Facilitating proactive synergy

The change of seasons has brought a change in health about the house.

Alyssa was ill over the last weekend, so she missed her soccer Saturday and dance Monday. She's better, but still stuffed up.

Elspeth had stomach problems Monday and didn't go to school Tuesday or dance. It was odd because she hardly ate -- and she eats a ton of stuff usually -- and she was tired. She's well enough now for school but her appetite is low and she still tires easily.

Jayne's mom was quite ill today, something I expect will last a few days, at least.

I expect to be sick by the weekend because I was at a conference Tuesday and today, and the people at my table were sneezing, coughing, blowing their noses and shivering. Me? I kept getting a bloody nose all day today at the event.

This conference lasted two days at the Holland Country Club. This is the only time I'll every get there! It was sponsored by my company and its topic was, basically, how to be a better manager.

All in all, it was OK. There was lots of good stuff in it, though a lot was masked by the use of buzz words like "proactive" and "synergy." I briefly told the folks I supervise that I was planning to use some of the stuff and for them not to be alarmed if the words "win-win" pop out every now and then. They looked scared.

I don't buy into the whole "mountain top view" this workshop was selling, but I am willing to take what I see as useful tools from it. Afterall, everything is a mix of sense and nonsense. We just have to pick out the sense.

My compass

As I was taking in this conference, I thought of my "compass," as the conference host called it. I've been aware of my guiding principles for many years. Now, I don't always stick to them because I am learning as I go along, but I try.

My overall beliefs, the guidelines I have for day-to-day living, for raising children, for the relationship with my wife, my family and friends, for riding my bicycle and managing people at work stem from Vedanta. Even before I knew what it was called, I was practicing it.

It took me until the early 1980s to realize this (thus my switch to vegetarianism in 1984), and the early 1990s to open myself to active prayer and meditation. It's taken me until after 2000 to start openly talking about it -- it's something I've tried to hide from almost everyone until the last five or six years.

Vedanta is the belief that all people strive to reach Brahman, God, Heaven, Enlightenment, call it what you will. Also, people can choose different paths, such as Christianity, Islam, Wicca, Judaism, science (yes, I believe that finding fulfillment in the fact that the atom started us all is just the same as saying God created us). The main problem in life is that we get separated from our true self by so many things, such as greed, anger, jealousy, all this stuff we heap on ourselves. We spend our life -- or lives -- trying to clear it all up.

Some folks who know me will laugh and ask how I can be spiritual and still follow parts of Marxism (the whole dialectic materialism thing). And I say to my old college friends, or, OK, friend, that Vedanta and Marxism are close, just like Christianity and Marxism are. They are about sacrificing self for the betterment of others, about detachment from the results of work.

My work conference the past two days kept me thinking that I seek help from everywhere to make myself a better person, so I'll even use the word "synergy" if it means I can open another door. I just won't use it too often.

Thought: Om.

Quick ride

I finally got back out on my bike today. Just a short ride -- 12 miles -- to nowhere in particular. Just around the countryside.

I was planning to get a short ride in yesterday, but I accidentally damaged the valve on my rear tire as I was inflating it. I've done that before. I dislike these Presta valves. They're delicate compared to the standard ones. Dang Europeans and their flimsy stems. (Oh, what I said!)

I went to change the tire but I could not get off the tire itself. I've done this before but I just could not do it then. It's hell getting old and my joints were bothering me because of the weather. I gave up and took it to the bike shop.

Todd at Lakeshore Cycle on Riley knows me well and quickly changed the tire. I used a gift certificate my wife got me for my birthday.

Jayne and I then went for lunch at The Good Earth in Holland. It's a sandwich shop with a conscience, but it's also where young and hip people go. Boy, we were out of place.

After Jayne helped with the horse riding for Elspeth's Girl Scout troop, Jayne and I went to dinner in Saugatuck. We wanted Marro's, but it's on limited hours after Labor Day. We ended up at Chequers on my insistence because I whined for Guiness on tap. Mmm. Stout.

We capped off the night with a walk around Saugatuck and some candy apples from Kilwin's.

Thought: Getting older does have some benefits ... but I've forgotten them already.

More misc.

We spent Tuesday up in Grand Rapids at the funeral for Jayne's uncle Bill Atwood. He was 78.

Funerals are never easy -- we have a lot more ahead of us, I'm sorry to say -- but as I've gotten older, I've grown to accept them and see their merit. I used to wonder about them, why people would emotionally tear themselves apart over an inevitability. It's like lamenting the snow in winter. It's going to happen, so accept it, I'd say.

Well, I still say accept it, but now I see some positives of funerals. It's just a time to hug people you haven't hugged, or been afraid to hold, a time to cry when you otherwise were frightened to, and a chance to say some nice things you've been hesitant to say before. It' still a shame we celebrate lives after people die instead of when they're alive and might appreciate the nice things we say about them. Imagine saying how much you respect someone when they're lucid and sitting across the table from you as an equal?

We also took our daughters to the funeral. I wasn't happy about taking them out of school, but a funeral is a necessary educational experience for them. They walked up to the open casket and asked some tough questions ("When will you die, dad?"), and, of course, still acted as elementary-age children ("I'm bored and this room is cold. Can I go to the bathroom? Can we go to McDonald's for lunch?").

In other business

-- I've taken today and Thursday off from work, though not related to the funeral. I just have some vacation days I'll lose by the end of the year if I don't use them. November and December are busy in the newspaper world, with elections and holidays and co-workers' vacations.

-- Jayne has been ill the last few days, but is feeling a bit better.

-- After I dropped off Elspeth at dance yesterday, I had an hour to wait to pick her up, so I went to Oval Beach in Saugatuck to watch the storms roll in. I find an inner peace near water and continue to be awed by the strength of the Great Lakes.

While I watched the clouds pregnant with heavy rain and winds drive the waves over the beach, and the occasional break in the clouds so sunbeams could slice through the gray, I popped "Days of Future Passed" in the portable CD player. What's a great album! Boy, 1967 was a good year for theme albums ("Sgt. Pepper's" came out that year as well). If the Moody Blues could have put a video together for that masterpiece, it could have been the time I spent at the beach with all its contradictions, juxtapositions and sea gulls. I like sea gulls.

Jayne and I had recently been discussing the most famous song from that album, "Nights in White Satin." She thought it was a hopeful song. I still see it as a sad song about a lonely man who cries for love, but has none. A fitting end to an album about lost childhood and people gently swaying to the fairyland of love.

Thought: Cold hearted orb that rules the night, removes the colors from our sight. Red is gray and yellow white. Only we decide which is right, and which is an illusion.

Beware of Greeks. ...

I finished "The Illiad" the other day. I hadn't read it since high school, and I think we read excerpts in Latin then. The book was better than I remember and, no, I did not see the Brad Pitt movie "Troy."

I'm a slow reader and had to go back to the library to renew the book. The person behind the counter thought it odd that I was reading this.

-- No one reads "The Illiad" anymore, he said.

-- That's too bad, I replied. It's a great read.

-- Why would anyone want to read this? It hasn't been checked out on 25 years.

-- They don't know what they're missing. Can I have the book back now?

I wasn't lying. It is a great read. It has action, discussion, history, more action, foreshadowing, even more action, love, hate, revenge, more action. Maybe too much action -- how many times can I read about a spear ripping out someone's intestines?

Boy, I never realized what a jerk Agamemnon was -- now I'm not so sad that his wife axed him to death upon his return. I have more sympathy for Hektor now that I know he was tricked into battle by the gods.

And Achilles? Well, I find I have greater understanding of him. He was really done wrong, though his ego was larger than he was. I suppose I look at what's going on in my life and I find a bit of Achilles in me (you know, back behind the ankle ...). Sometimes I just want to retreat to my tent by the sea and watch the chaos spread around me, knowing that if I was involved, things would be different. Talk about ego!

New book

I've already jumped into a new book, foresaking the usual week or so of wondering what I'll read. I immediately picked up "The Old Curiosity Shop." There's a story behind this.

I was at the Saugatuck library earlier this week and the librarian stopped to chat. In the conversation, she mentioned a book group upstairs just broke up and they were talking about "A Tale of Two Cities."

I was excited. I love that book and just re-read it last year. It has action, discussion, history, more action, foreshadowing, even more action, love, hate, revenge, even more action. Not spears through intestines, though. Which is good.

So, we talked about that and about how Dickens serialized his works. We talked about how challenging that was, and I immediately thought of "The Old Curiosity Shop" because it wasn't meant to be a novel at all, just a short story.

So, there you have my thought process on that.

Thought: Hang on, Nell!

All wet

I was going to ride my bike today no matter what the weather, so I hit the road early in a steady rain.

I don't mind riding in the rain, as long as it's not 40 degrees with a strong north wind. Today, it was mid-60s with no breeze to speak of. Perfect.

A few tips for riding in rain:

-- Deflate the tires a bit. This puts more rubber on the road for traction. I normally ride on 120 psi, but today I was probably about 90 psi.

-- Give more time for braking. The water and dirt on the rims decreases the ability to stop.

-- Make sure you have a visor on your helmet. The drops coming off it can be fun to watch, but more importantly it keeps the steady rain off the eyes and cuts down on having to clean the glasses!

-- Clean the bike after. Wipe it down and lubricate the crank to get the dirt out. (This, by the way, is my afternoon chore today)

-- Enjoy it.

Really. Enjoy the rain. Let the sound of your tires sloshing on the pavement be the music in your ears. Watch the droplets fly off the front tire. Or watch your own reflection on the pavement below you as you pedal along.

I became keenly aware of the high-tension wires that crisscrossed my route. They hiss in the rain. Kind of creepy.

I didn't wear any special rain gear because I don't mind getting wet on a day like today. I kept thinking of Paul McCartney's "Mamonia" ("You've never felt the rain my friend until you've felt the rain running down your back") as I slogged along.

Also, I think of the Everly Brothers -- "I do my crying in the rain." Always good advice.

Thought: A cup of hot coffee when you get home takes the chill off.

Fair play

My wife, myself and the kids spent Sunday afternoon at the Allegan County Fair. It was overcast and drizzling, but it was our one chance to go as a family.

I love the Allegan fair. It reminds me of my younger days at the Erie County Fair. I spent a lot of time there when my parents worked the Masonic chicken dinner tent. I spent a lot of money there as well on silly games and rides. I even remember when the fair had the "freak show" aspect with the people who pounded nails in their nose or tied their limbs in knots.

The Allegan fair doesn't have that, thankfully, and most of the "freak shows" I see are the people walking around the midway. For me, that's the best part of the fair -- watching people, catching snippets of conversations, studying the faces and mannerisms of the "carnies" at the games.

We ran into several people we know -- it's still a small-town fair -- and that's great. One of them was a person from the Spanish class Jayne and I took last fall. We exchanged an "hola" and that was the extent of what I retained. I also saw a former reporter who recently left The Sentinel. She was waiting in line for tickets for rides for her kids. When she left the paper for a better job, she stopped by on her last day to thank me for the guidance I offered her and the things I taught her. That means a lot to me, especially in light of all the problems that are going on now at work.

The kids, like their dad at their age, went for the games and rides. This year, we are strapped for cash so we limitted them in their pursuits. They still had fun with the few games they played and they did get to ride the tractor -- it's the courtesy ride from the fair to the outer reaches of the parking lot.

Of course, we walked through the 4-H barns and Alyssa was tickled that she got to watch a cow poop as she walked by. Remember that we live in the country but live in a city. Figure that out.

Thought: Fair today, gone tomorrow.

Nickled and dimed

The kids have gone back to school this week.

The first day was chaotic in the building -- finding lockers, greeting old friends and new classmates and figuring out Douglas Elementary's new parking lot design. But after all the rush, the girls are happy to be back.

I'm happy they have some more structure, but I'd forgotten how quiet the house is without them. I have a certain sad feeling that they're not here to play with ponies, draw pictures or walk to the post office with me, that they're growing up without me.

Worst of all, I now can go days without really seeing them. When the weather is nice, like it usually is through November, my wife's mother picks the girls up from school because I leave for work in the early afternoon. So, I only see them when they are sleeping when I come home and pause at their bedroom door. I may see them in the morning, but I'm pretty groggy at 6 a.m. after getting to bed at 2:30 or 3 a.m.. That's not quality time.

Alyssa's soccer season starts Saturday morning. Now, it's work until 1:30 a.m., get home, try to squeeze in some Zs, get up to make my lunch for work, zip to the soccer field, watch the game and high-tail it to work for 14 hours.

Are those violins playing? Oh, no. Just Elspeth practicing for her piano lessons.

More loose change

-- I'm also adjusting to life without our cat, Megan. We had her euthanized because of health problems, but after living with her for 18 years, I can't just forget some of the routines she had.

For example: Each morning my wife left for work, Megan would jump up on the bed and walk all over me. She just wanted me to know she was there and get petted. She'd settle down where my wife had slept and doze off as I petted her. Yes, this was every morning.

I found myself looking for her yesterday afternoon before I left for work. Old habits are hard to break.

-- My brother-in-law's father died earlier in the week. I remember him as a nice man who would come by the gas station where I worked in Rehoboth Beach, Del., to say hello before or after his fishing outtings.

-- I haven't been bike riding in about a week-and-a-half. I worked more than 60 hours last week with one day off, and will probably put in about the same hours this week (one of my people is on vacation). Yes, I'm salaried and tired. I'm getting pretty old to be doing these hours. I just don't have the energy to ride after four hours of sleep a night.

When I don't get on the bike, my body starts to rebel, ache and cramp up. My attitude deteriorates pretty quickly, too. Just ask my coworkers.

And OLN is not showing the bike race going on in Spain now. I've been following it online and it looks like it's been exciting. At least football starts soon.

-- All I'll say about work is that I'm happy to have a job that helps me pay the bills. That's existence, not happiness.

Thought: It could be worse. It could be raining. Or snowing!

Farewell to a feline friend

Jayne and I had to take our cat, Megan, to the vet this morning to be put down. Megan was 18 years old and was suffering from renal failure.

It's never easy doing this. I've had to take one dog and two other cats in for this. With our dog, Mocha, I stayed with her while the doctor gave her the shot and I watched her die. I sobbed the entire day. With the two earlier cats, I dropped them off and didn't witness the deaths. I just couldn't handle it. I did the same with Megan.

Megan was special to us not just because she was our cat. With her death, a part of past has passed away as well. I now know I am older than I ever wanted to be.

Jayne picked out Megan from a barn litter when we lived in Sparta and had just gotten out of college. She was so tiny that she could fit in my slipper. She loved the stairs in our death-trap Sparta apartment. She'd knock her toys all the way down the 20-or-so steps -- stop at the first landing -- then knock them down to the ground floor. All the while, the little bell in the ball jingled.

Megan came with us from Sparta to Saugatuck. We weren't supposed to have a cat in the apartment, so we called her our "clandestine kitty." (It was also a play on the Gabriel Garcia Marquez book, "Clandestine in Chile," but I digress. ...) Her shining moment in that apartment was Jayne and my wedding night. The minister and his wife stayed in our room while we "honeymooned" at a bed and breakfast in Allegan. Megan didn't know it wasn't us until she jumped on the bed and scared the minister and his wife -- and herself -- in the middle of the night.

She came with us to Douglas where I made some catty comment about her, and Megan bapped me so hard with her front paws that she knocked my glasses off. I learned never to make fun of her again! She endured us getting a second cat, Maddie, who was so flea-ridden that we had to have the apartment fumigated. Megan was very upset and told us about this by jumping on the bed and urinating on my thigh.

She then made the journey with us to Fennville. She didn't like the whole house here, but stayed upstairs away from the other cats, kids and parade of canines. We called her our "Anne Frank Kitty" as she hid from the Nazi dogs in the house.

Well, I won't burden you too much more with cat memories. I'm sorry she had to die -- she was special to us in a away no other animal could be.

Thought: One of Megan's nicknames -- Judah Ben-Hur Bulbous Butt Kitty.