yard in order to be able to properly care for my labor of love, and to prepare for spring.  I hooked up the hose, pulled the angle sprayer out of the shed, and made certain to have the tools on hand to tend to the planter and the other planters that I am now inspired to build.    This planter will require a lot of tending.  The instructor was very clear to point out that Lobelias do NOT like to dry out.  She pointed out the many risks to watch out for in caring for our new charges.  In effect, our instructor utilized Risk Management:  mission accomplishment through proper management of risks.   Our mission:  to raise a beautiful garden of flowers in a hanging basket that could be reused season after season.  The risk to our mission:  improper spacing, open voids in the soil, overcrowding the plantlings, improper watering, over exposure to sunshine.  All the risk she pointed out where directly connected to the outcome of our product, the hanging gardens we envisioned.

Life happens.  Much of it rolls along with little or no planning, but much of life must be planned if we are to live comfortably and safely.  We must envision our goals, understand the supplies, equipment and procedures needed to complete them.  Only by doing so can we ever hope to be able to pin point the risks to the successful completion of our goals, and to ensure those outcomes are of the highest quality.   If we do not take the time to identify the risks, we are surely going to spend a great deal of time in anxious worry over details that may or may not be relevant to our goals.  Socrates pointed out that the only way to alleviate fear was to live the "examined life" (Plato's Republic).

Everyone has goals.  Everyone has opinions.  The expression of those opinions can be helpful or hurtful to others in our lives.  We must express ourselves, and have the patience to let others express themselves as well, but finding that fine line between self expression and inflicting pain on someone is difficult.  Perhaps when we find ourselves headed for conflict with another person, we can stop and look at our common goals, take a few moments to appreciate our common attributes, then go about the business of identifying our mutual risks.  We take our dynamic tensions, our differences, and find ways to bring life to what we wish to accomplish, the goals we share.  We produce an outcome that will surprise us.

I am looking out the window at my basket.  The beauty I see now lies in the joy of the process.  The basket (pictured above) has not bloomed, and all the raw parts are still exposed, but  I trust my instructor and her experience to help me believe that the physical beauty will come later.  I love trust, and I loved making this basket.  Whatever the outcome, I have this feeling of accomplishment, and it is absolutely worth the effort.

Half Slumber in High Winter

The dead of winter has taken hold in Anchorage.  The temperature has remained in the negatives digits for several weeks, and the landscape looks frozen and immobile.  The Bohemian Waxwings descended on our Mountain Ash trees a week ago, gorged themselves on the sour berries, then disappeared.  I have not seen them since, and have no idea to where they have fled to ride out the intemperate climate.

I get depressed during high winter.  Not depressed in "goodbye cruel world" sense where no amount of well wishes or good fortune can lift my sobbing spirits, but rather in the "everything is frozen, why must I keep moving forward" sense.  All I want is to curl up in my sheets protected from the cold to hibernate as do the bears, squirrels and other sensible animals living in the wilds of the far north.  Yes, my body wants to do as the wild things do and go into prolonged sleep until the angle of the sun portends warmer climes, and longer days. 

Though my body may wish to hibernate in the manner of my furry brethren, my mind is less eager to follow suit.  I try, but despite my best efforts to give in to the impulse of evolution and my body's internal, seasonal clock, I remain awake at night restless, feeling caged and discontent.  Our home has been, for the most part, remodeled.  All but one room are fully functional with floors, doors and fresh paint.  A hot tub awaits us in the evening on weekdays and anytime on weekends, and with no major renovations projects pressing for our attention, one has the time to be lazy.  I have not had the opportunity to do nothing for a very long time.  I should be ready at the end of the day to fling myself under the cozy warmth of the covers and blot out the world, but I cannot.  I fidget, and my thoughts, far from quieting, kick up like a glacial wind driving down a south facing slope.  

How odd to be suspended so securely between fully awake and partially asleep lacking the physical will to press forward, yet driven to continue planning, scheming, dreaming in preparation for the spring and summer.  Perhaps the bears in their dens feel the same as do I?

Risk Management for the Canine Species: Living in the Moment... In a Good Way

Dogs are absolutely the best at living in the moment, seizing the now, and being comfortable in themselves.  They seem to insist on being grounded in whatever is happening to them in the present tense.

This is Magpie pictured to the right being as comfortable in her own skin as a dog can be.  We, the moms, managed to keep her off the bed for the first four years of her life; but, as you can see, she has claimed the bed.  Maggie is a long, big dog, but she does not realize this fact.  When she needs to stretch out, she stretches out.  No questions asked, no self scrutiny, and no regrets.  She assesses the situation: open bed.  She plugs her needs into the situation:  need to stretch out on something big and soft.  She seizes the opportunity after a quick risk vs. benefit (risk = moms not present to yell at me vs. benefit = soft, cozy bed), and onto the bed she jumps and sprawls out.

Later, when the moms enter the room, and she hears the word, "no," she reacts.  No longer is her emphasis on stretching, the focus becomes staying out of hot water.  No guilt.  She just handles the crisis as it unfolds.     The moms are upset, how do I calm them down.  Oh, jump off the bed, plop down on my face, and get really cute.  Problem solved.  The word from the moms morph from "no, bad dog" into "good girl" and the universe has realigned herself.

Dogs do what they do, not out of ignorance, but out of a very sophisticated implementation of doggy risk management.  They have excellent cognitive powers of recall, i.e., extensive memories.  They remember the really important details:  the sound of the moms' car engine, the time of morning and evening feedings, that the toy has to go out of doors with them or they don't get to play.  Dogs have mastered risk management in ways that corporations that spend millions each year on the subject have not.

Dogs see the world through risk/benefit goggles, and they seem to live almost exclusively by the principle that, if the benefit of an action outweighs the risk, they will complete the action and the result will suffice for the moment.  Tomorrow, that equation may shift, and a new action will need to sought.  For instance, yesterday, the couch was totally accessible, no moms were present to scowl and to scold our big girl, Magpie.  Her need to be comfortable outweighed the risk of an adverse outcome.  Plop.  Up on the couch the big dog went.  Today however, moms took the time to flip up the cushions, limiting access to the couch, the probability that Magpie would fall off of the couch was very high.  Still no moms were present to dissuade her, but the embarrassment of a failed mount onto the couch was deemed too risky to make the attempt.  A more suitable spot by the window was chosen.  Tomorrow, the moms may get in a hurry and forget to prep the couch, and the opportunity may present itself for a nice siesta.  This line of reasoning involves a whole heap of memory and reasoning.  Guilt requires memory of a previous bad action, but guilt plays little if any part in the risk/benefit analysis process.

I am so proud of my furry children.  They have the most loving, generous natures but how can I disagree with a rationale that mirrors what I teach people in the work place each and every day; a philosophy that I myself have found immensely useful for the past twenty years?  If anything, I long to embrace their method of managing life and their success at living in the moment.

The man throwing the ashes from the bridge is my step brother, Rodney Wade.  The ashes are the remains of my father, Thomas Victor Fuller.  He died March 9, 2009.  The bridge spans a river in Lynchburg, VA where I spent my middle youth.  I hadn't seen this river for over twenty years, but I still remembered the details.  My father loved this area, and took us to the river many times as children.  I probably won't see this place again for a very long time, if ever.

I spent my entire teen years longing to return to Lynchburg, and yet, when I had the opportunity to leave Atlanta, I did not do so.  Why?  Why did I go to Alaska?

Pain.  Memories.  Ghosts.  Sadness. Resentments.

I was with my father when he died.  I treasure that experience, but oh, how I wished I had grown older around him.  I may never fully outgrow the heartbreak of losing him both before and after his death, but I can outgrow the habits that kept me cowered in fear, anger and disillusionment with my life.  I can move one, and one day I will see my father once again.  Somehow I know this.  His blood runs within my veins.

He died a happy man, and I want to carry that on in my life.

Amen.  Love you, dad.

Winter and silence in Anchorage: only when I worked out on the Aleutian Island chain, have I experienced a quiet so pronounced. The cold air absorbs the constant clamor of humanity. The noise is muted; the crisp edges smoothed into a dull whoosh that reverberates off the foothills to the east and one is reminded of the roar of bees swarming in the branches of trees. No, this is not silence, but something else entirely, yet I perceive it to be silence.

The Pace of Winter

The first snow fell, the temperature dropped to the teens, and has not risen above it since.  We have the house better settled in this season.  The heat trace is on the roof.  A ladder is nearby to help us get on the roof to shovel snow.  The new snow blower is in place and ready to handle a heavy snow.  The boiler was checked and serviced.  We have done all we do to prepare.  The cupboards could be more full, but we have enough to see us through a short emergency.  

No Quiet Spot Left to Sooth

Everywhere, every day, nothing but anger, hatred, fear, resentment.  No one can find any happiness.  It is dreary.  How does God expect anyone to find solace in the midst of all of this sadness unless one leaves the company of humankind to hide.  I do not know.

I have just seen too much.

I Want to Dance... Destination Unknown...

This stirs my imagination.  I feel young again.  Frankly, I listen to this, and feel compelled to twirl around my living room, jumping on an off the couch and the love seat as if I were eight years old watching "Get Smart" on my grandmothers black and white TV screen.

What makes certain music so powerful?  Are the Buddhist right?  Does the nervous system emit some chord that seeks harmony with other vibrations in the universe.  I do not know, but I want to dance.  I want to run until I am exhausted, until...  What?  To what point am I propelled?  To what destination am I drawn, thrust, pushed, pulled, coerced?

I am puzzled, but I want to dance.