An Easter Tradition

It’s an annual tradition
Over at Mo’s house,
Every Easter Sunday
Friends and relatives
From near and far
Gather for a barbecue feast.
It starts off with
An Easter Egg hunt
For the little ones.
Brightly colored,
Candy filled,
Plastic eggs
Are carefully hidden
In plain view
By the older children,
Then the toddlers
Are led around
By their mothers
Who diligently point them
In eggly directions.
Afterwards the crowd
Gets down to serious eating.
It’s a carnivore’s delight.
There are steaks and chickens,
Lamb chops and salmon by the slab,
Hot dogs and hamburger patties
Three quarters of an inch thick.
There is an abundance of
Fruits, salads and deserts
Contributed by arriving guests.
As they settle in to eat
They update each other
On what’s been happening
In their lives.
Many of the people
Haven’t seen each other
Since last year’s party.
It’s a time for young mothers,
Convinced of their children’s genius,
To brag of their child’s exploits,
Or to discuss the onset of
The “Terrible Twos!”
It is a time for old friends
To recall the days of yesteryear.
It’s the warmth of the camaraderie
And the skill of the cook
Which bring people back
Year after year.

Crisis Mode

Her life seems to be
One painful ordeal after another,
An amazing series of crises
That never gives her a break,
Or a moment’s rest,
Before the next trauma begins.
She is always in a rush,
Scrambling to meet a deadline,
Staving off impending disaster,
And struggling to make ends meet.
She is in a state
Of perpetual overwhelm,
Reacting to events
As if each one
Has the power to do her in.
Even going to the bathroom
Is dealt with as an emergency.
She never stops long enough
To think that it could possibly be
Any other way
Or that she might somehow be causing
Things to occur that way.

Creative Genius

Creative genius
Is all around us
If we care to look.
It is not a property
Of uncommon intelligence,
But of ordinary people
Pursuing their passions,
And allowing
Their minds to play.
It is people
Clearing the cobwebs
Of conventional thinking
From their brains,
And putting
Their hearts and souls
Into what they do.
Creative genius
Is the audacity
To try something new,
And the willingness
To strive for perfection.
It can be seen
In art of every persuasion,
In theater, music,
Literature, film and dance.
It is at the heart
Of innovative design
And elegance of style.
Creative genius
Can often be seen
In advertising,
And sometimes
Even in simple things
Like the work of a chef.

Cooking Styles

I am an aficionado
Of home style cooking,
And it intrigues me
Watching great cooks at work.
Each one has
His or her own unique
Method of cooking.
There are the recipe
And cookbook collectors.
They can cook
Just about anything
As long as
They have a recipe.
They are good
At following instructions,
But are almost helpless
Without a guide.
Then there are
The more inventive types
Who don’t hold to
Any particular recipe,
But seem to
Know instinctively
Which combinations
Work together to tantalize
The taste buds.
They will add
A bit of this,
And a smidgen of that,
Knowing precisely
How each ingredient
Will enhance
A dish’s taste.
If you ask them
For the recipe,
They would likely
Be at a loss
To tell you
Exactly what they used.
There are cooks
Who must taste
Every single dish,
And others
Who never sample
A single entrée,
Yet the food
Turns out great
Either way.
The latter tend to be
Skinnier than the first.
There are those
Who pester the food,
Checking to see
How each dish is doing
Numerous times
During the course of cooking.
Others rely on
Precise time
And temperature.
Still others
Cook by sense of smell.
Some cook’s noses
Are so well trained
That they can
Smell the ingredients,
And tell you
If anything is missing.
Regardless of which
Style they incorporate,
The meal they fix
Is bound to be
A culinary masterpiece.

Confusion

Much of her life was spent
In a muddled state of confusion.
She had tried to make
Sense of the world
For the longest time,
But had given up in frustration,
Concluding the logic of the universe
Was beyond her comprehension.
Being human gave her no insight
Into why others act the way they do,
Or why life occurs as it does.
It was all a mystery to her.
She drifted by as if in a fog,
The light of understanding
Rarely piercing the darkness
Of the filter
Through which she observed
The universe around her.

Coincidental Encounter

You can never tell
Who you might bump into
Or where it could lead you.
Sometimes chance encounters
Have a way of opening doors
You never knew existed,
Or occurring at opportune moments
Leaving you scratching your head
And wondering if they were
Really coincidental after all.
Such was the case
With a young artist
Interested in metal sculpturing.
Since he had no experience
Working with metal,
It seemed he would have to
Go back to school to learn
Metal working techniques,
But an accidental encounter
Gave him a better option.
He had a minor fender bender
With a guy who works
For a metal fabrication shop,
One that manufactures
Metal sculptures
Like he wants to produce.
He ended up getting
A job through the guy
As an apprentice welder.
It was a situation
Which allowed him to get paid
While he learned the art
And he could not have obtained
A better education.
Maybe there is a reason
We bump into the people we do!

Mural Fever

Just before the 1984 Olympics
That I started noticing
Murals painted on
The freeway abutments
In downtown Los Angeles.
It seemed that every time
I visited the concrete jungle,
I would spot another one.
I had no idea who
Was painting them,
Or for that matter, why,
But I was intrigued
By their work.
Neither did I know who
Turned the muralists loose
On the city of LA,
But the muralists
Were obviously
Having a ball.
I began to look forward
To my trips into the city
And the opportunity
To observe their creations.
Some were pretty amateur,
But others were outstanding.
They were certainly
A vast improvement
Over the dull gray monotony
Of blank concrete walls,
Or at least I thought so.
It also occurred to me
That I didn’t see any
Murals like those
Back in Ventura County
Where I was from.
One day I started a project
To find and document
The murals of our County.
For some reason,
Nobody had ever seriously
Studied them before,
And there was no directory
Revealing their locations.
I just had a hunch
That they were there
And I simply wasn’t seeing them.
The first mural I found
Was as an Indian Mural
On an abandoned building
In downtown Oxnard.
It was as intricate and beautiful
As anything in Los Angeles,
And I was instantly hooked
With a bad case of mural fever.
That mural was so complex
That I ended up taking
Roll after roll of pictures
Trying to capture its flavor.
I eventually found
And photographed
Close to 1000 murals.
They were everywhere,
Inside and outside buildings,
On sea walls and fences,
Decorating libraries, schools,
Churches, banks, hospitals,
Even mortuaries.
I discovered that our County
Was absolutely rich in murals,
But it was a wealth
That was being squandered.
Nobody seemed to appreciate
The treasure we had
Or its tourism potential.
In fact, Ventura County
Has a long tradition of mural art.
Unfortunately I also discovered
That documenting the murals
Was not an easy task.
In many cases,
Nobody seemed to know
Who painted them.
The muralists were rarely honored
Or paid more than a pittance
For their work.
Their murals were
Often short lived,
Destroyed by either
Neighborhood vandals
Or the local governments
Bent on cleaning up their image
Without consideration
Of any artistic value
Of the work destroyed.
My solution was to
Take the murals to the people
Through the multitude
Of photographs I had taken.
I created a series
Of mural boards
For selected murals
In the County
That included a picture
Of the whole mural
Combined with blow ups
Mounted three dimensionally
Showing the intricate details
That people might not
Otherwise notice.
The collection traveled
Around the County
And across the State of California,
Being exhibited in museums, libraries
And cultural arts centers.
The entire collection
Was donated to
The Ventura County Library
For public display.
The important thing to note
Is that Ventura is not unusual.
A similar project
Could have been undertaken
In almost any city in the country
With similarly spectacular results.
We don’t tend to see
What is right in front of our noses,
But art, and especially murals
Are a natural expression
Of our humanity,
And should be expected
Anywhere there are people!

CEO

Why I chose me,
I will never know.
I am my own CEO,
My own manager,
My own agent,
My own publicist,
And worst of all,
My own labor union.
All of us should be fired
For our incompetence.

Cecilia's Purse

Cecilia and I were newly weds
Driving across the United States
From California to Florida
Towing a trailer loaded
With all our worldly possessions.
One Mississippi morning
On the way there,
Cecilia left her purse
In a gas station restroom.
It wasn’t until late that night
That we discovered the loss
By which time
We had already crossed into Florida.
Cecilia prided herself
On remembering things,
But this memory ended out
Being one that she wished
She could forget.
We deduced which station it was
From our gas receipts,
Called and, sure enough,
It had been found.
Being in a rush to get to Florida
And needing the contents of her purse,
Especially the credit cards
And the cash that were in it,
And not knowing where
To have them send it to
Down in Miami,
We decided to drive back
That night and retrieve the purse.
It didn’t matter
That we were already bone tired,
We were determined
Not to upset our schedule.
We dropped the trailer
And headed back.
Making a lot better time
Without the extra load.
When we finally got there,
We found the credit cards
But the cash was gone.
Road weary and dejected,
We stopped at a dumpy old motel
Somewhere on the way back
To try to get some rest.
By then we had been driving
For over 24 hours,
And as fatigued and grumpy
As we were,
Sleep was impossible.
We were a high class delicacy
For the local bed bugs
Which were out
In a show of force.
We stayed as long
As we could stand it,
Maybe a couple hours
And finally decided
That if we couldn’t sleep,
We might as well continue driving.
We both knew
If we could survive that ordeal,
Then there was a pretty good chance
Of us making it as a couple!

The Cathartic Process

Perhaps it was
The proximity
Of the stranger
With apparently
Sympathetic ears
That gave her
The freedom to begin.
Once she got going,
The saga of her life
Came pouring out.
In the process
Of her catharsis,
She spoke of things
She had never told
Another living soul,
Deep dark secrets,
Intimate details of her life.
The fact that
They sat next to each other
On the two hour flight,
And that she would
Likely never see
That person again,
Gave her ability to share
In a way she never could
With anyone else.
The honesty achieved
Was profound.

Category Three Conversations

There are conversations
We occasionally have
That rock our world,
Opening doors
We never knew existed,
Taking us in directions
Never imagined.
I call these Category
Three Conversations
These discussions
Are so profound,
They leave us
Feeling as if
We tapped into
A reservoir of knowledge
And understanding
Beyond that of any
Of the participants.
In the moment
Of conversation,
Distinctions are made
One after another,
Each one building
On the last,
And the revelations
Flow effortlessly
By a magic
Of their own.
A question
Worthy of pondering
Is to whether or not
Such conversations
Can be had
On a regular basis.
If they can,
What will it take
To generate them
Ongoingly?

But for Lack of Courage

She was gifted
With a golden voice
And a heart
That yearned to sing,
But she waited
For twenty-five years
For a manager to come
And orchestrate her career.
It was not until
She got the courage
To promote herself,
That the world
Would hear her song.

Blue Ice

The glacier is born high up
In the permanent snow field
Where ice and snow
Accumulate year after year,
Building up over time
To thousands of feet thick.
The immense weight
Of overlying snow
Compresses the snow pack,
Squeezing it out
Into frozen rivers
Which push out
Towards the sea.
Though the snow and ice
All start out white,
It’s color shifts
With compression,
Changing to turquoise,
And even violet,
If sufficiently compressed.
The melt water from the glacier
Often gets in on the act,
Turning a beautiful shade of blue.
No description,
No matter how picturesque
Or vividly dramatic
Can convey the impact
Of seeing the frozen rivers
Of blue ice in person.
It leaves a person in awe
Of the force of nature,
And overwhelmed by its beauty.

The Magic Compass

For many of us,
Life is a search for
Ease and comfort
To relieve
The fears and hardships
We face.
We sometimes go
To great lengths
To avoid fear and discomfort,
But life simply isn’t lived
From within our comfort zone.
We might do well to consider
That the discomforts
We inevitably face
Actually have a purpose.
They tend to point out
Where we need
To change or grow,
Or where opportunity lies.
If we can learn
To challenge our fears
Rather than run from them,
To perpetually seek
That which appears uncomfortable,
The chances are
That we will be amply rewarded
With a life worth living.

Automatic Pilot

I don’t know if your mind
Works this way,
But my brain is forever trying
To map out a way
It can sleep on the job.
It tries to find a routine,
In the things I do,
An excuse not to think,
So that it can
Switch into automatic pilot
The first chance it gets.
It seems to enjoy
Stealing momentary
Leaves of absence,
And sometimes those moments
Extend for a while.
I have noticed that the first time
I go someplace new,
Or do something different,
Every one of my senses
Are on heightened alert,
But after a time or two,
My sensory awareness
Virtually shuts down
As my mind switches into automatic.
The act of driving
Is a prime example.
I can be driving along
And suddenly notice
That I have driven
The last half hour
And have no recollection
Of any of that time
Or anything I passed.
My brain has mastered
The art of driving
While it remains in park.
Occasionally my brain
Will lock on a repetitive pattern
With absurd effect.
One time on my way
To get my car serviced,
My brain fixated itself
Onto my normal route
And I missed my turnoff,
Turned back,
And missed it again
Three more times
Before I finally was able to make
The appropriate turn.
That brain of mine
Has me miss a lot of life.
I may drive down a path
A hundred times or more,
Practically oblivious
To anything along the path I take,
Then all of a sudden,
I will wake up for a moment
And see something,
That may been there all along,
But I never noticed before.
My mind would have me
Go through life
In automatic pilot
If I would let it.
Hopefully your mind is different!

Authenticity

No one likes a phony,
Someone whose words
Are insincere
And whose sentiments
Are exaggerated.
We each come equipped
With an internal radar
That detects a phony
The instant they start to speak.
On the other hand,
Someone who speaks
Straight from their heart
With genuine compassion
Is equally as detectable
As is the phony,
But their words stand out
For their simple elegance
And the power they have
To move the world around them.
Authenticity is the key!

Aunt Dofeen Finally Gets to Sail

Every family needs
An Aunt Dofeen,
Someone whose
Free spirited
Flamboyance,
And outrageous
Eccentricities
Never ceased
To ruffle the feathers
Of her more
Conservative siblings.
Though she was
Sixty-nine years old
At the time,
She didn’t hesitate
A heartbeat
When it came to
The opportunity
To sail with her
Exuberant nephews.
Her father had been
A prominent naval captain
Many years before,
And she remembered
The feeling of being
Left behind
While he gallivanted around
The South Pacific,
And she wasn’t about
To let that happen again.

Asleep on the River of Life

He must have been
Asleep at the wheel,
Or distracted by
By the circumstances
He encountered
Along the way,
For the river boat
He was piloting
Had been drifting
For the longest time,
Heading downstream
With the flow.
No wonder
The boat ran aground
And got stuck
In the mud.
That was what it took
For him to wake up
And decide to take control.
It took all the skill
And concentration
He could muster
To get the boat
Out of the muck
It was in.
Once the boat was free,
He was able to dictate
The course he took.

As We Think

Much of our reality
Is merely a reflection
Of our interpretation
Of the nature of life.
If we believe
Life is inherently tough,
Then it is certain
To show up that way.
If we have no room for trust,
Then we will find
A very untrustworthy, hostile world
At every turn.
If we see people
As being cruel and heartless,
We will find ample evidence
To support our claim.
If we believe the world is unfair
Then we will see
Unfairness in every corner.
If we think the world is corrupt,
That only cheaters win,
Then ours will be
A world without integrity.
If our true commitment in life
Is to remain uncommitted,
Then we will become known
For our lack of passion
In anything we do.
If our underlying thought is
“I don’t want to
And you can’t make me!”
Then we bound to find opposition
No matter how valiant our cause.
If we must be right
And other people wrong,
Then sooner or later
We will end up justified
But very much alone.
If we are afraid of being dominated,
Controlled or manipulated,
Then our life will be a battleground
With us against the world.
If life appears in shades of gray,
We might do well to ask
What position we have taken
That causes it to be that way.
It is amazing how effective we are
At being right about what we think
It is more than just coincidence
Life shows up as it does.

An End to Gossip

As the confidant
And right hand man
To the president
Of the company,
He was continuously
Told gossip
About the rest of the employees
Which he really didn’t
Need or want to hear.
It bothered him a lot,
And he was forced
To confront his boss
On that issue
Even though
It could have
Cost him his job.
His courage earned him
The respect of his boss,
And put a stop
To all the gossip.
Sometimes all we have to do
Is simply ask.

All For Show

From outward appearances
He had life handled.
He had a great job,
Earned plenty of money
And was married
To a beautiful woman.
He was fit and trim,
Young, suave and debonair,
The picture of success.
He seemed to work hard
And enjoy what he did,
But the truth was
That it was all for show.
In reality he only did
Enough to get by.
In his determination
To look good,
He distanced himself
From those around him,
Including his wife,
So that they couldn’t see
What his world was really like.
As a consequence,
He felt alone
And pressured to perform
Which stole much of the joy
He might have had
Out of his accomplishments.

All Because

When he was seven,
Winning a goldfish
At the local carnival
Was a really big deal.
He carefully put the fish
In a fishbowl
When he got home,
And gave it some food.
Coming back from school
The next day,
He was excited
To see his little fish,
But found it
Floating upside down,
Obviously dead.
What traumatized him
Was not that
The fish had died,
But that his mother
Flushed it down the toilet
Where all the “poopoo” went.
He realized many years later,
That was why he became
A marine biologist,
To protect fish
From all that stuff!

Afternoon Shower

It was a lazy summer afternoon,
Hot and sunny,
Without a cloud in the sky.
My wife and I
Had spent the morning
Touring the State Capitol
There in Sacramento
With our two young daughters,
And were looking
For a place to relax.
The soft green grass
In the shade of the trees
Of the Capitol grounds,
Seemed especially inviting,
Perfect for an afternoon siesta.
We laid out a blanket
And were sound asleep
Within minutes
Only to be rudely awaken
By cold water
Coming at us
From every direction.
We found ourselves
Stuck in the middle
Of a large sprinkler mine field
Confused as to
Which way to run,
Instantly educated
As to why the grass
Was so lush and green.

Acknowledgement

At the core of our being
Is the need to be
Acknowledged
And appreciated
For who we are
And what we contribute.
We thirst for this
Above all else,
Yet we have a peculiar ability
To negate any praise
Which comes our way,
By either diminishing
The complement received
As being insignificant,
Or devaluing the sender
As being insincere, phony
Or unqualified
To recognize
What we have accomplished.
One of the paradoxes of life
Is that we lack the capacity
To receive
That which we crave
Until we learn to
Acknowledge
And appreciate others.
The more we acknowledge
The greatness in others,
The more capacity we have
To recognize and accept
The greatness within ourselves.
The key to our fulfillment
Lies in our ability to elevate others,
To give them that
Which we seek ourselves,
The ultimate “Golden Rule.”
The amazing thing is
How full the world is
Of the acknowledgment we desire
If we just understand that rule.

Absurdity

There is a
Fundamental absurdity
In the message
We hear
From so many
Preachers of success.
They encourage us
To make a list
Of all the things
We wish to accomplish
Each day, week, month etc.
Then tell us
To find someone else
To hold us accountable
To doing the things
We say we want to do.
If we have someone else
With whom
We can share
What we are up to,
Then why on earth
Would we want
To use them
To reinforce
Our own monologue
Rather than
Have a dialog
To generate
Possible actions
We may never have
Dreamed of
If the two of us
Had not put
Our heads together?