You thought that I was going to post a lovely photo and I will once I get back home.
Breakfast with Lori and Scott, Mom and Mary Jo at the Officer's Club at Eglin and the view was magnificent. The sun kept behind the clouds so my favorite grays were available in muted, moving glory. Think archetypical Rothko with three patches of color: inlet, island, and towering sky. A stack of clouds, the expanse of slate water and a thin ragged belt of civilization. Doesn't get better.
THIS close to leaving my apartment the other day without my pants. I had my coat on and knew that there was something awry, a lightness that seemed out of place.
I am always stupified by the enormous annual report that comes annually from my 401k guys. It's big, did I mention that? Over 600 onion skin pages. It's like a softcover volume of the Oxford English Dictionary and far less useful.
I do rifle through it because the nice postal worker had to deal with it so I feel obligated to do my own review. Basically, this consists of trying to find the most obscure business sectors in the schedule of investments and the funniest funds. So far, the Ultra Short Bond Fund wins hands down. The different sectors are a bit harder to choose. Right now, Fisheries is winning over Airport Development and Diversified Minerals.
The folks at Principal are compelled by some silly law to send this to me each year. But they're also nice enough to send a score card each quarter with a big Thumbs up and Thumbs down. That I get. I like that report because it's simple and in color and tells me that I'll have to work another 130 years to attain my financial goals. Ha ha ha! Kidding. It's only 70 years. Kidding! Really.
I know that in theory, there's a lot to be said about having the details about where my money is spending its time. But other than the cost of the individual fund, I don't know if I'd ever have enough specialized knowledge to have the details make a difference. Do you think otherwise?
You will be happy to know that I am taking this diversion during my lunch hour. I've been diligently combing through the electrons looking for jobs. This afternoon, I'll have a well-deserved cup of coffee and then get back to the work of work. But for now, I'm thankful that the Principal Financial Group sent me their fine magazine. But for now, my best investment is getting me back in the workforce.
Yesterday, it was depravity. Today, decay. Honest, I'll write something uplifting soon.
Til then, I have to report the demise of my once loved eyeglasses. Part of why I liked them so much is that they were incredibly lightweight. Why? Titanium! Now that is one light, tough-ass metal. Instead of having traditional stems with hinges, two wires were bent into a head-following shape and crazy glued into the lenses. It's kind of like drilling holes into two etherial coke-bottle bottoms and inserting two very precise, naked pipe cleaners. This created an open look with very little weight. When you look at my mug on this here blog, you can see that my frames are so unobtrusive that it's almost like my two lenses are floating in front of each eye, like tiny optic magician's assistants.
Of course, like many corrective vision sufferers, I have no adequate backup. This system is unacceptible but it the plan that many of us have in place. It's kind of like losing your job and going back to the company before that one and asking for your old job back. Or is it like running out of groceries and rummaging through the garbage? Perhaps there's no comparison. You've broken Glasses 12.0 so you install Glasses 11.0 or 10.0. Jam them on and Magoo yourself around the neighborhood. Thankfully, the #43 bus limited the guessing that I had to do and Laurie (Thanks!) motored me around after my pupils were dilated and everything looked like a Jimi Hendrix song.
Lenscrafters, of course! I had fun with the nice McFitter after the Doc slapped my eyeballs around with a lightstick. It was difficult choosing a style. EVERY brand has eyeglasses now. I went with a conservative pair from, uh, Dinty Moore, I think. Both of the McFitter's said "SWEET" when I told them that I might try to take my old lenses and affix pipe cleaners to them to wear around. IF I get that done, I'll post a picture as soon as I can. Really. All three of you faithful readers know that my eyes are not like electron microscopes or telescopes. Very little scoping. In fact, after the fitter commiserated about his poor sight, I said something to Laurie about him and I having similar limitations about the glasses we could choose from. "Hey, don't lump me in with you," was his compassionate, disgusted response. He was honestly a lot of fun. He brought me cool frames and wild ones. I was convinced that had I chosen one or two of the crazy Dolce & Gabbana frames, I'd never get laid again unless I opted to wear copious gold chains as well. Nice.
The other affliction here is that those who tend toward the blurry end of things choose every option possible (almost) to make our glasses lighter, clearer and lighter and clearer. Anti-reflective coating? Check. Hi-index lenses. Check. Man, that sounded bad, price-index-wise. Scotch Garding? Are you shitting me? I am not eating on these things. If I have to, I'd retrofit some plastic sofa covers, for God's sake!
Once again, Laurie saved the day by landing a big additional discount because of the AAA membership. I'll refrain from making any lame jokes about some "anonymous" organization. (Truth is, I've been trying for the past ten minutes without luck. That's why I've given up.)
You glasses-savvy people know that I have to wait for the hi-index lenses. The level of accuracy here means that they have to order these from Boeing and an engineer will hand-sculpt those babies. Or something like that. Maybe it was General Motors. Or Dinty Moore. I just can't keep it straight.
The upshot here is that I'll be wearing my reading glasses for the next hunk of days. It's a bit funny how well these work not only for everything up close but everything far away. It's the middle part that gets blurry. So, screw you, middle part. You are getting ignored like Iraq withdrawl plans this week.
Depravity takes many forms. I confess that I participated in one of the gentler forms but I still had to question my judgement.
You might make the mistake of thinking that I'm referring to the orgy of football games that I made myself watch this weekend. In the past few years, I've not exercised the man-perogative and stopped time for this important round of games. I'm glad I took the time. Good games and I feel strangely fulfilled. Now, let me get to the depraved bit.
I don't have an ideal way to watch the games in my place and that's okay. I have a slight fear of creating a setting so powerful, I'd never do anything again. So for each game, I lay on my bed and watch, sit in my chair, lay on the floor, exercise. Hard to sit still for that long. The genuine couch potato has skills that I can only dream of.
My apologies to my sister and the Buddha but I spent at least a couple of hours watching the games from my meditation cushion. My rationale was that I was working on my posture, which I was, kinda. Whatever the excuse, it's not good enough. I should have been able to figure out some other comfortable ass-perch without using my only dedicated enlightenment tool. That doesn't seem too much to ask.
But then again, the Seahawks were on the move in a critical series in the fourth quarter. Quite simply, I did want to pay attention.
In the past 18 months, I've been under some self-imposed ultimatums (Ultimata?) about changing how I live my life. I have been working hard and I feel like I've been making some headway.
There have been epiphanies, realizations, insights, reckonings, all forms of talk show parting gifts. But something different has happened this month. It's been a big change. I've not been able to say clearly what has happened. It's like I have a different sense of time. With this different sense of time, I've had a different sense of what is urgent. A different sense of courage. A different sense of self-worth. A different sense of what I want in the world. A different sense of what is possible.
I've trying to describe this change but so far have not been able to capture what it is and why it's so important. I can say simply that it's important because one consequence is that I might be far more comfortable being me as a result. Perhaps even the best "me" that seemed more like a cruel tease than a possibility.
Rather than let any more days pass without a post, I thought that a heads up was in order.
A number of you faithful readers have seen my favorite house here on Capitol Hill. It's a pretty snappy yet understated affair. Dark natural color notes, situated on a long lot, unusual site orientation and a nice mom-in-law cottage. Inverted bell rain spouts, backlit house number. Just a bunch of solid touches within a solid plan.
I've often walked by in the hopes of complimenting the owners but I have not yet had the opportunity. They might have to work constantly to afford to live on such a prime spot in such fine digs.
Last night, I walked by and the front room was lit up for the first time I can remember. Neighborhood voyeurs are nothing new, nothing special. I just want to see how the Jones are faring, basic human nature.
I saw something that I really didn't expect. Not one, but two paintings that were on display at Victrola, our local coffee haus. One painting was from a show that was okay, in my opinion. Very anime and squat. The other painting surprised me. There was a show of brown cartoonish stick men, unvarying and uninteresting. A number of you probably saw those paintings as well. Not impressive. A large example of the stringy brown profile hung near the mostly red little girl.
These two paintings worked together. I would have never seen that pairing, never would have cared to figure it out. The stick man paintings did suffer from being displayed together. Somehow they saw beyond that and the two paintings form a little dialogue in their living room. Now, I really want to say HI and compliment them on their digs.
It is difficult to escape what is familiar. Travel is a well-known way of revealing basic differences in living. But that's a lot different than when something in your life changes and you can't identify why. How often do fundamental seams open up in your domestic life?
God that sounds serious. Let me be blunt. I began to smell different.
At the end of my workday, I had a different odor. At first, I thought that I might be treading into dreaded "old man smell" territory. Too early for that, I thought. Too much barbeque? Could it be the new shampoo?
Maybe my senses were reawakening after my long sad slumber. But only my sense of stink perception was improving so that was unlikely.
The paranoid in me began to consider odor as a diagnostic. If only Dr. House could sniff me for a minute, he'd be able to tell me what was wrong with me. When there is such a fundamental change like this, it's unnerving. After all, through periods of ferocious activity, sloth, all forms of human doings, my basic stank remained constant. Now, there was a subtle change.
The good news is that I would not have qualified to be an entire episode of House. After all, no other symptoms exist. I would have been one of those morons that he would have berated during his clinic duty. "It's because you accidently bought a different version of Tide detergent. Next moron, please!"
It's true. Instead of traditional Tide which I've used most of my years, I bought their "Spring Fairie" scent. Okay, I have no clue what it's called. But, toward the end of the day, my clothes we smelling different. Only when winter set in and I'd change into jammies at night did I realize it. There have been non-Tide times in my life. I'd tend to use less of the soap during washing: aim for no smell.
This was a disconcerting episode. What a subtle layer to go missing in my life. What a surprise that it caused termoil. Not so much missing the upfront perfume of traditional Tide but that as the alternative perfume wore down, it created a disturbing or just different scent.
On another smell front, I've had to reject the frozen minced garlic cubes from Trader Joe's. While massively convenient, they're wrong. Something happens to the sweetness of garlic when it's processed, whether frozen or in oil. You'd think I'd know that frozen garlic would not be the same as fresh, just because of what processing does in general. To me, it's like the TJ's version makes the garlic angry.
At what point can you make sense of subtle differences like Tide smell and frozen garlic? I know what my answer is and it is lacking.
