Out and In-Laws

Today Carol and I are celebrating our 31st anniversary. During those years, we have learned a lot about each other. We have learned to accommodate to our vastly different approaches for solving problems and making decisions. Carol has learned to adjust to my slightly causal approach to clothing management. I have learned (with frequent exceptions) to accept her need for order and predictability. The most important thing we have learned is how to function as a team. Included in that teamwork is our willingness and ability to relate to our in-laws. That capacity has developed slowly but marriage is, as they say, a marathon, not a sprint.

My first attempt at building in-law relationships was a complete failure. I was unable and unwilling to accept any role within my first wife’s family. I thought they were uniquely screwed up and I wanted no part of them. I reluctantly participated in family gatherings but I tried to be invisible within the group. When my marriage ended, I was relieved by the fact I would never see my in-laws again. I realize now that I was too young and immature to understand the complicated dynamics that were in play during that stage of my married life.

I could have repeated the same pattern when Carol and I got married. But by then I had learned a few things. For example, I had learned that all families are uniquely screwed up. I also began to understand that all families have hidden opportunities to build surprising relationships. The unlikely relationship I had with Carol’s dad and the beautiful relationship Carol has with my mother are examples of unexpected opportunities realized.

These two in-law relationships might not be the reason our marriage has lasted for 31 years. But I feel like they sure helped. In retrospect, all it took was patience and an openness to the unexpected.

Highway 61 Revisited

My friend, John Freeman and I have been friends for sixty-one years. He recently visited Chapel Hill and stayed with Carol and me for a few days. John travels in a large, solar-equipped, self-contained van in which he can drive, sleep, eat, camp, stay warm, and entertain himself as he travels across the country. I don’t know how many cross-country trips John has taken in his van but I think he has stopped by Chapel Hill in the van three times over the years.

John and I met in Cub Scouts when we were eight years old. We lived on the same street and our houses were only a few doors away from each other.  We were close friends in those days and spent a lot of time just hanging out at his house. John’s mother was a single parent. I called her Aunt Mildred. She was a profoundly good person but being a single parent in the fifties was no easier than it is today - just more unusual. Perhaps out of necessity, Mildred was a good deal more flexible in her supervision than my parents.

When I was about fourteen I started going on long road trips with John and Aunt Mildred. We traveled to the Wisconsin Dells, to Colorado, to San Francisco and many other interesting places in between. I remember stopping once in Springfield, Missouri to visit the gravesite of John’s father. Each trip left me with warm, positive memories of people and places I would not have otherwise known.

John was (and still is) one year older than me. When we were kids that one year made a difference. I looked up to him. His quirky interests and behaviors were far different than those of other kids I knew. John was aware that he was different and I admired the confidence with which he embraced his own unique world view. Without being aware of it, John broadened my perspective about life as a kid. He continued to do that as we became teenagers and young adults.

There is something about John’s consistency after all these years that I respect. He still has quirky interests and an unusual lifestyle. He still enjoys taking long cross country road trips. I suspect it is getting harder but John continues to embrace his own unique world view.

If you are curious about John’s most recent trip you can read about it at http://whufu.com/?page=log&type=id&key=56.

Very High School

My friend, Lloyd, and I graduated from the same high school. We often talk and laugh about that period in our lives. Our high school days occurred over fifty years ago but those days continue to produce interesting echoes.

Our high school served predominately white, blue collar, working class neighborhoods in Louisville. Our school did not have all of the resources or the perceived advantages of high schools in wealthier neighborhoods in the East End. I used to think that whatever I learned in those teenage years was in spite of my high school, not because of it.

Like high school kids everywhere we learned to entertain ourselves during school hours by pranking teachers or inventing other ways to creatively misbehave. Sometimes after school we entertained ourselves by watching tough guys fight each other behind the Texaco station next door. The tough guy fights drew large crowds and provided valuable learning opportunities for those of us in the audience. For example, I learned how to avoid eye contact and become invisible in order to avoid spin off fights that were sometimes inspired by the main events.

I don’t remember much of the formal academic side of my high school experience. However, I do have one exceptional high school memory. My senior year I took a humanities class taught by Francis Schneiter. In Ms. Schneiter’s class we read, among other books, The World's Religions by Huston Smith and The Story of Philosophy by Will and Ariel Durrant. I have very positive memories of sitting in humanities class reading and discussing specific pages of these books with Ms. Schneiter. It was not a coincidence that a few years later I majored in Philosophy in college. Nor was it a coincidence that I paid attention to the remarkable life and career of Huston Smith until his death in 2016.

Ms. Schneiter died a few years ago. I hope she was aware that she was a visionary and an inspirational teacher.

Remember to Look at Your Hands

“A lucid dream is a dream during which the dreamer is aware of dreaming. During lucid dreaming, the dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over the dream characters, narrative, and environment.” __________________________________________________

Look at your hands. This is such a simple sentence. Its simplicity might be why it works as a way to intentionally shift an ordinary dream into a lucid dream.

A few days ago, I started re-reading a book by Carlos Castaneda called “The Art of Dreaming.” My good friend, Lloyd, gave me the book for Christmas. It was published in 1993 and I remember first reading it around that time. In the book the author describes a number of techniques to alter awareness through intentional dreaming. One of the techniques is to give yourself a simple instruction while awake to carry out in a dream. The recommended instruction is as simple as it gets. Look at your hands.

 Since I first read this instruction in 1993 I have been able to remember to do it only three times. On the first two occasions when I looked at my hands while dreaming I was exhilarated by the experience. I became aware that the dream was mine and that I could do anything I wanted within it. I experienced a spectacular sense of well-being and empowerment. Both times, I spontaneously began to fly.

Two nights ago, after reading a chapter of the Castaneda book, I did it again. In my dream, I remembered to look at my hands. This time I did not fly but I experienced an indescribable physical sensation. I became intensely aware of the details within the space I was occupying in the dream. I was aware that I had infinite choice about how to experience the dream. Then the moment passed and I woke up.

I continue to think about that dream. I wonder how often I let infinite choice pass me by during my ordinary waking state without making a decision.

It's the Journey, Not the Destination

Carol and I spent the last week helping our son, Patrick, his fiancé, Lisa, and their dog, Bramble, move to Denver, Colorado from Raleigh, NC. We helped them drive their two cars and a 15-foot panel truck 1700 miles in three days. We stopped overnight in Louisville and then in Kansas City and then… just kept driving. The outside temperature was near zero for about half of the trip. The wind gusts in Kansas made it difficult to keep the panel truck upright and in the correct lane. Lisa had a bad cold and needed rest. By the end of the second day, Patrick was exhausted and feeling the stress of being the group leader and primary truck driver. Bramble and I were both disoriented and constipated. By Day Three Carol was absorbing some of the stress, too.

Yet, if Patrick asked me to take the entire trip again, I would do it in a heartbeat. It actually was a privilege to witness Patrick and Lisa as they took a big risk and moved West.

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There also was something magical about driving along with Carol and watching Patrick and Lisa zooming out ahead of us. It felt like a metaphor for something much bigger.