Got a Habit?

Lughnasa                                      Waxing Harvest Moon

“We are what we repeatedly do; excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.” – Aristotle

Good old Aristotle.  A subtle mind, tutor to Alexander the Great and foe of Platonic idealism.   His work is dense to the point of impenetrability, at least to me, which did not augur well for a future in philosophy.

This quote sounds like 7 Habits of Highly Successful People material, but Aristotle wrote way ahead of the 20th century obsession with self-help.  It would be interesting to know what he would make of Covey’s material.

Philosophical training sharpens the mind, enhances the ability to understand and appreciate the arguments of others, aids in the construction and self-critique of ideas and puts a solid platform under a life, a platform strong enough to withstand the ebb and flow of others opinions and one’s own inevitable missteps.

Let’s take Aristotle at his out of context quote for a moment.

Hmmm.   What happens over and over in my life?

Reading.  Writing.  Politics.  Working with art.  Gardening.  Bee keeping.   Dog tending.  Travel.  Driving.  Watching TV. (does excellence fit in here?)  Spending time with family.  Grocery shopping.

This one will repay a bit more pondering.  What happens over and over in your life?  What are your areas of excellence?

 

Harvest Home

Lughnasa                                                 Waxing Harvest Moon

Tomorrow the season’s honey harvest.  Kate and I will haul out the extractor, fasten it to the deck and begin uncapping our honey.

The process goes like this.  Each colony with surplus honey, 2 & 3, has at least two full honey supers and a third with some honey.  The bees have to be removed from the super, then the super covered with a bee tight lid.

The super goes in a wheel barrow and gets trundled to the deck.  Kate will uncap the frames by sliding a hot knife over the capped cells.  This is a sticky process, one that had several uninvited guests last year, but we’re taking steps to keep the bees away from the extraction.

In the first place we’ll only have one extractor load of frames at a time (6).  That means there will not be frames sitting free, inviting bees.  If we can, we will do the uncapping inside, further removing a source of attraction.

At any rate bees away from their queen are not defensive, so even if they do show up they’re not inclined to sting unless harmed.

Tomorrow’s work completes a journey begun two weeks late, at the very end of April and the beginning of May with three, three pound boxes of bees.

(6 frames go in the slots.  The motor turns the frames and centrifugal force extracts the honey)

Colony 1, which will over winter, has no surplus honey, and I have yet to determine if it has adequate stores.  That will come in the days after the extraction.

If my estimates are correct, we’re going to have a large harvest (for Artemis Hives).

Fall-ing

Lughnasa                                                  Waxing Harvest Moon

As August slides away and the sky shifts its colors toward deeper hues, an inner barometer detects higher emotional pressures.  The atmosphere weighs more, cuing those momentary pauses, breaks in attention.  It may signal a storm ahead, but more likely the prediction carries gray skies and mist, perhaps early morning fog.

Melancholy comes calling this time of year, an acquaintance, maybe a friend, of long standing.  Mom died in October, 1964, 47 years ago, a year longer than she lived.

Her death came at different moments in life for all of us.  Mark, 5 at her death, has few memories of her; she lingers in his past as a faint spirit, an enigma.  Mary, 12, has more, a young girl heading into adolescence, becoming a woman, missed the guidance a mature woman could give as she made that critical transition.  At 17 my life had already begun to pull away from the family, in my senior year of high school, the last, college plans in the making, I had her longest of all, only a brief time less than Dad.

When that dark angel comes, and he comes for us all, finality is the hardest lesson to absorb.  No more mom.  No more.  Memories, yes, but memories fade and change as life goes on and here all three of us are, 47 years later.  47 years.  A lifetime.

Why a friend?  How could melancholy be a friend?  Well, in this way.  As life patters on, this event following the other, we can become accustomed to its rhythms, lost in its small decisions and its casual absorption of our energy.  So lost, in fact, that we forget the Self that carries us forward, the Self into which we live and which lives itself into us.

Melancholy can turn us away from the day to day and cause us again to walk down the stairs leading to what Ira Progoff calls the Inner Cathedral.  We often forget this quiet place within, our own sanctuary, and melancholy can call us to visit it again.

So, yes, melancholy can be a friend of the Self, a guide back into the depths and resources of your Self.

A Stroll Down Memory’s Lane

Lughnasa                                              Waxing Harvest Moon

Took a stroll down St. Paul’s living museum on Monday.  That’s the way Emily Shapiro characterized Summit Avenue, the western end of it that turns sharply, avoiding Ramsey Hill and heads off toward the state capitol.

We visited the first SPA building (complete with a bronze sculpture of a young Fitzgerald), learned about Tudorbethan architecture, found Hale park complete with a D.A.R. sponsored statue of Nathan Hale (hands tied behind his back), saw Marcia Rinek’s early home near the Louis Hill house and an August Gauden Eagle in Lookout Park.

There is, too, a chainsaw sculpture of an ancient burr oak, right across the street from the University Club.  Emily has information identifying it as a prominent madame of early St. Paul.

Seeing, truly seeing, is one of the gifts that close attention to art nurtures.   We all walked this familiar area, driven past many times, but this time we stopped, looked and listened.

 

All Visas All the Time

Lughnasa                                                  Waxing Harvest Moon

Visas.  All visas all the time.  Got a fluttery batch of e-mails and phone messages, all received after Travisa’s office’s had closed.  OMG.  We won’t get the documents to you in time.  OMG. Solved by reminding them that we sail on Oct. 16th, not Sept. 16th.  Oh.  All better now.

Mark and Saudi Arabia.  A police clearance popped up as a new piece of paper.  How to get it?  Lots of opinions.  FBI background check?  BCI state level clearance.  Will this torpedo the application?  Looked like it for awhile, then a phone, again, to Travisa in D.C.

A local police clearance?  Plenty good enough.  Mark now has a Good Neighbor certificate from the Anoka County Sheriff stating that he has committed no crime since he got here.  Good to know.

In in the interim Mark had discovered that the Saudi Embassy closed this week to celebrate Eid, the end of Ramadan.  But. Travisa again.  Nope.  We can get it done in time.  Send us the material by Friday and we’ll get it done.

A series of this’s and that’s, frustrating, but not impossible.

International travel, all fun, all the time.

Finishing the First Third

Lughnasa                                       New Harvest Moon

Tai Chi.  We have now officially learned the first third of the short form.  6 months.  Wonder how long the long form would take?  We went through the first third three times tonight, an amount of time equivalent to the whole short form.

We ended with a toe (turned all the way to the east while facing north) into the second third.

Learning has been slow, especially for us who don’t take easily to the physical but even my form looked better tonight.  Cheryl said so.

The first third, those who’ve studied a long while, say, is a milestone.  If you make it to learning the first third, the probability that you’ll finish is high.

Cheryl told us tonight that until Professor Cheng Man Ch’Ing, a Chinese scholar, physician of Chinese medicine, calligraphy, traditional painter and tai chi master, tai chi was only taught within an extended family.  In this situation the Yang family tradition, which my classmates and I are now learning, would never be available to any who was not only Chinese but of Yang lineage.

Professor Cheng learned the Yang style though he was not of the family and, after being invited to teach tai chi in New York to Chinese business men, made the heretical step of teaching anyone who would come.

He came to New York City in the 60’s and his first students were dope-smokin’ hippies, probably friends of mine.  This did not endear him to the local Chinese business folks who had invited him.  Nonetheless he persevered and Tai Chi is now taught by those who studied with him and, also, those, like Cheryl, who studied with one of his students.

My classmates and I are the third generation.

New Theme

Lughnasa                                              New Harvest Moon

Trying out a new website design.  May try out two or three more over the next three weeks.  I’m looking for something a little cleaner, new.  A change.

The graphic design course I took prompted me to think about this.  I’m not sure this is the direction I’ll go, but I want something different.

If you have an opinion, it’s welcome.

Is There a Prophet In the House?

Lughnasa                                                                                                  New Harvest Moon

NB: prophet is a gender neutral word as I use it.

Kate.  Always ahead of her time.  When Kate was in high school in Nevada, Iowa, she arranged a deal to take most of her senior classes at nearby Iowa State.  She’d run out of classes in the high school, at least classes that could keep her interest.  In her senior year, just as the deal was to kick in, the high school changed their mind.  Later, as a nurse anesthetist, she insisted on better pay for her position at Mt. Sinai.

After that, too long in the role of helper, she decided, at age 34, to go to medical school.  The medical school thought that since she was already a doctor’s wife, she should be happy with that.  She graduated and became a board certified pediatrician in the best medical delivery system in the US.

After a serious illness and poor treatment at the hands of her then partners at Metropolitan Pediatrics, Kate moved to Allina, its Coon Rapids’ clinic.  While there she became frustrated with corporate medicine and chose to become lead physician for her group.  Over her time there she integrated pediatric and family practice offices, initiated (by doing it herself) after hours care and agitated for a better deal for primary care docs in general.

Now, several years after she pioneered it, Coon Rapids’ peds has regular after hours clinic and the Clinic has an urgent care unit providing after hours non-emergency medicine.  Kate works in the urgent care, part-time.

She has been tireless in haranguing me about the stupidity of pediatricians treating psychiatric problems for which they have little to no training. (see today’s Star-Tribune)  The arguments about vaccine that I read in this months Scientific American I first heard over the breakfast table.  She also campaigns against the overuses of anti-biotics, the over prescription of pain-killers and, most passionately of all, the need for a single-payer health system.  An equitable distribution of health care services has been at the top of her need list for a long time.

She is a prophet in a system that, though excellent in its care, has become sclerotic in its administration.  The current over managed (way too many administrators with way too much power) model, corporate medicine as she styles it, focuses its efforts on the bottom line (money), on standardization (easier to manage), on patient satisfaction (results would be a better yardstick) and on turning physicians into employees.  Those who run these systems should listen to this practical, intelligent critic and change their ways.

Unstoppable

Lughnasa                                                                                       New Harvest Moon

Just watched a movie, Unstoppable, that featured Denzel Washington.  This guy can act.  He’s a lunch bucket worker, very able to project blue collar seriousness.  The story concerns a real runaway train story, an Ohio train rather than one in Pennsylvania.  Here’s a news clip on the actual incident.

“Like it or not, there are some things that movies do best. Movies do not generally do a great job with anything involving heavy-duty cogitation, but when it comes to runaway trains, the medium is peerless”  line from a review on Rotten Tomatoes.

Brother and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Lughnasa                                                                         New Harvest Moon

Took Mark over to Walmart where he shopped for work clothes, slacks and button down shirts.  He bought 5 of each, a set for each day of the week.  Here’s the weirdness.  Bangladeshis made the clothing.  They came, most likely, by container ship to California, then by truck to a Walmart regional distribution center.  At some point, again on a truck, these shirts and pants completed their journey to Coon Rapids, Minnesota.

Mark walked in and bought them.  He now has them here in Andover.  In less than a month he will pack up those same new clothes and carry them, via plane, to Saudi Arabia.  If he takes them on a subsequent trip to Southeast Asia, they will have traveled around the world plus a little.  Strange.

There is an interesting counter argument to local boy Thomas Friedman (grew up in St. Louis Park) and his flat earth model of globalization.  It suggests that the world has actually grown more local, with only a tiny percentage of the world’s population ever leaving their home country and a large percentage of those who stay in their home country rarely or never leave their own locale.  Globalization, in this view, is a veneer of corporate profit taking spread over the world, a sort of cheap plywood globe on top of which the elite travel by jet, work in several different time zones and consider themselves transnationals.  Under this veneer toil the sweatshop workers who make the elite’s transnational world possible.

The world they make possible though, as in all times, lies as far from them as the earth lies from the sun.  No Bangladeshi textile worker could ever hope to duplicate the trip the slacks he or she made have already taken.  Never.  The vast majority of Chinese who work in export related manufacturing could never follow their products to America or Europe or even to Shanghai or Beijing.  Travel to any region of the world where globalization functions to shift resources or cheaply made goods to developed markets.  There you will find sugar cane workers or miners or electronics assemblers or athletic shoe makers paid poorly so that we might buy cheaply.

Attacking this kind of global disparity seems to be a job for trade unionists, but they’ve not been up to the task.  Not sure how you push against it with any success.

When the whole thing crashes though, that cheap plywood globe will make a hell of a skateboard park.