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.