https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?16129-Personal-Musings The largest classic literature discussion forum on the Internet. Read Write Teach Share. en Fri, 05 Jun 2026 13:54:40 GMT vBulletin 10 https://www.online-literature.com/forums/images/misc/rss.jpg https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?16129-Personal-Musings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?681-Kelly-s-Sproutings Tue, 24 Apr 2007 03:18:27 GMT We are in the midst of a major upgrading of our computer systems at work. (Usually when I start a conversation with this sentence, people invariably... We are in the midst of a major upgrading of our computer systems at work. (Usually when I start a conversation with this sentence, people invariably ask, "Oh, you're getting the new Vista? How do you like it?" No, we're not getting Vista and I'm in no particular hurry to try it. We are, however, upgrading to encrypted data on all our hard drives. This way, should any computer be stolen or lost, at least we won't be having to warn people that their personal information could be subject to identity theft.

The upgrade does involve the blowing away of the entire hard drive, rebuilding from Windows XP up, because the encryption lies beneath the operating system. The OS doesn't even know its there. The process takes up to six hours per machine and can only be done when connected via wire to our servers. The wireless folks have to bring their laptops in to headquarters for us to perform the upgrade on their machines.

Because the process is so lengthy, we have asked people to ensure that they get their laptops to us by 7:00 AM (even if it means bringing them in the evening before.) We can do about twelve at a time, but lack "spare" AC adapters for that many laptops, so we also ask people to bring their power cords with them. In addition, we use secure identity cards (called CAC cards or smart cards) for user login, so we ask people to bring their ID cards as well.

Our furtherest users have managed to comply. Today, one of our local units called us at 8:00 am saying, "Laptops are on their way. They just left." They arrived at 9:30, without power adapters and two CAC cards. The runner who brought them said, "My wireless card isn't working." We sent him back for the power adapters and CAC cards. After he left, I took a look at his laptop.

His wireless card is one of those PCMCIA types that are completely inside the laptop when inserted. To remove them, one must release, then plunge, a plunger. It is conceivable that if one should become jammed in the laptop that a person might use a needle-nose pliers to pull on it or even try to pry it out with a screwdriver or knife. These methods would not be very kind to the card, but at least they would be understandable actions. The marks on this wireless card were not made by pliers or screwdrivers, however. This card had been beaten with a ball-peen hammer. Yeah, I'd say it wasn't working!

We wrote up a statement of charges against the individual and proceeded to work overtime to get these laptops completed after being delivered to us two and a half hours late! Ah, such are the joys of work. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?681-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?672-Kelly-s-Sproutings Sat, 21 Apr 2007 15:13:47 GMT Wow, it's been two full months since I last wrote an entry in here! To say that I've been busy is an understatement. Let's see... I am involved in a complex upgrading of all our computers and computer systems (ongoing) and working a lot of overtime... I've been moving (packing, transporting, living around stuff, trying to unpack, trying to find specific things that are still packed, etc.)... and I've been away, with no access to a computer. (Huh? It's possible to find someplace left in the world with no computers??? Apparently so!)

Moving has been the biggest part of my absence, though, mostly because it is so disruptive. In this case, however, it is also a really big life-change. My wife and I decided that we like each other so much more if we don't have to live with each other under the same roof, so now I'm living in a studio apartment. Sure enough, we talk now instead of fight and we meet each other and enjoy each other's company, which we never did when we lived together. Ah, the joys of matrimony. Not to mention that it is SOOOO nice to be able to stay longer at work on the spur of the moment without ruining dinner, and to be able to buy the foods that I like, and to walk around the apartment nude if I want.

To celebrate, I bought a bottle of 12 year old Talisker Scotch. Scotch comes in many different price ranges and from many different places. The quality of the brew is reflected in its price, but not the taste. Scotland is known for producing five (some say six) different malts. The regions are consist of "Lowlands," "Highlands," "Speyside," "West Highlands," and "Islay." Some people consider the Isle of Skye to be part of "Islay" while others consider the Isle of Skye to be a sixth region. The argument for calling Talisker Scotch an Islay single malt comes from the fact that it is the only single malt that comes from the Isle of Skye. The argument for considering it to be a sixth type of malt comes from its distinctive flavor.

The differences come from the growing conditions of the malts as well as the materials available for the brewing processes. Most of the common brand name scotches are blended scotches, made by blending several different malts to produce a product that consistantly tastes the same. Single malt scotches are different. Each has its own unique taste. Cheap scotches taste like kerosene, no matter where they come from. But the expensive scotches are a delight, full of flavor and smoothness. Talisker tastes smokey with a sweetness lying in the background. It feels silky as it slides down your throat.

So, anyway, I bought a 12-year old Talisker to celebrate. Sipping it, I can almost smell the North Sea winds, the heather and the peet.

Cheers, everyone! ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?672-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?408-Kelly-s-Sproutings Sun, 18 Feb 2007 02:09:28 GMT I have been reading a very interesting book on a subject that I knew nothing about before picking up the book. I chose to read it with as open a mind... I have been reading a very interesting book on a subject that I knew nothing about before picking up the book. I chose to read it with as open a mind as I am consciously able to open because the subject matter is of a nature that it would be easy to impose my personal philosophies, opinions, and experiences onto, prejudicing my ability to neutrally assessing the author's point of view.

The book is Lifecycles, subtitled "Reincarnation and the Web of Life", by Christopher M. Bache, Ph.D.

Dear reader, in the commentary that follows, I make one critical assumption about you, my reader. I assume that you, too, have read the book. Therefore I refer to things that are in the book without explaining those things. If you haven't read the book, my references might not make any sense to you. I found the book very easy to read, informative, and worthy of my time. If you haven't read the book, why not pick one up at the library and browse through it?

I have so many thoughts on this subject of reincarnation that I’m finding it difficult to organize them into a cohesive beginning, a step-by-step progression, and a conclusion. I think, since I have to start somewhere, that I’ll start by trying to step outside my “one-timer’s” point of view and contemplate what would be needed for reincarnation to exist.

Preface I
First, let’s take a good, hard look at what it means to exist. Bache asserts, with a valid framework and appropriate insight, that materialism with its insistence on substance, falls short of accounting for non-substantial things like thoughts or mathematics. He also quite correctly identifies the one-timer’s viewpoint as being metaphysical naturalism more than materialism. However, he fails to establish what it means to exist. You see, if something actually exists, then it does, indeed, fall within the realm of metaphysical naturalism. Under metaphysical naturalism, thoughts exist, in contrast to materialism, which doesn’t allow for anything as non-substantial as a thought to capable of existing. Note, however, that under metaphysical naturalism, mathematics still does not exist. Why? Because, unlike a thought, which can appear, be captured (or lost), can change, can grow, can become a foundational part of the universe, mathematics does none of those things. Instead of being an idea or a thought, mathematics, it turns out, is actually a hypothetical construction necessary to understand something else – something that does exist: enumeration. The question for this discussion becomes, “Does reincarnation exist (like radiation or quarks or joy exists) or is it a hypothetical construction necessary for understanding something else that exists (like mathematics or E=MC2 or UFOs)?”

The way that Bache presents his case, it almost sounds like reincarnation is a hypothetical construction necessary for understanding karma. I would like to explore what kind of a universe this would be if reincarnation actually exists.

Preface II
I find that it is much easier for me to understand intangible things if I can compare them to things I’m familiar with already. I like to use metaphor and analogy by comparing something difficult to something less complex. To understand a universe where reincarnation exists, I’m going to construct a much simpler universe and see what I can learn from it.

Part I: The Universe of Water Droplets
Imagine a small universe. In this small universe, we have ground or earth or a floor or whatever at the bottom of an enclosed space, air above the ground, and a vacuum or void at the top of the enclosed space. In this small universe, grass grows and sometimes clouds form and rain falls, but sometimes the skies are clear and the sun shines. Let’s say, for the purpose of keeping this universe small and simple, that there are twenty or so water droplets existing in one form or another. Sometimes they join together to form larger units of water. Sometimes they freeze. Sometimes they boil. But they exist.

These water droplets represent lives in that other, more complex, universe where reincarnation exists. In that other universe, lives are sometimes attached to bodies, sometimes lives are being born or reborn, sometimes lives are dying or between rebirths. But they exist.

Let’s focus our attention on one particular drop of water. We first noticed this drop of water when it was a small sphere falling through the air. When it hit the ground, the place where it hit became wet. This drop of water’s life has been born and begun. Another drop of water was mixed with food coloring. When it hit the ground, that spot, too, became wet, but it was different from the first wet spot. Another was absorbed by a man and later excreted as a tear. When it hit the ground, that spot, too, became wet, but it was different still from both of the other spots.

The sun came out and slowly the wet spots began to disappear. We don’t see any steam, we can’t tell where the water is going, but it is definitely disappearing. After awhile, it seems to be gone completely. At this stage in the analogy, the water is like a life that has been lived and is now dying. The life has accumulated experiences, made choices, learned lessons, and so forth. And when the life is gone, we could see it leaving but we didn’t see it go. We don’t know where it went.

Now, what happens when the water droplets are reincarnated in our small, simple universe? One morning we come out and notice that at some time during the night, a drop of dew formed on the tip of a blade of grass. Where did it come from? There was no rain, no source of water present that we can detect. When it went when it evaporated the day before and where it came from now is something we call “humidity.” You can’t touch humidity (although it can touch you), humidity doesn’t have a “place” that it goes, and it isn’t a mixture or a solution (to use chemical terms) as such. Humidity just IS. Humidity is like the spiritual part of the reincarnation universe. Humidity is spirit without body. All three of our droplets of water “died” and became humidity. Now, out of that collective humidity, this new drop of dew has formed. A droplet of water has been rebirthed.

Suppose this dew drop begins remembering things that happened to it in a previous life. Does it remember falling as rain? Does it remember the color red? Does it remember being salty? If it does, then I have to wonder, how did the hydrogen and oxygen molecules that experienced being red get back together again in the dew drop where they could remember being red? Wasn’t the humidity a homogenous whole? Or is humidity capable of keeping separate “lives” of water distinct so as to allow them to continue to learn from past experiences? I would also wonder, “Does water recycle under the influence of some larger consciousness that has a purpose in mind for water droplets? In other words, does water recycle because karma makes it do so? Or would it recycle anyway, even if there were no greater consciousness at all?” Stated another way, does it recycle because it obeys immutable laws that have no particular purpose but just are, or does it recycle because it obeys overpowering influences that have no particular structure except for purpose?

You see, if there is a purpose, a plan for the eventual outcome of the water droplet, then it makes sense that humidity would keep the droplets’ experiences discrete but it would mean that the dew droplet forms in exactly the way it does in spite of natural laws that would form water droplets randomly from the collective whole of humidity.

Lessons from the Universe of Water Droplets
If the soul continues after death, formless, material-less, boundless, in the spiritual universe, beyond the constraints of the physical universe, I find it difficult to understand how it could remain discrete. Without constraints of material, location, form, how could souls become anything other than homogenous, like humidity? And if souls are homogenous, then they are not “spiritual beings wait[ing] to reincarnate into them [bodies].” (Lifecycles, p. 58).

Part II: Curriculum Earth
One of the questions that I have asked before, and one which Bache does not address (or at least hasn’t so far – I’m not done reading the entire book yet) is, “Why do lives keep recycling back to Earth?” What is so special about Earth that souls in the spiritual universe are lining up to reincarnate into humans on Earth? I mean, Earth is only one little planet in one insignificant solar system in one moderately sized galaxy in what appears to be an infinitely large physical universe.

One might go back to my small, simple universe of water droplets and say, “You answered your own question with this model. The envelope of air around the planet is itself surrounded by a larger envelope of vacuum. Humidity cannot escape to some other planet because it cannot pass through the vacuum. Souls might be in the same situation.” To this I respond, the spiritual universe must be greater than the physical universe in order for reincarnation to happen. If the spiritual universe is greater than the physical universe which is already infinitely large, then surely the spiritual universe is greater than the Earth.

I suppose that if I was to ask Bache himself this question, he might likely reply that the same souls keep returning to earth because they haven’t graduated yet from Curriculum Earth yet. He doesn’t come right out and say that he believes that souls start their learning process in the animal kingdom, but he suggests that some ancient traditions might support this idea and he is willing to entertain it. Under such a system, presumably young, neophyte souls need to learn simple lessons and that when they graduate from the lower lessons, they begin retuning in human form for more difficult lessons. Perhaps he might even suggest that once a soul has learned everything that human experience can teach, that it would move on to post-graduate work in some other form, perhaps in some other place than Earth.

OK, let’s examine this idea of returning to Earth over and over again under these presuppositions. My first thought originally about this “school of karma” idea was, “If it requires hundreds, perhaps thousands of years to master the lessons of life and karma, then why not just live that long? Why the necessity of dying repeatedly in order to be recycled through again, with no memory of previously learned lessons immediately available?” It seemed to me to be wasteful, forcing the soul to re-learn everything over and over again, like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day”. The idea of karma being wasteful is unpleasant to me because natural laws, that make things the way they are, are not wasteful. On the other hand, if this karmic school is evolutionary, bringing souls upward through the ranks, then by necessity, reincarnation would be required and, once in place, could be useful for “practicing that play until you get it right”. Still, if the human curriculum takes a thousand years (let’s say) to learn, might it not have been better for humans to have longer lifespans?

This idea of Earth, and the human condition, being a school for spiritual souls makes more questions come to mind. Clearly, there are young, unschooled souls; there are souls who have mastered some lessons and are returning to practice them or to take on more difficult lessons; there are souls who finally get everything right and are ready to move on; there are souls who sit on the guidance councils of the spiritual plane; and possibly there are souls who have advanced to higher planes beyond. So where are these young, unschooled souls coming from? Oh, from the animals, of course. But that doesn’t fit either. Weren’t those young, unlearned souls around seventy million years ago when there were no humans? If they were, why are they still coming back as animals? If they weren’t, then where did they come from? Besides, it isn’t established that souls do live animal lives. That is merely something that Bache allows for, but there are no memories of such lives being revealed in the documented cases. Not all philosophies and traditions incorporate animal reincarnation into the plan. And that gives rise to a question from the other end of the spectrum: If souls reincarnate through humans alone, then what did they do for the billions of years of evolution pre-dating the rise of humanity? We are talking about lives of eternity, aren’t we?

Another element of the curriculum concept that troubles me is the descriptions of souls sitting before a council of judgment or guidance, reviewing the live just lived, analyzing the lessons learned, the choices made, and then planning the outline for the lessons the soul would encounter in the next incarnation. All this love, all this caring, all this desire to bring the soul to a higher, brighter spiritual plane is very desirable, but the watchers on the councils, the spirit guides, don’t seem to have the same love and concern and earnest interest in helping the humans who are living on the Earth right now. We’re the physical, material beings. Maybe our souls are here to learn lessons, but our minds and dilemmas and feelings and emotions are ours alone, not the soul’s that resides in us. Don’t we count for anything to the spirit beings?

It also occurred to me as I read about how time sort of ceases to be relevant while in the spiritual domain that even though the soul being reviewed and the council and guides collaborating with him to plan the next life might be able to experience future, past, and present as one, that still the soul always chooses to re-enter the physical realm, which does have a time stream, at a point after the last departure from the physical realm. Why is that? Wouldn’t it be beneficial to re-enter the time stream at the same point as before to see if the last life lived could be lived out better? If time doesn’t matter in the council circle, then why not examine the next life lived, too, after examining the last life lived? Wouldn’t experiencing the next life lived be as effective as actually returning to Earth and living it?

Epilog
I feel that I have so much more to express, but I’m still digesting what I’ve read. I’m sure that not all my questions have surfaced and I know for certain that I haven’t even begun to explore all the nuances and facets of this interesting topic. However, this is all I have for tonight, so it will have to do for now.

I’m interested in hearing how my little examination reverberates in you. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?408-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?105-Kelly-s-Sproutings Wed, 06 Dec 2006 06:13:59 GMT If you've been reading my other entries in this blog, you already know that I live in Denver, Colorado.

I went online last night and did a job search in Scotland. My motivation is this: I'm within one year of being eligible to retire. I'm seriously thinking about doing it, but I have reservations about living on a retirement income. What I would love to do would be to write my novel, be able to sell it, have it become a best-seller, and suppliment my income with the royalties so that I can spend the rest of my retirement writing more novels. Ah, but, as I mentioned in my last entry, I'm having serious writer's block.

The story I'm writing happened in Scotland in 1539. I'm an American who has never been to Scotland. I have a Swedish geneology and know nothing more than my research about the Clans and Septs. I don't know Gaelic; have never attended any Scottish games or gatherings; and have no idea which towns, villages, roads and points of interest on the map today were present, already steeped in history, flourishing, floundering, or not yet founded in the sixteenth century. I would love to be able to visit Scotland, walk (hike) through the highlands, spend time getting to know people who's families have lived for generation after generation in the same place. I would love to be able to see this place or that thing in person in order to be able to describe it and give it life in my novel.

It occured to me that if I obtained a work visa, I could spend a year or two in Scotland, soaking up everything, learning, asking questions, examining church records and studying Scottish history up close and personal. So, anyway, last night I did this job search.

Turns out there are a number of jobs available that my skills and experience would fulfill, but there's a catch. To work in the UK without being a citizen of the UK, one must fit into one of two dozen or so categories (ex: being a student in Scotland wanting to work in Scotland upon obtaining a degree, or being in the film industry, or being sponsored by a Scottish citizen to come work for them as an Au Pair or domestic worker, or being highly skilled in a speciality that Scotland is seeking, etc.) The only category that I could possibly qualify for would be the "highly skilled" worker. Now comes the interesting part.

The British Home Office wants documented proof that a foreigner is "highly skilled." According to the BHO, such documentation must be one or more of the following:

• A degree (translation: a certified, credentialed college education)
• A certificate of skill (translation: a certified, credentialed trade school education)

I have neither. What I do have is twenty years of progressive experience that is considered by American employers as the equivalent of a PhD in my area of expertise. There doesn't seem to be any provision in the BHO's application form for documenting this type of experience, however. The closest thing to documenting experience that the BHO offers is proof of twelve months of earnings based on the skills under scrutiny. The rub is that to meet the "highly skilled" level of earnings, an American must earn the equivalent of 40,000 pounds Sterling. That is about $2,500 more than my annual income. So close, and yet so far!

But the BHO is not satisfied with documented skill levels. Oh, no. Even should I find a way to qualify as a highly skilled foreigner, there is one further hurdle to jump. The BHO also demands that the prospective worker be proficient in the English language. Not a problem for an American, right? Wrong! Although the BHO does define the British Isles, Canada, the United States, and Australia as nations whose citizens are considered to be native English-speaking populations, being a citizen of the United States does not seem to be sufficient documentation of fluentcy in English for the Home Office to grant a work visa. Again, they have two forms of acceptable documentation:

• One can hold a Bachelors degree in a course of study conducted exclusively in English, or
• One can take an examination in International English and submit original (not copies) exam results to the Home Office.

Of course, if I can't qualify as a highly skilled worker, I suppose that my years raising two beautiful children and often taking care of my delightful grandchildren might qualify me to be an Au Pair, if I knew any Scot who would sponsor me. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?105-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?93-Kelly-s-Sproutings Mon, 04 Dec 2006 07:51:45 GMT Joseph Badger Younggreen Born September 20, 1927, in Paxton, IL Died December 3, 2006, in Napa, CA An only child, son of a traveling salesman,... Joseph Badger Younggreen
Born September 20, 1927, in Paxton, IL
Died December 3, 2006, in Napa, CA

An only child, son of a traveling salesman, he grew up alone. Oh, he had both his mother and his father. He had playmates and classmates, but never a close friendship that followed him through his life. In college, his closest friend was Fuller. In the Army, his closest friend was Clegg. In church, his closest friend was Neil House. For various reasons, he lost all three of them.

Divorced, never remarried, children all grown, he died alone. Oh, my brother was there, and so was my mother, but with his brain riddled with the plaques and tangles of Alzheimer’s, he had been alone for many years before his body gave up and left him.

In between, he lived a quiet, introspective life; a loner’s life.

My father was a genius. When he went into the Army, they gave him a standardized I.Q. test. All I.Q. tests are not the same and a score on one does not necessarily mean the same thing and the same number derived from a different score. Still, in the 1940’s, the Army’s I.Q. test was the closest thing to a universal number there ever has been because it was administered to so many people. The traditional myth that “130 is the score where we begin to classify people as geniuses” comes from the Army’s I.Q. test of the 40’s. My father scored 155 on that test.

My father went to college, but wasted the opportunity pursuing classes that interested him and ignoring classes that were necessary to move him toward a degree. His two favorite pastimes in college were staying up all night building ham radios and talking to people all around the world, and driving an old Army surplus Jeep in the backcountry behind the college. He left college with tons of knowledge and some interesting tales of adventure, but no degree. He told me many times how sorry he was that he did that. He wanted me to make more of myself than he had made of himself. Being my father’s son, I didn’t listen.

When I was a young child, maybe between three and seven years old, my father worked full shifts as a psychiatric technician at a State mental hospital, a job that he got from his Army skills as a medic. Meanwhile, he took a correspondence course to become an electronics engineer. With that education, he took on a second job as the transmissions engineer at a local AM radio station; he repaired B&W televisions and reel-to-reel tape recorders; he designed and installed church sound systems. Eventually, he became a Fire Control mechanic installing the firing computers and mechanisms on Navy submarines that controlled the firing of torpedoes and missiles.

I remember my mother telling me to “leave your father alone tonight” which was code for, “your father is angry and that makes him dangerous.” I remember wondering why that made him dangerous. What I remember about my father being “angry” was giving everyone the silent treatment. He would withdraw into himself, sometimes not speaking, not even acknowledging other peoples’ presence, for days at a time. Of course, as a child, I believed my mother when she said he was angry and I just cautious enough to not be willing to test him to see if he was dangerous when he was angry. I was in my thirties before I began to really know my dad.

I have earlier memories of him, though. I remember accompanying him to the radio station at night. Many, many times, he worked the whole night through. I would play “DJ” in the spare broadcasting booth, spinning records and punching in “endless loop” 30 second and 15 second commercials. I must have been maybe six or seven or eight at the time. I learned how to do this by watching the DJs in the live control booth and asking lots of questions. I even covered for the DJs on rare occasions when they had gone to the bathroom and couldn’t get back in time for the end of the song. I’d punch up the next commercial and grin at them when they came flying back into the booth in a panic.

I remember his passion for motorcycles. His first motorcycles were a pair of Honda 50s (50cc two-stroke dirt bikes, except that he didn’t use them as dirt bikes.) He bought one for himself and one for my mother. He joined a local club (not a gang, just a motorcycle enthusiast’s club) and would ride with them on weekend outings. Often, we all went. I would ride behind my dad and my sister would ride behind my mother. I remember the sensation of swaying with the curves, feeling the wind in my face, and getting off at the end of the day bow-legged, stiff, and numb from the end of my spine to my knees. I remember falling asleep on those rides sometimes, hands buried deep in the pockets of my dad’s leather jacket, leaning against him, totally confident that I was completely safe.

He taught me to ride the Honda 50 when I was 11. I felt so big! He would only let me ride in on our street, but I would do it for hours. I’m sure the neighbors must have hated me! When I was maybe 14 or so he traded the Honda 50s in for a Harley Sportster. This was a much bigger bike, perhaps 400 – 600 cc and a couple of hundred pounds heaver. The first thing he did was strip it down and start customizing it. He bought an acetylene torch to cut up and re-weld the frame and he taught me how to cut and weld, too.

Teaching. That is a big memory for me. My dad taught me a lot of things. He was an excellent teacher. He was totally patient with me, explained things on my level, and wouldn’t help me with my homework in the traditional sense. When I would bring him my homework and ask for help, he would sit down with me and ask me questions, make me think solutions through, make me check my work, and help me look up things that I really didn’t know. He made me use the dictionary or the encyclopedia, but he wouldn’t just send me away to look things up as a way of dismissing me. He would have me bring the dictionary or the encyclopedia to him and would have me show him what I was looking up, subtly nudging me in the right directions, encouraging me, and praising me when I figured it out. I remember that I was in the sixth grade when he taught me how to solve square roots with pen and paper. That didn’t show up in my schoolwork until High School, and when it finally did, it was how to solve them using a table and deriving approximate calculations, yet I had known how to solve square roots for nearly six years because of my dad. In the eighth grade, he was teaching me how to do calculus on a slide rule, how to read an oscilloscope and an ohm meter, and how to splice recording tape to get what today are known as “sound bites”. By High School, he was teaching me how to write programs for Hewlett Packard’s first programmable calculator, the HP-100 and, later, how to write assembly code in octal for the firing computers on the submarines.

I remember dad taking us kids on walks – hikes really – in the hills, amid the scrub oaks, fig trees, and poison oak behind the State mental hospital. There was one fig tree in particular that was his favorite. I don’t know if it was because it was such a long hike to get to it or if it was because it was such a large tree, but it was always heavy with fruit. The fruit on fig trees is unusual in that it does not all ripen at once. The tree produces new fruit continuously, so throughout the summer and fall you can always find ripe figs. We visited that tree oh, two dozen times a year, I suppose. There were also blackberries up there, planted, tended, then abandoned fifty years before. They had once been in neat, straight rows, but had overgrown everything over time. Still, you could see the hint of the old rows in the long, straight swells of overgrowth.

I was estranged from my wife for about a year when I was in my thirties. I went to live with my dad who was by then divorced. We talked endlessly, hours at a time, all the time, about religion, science fiction, how the brain works, auto mechanics, quantum physics, dinosaurs, you name it. My dad and I got quite close during that year. That was a changing point for me in the way that I viewed my parents. It was the first time I had ever questioned the things my mother had said about my dad. At the same time, I came to understand why she said some of the things she did. It was also the first time that I ever saw my dad in myself. I began to view his loneliness and introspective withdrawals more as signs of depression than as anger. That, in turn, helped me to get a grip on my own fiery temper. I conceded that my wife had some valid points about me and went home after a year of living with my dad, to try to reconcile with her.

My dad and I lived together again about ten years later. I was divorced by that time, myself. He was living alone and about to retire. He didn’t think he would afford to live alone on just his retirement. I was struggling to live alone, too, so I invited him to come live with me and we would share expenses. He moved from California to Colorado and lived with me for two years. Near the end of the two years, the first signs of senile dementia (later we knew that it was Alzheimer’s) began to appear. Then he had a heart attack and a quintuple bypass. As his mind began to slip away, he began to be more and more terrified of being in Colorado. He felt out of his comfort zone and wanted to be back among the familiarity of his old haunts and homes in Napa and Vallejo back in California. He was also terrified of losing his mental capacity, his memory, his sense of self as his disease progressed. We decided together that he would probably be more at ease living with my brother in Napa, so I helped him move.

I saw my father only once in the years after he moved. I went back to California in 2004 and while there, visited my dad. He was, by then, so confused that my brother could no longer care for him and so he was living in a nursing home. He was friendly, conversational, but only about the most simple and recent things – something that happened that morning or the flavors of the foods we were eating or the weather – but he didn’t know me. He did recognize me at the end of the visit as I was getting ready to leave, and he asked me about Denver and reminisced about a hike we once took to a hidden lake in the Rockies, but that lasted only a few minutes, then he was gone again. That was the last time I saw my dad. I spoke to him a few times on the phone, but they were difficult conversations, like trying to have a phone conversation with a pre-schooler while waiting for their mother to come to the phone.

My mother called me on my birthday, November 29, 2006, to tell me that my dad was in the hospital, that he was bleeding internally and that they didn’t expect him to live very long. I didn’t make arrangements to fly out to California. I didn’t think it would do him any good. I didn’t think the man I knew was even in that body anymore. He passed away, quietly, peacefully, and I believe probably gratefully, four days later, on December 3.

I loved my dad. It had broken my heart to watch that enormous intellect shrivel up and waste away. If, somewhere in his brain, there were still enough connections for his essence to be self-aware, he must have felt helpless and imprisoned for several years. If he wasn’t self-aware, then he had already died much earlier than his body. If he was self-aware, then his death must have been a relief and a release. Either way, I’m happy for him now. If there is a “somewhere”, a “somewhen”, a “somewho” out there, then dad, I still love you. Be at peace. I’m ok. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?93-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?89-Kelly-s-Sproutings Sun, 03 Dec 2006 04:03:33 GMT I am writing a novel.

That's what I tell myself, anyway. The truth is, I wrote three chapters, fast. I started them around Christmas, 2004 and began the fourth chapter in January 2005. I didn't like the fourth chapter. I needed to get to a particular milestone in my plot but I couldn't figure out a rational motive for my characters to make certain decisions that would take them to the milestone. I decided I needed to re-think all of my characters' attitudes, agendas, motives, and find another way to move the story forward.

To understand my dilemma, you need to know that my story is a historical novel. I know that a certain battle took place between specific people at a specific place, but I also know where they live, and about forty years of events that leads up to this battle. What I don't know is what motivated the attacker to attack in the first place. That question is the one that my novel centers around, so understanding motives is crucial to understanding why the battle happened at all. What I thought was a good motive was beginning to appear simplistic as I moved my characters through time and geography. My primary question is, "why would x be in y's lands at the time of the battle?" Why then? Why there? So, I stopped writing chapter four. I threw it away.

I decided that maybe I could find some factual basis for the question so I delved deep into research. It is productive; it is facinating; it is time-consuming. Unfortunately, it has also become an excuse for not writing. While I now have a much more intimate knowledge of who these people were, I still don't really have a good rational for events.

It comes down to this. If x were trying to build or rebuild a power base, he would have travelled east, over the top of the site of the battle. This is the reasonable motive and the reasonable course of action. But it takes him well away from the battleground, so the timelines don't fit. On the other hand, if he went by a more direct route to the battleground, then he wasn't building the strength of numbers he is supposed to have had and his motive must have been more personal and less power-based than history claims, so although the timeline is right, the details are wrong.

I think I have come up with an excellent fictional twist to the historical records that may provide me with my storyline. I have already invented a fictional woman and an interesting romantic side-plot. If I twist that side-plot into a rivalry or a jealousy, I might have a quite reasonable explanation for things. It means, however, that my first three chapters are no longer my first three chapters. I might be better off putting chapters one and two about 1/4 of the way into the story and completely re-writing chapter three, though.

Having decided this, I re-wrote chapter three last June. It just isn't working. "It" this time is my creativity. I hate what I've written. So, for the last five months, I've been alternately letting it sit and re-reading it, trying to figure out where I've gone wrong.

This is the longest, dryest stretch of writer's block I've ever had. I'm hoping this entry in my blog will jog me into getting back into the writing. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?89-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?84-Kelly-s-Sproutings Fri, 01 Dec 2006 18:07:03 GMT It looks like my dad is dying. The doctor says that he is so weak that "scoping him" (inserting a probe down his esophegas or up his rectum) would likely kill him, and if it didn't, the surgery to repair whatever is bleeding probably would. Meanwhile, his kidneys are starting to shut down.

I don’t know what comes next. I used to think I knew, but I’ve pretty much concluded that we can’t know. I have no idea if there even is a God or not, and if there isn’t, then there isn’t anything else, either. Even that is not so bad, though. I mean, you didn’t miss what you were missing before you were born, and you’re not going to miss it after you die, if there is nothing more, you know? Still, if there is a God, then there might be something else, too. Whether it is a spirit world and we go to it immediately and death is only a transition, or whether it is a resurrection and we go to it all at the same time, sometime in the future, or whether it is something completely different, some form moving on, transcendence into a different kind of consciousness; if there is something else, I hope that Dad gets all the best that that something else has to offer. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?84-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?79-Kelly-s-Sproutings Fri, 01 Dec 2006 02:24:59 GMT I received a phone call from my mother today. She was calling to tell me that my dad went into the hospital today. He is bleeding internally. My... I received a phone call from my mother today. She was calling to tell me that my dad went into the hospital today. He is bleeding internally.

My dad is 79 years old. He has Alzheimer's. He was living with me when the first symptoms appeared. It started with him forgetting the rules of driving, like "red means stop" and making turns from the wrong lanes. By 1999, he was unable to navigate at all and had given up driving. He was homesick for Napa, California, the town I grew up in. My brother still lives there, so he moved out and left Denver to go live with my brother. My brother had to put him into a rest home shortly after that because dad was just too confused. He didn't recognize Napa anymore and was afraid of everything and everyone. He couldn't be left alone and my brother couldn't stay home with him.

I visited my dad in 2002. He didn't recognize me. My brother and I signed him out of the rest home for a few hours and took him to dinner at a local restaurant. He kept exclaiming amazement at things like the multiplex cinema we drove past and the crosswalk signals that chirp to assist people with sight difficulties get across the street. He talked about his favorite TV shows and the cat that lives somewhere near or in the rest home. He didn't remember anything about "yesterday" and tended to ramble about an incident that happened about 45 years ago when his best friend cheated on him with my mother. We had to ask him repeatedly to lower his voice and control his language. Other patrons glared at us. I was glad to get him back to the home and into his room. He was glad to get back to it, too. He immediately set out to find the cat. After talking to the doctor on duty, I went to find my dad and tell him I was leaving. He looked at me -- really looked at me -- for the first time and from somewhere deep in the dying parts of his memory he was able to pull up a link to my face. For a moment, he knew who I was and was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing me. Then he went blank again, and I left.

Now, tonight, he lies in a hospital bed. He has lost a lot of blood. They don't know what specifically is bleeding. They have him on antibiotics and are giving him fluids. He has had two transfusions. My brother has told the doctors that they have permission to give transfusions, but not to do anything heroic. The doctors can't say whether he is dying or not, but if he is not dying, they think he will within a year.

I think he has been dead for quite some time.

I don't want to see him die, but I do hope that time will be kind to him and let him go. He was a brilliant man in his prime. His greatest fear was Alzheimer's, more than heart attacks or strokes or paralysis, all of which are genetic traits in his family history. He feared losing control over his own mind. He feared becoming lost inside his own mind, unable to get out. He feared becoming what he is now. I don't want him to die, but I don't want him to live any longer, either.

Good night, dad. Go silently in the darkness, if you can. I love you. ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?79-Kelly-s-Sproutings https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?78-Kelly-s-Sproutings Thu, 30 Nov 2006 23:35:34 GMT Today is November 30th. I just turned 54 yesterday and I hear that blogging is the most popular fad among young people these days. I'm up for trying anything (well, almost anything) once, so, although I don't know much about blogging, I thought I'd give it a whirl; see how long it spins.

I'm not sure where the term "blog" came from. I suppose I could look it up on Wikipedia, but I'd rather try to figure it out. So, I'm thinking of all the reasons to put a "b" in front of "log" and I'm not coming up with any reasonable words... then it hits me: weB log! OK, cool. I guess that means that although these online journals are akin to logs, that where writing in a log, even if it is an online storage location where you do the writing, is one-sided, whereas in the wide-open, free-spirited, share-and-interact environment of being on the web means that your journal can become a two-way communication, a conversation, a huge party of conversations.

It sounds fun to me! I just hope that I don't get so caught up in the interaction that it slowly bleeds away all my free time for anything else. (I also hope that there is some interaction, because I don't want to get bored with blogging, either.)

Here's to old dogs learning new tricks, then! ]]> Kelly_Sprout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?78-Kelly-s-Sproutings