More annoying obstacles

"Whatever arises, just keep being present, keep returning to the breath, even in the midst of all the confusion."

— Sogyal Rinpoche, Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, p. 77


Early March 2009

I’m a bit scared regarding the NCBTMB national certification exam. The best resource I know of is massageprep.com and it’s, well, on the internet.

There is no question I’d pass the test if I used this. What’s the scope of this experiment? If the internet is necessary to study for the national certification exam (and I think in the beginning I said I would be off the internet unless it was absolutely necessary to finish school) — then will I have to do it?

I can finish school and become an LMT without the internet. I just can’t do the national certification exam and given that I went to a non-accredited school and it’s an economic downturn and I haven’t lived in Maine for 40 generations, it feels like the national certification would be really, really smart. I could take it in 2010 but I might be rusty by then, and the rust sets in powerful quick these days.

Obstacles

"Grasping is the source of all our problems."

— Sogyal Rinpoche, Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, p. 33




Early March 2009

Being off the internet is a huge pain when it comes to homeschooling.

On the internet are practically limitless resources, answers to questions, to use with homeschooling. We use it like an encyclopedia, with me weeding through all the resources to find the answers.

Right now, I'm becoming very adept at saying, "I don't know." When I remember and can find my notebook of questions, I write the question down in hopes I will remember to bring it to the library later.

Sometimes I forget to bring it. Sometimes the pressing question is no longer so pressing by then, and so it never gets answered. Other times, we head to library and dive headlong into whatever is pressing at that moment, old questions forgotten and new ones arising.

This is when I begin to wonder if, in the balance of things, the internet can make us smarter and more educated. Or if there is value in not answering every single question.

The naming habit

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

— Rumi, Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks, p. 34

March 3, 2009

This morning just before leaving my parents' house — a bird of prey on the far side of the garage eating something in the snow under the hollies.

White chest, brownish red stripey markings on chest, white under tail. Dark grey on back, back of tail; white dots — a few — on backs of wings. Yellow legs, yellow eyes, yellow stripe on top of beak.

Never found it in the bird book. Just took notes. My mother and I were glued to the binocs looking at it.

Amazing to study something so closely and remain just outside the naming of it. Naming is such a habit. To get on the internet and google just about anything is a deeply ingrained habit, too: the specs of the bird in the yard to find out the name and thus move on to more knowledge. Nothing wrong with that.

Instead, poetry: holding firmly to the only thing in hand: bird eating prey in snow, ourselves just beyond knowing.

A little more on stress

"To these eyes
you have now, what looks like water
burns. What looks like fire
is a great relief to be inside."
— Rumi, Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks, p. 97




March 3, 2009
Maryland

More on stress, snow: Two young magnolias planted by the gravel driveway. Planted at the same time.

The one that was shaded / sheltered by a white pine had not grown as tall, but was not burdened by snow. The other, more exposed to light, had grown taller and broader but was therefore also out in the elements and got heavily laden in the drifting snow.

Twins, raised nearby but essentially in different climates, exposed (or not) to different conditions.

On Stress

"Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness."
— Tolle, A New Earth, p. 41




Snow
Cherry buds
Broomstick
*
Stress: looking at the trees under 9 inches of snow, deeper in places where the strong gusts had drifted it: thinking about what the tree man said. A certain amount of stress is good for trees: wind, snow.

Shaking off the snow from the ornamental cherry with its fat buds, the hawthorne with its freeze-dried red berries, holly, cypress, laurel: snow on, stress. Snow falls off, release. Vacation. Stress plus vacation or release equals the slow building of strength — physical, character.

Stress plus no release equals deterioration. I saw it all right there clattering on the cherry limb with a broomstick. Also that in order to release the tree it was not necessary to shake off all the snow, only some. There was still some snow on the tree.

Same way as people. It’s not necessary to relieve all the stress in order for health and strength to build. It needs to be brought down to a manageable level for the living thing.

In massage it’s the same way. It’s not about curing the stress. It’s about alleviating some of the stress so that the body can function optimally to reduce stress on its own — through circulation or better sleep, for instance.

When does stress become toxic? When the heavy stress goes on for too long, straining the tree or the body beyond its limits. When the stress cannot resolve itself / heal in a day (a workout), a week (a marathon), or a year (childbirth). When there is not the periodic relief of some of the stress to a more manageable level.
*
Life is work. If you’re lucky, and/or are willing to work hard and make some sacrifices, the work is work you love, in a comfortable environment, with a fair amount of freedom and no toxic stress involved.

"Now. That's the key. Now, now, now."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 30





Still Feb 28, 2009

Lots of mags in the airport with Barack Obama on the cover. And one with with Mrs. Obama (Vogue). In one shop a big cardboard cutout of President Obama. There was a strong sense of wanting to be more media-connected so as to hear more of his speeches, see more of the coverage of the economy.

Youtube is a great invention — low-res repeats of whatever it is you’re looking for. Kind of like what talking on the phone is becoming — you can access the exact person you want by phone anytime, no waiting, but it’s cell to cell and their voice is all grainy, or they break up from lack of reception, or there’s that weird digital lag that makes the pauses longer and makes you think they might be mad at you, or that you just said something that makes absolutely no sense.

It’s great! But it sucks. All at the same time.
*
It’s hard being away from the NYT. I’m going to have a lot to catch up on.

"Ritual is about joining vision and practicality, heaven and earth, samsara and nirvana. when things are properly understood, one's whole life is like a ritual or a ceremony."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 77

Monday March 2. Easton. Snow.

We got a hard snow last night. Around midnight it began to blow while still snowing quite heavily. I stood for a while with the front porch light on—the front porch is rarely used here—and watched out the dining room window as the snow blew across the front of the house. Whipping is probably more accurate.

The gusts plus the heavy snow made some howling and screaming sounds. At one point it really sounded ghostly — like a tormented soul. Given that midnight was rolling around I genuinely got creeped out by the howls and screams and whistles and had the distinct fear that if the house was haunted that now would be the time they showed up and I decided to go to bed.

This morning coming downstairs a movie I watched a couple nights ago resonated with me. A couple with her daughter is living in a grand old vacant house in the dead of winter. The house is in the middle of a great plain so when the wind and snow come they drift and form around the house.

The broken windows and roofing has caused most of the interior to become an ice palace — absolutely still, the old furniture coated with ice and snow. Everything had been left in place because the owners had left so suddenly. Upstairs there was a room where nothing was leaking too badly and there was only dust on everything. The family stayed there while they were hiding out in the house.
*
My dad’s been on the internet for the last 45 minutes looking up every detail about the weather here and in Portland, and spent time looking at weather cams from around Maryland. It’s like watching myself. Meanwhile — out the window the snow comes down, the cypresses burdened, hollies in a deep bow.

Letters · Cute Puppy Head

"Most people, in their restless search for something significant to happen to them, continuously miss the insignificant, which may not be insignificant at all."
— Tolle, A New Earth, p. 235



Still Feb 28, 2009
Maryland

I might take some of tomorrow and write Mia back. She sent a letter to Maine which I’d hoped to reply to this week, but I left that letter in Portland. I have my pen; my mom could probably give me some stationery.

My mom called me over this evening to look at a photo of someone’s brown Labrador puppy, which she couldn’t quite get to scroll correctly. All I saw was the soft-looking, furry top of the puppy’s head. Very cute nonetheless.

I felt a pang when I saw an email next to it from my cousin, apparently with photos of her son.

Then, concurrently, relief.

Re-alignment

"The atoms that make up your body were once forged inside stars, and the causes of even the smallest event are virtually infinite and connected with the whole in incomprehensible ways."
— Tolle, A New Earth, p. 197



Still February 28
Easton, MD

Looking this week at a beautiful book of Gustave Baumann’s prints.

Looking at photos of him and his studio and his work I feel wistful that I never pursued the printmaker’s life. I abandoned art because it abandoned me, or maybe I just abandoned it because there were too many obstacles and too much discouragement. I’ve never been great with discouragement or obstacles, or jealous people. I get dissuaded far too easily. Or maybe I didn’t really want it. Maybe this longing for art school that bugged me for a long time was just a fantasy and not a real desire.

But looking at Baumann’s art and his studio I also feel grateful that I have abandoned the internet this year in search of a more authentic daily existence in which I used to tread, along with a whole lot of other people.

I could re-align my life with some of my old goals.

Writing this book is certainly tapping the creativity in a way that hasn’t happened in a long time.

Big Snow 2009: Back in Easton

"To lead a life that goes beyond pettiness and prejudice and always wanting to make sure that everything turns out on our own terms to lead a more passionate, full, and delightful life than that, we must realize that we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 3

Late February
Easton, MD

It’s still snowing hard here, with 4-5 inches already on the ground. It’s near freezing, so the snow has clung to everything. It’s about 11:30 p.m. Tonight and tomorrow it’s supposed to blow, gusting to 35 mph. There is a strong feeling of wanting to get online, look at the radar, see the snow on the map, re-read the predictions as I used to do. Use up some of that 18 days a year tonight meshing with the weather.

There is also a feeling of wanting to share this rare experience — heavy snow on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, a rare occurrence — with more people, online. But it would so definitely take away from the thisness, the moment. There is a loneliness about snow, and to over-connect would be to rob this experience of some of its authenticity.

Big Snow 2009: Worse than Lent

"If you can recognize illusion as illusion, it dissolves."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 28





On the drive home from the airport -- thoroughly relieved that we'd avoided becoming an overnight-with-two-kids-in-the-airport statistic — we were talking, driving in Grandma’s Volvo through the snow toward the Eastern Shore.

The snow was getting heavier, the temperature right at freezing, and the snow was beginning to stick. We were wondering what had happened to the plane coming in from Atlanta.

“You know, you could hop on the web from your phone and check the flight status!” my dad said, apparently forgetting about my experiment.

“I know,” I said. “I’ll just have to wait till we get back and you can look it up.”

“You know, this is worse than lent,” said my dad.

He suggested if I really wanted to get extreme I could give up voice mail too. I told him I had no interest in doing that.

His 90-year-old golfing buddy doesn’t own a computer. My dad this says it makes it much harder to schedule a game with him.
*
We got home fine, and it was fun to look over Dad’s shoulder at flightaware.com to see all the stats on the planes flying.

The plane got in from Atlanta, and our would-be flight departed at 9:01 pm from Baltimore, and arrived in Portland around 10, having had about a 70-knot tail wind.

Big Snow 2009: We Escape the Airport

"Whenever you become anxious or stressed, outer purpose has taken over, and you lost sight of your inner purpose. You have forgotten that your state of consciousness is primary, all else secondary."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 266





We headed down to the baggage office, talked to Regina (who gave Baxter a red plastic action figure that was on the counter, since they’d found it), who called the baggage boss and within ten minutes we had our bags, and my dad had turned around from Annapolis and met up with us.

We even got them on carousel 11, where no one else was crowded around waiting. (This was also the one that was opened up and being repaired when we’d come in.)

The service was so good that I might have to try just going to the airport and not flying out, just so I can get this service again.

Big Snow 2009: We Bail on Airport, but Where's Grandpa?

"Every complaint is a little story the mind makes up that you completely believe in." — Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 61





After 20 minutes in the bathroom we headed back down to the gate.

An agent was there in the usual uniform. He showed that our plane had returned to the gate in Atlanta, having not left the ground. I let him know we wanted to bail and leave another day, and could he help me with that or should I go to the ticket counter?

Ticket counter.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked with a smile.

“Yes. And I want to get my bags back,” I said politely.

“I don’t know if you can get your bags back….If my supervisor’s there, she can probably make that happen,” he said.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Miss April,” he said.
*
At the ticket counter a young man named Derrick was helping us. “You know there’s going to be a change fee for that?” I said fine, it was cheaper than spending two nights in a Baltimore hotel.

After he punched in our information his eyes got very big.

“What do they want — a thousand dollars to do this?” I asked.

“Almost,” he replied in a little voice.

I looked him right in the eye with the kindest and most direct gaze. “There’s someone here who can make that go away,” I said. “And I know this is not your fault,” I added.

“Just a moment,” he said, and went back to punching in numbers.

“Mom, is it over yet?” said the older son.

“Not yet,” I said.

“I’ll just hide under my coat until this is over,” he said.

I told the guy behind the counter what my son was doing. The ticketing agent really liked this idea. I told him spring was going to come, the planes would come, they would go, like clockwork, and everybody would be happy. He said he was just waiting for that.

“I got it down to $700,” he said, apologetically.

“Whatever happened to the change fee? You know, $75 to change a ticket?” I asked.

“Actually, I just waived the change fee,” he replied.

“So…if I hang around here for three or four more hours with my kids, my flight gets cancelled, I wait in line with a hundred other people, your airline will let me change my tickets for free.”

“Yes….that’s about right,” he said.

Just then Miss April came by and looked at the computer.

“What’s going on with these people?” she asked, looking at the computer and not at me.
Quietly he explained.

“What change fees, honey?” she said to him, typing away on the keyboard. “They’re not leaving because of the weather….” And I couldn’t hear any more.

The next thing I knew I had my boarding passes in my hand, I was on the flight in two days that I asked for and no cost to me.

But my dad was somewhere between Baltimore and the Bay Bridge, and we didn't have our luggage back yet.

Big Snow 2009: Airport Delays Begin

"What you can do to a person, you can also do to a situation: make it into an enemy."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 63


Got to the airport with both kids, my dad, our luggage, and checked in.

Flight's delayed an hour. My dad and I were a bit suspicious.

It took a while but he worked on sleuthing out where our plane was coming from (Atlanta), whether planes generally were getting out of there, whether further delays would be posted shortly, indicating ongoing delays.

My dad got the word at the ticket counter that the plane had left Atlanta. We consulted and decided it was probably worth it to say goodbye and head through security. When we got down to our gate, I spoke to the guys at the counter.

They were dressed like baggage handlers, with their reflective vests on. Their information did not show the plane having left Atlanta yet.

I found that interesting!

I thanked them and we all headed off to the bathroom where one son needed to spend some time, having ingested almost all of his sugar-free Mentos, even though I told him not to, due to the Maltilol syrup content, the effects of which I’d explained before purchase. I don’t think he’ll make that mistake again.

Big Snow 2009: We Head to the Airport

"All things are vibrating energy fields in ceaseless motion."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 146



March 1, 2009. Sunday. Easton, MD. Heavy snow.

Still in Easton tonight. Waylaid due to major winter storm coming up the coast.

Spent the morning packing us up while the kids watched the History Channel—some show about loggers. About half of what they were saying was bleeped out. Every time one guy spoke you couldn’t even tell what he was saying because practically every word was censored. Nice! Welcome to Oregon!

I took apart our room meticulously — stripped all the beds, folded blankets, deflated the kids’ beds (with the six-year-old’s help — he helped open the valves on the Coleman beds and pushed and rolled the air out), sorted, organized, scoured all rooms for stragglers, packed, brought the linens downstairs and remade my bed.

Everything was in good order. Brought it all down, with mom’s help packed snacks, fed everyone lunch of leftover spaghetti, and drove to Baltimore.

My dad checked our flight on the internet before we left: on time.

It looked like our plane was going to fly north of the storm. It was coming up from the south, supposed to hit Balto around dark, and we were scheduled to leave a few minutes before 4 pm. Maine wasn’t supposed to get big snow till after midnight. At the time we left for the airport (75 miles away) 6-12" were predicted here, 10-14" in Portland during the day tomorrow.

With confidence, we headed off to the airport.

Golfing with Grandpa, Chi Gong with Geese

"...Doing is never enough if you neglect Being."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 103






Still February 28, 2009
Easton, MD

Yesterday, a new experience. When we're here and the weather's good, the kids go out with grandpa to the golf course.

They get duded up in their polo shirts and Crocs, haul their downsized golf bags out to the car. At the golf course, they get to whack some fluorescent yellow golf balls on the driving range, and if they're behaving, they get to drive the golf cart. These days, now that they're bigger, I usually stay behind.

All of a sudden, that fear of being alone.

It was warm out, about 60, and windy. I took the moment and went for a walk by myself. Always before, walking alone on the Eastern Shore, the awareness of pain all around has been overwhelming — past pain, current pain, personal pain. Not my own, but that of others. Historic pain. Lots of beauty, but always pain.

For the first time ever yesterday, I feel like I connected with the spiritual aspect of the Eastern Shore. I stopped along the path and did some Chi Gong exercises, there by the corn field, amidst the honking of geese gleaning the field.

The Truth Hurts...Sometimes

Tell the truth and watch your life change.






February 28, 2009
Easton, MD

Sometimes when this experiment comes up in conversation, people get uncomfortable.

Totally understandable. It's like any other potentially inflammatory topic: politics, homeschooling, quitting drinking. I always try to defuse these conversations since I’m more interested in dialogue than in people being uncomfortable.
*
Talking with my dad just now about the weather, and my calculations about how many days per year I was spending just checking the weather. He loves to rib me. When I was a girl this really bothered me. Now I kind of enjoy it.

“You know, Jenny, there are other options besides spending that much time checking the weather,” he said (or something like that).

“Dad, I don’t self-regulate well. So I took a year. What’s a year anymore?”

“You’ll probably be worse when you go back to it,” he said, “e-mailing people at 3 o’clock in the morning you haven’t seen in twenty-five years.”

Ouch. The truth hurts. Or is that the truth?

Warbirds Up Close....Really Close.

"How do you let go of attachment to things? Don't even try. It's impossible. Attachment to things drops away by itself when you no longer seek to find yourself in them."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 45



Still February 26
Maryland

My dad arranged for us to go in and see some pristinely restored and flying warbirds. The guys there spent over an hour with my dad, me, and the boys, lifting my sons into every cockpit and allowing them to have the canopies closed and to play with the controls. It was like being at Owl’s Head without the ropes.

We climbed into and explored a Spitfire, P-51 Mustang, P-40 Warhawk, L-39 (Czechoslovakian military jet), T-34 WW2 trainer.

There was also a DeHavilland Tiger Moth that was taken apart. We saw the upside down engine, the wings, the fuselage, the rudder, all take apart.

Addictionphobia

"Give up defining yourself — to yourself and others. You won't die. You will come to life. And don't be concerned with how others define you. When they define you, they are limiting themselves, so it's their problem."
— Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth, p. 109


February 26, 2009
Easton, MD

First trip to MD without the internet. It’s interesting. I usually use the internet as some kind of identity lifeline while I’m here but the weird part is that it’s actually easier to stay grounded without it. Since it was an addiction it was a way I used often to escape the effects of something unpleasant, often feelings in myself, which occur all the time. So it is new territory to be here and not be online.
*
Technophobe: I’m not a technophobe. I’m an addictionphobe. If it’s addictive it’s suspect. If it’s addictive it can be used to control. If it’s addictive it’s very likely at some point the addictive substance or thing will take control of the relationship without my knowing it.

Rules, Rules, Rules

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." — Ralph Waldo Emerson





Still January 30, 2009

RULES of this experiment:
Been coalescing these rules over the last month. They’re basically unchanged since January.

1. No e-mail, IMing, G-chat, Facebook, Google, or anything on the internet.
2. No text-messaging, except with Jeff. If anyone texts me, I call them back.
3. All rules off in case of true emergency, with rules to be resumed as soon thereafter as possible.
4. Exceptions: using the pipe to the office computer to update Quicken. Backing up my computer (which happens to the house computer).
*
There is a bit of a gap for me with not being able to google answers to the kids’ questions right away, but there is something good and solid about writing their questions down to be answered later. When I google answers we all end up on the computer for at least 10 minutes, usually longer.
*
In part I started this experiment to make more time to finish massage therapy school, but it’s amazing the number of ways I can still find to not be doing that work.

Package from Cisco Systems? It's Not a New Router.

"Working with obstacles is life's journey. The warrior is always coming up against dragons."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 68





Still January 30, 2009

This morning right after the boys left I had an opportunity to visit with a good friend in the neighborhood. She was getting ready to head up to Camp Mechuwana for a winter retreat. We talked for a while.

Walking home I stopped at the Rosemont Market for leek, onion, red bell pepper, domestic feta, tortillas, then headed for home in between the mountains of snow from the plows, shovels, snow blowers. I was feeling a bit frightened and scattered about heading back to an “empty” house.

When I opened the door to the front porch, there was a package for me from Cisco Systems in Seattle. Usually packages from tech companies are for Jeff but this one was clearly addressed to me.

Took me a minute to realize that it was from Julie Wieringa, my former boss at AT&T Wireless, and that she’d probably shipped me a copy of her classical guitar CD.

Indeed. Also included were a lovely letter and two letterpressed books that she made — one a sweet story (illustrated) about a man and his dog, and the other a 6 x 9 letterpressed journal with musical staff pages on the left, lined writing pages on the right. And a letter written by hand in ink — she has a phenomenal fountain pen collection.

If I were in my old life, I would not find the time to write her back, but I’ll probably write her tonight. In my old life I would e-mail her, or Facebook her a reply. Enthusiastically. Lovingly. Instead she’ll get a nice letter, handwritten in ink, on stationery.

Linda, Emmy Lou, Dolly, and the Six-Year-Old Conscience

"We see how beautiful and wonderful and amazing things are, and we see how caught up we are. It isn't that one is the bad part and one is the good part, but that it's a kind of interesting, smelly, rich, fertile mess of stuff. When it's all mixed up together, it's us: humanness."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 21

Still Jan 30, 2009

We (the kids and I) have been enjoying an album by Linda Ronstadt, Emmy Lou Harris, and Dolly Parton called Trio 2, that we have on loan from the library. I think it won a Grammy ten years ago. It’s an hour of the most exquisite harmonies imaginable.

When I first put it on a few days ago, Charlie fell out of an irritable mood and into a trance. He lay down in the middle room on the rug, mindfully gazing up at the ceiling. Later, on the track "Blue Train," I came around the corner and he was blissfully moving through the living room. “I’m pretending I’m flying an airplane, Mom.”

Enchanted as well, naturally thoughts progressed in my mind toward how to obtain a copy. itunes would be ideal - $9.99 -- and, while less expensive, is out. I could call Bull Moose Music in the Old Port and order up a copy….but it’ll be costing me $16.

Or…gulp…I could just accidentally on purpose import it onto the family computer. I know this is wrong but the music is so tempting and the $16 seems so out of reach.

I went upstairs to check on the six-year-old — who was on the toilet with the door open so he didn’t miss any of the songs.

“Mom, is this the radio?” he asked. He knows to ask this so that he knows if he can hope to have something put on repeat. (He’s asked many times in the car “Put this on repeat” and it’s turned out to be the radio.) "No, it’s a CD," I told him.

I mention casually that I would like to obtain a copy of this album, or maybe I’ll just copy the songs onto the computer. I am treading on thin ice, looking to see if the six-year-old will notice the problem with this idea.

“Mom,” he whispers while peeking at me around the corner, “I think that’s illegal.”

Isolation & the Yam-Eating Cat

"In Buddhism we talk about mindfulness and awareness....There's a lot of precision, but also a lot of gentleness. Along with being very precise about our world, there's also always space around us that is called gentleness: we allow ourselves to experience how large and fluid and full of color and energy our world is. This space is our circle."
— Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape, p. 27

January 30, 2009. Friday night.

Tonight I really don’t want to be the writer. I want everyone else to be the writers. I’d rather lose myself in the Daedalus Books catalog, or the New York Times. Have I said this before?

The cat is staring longingly toward the yams in the bowl sitting near me on the couch. She just took a nose dive into the bowl and I tossed her off the couch.

Today the boys — all three of them — left for a day in Boston and then a weekend in RI. Talk about internet withdrawal! This afternoon I was seized with the feeling of what I’d be doing if the internet was an option — filling that void with Facebook. Endless hours on e-mail, googling, reading and re-reading the weather and endless news.

No car here either. Between that and the internet it is impossible to shop unless I take the bus downtown. Then I could do all kinds of nonsensical damage at the yarn shop, the bookstore, the going-out-of-business sales at boutiques on Exchange street. Ah, the possibilities.

Cars are supposed to make connecting easier. We “connect” to the internet. But not having e-mail/internet and not having a car makes all kinds of connections happen and it is much harder to spend money unnecessarily.

2.5 Hrs Per Day, 12 Years: Let's Do the Math

Listen to presences inside poems,
Let them take you where they will.
— Rumi, Essential Rumi,
tr. Coleman Barks, p. 99





Still January 26, 2009

Here’s what Automated Weather Man from Gray, Maine, says tonight:
-12 to -5 tonight
Tues mostly sunny high about 20
Tues night mostly clear, becoming mostly cloudy around 10
Winter storm watch for Wednesday, moderate snow accumulation
Wed night low 10-15

Yay!! Warming up! Nice stuff falling out of sky!

But this is my weather life. What had taken up so much time in detail—and it’s not a bad way to spend time, tinkering with the weather, but still—this was 25 minutes of time a day, reading and re-reading the updated forecasts, looking at radar, reading watches and warnings and advisories. Getting hopes up, getting let down, or fulfilled sometimes. 25 minutes a day, now 5.

Oops, just went to the dashboard to use the calc, and there was the weather widget, showing the current temp at the airport (1 F) and the little snow icon for wed. OOPS! I confess. I was just on the internet for a moment.

OK, found sci calc. 25x365 is over 30 hours a year. More than an entire day and night. Just reading about the weather!

OK, if we’re going to go that far….let’s say I averaged 2.5 hours a day on the internet. This is: sitting down to check email, googling, researching, IMing, checking the weather.

That comes to….whoa. 38 days a year. Roughly 5.5 weeks a year, day and night.

This is a conservative estimate. It was probably more like 3 hours a day. There have been many nights when I could not sleep and I would be on the internet for 2-3 hours researching all kinds of topics in addition to time during the day. That’s 45 ½ days a year, or six-and-a-half weeks a year, day and night.

So, I’ve been on the internet quite a bit for the last 12 years. Just for the sake of estimates, let’s say I’ve been spending 6 solid weeks a year on the internet for 12 years. Are you ready?

72 weeks. 18 months. A year and a half of checking / writing email, researching, buying, reading web sites, googling, IMing, etc.

So in the last 12 years, only 10.5 of those years have been spent in some form of awareness of where I actually was sitting, living, sleeping. And this is only screen time. This doesn’t include the stolen moments anticipating and processing (“A&P”), which I think double or triple the time. Let’s be conservative and only double that time:
Screen time + A&P time:
12 weeks a year / 3 solid months, or 25% of my life
Total over the last 12 years: 3 years, or 25% of my life.

Now, that’s 25% of my LIFE, and it was spent during my waking hours only. Waking hours are 2/3 of my day on average, so what percentage of my WAKING LIFE have I spent on the internet in the last 12 years? I don’t know if I can do math that complicated anymore!
Let’s try.

37.5% of my waking time spent in screen time & A&P time. Over a third of my waking life consumed by the internet.

This is taking into account going to camp and being offline for a week at a time, as well as working as a web professional and working wired constantly for 8-10 hours at a time.

A&P time isn’t the same, but it does represent a significant departure from really being here and now.

So, now comes the big, “So what?” That is exactly what this book is about.

Looking for Frank Ferrel

"There isn't any hell or heaven except for how we relate to our world. Hell is just resistance to life." — Pema Chodron




I came within inches of meeting Frank Ferrel, the fiddle player, on Sunday as we were leaving the new Portland family dance.

I listened to his playing when I was first beginning to play, as my teacher in Port Townsend Washington had given me a bootleg tape of Frank playing in a closet at Fiddle Tunes. All these years have gone by, and I’ve lost the tape, but never lost my admiration of Frank’s playing, even though I have no recordings of him, and have never heard him play live.

All during the family dance I’d been asking if Frank was there yet, asking anyone who might know, because I knew he’d be coming to play for the later contra dance. He didn’t arrive before we left, and so I left disappointed.

Then out in the frigid air on the sidewalk, all packed up with two totally exhausted kids, up strides Frank Ferrel in his beret and overcoat. I recognized him by his age, and his height (which had been described to me), and the nice fiddle case, and the fact he was headed into the Empire Dine & Dance around 6 p.m.

He was about 15 feet away from me when I said to Jeff, “I think that’s Frank Ferrel.” Jeff replied, “We have to go. I can’t manage this on my own.” Fifteen years of waiting and he was fifteen feet away. I was profoundly disappointed and so angry at Jeff that I thought I might have to divorce him over this (OK, slight exaggeration). I took a deep breath. Within minutes the thought came that over breakfast at Maine Fiddle Camp — should we ever get there — might be a better place to talk to Frank and tell him my story, and the anger passed.
*
Janet Fischer had mentioned yesterday that Frank lives in Bath and teaches. Bath is only a half hour away. Today, while the kiddos are at Sierra’s, I’m playing some music, some songs on the guitar, and some tunes on the fiddle. I had already decided that I wanted to get a lesson with Frank, but today while playing I’m realizing that I’m up against that old foe: doubt. The same doubt that kept me from ever calling Ruthie Dornfeld or Martin Hayes while I lived in Seattle and asking them for lessons.

But I can't google the guy.

So, I call Ed Pearlman, a fiddler, a local dance organizer, Janet’s teacher, and a friend of Frank’s to see if I can get his phone number. Ed doesn’t have it but gives me his email address. Instead of announcing my experiment, since I don’t know Ed very well, I leave it off, say thanks, and proceed to 411 Frank Ferrel. No listing in Bath. What’s a girl to do? I leave a message for Janet, saying that I have a fiddling question for her. I don’t tell her I need her to email Frank Ferrel and get his phone number.

Since she’s not home, I decide to 411 some old contra dance friends in Seattle, one of whom must have Frank Ferrel’s phone number. There are no listings for: Cathie Whitesides, Warren Argo, or Sherry Nevins. I give up. Then slowly I remember Cathie’s husband’s name, Hank…Hank….Hank Bradley.

I 411 Hank Bradley in Seattle and he picks up. Cathie’s out for an hour. I explain—I’m a former student of Cathie’s, and am trying to get Frank Ferrel’s phone number, and thought she might have it, and isn’t it funny that I’m in Maine and can’t seem to get his phone number, but that I’m off the internet so it’s led me to Cathie.

Hank takes down my phone number, commenting that our area codes are one digit but a country apart, and that if we could just fold the country in half we’d be right next to each other. Yes, I say, if we could just collapse the middle of the country we’d be very close by, but then I’d lose my cousins in the midwest. We laugh and I thank him and sign off. Now I need to wait for Cathie to call me back.
*
There isn’t much story in obtaining someone’s email address. It’s a lot quicker but the story gets lost, or, rather, never happens.

I’ll let you know when I finally get in touch with Frank.