A Hacker Remembered

Today's "hackers" can stake claim to this new moniker but I grew up observing my grandfather perfect the art of hacking.  Many among his generation might also argue that they too are the original hackers.  Survivors of The Great Depression, war time rationing, etc. set about up-cycling and inventing new uses for the ordinary, transforming how we viewed everyday objects.  Consumerism took a back seat to necessary reinvention and society as a whole profited from this outlook.

Post war times brought many back to the sales counter and my grandfather partook in the new gadgets as well.  He was the first to set up a television in the backwoods of his small community and he was an active ham radio participant.  I remember my grandmother railing at him for setting up huge antennas but it didn't stop him...he simply disguised them better or made sure the landscaping was up to her standards.

Many mornings I would see him walking alongside the road picking up litter that marred his property.  He didn't throw it all away; he kept a collection of vintage liquor bottles in one of his sheds as well as hub caps.  Long before there were "man caves," he built various sheds to hold his found treasures.  Waiting for the next great financial calamity was part of his generation's psyche...they truly felt the hunger and despair.  My generation has seen nothing like this and I can only hope that I nor my children ever will.

Often times, I tell people that I grew up in the area that was ground center for the "War on Poverty/Hunger" yet I did not go hungry nor want for necessities.  The lessons my grandparents learned were to save, to survive, to hack enough to keep clothes, food, and shelter in abundance for their families.  Even now, I tease my children that I'm headed back to the hills for an apocalypse.  It is ground zero for survival and I take pleasure in my own small hack jobs.

Young hackers who spend time on YouTube learning and teaching others, keep up the good work!  Past generations are counting on you to pay it forward, to survive, to persevere and hack on.

For Grandpa Clint, Happy Hacker's/Father's Day!  You live on in each project I pursue.

Shaken, not Stirred

Ah, the complexity of a martini or a life.

Ingredients, adornments and the mix-up...shaken or stirred.

Life's transitions can rise slowly, cresting river-like and afterwards,

A mess.

To be shaken seems harsher but then,

There is no surprise at the damage.  It is expected.

How then to choose, to proceed when mixing a martini or life?

What final taste will we experience?  Bitter?  Smooth?

A choice...

To gulp or to sip

And to melt away in its grip....

The Destination

I don't think there is a way to effectively share my new found definition of "destination" to my children.  At their stage of early adulthood, all paths are clouded with hormones and expectations.  Would it be that I could go back to myself at that stage, I would advise my erratic self to seek wisdom from those outside my immediate circle...away from parents. friends, lovers and toward experienced thinkers and doers.

My confidence was not developed enough to find those individuals.  I'm hopeful that my two ducklings aren't stunted with that malady.  Did I do enough to inspire them to be adventurous?  To trust their gut and mute the cautious naysayers...including myself at times?  Hopefully.

As a young person feeling trapped in Appalachia, I coveted the experiences of others who traveled and experienced new cultures.  I thought that the only way to share that was to leave behind my heritage.  Funny enough, when I moved from Kentucky 25 years ago, I felt only despair.  My love for novelty did not outweigh my need for HOME.  That first move taught me quickly that the only way to enjoy the world was to stay tethered to my upbringing.  Live and learn....

I take my Appalachian sensibilities with me everywhere.  All that I see and do, all who I meet and absorb are translated through my early life experiences...adventures that I was participating in without knowing they were rare and precious.  Now I know.  Now I appreciate.  Still I am part of my beloved Kentucky and still I am part of my beloved hills.

And so I do not have a set place to get to in life.  Instead, it is a feeling of peace, safety and a need for exploration that guides me.  The moves I had to participate in to keep my family together toughened my heart and challenged my soul.  All of the bonding and severing that takes place when one moves consistently changes a mindset.  I accept now that my life will be very fluid.  What I hold on to is the knowledge that houses are just a place for me to hang my hat...home is my heart filled with love for my family near and far and friends scattered about the country.

I take joy in present time, present experiences and I don't count on being anywhere for long.  I love and hate the moves simultaneously.  I covet and despise the unknown.  I am content in feeling my wings and roots.

The journey, NOT the destination is enough for me now.

Sisters of Pain

The old saying that "worrying about tomorrow takes the pleasure from today" perturbs me.  Truth stings.  One would think that my skin would be thick enough at this age to bounce away pain yet it isn't...it absorbs the impact well but I find that the cuts are still deep enough to leave scars.

Is it possible to inoculate oneself from past pain?  Can believing in the modicum that "time heals all wounds" keep one forward thinking and still able to grasp life's pleasures?

Perhaps time heals all wounds because eventually, we run out of time.  Our finite supply is haunting as it can be extinguished quickly without reason.  The wound then disappears because the body and soul no longer exist.

For those of us lucky enough to escape the perils of modern day living, we pay for our good fortune by living a purposeful life...or we're told we must live that way to honor those who've passed.  Guilt-shaming runs rampant in today's social media, from self-help gurus and from our own conscience.  We're the ones who have the gift of life, therefore, our duty is to make the most of it.

Saying goodbye to those we have loved, living or not, is extremely difficult.  It takes time and rushing serves no good.  I found this song captures what so many of us deal with...saying goodbye and willing to follow someone "down" in our pain yet in the end, carrying on with the hope of healing without worry and guilt.

I'll Follow You Down

Worry and Guilt

Worry and Guilt
The pairful prayerful sisters
Of Pain share it

Share the shame

Today's not tomorrow
Reminds us the same
is constant...is blame

Share the shame

Worry and Guilt
The saddening happening children
Of Pain know it

Know it's a game

Life's puzzle pieces
Fitting askance
Solving no problems

Know it's a game

Worry and Guilt
Playing again
With life's treasured promise

Breaking with pain

Dear Lover

Dear Lover

You don't complete me...
You enhance me.

You don't make my dreams come true...
You encourage me to have them.

I'm often at odds with myself...
And you're enchanted with my oddities.

When fear overtakes me...
It's comfort that you offer rather than rescue.

Dear Lover

When courage overtakes me...
It's celebration that you offer rather than envy.

I'm often at peace with myself now...
And you're happy with my peacefulness.

You don't make my heart beat faster...
You give it a reason to thump deeper.

You don't absorb me...
You let me wash over you.

Dear Lover
Dear
Love
No err

Take Your Time: Life Speaks

I'm sure that the word patience appears in my writing countless times.  It must.  My mantra falls back to it each time I feel restless with life.  And that happens daily.

Restlessness isn't new to me nor is patience.  They're oddly compatible.  I like to get things done yet defining things is becoming more difficult.  Clarity is the treasure I seek.  How laughable!  And so I get aggravated with the rhythm of life and its disregard for my urgency.  

Take Your Time

I've given you this treasure, Life says. 

Wrapped with the comics, I observe.

Time is funny.

It passes too quickly, no...too slowly.

It passes.

All day l-o-n-g.

You don't like my gift? Life asks.

I can't understand it, I sigh.

So many want this treasure.

I feel guilty because I have it.

No one begrudges you this time, Life remarks.

I have so much of it now...I'm lost in it.

Do you remember when it was rare?  

I do.

You wished for more and all of it yours.

And you have given it to me.

A treasure  you have dipped in guilt?

A pleasure I don't deserve?

Take Your Time

Where?  Why?  How?

On your journey.  Because you earned it.  Carry it in your heart.

Time is heavy.

Only if you wrap it in guilt.  Unwrap your gift.

Thank you.  

 

  

Earned It

Do we have another soul inside us?

As I learn about connecting to one's soul, one's own spirituality, I'm curious about our competing desires.  Science gives us much information about our impulsive nature...hormones, psychological secrets, our personal interactions with others that guide and sometimes wreck our best intentions.

In trying to make sense of my next 50 years, I find it hard to understand how my past self is the same one who will carry me forward.  The term "reinvention" irks me.  As a catch all phrase for life's foibles, it bears more weight with magazine covers and catchy social media tags than how reality works.

We can't reinvent the core of who we are without destroying our identity.  Maybe that's the goal for some, to escape their own identity.  I'd be more comfortable with reading the headline of "Woman Explores Herself" or "Mid-lifers Confronting Their Own Evolution."

I remember reading the novel Sybil as a middle school student.  At the time, many of us fantasized about being ruled by another presence inside us, manipulating our thoughts and actions.  As most trends go, it gained media traction for a while and it became popular to jokingly blame our other personality for mistakes.  Increasingly, multiple personalities appeared in court cases and medical claims until pure science fell on the side of their rarity.  And we masses were back to confronting our motivations and desires as belonging to just ourselves...just our own error pocked selves.

Merriam-Webster defines "soul."  The corresponding comments ponder how the soul differs from the spirit, etc.

Soul.  Sole.  I think I just answered my own question.  The soul is sole.  It is wholly within myself and I, I am just one but a mosaic of my life.

And I've earned it.  Now to become comfortable with the evolution of my soul.