Pre-Ramble:  After a delay of several hours due to pilot availability and then electrical problems with the plane, we finally touched down at Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport. It was 3:15 a.m. … a long, long day. 

Well, so we weary passengers were trudging up the jetway into the now vacant gate area, when there on the floor, off to one side, alone, sat a young army private.

He was wearing what looked to be standard issue combat fatigues and was accompanied by a backpack and some other light gear. He looked tired, but no more tired than we were. He didn’t look sad or injured or angry or forlorn. He looked calm and “waiting.” … Waiting for something to happen or someone to come.

In that moment, I noticed him only as an aside. We swept past and made our way up the long empty hallway to the baggage claim – the last stop before we would be in the car and finally on the way home.  Half listening to the hum of the wheels on my trailing bag, my thoughts went to the waiting soldier.

I wondered where he had been and what he had seen. I wondered if he was on his way in, or on his way out. I wondered if he was waiting to see what was in store, or whether this was his last stop before he would finally be on the way home as well.  And where was home?  Did he need a ride?  Who was his family, and would they be waiting there, anxiously anticipating his return?  If he had already served a tour of duty, or two, or three, I wondered whether he had been scared, or empowered … Whether he had suffered injuries or had injured someone else … Was he challenged to “be all that he could be” … ?  Or, hardened at too young an age to the realities of war and life.

The Take-Away:  But mostly, I wished that in that moment, as I was coming out of the jetway, that I had gone over to that young man and looked into his eyes and shaken his hand and told him how grateful and thankful I was that he was wearing that uniform and that he had made the decision to step up and serve our country.

Pre-Ramble:  Every Sunday afternoon (except when it’s raining, snowing, too hot, too cold, or there’s something else happening at the same time), my husband and I play 9 holes of golf. 

In case I haven’t mentioned it, my husband is a rabid golfer. In fact, “rabid” really doesn’t cover the extent to which he embraces the game. (I won’t mention here that he collects golf rule books as a hobby, because that might be unnecessarily disclosive and embarrassing.)

Golf is life. Well, so, my golfer husband’s favorite tag line is, “Golf is life.”  As in, … there isn’t anything that life can throw at you that can’t be paralleled in the experience of playing a round of golf. 

Really?! Please!  When I hear this “Golf is life” business, I usually roll my eyes and come back with some sort of impudent response like, “Nah-ah!”  I refuse to believe that anything as frustrating and nonessential as a game of golf could actually have anything to do with the kind of weighty issues we face in our day-to-day lives. 

When in real life are we called upon to hit a small white ball over several hundred feet of tweaked up grass with a shiny stick while wearing plaid and goofy shoes … except when we’re playing golf?  Heck; it’s easy to say that “golf is life” if you’re good at golf (which golfer-hubby is). And, it’s easy to be good at golf when you play all the time (which golfer-hubby does).

For the rest of us, golf really does dish out a dizzying array of experiences – good and bad. Even a fair weather golfer like myself will tell you that there is nearly nothing better than hitting a really good golf shot. There’s a special feel and a special sound associated with a really good shot, and, of course, the ball lands somewhere amazing in relation to the cup (golf jargon for the hole that you’re trying to get the ball into). Of course, on the other end of the continuum there’s also a legendary amount of things that can go wrong in a round of golf as well.

Dang-it! Anyway, today on the ninth hole (the last one in a 9-hole round – duh) I duffed my tee-shot. This means that I hit it so poorly off of the little tee-stand thing that is just trickled like 50 feet or so into the deep grass before the fairway (not a good shot). Not wanting to end the 9-hole round on such a hideous note, I lunged for my bag to get another ball. NOTE: For those of you who are sticklers for the rules, I intended to (and did) play my poor shot through to the finish and use it in computing my final score for the round.

So, I ended up pulling a pink ball (not it above) out of my bag, teed it up and slammed it high and long into the  middle of the fairway (a super good shot).  At that moment I decided to play BOTH balls – the icky first white ball tee-shot and the second super-good pink ball tee-shot - to see which one would end up making it to the hole in the fewest shots.

I won’t bore you (too late - already have) with a tedious recount of the shot-by-shot on the two balls (btw – golfer-husband can give you the shot-by-shot on every game he’s ever played in his entire life), however I will tell you that in the end (spoiler alert!) … even though one sputtered off to a very tenuous start and the other went sailing, as though on wings, into the stratosphere – BOTH BALLS ended up getting into the hole in the EXACT SAME NUMBER OF STROKES.

This is notable for two reasons: 1) I am stunned that I could hit such a decent score (par) on a hole two times concurrently; and 2) it demonstrates the very “Golf is life” analogy that I so stridently mock/poo-poo (mock-poo?). 

The Take-Away: Never give up on things, even if they seem to be going badly.  Just when you think you’re a goner in the rough (the deep unforgiving grass outside of the fairway) … you end up spanking a 7 iron, bouncing off the cart-path and chipping onto the green (the sweet short grass within a putt-able distance from the hole) for a birdie (one under par – a good score)!

Chirp, chirp!

Pre-Ramble:  So, yesterday, sixteen-year-old Australian Jessica Watson sailed into Sydney Harbor in her pink 10.23 meter Sparkman & Stephens 34 (her sailboat named Ella’s Pink Lady shown with Jessica at right), to become the youngest individual to sail non-stop and unassisted around the world.

Details on the trip itself – the specifications of the preparation, the boat, the route, the support systems, and Jessica’s own website and blog – are fascinating … a true adventure, the stuff of the books and movies which are undoubtedly forthcoming.  Here though, I am drawn to the situation from the perspective of a mom. 

I know you think I’m going to rip on Jessica’s parents for letting their sixteen-year-old child – a girl, no less - take such a dangerous, potentially life-threatening journey.  And, you would be right, to a point. Certainly, Watson’s journey has its detractors, …

“Barry Tyler of Pacific Motor Yacht magazine wrote, “like the majority of the seafaring world, I consider it irresponsible, cavalier and indeed ignorant to attempt such a feat, at such a tender age and with so little trans-ocean experience … [and] a more general concern was raised by the Australian Childhood Foundation, who questioned whether a 16-year-old girl would have the ability to fully understand the risks that such a venture would involve.”

Descriptions of the harrowing situations in which Jessica found herself are enough to give anyone pause,

“When south of Australia, Watson suffered a lot of bad weather. In this part of the journey, she had at least three knockdowns (where the mast hit the water), one of them with the mast deep into the sea, … luckily without any real damage or injury. The swells she experienced in the Great Australian Bight were up to 12 meters in height, higher than anytime before.”

Luckily?! And, this doesn’t even go into the part where her navigation system became non-functional and she had to jury-rig some wiring to bring it back … ” … Oh yes, gee-whiz,… so glad those super-big waves that dipped the mast - and half of the boat – into the water out in the middle of the fricking ocean didn’t cause a problem …”  

Clearly, I’m having trouble containing my incredulous sarcasm around some of the metrics here.

Disclaimer:  My parents had a 30 foot sailboat that was the scene of many a family weekend and summer adventure. We raced the boat, named Solar, in an evening series on the Great Lakes and visited marinas up and down the coast of Michigan and Canada, and up into the North Channel. 

Sailing was fun, but it was never my passion or calling. Frankly, I wasn’t a fan of all the spiders who would make their home in the rigging or folds of the sail covers. It may have been a different story though if I had been given my own pink yacht. There certainly is that angle of the significant time and financing required to bring a dream like Jessica’s to reality; accounts of her parents flying overhead in private planes as she reached various milestones, definitely qualify them as resource rich and actual “helicopter parents.”

So, as a mom, with teenage daughters, in prom season, I find myself conflicted. Do I fret over stuff like hemlines and curfews? Or do I save up and flip out over something on another end of the continuum?  Jessica’s journey causes me to question my attitudes about permissiveness and freedom, … guidance and support. What is an appropriate amount of “freedom” for a young person to have? How do we empower young people to reach for big things, while being mindful of what constitutes a foolish, or possibly criminal, level of risk? Is Jessica a hero, or just lucky to be alive? 

The Take-Away:  In spite of these questions and the answers that I would undoubtedly give, there is a part of me that is immensely inspired and proud of what this young woman has done.  Jesscia Watson has challenged herself in an unfathomable way and has “succeeded” in reaching her dream by some combination of pluck, preparation and guardian angels. Through her fantastical journey, Jessica has found a well-spring of strength, resourcefulness and perspective that will serve her for the rest of her life.

“Overall, I feel pretty drained and would kill for some easy sailing, but seeing as that’s not what I’m going to get, I’m just going to have to toughen up some more and deal with it.”

While I hope it doesn’t involve the tremendous level of risk that Jessica has taken in her journey, I wish for the same kind of singular pluck, preparation and resolve for my daughters in theirs.

Pre-Ramble:  So, an editorial in today’s WSJ deems the Cape Wind project, a wind farm approved to be installed in Nantucket Sound, a “lousy deal.”  

In addition to creating an environmental eyesore in what some regard as a near sacred piece of natural shoreline and animal habitat off the coast of Massachusetts, the average electric bill in the region served by the wind turbines will jump up by an estimated $1.59 per month.

Environmental protection – The article goes on to note the “comic irony” in the slew of ”archaic” regulations bearing down on the clean energy project including lawsuits filed by the Endangered Species Act, the National Environmental Policy Act, the Outer Continental Shelf Lands Act, tribal protection laws, the Clean Water Act, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act and the Rivers and Harbors Act.

I would like to note a less comic irony here by asking whether these authors would rather:

A.  Endure a reported coastal eyesore and pay increased wind energy bills, … OR …

B.  Be party to the destruction of miles upon miles of shoreline and harm to potentially hundreds of thousands of plant and animal life while incurring payments of $8 billion and counting to clean up oil that is gushing unchecked into the Gulf of Mexico from the wreck of the off-shore oil rig Deepwater Horizon.

?? 

The Take-Away:  Hands down, I’d rather look at hundreds of giant metal structures twirling silently in the wind, than jingle an extra $1.59 in my pocket while watching the absurdly futile efforts of relief workers scraping tons of black sludge into garbage bags and scrubbing limp shore birds overcome by oil.  Nothing comic or ironic here.

Pre-Ramble:  My very eclectic artist, teacher, traveler Uncle Richard sent over a comment on my last blog post, Faux-cumentary, ( … watch that pronunciation) 5/6/10 along with the photo of street art shown below. 

I’ve been meaning to see that movie ["Exit Through the Gift Shop"] for several weeks now… Since I used to teach art in a juvenile detention facility, and a number of schools on the wrong side of D.C., I became very interested in the “wild style.” The best graffiti I’ve seen is in Barcelona. Here’s a piece I caught in Athens last month. The 420 refers to drugs – there’s a lot of drug reference in street art.”

The Take-Away:  Regardless of the potentially objectionable subject matter or the element of vandalism inherent in graffiti, there is something so spontaneous, expressive, powerful and free about it.

Post-Note:  Next time you’re in Athens, keep your eye out for this piece (hopefully, it hasn’t been removed), and if you happen upon some other interesting street art, do take a pic and send it over!

Pre-Ramble:  Every now and then I feel compelled to write about a movie. Sometimes it’s because the movie was unbelievably good and sometimes it’s because the movie was unfathomably bad. In the case of “Exit Through the Gift Shop,” it wasn’t so much good or bad, as it was thought-provoking.

Nothing like having your thoughts provoked.

“Exit” is billed as a documentary about the covert world of street/graffiti artists. Created and directed by “shadowy British street artist,” Banksy,” whose stencils of rats and puckish acts of mischief have made him a huge international success,” the quirky film is at once captivating and  irritating, raising as many questions as it pretends to answer.  Washington Post staff writer, Ann Homaday describes the film,

A celebration of pranksterism and perhaps a superb prank in its own right, the documentary “Exit Through the Gift Shop” captures the outlaw, monkey-wrenching glee of the graffiti artists who became art stars at the turn of this century, while raising profound questions about authorship, the truth claims of nonfiction film and that old chestnut “What Is Art?”

Punked.  Unlike the blatant tone of classic “mockumentary” spoofs like “Best-in-Show” and “This is Spinal Tap,” “Exit Through the Gift Shop” defies profiling. Reviewers are taking all kinds of contortions trying to characterize … the story, … the “actors,”… the ultimate message here. 

As usual, I almost love the commentary on the film more than the film itself.  NY Times  reviewer Jeannette Catsoulis, describes a seminal moment wherein the hapless guy behind the camera decides to mount an exhibit of his own work, …

“… what appears to be a display of blatant knockoffs and cut-and-paste pop trash that is nevertheless fawned over by gullible collectors… Street interviews with ecstatic attendees give way to a sniggering Banksy, who seems both gratified and embarrassed by his [role in the farce] … Whether acting as a genuine friend or constructing an elaborate long con, Banksy has clearly found a new canvas for his provocations. Scrutinizing the commodification of street art and the lemminglike behavior of many enthusiasts (including those who pay millions for his own work), Banksy mischievously exfoliates the next-big-thing hunger and the posers who pursue it.”

The Take Away:  Once I was able to embrace the fact that the work of these miserable punks artists was more than a defiant act of vandalism, I could appreciate it for what it was — an enthralling, mischievious, between-the-cracks commentary on the largely unexplored dynamic of public space. Often the sprayed-on/glued-up graffiti begs a haz-mat team … But sometimes, as in the case of Banksy’s poignant rendering of a young child looking at a beach scene through a bombed-out hole in a cement wall (above), the street art provides an element of interest and color in an otherwise bleak, desolate environment. And, on another level, the juxtaposition of the work to its surroundings engages us in a shade of meaning that transcends both the art, the artist and the environment to reach a deeper truth.

Pre-Ramble:  It’s been all over the news … outcomes of a recent poll of 1,112 pet owners nationwide indicate that 25% of dog owners believe that their dog listens better than a spouse, and one-in-ten pet owners talk over their problems with their pets. 

Los Angeles veterinarian Karen Sueda suggests that,

“Pets are great because they provide us with unconditional support, … never talk back, … give us their opinion, … and they are always there for us.”

Well, sure, that sounds like a good synopsis of the human-pet relationship. To test the premise and veracity of the poll and its findings however, I checked in with my highly astute and insightful assistant and muse, Daisy (shown above). As many of you know, Daisy, is a Pointer/Brittany Spaniel mix, and has been a featured guest blogger here on the site several times.

Not one to hold back, the Dais-i-nator immediately had a bone to pick with Ms. Sueda’s assessment of the human-canine dynamic.  Says Daisy,

“Of course dogs are stellar listeners and the go-to resource for talking out your troubles, but that just scratches the surface of the communication skills and therapeutic value that a good dog can provide.”

She goes on to suggest that in the day-to-day human-canine interaction, the dog’s role is far from passive and that it is a common misconception that dogs never talk back or give their opinion. Don’t let their relaxed demeanor or blank stare fool you – dogs are excellent communicators, insists Daisy, citing research which indicates that “animal communication is often more complex and subtle than previously believed. 

Listen up! Combined with other body language in a specific context, many gestures such as yawns, directional vision, or a wagging tail convey meaning. For example, even a simple tail wag can be used to communicate many subtle messages including:

• Excitement (“Look at this awesome squirrel I just caught!!!”)
• Anticipation (“Where are we going; and can I take the squirrel??”)
• Playfulness  (“Guess where I hid that gnarly squirrel!?”)
• Contentment (“I could lay here in this sunny spot on the carpet all day … “)
• Questioning the intentions of another animal or human (“Are you suggesting that I move off of this sunny spot on the carpet?”)
• A tentative role assessment, such as upon meeting another animal (“Who’s top dog?”)
• Brief acknowledgement (“I hear you” and/or “I hear you, but I’m still not going to come/sit/stay/heel …”)
• Statement of interest (“I want your lunch.”)
• Uncertainty or apprehension (“Oh, I don’t like the looks of this … You win … Here’s me rolling over onto my back…”)

Human whisperer. There’s a reason why they are known as “man’s best friend” – in addition to being great companions, dogs are way better communicators than most people. Beyond those big floppy listening ears, dogs are actually field ready to provide insight, offer consul, and fetch a stick if necessary. Dogs tell it like it is. If I’m about to do something stupid, Daisy is always standing by to give me the, “What the heck?!” look. When I’m taking myself too seriously, she will do something ridiculous to remind me that fun is part of the big picture. If I get too caught up in must-do’s, she’ll gently remind me that at the end of the day, we still need a walk up to the lake to sniff out the squirrels and watch the sun sparkle on the water.

The Take-Away:  Sure, your dog is listening to you, and there’s huge value in that. But the other half of the equation is, are you listening back? Woof!! 

Post Note:  Woof, woof, woof, … WOOF!  … Couldn’t have said it better myself, Daisy – communication is a two-way street (a concept which may work well in those human-to-human interactions as well).