Cranial Pilot

All that we experience, all that we do, depends wholly upon a blind, deaf, mute glob of cells lodged between our ears.

I am fascinated by that marvel of nature, the brain.

Every murder and every war, every kiss and every cuddle, had its origin up there. We have our cranial pilot to thank for every book ever written, every building ever built, every fire lit and every song sung.

Despite its bony helmet,the brain is terribly vulnerable. Any number of chemicals, from caffeine to nitrous oxide, to a slew of natural hormones, can knock it around like a wimp on a football field. We still don't know why some brains go haywire and drive their associated bodies to do horrible things -- and how much of an effect that pyschological trauma, such as a childhood $exual assault, can have on how the brain will behave later in life.

My own brain has a minor peculiarity, a sort of logjam for which I have no explanation. I will be faced with some complex project, unable to wrap my thoughts around it, daunted by the conundrum, sometimes for days -- and then all of a sudden, the logjam breaks, the answer flows free and all I can do is wonder what took so long and why I couldn't figure it out before.

Keys to Success

As I chewed through three years worth of newsclips, columns and Internet printouts this week, I came across two columns that I had saved. Both were written by men with much experience in working with children.

The first, by David Brooks with the New York Times, can be found at http://select.nytimes.com/2006/05/07/opinion/07brooks.html?_r=1 .

The second, by Leonard Pitts with the Miami Herald, can be found here:
http://m.reporternews.com/news/2007/Aug/27/always-keep-your-eyes-on-the-prize/

Each writer discussed a certain, critical skill that every child must possess if he or She is to grow up to be a successful, happy member of society. One is the ability to delay gratification. The other is the ability to focus, to keep "one's eye on the prize."

Perhaps they are more or less the same thing.

Both columns discussed how children who were not taught or did not develop these skills, had a much higher rate of later failure in life, including incarceration.

Something to think about. Parenting is more than providing food, clothing and shelter.

Hope

Until about a week ago, I personally knew only one person who was an adopted child -- grown now into a sweet, affectionate wonderful Lady -- and none who had gone through foster care.

Then someone special whom I know, in the funeral for his Mother last week, revealed the poignant, heart-wrenching details of his early childhood. It was a complete surprise to me. For a reason he did not disclose, he was in foster care for a time, able to see his Mother only every few weeks, and he cried on the porch of his foster home every time that She left, wanting nothing more than to see Her again, praying with all his little heart that each car that passed was Her returning.

This someone special has now grown into a sweet, affectionate man, with a good marriage, highly respected in the community.

Now, just moments ago, I have learned that another person I know was also adopted. She, too, is a fine, fine Lady.

So what is my point? Maybe it is just that if you happen to be an adopted child or in foster care and reading this blog, you should never forget that you are just as wonderful and special a human being as any other. You can achieve your dreams and change the world -- google Dave Thomas for one well-known example. Just because you come from a background in which there was pain and loss, doesn't mean you can't achieve stability in your own future, in the relationships that you will build.

I certainly do not think less of any of the people whom I have mentioned above, now that I know their backgrounds. If anything, I love them all more for who they are in spite of the pain that they have endured.

Ice Cream Man

My Beloved heard the tinkle of the ice cream truck yesterday and had a sudden craving.

Because I do not say no to my Sweetie, I grabbed some change and hiked through the copious dandelion fuzz of my yard to the edge of the street where the truck was idling. Through the haze of its exhaust fumes, I made my request, feeling very silly and trying to make grown-up small talk to cover my embarrassment.



I scored a second hubby-point for picking precisely the flavor of Italian Ice that She wanted, blue raspberry/cotton candy as opposed to mango/pina colada.

When I stepped back inside, gratefully, away from the unseen but surely mocking eyes of neighbors, Sweetie had another idea:

"Maybe you and I should look into buying an ice cream truck. We could make some money that way."

Afternoons of exhaust fumes, annoying music and grubby kids with grubby coins shoving each other in line? I didn't say no. I said we could research it. Maybe She will forget.

New member of the garden family

From a vendor at the Farmer's Market in Williamsburg last week, I bought a fine-smelling pot of Winter Savory, a perennial herb that is new to my ken.

Yes, I am a guy. Yes, I also love herbs. Have since I was a teenager. I firmly reject the notion, revived on certain commercials recently, that "men don't bake," or involve themselves in other, similar activities.

I bristle anytime I hear the old, sad, tired myth that "Women don't" this or "Women can't" that. A Woman can hang sheetrock, fix a car, drive a truck, hit a fastball or pursue a career in science, as well as any man.

And I also get quite annoyed when told that men can't do this or that either, without compromising their manliness. In my opinion, a man can bake chocolate chip cookies, enjoy fine fashion or shopping, style hair for a living and any of the many other things supposedly the provenance of Women, and still be very much a man.

So this here man will find a good, sunny place for this new herb, and snip off a little tonight to put into the ham and butterbean soup that I am making for dinner. And I will cuddle with my Beloved as the darkness falls and enjoy Her delightful company whilst all the belching boneheads of the world who base their manliness on old stereotypes can continue to sit alone in their drab apartments gnawing on t.v. dinners.

A fresh start

How invigorating, how therapeutic, these last five days have been!

I feel as if I have re-awakened to a fresh start on my life.

My Beloved and I have spent some much-needed time together. Together we visited a place sacred to our faith and I feel energized, too, in spirit.

I cleared three years of newsclippings clutter from my study room, along with a great amount of dust.

Life is not easy but life is good.