Thursday, December 16, 2010

On my way to becoming an "unperson"!





An unperson is a person who has been "vaporized"; who has been not only killed by the state, but effectively erased from existence. Such a person would be written out of existing books, photographs, and articles so that no trace of their existence could be found in the historical record. The idea is that such a person would, according to the principles of doublethink, be forgotten completely (for it would be impossible to provide evidence of their existence), even by close friends and family members. Mentioning his or her name, or even speaking of their past existence, is thoughtcrime; the concept that the person may have existed at one time and has disappeared cannot be expressed in Newspeak. Compare to the Stalinist practice of erasing people from photographs after their execution (see photos).


- courtesy of Wikipedia



Friday, December 10, 2010

15 SIGNS YOUR WORKPLACE IS DYSFUNCTIONAL

Albert J. Bernstein PhD, author "Am I the Only Sane One Working Here? 101 Solutions for Surviving Office Insanity"


Does your job drive you crazy? Do you sometimes wonder if you are the only sane person in working there? Is your workplace dysfunctional, or is it you? Here's how to find out.

Based on more than 30 years of experience as psychologist and business consultant, I've put together a checklist of 15 diagnostic signs of a psychologically dysfunctional business. Is it the job, or is it you?

Sign No. 1: Conspicuously posted vision or value statements are filled with vague but important-sounding words like "excellence" and "quality."
These words are seldom defined and the concepts they allude to are never measured.

Sign No. 2: Bringing up a problem is considered as evidence of a personality defect rather than as an observation of reality.
In a dysfunctional company, what it looks like is not only more important than what it is, it is what it is. If you don't believe that, you are the problem. A surprising amount of information is classified. Dysfunctional companies have more state secrets than the CIA. Anything that might embarrass the boss turns out to be a national security issue.

Sign No. 3: If by chance there are problems, the usual solution is a motivational seminar.
Attitude is everything, especially in places where facts are embarrassing or inconvenient. In a dysfunctional family, there's an elephant -- usually a drunken abusive parent -- in the parlor, but no one ever mentions him. To appear sane, you have to pretend that the elephant is invisible, and that drives you crazy. Businesses are full of invisible elephants, too. Usually they are things that might cause difficulties for people with enough clout to prevent their discussion. The emperor may be naked, but if you have a good attitude, you won't mention it.

Sign No. 4: Double messages are delivered with a straight face.
Quality and quantity are both job one. You can do it both cheaper and better, just don't ask how. If you're motivated enough, you should know already.

Sign No. 5: History is regularly edited to make executive decisions more correct, and correct decisions more executive than they actually were.
Those huge salaries require some justification.

Sign No. 6: People are discouraged from putting things in writing.
What is written, especially financial records, is purposely confusing. You can never tell when you might need a little deniability.

Sign No. 7: Directions are ambiguous and often vaguely threatening.
Before you respond to a vague threat, remember this: Virtually every corporate scandal begins with someone saying, "Do it; I don't care how." That person is seldom the one who gets indicted.

Sign No. 8: Internal competition is encouraged and rewarded.
The word "teamwork" may be batted around like a softball at a company picnic, but in a dysfunctional company, the star players are the only ones who get recognition and big bucks.

Sign No. 9: Decisions are made at the highest level possible.
Regardless of what it is, you have to check with your boss before doing it. She also has to check with her boss.

Sign No. 10: Delegating means telling somebody to do something, not giving them the power to do it.
According to Webster's Dictionary, you delegate authority, not tasks. In dysfunctional companies, you may have responsibility, but the authority lives in the office upstairs.

Sign No. 11: Management approaches from the latest best-seller are regularly misunderstood to mean what we're doing already is right on the mark.
"Seven Habits of Highly Effective People," "Good to Great" and "Who Moved My Cheese?" all seem to boil down to, "quit griping and do more with less."

Sign No. 12: Resources are tightly controlled.
Your department may need upgraded software, but there's been a spending freeze since 2006. Cost control is entry-level management, but in a dysfunctional company, anything more sophisticated is considered too touchy-feely. Whatever you propose, the first question you will be asked is if it can be done cheaper.

Sign No. 13: You are expected to feel lucky to have a job and know you could lose it if you don't toe the line.
Dysfunctional companies maintain control using the threat of punishment. Most will maintain that they also use positive rewards ... like your paycheck. A few people are actually fired, but most of those who go are driven to quit.

Sign No. 14: Rules are enforced based on who you are rather than what you do.
In a dysfunctional company, there are clearly insiders and outsiders and everyone knows who belongs in each group. Accountability has different meanings depending on which group you're in.

Sign No. 15: The company fails the Dilbert Test.
Dysfunctional organizations have no sense of humor. People who post unflattering cartoons risk joining the ranks of the disappeared. When an organization loses the ability to laugh at itself, it is headed for big trouble. If you'd get in trouble for printing this article and posting it on the bulletin board at work, maybe it's time to look for another job before this one drives you crazy.



Albert J. Bernstein, Ph.D., is the author of the best-sellers "Dinosaur Brains" and "Emotional Vampires." His newest book is "Am I the Only Sane One Working Here? 101 Solutions for Surviving Office Insanity." For more information on how to stay sane at work, visit Dr. Al's Web site, www.albernstein.com.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Thanksgiving


“It’s not enough to fail. You have to come to feel your failure, to live it through, to turn it over in your hand, like a stone with strange markings. You have to wake up in the middle of the night and hear it whistling around the roof, or chomping in the field below, like some loyal horse.”

- James Fenton


As I sit here at four o’clock in the morning, the day after Thanksgiving, I listen to the wind howl outside and wonder about the disposition of my life. Earlier in the day (on Thanksgiving), I got a message from my sister suggesting that I call, as she and my nieces would all be at my brother-in-law’s house. While I wanted so much to make this call, the effort was so overwhelming that I could not break myself away from the shallowness of my current existence to reach out. I am, as it were, living in my failure.

You see, eight months ago, I had my world stomped on by bullies who told me I could not continue to do the very thing I loved to do. They shoved a vile contract in front of me and forced me to sign the conditions of my demise and I did so in exchange for the money this piece of paper promised. All of you who know me know that I am a fighter but this was a fight that I could not win. I basically rolled over and let those bastards kick me in the side and I was not to say anything about it. I was devastated.

Still, I picked my head up and pushed forward as best I could. It has been hard for me, and it has been hard for Pam but we are persevering, doing the best we can. We’ve been humbled by this experience and we’re struggling but we are pushing forward. There are ups and downs, good days and bad days, but we are managing. We both feel strongly that this is only temporary and are really hoping that temporary will come to an end soon.

For me, this whole experience has made me feel very small…a feeling that I am unaccustomed to. Logic suggests that this would be a great time to catch up with old friends, see more of family, do those things that I have not been able to do because I were too busy before. But when you are small, it is hard to look out when so much of your energy is spent looking in. I am attending to my failure.

Technically, I should be depressed and I have tried hard to do so but to no avail. I think one of the things that has kept me from taking a downward trip is my anger for the injustice I have suffered. Indeed, one of my favorite inward activities is thinking through the various scenarios that see me exacting my but I also realize that when I do this, I am neglecting my failure. And, while it is hard to get out of bed some days, I understand that this experience will help to make me a strong and better person.

So, on this day of thanksgiving (or the day after, in my case), the things that I am grateful for are those things that are helping me to weather the storm: my corgis (oh, they can be so warm and snuggly), my wife Pam (not so warm and snuggly but someone who understands and tolerates me…my partner in life), and our friend Doug (who is not so warm, snuggly, or understanding but who has graciously opened up his home as a refuge for all five of us). Over the last eight months, I am also thankful for the opportunities to create more of my own work, to be able to have the time to read, to have an long and intimate affair with my old friend the television (enhanced by a fantastic selection of DVD’s from the local library), to sleep whenever I want and for however long I desire and to have the ability to live life one day at a time.

I can remember hard times like when I was struggling as a young art student in New York and hadn’t enough money to eat and ride the subway. I remember the time after grad school when Pam and I had to choose between paying the phone bill or paying the rent on our studio. I’ve been through failure before and have come out stronger on the other side. I know that things will turn out okay and that I will be stronger for having lived through this period of my life. I have reached middle age and the trials that I currently face are rapids that I must navigate through. When I do emerge from this turbulent time, stop feeling small, shed my failure, I will be able to make that call and I will reconnect. But for now…patience.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Utopian Sweatpants





SOME POST-ELECTION NOTES:

I am so encouraged to see that so many of my friends voted today. As I sit around in my sweatpants, having a glass of wine and watching the late reports of today's election results, I am reminded of a few things that I would like to share. 

First, we all got to participate in the democratic process and this is one of the things that makes our country great. We should all feel special, no matter what the results were, and celebrate that we had a voice in the selection of our government. 

Second, our democratic republic is based on the idea of balance and I think this is what we witnessed tonight. Maybe, over the past decade or so, the swing in balance has been more drastic than most of us are comfortable with but this swing is a part of the history of the process.

Third, we have elected a government but that does not mean our job is finished. We must be proactive (aside from voting) with being engaged in the process of government. This means having our voices being heard and supporting OUR government in their quest to fix the many struggles that face Americans every day.


Fourth, this is a great country, no matter how you feel about those in leadership. I am growing tired of the "them" versus "us" mentality that has emerged in our culture. Those that have perpetrated terror against us are getting exactly what they wanted when we point fingers at each other, call each other names or try to place blame for the way things are. The election has taken place and this is OUR government, for better or for worse. If you want your congressman or senator or governor or president to know what you think he/she should advocate for, write a letter, sign petitions, join causes. Do whatever you can to speak out and get your message heard...this is our right as Americans but it is a responsibility we all seem to forget about as we live our day-to-day lives.


Lastly, I think that there is far too much polarization in this country. I see divergent opinions being treated as poison and people of different political and social beliefs being set against each other as competitors. Maybe it's because times are lean and things are hard that we find it easy to set these boundaries between one another. I, too, am guilty of engaging in such activities but I am tired...too tired to continue on this path. I want to look forward with hope and optimism and am coming to realize that I can't do it without opening up my mind to finding ways to cooperate rather than alienate.


So, as I sit around here, all comfortable in my "utopian sweatpants," I would like to challenge you all to doing something in the next week that goes towards making OUR country better. If you're a democrat, talk to a republican to find out what their view is of where we should be going and listen with empathy, without passing judgement. If you are a republican, do the same. Write to a newly elected official to congratulate them and express your needs as eloquently as possible. Take your hostility, if you still have some, and turn it into something positive that will actually help OUR country rather than hurt it. It should be all of our duties to come together as Americans rather than finding ways to divide it. 

Rant over!



POSTSCRIPT:

Sweatpants
are an informal variety of trousers intended for comfort or athletic or loungingpurposes. Many jails and juvenile institutions use orange or white sweatpants for their main uniform because of low production cost and uniformity. In Australia, Singapore and New Zealand they are known as track (or tracksuit) pants or, less formally, trakky daks.





Thursday, October 28, 2010

Good Boss, Bad Boss


Just read a great book entitled Good Boss, Bad Boss: How to be the Best and Learn from the Worst. It was written by Robert I. Sutton, Ph.D. who also wrote The No Asshole Rule. Based on recent experiences, this was a great book to read and I encourage anyone who is interested in any sort of professional leadership to pick up this read. While have a plethora of good examples of bad bosses, this book has helped me to refocus on my own skills as a boss. I have linked this entry to Dr. Sutton's webpage and have included a couple of excerpts from the book.

"A host of renowned bosses talk about the importance of thanking people, about the power of this small gesture, and how failure to express appreciation to people who are working their tails off is a sign of disrespect. The late Robert Townsend, former CEO of Avis Rent-A-Car and author of Up the Organization, defined 'thanks' as a 'really neglected form of compensation.' Max DePree, former CEO of furniture giant Herman Miller, described saying 'thank you' as among a leader's primary jobs." - page 96

I can recall countless times in previous jobs where a "thank you" could have gone a long way. I even had one previous boss explain to me that they shouldn't have to say "thank you" and that I should just assume I and my team were doing a good job. I still don't know for sure if this particular boss was a bad communicator or just didn't give a shit about me as a subordinate. While it is personally difficult to work in a thankless situation, I also know that I could have done a better job of showing my appreciation for my employees. So, if any of you are reading this, I hope a late "thank you" is better than nothing and I promise to do better in the future.

"After spending several years immersed in the 'asshole problem' and contemplating cures for bossholes here, I realized there is a central theme implied in much of what I say and write, but rarely spell out: Embarrassment and pride are perhaps the most powerful antidotes to asshole poisoning. Consider this pair of diagnostic questions. If you are a boss, ask yourself: When you look back at how you've treated followers, peers, and superiors, in their eyes, will you have earned the right to be proud of yourself? Or will they believe that you ought to be ashamed of yourself and embarrassed by how you have trampled on others' dignity day after day?" - pages 236-7


Take the test!



Also...



Thanks Dr. Sutton!

Friday, October 8, 2010

My Interview at Fallingwater



On Thursday, October 7th I had the extreme pleasure of interviewing for the position of Curator of Education at Fallingwater. For those who don''t know Fallingwater is Frank Lloyd Wright's masterpiece, an architectural innovation that combines the beauty of a natural waterfall with the incredible design of this American master. This was, for me, a position of prestige and I was very excited about the opportunity to interview for this position.

When I got confirmation of the interview, I was instructed to arrive 15 minutes early as I had to check in at the front gate, park and walk the long gravel path past the house and up the hill to the offices, which were located in the guest house. As I drove through the beautiful Laurel Highlands to get to Fallingwater, my head was filled with thoughts about the interview and how much I would enjoy the rest of my day exploring this area of western Pennsylvania and taking pictures. I had brought my camera, my tripod and my trusted corgi companion Kippie with me this day. It was going to be great!

Somewhere in my immersion of what the day was about to offer, I lost some time and and realized that I was actually a little behind schedule. My heart rate started to climb as I came to the conclusion that I would simply have to make time and I will admit that the drive became a little hairy as I exceeded the speed limit while going up and down some very steep grades and twisting through broad curves and sharp bends. I arrived at Fallingwater just about the time my interview was set to start. I checked in quickly, got directions and speed walked to the administrative offices. The interviewers were very kind as I explained my tardiness and worked to catch my breath. They joked that getting to the interview was one of the challenges they rather enjoyed watching position candidates overcome. I laughed out loud while I panicked within.

So, here I was, sitting in an office at the historic Fallingwater and about to sell myself and all I have to offer to this prestigious landmark and their educational programs. I was a good candidate for this position. I was ready for this interview. I could feel the importance of this place. I was entranced by the beauty of the location. I was also a little nervous! I don't know if it was the adrenaline from the rush to get there or the sense of being overwhelmed by the place, but I was nervous.

One of the side effects of my nervousness is that I become a little chatty. I sometimes use this to my advantage as chatty can also be made to look like confidence. Things were going well, I thought, and then I was asked a fateful question.

Interviewer: "What is it that you, as Curator of Education, would be able to bring to Fallingwater?"

Easy question....I thought to myself. "My love of corgis..." Wait! Did I actually just say that out loud? Oh God, I did...I could tell by the look of surprise of the interviewers' faces. This was a real turning point in the interview, I surmised, and in my busy little mind I plotted a strategy to deal with this slip of the tongue. I had a corgi in the van, in fact, and could provide proof if I felt my back was in a corner.

"Yes. I love corgis and I'm proud of it." I continued...confidence being the pervasive strategy. 

Interviewer: "Yes, we saw the corgis on your web page in various costumes and arrangements."

Oh God, I thought again. Wait...this could actually work. I rolled with it and continued through the interview. I did pretty well I think and now will just have to wait to see if they offer my the position. 

As I continued on with the rest of my day, my faithful companion Kippie by my side, I re-hashed the interview over in my head. There were so many other directions I could have taken the conversation. Corgis, heh....I was either an incredible idiot or and incredible genius. For now, I vote genius...corgi genius.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Kippie's Bad Day....must be Monday!


I was awakened this morning, as usual, by Quinn running restlessly up and down the bed. This is a ritual that is repeated frequently as Pam typically gets up before me these days. As I roused from my slumber, I heard a noise that sounded something like a puke...a soft, swooshy kind of sound. I couldn't convince myself that one of my precious corgis threw up, especially since there was no throaty build-up, but I decided to get up and investigate anyway. And investigate I did. After recognizing only a small splash on the comforter, I continued my examination by placing my right sock right in a small puddle of puke on the floor. (Yes, I was sleeping with my socks on last night!) This was not a good omen for the day to come.

After breakfast, Pam and I were hanging out, watching the morning news and trying to take care of some of the minor tasks we had in line for the day. We were having a quiet morning and Kippie seemed content to stay settled rather than participate in the raucous wrestling that has come to mark the dogs' morning routine. It was a nice calm morning and then BAM! A scuffle broke out between Kippie and Quinn. Pam and I both jumped on Kippie to try and correct the situation but all we did was scare him to the point that he peed on himself. "He's gonna need a bath," Pam exclaimed as she relegated Kippie to the back yard to think about things. I'm not sure but, looking back on these events, I can't help but wonder if the poor little fellow just wasn't feeling well.


As Pam and I continued through our day, we were preparing to head to town to run some errands. As I gathered some things together (job applications don't ya know), Pam let the dogs out to do their business. Recently, we've been working with a dog whistle and giving them a treat for coming back when we call. Oonie and Kippie are mildly excited by this game but Quinn immediately starts to wait for you to blow the whistle once he's out. On this afternoon, he was hiding in the bushes waiting for the game to begin so he could instantly claim his treat. After Quinn was inside, I could hear Pam calling and whistling for the other two corgis. As Kippie finally approached the house, I could hear Pam yelling "Oh my God!" When I inquired as to the problem, Pam could only say in reply, "No, this is really bad...really, really bad." When I looked out on the back porch I could see that Kippie had found–and scented himself with–the worst, nastiest, grossest, green coyote poop you could ever imagine. He stood there with a proud and confuse look as the shit ran down his back. Pam began to think out loud about moving him in to the bathtub when I encouraged her to go for the nearby garden hose. Poor, poor Kippie. Having a spray down bath with cold, cold water. (Remember, I wore socks to bed last night.) Kippie's emotions ran the gamut from frustration to sadness and he was a pitiful sight to see sitting there shivering. The smell was awful but we got him good and soaped up, then we rinsed him off thoroughly. He felt much better when he had the chance to shake himself off and get rubbed down with a towel. He's kind of funny when he's wet because he has a way of shaking his butt out so that it puffs up first. When we finally got Kippie inside, we quickly gathered ourselves up and headed off on our errands. About half way to town, we realized we forgot the things we needed to drop off. Oh...the distractions only a corgi could bring!


When we got back to the house Kippie seemed to be in a much better mood. All three of the dogs were really glad to see us and gave us the usually enthusiastic greeting. I struggled to move past them and carry my bags into the kitchen when..."KIPPIE!" Someone had yakked in the kitchen and you-know-who got the blame. Anyway, some days it's just not your day and TODAY was just NOT KIPPIE"S DAY. Better luck tomorrow my plushy little friend.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Apple Butter 17

Every year since their wedding, our friends Janine and John have held an “Apple Butter Festival” to commemorate their anniversary. I am ashamed to say that it has taken Pam and I seventeen years to finally attend. I was a little nervous knowing what a big event this was and that I was coming in seemingly as a stranger. It ended up being an awesome time for both Pam and I.

It’s said that ritual is an aspect of culture that helps to bring people together and Apple Butter is just such a ritual. The entire weekend is centered around a large copper kettle that contains the ingredients of this amazing concoction. The kettle is propped up by a steel tripod, which suspends the works over a smoky wood fire. The blend in the kettle must be stirred constantly to keep the mixture from burning and everyone in attendance takes a turn to keep the butter churning. This year the pot started cooking at 11:00 a.m. and went until about midnight before the mixture was declared to be “done.”

While the fire and the kettle were the center point of the festivities, there were many ancillary activities that occurred around the focal point. The younger attendees kept themselves busy with football, soccer, ping pong and a variety of other games. There was a tie-die station, an arts and crafts table and, of course, lots of food. It seems that all who attend bring something for the table so there was a wealth and variety of delicious sustenance. It was all so good and it was difficult to pace myself during the day. Other distractions included hay-rides, a water bottle rocket launching competition, glow sticks, and the company of some really cool people. It was great for Pam to see her old friends again and I really enjoyed meeting Janine and John’s family and friends. A truly nice group of people.

Sometime after midnight, Janine began to test the ingredients in the kettle to see if they were ready. Once they got to the right consistency, she added the spices and the butter continued to be turned over the open fire. When everything had a good chance to merge together, the fire was removed and the butter was parceled into small jars. Everyone there devoted themselves to the production of bottling the apple butter, helping with the pouring, wiping the jars, putting on the lids and sorting the jars out on two tables. It was quite a production. I’m not sure how many jars they ended up with but there had to be at least a couple hundred.

After the apple butter was set aside, the fire was restored to the fire pit and we sat around listening to the lids of the jars contract as a vacuum was created within. The popping sound the jars made was an interesting contrast to the cool country night. We sat up for a while before retiring to our tent the catch a few winks.

In the morning, everyone chipped in the break down the little village that had emerged out in the field around where the apple butter was cooking. We got our share of the apple butter, said our goodbyes and headed for home. During our drive, we reminisced about how much fun Apple Butter 17 was and promised ourselves that we would attend again.

Thanks for a great time Janine and John and happy anniversary. See you next year.





Saturday, September 25, 2010

I love my Corgi dogs!!!!

A picture is worth a thousand words.
Here's a few from our camping trip.

An American Exile: If a deer poops in the woods…(conclusion).


So, we returned home in our own sweet time and brought a conclusion to our journey. What began as an exile, in the negative sense of the word, actually turned out to be a healthy time away from what was–up to that time–a very stressful time in my life. We had planned on a grand adventure to an area of the country that Pam and I were both eager to see and failed in our original intention. What emerged was a voyage of surprise and a passage through a stream of personal emotion. The fresh air, the sites we saw, the time away from everything provided for an interesting contrast to the gloomy backdrop we had come to find ourselves against.

Our return marked that it was time for us to stop looking backwards and to start looking forward. This was the first time since in the nineteen years Pam and I have been together that we have not been involved with the beginning of the school year in some form or fashion. Remarkably, the current situation was not much different from the time right after graduate school when it seemed our calling in art was so far away. It was reassuring to know that, like then, we would find fabulous opportunities that would guide us through the next several steps of our careers.

I thought back over our travels and recalled those memories that would seemingly stick with me now that we had completed our trip. I remembered the sound of the falls at Presque Isle and how entranced I was by the traveling waters. I remembered Quinn’s celebration of the new larger tent with laps that were punctuated by him throwing himself into the nylon corners in order to make the 90-degree turns. The sight of this from the outside of the tent was hilarious as the whole structure would shake and jiggle. I recalled trying to sleep in the minivan with Pam, Pam’s cot and three restless corgis during a wind-driven thunderstorm. I reminisced about the eerie feeling of loneliness I had walking back from a night shoot at the falls in pitch-blackness. Despite feeling alone, however, it was hard not to imagine all of the things that could be lurking in the dark just outside of the beam of my flashlight. I thought about how stressful and how fun it was to spend so much time alone with Pam and my three beautiful corgis. There was the thrill of seeing the beauty of the Upper Peninsula, the sunsets and sunrises, the many waterfalls, a full rainbow in the middle of a thunderstorm, and the sheer awesomeness of Pictured Rocks. There were the sustaining elements of free wi-fi at the occasional McDonald’s, the amazing fire pit grill I was given years before, the warmth of a snuggly dog on a cool night, and, of course, the cinnamon rolls at the Falling Rock Café.

There we many memorable aspects to our journey but one phenomena that seems to really stand out has to do with the wildlife we encountered. There were prairie dogs, bison, elk and numerous birds and waterfowl but it is my encounters with the deer that sticks in my mind. On one of my hikes through the Porcupine Mountains, I stopped to photograph the rushing waters of the river that ran parallel to the trail. Kippie waited patiently while I took my pictures. After I finished, I grabbed Kippie’s leash and stood up to see three white-tail deer in front of me. Kippie was oblivious. I marched towards them softly, camera in hand and was amazed at how calm they were. They stood and watched me as intently as I watched them and then, the one closest to me took on a strange pose as it stared in my direction. I couldn’t believe it! This deer was taking a crap right in front of me. After the deer scampered off into the woods, I couldn’t wait to tell Pam and show her my prize picture. This had to be some sort of sign! Pam humored me and assured me that seeing a deer take a dump in the woods was not that big of a deal. I insisted this had to be some sort of a sign…what was that deer trying to tell me?

Almost a week after the pooping deer incident, Pam and I took a long hike to the Lake Superior shoreline at Chapel Rock in the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. As we were hiking back, trying desperately to make it back to our car before the sunset, Pam stopped me along the trail. She pointed to a deer, not far from us just off the trail. I raised my camera to my eye and stealthily approached the deer. As the deer moved, I moved and Pam whispered at how beautiful a creature this doe was. As I quietly pursued the deer, it stopped and took a crap. “Holy shit,” I thought to myself, “two pictures of two deer pooping in the woods.” This really had to mean something! As I continued following the animal, I remembered Walter Hastings and began assaulting this poor deer with my flash…just to say I did it. This finally encouraged my friend to head of deeper into the woods. I turned to Pam and said; “See? What are the odds of that happening twice?” Pam admitted that it was odd, but left speculation as to the message of the “deer gods” to me.

While I am still pondering these encounters, I have yet to determine their true meaning. Were the deer telling me not to be afraid, to “crap in the face of danger”? The deer’s irreverence was unmistakable. Were they telling me that you just have to do what you have to do? Was it a message of vulnerability they were sharing with me? I was confused. As I tried to decipher this message in the context of my entire journey, I pondered my situation. Perhaps the antlered deities were re-assuring me that it was okay to be on unemployment, maybe they were telling me not to take it personally that I was replaced by someone nearly half my age with a quarter of my experience. Maybe they were simply encouraging me to reclaim some of my earlier irreverence and to be true to myself instead of being someone living a charade. It was hard to narrow down exactly what I should take away from this experience…besides pictures.

Deer poop aside, this was an excellent adventure that was a much needed distraction from the worries of my life. It was a great chance to think, to fill my experience with amazing scenery, and it gave me the opportunity to find a way to feel better about my situation. I looked at this as an exile but it turned out to be a wonderful encounter. This exile gave me the chance to rework my understanding of the American dream and I made new connections to my work and my life. All-in-all, not a bad deal. I was refreshed and now ready for new adventures. An American exile would become my dream…a dream that will sustain me for the second half of my life. Wish me luck!


Friday, September 24, 2010

An American Exile: Let sleeping bears lie!



After three days of exploring the Pictured Rocks area, it was time to start making our way back home. We broke down our camp, made one more stop at the Falling Rock Café, and headed east. We made a plan to go to Whitefish Point on the way, so we headed in that direction.

During the day we zigzagged along county roads and arrived at the Whitefish Point Lighthouse just as the sun was going down. Maybe it was the extra cups of coffee and the cinnamon rolls we had at the café, maybe it was the extra scenic stops along the way, or maybe it was our sense of not being in a hurry but it seemed as though we mistimed this particular stop on our adventure. Pam really wanted to make a stop at Whitefish Point because of the beach and the numerous dead wood that seemed to wash up there. This spot, where Lake Superior narrowed into the straits, was littered with bleached ghosts of former trees…a pretty impressive sight really.

Pam was a little disappointed that we missed this opportunity so I devised a plan to stay there overnight. We headed to the nearest town where we were met by an 8-foot sculpture that included the greeting “Welcome to Paradise.” It was fitting that our greeter was a chain saw hewn bear in full hunting garb complete with a shotgun. Paradise???...Okay I’ll buy it!

We spent the night at the Vagabond Motel where I was beginning to be overwhelmed by the irony of this particular layover. After nearly two-and-a-half weeks on the road, we finally got to sleep in a real bed. We showered, we snacked, had some libations and rested our bones. Oddly enough, I had trouble sleeping and was glad to get going the next day.

After spending some time at Whitefish Point, we moved south and then east towards Sault Ste. Marie. I was determined to see the locks of the Soo so I could cross that particular item off my list of things to do. We got to see two incredibly gigantic cargo vessels pass through the storied locks. It was a very cool thing to see!

As we continued south towards Michigan’s lower peninsula, we chased some very dramatic thunderstorms. It was ironic, I thought, that we started out being chased by the weather and now, I was hunting it. This made for an interesting drive and some interesting photographs. We arrived late to our destination and set up camp at the D.H. Day campground in Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. I could tell Pam was tired because she strongly questioned why we were going to a “day camp.” This was perhaps, a flashback to her days at the Arts Camp.

The next couples of days were pretty uneventful as we explored the dunes, relaxed on the beach and hung out at the campsite. I was a little sad knowing that our adventure would soon be coming to an end but I was also excited to get back to things and start moving forward. I knew that I would not return the same person as when I left. As the momma bear of the legend had ended her journey on the shores of the Leelenau Peninsula, so too would I.


Wednesday, September 22, 2010

An American Exile: Screw the elements…and while I’m at it, screw you too!






After a week in the Porcupine Mountains, Pam and I headed east again. While we enjoyed the beauty of the area and the many waterfalls, we were really looking forward to seeing the amazing features of the Lake Superior shoreline in the Pictured Rocks area. We drove to the Bay Furnace campsite in Christmas, Michigan and set up camp once more.

On the first day, we took some time to set up our campsite, do some laundry and, again, recharge all of our batteries. We found a great little coffee place in Munising called the Falling Rock Café, plugged in and grabbed some great coffee. While we were waiting for laundry and waiting for batteries we got a pasty…Michigan’s strange version of a calzone. That was interesting but the cinnamon rolls were out of this world. For the next several days, we would spend lots of time here, drinking coffee, using the Internet and pouring through the stacks of old books in their collection.

I found a strange old book their called Hunting with a Flashlight and a Camera. Looking through the pictures in this book, I was reminded of some of the photographs in the Hastings Nature Museum at Interlochen. Walter E. Hastings was somewhat of a naturalist who hunted with his camera. The pictures he took of deer with a strobe flash always amused me. The clash of nature and technology was never so obvious and the resulting “deer in the headlights” images were far too much to bear without a chuckle.

Over the next few days we explored the Pictured Rocks area. Pam drew and painted some more and I hiked and photographed like crazy. It seems I was really in a groove and my creative drive had clearly stuffed all of my anxiety way down into a deep place. I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in a while...optimism. I could clearly feel that becoming an artist again was a process that was going to see me through this transition.

I think the sign that things had finally started to turn was that the weather was not bothering me anymore. I was driven to make more work, my vision was becoming more focused, I was really starting to feel a sense that I was in control and I reveled in being out in the elements. This exile of mine had turned from something oppressive to a journey of transformation. I could feel the victim in me fading away and I could feel my confidence re-emerging. No, the weather wasn’t bothering me at all. In fact, I was feeling irreverent. “Screw the elements,” I reminded myself…”and while I’m at it screw you too!” I felt my old self a little bit, ready to kick ass and take names later. But that would have to wait. First, I had some art to make.


An American Exile: Going Off The Grid




We could only stay at our site in the Union Bay campground for two days as the busy Labor Day weekend was approaching and there were lots of reservations. We decided that we would pick up and head to the other end of Porcupine Mountains State Park to the more remote campgrounds near the Presque Isle waterfalls.

Overnight, the rain had started, was heavy at times and continued intermittently through the morning. Our tent was soaked and, once we ventured outside, we found that it was sitting in a gigantic puddle. I was surprised at how little this bout of weather was affecting my spirits. We had some coffee, some oatmeal, broke camp, and took hot showers before heading to our next location.

When we arrived at the Presque Isle campground there was only one sight that was available through the long weekend. We took it, staked out our site and set up our wet tent. By this time it had stopped raining but there was definitely more coming. We unloaded what we could out of the van and into the tent and set up a strategy for the weekend. It was Thursday and the weather seemed as though it was going to be iffy until Saturday. We would head into the nearest town to do laundry, re-stock our supplies and recharge our batteries–literally, we were running low on power and would be in our remote location for four days.

During our re-stock, we stopped in Walmart and decided on a new, larger tent. Our current tent was a little tight, especially with the two cots, three corgis and Pam’s new stool (her souvenir from North Dakota). We found a great tent that gave us lots of room….We could sleep without touching the sides, we could stand up to change our clothes, and we could get out of Quinn’s way when he decided to run amok. Our new purchase along with fresh supplies, clean clothes and recharged batteries for all of our devices put us in pretty good spirits as we headed back to the campsite. Our strategy would be to sleep in the van so that we wouldn’t have to deal with the weather…what a smart choice that turned out to be!

Through that night and the next day there was lots of rain and the wind was steadily picking up. We pretty much stayed in the van all day, having set it up like a lounge with pillows, blankets and our folding chairs. Hunkering down and blowing off the entire day like that was relaxing and gave me the chance to clear my mind by doing some NY Times crossword puzzles…an activity that I find soothing and stimulating all at once.

As the sun went down and the wind picked up, I noticed that the sunset was going to be fantastic. I grabbed my camera and headed to the beach to take advantage. When I got to the bottom of the long wooden staircase, I was floored to see Lake Superior take on the character of the ocean. The light was beautiful, the waves were big and angry and crashing on the rocks. This was awesome!

We had picked a spot where we were off the grid…no cell phone coverage, no Internet, no electricity…and it was beautiful here. I hardly noticed the rain in my excitement of the moment and felt an overwhelming sense of my surroundings. As I photographed, I worked my way down the beach to the mouth of the river, then, as the light faded, I worked my way up the path that ran next to the river. By the time I made it back to the campsite it was completely dark and my shoes were soaked but I didn’t care because I had such a great time chasing the light and taking pictures. I started to realize that maybe this was why I was in “exile.”

By the time the weather broke it was Saturday. I spent the rest of the weekend hiking through the many trails around the falls and taking pictures. I was feeling really great, getting lots of exercise and making lots of great photographs. Quinn and Kippie accompanied me on many of my various hikes and helped me to explore the area around the falls. It was great to have time to myself, to be able to think clearly and not feel stressed. Pam spent her time drawing at various locations and hanging out with Oonie.

I seemed to find some strength in the beauty and power of the many falls and cascades that dominated the landscape. The Ojibwa had called this area kaugabissing, "the place of the porcupines," and I remembered that the porcupine was seen as a symbol of gentle innocence and trust. I pictured myself as a porcupine, donning a fierce exterior complexion but possessing a soft underside…my enigma, as it were. This was my strategy for dealing with the world, for keeping people at arm’s length…my protection. The porcupine’s quills are stout protection from many predators except the kingfisher. Pam and I learned at Sullys Hill Nature Preserve in North Dakota, that the kingfisher was the one hunter who knew to attack the porcupine from its soft underbelly. The method of my recent demise started to make sense and I began to put it all in perspective. I had fallen victim to a clever predator. Perhaps I would have to re-evaluate my defenses.

Regardless of this rationalization, I was off the grid and feeling safe. This part of the Upper Peninsula was a great place in which to find distraction and sort things out in my head. The disappointment and peculiarity of the previous week…even the previous months…started to fade away and, though we didn’t make it to our planned destination, I felt that we had found a great place to hide.

Friday, September 10, 2010

An American Exile: A Break in the Weather






So, we headed east with our sick vehicle. When you know your transmission could go at any moment, every mile is an adventure. We briefly stopped in Grand Forks, North Dakota to visit some friends…a nice distraction from our troubles. We walked the dogs by the river before heading out of town and I took some night photographs by the bridge.


It rained most of the time we were driving back towards Michigan. We slept in the car at a rest stop because I really just wanted to get somewhere and plant myself for a little bit. I was getting tired of so much transition. We didn’t really know where we were going, just that we wanted to at least get to the Upper Peninsula so that if something did happen to the van, I could get to the truck without too much trouble. By Tuesday afternoon, we had put a pin on the map in the Porcupine Mountains. We would head there and camp for a few days. We headed for the east end of the park towards Union Bay campground.


When we arrived, we booked a site for two days. It was a modern campground, which meant electricity, flush toilets and showers. We lucked out and were able to get a spot right on the shore of Lake Superior. Gradually, we pulled apart our still damp gear and set up camp. Pam and the corgis were especially happy to get out of the car and we looked forward to relaxing. We cooked a hot meal, took showers, and reorganized our stuff.


On Wednesday, the sun was shining, it was warm and we had a great view. Finally, something was going right for us. The five of us hung out on the rocks next to the shore and basked in the sun. The warmth was amazing and it seemed to breath life into my spirits. In the afternoon, we drove around the park and took in some of the beauty of the natural environs of the U.P. This was the distraction we had been looking for. There was finally a “break in the weather.”

An American Exile: Defeat



From Devil’s Lake we continued west along US 2 to Minot. We were soggy from the rain and half our stuff was strewn across the back of the van in a useless effort to try and dry out. The trip was gloomy with dark clouds and more rain and the high humidity made everything we touched damp.

Once we reached town, we headed for Ron’s Transmission & Auto Repair. The shop was a dingy, greasy garage that was strewn with cars, parts and dirty equipment. Ron was a quiet sort who jumped right in to our problem with concern. He had Pam start the car and pulled out the transmission stick. He touched the stick with his left forefinger and thumb, rubbed them together and mumbled something about the fluid. He smelled the fluid, rubbed some more on his fingers, smelled, rubbed…I’m not sure but think he might have tasted it too. Anyway, after a pretty careful deliberation he blurted out: “yup, it’s burnt all right!” I stared at the sharply bent brim of his cap hoping to get a glimpse of his eyes…hoping for some clue that this wasn’t a big deal and we could continue on our trip. Sadly, all I got was that the transmission was definitely going to “go” at some point, could be ten miles, could be ten thousand miles but it was definitely going to “go” at some point. He suggested that we fill the transmission up with fresh fluid (it was low from our little incident) and hope for the best. While he performed this task, Pam and I both used the bathroom, trying desperately not to touch ANYTHING.

Later, we found little solace at Buffalo Wild Wings, one of our favorite spots to stop. We could feel the defeat and that feeling ran deep. Pam and I sat there solemnly eating hot wings and trying to figure out what we were going to do. We were both really edgy at this point. A week of traveling with what seemed like no ups and mostly downs, contending with the elements, and putting up with each other. With all that had been going on, this seemed almost like too much to bear. We were beaten and still waiting for the other shoe to drop. We decided to head in the direction of home, knowing that we could not return to the place we were staying for two more weeks, knowing that our transmission could seize up at any minute. Given our situation, we did the only thing we could do at that moment and headed back towards Michigan hoping that the minivan would make it. It was almost as if we were being forced back to the very thing we were running from in the first place. We limped back towards home knowing that there was no home.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

An American Exile: Paul Bunyon Was A Loser!


The next couple of days of our journey became kind of a blur. We headed out of Michigan (finally!) and made our way through Wisconsin before stopping for an overnight somewhere in Minnesota. Pam, the corgis and I seemed to be settling into a road rhythm of sorts…driving, pit stops, sightseeing and the occasional wrong turn. Pam stopped at a cheese shop in Wisconsin for cheese curds or “squeaky cheese” as she terms them. Before heading into North Dakota, we stopped in Bemidji to see their Paul Bunyon and Babe the Blue Ox statues. They were incredibly folksy-looking and we did the usual tourist pictures…with the dogs included of course.


As we wandered around the adjacent Indian outpost, I thought about how Paul Bunyon was a great American folk hero and how I could incorporate him into the tale of my life as I made this trek. Once we were on the road again, I mentioned my plans to Pam and insisted that I needed to read the Paul Bunyon stories again to refresh my memory. “He lost!” she blurted and continued to fill me in on some of the details. I immediately realized that this was a bad omen. How could I embrace an American hero who lost by inches. It was almost as if I would have to concede that I had come so close only to be set back to square one.


So, I set out to learn a little about this folk hero and his sturdy blue companion. To make a bad feeling worse, I learned that Paul Bunyon was probably more of a marketing ploy than a character that had developed out of the lore of this area of the country. My optimism sunk as I realized the symbolism of this discovery. Here I was struggling through an American experience, looking for insight, looking for hope, looking for inspiration and I was slapped down by a fiction of our long capitalist system. Marketing is one of the things that is really wrong with this country. We spend so much time, energy and money in creating the impression of how things are instead of really making things right. The banking system is completely fucked up, taking money from the government and then throwing people out of their homes yet there are more bank commercials than ever painting some rosy picture of the services they provide. BP fucks up an entire ecosystem and then spends millions and millions to improve their image instead of going the extra mile to really make things right. Maybe this is the result of capitalist competition or maybe it’s because of TV and the Internet but why do we, as a country, allow ourselves to be scammed in this way and why do we embrace marketing as such an important part of our culture. Marketing is a form of lying and there is way too much falsity nowadays.


Anyway, after this revelation, I had a strange feeling hanging over me. We headed through North Dakota approaching Devil’s Lake. We would stop for a peek but then would continue towards Montana. Our plans, however, were abruptly interrupted by a smoking car and a swift turn to the shoulder of the highway. I had a flashback to earlier days when I jumped out of my 1972 Camaro only to find the rear wheel on fire. There was a moment of panic as Pam popped the hood and I looked inside to see where the smoke was coming from. No fire, thank God, but there was oil all over the engine. We reached out to AAA as we realized we were in the middle of nowhere. As we hooked up the minivan, the conclusion was some sort of problem with the transmission but there were signs that this wasn’t too bad. We straggled into Devil’s Lake considering our prospects for answers at 6:00 p.m. on a Friday evening. We would have to hold up here for a while and possibly reconsider our plans. At least we have the luxury of time.


Friday, August 27, 2010

An American Exile: Hitting the Road















So, I began the trek, this “exile” with a mathematical problem…how do you load yourself, your spouse, three dogs and everything we would need for our three weeks on the road into the minivan without a fight. The solution…you don’t. The negotiations were fierce and traumatic–just as any situation where you are forced to give up precious commodities–but we did manage to get down to a minimum and hit the road.


Off we went! The plan is to head up through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan as we swing our way out west towards Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks. Our first stint was a short one due to a late start but we did manage to make it to Fayette where we were told of some amazing remnants of the iron industry. Driving from the Lower Peninsula into the Upper Peninsula is kind of like a time warp…almost like driving back into the 1960’s…but it is beautiful!


Everyone survived this first leg despite feeling a bit homeless and a bit restless. We parked in a rest area the first night and slept in the van. This was not the most comfortable of situations, especially with three fidgety corgis, but we made due and were able to head out rather quickly in the morning.


When we got going, we immediately made our way down the small neck of land towards Fayette and visited the historic town there that was built around the iron furnaces. The weather was beautiful and it was a great place to waste away the morning looking at the restored buildings and iron works. It’s amazing to think about all the people who lived and worked there up until the iron production shut down in 1906. I keep thinking about the phrase “eke out a living” and can’t help but wish that I was doing that right now rather than wandering the country. But, seeing this iron town, and especially the schoolhouse, reminded me of how much the “American Dream” has changed.


When I was in fourth grade, we had a social studies book entitled “The American Dream” and, for some reason, this title has stuck with me all of this time. Perhaps it was because my parents both were shining examples of how things worked in America. My dad was a self-employed roofer with no more than an eighth grade education. He had worked with the carpet company his family had come to the U.S. with before serving in World War II, he worked hard, made his living and helped to take care of his family in a kind and gentle manner. My mother, in comparison, held a master’s degree and was a female corporate executive for a pharmaceutical company. She was a tough woman who aspired to run her family in much the same way she had to survive in the corporate world…through aggressive management and intimidation. Despite their divergent backgrounds however, my folks fell in love, got married and raised a family. They both worked hard and my sister and I were provided with a solid upper middle-class upbringing. Now, as I stand and look at the re-creation of the old schoolhouse, I can’t help but feel sad at how bad things have gotten in this country and how the American dream I grew up with has been scrambled into a waking nightmare.


As we continued west past Fayette, I kept thinking about the idea of scratching out a living. Here we were, driving through some very remote communities and I wondered about who lived there, what they did for a living, how they paid their bills. I was feeling encouraged in a way, started to feel a little better. After all we were in some beautiful country and the scenery in itself was incredibly uplifting but then we stumbled across something quite poignant…and old crumbling school in the middle of nowhere. We stopped because of the site of this large decaying building and I was enjoying taking pictures until I noticed the desks through a broken out window. The symbolism of finding this remnant at this time in my travels was powerful. Was it a reminder of my decaying American dream or a metaphor for my own disenfranchisement from my career in education? Regardless, it made me feel a little unsettled again and I was anxious to keep moving west.
As time ran out on our daylight, we turned into a campsite on the shores of Lake Gogebic just as the moon was coming up over the horizon. At least for now, we could settle in and not feel so homeless. It’s surprising how the wonders of hot food, flush toilets and a shower can change your perspective. Hopefully tomorrow, we can get the hell out of Michigan and push westward.