Journeys in Haiku

In life a journey
Without a destination
Is too often made

In life a journey
To changing destinations
Has many regrets

In life a journey
To the wrong destination
Causes frustration

In life a journey
Brings the greatest reward if
To the horizon

What's the New Word To Be?

In this world of words
A term is necessary
To express he-she

The convention is
Combined use the masculine
To women's chagrin

So could it be heshe
Or maybe the word hesheit
Or perhaps shehe

Whatever the word
It need have proper casing
Subj Obj Possessive

Too big for my bean
I leave it to grammar pros
But please move quickly

Haiku Life

Human behavior
Is not mathematical
It's emotional

It is never dull
It can go this way or that
Not predictable

It's interesting
Just when we've figured it out
It takes a new turn

On the Other Side of Death

I’m tired,

So very tired,

I simply can’t,

I must rest.

My fingers will not grasp,

My legs will not stand,

My head will not stay up,

My chest slumps.

My body is slack,

My breath is effortless,

My brain is out of focus.

Lie  back, relax.

People, what people?

Promises, what promises?

Things, what things?
Nothing matters.

My eyes close

Slipping into the void

Of deep, restful,

Sleep.

The audience is gone,

The show is over.

The cast is here on stage

The theater is dark

Over there.

The form is familiar,

Beckoning.

We go to it.

Full of anticipation

In a new place

That is not a place

But an existence.

Clamoring for answers

We are silenced by our guide.

Admonished to unite

And be one.

Memories

Are there memories

That come along with our birth

That transcend lifetimes

Love and Hate Haiku

If you love someone

You know all the reasons why

They make sense to you.

If you hate someone

You know all the reason why

They make sense to you

The choice can be made

To love or hate the other

And easily changed

The Passing of the Present

It was a specific time

Six thirty-two AM-EST

On February 29, 1968 CE

Time

 A convenience displayed on clocks

Measured in grains or tick-tocks

Where does it go?

Nowhere

Because it isn't 
Never was

The present is

Lifetimes are

And they pass

Silly us 
We count the passing

When it is the present that counts

You Can't Go Back

That was 1963, the year I graduated from the University known familiarly as the Missouri School of Mines with a Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering.  At the same time Carola got a PHT degree from the University Dames; shorthand for Putting Hubby Through.  This is 2013 and we attended the 50^th reunion of our class.

Memories of Rolla in the years between have had a disturbing undercurrent for me and being there this past week brought some mixed emotions to the surface.  The story, not unique except it’s mine, involves personal success after suffering a significant failure. 

My scholastic performance in my first three semesters resulted in the school notifying me that it would be better for me to try a different school and a different field of study; that I was apparently not capable of meeting the standards of MSM.  I went into shock and recovery.  There was no other option for me but to go back to that school, to that curriculum, and graduate.

They approved me to be readmitted on probation eighteen months later in the fall of 1961.  This was after I wrote a letter explaining that I had taken math, drawing, and literature classes at a local college with grade A results and that I was confident of success at MSM.

Four semesters later, each with Dean’s Honors and an interim summer school session of Mechanics of Materials and Thermodynamics, I was in the group of 470, more or less, people that received their degrees on May 26, 1963.  Along with my degree, we left Rolla with a daughter and another baby on the way.

The mixed emotions about the school stem from experiencing the total insensitivity of the faculty and staff.  At no time during my entire time there and especially in those last four semesters did I ever get the impression that anyone there took any personal interest in me. 

No faculty member or administrator knew me; recognized me or my name.  If I had an advisor, his identity was successfully kept secret from me.  The attitude apparent was, here it is, figure it out for yourself, take it or leave it, we don’t care if you make it or not.  And even after performing very well in the academic ranks, there was never a word of encouragement or “well done.”  The results were posted and that was that; no one cared.

The system, however, worked; I scheduled and took the classes I needed, had job interviews, landed a good job, and graduated.  But I left there feeling like the persona incognito I had been all the while I was there.  Thank goodness for my fraternity and my wife because with them I had some identity.

I’ve attended two other Universities, both much larger than MSM, now Missouri Institute of Science and Technology, and had totally different experiences.  From one I received an MBA and the other, as a continuing education student, I completed about 50 graded credit hours in liberal and performing arts.  These institutions made me feel like they cared about me, people on faculty and staff interacted with me familiarly and made me feel like I belonged there.

At this reunion, you would swear we were the only people who had ever attended the school.  There were programs to tell us about the quality of students being attracted, the high rank of quality that the school has nationally, the innovation in education being offered, the results of building programs over the years, the decrease in funding being experienced at state and federal levels, the increased reliance upon industrial grants and alumni generosity, the naming opportunities still available.  A cynic might say this was damage control.

Suddenly it became clear to me that the haughty independence of 50 years ago is not consistent with today's needs.  Now the faculty and staff want to retain students with hand-on-the-shoulder familiarity, tutoring, advice, and counseling to solve situations before they become serious.  Alums who have warm and fuzzy memories are much more likely to contribute. 

Even with all the good words and generosity shown for the alums at this reunion that feeling of not really being there was back with me just as it was 50 years ago.  My education there included a learning experience in the school of hard knocks and it didn't have to be that way.  But that was then and this is now; the people there are all new except for one and he's a good guy.  The magic they tried to work at the 50th did indeed work and my heart will soon be empty of whatever lingering hurt feelings are there.  Life went on and it was good.

Parallel Lives

The blog and booklet, The Linas in Troy Missouri, chronicles the life and times of my grandfather and how he got to where he was in 1952, the year he died.

Upon reflection, there are a lot of parallels between his life and mine.

My grandmother was short in stature, loving, caring, and independent;  and belonged to a womens' group. My wife is likewise and likewise belongs to a womens' group.

He and my grandmother had their three children within four years of marriage, so did we.

He left his pregnant wife with friends and family as a young man and set out to make his fortune in a new part of the world.  I left my pregnant wife with friends and family as a young man to make my fortune in a new part of the country.  We both were reunited with our families a short time after relocating.

Much later in life, when each of us was in our early fifties, we came to a point of transition; he was out of work and so was I.

To make the best of the situation each of us took a flyer on a business idea that was not our own, he the chicken and egg business and me the computer training business.  He didn't make it rich in his business and neither did I; we may both have bought into impossible business models.

He moved to a place strange to to him, Troy Missouri, and I moved similarly to Louisville Kentucky.

He settled into a house two miles off the main road out of town, down a winding road, across a railroad track, and around a bend in the road.  I did the same, two miles down a winding road, across a railroad track, and around a bend in the road.

At his railroad crossing there was a depot, at my railroad crossing there is a church; both of these are structures for arrivals and departures; one from Troy, the other from this world.

His three kids and their families visited him regularly and so do mine, every Christmas and we go there during the year.

So it goes.

An Acre

There is a lot of speculation in the literature about just what was an acre.  It was alternately a measure of area, length, or taxation units, and varied in size from one to another.  

I came up through the ranks of Civil Engineers and earned my way through college as a surveyor, both for construction activities and for establishing boundaries.  It was always to work for a licensed surveyor of one kind or another, never having been myself licensed; yet it was I who did the work and the units and legal descriptions interested me.

Common sense became the rule for the definition of the huge area of land that comprises the United States.  After the original colonial boundaries had already been established using metes and bounds, the Township/Range method of describing land was put in place for the remainder.  

The basic unit of that system is the “Section”, a square one mile on a side; then the Township/ Range, comprised of thirty-six sections.  There are various anomalies  to be considered, not the least of which is spherical excess experienced on long lines due to the fact that the Earth is a sphere but that is one detail that we aren't considering here.

The Section, being a square mile, is by definition 640 acres.  Then the whole thing breaks down very simply into “Quarter Sections” being 160 acres, “Quarter-quarter Sections” being 40 acres, and when these are quartered again there is the 10 acre parcel which very conveniently is one-eighth a mile, or 660 feet, on a side.

This from Wikipedia: “Distances were always measured in chains and links, based on Edmund Gunter’s 66 foot measuring chain.  The chain—an actual metal chain—was made up of 100 links, each being 7.92 inches (201 mm) long.  Eighty Chains constitute one U.S. Survey Mile.” 

It is interesting to note that a convenient ten of these 66 foot chains produces a line one-eighth of a mile long or one side of a 10 acre parcel.  It is my belief that the 100 links were standardized but not intended to be used as a subdivision of the chain as would inches be of feet.

Coming at it a different way, a mile is 1600 meters and also 1760 yards, which just happens to divide into 110 yards (1/16^th of a mile) equaling 100 meters; keeping this in mind it is easy to translate distances.  When one examines the 660 feet, one can see that it is 220 yards or 200 meters because 110 yards is 100 meters (more or less.)  So, 200 meters is very close to 1/8th of a mile, the side of a 10 acre square.  The scientific number is 109.361 yards equals 100 meters.  

It can be seen that in the world of land area measurement for subdivision, the 10 acre lot is the basic unit of land and the acre a way of getting a more precise measurement where the boundaries may not be regular.

Family

Family through Time

Two people

Form a common bond

Then there are more

Uniquely bound

Ups

Downs

Ins

Outs

Bugging

Hugging

Formative years

Spent figuring it out

Then spewed into the world

To make a way

Each finding another

To whom to bond

Then there are more uniquely bound

Carrying the torch

Illuminating the way