What a wonderful world...

My work as a science teacher keeps me fairly well grounded in what goes on in the world--its various processes, mysteries and wonders. Sometimes, though, I just have to marvel at this wonderful, wet rock we all live on.

Here's a video of the Earth as seen from the International Space Station, last year. There are some magically spectacular views of the auroras in the upper atmosphere.

Now, I know that auroras are caused by the Sun emitting high energy particles from solar flares and coronal mass ejections. Short version: These particles travel through space in all directions and when they encounter the Earths's magnetic field, they create an electric current. The current passes energy into oxygen and nitrogen ions in the ionosphere. The electrons in these ions get excited and move into high energy orbitals. When the ions lose the excitement and the re-radiate the energy as light and we see them as auroras.

For me, the magic is still there. Even though I know what's going on, at the sub-atomic level, that doesn't mean that I can't still be awed and humbled by the beauty of it all. This beauty is everywhere if you'll take a moment to look for it or, rather, let it find you.

Don't let the world jade you. Be open to it. Explore it. Embrace it.

Does this post make me look old...?

I've had several different age-related experiences in the past few weeks. They've come from different directions and covered different subjects:

1. For several very good reasons, I've had neither a hair cut or a beard trim in a long time and they had both grown out to "just came off the mountain" length. I usually keep both very closely trimmed--#1 or #2 on a set of electric clippers. Similarly, I haven't been outside much. One day, I'm getting in they car and one of my wonderful children says to me, "Hey, I thought you had gray hair! Did you dye it brown?" I may have some vanities, but what's left of my hair isn't one of them. I don't know what's worse: looking older than I am or having my daughter think I dye my hair.

2. I have been meeting new people on a daily basis recently. Their first question is, invariably, "How long have you been retired?" Now, I know that I've been ridden hard and put away wet one too many times, but do I really look over 65 to you? The next question is usually, "How many grand kids do you have?" I know that, chronologically, I'm certainly old enough for grandchildren. But, still...

3. It's not all bleak. When discussing age with my students, one asks me how old I am.
  Me: "I'm 51."
  Student: "No way! my grandfather is 51 and he's nothing like you!"
I chose to take this in the best possible interpretation and granted him extra credit for superior observation and analytic skills.

4. While perusing the receipt from a local restaurant I see that they automatically put the Senior Discount on the check. I wasn't sure how to react, my inherent frugality combating my sense of indignation. I took the money and ran.

The old wisdom says that you are as old as you feel. I feel pretty damn young these days. I just wish it showed more.

The dash...

You know, when we die, we really get ripped off. I was pondering the passing of my Uncle the other day and I remember standing at his graveside and reading the stone. I recall many of the headstones, grave markers, tomb doors and other stele of our mortality and I realized that our entire life: everything that we did, saw, heard, felt, tasted; everyone we met and impacted; every deed famous and infamous, fulfilling and flawed, EVERYTHING...was represented by the little dash between the dates.

For something so seemingly insignificant, that little mark, the rude cut in the stone, the merest scratch on a so patently permanent stone surface is, in fact, you. It's both amazing and a little embarrassing at the same time. There is the implicit contradiction of, "Wow all that meaning" vs."It's such a little mark." 

How do you fill your dash? You fill it with who you are and what you do and the expanding ripples you leave in your wake. But always remember that YOU are the one filling in the dash. You choose what to put in it--like crafting the recipe of your life. I remember reading a story that included a dialog between a Native American gentleman and his grandson. They were discussing the what kind of a person you can turn out to be. The conversation went something like this:

---

"Grandson, you have two dogs inside you: a good one and an evil one. They constantly fight each other in order to decide how you are going to act--what kind of a person you will be."

"But, Grandpa, which one will win?"

"The one you feed."

---

It took me a long time to start feeding the right dog. He's happy and healthy and content to be curled up next the hearth. The evil dog? Haven't seen him in a while. I can hear him scratching at the door once in a while, whining to be let in--heard him a few times in the last month--but he's not coming back in. 

Live your life so that, when people see that little line, they think, "That was a hell of a dash!"

You're different...

You are the sum of all your experiences. Everything that has happened to you has shaped who you are today. And, I mean everything. That shaping continues every second you are alive. Heck, I'll even go so far as to posit that you continue to change after you have died, decomposition more than likely being in effect to some extent.

The neat thing about this change, once you understand and embrace the idea that you are really constantly changing, is that most of this change goes relatively unnoticed. Sure, when you finally drop that extra weight, or get that much-needed plastic surgery, you see the immediate and quantifiable change. The more insidious and lasting change to who you are comes in the minuscule ways your life is pushed and directed by your day-to-day existence.

Those dear readers who went to Dunellen High School and were lucky enough to have Mr. Anthony Spadaro as a History teacher probably remember his infamous Plywood Theory. This theory states that when you are born, you mind is like a fresh piece of plywood. It has many layers bonded in different directions to give the piece strength and flexibility. I like his analogy. So, having been issued this pristine, flexible, strong, useful resource we work our way through life shaping it.

Here's where it gets interesting. Mr. Spadaro posed the argument that every exposure you had to popular culture-- whether through TV, tabloids, the prevailing social media (such as it was--this was the 1970's for goodness' sake) -- was like a drop of water slowly dripped onto that plywood brain.

In case you haven't had any experience with wet plywood, let me show you:

Nice, pristine, plywood:

 Warped, rotted, plywood:

As you might imagine, Mr. Spadaro held little regard for warped, rotted, useless plywood and warped, rotted, useless minds. 

With plywood, you keep it useful, and doing its intended job, by protecting it. You keep it out of the elements that might negatively effect it. You protect it with paint or sealer. You carefully shape it for use and when it's ready you put it to work. His concept of the mind was the same. You protected and developed thatt mind by teaching it to learn. You prepared it for the assimilation and application of useful knowledge. You carefully craft and shape the mind for its maximum effect. I wish I could speak with Mr. Spadaro today.

Dare to be different, embrace change, but remember to always be useful. In the words of Red Green, "If you can't be handsome, at least be handy."

You are not who you think you are...

"Who the %*#$ are you?" -The Who

I've often challenged my students with the idea that they are not who they think they are. Some lively discussions have come from these sessions and I hope that it's fostered opportunities for introspection and critical self-examination.

Let's start with the idea that everybody has a version of their self-image that essentially says, "I'm a great person." It's extremely rare to find someone who willingly embraces and admits that they are a less-than-stellar human being. We all think that we are right most of the time. We all think our opinions are well-reasoned and reasonable (not the same thing). We all believe that we can be a positive example for most people at most times. Can we agree on this basic and reasonable (to me anyway) premise?

Good. Now, ponder the idea that you are not who you think you are, but who everyone else in the world thinks you are. Sound complicated? It's not, really. Considering the basic premise, think of someone you know who's a real jerk. C'mon, you know one--maybe it's me! Does the jerk in question think they are a jerk? Of course not. Do other people think this person is a jerk? Some probably do and some don't. But here's the crux of my argument: If the preponderance of people who know you think you are a jerk, then you're a jerk! You are who everyone else thinks you are.

Realistically, everyone falls somewhere along the Jerk Continuum and where they fall is largely subjective, based on the observer. But remember: If you are in a group of friends and you think that everyone else is pretty cool, you just might be the jerk!

I think I'll take a shower...

Let me just say, nothing beats a shower when you're not feeling right. When I'm watching a movie, and I see some hero getting shot up, rolled out of a car, dumped into an elevator shaft and generally wind up being abused, the first though that comes to me is, "I bet a shower would go a long way toward fixing that guy up."

It's not just about removing the dirt and sweat, although that's certainly a bonus. There's something internally, spiritually, emotionally, holistically cleansing about it. The sheeting water carries away the care and leaves behind a sheen of comfort--as long as you get the temperature right, that is.

Now, I know I'm in for some argument here, but baths just ain't the same, folks. Consider that once you get the temperature right (if ever) it's not going to stay that way long. The physics of energy transfer make sure that it'll get cooler and cooler until it, and you, eventually assume room temperature. So, you're in the tub. Now what? Soak? Squirm and consider how you might get your knees and your shoulders submerged at the same time while not overflowing the tub. Admirable quest, my friend. If you want to get clean, go ahead and scrub up. Where does the rinsed off dirt and suds go? Back into the water you're sitting in.

Nope. Not for me.

I think I'll take a shower.

And so it begins...

Ahh, jeez. A blog? Well, I have to do something, so it might as well be creative, expressive-- maybe a little cathartive. I hope to share some of my more interesting experiences (well, they were certainly interesting to me at the time) and provoke a thought or a smile.

At present, I'm in the hospital recovering from back surgery on 12/13/2012--a long, sordid tale better left for another time. From here I'll be off rehabilitation in Radford and then, when capable and no more of a burden to my family than I usually am, back home.