Darrel Huish

I wrote this on a napkin for a dear friend. It’s in the mail to her, so I’ll share with everyone here before Spring is over.

Sun warms up the ground.

so slowly. hard to believe.

Suddenly: Tulips!

I’m writing from my perch on the sun-drenched 16th floor of the Jackson Tower. The good: SW exposure means wonderful light into the apartment all day. I can see my work building from here; it’s a 10 minute walk at most, either by skyway (indoors) or sidewalk (fresh air.) More good: wireless internet is hooked up. The set-up for the short-term lodging is super nice and completely livable. Just a little more good: We have found easy access to a Whole Foods, a Target, and multiple breakfast spots. Great start to the new adventure!

The not so good: It’s windy on the balcony. Sunny or not, it isn’t a place to linger yet. Also, no high-def TV and the Masters is only two weeks away.

Lessons learned so far: Galtier is pronounced Gaul-TEER in these parts. Mall of America is plenty cool with something for anyone. Como Conservatory looks substantial and scrumptious from the outside; can’t wait to have a chance to take a languid stroll through there.

I know there will be adversity. No snow lizard migrates north without some trials. But so far, it’s all been welcoming and enticing. Stay tuned…

My 5 year old granddaughter has more wisdom than most. Yes, yes, every grandpa says exactly that, and I do also agree that just as in Lake Wobegon, all grandchildren are above average. However, in my case she really is amazing. We took her to an exhibition game on Monday, and she delivered life wisdom. She chose to support the Dodgers against the Giants even though we sat in an enclave of orange and black. For the first several innings she was more interested in her kettle corn and her little sister’s antics than she was in the game. But she paid attention as the Giants scored a go ahead run. She knows the object of the game is to return home and the long legged outfielder leaving second and rounding third after a bouncing ball up the middle was hard to miss. So she sat on my lap as the Dodgers had their last chances. There was a pop out, then there was strike out (we reviewed the “1, 2, 3 strikes you’re out” lyric as the batter returned to the dugout.) Soon enough Manny Ramirez grounded out and the game was “over”. (That word is in quotes because it was actually the top of the 5th, but Grandpa had had enough!) No sooner had the out been made than Ashlyn piped up “I am still happy!” I asked what she was talking about. “Even if the Dodgers didn’t win. I am still happy at the ballgame!”

So tonight I watched the Sun Devils lose an opening round game in the Pac-10 tourney. It is kind of sad to watch them for 4 months and then have them lose so convincingly in an important game. Luckily for me, I have Ashlyn wisdom. I can hear her cheerful, sincere voice. “I’m still happy!” Hey, why not?

Photo by John P. http://onemansblog.com

If you’ve ever driven one of these vehicles and had reason to go backwards, you’ll understand this post better. One of my primary goals right now is to look forward. Having left one big institution, with an understandably large group of friends and colleagues, for another large institution (with friends and colleagues largely undiscovered) it is tempting to look backward and thereby miss the journey. I have been toying with a way to direct my attention to the forward path. Each time my mind starts to wonder what’s up at Maricopa and pondering what I hope they are thinking or doing, I counter it by making the golf cart’s BEEP BEEP BEEP sound that comes when it is placed in reverse. No one wants to hear that noise for long, and it’s also a warning that backward motion is not the norm. You can call me wacky if you want to. You won’t be the first.

Photo licensed under a creative commons share-alike. Use freely but give attribution to John P. and link to onemansblog.com.

This morning I am listening to Neil Young Unplugged from MTV in 1993. This leads me to remember that naysayers are just that; people that say Nay. Nothing more respected or expert than that. Just “nay.” What if Neil Young had believed his childhood friend’s mother when she told him he wasn’t a good enough singer to make a living with music? What if Steve Nash had believed experts when they told him he was too scrawny to play in the NBA? Here’s to Neil and Stevie: long may you run!

I learned a quote long ago, “I am not what I think I am, and I am not what you think I am. I am what I think you think I am.” It sounds like intentional confusion, but it isn’t. One application is to think about your ability, as a member of an audience, to create a better musical performance. For example, that street performer isn’t the quality of musician that he thinks he is, for he may overestimate or underestimate his talent. Similarly, you may be prepared to dismiss his music by the visual quality of his guitar, or even his wardrobe. However if that busker comes to believe that you are being entertained, and that you are enjoying his music, then he can transform into the entertainer he believes that you believe him to be.

Now granted, there are limits. But who among us hasn’t become a little better behaved in the presence of mom or dad or supportive uncle that truly believes us incapable of being a grumpy, petty person?

I am reminding myself to give it a try. Expect the best of people; treat them as if they are accomplished and excellent. Applaud. Put a (figurative) tip in the imaginary open guitar case. See what happens.

There is a bottle in the fridge
It’s been there for a while
A sugar sweetened Coca-Cola
that won’t go out of style

And I sure won’t be tempted
Except to rearrange it
It’s a Classic and it’s waiting
Expecting you will claim it

It might be sentimental
But that needs an explanation
I only have one worry
And that’s the expiration

So keep in mind the calendar
And remember your old friends
It’s a slightly wacky but it’s true
We’re both best before May ’10.

When I was young, I went to war
They never really said what for
I served with pride and sailed from shore to shore.

I won a medal in the war
They never really said what for
but mentioned courage, bravery, and more.

So here it is: my Lancelot
What I did is what I got
This piece of metal says a lot, that’s true.

Though now I have a different view
the world’s turned ’round, created new
and I’d trade in my Lancelot for you.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/brighton/2154979030/

I had some dreams last night. They were very realistic. One was mostly angry, and one was essentially sad (a visit from a deceased friend and a not-quite-finished conversation). If I post about it to Facebook, I am pushing my words in front of 247 people (minus the ones that don’t visit Facebook often enough to see it passing by, and also minus the people that have hidden me so as not to be annoyed by my eclectic posts.) And of those remaining 100 people, some of those might comment. Many would be encouraging (“they are only dreams, big brother”) while one or two might be offbeat, or even uncomfortable “I wish someone would electro-shock you so you would stop dreaming” or something like that.

Or, I can type about them on my homepage. Doing that is a paradox, like talking to yourself while walking through the mall. You feel anonymous, and it’s probable that no one, and I mean no one, is noticing your words, but there is the slight chance that some stranger in Tibet, or your next door neighbot, is learning your innermost thoughts.

Another alternative is to write in a good ol’ paper journal, to be randomly flipped through after my death by some relative, maybe a close one, maybe a distant inlaw. But a technologist should use the techno tools.

The best alternative presented itself this morning: I took my granddaughter to Starbucks for a hot chocolate. She is four and a half. During the drive, as she sat in the back seat booster chair, I confided, “Ashlyn, I had some strange dreams last night. They made me feel a little bit grumpy this morning.” Ashlyn thought for a second and said “Ah, Grandpa, you need to be a Happy Camper!”

To all my fans in Tibet: she is exactly right. What can be happier than an early Sunday morning excursion with Princess Presto and sidekick Lammie to get a cuppa. Cheers!

As a song writer, I keep an ear open for a phrase that will possibly create a song. I don’t know it for a fact, but I imagine that Love Has No Pride is a phrase like that. Someone in a smoky bar must have said it; fresh off a degrading heartbreak. And the lucky songwriter realized there was a song wrapped up in that phrase. “love has no pride, when I call out your name, love has no pride, when there’s no one left to blame.“  I can hear Bonnie Raitt belting it out even now. Somedays I can hear Linda Ronstadt instead.

It isn’t even in the same league, but I heard someone recently say “I draw the line at a felony, but I’d commit a misdemeanor with you.” That sounds like a line in a John Hiatt song, recorded in Memphis most likely. Or maybe John Prine will do the writing, and Loudon Wainwright will do the cover. Ya never know.