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Kopp's Laundry List

Today, I am posting "An Eschatological Laundry List" from 'If you Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him' by Sheldon Kopp.  Sheldon Kopp was a psychotherapist and author.  He died at the age of 70 in 1999. 


Eschatology is defined as:  any set of doctrines concerning final matters, such as death, the judgment, afterlife, etc.  While we may not agree with every item on Kopp's list, it makes for a provocative read.  This list was clearly composed from an existentialist point of view.  Thoughts on the list can be used as triggers for reflection on the following:


~ freedom which asks us to look at responsibility
~ isolation or aloneness which illuminates the role of relationship 
~ meaning and meaninglessness which forces us to look at our levels of engagement 
~ death which demands that we deal with existential anxiety


Whether we choose to address these issues consciously, or not, our psyche is always addressing them and creating compensations or defenses for what is left unacknowledged.  We can use Kopp's list to get a glimpse at what we may not yet have addressed.  Usually the information we resist or react to contains the information we most need to approach, reflect upon and come to terms with.  What points in this list do you notice yourself reacting to?  What might that mean for you?


 Reading the list today (I have read it many, many times as for years I had it as a hand-out in my waiting room) I noticed I reacted to #22 "progress is an illusion".  I was sure I witnessed progress in a small way with myself and someone else last week!  Hmmmm - a little more thought required.  Thinking ... thinking ... 


It just occurred to me as I type these words that a core belief of mine has just been brought to  light while contemplating Kopp's list - I think I have believed that with enough study, work, energy, effort I can make 'progress' toward understanding - and that understanding will attenuate anxiety.  Hmmmm - that would indicate that contrary to Kopp's #2 I do think there are 'hidden meanings' and I have been on a quest to unearth and understand them.  It would be so much easier to accept what I can never know and embrace the mystery of it all.  Thank you Sheldon Kopp! 


I hope you will share any insights that come to you as you take a moment to ponder any of the thoughts on the list that you react to.  The reaction is valuable information FROM yourself TO yourself!  If you don't want to do that much work - simply enjoy the read.  

 (P.S.  Some of you have mentionned in your comments that the list seems so black and white and full of absolutes, and you are absolutely right.  This book was written in 1976 and Kopp was perhaps not sensitized to the importance of diverse perspectives and the value of 'grey' between the extremes of black and white.  In spite of that, it remains a good read, so please - give it a try.  :-)


An Eschatological Laundry List


1. This is it.


2. There are no hidden meanings.


3. You can't get there from here, and besides there is no place to go.


4. We are already dying, and we'll be dead a long time.


5. Nothing lasts!


6. There is no way of getting all you want.


7. You can't have anything unless you let go of it.


8. You only get to keep what you give away.


9. There is no particular reason why you lost out on some things.


10. The world is not necessarily just. Being good often does not pay off and there's no compensation for misfortune.


11. You have the responsibility to do your best nonetheless.


12. It's a random universe to which we bring meaning.


13. You really don't control anything.


14. You can't make anyone love you.


15. No one is any stronger or any weaker than anyone else.


16. Everyone is, in his own way, vulnerable.


17. There are no great men.


18. If you have a hero, look again; you have diminished yourself in some way.


19. Everyone lies, cheats, pretends. (yes, you too, and most certainly myself.)


20. All evil is potentially vitality in need of transformation.


21. All of you is worth something if you will only own it.


22. Progress is an illusion.


23. Evil can be displaced but never eradicated, as all solutions breed new problems.


24. Yet it is necessary to keep struggling toward solution.


25. Childhood is a nightmare.


26. But it is so very hard to be an on-your-own, take-care-of-yourself-cause-there-is-no-one-else-to-do-it-for-you grown-up.


27. Each of us is ultimately alone.


28. The most important things each man must do for himself.


29. Love is not enough, but it sure helps.


30. We have only ourselves, and one another. That may not be much, but that's all there is.


31. How strange, that so often, it all seems worth it.


32. We must live within the ambiguity of partial freedom, partial power, and partial knowledge.


33. All important decisions must be made on the basis of insufficient data.


34. Yet we are responsible for everything we do.


35. No excuses will be accepted.


36. You can run, but you can't hide.


37. It is most important to run out of scapegoats.


38. We must learn the power of living with our helplessness.


39. The only victory lies is in surrender to oneself.


40. All of the significant battles are waged within the self.


41. You are free to do whatever you like. You need only face the consequences.


42. What do you know for sure...anyway?


43. Learn to forgive yourself, again and again and again and again.

~ still life ~

I am trying my hand at vintage, desaturated still life images.  While I love vibrant, natural colours, this kind of photo manipulation creates a rather dreamy, quiet, ephemeral feel that speaks of yesterdays, evoking memories of another time and place.  I hope you enjoy them and a sprinkle of words from Rilke:

Finally it is not that we overcome or conquer ourselves,

Only that we love quietly from a center,

That even in pain and anger, we feel

Our tenderness and gentleness

And they will surround us in the end.

~Rainer Maria Rilke

...let me count the ways...

This little skater makes my heart sing without ever having to set foot on the ice.  She is the most delightful, funny, loving, smart seven year old, and the best thing is - she calls me "Nana".  She looks like a little midget fairy out there on the ice, especially after seeing the other older children in her category perform their routines.  But it would never occur to her to feel intimidated or out of place because of her diminutive stature and younger years.  She is determined to do what she loves doing.  As I watch her perform, I marvel and try to muffle my singing heart so that it does not conflict with her programme music. 

In her brief seven years, she has survived the dissolution of her parent's marriage, the arrival of two new step-parents, a step-brother, a step-sister, her mother's bout with cancer, surgery and recovery - and still she soars - off the ice and on.  Truth be told, she has not been defeated in the least by her life experiences - only enriched and emboldened.  She lights up every room she enters with her effervescence, radiance and energy.  In the above competition she proudly took home the bronze medal, but in my heart every move she makes is golden.

~ for you ~

...willing to be dazzled...

Below is a photograph that has been color-enhanced in Photoshop.  Can you tell what it is?  Yes, it's green pond scum!  Aren't the colors and swirls captivating?  I must admit I was not thrilled when first stepping out on our balcony at a resort in Florida to find we were looking down on a pond full of algae.  However ... before long it grew on me. ;-)   My DH gave me a little tutorial on the benefits of algae, and I was finally able to move past my preference for clear water and enjoy the brilliant floating scum.

Above is the non-enhanced close-up photograph of the algae.  Below are three normal range shots of the pond from our balcony.

Intriguing abstract art, once one is willing to marvel at what is!

The Ponds

Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe
their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them --
the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch
only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?
I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided --
and that one wears an orange blight --
and this one is a glossy cheek
half nibbled away --
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.
Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled --
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing --
that the light is everything -- that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

~ Mary Oliver

 (Bolding in Oliver's poem added by me.)

~golden light~

Came across these photographs in my archives from last summer.   The sun was beginning to set and it cast the most intense golden shimmer on some of the trees.   While I tried to capture the intensity of the golden light, the photographs pale in comparison.  They are quite nice none-the-less, and I hope you can take a moment or two to enjoy their rich golden glow.  (These are not pics from this Fall, but from mid summer.  The coppers and golds are not leaves that have turned, but the effect of shafts of setting sunlight reflecting on green leaves.) 

The incommunicable trees begin to persuade us to live with them
 and quit our life of solemn trifles.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson





Here man is no longer the center of the world, only a witness,

 but a witness who is also a partner in the silent life of nature,

 bound by secret affinities to the trees.

~ Dag Hammarskjold

Every little pine needle expanded and swelled with sympathy and befriended me.

I was so distinctly made aware of the presence of something kindred to me,

that I thought no place could ever be strange to me again.

~ Henry David Thoreau

May this weekend be a good one for all of you.

...scenes from a hospital...

Yesterday the surgeon removed three pins from the radius and ulna bones in my left arm, at the region of the wrist.  As I had been assured by some of you, it was not a big deal and you were right!  It certainly was easier than the minor surgery six weeks ago to insert them.  The bones have healed beautifully thanks to six weeks of immobilization, the pins, and the miraculous healing capacity of the body.  Apparently I am not to lift, push, pull or twist with that arm/hand for the next four weeks, so my routine will still not return to normal.  Oh well ... this is nothing in the grand scheme of things is it?  I want to thank you all for your kind expressions of concern.

I was recently recalling some interesting scenes observed as I spent time in the hospital waiting for surgery six weeks ago.  One has to be admitted to the hospital before surgery and be assigned a room where you will be prepped before entering the surgery floor.  On entering the semi-private room on the ward, I had to pass through a phalanx of people visiting the room's other patient.  The young woman in the bed near the door, was surrounded by four or five other women.  It felt like we were walking in on a party.  The conversation was animated and loud, but abruptly stopped as DH and I entered. 


As everyone stared, one of the women asked what happened to my arm.  My explanation was cut short by the arrival of the nurse.  The curtain between the beds was pulled and I given a gown, asked to get in the bed.  When they received word that the surgeon was ready for me, I would be given a shot to calm me.  The nurse suggested it could be a while and that I had time to sleep if I could.


The loud talking around the other bed had resumed interrupted only by occasional bursts of laughter.  Gradually, members of the patient's boisterous 'pre-op team' said their goodbyes.  One remained with the patient.  Through snippets of the group conversation I learned that the young female patient was about to have a toe amputated.  There was indignation and justifiable anger about this as it was due to a work injury that was improperly treated and had turned gangrenous.

The dynamic between this woman, about to lose her toe, and her friends intrigued me.  The 'friend' who remained with her until she would be taken off to surgery proceeded to tell the young patient about her anger at society for all the unfair twists and turns of her life.  It was a sad  and sorry tale of abandonment, poverty, loss of children, etc.  Perhaps she was trying to distract the patient from the imminent amputation of her toe, but I doubt it.  This friend was ranting about her lot in life as if to suggest, "losing a toe is nothing, look at what I have endured'.  It seemed such a self-absorbed, unaware, inconsiderate and counterproductive way to pass the time with someone waiting for surgery.  The patient said very little, probably having tuned out the litany of complaints in order to deal with her own immediate concerns.  As you can imagine, I was not successful at falling asleep.

After we had both had our surgeries and were back in the semi-private room to recuperate, my husband quietly attended to me and suggested I try to sleep.  I said I would and suggested he go home for a bit while I slept.  Unfortunately, the partner, boyfriend or husband of the young amputee arrived at this time and in his booming voice proceeded to verbally assail the patient, his girlfriend, with stories of  HIS lifetime of indignities suffered at the hands of society.   He also began to tell her of  the legal suits he would be bringing on her behalf against the first doctors who did not accurately diagnose the severity of her toe injury.  He was edgy, angry, upset and suddenly he crawled up on the bed with her and started weeping about his lot in life ... and now he had a girlfriend missing a toe!   As she lay there, post-amputation, SHE HELD HIM and consoled HIM telling him everything would be all right.  His alternating wailing and whimpering, and her stoic, quiet consolation continued for the better part of an hour.  What was wrong with this picture?!!

All of this prevented me from sleeping, but it did distract me from any pain in my arm unrelieved by medication.  I was dumbfounded by the degree of self-absorption that difficult times seemed to confer on these so-called friends of the unfortunate amputee.  There she was in the role of mother/therapist/priest to these poor, ignorant souls.  Neither nurses nor I intervened however.  I considered saying something, but felt it would only add to the weight of the burden she was carrying.  A word from a nurse suggesting the patient could benefit from some quiet time might have been appropriate, but perhaps the busy nurses know from experience that people will generally do what they are going to do.


I left before the young amputee and was able to send a small, compassionate smile her way as I exited.  I only hope her friends got their act together and were able to take better care of her at home.

~there~alone~

It is one of the existential givens.  We all wend our way alone ... quivering on the edge of the great expanse ...  wondering how we will get from here to there ... knowing no one else can propel us forward, no one else can bridge the gap from here to there.   Yes, we can construct illusions that we are propped up, held up by a guide wire, that a safety net will catch us if we fall.  But in the dark of night we know we teeter alone bridging that expanse from here to there.  You would think the steps would become familiar, the path less steep, the waver in our balance less off kilter ... 

Sometimes one needs to look behind to see how one got from there to here balancing on gossamer threads like a lonely tight-rope walker through time and space.  Surely if we made it half way across this thread of life, we can bridge the final divide from here to there. 


The threads on which we teeter must come from within.  They alone have the resilience to support us.  We are all weaving threads within, to drape and glide from here to there. 


Ah, but then we realize we are not only afraid of being alone on the thin thread from here to there ... we are also not sure we want to go there at all.   Yes ... another given ... there ...  There is part of the contract ... the agreement we usually cannot recall signing.  Bound by the contract to balance on a gossamer thread while making our way from here to there..

Look!  Wave!  We're all on a gossamer thread wending our way across time and space ... yet we each must weave, build and cross over ... to there ...  alone.  A smile, some eye contact and a little wave sure help.  Look.  Smile.  Wave.  :-)

A noiseless patient spider
I marked where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself.
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my soul, where you stand
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the sphere to connect them.
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul!


~ Walt Whitman


(The image of spider webs is courtesy of QuikDrah at DeviantArt.com)

falling leaves

This piece of digital work began with a photograph from a bridge, of leaves hanging down over a meandering creek full of rocks and stones.  The photograph alone is captivating in and of itself, but I cannot seem to leave well enough alone and had to try out a few alterations in PSE 8.  This is one I like.

thoughts for my weekend

Within the bounds of propriety, reason and core values, these thoughts will be used to guide me this weekend.  What thought(s) are setting the tone for your weekend?

I'll be 'stepping up' this weekend to some tasks I've been avoiding for a while.  The way is prepared and I'm hoping the sense of satisfaction that ensues from accomplishment will qualify as 'pleasure'.  Hope you find much satisfaction and pleasure this weekend too!

one-armed art

Since breaking both bones in my arm, near the wrist, five weeks ago, I have not gone in my studio to paint.  Creative energies have instead been directed toward experimenting with my slowly expanding knowledge of Photoshop Elements 8.   While creativity is required for editing and altering photo images, the actual learning required to use PSE 8 is more of a bang your head on your desk activity ... for me anyway.  However, like most learning, it proceeds exponentially, one skill building on another until ... VOILA - you feel a bit of competence building.

Often however, when I get too 'cocky' suddenly a tool refuses to do what it has previously done.  I, of course, know that it is me and not the tool that is misfiring.  There is always some step I have neglected, done backwards, or out of order.  I have finally learned to pay attention to the cues on the screen.  The information is usually there and if I curb my impatience, slow down, sit back and absorb the whole screen in front of me I usually discover what I was missing in the little area in which I was working.

For those of you who use Photoshop or Photoshop Elements, I would like to know what tool or function you most enjoy using, and what tool/function gives you the most trouble?  If you have any tips you would like to share, I know all the neophyte photoshoppers would be grateful to hear them - well, this one would!  If you are not into photo-editing then I hope you will just enjoy the little examples of some PSE 8 experiments below.

(P.S.  Thank you for your e-mails inquiring about how my arm is healing.  It is doing great and in one week I get the protruding metal pins out.  Hurrah!  Has anyone had metal pins pulled out of bones?  How was it?  The surgical nurse told me it doesn't hurt, but I have my doubts about that.  Well, it cannot be worse than the break and the surgery to put them in!)

~ perception ~

■“Pain is a relatively objective, physical phenomenon; suffering is our psychological resistance to what happens. Events may create physical pain, but they do not in themselves create suffering. Resistance creates suffering. Stress happens when your mind resists what is...The only problem in your life is your mind's resistance to life as it unfolds.”
~ Dan Millman 


■“Every exit is an entry somewhere.”
~ Tom Stoppard  


■“The basic difference between an ordinary man and a warrior is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge, while an ordinary man takes everything as a blessing or a curse.”
~ Carlos Castaneda  


■“We cannot choose our external circumstances, but we can always choose how we respond to them.”
~ Epictetus


■“The trick is in what one emphasizes. We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same.”

~ Carlos Castaneda

~memory boxes~

Boxes

The rhythm of life

rattles boxes

of the mind,

~ scrambling sequences

~ blurring actions

~ shattering absolutes.

Memories morph

in secret cells warped

by time and ... shame ...

mine.

Weigh the assumptions,

sift the claims,

measure the arc of pain ...

mine.

Find forgiveness for infractions,

understanding for self-blame.

Value the boxes

Be glad they came.
~~~

Box #1

Moody, late-winter morn:

Was there really a slap?

or simply the searing snap

of the word, "Slut!"?

Back up:

peeking, half-dressed, through panes,

measuring moisture and light

for apparel to match first high-heels.

Lust enters the room

 unbidden ...

yours.

Lust, I assume,

then self-disgust ...
yours 
 misdirected to me.

"Slut!" ... slap?
shock,  silence,  shame.

Did our eyes ever meet again?

Value the box,

release the shame,
exhale the pain.
~~~

Box #2

Sunny, early-spring day:

crowded bus-stop -

girl-woman in wobbly high-heels,

imagining other toll-free roads.

Fragile man-boy arrives

 tentative ... burdened.

Carrying battered heart
 in his work-a-day lunch box.

Unresolved energies crackle

spanning the questioning chasm

between them.

Bus arrives -
attuned bystanders shuffle

wobbly girl-woman embarks first,

sits alone

peering through panes.

Man-boy falters past uncertain ...
afraid a heavy heart might burst.

 Then, with his leaden lunch box

disembarks first.

Wobbly heels bump along alone

in sadness, silence and shame.

Trying to remember now
 if our paths ever crossed again.

Hold the box lightly,

release self-blame,
breathe through the pain.
~~~

 

Box #3

Late spring eve:
empty house a surprise,
absent items signal
a lonely leave-taking.


Rupture raw,
a permanent tear
~ a little one whimpers
~ a mother stares


Girl-woman removes
those first high-heels
and wobbles still ... 
in silence, blame, shame.

 Could it be she:
~ who made him lust?
~ who made him lonely?
~ who made him leave?


An unshod soul
peeks again through pains,
not knowing ...

she will eventually let go
of the desire
 for it to have been otherwise.


Boxes lightened,
 contents accepted,
even prized.

~~~

These thoughts were put to verse a while ago.  Now when I re-read them I no longer quake, they are simply memories.  They do not distress or define me.  I am not sure of the precise accuracy of the memories (and I have fantasized about what was going on in the other person's head), but in general the 'boxes' kept the memories intact, waiting to be sorted through and integrated with tender and forgiving attention.  That has been done.   I am at peace with my mistakes, wounds and losses and am simply sharing these verses as an example of how one can come to terms with painful memories.  No consolation or support is required, but I am certainly interested in how reading these lines affected you.

If you or a loved one are suffering from intrusive memories that interfere with the quality of your day-to-day living please find a therapist trained in the treatment modality known as EMDR.  It is the most effective treatment and now the treatment of choice among most psychiatrists and clinical psychologists for transforming emotional pain.  It is highly effective in treating post-traumatic stress-related problems. 

EMDR is a simple technique where bi-lateral stimulation (e.g. moving eyes back and forth, tapping alternately on your hands, a headset that delivers alternating sounds in your ears, etc) of the hemispheres of the brain seems to process and release information trapped in the body-mind.  It not only frees people from disturbing images, body sensations, frightening emotions and restrictive beliefs, but clients are left feeling a deep sense of relief, openness and joy.  It has helped thousands of people resume a normal life after debilitating trauma of all kinds.  It also works much faster than normal talk therapy, and can therefore save a lot of time and money.

 Laurel Parnell, Ph.D. has written several books for the lay person on the experience and benefits of EMDR therapy, if you would like to learn more about it.  EMDR treatment should only be done in concert with a therapist trained and experienced in the method.

Interview With "Grizz" of Riverdaze

Allow me to introduce you to "the Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself!" (a self-assigned moniker), author of the blog Riverdaze.  When my blog roll signals there is a new post from Riverdaze, I know I am in for a treat.  Grizz, as his readers fondly call him, offers up stunning photographs of the natural world around him, and unrivaled accompanying descriptions of his personal experience in the face of such wonders.  You only have to visit Riverdaze once to become an avid reader.  Grizz graciously and respectfully acknowledges every comment left on a post with a thoughtful response that is almost as interesting to read as the post itself. 

 A link to Riverdaze is provided at the end of this feature.  Now let's get to the interview so that you can learn a bit about the fine, talented man behind the camera and the silken words.

Grizz, could you give us a brief overview are who you are, where you live, current interests or preoccupations, and how you occupy your days?



Let me preface by saying I'm truly honored to have been asked to do this. It has been a real pleasure to have participated.


Well, I'm a father, son, husband, and cohort of Moon the Dog—a fellow reluctantly approaching entry-level geezerhood and daily reminded of this status by my aching body, which I blithely beat up and abused thoroughly over several decades. I love reading, writing, music (I play piano, among other instruments), cooking, fly fishing, and rambling country roads. Myladylove, pooch, and I live in a modest stone cottage on the banks of a small southwestern-Ohio river near Dayton.

 "Riverdaze" ... can you tell us what your river means, represents and/or gives to you?

 I don't think there's a better metaphor for life than a river. Moreover, a river is truly a living thing. They begin small, are often "born" from a spring. In their early stage are both vulnerable and tentative natured. As they flow along they gain size and strength, becoming more lively, filled with bright energy. Gradually, they mature, broadening, until they're a force to be reckoned with—to the point when they finally turn sedate, somber, almost oblivious, slowing as they reach the end of their journey. At the end they merge with something bigger than themselves.

Rivers have moods and "looks" reflecting everything from weather to season, the sky overhead and the variegated colors of vegetation along the banks. Rivers have both constant personalities that are always present, and situational personalities caused by outside factors, making them friendly or ominous, cheery, melodious, soothing, scary, treacherous, comforting.

The "daze" part is not only the obvious trite homonym of "days," but a too-often accurate assessment of my state of mind as I stumble and grope my way along life's complex and puzzling pathway. Still, this old river, which I've known all my life, gives me a much-needed daily dose of peace and sanity.


Your reverence for Nature and her gifts is palpable in your writings. Would you share a word or two about the delight you derive from being attuned to the natural world around you?

Aldo Leopold said: "There are those who can live without wild things, and those who cannot." I'm quite happily of the latter persuasion—though I would also make note any definition must also include sunsets, the wind on my cheek, ripe pawpaws, the purl of creeks, birdsong and wildflowers, bees, bullfrogs harrumphing on a moonlit night, autumn leaves, falling snow, owls, the fragrance of pines, and rising trout. I never think of nature as "Nature." To me it is simply the world in which I have always lived, the real world. I'm at home outdoors. I find great wonder there, mystery, beauty, solace, as well as entertainment and even the odd moment of enlightenment. I count myself participant rather than mere observer, and the creatures around me as fellow citizens.

Grizz, I have been touched by a couple of your posts reminiscing about childhood outings with your Father. Would you be willing to share a bit about your Father and some of the childhood learnings you most treasure?

Dad was born and raised on a farm in the rugged hills of eastern Kentucky. He grew up loving woods and waters, and came to know and understand such places at a profound level of intimacy. He was a fine field botanist, and had the keenest eyesight of anyone I've ever met. Soon after he and Mom were married, Dad received a Masters Degree in education and began teaching—starting out in one-room schools. For nearly two decades, he became a sort of itinerant schoolteacher—mostly, I think, because both he and my mother were adventurers by nature. The peripatetic life suited them. So they moved from Kentucky to South Carolina, to North Carolina, to Indiana, to Washington state. Along the way, and in the off-season from teaching, they roamed mountains and deserts, fished, picked apples, hunted mountain lions, explored caves and Indian ruins in the Southwest, lived on a peanut plantation in Georgia, etc. When WWII broke out, they moved to Ypsilanti, Michigan and went to work at Ford's old Willow Run Bomber Plant, where Dad taught aeronautics and Mom painted the star insignias on B-24s.

After the war, my parents moved to Dayton. Dad, who'd always been a woodworker, built the house where I was born and where he and Mom lived all the rest of their lives. Dad also switched from teaching to finish carpentry. He soon became known as a master woodworker for his skills, and usually worked on custom, high-ticket homes. Dad could—and often did—make anything from wood, from bowls to benches, beds, chests, piano cases and lids, sleds, wagons, and toys of all sorts. When I wanted a fly tying bench, Dad built me one. I grew up amid the smell of sawdust, and love it to this day… and even a whiff reminds me of my father.

Dad and Mom were both musical. Before I was born, Dad built two amazing acoustic guitars—one for each of them. Mom and Dad sang and played in church and on various radio programs, including several from WLW in Cincinnati. On several occasions, the great Merle Travis played Dad's guitars on his show. Later, I earned to play on these same instruments.

What did my father teach me? Everything of any real importance. First off, he taught me I was loved. He never failed to tell me so, never failed to show me through patience, attention, helping, advising, or doing. Dad and I had disagreements, but I never for a single moment doubted his love for me. He taught me to think for myself. To be independent, and not be swayed by peer pressure or some desire to fit in, or by mere money, or by fear of failure. He taught me to listen, to consider, to reason. I'm more artistic than my father, but he was more logical. I have to make myself think logically sometimes. Dad taught me to be myself. He never dictated my future, but simply helped guide and encouraged, and said whatever I did, to be the best at it I could possibly become.

Most of all, Dad, through example, taught me honesty, compassion, courage, humility. He taught me to follow my moral compass and to find joy in the smallest task.

How blessed you were to have such fine, loving parents.  Now, would you name a couple of your strengths for us?


1.) An abiding and overriding sense of humor.


2.) Independence in thinking and acting. I care little about what others think so long as I believe I'm doing the right thing. I've never needed group acceptance, or heeded peer pressure. I'm comfortable in my own company and following my own direction, not lonely when I'm alone—and believe if you're not forging upstream, you're just being tumbled along with the flow. If challenged, I might quote that line from Proverbs: "Trust your own judgement, for it is your most reliable counselor."


3.) Self honesty. For example, I know how pompous and ridiculous the above answer comes across, can even laugh at the absurdity…but still say it's one of my greatest strengths.


4.) As paradoxically as it sounds, I try my best to live each day with sensitivity and a servant's heart, to follow the Golden Rule.


And, what about one weakness, just for the record?    :-) 


You know, given my surfeit, let's do two:   Used book stores…and dark chocolate.


With regard to your achievements, name one you consider to be among the greatest?


That I've never strayed so far off the path that I remained lost and couldn't find my way home.


What quality do you value most in your friends?   Truth.

If you could change one thing about yourself Grizz, what would it be?


I wish I'd have taken better care of myself over the years.

What do you consider the most over-rated virtue?   Fiscal success, social status, materialism.

Which living person do you most admire?


I admire anyone who is living their life exactly where they want to be—who's found their place, is content, happy, and filled with joy. Usually they're dirt poor, rural, and beloved by neighbors, friends, family. Always they have the biggest hearts on the planet. I admire such folks greatly.


Is there a historical figure, or a figure from literature, with whom you identify?

 In my growing up, I might have said Tarzan or Huckleberry Finn. Now, I might say Father Tim from the Mitford books by Jan Karon. And, BTW, I do admire this author.



You are a stellar wordsmith, Grizz. You hint about writing for a living and while I will not ask you to reveal details about that (unless you want to), I would love to hear about your love of writing and a bit about your process - how you go about it.

I've been a full-time writer most of my adult life. In that time I've published something over 3,000 feature magazine articles, at least that many columns in both magazines and newspapers, some fiction and poetry. All were illustrated with my own photos, BTW. Most of my work centers around the outdoors—nature, travel, adventure, folklore, history—plus the occasional piece on everything from books to cooking to music. I've also edited several magazines, owned one, owned a small book-publishing firm. I'm currently working on two books—one on the southeastern-Ohio hill country, the other a mystery novel. There’s even a possibility I may finish them one of these days.

But please—don't be impressed by the above. It's just the output of a working writer writing about the things he knows—a lifelong means, often desperate, of avoiding what friends tend to think of as a "real job."


Because of early health issues, I've always been a voracious reader, often to the tune of a book or two per day, though I've slowed that down some. I learned early to appreciate the well-turned sentence. I believe a good writer can make any subject interesting, though being a good storyteller is more along the lines of a gift.


A lot of would-be writers like to have written, but don't like to actually write. I do like to write. I can easily spend 10-12 hours puttering away at a piece, scarcely breaking for lunch. I always try and write well, in my own voice, with both clarity and sensory details. The idea is to open that door so someone actually "experiences" what I'm writing about. Occasionally, just occasionally, I think I succeed.


The process itself, if you want to do it really well, is dangerously simple: you sit in front of a blank computer screen (or blank sheet of paper), reach into your soul, and tear out living parts. Nothing to it. Then you mop up the blood and do it again.

Right ... 'nothing to it'!  You are also an excellent photographer. Is a coffee table book of your some of your images and words a possibility?

Possibility? Yes.  Probability? Maybe…

What secret or tip about photography could you share with fledgling photographers?

Re. outdoor photography: Learn to photograph light. Be aware of light and what it does to subjects. Know that a well-lit subject almost always produces a boring image. Be fearless in shooting—shoot from every angle, under all conditions; find the viewpoint that "moves" you. And look at lots and lots of good photos to constantly train your eye. Finally, understand your subjects—and I'm not referring only to living creatures. A photographer who knows a mountain or stream can take a better photo than one who doesn't; there's something intrinsic, almost mystical, in foreknowledge. So get acquainted with your subjects—it's as true when taking candid shots of a woods or tidal pool as when taking candids of friends and family.



Tell us a bit about your love affair with light.

Obviously, the entire visual experience centers around light. Not just for photography's sake, but for simply seeing, enjoying, understanding. Light reveals shape, texture, color. It also sets mood. Outdoors, lights tells time, season, and sometimes, weather. A big portion of my joy and knowledge in nature comes from a constant awareness of light.

Do you prefer fiction or non-fiction? Could you give us a couple of recommendations in both categories?

I read a lot of both—fiction for entertainment, to "escape" into another world or life, but also sometimes purely to observe technique, seeing how a certain writer handles dialog, flashbacks, openings, etc. Not to copy, but to absorb and remake. I read non-fiction for information, background, understanding or to add depth…but again, I also read often simply for pleasure.


As to recommendations…in fiction I read quite a few mysteries, and lately many of them are translations. Translations can be a bit challenging—the plot may survive, while the prose comes out a bit uneven. Too, I like character-driven rather than plot-driven stories. James Lee Burke is good, along with Michael Connelly, and Henning Mankell. Non-mysteries, I love Hemingway, not for his famous staccato sentences, but for those long ones with just a perfect detail tucked somewhere within—and also for his transitions, which often open his stories and books. Non-fiction? For nature, Merrill Gilfillan (this is the son, his father, Merrill C. Gilfillan, also wrote), Hal Borland; Calvin Trillin on food. Henry Mitchell on gardening. Over the past day or so I reread Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf and liked it even better than the first time around.



What global issues most concern you of late?

Suburban sprawl, cross-contamination of species from place to place, the attitude that no matter what we do to the environment that it can always be fixed with enough money, and overall a careless, uncaring outlook for land, water, and the creatures therein. You only fight and take care of the things you know and love—and I'm not convinced that many people nowadays truly know and thus care about nature. Indifference is a deadly disease.

How do you make room for play in your life?

Most people who know me would say I play all the time. And in a sense, that's true…I hardly ever do things I don't want to do or don't enjoy doing. I like what I do, I like how I spend my days. Even if I'm lugging around slabs of limestone to build a wall, or digging out a new flower bed, or even washing dishes, I find pleasure in the hard work or the small tasks. The meetings I attend are for things I want to be part of, things I believe in and back up with my time and energy. If I'm stuck in traffic, I always have books on tape along and at least a bottle or two of water and a few breakfast bars behind the seat—so I can sit in the middle of the freeway for an hour an enjoy myself.


That said, my days are usually so full that if I didn't like and get a kick out of most of what I do, I'd be miserable.


 How do you attend to your spiritual needs?


Prayer, reading the Bible, attending church. Nothing else fulfills me spiritually; nothing else suffices for my relationship with God.


 Do you believe in an afterlife?   Absolutely.


Is there one thing you wish you had learned or discovered earlier in your life?


To keep my life as simple and grounded as possible. To put faith at the forefront. To immerse myself in the land.



What do you still want to learn?   The list is endless—I love learning.


 How do you make your life feel meaningful?  By living every single day as best I can. By sharing all I can.



What is your greatest fear?


That I'll waste my moments, my gifts, my opportunities to be what I want to be. That I won't stand up sufficiently for my beliefs. That I'll fail to see needs I could alleviate and do nothing. That when it's over, I'll not have left something worthwhile behind.…

What sustains you through difficult times?

Faith, belief, prayer, peace, love…and time's perspective. And, of course, the out-of-doors, nature, wild places and their solitude.

Out alone in a meadow or in the woods what tune would we be most likely to hear you whistle or hum?


None. Though I'm whistler and hummer, I was taught to be quite in the fields and woods or a'stream if wanted to see things. I listen to birds and wind, bees, water, leaves rattling…and for the sound of whatever might be stalking me out there in the underbrush. :-)

What brought you to blogging?


Exactly what my original post said—the inability to keep a journal for any length of time, and the desire to share something, as best I could, of this riverbank life.


 What keeps you blogging?   Readers.



What have you learned from the experience of blogging?


Because of my columns, I guess most of this is not exactly new—only the format. But that readers appreciate honesty. That they enjoy reading about all sorts of things. That what and how you write and the photos you make matters. That you can say almost anything, write about almost anything, in the form of a nature piece. And more than anything, that the world is filled with wonderful people, kind, generous, caring, and if you open your heart, they respond by opening theirs.



What is one thing about you that would surprise the readers of your blog?


A compelling and inordinate penchant for garage sales.



What is your favorite word?   Crepuscular, or maybe soughing.


What is your least favorite word?   Can't.


What sound or noise do you love?   Laughter.


What sound or noise do you hate?   Traffic.


What question have I neglected to ask that would have given readers more insight into who you are?


Does heritage tie into or inform your daily life in some way?



What is the answer to that question?


Yes, indeed!  Being of Irish descent, we still venerate such things as old family mottos. The one for my particular clan reads: "Go under God…with courage, with honor, with compassion."  For me, that pretty much sums it up—and anything it misses can always be rectified by going fishing.



I've sensed a bit of ambivalence about this whole interview feature thing.  Would you like to address that?


My ambivalence is that I read what I've written and think it sounds like I'm a sort of Mother Teresa of the Riverbank. God knows I'm not. I don't want to come off as some holier-than-thou goody-goody. In truth, I'm quirky, incorrigible in many ways, old-fashioned in others, and capable of being a chronic pain in anybody's butt should I take the notion.


I'm pretty much a loner, slow to make friends, not prone to socializing, yet I'm also a "people person," quite comfortable in crowds. When I was playing music, I would go before several thousand people and blaze as bright as a road flare with in-your-face personality. I’m a laughing, joking, quip-a-minute poke-fun-at-anything cut-up who's seldom more than three millimeters away from dark brooding or at least pensive introspection, and take life far more seriously than anyone imagines. I can lead and take charge of people or projects without hesitation, all the while exuding self-confidence…but I can't follow worth a dime, am definitely not a team player, and I’m a hesitant joiner of organizations. I can be the most positive person you ever met, yet I'm often riddled with self-doubt and fear of failure.


I rodeoed for a year, rode broncs and bulls (in small-time venues), and as a writer have led an active outdoor life of he-man adventure—but would rate myself about as tough as your average marshmallow. I'm an inveterate motormouth, yet often spend my days in silence. Almost everyone I meet thinks I'm a most likable fellow, yet I regularly have bouts of personal loathing. I'm uncomfortable talking about myself, though lead an open and straightforward life and am quick and genuine in welcoming others into my life and home.

Always, always, I try my best to be humble, considerate, grateful…because I detest arrogance, rudeness, and unappreciativeness .


I guess what bothers me is the dichotomy—what I know is the weakness behind the strengths, the negatives behind the positives. When I'm being really honest, there are times when even I don't know fully the real me. In the end, I hope with all my heart that it will be said of me that I was a good and decent man—a good and decent father, son, and husband, who appreciated life and gave back as much love as he got.


Again, thank you for asking me to be part of this blog series.


Thank YOU for agreeing to be interviewed.  You have been so open, honest and giving - just as you are on your blog.  To visit Grizz at Riverdaze, click here.

NOTE:  The bolding throughout this interview was inserted by me, Bonnie - not by Grizz, which would not be his wont (to highlight his own words).