I visited the Palinski's for Billy's birthday on Saturday.  You can always count on an amazing group of souls to gather at their home.  As usual, they delivered magical human connection.

I wasn't sure what to expect this year, because in recent years I haven't seen many people my age.  My most recent visit was two years ago, and there was only one other classmate there.  Many people have been moving far away, having kids, and doing the things that most people do as they go through life.  Reunions are harder.  That's why the Palinski's provide such a valuable service to everyone in attendance.  We don't just get to see them, but we also get to see each other.

With or without classmates, I knew I would be able to see many important people dear to my heart.  1st, I would get to see one of the greatest families I'll ever have the privilege to know.  The mother, Chris, always makes me feel so welcome.  She always gives me a warm hug and is genuinely concerned with the lives of all in attendance.  Her years as a psychiatrist have taught her something about making people feel good about themselves.

The father, Mark, attended to me as a physician when I broke my arm on the first day of football practice at the age of 13.  A few years ago he gave me some playlists of classic rock music, and I helped him get his hands on quite a bit of Bob Dylan.

Suze, the oldest, is a doctor who lives in Providence with her doctor husband and children, but used to live on the Upper West Side.  Before that, she lived in Baltimore.  Once I drove the Wagen Wheel to Baltimore with my mother, my sister, my German sister Linda and Billy in the back.  When we arrived in the same city where my sister had had her surgeries, we dropped him off at his big sister Suze's apartment.

John, the oldest son, has worked for various non-profit's and now works for a university while he and his lovely wife live in Annapolis, Maryland.  He loves soccer and often travels abroad, either for work or for soccer-related activities.  I still remember being inspired by his story at Billy's wake.  He just wanted to share a nice memory, so he reminisced about how they used to love to rebel against the rules and sneak into movies together when they were much younger.

The one closest in age to Billy was Kathleen, who works in healthcare, is great friends with my sister, hosted me in Boston at the start of my first coast-to-coast America journey and always brings so much positive energy to the gathering.  She's incredibly excited for my sister and her new baby.

I knew I would also see my first employer, Al Bailey, who taught me how to shear and fertilize evergreen trees.  I'd already learned how to plant them with my dad.  I was going to call him my favorite tree farmer, but my grandfather was a tree farmer, so I'll say he's my favorite retired teacher/tree farmer.

There would also be Mr. Lacasse, my first math teacher in Cambridge, and the beloved soccer coach of many in attendance.  He is also the Palinski's neighbor, and the proud father of many.  His eldest son's wake was my first.  My mother, a hospice worker, thought it would be good for me to go and show support to my former teacher, and also to get the experience.  I didn't cry that time, but years later I would at Billy's wake, at the same funeral home.  I'd just read his college admissions essay where he celebrated expanding his comfort zone while living abroad in Ireland, and how experiencing and learning about differences makes the world a better place to be.  When I saw his Simpsons memorabilia, I started bawling, and the towering bearded Mr. Lacasse was there to give me a bear hug I will never forget.  I figured I might see a few other teachers, and former classmates' parents.

Well, I not only saw all of those wonderful people who have aided my life invaluably, but I was also pleasantly surprised to meet six classmates I haven't seen in years.  All but two of them I had never seen at the party before: the best basketball player in our grade, a friend I'd once gone to a Solar Power festival with, and an artistic baker with whom I'd had a very civil discussion about gun violence on social media (after Las Vegas).  Many at the table either had children there, waiting at home, or waiting inside of them so they could be born one day.  The basketball player was the only other single one there.

At one point I had a discussion with a very friendly roofer, the partner of one of my classmates.  He said he was living in Argyle, but really wished he could get back to Cambridge.  I said I would love to move to a similar area some day, perhaps nearby.  He said that he'd been gone for twenty years, living "all over the place."  Then I realized that what he meant was that he'd lived several places within an hour of Cambridge his whole life.  Ironically, the areas of Schenectady, Troy and Gloversville where he'd lived are more dangerous than New York City.  He said he loves that people smile and wave in his town, because he knows everybody.

The greatest part was I got to spend true quality time with Billy's wonderful immediate family near the end of the evening, making this my best visit so far.   Afterward, at home, I enjoyed a long walk in the fields and the forest, with a considerable amount of time spent listening to the brook rushing while the overhead clouds provided more visibility than usual, my only companions a Long Trail Green Blaze (five kinds of hops) and a Sherlock Holmes-style wooden pipe.  I was very glad I'd made the three and a half hour drive, and not just because I loved blaring jazz and hip-hop while coasting up the interstate.

When I'd gotten home on Thursday, the day before I had to drive up, I'd discovered that someone had finally smashed in the back side window on my car, it having been spared such a fate amidst other, nicer cars for years.   I wasn't so much angry as surprised and annoyed.  I'd just had a great day at work, bidding my Egyptian mother a fond farewell after six straight months in class and a year of knowing each other because of Friday classes.  A few other shorter term students had also moved on as well, and it was a gorgeous sunny evening, so it was hard to get too worked up.

I knew the car still worked and insurance would cover it, but I couldn't help but get sentimental over the theft of my sleeping bag from beneath the tarp in the back.  I always kept a tent, sleeping bag and hiking boots in my car, just in case.  That bag had been my shelter for two coast-to-coast journeys, in 2010 and 2012, and while working harvest in Sonoma (something that would come up frequently Saturday night when I reminisced with my former basketball teammate, who's also best friends with the guy who owned the yard where I slept in that sleeping bag).  That said, I hadn't used it in a few years, since it was rolled up the Fibertech probably doesn't work as well, and if a homeless person was that desperate, I suppose it is being put to better use now.  And that tent that I'd used on both journeys had been destroyed, so I guess I wasn't meant to keep those supplies as vestiges of the voyage.  So I went back to my apartment, got some duct tape, plastic, and a funk playlist, and got to work so I could still make the journey.  As I swept little pieces of black glass out of the trunk and finished a James Brown tune, I got a kick out of the second song to come on: "Pick Up the Pieces."  When I came back home and got up to my easy chair with the view of the streets, I could see a homeless guy sleeping on a bench, covered by a different sleeping bag, right behind the flower bed which had just begun to bloom, beneath a deciduous that had just begun to blossom while also next to a small evergreen tree.

Today was just another day, but my mind was swirling on the walk home, as it often is.  I experienced the usual mix of thoughts, contrasting emotions and variety of imaginative scenarios while I sort out the experiences and information that came my way during the day.  I was perturbed that filming of yet another television show had pushed cars to take up all the usual spots, and I had to park far away, near the Grant Memorial.  I love how Grant knew how to use necessary force to eradicate the indefensible evil of slavery and make existence a challenge for the KKK.  I also love that he was a great writer.

As I walked home, I noticed someone had spray painted words on the sidewalk.  They were Walt Whitman lines from one of my favorite poems, "Song of Myself".  ("Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"... I could go all day).  I love the peace, love, harmony, contentment, care-free attitude, adventurous spirit and soulful celebration of existence expressed by this fellow Long Islander.  On the ground is written:

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then

I contradict myself.

I am large.

I contain multitudes

Despite the contrast in lifestyles, both Ulysses and Walt sported legendary beards.

Speaking of which, I loved seeing my father and mother, as always.  I enjoyed being asked by my father to lift up a tractor chain and place it on some hooks in his shop because he and my uncle hadn't been able to do it on their own.  I also got to take a picture with a shovel by the swamp where we will plant a tree to honor my grandfather.

Naturally, although I love the country, I contradict myself and live in the city, so I drove back on a partially sunny afternoon, listening to country, blues, bluegrass, rock, and funk.

People aren't as friendly in the city, but when I was walking around taking pictures of the moon on top of the hill, some guy crossing the street looked up behind him to see the lunar halo lighting up the clouds.  When he got to my side, he said, "It is a pretty moon tonight."  No one ever says that to me.

I responded, "Right?!" and went on my way.

Today we practiced expressions such as "and so forth," "and so on," and "etc."

You know, for when you're listing things, and people get the idea.

My favorite, however, is still "and all that jazz."

Memory vibration, inspiration

Please

Read more books.

When you can.

Life is complicated.

Mix in some books.

They're good for you, they're good for us, they're good for the world.

You can read my book when it's ready.

Please, that is.

Every day is Earth Day

Good day, thank you universe!

Yum...

I hope you are able to enjoy life on this day.  I must say, I've felt so lucky on the train the past couple days.  Ya see, students have to write their essays on laptops, and then I have them e-mailed to me.  So I was able to read them on my phone on the train last night and this morning.  It's amazing to see how each student interprets the question, and how each answer is a window into whatever they're dealing with in their lives.  The first time I lived in this city I didn't read profound thoughts from a variety of real human beings hailing from Egypt, Senegal, Turkey, Azerbaijan, Ukraine/Russia, Czech Republic, Taiwan, Colombia and Brazil.

One mother writes about being inspired by another woman who broke free from her mundane life of duty and started pursuing her true passions, whereas another mother writes about how children can't be comfortable all the time and won't learn the value of work or food or money if they are completely cut off from those in the world who suffer.  Young men/women/teenagers write about seeking new experiences, while another writes about how his best friend had to convince his father and his family to give him permission to study abroad in America and overcome their fears that he would die in an auto accident just like his cousin.  When you sometimes get pampered rich kids who are fixated on their smartphones and don't appear interested in learning, you can sometimes forget what a big deal it is for some of these students to be able to come here at all.  Some students talk about how NYC has been their lifelong dream, and things that are normal for me are incredible milestones in their lives.  Regardless of where they come from or how cushy their economic situation may be, they often have their own stories of tragedies overcome.  On a lighter note, a 20 something guy writes about how his sister has always gone clothes-shopping with him and now that she's not here he's had to call her to find out his own pant size (I took delight in informing him that it should be on the tag of the pants he's wearing).

Truth be told, I really enjoyed reading these essays, and I have to say, I can't always say that about student writing.  Responses to test questions tend to be generic and slightly robotic, but this one was different.  Maybe it was because it was an independent task, but the first one they'd written about friends and family didn't light the same fire in my soul.  Perhaps the strength of the second batch of essays was related to that impromptu speech I gave right before they started writing.  We've been having difficulties with a human being, is all I can say.  So I had a bit of a pep talk with my class.  Morale had been soaring as we'd journeyed through this test that is very important for their future success in obtaining jobs or attending various levels of higher education, but the past few days had been very rough, with relief nowhere in sight.  So I told them they are going to continue to deal with difficult humans throughout their lives (especially if they stay in New York), and that they've each got one life to live, so they can't let one human being ruin their experiences.

I then gave them a quick version of a story about Billy Palinski and how the awesomeness of his life was the essential nudge that pushed me out of my comfort zone into a series of adventures abroad and made my life infinitely richer in the process.  Without his bravery and the legend of his personality, I wouldn't be reading the work of people who have incredibly different backgrounds and life experiences.

As I've learned from their essays, these types of experiences improve myself and the building of a better world depends on people continuing to pursue them.  Now, please, it's a nice day.

I think you should go play in the magical mysterious moving universe

I woke up this morning and noticed that eight years ago I had posted "Forever Young" on social media after writing it on this very web page while traveling in Laos.

We've been working on writing the past few days.  Until today it had been very structured with integrated tasks where they have to compare and contrast readings with audio lectures, but I decided to skip ahead to independent tasks to give them something new.

The essay they wrote was about the importance of moving out of one's comfort zone.  On that note, I think I'll go on a walk

I believe freedom to be a mostly favorable condition of the human spirit, with somewhat flexible boundaries necessary to grow the greatest quality

I'm walking up the hill and find the field where you can see this incredibly wide piece of sky (for the city) and the clouds are flying every which way while the piano plays, and I notice an opening in the clouds to see a few stars, and the narrator on Common's "It's Your World" says, "be a brilliant soul, sparkling in the galaxy, while walking on Earth," and I like that, give thanks, enjoy the sky right alongside the goal in the circle, walk with some trees and cherry blossoms up the hill, say hello to New York, buy some food, cook some vegetables because I ate whatever I wanted at lunch, sit here, write this after writing before, listen to more music, appreciating such gifts

Saturday Recharge

Sunshine on Hudson River

Cherry Blossoms, Wind

Amazing when we wonder enthusiastically

A willing wanderer wooing energy

A welcome warm wind enters

I am thankful for the people I have, and to continue to encounter more interesting journeyers on Earth, creating awesome rhythm that enthuses reality

On Monday, I asked them who their heroes were, a 4/9 tradition.  The first student answered her parents, even though I distinctly told people not to say their parents because most people say their parents and that's beautiful, true, unique, wonderful, amazing, but I still want to know who else they admire, because I feel like that tells me more about them.  They'd already done their grammar, and they're intermediate, so I don't spring so many deep subjects on them.  Even so, I wanted to know their heroes.  The second talked about an Olympic athlete from Kosovo who had made them proud and more famous.  Then I got to a student from Okinawa who used to be a flight attendant and went on to casually reveal to us a few weeks into class, when asked if she'd ever won something, that she had been the Miss Japan 2011 finalist.  She stands up by her desk, as they are all required to do, and she says I am her hero, which immediately elicits a laugh from all, including yours truly (I've heard such creative answers before).  But she says it's because I help her and her classmates improve their communication with each other, and that makes it possible for them to talk more and have more fun.  I clapped vigorously while enthusiastically encouraging the other students to follow suit.  "Now that's how you answer a question!"  Alas, the rest of them tended to like sports stars or people who save lives.  Fair enough.

Today nothing out of the ordinary happened, except on the way to work I took a look around me and remembered what I'd just written about flying to work on a (sometimes) high-speed platform surrounded by beautiful people, so I decided to look around, and yes, there was something beautiful about them, at least while I could look in between them and the river in the distance, with that early morning crisp blue sky above all the construction near the new Columbia buildings.  After work I got home and took a power nap, I walked across the bridge to move my car, and it was close to sun set on the Hudson River to my right.  I enjoyed a peaceful 7 minute walk with the sun's rays dancing on the waters below, took some photos through one of those rectangles they cut in the fence, got in my car, drove for a minute, parked, and then walked back along the bridge, this time with the sun on my left.  It was about to set, living the waters to clear my mind.

We'd read earlier about researchers discovering the nearly constant activity of the right temporal lobe--which is related to facial recognition, connecting memories and understanding language--implying the best way to problem solve isn't to constantly focus on the issue, but to let your mind wander and get it relaxed somehow.  They say that there are 2 seconds of rapid activity before inspiration strikes, or as they called it, a "Eureka!" moment, with respect to Archimedes.  If you're like him, you could try a bath.  I prefer to walk outside.  It's easier to run with clothes and shoes on as opposed to naked while covered in soap suds... at least until spring warms up.  But to each their own.

Esteem for those who help others

Much respect for those who don't care much about how they're admired as long as they can be themselves and express truth vibrations inside while exhibiting one's honest talents

Complete admiration for those who work toward improving the quality experience of universe love

A friend and I have been watching this long documentary about the second world war.  We started in early February, watching a few hour-long episodes at a time every few weekends.  After hours and hours of real footage and interviews with survivors from all sides (except China, because this BBC program was produced in the early 70's), the Axis Powers finally surrendered.  24 episodes down, 2 to go.  They've still got to sort out some treaties.  So today I'm thankful for the lack of bombs and gunfire in the vicinity, and the beautiful comforts and plentiful food of modern existence in developed countries such as this one.

Well, I've thought about what's happened in five years since I made a heart smile with photos, and I think the best way to summarize what's transpired since then is that this heart has had much more to smile about, and that this heart's smile grows larger every year

I remember turning 18 and being told that I was then eligible to serve as a juror, and thinking how cool it would be.  I grew up watching Law & Order and all sorts of other legal/detective dramas, and multiple standardized occupation tests in middle and high school came to the conclusion that I should be either a lawyer or a civil engineer.  I'm sure all my civil engineer friends from college would laugh at the latter, as I've avoided complicated math ever since I aced the advanced placement calculus test senior year, but mathematics used to be a talent of mine.  And although the words "magical thinking" do not carry the same connotation for me that they do for most people, I still have a pretty logical mind, even when I decide that in certain situations it doesn't really apply.

Thus, when I went to college, I majored in government, assuming I'd become a lawyer some day.  After a summer at a personal injury law firm, it seemed possible.  When my first creative writing professor told me I had talent, my courage shifted elsewhere.  After working my first real job as a paralegal at a multinational law firm in Manhattan, I knew that there was no chance I would ever go to law school.

I still remember the office party where the millionaire partner I'd been working with had asked me if I was planning to go to law school, and when I gave him the standard fib, "I'm thinking about it," he replied, "Good!  If you'd said yes, we'd have to fire you for being an idiot!  The junior executives at Goldman Sachs got thirty million dollar bonuses the other day!  Bonuses!  How do you go to work the next day?"  I've internalized the lesson that no matter what you have or what you do, if you're only in it for money, someone else will have more, and that's all you'll think about.  That is, unless you're like that investment banker who went to Mexico in search of fungi and shared his findings with the world.  When I found some for (kind of) the 1st time at Bonnaroo after graduating college in 2006, I became convinced that the world was a magical poetry journey, and naturally found myself working for one of the five largest multinational corporate law firms in the world four months later.  A year after that, I went back to Bonnaroo, and I wouldn't experience the legal realm for 11 years...

Well, the inevitable finally happened.  I got called for jury duty after fifteen years of eligibility.  Of course it had to be two weeks before taxes are due, and two months before I'm planning to use my vacation and some extra time to visit my sister and nephew in Europe.

When I found out, I did the most logical thing.  I asked my best friend, who recently was admitted to the bar, for free advice on how to get out of it.  You see, my enthusiasm for serving waned significantly when I read that you're only paid $40 per day.  As my father said, the juries are the ones really getting punished in these long cases.  You can't even pay rent on $40 a day in NYC, let alone eat so you can stay alive, pay for transportation to the courthouse, and God forbid you've got student loans or enjoy doing anything else!  My friend joked that I should say that I'm prejudiced against all races, and then said I should just answer that I cannot be impartial.  His girlfriend, also a lawyer, said that telling the truth about my financial situation should get me out of it.

So I told my work, gave my students a heads up, and reported for duty on April 3.  We sat in a room for an hour, having filled out some paperwork, and then they randomly called 37 names to go to an adjacent room for jury selection.  I was number 27. I sat in the back, and they interviewed the ten people up front, while speaking loud enough so everyone could get an idea about what kind of case it was.  Somehow that questioning took from 10 am until 4 pm (with a break for lunch).  It was a civil case, and the jury was going to be asked to assess the damages, possibly without knowing many facts about the accident that had caused injuries.  Being a writer, I tend to want the whole story, so I knew that I was going to have some issues with this whole jury service.

I already had my excuses lined up.  I worked for a personal injury law firm the summer after my freshman year of college, and often had to read through medical reports to organize symptoms reported by clients in class action cases.  One of my mentors and father's hunting buddies (who pointed him in the direction of our adopted hometown in upstate New York) is a U.S. attorney, and in high school my friend and I watched him in action in federal court.  On the way home, he told us how insurance companies are always trying to **** people out of their money (no offense to anyone who works in insurance; my first ever hitchhiking ride in North Carolina was with a well-traveled and well-read insurance salesman, and we talked about classic literature and Tom Robbins the whole time).  I painted that same attorney's house to earn money to go to India, and then I painted the house across the street, which was owned by a retired elevator worker from NYC.  He'd once done repairs on the World Trade Center.  I remember him telling me that during a break.  Since this case involved an elevator, I figured that was relevant.  Then there was growing up with many visits to hospital waiting rooms and my sister having all sorts of back problems, so I figured that would make me biased when hearing about the plaintiff's pains.  I also remember going to the emergency room 30 minutes away in Bennington, Vermont, the night I got punched in the head twice outside the only bar in my thousand-human hometown, because someone had told me that if there were any damage to my brain and I would want to hold the drunken assailant financially accountable, I would have to visit the hospital that very night.  And while emergency room waiting, I heard so many moans and groans from old people in unimaginable pain that I seriously thanked the universe for giving me the life it has and am seriously counting my blessings of my general moment to moment existence this very second.  So I think I'd be a little partial toward those who are physically suffering.  On top of all of that, there were two defendants in the case, and one involved a union.  So if none of that other stuff worked and they really wanted me on the jury for some inexplicable reason, I was prepared to tell them what a fan I was of Woody Guthrie, which is true.  Bob Dylan is my original hero, but it's always good to learn about your hero's heroes.

About a year ago I found one of those streaming sites and created a playlist for driving when I'm visiting my hometown, driving anywhere in nature, playing cards with friends or savoring a very well-deserved beer like I am right now.

Guthrie's "Hard Travelin'" is one of the best on the list.  It's basically about getting your butt kicked while doing manual labor for very little compensation.  In order to further demonstrate my sympathy for those who sacrifice their bodies to get by in life, I was also prepared to recite the lyrics to "Easy Wind" by The Grateful Dead, "Cumberland Blues" by the same, "Maggie's Farm" by Bob Dylan, "Whipping Post" by The Allman Brothers Band, "Highwayman" by The Highwaymen, "Fish and Whistle" by John Prine, "Wanted Man" by Johnny Cash, "John Henry's Blues" by Tangle Eye, "Salt of the Earth" by the Rolling Stones (and covered by Mavis Staples, whom I saw sing "The Weight" with The Decemberists while blissed at the "circus") and "Railroad" performed by Bela Fleck with Abigail Washburn on vocals.  I've only had a few manual labor jobs in my life (not counting unpaid labor for my dad my entire life), and I've generally found that many owners don't care so much about their workers' health, safety, or compensation (with the exception of the Christmas Tree farm and the organic vegetable farm).  Working wine harvest in Sonoma was infinitely more difficult (and satisfying) than arranging signature pages, editing documents and preparing closing binders in midtown Manhattan, and paid about half the wages without any benefits.

Of course, none of that mattered the first day, because they picked their six jurors, and then needed four alternates.  Two of the three lawyers had interviewed the first five people remaining, and the third was about to go.  I was waiting on deck if they didn't like anything about any of those five.  Then 4 pm came around, and they told us to go home and come back the next day.  So I called work, they got some subs again, and I got to sleep another hour.

On Wednesday I went back, and it took about forty-five minutes.  They excused all five of the jurors we'd been waiting on, so we were called up for questioning.  I'd checked on the questionnaire that I did in fact want to discuss something with them in private.  I thought it strange that nobody else had done that the day before, and they'd wasted many minutes on each person before they unearthed information that would disqualify them.  It seemed that despite the cliche that most Americans want to get out of jury duty, the majority in the room seemed at least determined to state for the record that they thought they could be impartial.  What's so great about always being impartial?

Another question that might have disqualified me was if I've ever been the victim of or witness to a crime.  When I saw that white-haired Santa Claus doppelganger/bouncer outside the Bog getting his face kicked in and cowering beneath a truck bed, I wasn't impartial, and that's why I also got attacked.  Yes, they need an impartial jury.  That's obviously the way to go.  I just don't see any virtue in trying to convince people you're impartial when, scientifically, I find that to be very unlikely, especially when chatting with other prospective jurors.  We're all biased on account of our experiences.

Well, when they read my questionnaire, they took me into the hallway immediately.  They'd done that eventually with a few others at some point during their questioning, but I was the first that they didn't waste any questions on.   I suppose that isn't that surprising, given that I'd checked every single box when they'd asked if I was or was close to anyone who was in the legal, medical, insurance, criminal justice or county service professions.  I was mentored by, worked with, and am friends with many lawyers, am friends with a few doctors, have a friend in insurance, my grandfather was a state trooper and my mother was a county social worker.  I'd also written in the "Hobbies" section (definitely not in order of importance, but instead with respect to being salutary): "Politics, discussing the law with my defense attorney friends, writing, reading, hiking, traveling."

Once in the hallway, I simply told them it was financially impossible for me to miss two weeks of work, especially right before taxes are due.  They immediately excused me and gave me my jury card back, and I was outta there.  I think it was the youngest one, with a beard.  The other defense attorney also had a beard.  That was my final backup plan, if the other ones hadn't worked.  I'd had a feeling they weren't going to pick me anyway, as I had been wearing a "Beatles" shirt underneath my unbuttoned dress shirt the first day, and they'd smiled at me in the hallway.  On Wednesday I came back with my tie-dyed Bonnaroo shirt on underneath an unbuttoned dress shirt, and I think they got the idea.  Speaking of which, I got that idea from another teacher who had told me he'd worn a "Free Pussy Riot" t-shirt when he'd gone, and that had gotten him excused immediately.  The best part was that I had a free day after that.

The thing that stuck in my mind later though was when the personal injury attorney had said, "Good luck with that," referring to my finances.  The irony was that I'd almost become a lawyer.  On top of that, several of my friends and respected elders are lawyers, and I think they do great work to help society.  They like their jobs and make good livings.  I could have been asking the questions.  One of the lawyers appeared to be in his 30's.

As I said, I was wearing my Bonnaroo shirt, which I got in Manchester, Tennessee in 2007.  When I drove down to that festival 11 years ago, I got a call offering me a job at a publishing company.  When I got back, I gave my two weeks notice at the law firm, and I haven't considered that as a profession ever since.  Recently I've gotten an earful about what it's like from my one of my best friends, but I haven't joined him in participating.  I just tend to think, "Good luck with that."

Well, I got out of jury duty, thanks to having little money, but at the literal cost of having money.  It would have only been more ironic if they'd chosen me, forced me to serve, and made me homeless by depriving me of two weeks' wages at a time when my finances are actually better than they've been in years.  Perhaps I was steering away from the path my father had envisioned.  He always used to joke that I would grow up to be a "homeless lawyer."

In any case, I went back to work this morning, and although I truly appreciated it before (especially when compared to crushing grapes 11 hours a day) I realized not only how enjoyable my job is, but how miraculous.  Out of everything I've seen on this Earth, I get to wake up in a tiny room in Harlem, Manhattan, New York, New York, United States of America/go Vespucci, Earth, Milky Way, Universe, get on a fast moving platform, listen to any music I desire, read whatever I want, look at all sorts of beautiful people, go above ground in Times Square (with either heroes or lingerie models greeting me, and always "Aladdin" on Broadway, and sometimes "The Lion King"), walk a few crowded blocks through the fashionistas and sometimes running into a friend of my civil engineer college roommate who once let me play for their basketball team, go to a building, ride the elevator to the 11th floor, sit in a room with people from around the world, educate them at the highest level with respect to the language of communication I was reared upon and which defines my reality, and then go enjoy all the treasures of modern existence.

Today we were practicing speaking for the TOEFL test, and there was a different interesting topic every three minutes.  My job isn't perfect, and it isn't for life, and I'm still jealous of many people I know who seem to be impacting the world at a higher level.  Also, I admit that at my age, earning much more money makes lots of sense, and I've learned from others that I can do it while still enjoying my life and without selling my soul.  I'm working that out now.  But as I think of the years that intervened between '07-'18, I'm so thankful I bought (and continue enjoying) a ticket to the show and followed my bliss, whichever way the universe leads me every day

Today is Maya Angelou's birthday and the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s leaving the world.

A few months ago I finished reading both Maya's first and final memoirs, as I'd already read all of the ones in between.  Her ultimate memoir related the stories of learning of the deaths of her friends Malcolm X and Dr. King.  The latter died on her birthday.  He'd asked her to travel the country with him, and she'd told him she had to wait until after her 40th birthday.

She didn't celebrate for years after that, and instead would send flowers to King's widow.

50 years have passed, so I think it's time to celebrate her life again.  We all owe a debt to the inspiration and leadership of Dr. King, who still teaches us to look past the veneer and that if we must judge one another, to do so based on the content of one's character and not the color of our skin, to be brave, that words are powerful and beautiful and inspiring, and that the power of love is more effective than violence.  Of course, he had some inspiration from Gandhi, who'd had some inspiration from the written works of Henry David Thoreau, who I'm sure didn't come up with all that civil disobedience stuff completely on his own.

All of that said, while Dr. King was the monumental figure of my youth, Ms. Angelou has been a much larger inspiration to me personally, at least in recent years.  Her travels, storytelling, poetry, versatility, teaching, activism, courage and wisdom remind me what makes a life truly well lived.

Neither she nor King were perfect human beings, and that's near the top of the list for what I love most about them.  If you think we can only be led and inspired by perfection, by people who are morally, sexually, financially pure, or whatever other litmus tests the spectators can devise to thin out the ranks of those who should/can offer us guidance and inspiration, then we're going to miss out on a lot of creativity and quality, and we'll be led by very boring people with limited experience of what the world really is.

Thank you, Dr. King, and thank you Maya.  The world, my world, is far better because you lived your lives the ways you did, and I can't imagine how you dealt with all the adversity that was thrown your way.  You inspire me every day

I'm on my way to jury duty on the 1 train, just about to hop off at Chambers, when I get a text from a very good friend.  Turns out his mom found his old Beatles shirt from when he was a toddler, and he sent me a picture of his second son, one year old, wearing it now.

My favorite part of this story is that I am wearing my Beatles shirt while reading his text and seeing the photo.  I am wearing the shirt because I hope it will convince them that I'm not jury material at this exact moment in my life.  Well, I'll have to wear it tomorrow, because they only got to the alternate jurors right before the end of the day, and I'm the next one getting called for an interview.  At least I get to sleep later.

All you need is a reasonable excuse.  And love.  Love is helpful.  You see, love has connected me to many people whose experiences will hopefully lead the attorneys to believe that I should be somewhere other than on a jury.

The next theme in our book is "Strange Events," and Lesson A is about "Coincidences."  One of the listening exercises involved a story where a woman is always experiencing strange things like that, and that it's weird... really weird.  As you can imagine, I know how she feels.  However, I couldn't think of any worthwhile stories for a mid-level group at the time, so we just went back to the workbook in the back of the book.  Then I got a kick out of the fact that our corresponding "Coincidences" exercise was on page 42, on 4/2.

When I parked my car after work, I was in between 8142 and 8241.

Strange can sometimes be fun

I played cards with three of my best friends.  We don't always agree politically, but humor is often the remedy.  Laughing so hard that you're doubled over holding your sides is healthy and human.  Afterward, I took a quick walk, occasionally seeing the moon amidst the clouds and hearing the tree frogs, but mostly just listening to that wind roaring through the trees which eagerly await their new spring leaves