Grandma

This is a true story.

As mentioned in a previous post the Teacher Recruitment Center was a unique environment for me. After working there for a few months I began to learn more about the location. Prior, how much prior I don’t know, to our moving in, the offices were used as a medical clinic. To be blunt, people died there; at least one in the area that became my office. Two doors down from us as a…hmmm… “Public Official’s” campaign office. They didn’t stay long. I thought that their moving was odd as it was during the campaign season, but they moved anyway. I ran into a staffer at a function some time later ask asked about the move. He told me that strange things happened in the office and that the candidate’s mother refused to visit the office after only one visit. He told me that things moved over night and that some things disappeared and reappeared days later in a location that, as he stated “…was not probable.” I had noticed things moving around as well, but I’m sure it was our cleaning staff. They didn’t have a cleaner.

I felt the presence of another person on more than one occasion when I know I was alone, and I felt like I was being watched over when I worked late, which was almost every night. As mentioned, we had enemies. And when they would try to break into our offices, I would see shadows in the hallway outside of my office. The interesting thing is that the only light was coming from my office. One night I heard keys in the front door. As we had re-keyed the joint as soon as we moved in I thought it was the boss, and that he need something. As I approached the door I could see it was nobody from the office. I recognize the person and they saw me as well and ran away.

I ran to the back of the office to cut them off and I nearly ran over my Grandmother, she died in 1984. As I came around the corner to go out the backdoor, she was standing in the middle of the hallway.  She was wearing her gloves, hat and coat; her hands were clasped together in front of her chest and her purse was hanging from her left arm, just as she was when I last saw her in 1969. She was not transparent, or floating or etherical. She was as solid as I am. If I had not tried to step around her, I would have run her over. I wanted to go out the back door, but I was confused at her being there. As long as I want to go to door she stood there and stared at me. I heard a car start and peel out of the parking lot of the offices behind our building. I looked out the door and back at Grandma and thought to myself she didn’t want me to go after that person. Just then she smiled, turned and walked around the corner and was gone. After that, I knew that when Grandma was around, one of two people was looking to do me harm.

Grandma was known for her bread. The woman could make piecrust out of saw dust. She would bake bread every other week and folks – mostly kin – would come from miles around to get some. Grandma’s bread is still the best I have ever had. From time to time my assistant or intern would look up and ask if anybody else smelt fresh bread. It was a fleeting wisp of sent, but it told me that my enemies were on the way over…it was never wrong. Within ten-minutes one or both would walk in.

The Storm

The storm was coming, of that there was no doubt. The hurricane winds coming in off the coast were being funneled into the valley and the rains would surely follow. The leading edge of the storm was still nearly thirty-miles away and yet we could feel the winds careening down the valley. In two hours the rains will reach the valley and start to over-fill the lake. The spring thaw had already filled the lake to capacity, and the stream that normally flowed from it was close to becoming a river again, as it did every spring; the hurricane rains will make it a torrent. If we don’t cross the valley in the next three-hours, we won’t cross at all for several days.

I would have preferred snow. You can walk on snow; use it as an insulator for your tents and as a source of fresh water. Rain, well rain is just wet, it doesn’t’ help anything; a valley full of snow can be crossed and won’t wash you away. Rain turns ground into mud, and if you don’t capture it, you can’t drink it. Rain makes you wet and steals your body heat. Mud sticks to your boots when you try and walk in it and take all of your energy to move a few feet. And mud will not hold the stakes and supports needed for a tent. Rain is good for farmers, not hunters. Hunters hate rain.

Day would become night when the storm moved through, so we needed to do something soon. We needed to be someplace to weather the storm in relative safety. Ned’s ankle wasn’t going to let us move fast, so trying to cross the valley was going to be dangerous. We didn’t know when the lake would crest and start to flood the valley. We needed to get to higher ground and find a cave on the leeward side of the mountain. It sounded easier than it was. Four men with gear, food and weapons for a two-day hunting trip, one had a nearly broken ankle and one is trying to carry him while the other two carried the gear and weapons for all four. With more than our body-weight in our packs we weren’t going to move fast anyway, add to that the ground was still soft from the spring thaw and we need to move up-hill and you get a pace that was barely a crawl.

We carried an emergency beacon so we could call for help if we really needed it. Our families would notify the ranger’s station that we were late after the storm passed and wait a couple more days before requesting search and rescue. We had no life threatening or life altering injuries, so we didn’t use the beacon. We had food, water, experience and too much pride to ask for help. Besides, this wasn’t our first two-day trip that turned into a week long adventure. We knew that if we spent that much time out there, we had better kill something to put in the freezer.

Shadows, Silence and Self

A lone candle, nearly gone, sat flickering silently on the table. It was the only light in the room. The shadows danced on the wall from its light. Nothing moved but the shadows; nothing stirred but the flame. The silence was intense. Nothing in the room made a sound. In an hour, maybe two, the candle would burn out and then there would be nothing but the darkness and even the shadows would rest until dawn.

I sat in the corner on my zubaton, my breath slow and steady, my focus on the dancing flame of the candle. I was still new at this and my attention wondered from time to time; from the flame to the shadows and back to my breadth; back to nothing. In my deepest state I could hear my heart beat; I could feel my blood flowing through my veins. As I focused on the moment, and what I was experiencing; I could feel the sweat rolling down my cheek, I could feel my robe sticking to my skin.

As a novice, this is the perfect time to meditate; before dawn, when the entire city was asleep. This is when there are fewer potential distractions; fewer cars on the road, nobody in the house is awake and even the cats are asleep, perfect stillness. I know that it will take years, but I have had moments of pure bliss. Fleeting moments of connection, with what I am still not entirely clear, my deepest self, the universal source – perhaps they are the same. I know what meditation has done for me. It has taught me how to control my “Self”. After all these long years I am now learning to master my emotions so that they no longer master me.

During the day, I can return to this quiet place; quickly, briefly. It is rather like shorting out a capacitor – POP – then it’s done, and I am no longer over whelmed and can focus on the issue at hand. The only energy I let carry me away is positive, happy, ambitious. I know that sometimes I look foolish, but that is ok. I am foolish when I am happy.

The negative energy is still there, but it is no longer caged, controlled or feared. It has its place and its use. I am a protector, and it is my gift.

The Fountain

This is a true story.

The Teacher Recruitment Center was a strange environment for me. On one level, it was the best job I ever had. The people I worked directly with and the work environment we created were un-imaginably great. On the other hand, the people we worked for were some of the worst I have ever experienced. It was a grant funded program, so our operating expenses were covered by the state, however, the agency that volunteered to house our office wanted to use much of our funding for their own projects. During the first year and a half, we had to have the state intervene several times to remind our overseers that they could not use the grant money or our staff for their purposes, and that they could not refuse to let us spend the funds as we saw fit.

As one might imagine, this didn’t do down well, and it created an environment of deceit, and distrust. It was not a rare occasion that they reminded us that they could replace us with “more cooperative” people. As it turned out, they couldn’t; we worked for the state. So, they frequently searched our offices and computers after hours for reasons to terminate us and send the program to another agency. There was nothing to find and their actions and antics showed them to be petty and unprofessional. Their conduct and the problems they caused are the reason the program was terminated.

It was in this environment that the following events occurred.

I had an office. At first it was a private office, but they decided that I needed to share it with two other staff members. If they had known how well we got along and how well we worked together they would have changed their tiny little minds, so we complained a lot. In this office I had several personal effects, books, art, a radio and a small fountain.

This fountain held about a pint of water and was made of slate painted to look like jade. It was cheap but it made a soothing noise…most of the time. Sometimes it could create a great deal of noise, and get very loud. It took some time, but we eventually noticed that when the fountain got noisy, something bad was about to happen or someone was near by working or plotting against us. It never failed. On one occasion, I was being reprimanded by my boss when the fountain made so much noise that he turned and looked at it. He then asked if it was broken. I told him no and we continued the conversation. When we had both calmed down, the fountain became quiet. He never came back into my office again.

Towards the end of the project, I could tell when one of the overseers was coming over just by the sound of the fountain. One person, working in the office but not part of the team, would walk by my office and the fountain would get loud as she approached and quieter as she passed by; the Doppler Effect. On several occasions she would try to sneak up on us and see if we were working or not, and when she got near the door she either found us looking at her or one of us would speak to her before she got to the door, she never came in either.

The Envelope

This wasn't where he wanted to be. Actually, he would have preferred to be anywhere else. This wasn’t his first time here. Oh no, Josh had seen this rodeo before, which was kind of the point. Mom and Dad did not like being called at work because of their miscreant son’s latest exploits. Being sent to detention was no big deal; hell, he had an assigned seat. Getting caught screwing off IN detention, that was going to be hard to explain. Being punished for not following the rules is one thing, but not following the rules when being punished for not following the rules is a deeper kind of stupid, as his father had pointed out the last time.

The Dean of Students, Dr. Scholl, was in charge of student discipline, hence the nickname “Dean of Stupids”. His secretary, Carol, was in her early twenties and was always getting hit on by the braver male population, faculty included. Avoiding his normal banter, Josh had just taken a seat outside the office and waited for the teacher overseeing detention, Mrs. Johnson, to come in and lodge her complaint. This in itself was note worthy, because the teachers normally sent the students down carrying the report. Only major transgressions warranted a personal delivery, and the lack of conversation told Carol that this was serious.

Mrs. Johnson was taking longer than expected, and when she did arrive she handed Carol a large manila envelope, and walked away without a saying word. Josh hadn’t seen the envelope before, but he knew what was in it. Carol looked inside the envelope and was startled by its contents. She looked at Josh, who at this point was taking a keen interest in the floor tiles. Carol got up and took the envelope to the Dean. Carol was with the Dean for several minutes before she returned to her desk. She looked at Josh and chuckled to herself. The sound of her chuckling wounded Josh. He thought she was laughing at him, and in a way, she was.

Dr. Scholl shouted for Josh to join him in the office. Josh stood up and walked into the office like he had done at least once a week since he started high school. But this time was different. This time Carol had laughed at him and didn’t wish him luck, she just chuckled again. Josh saw the contents of the envelope on the Dean’s desk, the current issue of Playboy magazine. Dr. Scholl put the magazine back into the envelope and handed it to Josh. Josh took the envelope and looked at Dr. Scholl for an explanation. Dr. Scholl, just looked at him and then to the envelope.

Written on the envelope was note to Josh’s parents asking them to review the contents of and sign the envelope then have Josh return it to the Dean the follow day। Initially, Josh couldn’t believe his luck. Then it sank in. He would have to tell them himself when they got home and ask them to sign the envelope. This was obviously a job for Dad. He wouldn’t get too upset. He is, after all, a guy.

A Taxi, Love and a Scarf

I recognized her from down the street. She hadn’t changed much in all these years. She wore her hair a little shorter, but otherwise the same. A business suit, a silk scarf and a designer tote; not what she wore in college but it suited her. She always had an air of success. She was the type of person people turned to when they needed guidance. She appeared to breeze through college and grad school, only those close to her knew how hard she worked and how driven she was to her goals and ambitions. She liked to be compared to a duck on a pond, cool and collected on top, but paddling like hell underwater.

I pulled my cab up to her at the curb. She had a wedding ring. I hope he appreciates what he has. She climbed in the back and gave me the address. I caught her looking at me in the rearview a couple of times, but she never spoke to me other than giving me her destination. Most of the trip she was busy on her smart phone, doing lord knows what, maybe even just trying to look busy. I didn’t try to make small talk as I normally would. It was a minor blessing that she didn’t recognize me. After all these years, she had made it. She had a high-powered job and husband, probably a family, and I was driving a cab. Most folks never credited me with having much promise. I liked to enjoy life while I was living it. Success to me was defined differently.

I never wanted to rule the world or have more money than I could spend. That, to me, is not success. It gives too many people demands on your time. I have a job I like; it gives me the time and money to do the things I enjoy. Some call me a failure or an under-achiever; well, that is their opinion. It’s them forcing their values and expectations on me, expecting me to either live their life or at least validate opinions. That’s not my job. They should deal with their own issues, and not expect me to deal with their issues for them. I noticed that she had taken off her scarf, so I turned the air conditioning up in the back seat. If she noticed, she still said nothing. She was busy writing a note.

In college she was always taking notes, writing things down to use or memorize later. She had the best notes in class. I never took notes. I read the texts, listened to the lectures and got passing grades. She had plans for graduate school and a career track. I planned on graduation. She was an honor student, Phi Beta Kappa, and all that. I was barely above average. She used to hate my jokes about going to more honor society meeting than she did…I was a waiter.

I don’t know how or when we fell in love. But one day, we did. On some levels we were identical, middle-class, Christian upbringing, public schools paying our own way through college. But in others we were diametrically opposed. She was and honor student, salutatorian, student council, homecoming princess. I was troublemaker, shop class major and sometimes jock. She never got in trouble; I always did. She graduated with honors; I was honored to graduate. I guess it’s just another case of opposites attracting.

I met her in the commons our sophomore year. She was stressing a mid-term exam the following week, and I didn’t want to go skiing alone. I talked her into coming by promising to get away from campus and study together all weekend. I didn’t bring a book and she never opened hers. After that, we were inseparable. It started to unravel just before she left for graduate school. We could tell our career plans did not coincide with one another’s, mainly because I didn’t bother to make any. I was happy with an office job I was lucky to get and she was looking at fortune 500 companies to take over. I came home one day after work and she was gone. She left a note-saying goodbye.

I never saw or heard from her again, until I saw her standing at the curb flagging down a cab. When we arrived at her destination, she looked at me and smiled as she gave me fifty-dollar bill for a thirty-five dollar fare. Before I could offer her change, she was gone. I lost her in the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk almost as soon as she stepped away from the cab. I looked in the back seat and saw her scarf. I grabbed it and started to get out of the cab when I noticed the note. She had tucked the note she had written into the scarf and left it on the seat. I got out and looked for her, but she was gone, again.

The note was simple. “I never stopped loving you. If you can forgive me for leaving you, call me.” She put her number on the bottom. I don’t know if it was her office or cell, if she would answer or her assistant. I wondered about her husband and her marriage. She wasn’t the type of person to cheat, or at least she didn’t used to be. I wondered about how things would be between us after all these years. I wondered if we were the same crazy kids from so long ago, just maybe a bit older, perhaps a bit wiser. I wondered if we could have the kind of relationship we used to have. Could I fit into her world, or she into mine? I guess the only way to find the answers is to call. One thing is certain, if I don’t call, I will never know.

I guess I’ll call…

A Question of Ethics.

I knew what I'd done as soon as the door closed. Five years of busting my ass for this company, for this family, had come down to a two-word question: “Will you?” And a one-word answer: And, “No.” I worked diligently for five years and now have nothing to show for it, and a possible shattered reputation for my efforts.

I just couldn’t bring myself to lie to a client. The client had a multimillion-dollar investment in our equipment and many more millions in production revenues depending on its output. They sold the client one product and shipped a “New and Improved” version. The new series never worked, even in the R and D lab. It was buggy and very poorly designed. The owners had maneuvered me into their scheme before I could figure it out. But this was too much, even for me. They let me have the R and D boys disassemble one of their returned units and start to redesign and repair it for the client. We then had a meeting with client and gave them firm dates for shipping and final repairs. When we returned to the factory, they instructed the R and D boys to literally push the units aside and work on a new project for a new prospective client, and told me string the old client along with excuses and new problems. Hence the question: “Will you?” and my reply, “No.”

I learned my ethics in politics of all places. Even in the trenches of political campaigning there are hard and fast rules. Rule number one is, “You lie, you die”. It’s okay and even expected to mislead and avoid hard positions; to redirect questions and to tell the people what they want to hear, just don’t lie. Just as soon you lie, the media and the opponent find out about it, and they always do faster than you imagined possible; you die politically. Your chances of winning are cut to nil. How often have you watched a candidate try to defend or deflect the effects of a lie to the media? Every election, that’s how often. It happens at every level, and the results are the same; money that should have been used sending out the message is used trying to fix the mistake; a mistake that can’t be fixed. You can unbreak an egg, and you can’t untell and lie. Once a trust is broken it will never be the same. The same is true in business and every other aspect of life.

I didn’t have many options, stay and be marginalized and fired at their convenience, or go for a quick break; resign now and walk away। I opted for the break. I figured that they are going to blame me for as much as they can, so I needed to set the record straight. I may not find a comparable job any time soon; some will call me disloyal, but I have a clear conscience.