June 2008 Archives

Chunks of quantum wave packets defined by continuous variables of position, energy and momentum may not yield a frequency/wavelength ratio but - metonymically (something the human brain does via consciousness) - couldn't we use this language to describe the shape of the social world?

Ah, I've been divesting myself of things: all those things that accumulate in living space and cause a need for storage.

But I like things; I even want them. For instance, this work of art: A Dream World Glimmers in the Background of the Soul, by Carrie Marrill.

I struggle most to let go of items having strong associations - values, memories, ambitions, affections . . . it is less the thing and more what it invokes that I hesitate to let go. Will that ineffable quality come back? Can I find this particular inspiration again? Do I need the peculiar juxtapositions of that unique object in immediate or future moments?

One can never know for sure.

Captain got me a room at the Haddie Pierce House while I waited on my hero to pick me up on Saturday afternoon. He collected me from the Beach Rose Cafe, where I spent several hours - over three days - ensconced online.

Carleigh is great: "We'll miss you at that table! You're like furniture now!" (Hey - follow that dream - get on a boat and go!) Swell Andyman is also awesome, from plugging the food, "Chef Mike doesn't mess around," to keeping the place spotless. Both of them impressed me the most interacting with a local man who doesn't get around so good. Carleigh leapt up from eating lunch on her well-deserved break when Bob entered, got him settled at the table he wanted with his beverage of choice. Andyman kept up a running banter with Bob while tending to his diverse duties. I ate three excellent meals: Jamie's Favorite Salad, Habanero Chili Chicken Wings, and perfectly-prepared, barely-battered Fried Bay Sea Scallops (sans roll).

Speaking of food, Daria, the Innkeeper at the Haddie Pierce House, provides a mighty fine spread!

After fresh fruit (watermelon, strawberries, and canteloupe), cranberry coffee cake, coffee, tea, apple juice and water, Daria served up a delectable peach french toast with peach sauce for the main course, along with precisely crisp bacon. One doesn't need to eat for a long time after such a feast! The company was neat, too. I wasn't sure, at first, if there was going to be space for me in the conversation but eventually I found a way in. :-) Rose began with a story about touring mansions the previous day. While they were in the entry waiting for one tour to begin, one of the jets practicing for the upcoming airshow boomed overhead. Someone either looked puzzled or concerned (or might have said something), and Rose announced, "The sound of freedom! Isn't it wonderful?"

All four at the table were retired military, reservists, mostly, and one is out but still doing work as a contractor. I learned a lot in a short while! For instance, I know a fair amount about how gays and lesbians are treated, but I'd not considered that heterosexuals also have to date within restrictive rules or be punished. I also hadn't thought deeply about what it's like for reservists who establish careers, get called up, and then return to careers that need to be rebuilt. Apparently, reservists weren't really called up for active duty before 1990 (Desert Storm), but if you were in during the late Eighties and paying attention you could see the signs of preparation. And the ambivalence of not wanting to fight/kill/die but also wanting to be called up if others are, instead of being left behind. Because Gayle, Mike and Judy, and Rose had so much in common, I gleaned more insight into some personal elements of a military career than I've previously had opportunity.

Who knew, for instance, that "the silly stuff matters most" in care packages sent to soldiers? (Of course it makes sense, but you have to think about it.) They can get most everything these days, it seems, except good coffee and current magazines. Popular Mechanics is a favorite.

"Most military people, if you talk with them," Gayle explained at one point, "don't really want to go to war." "You lose too many people," someone (Rose?) said. "But you have to be ready," Mike offered (if I remember correctly). I wanted to know if they thought it could ever be different, if the system could be changed. Being in communication, I explained how the theories show over and over that if you prepare for something, it's almost as if you invite it, so "if we're 'ready for war,' then others 'get ready for war' and if everyone's getting ready then eventually there will be a war!"

I wish I could say they offered some concrete hope, but - although they acknowledged the point (Gayle, especially) . . . Mike said its about power. I agree that's how it has been, but haven't enough people now achieved a certain level of middle-class comfort we could figure out how to do power differently? This was the most interesting part of the conversation for me. I suggested that most people around the world want the same things we have. "What if they don't?" Mike challenged. Judy wasn't sure if they really do (want the same things). "Culturally it might look different," I said, "but at base, people want to eat good food, like we are; live in solid houses, like this one; be able to travel safely; educate their kids; have decent healthcare....how they go about achieving these things might not be the same way we do, they may not look the same in the end, but at base these are roughly the same things."

We did not exactly arrive at an impasse, but we couldn't seem to push that topic much further. There was some talk of development in Dubai, the incredibly-disparate wealth of the royal family and hiring of immigrant labor while the vast populace of the country remains in poverty. I wondered if - knowing that they were basically doing similar things to what our ancestors had done (I had the trailer from Traces of the Trade: A Story From the Deep North in mind, a long with all the Indian names along the course of our voyage: Napatree Point, Weekapaug Point, Misquamicut Beach, and Connecticut itself) - instead of perpetuating those habits, those systems.... or looking the other way . . . or taking advantage . . . when Rose labeled the jet engine's roar as the sound of freedom, I remembered the jet that buzzed us the previous day in Brewer's Harbor, so low and close to us that the volume was literally painful. I had wondered, then, about the psychological element of warfare, the intention to cause "Shock and Awe." Do they design those engines on purpose to be so loud? Or just choose not to do the mechanical things that could make them more quiet? Further, what would it be like to anticipate after this sound, another - if one survived the explosion long enough to even hear it? Ultimately, why do we (humans in general, Americans - "my people" - in particular) feel so justified in subjecting other human beings to that experience?

We ended up talking about camels. :-) Recommending that we watch Weeping Camel, Gayle mused that if she "ever stayed overnight with a camel" it would probably break her of the sentiment that "there's nothing about a camel I don't like." I, for one, want a full report!

Over the past week, I had a couple of long text-message conversations with a friend across the country, trying to sort out how to navigate the intensity of dynamics that had developed so unexpectedly. I mean, I came to sail, not to do intense interpersonal processing! Which doesn't mean I assumed that there would not be any, but I never doubted that we would work them out. As I grappled with the shock, my friend said, "You're trying." I replied, "That can be taken two different ways!" (I found a nautical application, too: "To "try" is when a vessel is hove to, to so trim her sails that she may gather headway and make something to the good." A Manual of Boat and Yacht Sailing by Kemp and Smith.)

Captain has said it's a matter of difference in the ways we show concern. I've thought it might be more in the ways we show gratitude. I have my "analysis," as the Captain says. :-/ And she has hers. If we agreed on the nature of the problem we might have had more of a chance, but the initial upset has been ungraspable, or unspeakable, or otherwise uncomprehendable. Captain says crew/captain conflict is typical and common. Yes I'm sure but we are not! Neither of us is oridinary; my disappointment is keen. Which (true confessions) did not help her stress level, at all. :-(

As I continue to puzzle over this development, it seems to me we're talking two sides of the same coin: appreciation (i.e., the perceived lack thereof) ~ for what the other is going through and what we believe we give. ("Belief," writes Ursula Le Guin in The Telling, "is the wound that knowledge heals" (p. 190).)

I have learned tons.

• I start to forget things and get spacey when my mind is full of thoughts unwritten.


• I'm easy unless/until a suspicion of being unwanted or not accepted gets going (not new info, just evidence that vein of pain still runs deep) and (!)


• I've got more bounce-back than I ever had before. :-)


• My coping strategy of poking fun directly at the sore spots (in myself, primarily but also interactively) can be interpreted by others as oppositional, even combative. :-(


• I really don't need very much but that little bit is vital. :-/

Tracking my own emotional ride these past two weeks, I realize I'm a bit like that lighthousekeeper who really wanted a son. First, prudence (of course my needing to finish that paper onboard was going to rub the wrong way), patience (we have plenty of time to let things sort themselves out without getting too worked up about them), hope ("we had a major breakthrough," I texted a friend after the Captain told me she was feeling better), then despair. :-(

Still working on "the little fox way over there." (Or was it Hog?)

I learned more about sailing too, and my attraction to it. I like the role of doing the manual labor without devoting hours of intellectual labor to the comprehensive tasks of outfitting the boat and the constant challenge of navigation.

I think I could grow into these skills, given favorable conditions to develop them at a natural, experiential pace. There's just too much else going on in my mind/life with accumulated momentum and ambition for me to divert the kind of resources necessary to be assertive about sailing without tangible support and conducive opportunity.

The Captain told me, several days ago, that I sail better when I actually look at the sail - an activity she thinks I do (!) when the awning is down. If I did glance at the sail more often when it was easy to see, that didn't mean I knew what I was looking at! Even when she would tell me what to look for, I still did not develop a sense of meaningfulness regarding what I saw. I have experienced this often in relation to the terminology and jargon of sailing (boatbuilders, types of boats, names of parts, etc) - I understand the words but do not comprehend their relevance. The evidence is in not making the connection between what's been said and what's happening or what one wants to make happen. I experience those moments (which occur in other, non-sailing contexts too) as if there's a kind of fuzz between me and comprehension. I perceive something on the other side, but there is a lack of clarity, a welter of interference.

That I perceive the fuzziness at all is (actually!) an accomplishment to celebrate. :-) In the past, either I would assume I did understand (and be wrong), or I would assume the other person didn't know what they were talking about (and be wrong). Neither attitude led to satisfactory relational outcomes. The fact that I now realize when I'm not clear on something is a measure of significant growth. Next, I need to get better at developing a range of strategies for interacting with others while I am in this ambiguous condition. My primary tendency is to just accept that this is where I am - probably an overreaction of passivity to counter the myriad of instances in the past in which I would attempt to exert control over confusing situations.

However, I suspect that relaxed stance might lead to more confusion or misunderstanding in the relationship, as it interacts, communicatively, with the other person(s) perceptions and strategies.

My peak achievement, on my last sailing day, was to manage both the tiller and the main sheet simultaneously. The Captain and I had perfected a tandem routine in which she would work the tiller and tell me when to pull in or let out the sheet, including how much or how far. Coming in to harbor from Rome Point that day, she was just unwell enough to give both tasks over to me. Uh oh, I thought, another test! :-) But this time - finally - I actually had a sense of what to do, how to combine the priority of keeping the sail full with adjustments in aim. Yippee!

Last but not least, I learned how to flemish the lines.

Once Captain was settled - after negotiating the steeply-angled dock ramp - Sarah took me to Updike's for some internet time. She introduced me to Mike, who promptly dubbed his place, "Newtowne's Coffee and Daycare." I was in good hands. :-) When she dropped me off again the next day, I received a compliment for entering alone: "Goodbye at the car and coming through the door by yourself, that's a big step!" I enjoyed the freshly-roasted coffee from his fancy roaster, too!

While I blogged that day, the weather turned for the worse and Captain battened down against a hailstorm.

Yep, you read that right, golfball-sized hail in the midst of summer! Tom and Sarah both checked in on her....I didn't learn of the hail in Allen Harbor until after the fact but the rain was cause enough to worry. Maybe it was the hours of separation that led to our great talk that night, although I think the lightning that nearly got us might have had something to do with it! We were just sitting there in the evening, listening to the rain and thunder, watching the lightning out the open back, when a nearly-simultaneous burst of light and sound of crash startled both of us enough to jump! I thought it struck to port, Captain thought to starboard, maybe it was overhead or at the bow, but there was just barely enough time between stimuli to perceptually distinguish the sequence of light/sound - any closer together and we'd have been toast. "I think you don't hear anything," the Captain mused, "if you're actually struck."

I heard a lot, by the way, from the good ol' boys running the Marina!

Bill, Bill, Bob, Mike, and Al are amiable old salts. Keith too, young 'un that he is by comparison. Some combination of these men were usually in the office, telling their independent versions of whatever stories were going 'round that day. Often a couple of them would be out back on the porch downing a beer or two at the end of the day. I got most of my history of the place from Bob; I asked him if it would be unfair for me to be ironic about the donation of a polluted place. He said yes, it would in fact be unfair: "The Navy has been good to us; they've been good to this town."

"It was WWII. We were in bind - us young people, especially. They did what they had to do, you know?"

All the wildlife has come back, although it's still not safe to eat the shellfish - "but they're here!" Over the years, Bob has observed the fish and birds return. I watched egrets hunting, considering the birds eating the fish as evidence of recovery.

Bob confirmed that birds proliferate, and I sure enjoyed listening to them singing away in the nearby woods and honking their various incongruous calls.

I learned more from Bill as he drove me in the golfcart to the pumpout station. The harbor holds eighty moorings and about eighty more slips. Profits go into a leisure fund for North Kingstown, designated for recreational activities. The town seems to use it mostly for the golf course (why not for electricity, I wonder?) Bill wasn't claiming precise knowledge or complaining, just answering my questions based on memory. Allen Harbor has a long wait list; these guys are set! The hailstorm, our visit, and subsequent storm damage are duly recorded in the logbook - do you suppose there's any correlation?! Nah . . .

Christian, of the International Yacht Restoration School, designed and installed a lovely, fully-functional washboard.

Upon clearing inspection, Captain was (as usual!) ready to go! I'll miss Sarah's taxi service, replete with sail gear, tales of sea adventures and historical lore. Here she is, driving and displaying her brand-new certification to poop aboard the Gracious Lady (a decal which may never again be seen in public).

We made it to Rome Point with the current but thoroughly against the wind. Except for the wind's uncooperative direction, one could hardly ask for a more beautiful day for sailing: clear blue skies lightly sprinkled with puffy pure white clouds, mildly warm, a bit of chop as the wind whipped up some whitecaps, and hardly anyone else on the water. In the evening, as we honed in on the selected overnight spot, we were privy to a sailboat race. That was pretty fun! The boats maneuvered so very, very close to one another, a few times appearing they might collide. Crew shifted sides, acting as human ballast ("meat") as the sloops (?) angled for position, tacking furiously.

After the second turn, they unfurled their spinnakers - so pretty! Classic, the Captain commented, a sailboat race on Narragansett Bay.

We anchored. Tensions between us had re-flared during the afternoon, in periodic bursts sortof like the practice that happened immediately overhead all week for the annual Rhode Island Airshow.

The water and wind were calm that night. In the morning, (gulp), I was fired. :-(

Sarah poked fun at herself while showing me around the Gracious Lady. Her boat had been in the shop for two years and still needs major refinishing - enough to evidence a true labor of love (for instance, thirteen personally-applied coats of varnish on the main mast.)

We were hosted for three spectacular days, leaving half-an-hour later than the Captain wanted - but by then we had a charged motor, a closed back well, provisions, and more tales to tell. Most importantly, Captain got to see her next boat in progress and have several conversations with the builder.

We arrived to beautiful Allen Harbor last Sunday morning.

We zoomed up the Narragansett Bay from Dutch Harbor in just over two hours during the prettiest part of the morning, arriving just as the skies began to seriously cloud up for predicted thunderstorms. Sitting around for the rest of the day on the boat in this gorgeous, well-protected harbor should have been more enjoyable than it was: parallel (perhaps) to how one sometimes gets sick at the beginning of a vacation, that space of relaxation after days of strenuous activity enabled tension to bubble up between the Captain and me. :-/

Getting to dock and being able to interact with other people was welcome. :-) And these people - Captain's friends and their friends - are fantastic! Tom and Sarah of New England Shipyard wasted no time getting over to meet us and promptly began problem-solving: how to get power to the boat (no electricity at this dock), how to get Steph to free wifi, and - the major activity - designing a board to fill the open well and brace the motor so we could reduce the amount of water splashing into the cockpit from errant wakes and following seas.

I got a pre-tour of the Chebacco in progress, meeting Patrick (the primary craftsman) and beginning to get to know Sarah (the unstoppable) and Tom (a bit more reserved). Then Sarah took me over to her historic boat, with its international character and multiplicity of projects underway and pending. Meanwhile, Kate was on her way with the van and supplies, and Captain Judy was also heading over to share the auspicious viewing. After days of isolated pairing, an incredible social outpouring! The swirl of activity was chaotic and a bit overwhelming, but the spirit of celebration outweighed most of the oversights.

You can't get much closer to the basic elements of life than sailing. Water is essential; wind is the sun's heat once removed. In a big boat, one can ignore the pull of current and drift of air - why depend on puffs when the diesel switch makes such subtle signs moot?

I'm not so bad at steering, but the matter of aim is the Captain's call.

She's an expert at combining previous knowledge, inexact forecasts, slight shifts in the direction of the wind, and scheduled tide corrections per location with the actual conditions of the moment. The seascape changes constantly. Each cat's paw and swirling eddy is stable enough as it's own phenomena, but in combination with waves from passing ships - seen and unseen - variances in temperature, and inconsistent winds, where one needs to aim in order to arrive at a chosen destination is no simple matter.

There's tons of science and experience accrued in that noggin! Not to mention an independent (stubborn, ahem) streak fit to beat the band. Her specialty is single-handed sailing. (Which does mean it's rather annoying to have me - the stupendous novice - along!) Our thoughtfulness tends to go in different directions - she's conscientiously and systematically crafting strategy for whatever comes next: leaving dock, securing shore support, tacking out of the harbor (with or against the tide? with or against the wind? amidst traffic? solo? avoiding sandbars, reefs, wind shadow, boats on moorings, even lobster pots when the motor's down in the water), networking with boatbuilders and sailing buddies, charting course to the next desirable location made possible by predicted wind, weather and tide conditions, plotting how to replace her crew (!), envisioning which will be the safest and quietest anchorage, noting whether all equipment is functional or properly stowed, creating the next supply list, designing improvements for the boat, designing her other/upcoming boat, counting the days until we (have to) turn around, keeping fit, eating well, feeding her crew, coordinating schedules among crew, shore supporters, and visitors.

Did I mention keeping the boat - including the open cockpit - dry? If you didn't see the pre-departure list, it's worth checking out. Then there's recording times and relevant details as we pass buoys and cans and other landmarks (lighthouses, bridges, prominent or known places...) in order to assess progress and consider changes to the itinerary. Oh yes, there's also training the crew in emergency procedures:

"Mayday mayday mayday.
This is sailing vessel Serenity, 14 foot with a blue-hull.
We are in Allen Harbor, Narragansett Bay.
There are two people aboard.
We are having a moment!" ;-)

(No, we do not have our lifejackets on.)

I asked Captain if there are any noticeable differences sailing these days compared with when she sailed solo back at the raw age of fourteen - or with her dad before and after that time. "You mean, as in evidence of global warming?" Yea, that is what I had in mind. I keep thinking of "Statler" the surfer, telling me how the once-regular, annual rhythms of the swell have become unreliable in recent years. "No, not really," the Captain said. "The only change is that no one used to sail in August, because there was no wind." At the Summer Solstice, the earth hits the peak of its orbital tilt toward the sun, which is what leads us into the seasons of fall and then winter. The heating action of the sun (its convection action on the earth's atmosphere) levels out, maintaining some consistency - and thus whipping up less wind - before starting to cool.

Actually, I learn the most from my friends, and from my friends' friends. My thoughtfulness, such as it is, attempts to take in the particulars of whatever specific activity we're in and view it in relationship to larger contexts. I suppose I could invent some hierarchy of spheres (such as others already have) to describe the layers I perceive as "present" in most daily actions - but that would be tedious and besides, they're circumstantial. Different layers come into view according to various conditions - charting that dynamical geometry is not something I'm inclined to . . . I'm more interested in what seems called up in/through/by certain interactions - and how these patterns get entrenched (and why), and how to effect the patterns that lead to undesirable outcomes so that at least they produce unpredictable results. (Of course I want "better" results, but I've not yet acquired that much magic! If I get something different than I got before, then that seems at least evidence of change, which - in itself - is requisite prior to any conceivable improvement.)

What has been so extraordinary about sailing, specifically as crew and not captain, is an incredibly wonderful spacetime in which my mind can rest uni-dimensionally. Hours pass without deliberate thought. There's the press of the tiller against my palm, the rush of fresh sea air in my nose and lungs, the gurgle of water reconfiguring itself into wake. We roll with the waves; sometimes popping up high enough to land resoundingly, the flat bottom meeting ocean surface decisively. Under these conditions, a snippit of conversation sparks a lecture, a methodological strategy for research, a creative writing piece, blogposts.

I grow.

Cut by wind, molded by current, I aim by steering.

My dissertation committee is keen on the clarification of method. They want an articulation of what I will do as I conduct research into simultaneous interpretation at the European Parliament: particularly how I will decide what counts and doesn't count (what's "in" and what's "out") and - most significantly - what constitutes the boundary between inclusion and exclusion.

Triangulation is the key. I've had two distinct reference points all along - the spoken language interpreters and the people who use simultaneous interpretation. The third point has an amorphous existence, it's "there" and "not there," unfixable in a quantumly indeterminate way. Call it language, or meaning, or (my preference) meaningfulness; the relational axis shifts contingently, dependent on numerous variables any wild combination of which could be present and active in any given exchange. To wit: Is the dictionary definition most relevant or the slang usage? Is there an inside joke that relies upon a less common usage or is the popular sense the one intended? Does a particular political context - some story in the news, perhaps - shade a statement with a certain character, one that would otherwise convey either a less or more distinct point?

For instance, I am currently reading a book in the genre of fantasy. The title captured my attention because it invokes communication theory, the author is one I read voraciously in my youth and continue to revisit. If I had a chosen another book, I would be writing a different entry. But this book, read at this time, interacts with research planning. I embrace its temporal triangulation and claim its influence because it inspired me to craft an open invitation to join this research project. Put me (!) in the protagonist's position upon encountering one of the profound phenomena of the world she explores: ". . . she was dazzled . . . . she stood staring, blinking . . ." (p. 45).

Beautifully, what happens next is a stranger passing by offers an explanation - and then, most significantly (note: I've taken the liberty of replacing her object of study with mine):

"As she and the barrow man stood gazing, others stopped to help them gaze. That was the impression Sutty got. They all know what [simultaneous interpretation] looked like and therefore could help her see it" (p. 45-46).

I request your help (anyone interested in language, interpretation, meaning) to see fully, thoroughly, with incisive depth and relevant breadth, because only you (most precisely, Members of the European Parliament, - and simultaneous interpreters, and language scholars, and ...! ) know when and how you are trying to exercise leadership. This is how I would like to narrow that elusive third point of the research triangle - to the relationship between leadership and language choice. I am curious about correlations between best language use and leadership effectiveness, as well as correlations between leadership effectiveness (i.e., accomplishing what you want in terms of policy) and use of a lingua franca. Near the end of what will probably strike you as a rambling post (arcs of meaning), I wrote:

The interesting question then (to ask of your interpreter), is not "did you say what I meant" but "did you say what will accomplish for me the end I seek?"

As an interpreter myself (American Sign Language/American English), and based on interviews with European Parliament interpreters in 2005 (publication forthcoming), I have a decent sense of the typical ambition and outlook of simultaneous interpreters. What is missing is clarity concerning MEPs active, conscious, and deliberate use of simultaneous interpretation to accomplish your own independent and political goals.

Because this is research (not journalism), anonymity is assured. Comments (feedback, input, critique, etc.) here (in this public space, to me via email, and - ideally - through the official research series of brief conversations) are welcome from any and everyone. :-)

It was a pleasure to read Sutty's phenomenological sentiment as an answer to my dad's question ("How is the briny sea?") in between escape attempts from Point Judith Pond, on this tenth (!) day of our voyage and the coincidence of a major planetary event, the Summer Solstice. We were up at 5:30 am, hoping to ride out the slight north wind that typically (if not reliably) arises most mornings. We had three miles to go; we'd come that far in to find a secure anchorage last night. "I don't know if she's gonna make it, Cap'n!" Scotty informed us well before the crucial breakwater. Once there . . . alas. "No more dilithium crystals." Sigh - we pulled up to Jim's Dock and hung out for three hours, awaiting the tide's turn and more favorable conditions. I got to have a cup of coffee and read. :-)

Shore support (only three days ago!) at the Great Island Boat Ramp was enhanced by a Vessel Safety Check courtesy of the Power Squadron. John Robinson passed us with flying colors - the solar panel to recharge the electric motor totally impressed him. "Now I've seen everything," he exclaimed, running through his checklist and being satisfied by the Captain on each and every item. "You know what you're doing!" Reassuring (although hardly a surprise), as the sea was finally within reach.

A few hours later we were in the mouth of Connecticut River with its awesome, western-feeling big sky, heading for the Long Island Sound. I was delighted when, some casual glance down into the water, I realized a gorgeous translucent green had replaced the river's perpetual brown.

We rendezvoused - as planned - with Captain Judy of Joelara

and proceeded east into the Sound - hoping to reach Fisher's Island. We had prepared, dutifully, the day before, setting up a chart with location-specific times for the tide (premised on times for The Race) and careful listening to the weather radio (a twice-thrice daily event, usually) as to wind direction, wind speed, height of the seas, and the forecast. We encountered the tideline, which seemed determined to hold us fast for hours . . . the wind was just not enough for our fourteen-foot hardy craft to keep pace with the sleek Joelara. A thunderstorm was building off our stern, so the two Captains consulted and decided to head for some protection off Giant's Neck (scene of my entry onto the boat last year).

Emphasis on "some" protection - we got hammered! Again, we were fortunate to have enough time to get all the rain gear in place before the storm broke, and in fact we were doubly lucky because during the previous thunderstorm in Hamburg Cove (the ideal protected spot to be during a storm) we had worked out the kinks and secured unforeseen gaps. Oh yea, we still had to scramble a few times to keep everything tight but we cleared the storm with an essentially dry boat - pretty impressive when over half the boat is an open cockpit! After the first half-hour of storm burst, the wind calmed down and the rain mellowed. We did get jounced around a bit more than we'd hoped; every time the seas got still something whipped 'em up again. Oh well!

Captain Judy visited in the morning before heading back home, and I got to go over to her Cape Dory for a tour. Yessem, I like that boat! The fluffed milk coffee is a treat I might have to borrow, too. ;-)

We set out, slowly at first - Captain has a penchant to sniff the slightest bit of favorable wind and decide it's worth fighting the dregs of tide (ebb or flow - whichever is against us at the moment) - and then we were off for quite the satisfying day of sailing - all the way to Mystic, CT. We had another visit from our helicopter friends just as we neared the Seaflower Reef. I think they thought we were way too close, as they hovered down closer than before, nearly knocking us over! Well, that's an exaggeration, but they came down between us and the warning tower close enough to lean us over and gust the back awning all over the place! Twice! It's ok - the Captain and I were both goofy with exhilaration at being found again (!) - and we knew we were safe: Serenity has such a shallow draw (12"). I was steering but within the range Captain had advised after careful consultation of the chart. The thought was sweet, though - someone cares! :-)

A lot of people are impressed. It's quite charming, really. In the Noank Shipyard (Mystic), one of the workers came over to say hi. "This is quite a boat," he shared his first impression: "The people who sail this must be cool!" :-) There's no doubt about it, we are the smallest sailboat we've seen; and the only one actually relying upon sails! Possibly ten percent of the sailboats we've seen were actually in use; ok - it is still early in the season (our benefit!), but even when they are actually being "sailed" the motors are on, too. Or there isn't even a pretense - the sails are not even raised! When people figure out where we've come from, and where we're trying to go . . . ha. Look at me - writing "we" as if I've got any say in the matter! :-) Captain reads the wind and makes up her mind.

For instance, from Mystic we were going to head to Block Island. All the conditions seemed right: tide, weather, wind. We set out. Captain established time targets to assess progress and determine course changes if necessary. At the crucial moment, the reality was south winds were not going to give us the angle we needed to reach Block Island - we needed the forecasted southwest winds, and they weren't there. That's how we got to Point Judith.

Before we set out yesterday, though, we'd met some really nice people. The Noank people put us on their facedock - not a great rental slip (we took some battering as motorboaters periodically ignored the No Wake zone) but it positioned us to meet Marc and Kati when they pulled up behind us in their forty-two foot behemoth. I thought they might be deaf as they came into dock and one of the Yard's staff met them, asking questions about what they sought, and the woman on the bow responded with a gesture. Turns out they're French! Captain was able to engage them for quite a while, and Marc and I hammered out a bit of a conversation with his English and a French-English dictionary. Opposite us, in a real slip, we met Ben and his parents - they came over because they heard French . . . they're from Quebec. In a funny way I thought the universe is nudging me on to those French lessons that I'll want for Belgium, but my head is (sortof) learning sailing now. I just was not ready to take a new language plunge, too!

Leaving Mystic we passed by the famous Latimer Lighthouse - that's the one that adorns thousands of paintings of the New England coast. We enjoyed a concerto of bells, gongs, and Aolian harp - various sound alerts to keep sailors somewhat apprised of their location in fog and warn them off dangers in all kinds of weather. The day was bright and clear and - music with or without sound to a sailor - windy! Holy cow we went twenty-four miles! Beat our first day on the Connecticut by a long shot. After the decision to let Block Island go (for now), we headed toward Watch Hill with an eye to somewhere to tuck in for the night and give Block Island a go the next day. But the wind! She was something! We were leaving quite a wake behind us, and then the seas began to turn a bit rough.

At one point, Captain said, "This is what they [the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association's weather channel] would describe as one to two foot seas." She broke out the GPS and discovered we were zipping along at five knots! Some indeterminate amount of time later, we blasted by a boat of fishermen floating with their lines deep in. "The African Queen lives!" hollered one of them - a comment we've heard a number of times as folks associate the Captain with Katherine Hepburn. I thought it was hilarious that our tiny rig blew by their powerful motorboat as if they were at a standstill. :-)

Soon thereafter, the Captain said we were in "two to three foot seas" and it was time to put in a reef. Oh boy!

I had been doing fine. No seasickness - well, nothing serious. We'd been on alert, my body had been talking to me, periodically, just enough to let me know not to slack off on either the homoepathics or the steady equilbrium of a more, rather than less, full tummy. I'll tell you though, getting whipped around at that speed on those waves triggered a visceral memory. It was as if my body said, "Oh, the last time we were doing this under these conditions we were puking!" I carried on quite the conversation with myself all the way until we arrived at the Point Judith Harbor of Refuge. Regardless of history (see NYTIME Aug 2, 1893 re Pt Judith.pdf) - or perhaps somehow coincidentally because of it! - a harbor hasn't felt so good yet this voyage!

Captain consoled me with compliments on the reef job itself; I was dreaming of steaks when it seemed I was out of danger, then Captain mentioned a second reef - oh the power of suggestion!

Captain is not exactly fond of river sailing - compared with the open sea, rivers leave a fair bit to be desired. Truth is, sailing on the Connecticut River is what I know best, so far. (Last year's one serious foray into the Long Island Sound was not exactly a party.) Captain is actually of two minds about river sailing: it's (often) an awful lot of work for little headway, and - it sure gets one prepped for the Big Water!

We made eighteen miles the first day (Thursday, 12 June) - putting in at Riverside Park, Hartford and anchoring off Gildersleeve Island, five and ½ hours later. We started with two reefs, letting one out at Buoy 137 and the second between Memorial Bridge and Crow Point Pond. I'd forgotten the names of everything (peak halyard, throat halyard, main sheet...) but the feel came back to me pretty quick - that's been fun. :-) What wasn't so much fun :-( was having to coordinate getting a chapter completed (deadline Sunday) on top of re-acquainting myself with the how to's of upwind sailing.

Day Two began auspiciously (06:44, under sail, with current) but became the first of a series of mere four or five mile days. The thing about river sailing is that there are so many things that can happen. And most of the things that happen occur instantly in the midst of some peaceful stretch of calm time. So....there we are sailing along, tacking back-and-forth, making slow, steady progress, admiring nature. The shoreline of the Connecticut is quite beautiful. Trees line both banks, punctuated occasionally by fancy houses. Periodically a town appears although one doesn't see much unless they're large and have their own marina. Herons, swans, osprey, ducks, and geese are present in abundance. Birdsong trills constantly from the woods. Yes - the sound of traffic on the highway is usually present, but one can relegate it to the background.

We were admiring a flock of geese resting on the shore, getting up and moving away in unison as the boat approached. Perfect for a photo! Then we were aground - too deep into the wind shadow. Then Steph was in the water, shoving the bow around and leaping for the mast in order to clamber aboard and not be left behind. Captain tacked us back across the river. The sail needed reefing - now! The sail wasn't sure which way it wanted to go and the boom was knocking me all over. I was wedged in fine but there was some blood getting on the sail so I knew I was cut, somewhere. Didn't feel it but was worried about making a mess; Captain was unperturbed, getting the reef in was priority. Combined, the two events were probably no more than five minutes of high intensity. I finally wrestled in the last knot and sat down, facing away from the upcoming river's edge. A strange noise emerged from behind me. "What's that sound?" "Oh," Captain replied, "probably the centerboard" (dragging along the bottom). I was not ready to be grounded again!

:-) We escaped that time without me having to go overboard, but that's pretty much the way sailing goes: everything is calm, seems perfect - maybe we're making great speed maybe just plodding along but it's gorgeous out and hey, we are sailing, after all! Then wham, six things happen at the same time. Sometimes they happen because attention wanders for a millisecond, other times they just happen. Many things are more-or-less predictable - such as turkey motorboaters tossing us around on their wakes, the timing of the tide's flood and ebb stages, and the rising and setting of the sun and moon.

Our planet is so cool! I'm serious - the way the tides work is totally awesome. They push miles up rivers in the flood stage, during ebb they flush back down to the sea: a steady, rhythmic pulse. Every day. Always. Flood, ebb, flood, ebb.

My paper not being done was really a stressor. :-/ It provided an underlying tension - we weren't fully free, not yet. And we weren't getting anywhere fast - like, to a dock that might have wireless. On the evening of our third day - the day before the deadline (gulp!), the paper was finished. I'm to leave the details of that feat to my Trusty Sidekick (or is it Nefarious Accomplice?) At any rate, the chapter was completed and submitted on time. "Humanity," imagines my faux altersuperheroego (!), "might be saved!"
;-)

Day Four introduced us to a new marina, a kind of Huck Finn adventure down a narrow entry to a deeply hidden cove. Not only that, we found fans! Seriously! Early in the afternoon a fairly large boat cruised by and the people cheered us! :-) We are rather a novelty - relatively few people actually sail anymore. Lots of people have sailboats, but they aren't out in them, and if they are, chances are they're using a motor. And no one is out in as small as boat as the Peep Hen. It isn't unusual for folks to ask questions, but this is the first time I've been with Captain when someone broke out in full-throated cheers! A few hours later, they found us again in our Huck Finn hideaway. We had a chance to converse for a few minutes and they let us know that in addition to their boat, Runaway, they run a helicopter up and down the river, too.

After shore support (and a surprise call for Steph from Matt at the FBI - payment for the criminal background check required for my visa was rendered improperly and needed to be re-done, correctly, now), we set off for another short day of sailing. Interpersonal dynamics ensued. No sweat, we worked it out, but its inevitable that there will be some "storming" as we adjust to the reality of living, two human bodies/thoughts/feelings in a 14 x 6 foot boat - with twenty-four more days to go! Symbolically, we did lose a "crewman" at sea. Captain's vest (mixed history) used as a headsupport went overboard and Captain immediately called it rescue practice. We both had a chance at it, she grabbed as it fell and I took a swipe with a pole we use to hold up the canopy, falling short by a mere inch. :-/ By the time we circled around the thing was already underwater but visible . . . gone. Captain's Log reads:

Crew overboard rescue attempt FAILS. Capt's favorite vest/pillow lost at sea. Sank too fast for recovery. Lifejackets dispensed.

We have, indeed, been wearing our life jackets since. Captain always planned them once we got closer to the ocean. Here we are! As I type (Day Five), we're anchored in the Back River off the Long Island Sound.

Earlier, Long Island was visible as we waited just outside the entrance to North Cove waiting for the tide to shift and the wind to turn favorable. Last night we anchored in Hamburg Cove and endured a pounding rain replete with massive thunder and lightening. We were dry inside except once a mighty gust blew in one side of the awning, showering a cascade into the cockpit. While makeshifting some supports to prevent a repeat, lightening struck within a tenth of mile, first off starboard, then off port. As unlikely as a lightning strike might be, if one did hit our mast, Captain calmly informs me, it would probably blow a hole in the hull on the way out and we'd sink fast. Hmmmmmmm. Maybe not a bad night to sleep in the lifejacket?!

Woke up dry, managed to escape against the wind and the tide (!), then had a leisurely morning awaiting favorable conditions. Soon we were off again....and a gorgeous day, too (unlike the previous day's grey gloom and chilly drizzle), punctuated with a visit from our new friends! The Runaway caught up to us somewhat south of Essex and inquired as to our destination, as well as how we weathered last night. We're kinda liking having friends! Next, we made it through the Old Lyme Bridge even though the annoying operator sounded the alarm to lower the drawbridge while we still underneath it (Captain moves fast when compelled!) After the bridge we fought a wicked chop, laboring to the entrance to North Cove, unable to actually get in. Just as we dropped anchor to wait out a tide change and see if our luck would turn, we were buzzed by a helicopter! True business, there were our buddies again! They circled us then hovered some 60 feet to starboard, waving while we waved and grinned back.

We'll hang around for shore support in the morning, then head out in the direction of Mystic, Stonington, and Fisher's Island. If the wind will take us there . . .

My list is finally showing the end in sight -- just the big packing tomorrow, which can't be done sooner because of the heat. For your entertainment, below is a list of what's gone into this... The first things aren't yet done -- all the completed ones get a little "done" after them.

Day before:

pack orange fleece

bring blue fleece blanket

money tin

toothbrush salt

toothbrush charger

camera battery charger

pack underwear

Departure morning:

braces

retainer

peroxide, irrigation syringe

binoculars

Things to pack (general)

Cane

fishing rod

fishing lures

fishing Tupperware

lobster cooking pot

battery charger

theracane

dodger, awnings, blue tarp/rain gear bag

full toilet seat

partial toilet seat

cabin pee bucket (with jug)

Connecticut River guidebook

There was The Biggest Salad Ever and a Bison Burger. Margaritas and Honey Pilsner.
Laughter looping across periodic boundary conditions. My blushing. (!) A handshake for the chinese zodiac. (Do you know what they say about Virgos?)

The Italian mafia. A Columbian cartel. Romanian espionage and disruption services. A South African escapee. Bhutanese royalty. Some Americans and a Turk.

Seriously, one language or many? Interpreted (essential heterogeneity) or lingua franca (reduced homogeneity)? :-) Our debate draws forth a distinction: what do we value most and when - the depth and strength of relational connection or the collaborative effort to generate joint action toward a desired goal? I propose that

• we are always interpreting - the interactive presence of a simultaneous interpreter only makes the fact more evident, and


• more attention to this fact (of always and inevitable interpretation) could enable deepened collaborations to redress the critical needs of our time.

I am cautioned, again (and with great humor!), to be gentle with those who agree to talk with me: sensitivities about language skill can open vulnerabilities that could undermine the research endeavor. Refinements to the research problem have been percolating since the Committee exerted force on the prospectus. What matters - always - is the third, the locus of triangulation. There is the object of study - language use in an environment with an unprecedented range of language choice, and the emergent phenomena of an apparent preference for a (shared) lingua franca instead of a professionally-trained interpreter (to mediate linguistic difference). What, the committee asks, is the field of action within which language choice matters? What is the context that imbues significance to an individual's decision to use their best language instead of a weaker one? (I will also have to take into account that small percentage who are truly balanced bilinguals.)

The site of the study is political, institutional, and driven by economics. The crux of action could be defined as leadership - not in the strict sense of hierarchical role, but in the generic sense of providing a necessary function in the crucial moment that brings a desired goal closer to fruition.

For the record: Zeynep, my Temporary Quasi Date, Sangria Girl, STFU, Roommate, Henk, Don, and Anuj. Earlier, assorted town officials, a bonedigger and the FBI (now required for a visa).

I was finally invited to an event at The Farm.

I went without a pen, notepaper, or business cards. What was I thinking? Conversations morphed one into another I tell you the truth I love the smartness of my friends I wish I could bottle hold embrace inject their mindfulness through my skin to the bloodstream zapping consciousness with energy and acting out through my words thoughts actions to change heal cohere a movement to . . .

Sigh. But who can fight all the time? Comfortable denial is appealing - I mean, come on - we have so much fun together! It's gotta be balanced - I agree that the crazed pace of activist fronts perpetuate the very systems they mean to change, palliative bandaids on open wounds. From the porch we admired lightening arcing across the sky, calling to mind photographs captured by technical artists. Do you notice how often, now, conversation turns to natural disasters? These are not the idle conversations of yore about the weather....last semester a student (surfing the net, ahem, during class time) was compelled to announce, "There was just a huge earthquake in China!" Friends in Indiana, Missouri, and Kansas have thunderstorms and twisters constantly on mind, coping with floods and power outages. This is it, people! The beginning of the everyday evidence.

My plan to let blogging go was not to be. I scrounged a pen and scribbled notes throughout the evening. They are incomplete, scattered. As ever too many brilliant comments deserve notice and most have already slipped away (Laura!) - the effervescent quality of liveness when the energy of language binds us each to another in shared moments of experience. I asked former blog victims to warn the new ones. The Belgian Generals vanished instantly, but not after a stimulating conversation about solid helium and the problems of superconductors in which I tried to explain what I've been learning about the language of math, and was told a physics insider's joke: "What's a particle? An equation."

Matt expressed mild interest. To whom and how do we invest the time to email, text, and/or call? So much communication is possible to us now - do these methods add quality or merely aggregate? What mode or type of sensory perception connects us to people - with or without talking? I value these text-based communiques so much - my most special people are, or soon will be, thousands of miles away. "Bogota, baby, Bogota!"

Confusion percolated through the danceable: minimalist reggae with some kind of elements of hip hop, dubstep, two step, grime and for one specific Muslim Gauze. AfroBeat inspired dancing ensued, a combination of aggression and ecstasy ~ how indeed do we turn what Butler discretely (once and only once) labels "the male problem" into constructive displays and nonviolent discharges? The Big Picture tips the normal (traditional, customary) mode of news from quantities of text with tiny pictures to huge photographs and minimal text; revolutionary lyrics tickle the edges of consciousness obscured by the sounds of rhythm and kinetics of motion... I talk with friends about relationships past, present, imagined my own included what have I learned from regret? The key lesson articulates itself for the first time: "Feel the emotion the first time!" Because if you don't, that precise emotion will come up again later and it will be wrong, misplaced - a here-and-now interaction wrenched/distorted by the there-and-then possibly even another person replacing the one in front of you. (Perhaps, ohmaybebaby I've cleaned the slate dispensed with the backlog caught myself up to the present giving more/better chances to present/future dances.) [Note: someone may not wear a purple dress to any more weddings!]

How many directions do we look? What does our collective gaze encompass? What sense do we make of what we see? Comments about a now contacted tribe in Brazil disturb: sarcasm our only antidote? The alternative is politics. Sure, hope fleets by, ungraspable never to be contained but is this not also the essential quality of life?

A conspiracy between a bone-digger and an undertaker caused this rigorous sociological attempt at describing some general features of all human groups to materialize in order for me to abscond with it on my recent family vacation. Robert K. Merton concludes his introduction with

"this considered judgment: not since Simmel's pioneering analyses of almost half a century ago has any single work contributed so much to a sociological theory of the structure, processes, and functions of small groups as George Homans' The Human Group" (1950, p. xxiii).

Not a bad recommendation - and timely for my purposes, to come across now. I'd only time to glance at the potential relevance of this (old) theory to my upcoming research. One of the tensions I anticipate engaging over the next academic year is that between cognitivists (who root their science in the western psychological bias of individual and independent selves) and communication scholars (who recognize - to varying degrees - the inescapably interactive relationships that generate any and all kinds of meaning). The dual dichotomy may be overly simple but it is useful, at least to start: the often opposed frames of psychological and social, and the human products of selves and meanings.

My reading of Homans begins in earnest after reading a keynote address James suggested, Breaking Mindset, by Allan W. Snyder of the Centre for the Mind (Canberra, Australia). Snyder claims a fundamental question for cognitive science concerning originality: he wonders how do we get ideas in the first place? Snyder's "we" is of the royal sort - the presumption of common experience extended from a singularly authorized agent; it makes a sharp contrast with Homans deliberately collaborative we, in which "author and reader are learning together" (p. 2). This is one instance of the striking contrast between approaching social science by aggregating up (as it were) from isolated individual cognitions and extrapolating down from complex interactions.

Homans descriptive language is fully interactional. "No one," he writes, "just 'sees' human behavior. The eye is never quite innocent, but comes to its task sensitized. We see what our experience and ideas teach us to see - and this is never the whole story" (p. 13). Snyder provides a cognitive case to prove this point literally, referring to an instance (Hughes 1996) when a particular theory of optics prevented the direct observation of photoreceptors in the human eye. The problem with Snyder's example is that it does nothing more than provide an instance -the puzzle of attributing a particular meaningfulness remains. Homans continues: "The world and its meaning are always negotiating with one another, with experience as the go-between. Even common-sense language implies a theory of behavior and tells us, for instance, to look for actions and motives" (p. 13).

Homans' relational framing enables a mode of analysis not restricted by linear causality. Snyder's concern with the new, first, and original implies - and thus invokes - an ordinal logic. Only the so-called real numbers are made available within this cognitivist frame. As much as it names interaction, in cognitive science the brain is situated prior to thought, the mind before relationship. The metaphors made possible by mathematical breakthroughs of imaginary and complex numbers, which have led to deeper and more sophisticated understandings of the laws of physics and all of the natural world, are cut off by the limited horizon imposed by any individual mind. Homans' writing does not refer laterally to these breakthroughs occurring contemporaneously in the hard sciences, but he does highlight the work of Mary Parker Follett, quoting her at some length (interspersed with his own thought):

"In her study of administrative control, she argued, as others had done, that in studying any organized social activity we must study the 'total situation.' But we must not merely 'be sure to get all the factors into our problem.' We must examine 'not merely the totalness of the situation, but the nature of the totalness. . . . What you have to consider in a situation is not all the factors one by one, but also their relation to one another.' The relation is such that the parts make a whole, the elements make an organism. And Mary Follett affirmed 'that the whole determines the parts as well as that the parts determine the whole.' She recognized that the unity is not a static, finished thing, but an ongoing process: 'The same activity determines both parts and whole. . . . We are speaking of a unity which is not the result of an interweaving, but is the interweaving. Unity is always a process, not a product . . . . I have been saying that the whole is determined not only by its constituents, but by their relation to one another. I now say that the whole is determined also by the relation of whole and parts . . . . It is the same activity which is making the whole and parts simultaneously.' Finally, the activity, the process, she spoke of always leads to something new. Something emerges. She summarized her ideas as follows: 'my first point concerned the total situation; my second, the nature of the interacting which determines the total situation; my third, the evolving situation. we come to see that reciprocal adjustment is more than mere adjustment; that is where we get what the psychologist has called the "something new," "the critical moment in evolution."' (p. 8-9)

At lunch with Li (!), he spoke of "the tyranny of understanding, of agreement." The preminent challenge of our time is to alter the typical terms of reciprocal adjustment; to engage the dynamics of difference in ways that lead to new things: new structural institutions and social customs. This can only occur through the active practices of actual human groups. My individual challenge is articulated in one way by Bernard DeVoto (in the forward to Homans' book) as that between the pedestrian and the intuitive social scientist: "The 'pedestrian' does not get through from fact to adequate generalization; the 'intuitive' does not get through from generalization to adequate fact" (1950, p. 46).

I must build, carefully and painstakingly, from intuitive perceptions to convincing fact, such that I can achieve "success" according to the (rigid) logic of the academy. Simultaneously, that labor cannot be divorced from the everyday mingling with friends, acquaintances, and even strangers.

The trilogy, billed first as Xenogenesis and then as Lilith's Brood, closes with more insight on the human condition from the vantage point of maturity. (Am I a grown-up, now?)

"Humans said one thing with their bodies and another with their mouths and everyone had to spend time and energy figuring out what they really meant. And once we did understand them, the Humans got angry and acted as though we had stolen thoughts from their minds." (p. 548)

Why are we so reluctant to be known? And what is the crime of understanding?

"...the ooloi perceived all that a living being said - all words, all gestures, and a vast array of other internal and external bodily responses. Ooloi absorbed everything and acted according to whatever consensus they discovered. Thus ooloi treated individuals as they treated groups of beings. They sought a consensus. If there was none, it meant the being was confused, ignorant, frightened, or in some other way not yet able to see its own best interests. The ooloi gave information and perhaps calmness until the could perceive a consensus. Then they acted." (p. 553)

Jodahs is another child of Lilith, Tino and Nikanj, Dichaan and Ahajas. Jodahs has exceeded the limits of genetic engineering designed to ensure only male and female children, instead becoming ooloi, an ungendered being. "Not being able to go to anyone for comfort...can make you like the lightening - mindless and perhaps deadly" (p. 558).

I have acted "like the lightening" sometimes, in past events and instances I'd rather not remember. Quick anger and deep hurt spark words that leap unbidden from the tongue even before my mind has wrapped itself around them. Then come the rationalizations: the excuses and reasons why, the justifications. None suffice.

Some things, however, must be said.

Jodahs is afraid of causing harm. "Give yourself time. you're a new kind of being. There's never been anyone like you before. But there's no flaw in you. You just need time to find out more about yourself." (p. 571)

The hard things Nikanj had to say were about killing in self-defense - if absolutely necessary. Such an action is a horror to the Oankali, whose reverence for life exceeds all other imperatives. "Nothing is more tenacious than the life we are made of." (p. 663)

That is the Oankali religion in a nutshell: "A world of life from apparent death, from dissolution." (p. 663) I am reminded of Alvin the Maker and quantum physics.

If one accepts the fact of quantum indeterminacy, however unlikely the probability, there remains chance - for life, for change, for health, for happiness, for any good thing (just as equally as, to be fair, any bad thing). One can never predict when, where, how, or why one may discover - in themselves and others -

Note:
Book Two: Adulthood Rites
Book One: Dawn

WE USE EXCUSES TO WALL OURSELVES IN AND EVERY EXCUSE WE ADD KEEPS US FROM MOVING FORWARD OR GAINING KNOWLEDGE. IT IS BECAUSE OF EXCUSES THAT WE NEVER MOVE, CHANGE OR BECOME ALL WE ARE CREATED TO BE. OUR ARMOR OF EXCUSES WEIGHS US DOWN SO WE DROWN IN OUR EXCUSES. REMEMBER EVERYTHING WE DO, GOOD OR BAD, HAS A RIPPLE EFFECT IN OUR WORLD.

As a small child I learned not to make excuses. We were taught that if asked to do something it was because we could accomplish it and that someone was always there to encourage us. Many lessons were given so I will share one with you. When I was two my learning started, I was asked to do many small things such as go and bring water to the Grandmothers when they were in the cornfields. When I did this I was told how important it was and how much I had helped take care of the corn. Then I was sent out on another errand usually more difficult and/or something I hadn't done before. I was learning to always be busy and helpful. If I tried to make an excuse, such as I didn't know how, too tired, wanted to do something else that I already knew or just play, I was told a "story" about how excuses would make me too heavy to do anything, even things I wanted to do and then ignored until I was ready to try. Once I started there was someone to help and encourage me and when I accomplished it there were always kind words for helping, then I was reminded that everyone must help. Everyone always ready to help me showed this. We were always taught by examples.

REMEMBER, EVERY DAY SHOULD BEGIN BY SAYING WHO CAN I HELP TODAY, HOW MUCH GOOD CAN I DO, HOW MUCH JOY CAN I GIVE, HOW MUCH LOVE CAN I SHARE, HOW MUCH PEACE CAN I BRING TO MYSELF, OTHERS AND THE EARTH AND END EACH DAY BY NAMING THOSE WHO WE HAVE HELPED, BY NAMING HOW MUCH GOOD WE HAVE DONE, HOW MUCH JOY WE HAVE GIVEN, HOW MUCH LOVE WE HAVE SHARED AND HOW MUCH PEACE WE HAVE BROUGHT TO OURSELVES, OTHERS AND THE EARTH. ONLY THEN CAN WE BEGIN TO ACHIEVE OUR GENTLENESS, OUR STRENGTH OUR SENSE OF WORTH AND BECOME WHO WE WERE CREATED TO BE. IT IS TIME TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR OUR WORDS, THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS TOWARD EACH OTHER AND THE EARTH.

Tommy said to my friends: "You're funny!" :-) This was after Kelly regaled us with the joke about a man returning to college and learning something about logic. She went on to talk about racial tensions in Kansas:

"Me and Steph went to a KKK rally in Topeka...."
I had to interrupt: "We went to protest the rally!"

Meanwhile, Kay dispensed her wisdom:

Later, at Frances' pool party, a bunch of hooligans from the old days gathered. Tammy teased Kathy's kids about horseback riding: "Merry-go-rounds don't count." Someone (was it Lori?) sprained her ankle the last time she rode a horse.

How'd you do that?

I was drunk and fell off.

Everyone told me I looked better without the hair. No surprise. :-)

The hours drifted by, filled with easy conversation. When I returned to Kansas City two years ago for my nephew's funeral, it did not even occur to me that some of my old friends might appear - I had been away for more than two decades, hadn't everyone else scattered too? Nope, Kay said, I was the only one. I hoped for a chance to tell everyone how much their friendship means to me, the stability I gain from knowing that they are all still there. We were not in a sentimental space, just a casual one - like the old days.

After the long lazy day, five of us scooted off to catch Gay Pride. In the end, it did not matter at all that festivities ended at 10 pm instead of midnight - our arrival at the Liberty Memorial outdoor venue at 9:54 created another adventure. We moved on to

Organizers pitched this as the 30th year, which is a slight exaggeration. When we - me, Bill Todd, Marc Hein, and a very few others - got together in 1988 to plan a Gay and Lesbian Awareness event (GALA), there had not been any pride events in the KC area for several years. We did know they had occurred before, but - as far as I know - had no contact with any former organizers. Maybe some of the original organizers reappeared after I moved away? We held a first GALA event with a measly 200 participants, which grew to 500 the second year. I returned to town for the third year's event - an estimated 3000 and the first ever parade. Marc insisted I ride in the lead car (some people whom I didn't know weren't so happy about that but others agreed).

This was my first experience with the humility necessary to be a public figure. I use this concept deliberately - because I failed, and the lesson has never left.

I had no part in planning that year. My activism had led me to democratic politics and national-level organizing in the lesbian community, I had been fired (literally because of activism) and moved away. Marc and I talked about AIDS and the gay community for most of the ride. He was expert at setting the pace - I felt we us moving so slowly! The route was long...I lost track of time. Suddenly we topped a hill and a huge roar greeted us - we were at Southmoreland Park and a huge crowd spotted us the moment we came into view. I heard them before I saw them. The noise nearly compelled me to stand - in fact, I struggled with the visceral shock: this moment of collective celebration deserved cheering and I was the one in the only position to act as cheerleader. All it would have taken was for me to stand up and wave my arms - to use my body as a sign of triumph.

I could not do it. I was too embarrassed. I felt doubt - was I even supposed to be there? Should it have been someone else in the passenger seat of the lead car? I could not let go of my own ego and allow myself - my Self, in the guise of my Body - to symbolize for all of us that extraordinary historical moment.

This year, like last, there were tens of thousands of people celebrating pride in our community. Most events were at the largest outdoor venue in Kansas City (short of a sports stadium), rife with symbolic value. From those humble single afternoon programs, the event now spans an entire weekend. The estimate was thirty thousand people, of all stripes, religions, races, and ages: a human rainbow.