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Thursday, April 4, 2013

Holding on for dear life in Pittsburgh

We traveled to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania a few months ago to visit some old friends. I wanted to see these friends, but was not particularly interested in seeing Pittsburgh. I had formed ugly images of this city in my head: owned and ruled in the recent past by steel and coke barons Carnegie and Frick; rogues getting rich under a grimy blackened sky; scrooges paying slave wages to workers who died tired, young, and hopeless. I imagined an industrial wasteland inhabited by poorly educated, economically depressed, semi-literate, armed and dangerous Neanderthals.

Why would anyone still live there after the steel industry went away? Why would this god-forsaken place continue to have a National Football League team and why did their home field used to be called Three Rivers Stadium? If this stadium was surrounded by three heavily polluted rivers, did Steelers fans worry about them catching on fire like the Cuyahoga River did in 1952 Ohio? Did local insurance companies thereby deny life insurance policies to Pittsburgh Steelers season ticket holders?

I’m exaggerating of course. I just had this vision of a failed and boring industrial town. A place not as bad as say, Detroit (another city I hadn’t visited), but bad enough that it would never make my bucket list…if I even had one.

I was wrong. Pittsburgh has done a makeover. It has culture, curious shops, a charming “old town”, interesting architecture, beautiful gardens and parks, and renowned educational institutions. The view from our friends’ home high on a cliff overlooking the city and the rivers was spectacular. I saw fisherman on these rivers. People seemed kind-hearted and friendly. The food was surprisingly good. I had one of the most delicious tacos I’ve ever eaten made by a street vendor in Old Town…and I’m a taco connoisseur from the West Coast where Mexican food is everywhere. I didn’t expect this in Pennsylvania of all places. It’s a beautiful state and Pittsburgh is a great town.

Pittsburghers are fanatic sports fans. Big time. We were there during football season and it seemed as if everyone wore Pittsburgh Steelers colors and logos. The craziness was appalling…but impressive. I could live in Pittsburgh, if they had decent weather, palm trees…and the San Francisco 49ers.

I’m only talking about Pittsburgh though because I just finished a book written by a Pittsburgh native about growing up there. The book is: An American Childhood, by Annie Dillard. You will enjoy this book if you appreciate beautiful and insightful writing. It is non-fiction about a woman’s childhood so it is not an exciting novel. I had never read a book about a female’s childhood, that I can remember anyway, so that alone was a bit new for me. Personally, I am very interested in what people think, or believe, or know, about the answers to these questions about our lives: Who are we? What are we? Why are we? Where are we going? Annie Dillard is very very awake. I thoroughly enjoyed her perspective and remarkable prose.

At the end of the book she asks a question. The question is one you’ve undoubtedly heard or thought of sometime in your life: “What would you do if you had fifteen minutes to live before the bomb went off?” This time around I gave this question some serious thought. All I’d want, I decided, would be to put my arms around the people I love, say I love you, and just hold on. That’s it.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Is Everything Under Control Buddy?

“Is everything under control buddy?" My father must have asked me this question thousands of times during his life. I am not exaggerating. I always knew it was coming and I always dreaded it-that pit in my stomach growing. What was he looking for? Why the probing? Did he really want to know? What will he think of me if I tell him what is really going on?

Invariably I would say: yes, everything’s under control. Instead of: Well Dad, I flunked Algebra this semester. Or, My girlfriend broke up with me and I feel so alone. Or... A cop stopped me last night for drunk driving…he let me go but it was close. Or...Today I agreed with a racist comment and I’m ashamed of myself. Or...Yesterday a friend of mine died of breast cancer…she was only 29. Or...I’m sorry to tell you this Dad but after only two years my wife and I are getting a divorce. Argh.

I didn’t want to worry him over any unpleasant truths. He worried enough for us all already. Nor, I’m sad to say, did I really want to share my happiness with him at times. I just felt there was way too much criticism coming my way whatever I said, and more questions I didn’t really want to answer, or confront. He seemed to be always so worried about me. I just didn’t want to deal with it. I didn’t see his twist on reality behind the question.

My father had a generous portion of happiness in his life as well as a generous portion of all the problems life can bring. He saw that bad things happened to good people and they happened to him too. He feared that some changes were ominous warnings of immanent disaster. He was always thinking “what if” and trying to gain some control over the possible result. Impermanence could become permanent and that was worrisome. He wanted his family to be safe and happy…always. His intentions were loving and pure. Mission impossible.

My father taught me an important lesson here by accident: I need to see things the way they are, not how I want them to be, and deal with them from that perspective. I don’t have to “personalize” an unpleasant situation being experienced by my friends or family. It’s not me who is having this experience. They are. I need to look at each situation as it arises more calmly and not just react. I need to ask myself: what can I do to help? If there’s nothing I can do, maybe just being there for them is enough. I can practice more ‘loving-kindness’… towards everyone.

I wish my father were here today. And when he asked me that inevitable question “Is everything under control buddy?” I could give him a different answer. I’d say: I love you too Dad.

Friday, March 1, 2013

A Meditation on Provocative Hairy Legs

Late this morning I took a walk up to the Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden. This 86 acre garden of mostly native California plants is only 35 miles from downtown L.A. but the city does not intrude on its’ serenity. I’m lucky to be able to walk there in under 10 minutes. There are miles of paths running through it but often I see no one. It’s just me walking around. Amazing.

Today though I decided to sit down and relax for a while. I sat on a bench facing a mixture of young Redwood trees and a few other conifers. I didn’t bother to learn the names of these other trees. Why would it matter what they are called?

I must have sat there for at least an hour and during that hour I relaxed…really, really relaxed. The air smelled sweet and the temperature was perfect. The sky was blue. I had on a pair shorts, some beaten up New Balance running shoes that don’t see any running, an old collared short sleeve golf shirt, and a baseball cap. I’m quite the clotheshorse.

After sitting there awhile, trying not to think about anything, I noticed this gentle breeze brushing the hair on my legs. I didn’t feel it much on my arms and not at all on my freshly shaved face. The hairs above my lip are stiff… so they weren’t waving in this breeze. The 53 hairs on the top of my head weren’t waving either as they were “protected” by my cap. The prevailing sensation and therefore my focus, was on these hairy legs. Those hairs were blowing this way and that…creating a very pleasant sensation…a kind of a mini massage really. Provocative, stimulating, and nice. I concentrated on this for quite some time. After a while it occurred to me that without the breeze I wouldn’t be experiencing these sensations. Indeed, the air and the hair…were one. :) And even as I understood this and merged into this feeling, I couldn’t escape being conscious of witnessing this event from another perspective. Pretty interesting stuff…if you know what I mean.

Anyway, in my neighborhood I see many people walking dogs. There must be thousands of dogs in this town. Some of these people put clothes and sometimes even hats on these dogs. This always strikes me as funny. I wonder how the dogs feel about this. I imagine they just suffer some minor annoyance and then…acceptance. I try not to judge the people who dress their dogs…at least not too harshly. Many of these dog walkers are women and I believe many women enjoy changing their appearance…as do some men. Shaving your legs can do that. Most people who shave their legs are women. I suppose these women think that their dogs need a new look too. Most of the men who walk dressed-up dogs wear long pants so I don’t know if they shave their legs or not. Of course, if you are trying to change your appearance you are trying to change your identity in some way. You are trying to say something about yourself or have others think something about you. We all do this to a degree...acting on a stage. Some of us deserve Oscar nominations at the very least. But getting back to hairy legs: I’m not shaving mine. I would miss these little mini-massages. Ladies, you might want to consider letting the hair grow on your legs too. Just think how good it might feel in a nice breeze! A never-ending day at the Spa! On the other hand… maybe not.

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Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden

http://www.rsabg.org