A certain reservation

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

.........

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Two centuries ago Samuel Taylor Coleridge penned these lines to a poem called Xanadu (some call it Kubla Kahn). It paints such a beautiful picture in the mind's eye. It was a place called a pleasure dome, a garden paradise, described in glamorous terms. The poem is 5 stanzas long, but I have put the gist of the poem here from stanzas 1, 2, and 5. The last stanza doesn't so much describe Xanadu as it speaks of the king who built it being so enchanted by a maiden there that he could do nothing else except be captivated by her.

I have a special place in my heart for this poem. Perhaps it describes the idyllic place and person that any person would want to have. It might just exist in the mind. Earth might not be able to hold a pleasure dome like this one. But if it did, I would certainly want a reservation to stay there. And while there I would find this maiden with her dulcimer to lull me to stay in this place forever to hear the strains of her music, feed on honey dew, and drink the milk of her paradise.

So idyllic, I know. But if one were to have come through the desert sands and dunes of the great mongolian desert like Kubla Kahn did in the poem, then not only would that person want a reservation there, (s)he would want stay a long time to be drunk from the milk of this paradise, enchanted by the captivating music of the maiden. And if a picture could conjure the same feeling as the poem (without matching its description) it would look like the picture below.

XANADU

When a road plays out

Two roads diverged in yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler. Long I stood,

And looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having, perhaps, the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear

But as for that, the passing there had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

in leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day

But, knowing how way leads onto way, I doubted that I should ever be back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a wood. And I,

I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

I memorized Frost's The Road Not Taken in 7th grade for a speech contest and have remembered it ever since. It has great value to me because of the application I give it to decisions in my life. Every year since 7th grade some kind of major decision has to be made in my life. So, I reflect on this poem, especially the last line. And the last line is true because the last line in the preceding stanza tends to be the axiom of life.

I don't know why it is that I take a path and then all of a sudden it takes a turn. Then the last line of the first stanza is true. I don't trust undergrowths. They hide things on my path. But paths usually have commonalities, so the second whole stanza is true as I evaluate my view of life again given a shot at a choice of two roads - because the one I am on ends and presents two new paths. This happens at least once a year.

So, this year when it happened, I recognized the fork in the road when it first came into view. Because I hate undergrowths, and because the other path had the better claim, I chose the other path. I am so grateful. And at least one friend who has known me a while has commented that I seem happier than I have been in a really long time, certainly a confirmation that the right choice has been made. So, I''ll end this blog where the poem ends. This new path has made all the difference.

Life's GPS

GPS is a great invention. The main function of it, of course, is to help people find their way. Not being lost is vital to enjoying a journey.

Life doesn't really have a GPS to help people navigate it. People in the ancient world used to revere their elders because they were the clan's GPS. When writing came along, proverbs popped up all over the world for people to leave behind what helped guide them to successful living. Later, world religions began positing sacred books for its followers to achieve satisfaction in living.

The best GPS for a person to have is not found in books or proverbs, though. It is in having someone close who adds spring to your step and delight to your life. That person makes the path brighter than it would otherwise be and inspires you to navigate better because happiness adds clarity to thinking and ease to activities.

The inventor of the GPS has also personalized his device by making a name like TomTom for it (and Gorman). That's a great marketing strategy since personalizing something makes it easier to buy in the first place and then continue to use. I have yet to name my phone GPS but that is coming. The analogy to life is great at this point. Those who travel with us and make our journey easier have names. They are very special people. Their names are symbols for happiness and delight.

A numbers kind of day

It's nice always to see new angles about things that aren't so noticeable. Many people hate numbers, but numbers can reveal things about certain matters. Today I dealt with percentages a lot. There were high percentages in some areas and low percentages in others. It was one of those mixed bag operations. But, I did get to see some patterns. Some I wouldn't have expected.

I also like to turn numbers into charts and graphs. Then I can see some patterns more readily. One of the patterns I saw revealed some gaps. I had some notions that the gaps existed, but the numbers in the graph made it crystal clear where the gaps were and also helped me see how large the gaps were. I also saw some categories that indicated problem areas. Now I know what to do. Numbers pointed the way to some possible remedies.

I am usually engaged in the study of words. That's more my field of study. But today numbers were singing loudly and clearly to me. It was a numbers kind of day.

The occasional bray of the donkey

I am listening to the sound of crickets outside as I write now under the blanket of the night. It's very pleasant to look out a window by day to see hills and lake, and delightful to listen by night to crickets and the occasional bray of a donkey. There's something satisfying about that.

But what an overall satisfying day. Breakfast with cousins that I don't see on a regular basis. Lunch with extended family who have traveled from out-of-the-region places. And lovely conversation to end the evening! A person can't have it too much better than that. It tells me that all is well with the world. I like it when the world turns out peaceful. For at least 24 hours I can rest.

Roots

I am getting to be with my dad's family for a day on the weekend. That's good. He has passed from this world, but his family is like him. Same stock. So, I dedicate this Stephen Crane poem to Dad and his family. Spending time with them strengthens me to stand against mountains.

Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied this other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times."
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.

The sweet taste of lemonade

Not long ago I was in a room full of "professionals" who had just seen a presentation of an idea that they in turn would have to give. At the end of it, someone suggested meeting a second time for a practice run. I remember giving the woman one of those incredulous looks.

I believe in preparation all right. But a professional is one who can take an idea and present it after only a mental practice run. (S)He can picture the presentation, the crowd reaction, any activities that might accompany the presentation, and make it come off without a hitch (or fix the hitches as they occur).

The irony is that one part of the presentation dealt with real-world end uses for the theory presented. Life doesn't have practice runs really. At least not like this person was asking for. Life may have some recurring themes so that the second occurrence resembles the first, although not in every aspect, but there are no practice runs. I know that English has the expression that an event "is not someone's first rodeo." But the saying is about experience allowing someone to connect dots better because of similarities in theme. There's never a practice run, though.

I'm still incredulous over the incident. One of my favorite movies is Apollo 13. Astronauts don't get practice runs. In fact, in this movie, based on a true incident, the astronauts take off to go to the moon. They had trained for various scenarios, but their reality was not one of the scenarios practiced. About 15 minutes into the movie, the astronauts experience an oxygen leak. The commander realizes in a very dramatic moment that their trip has just been aborted. After a crescendo of activity there is a silent 3 seconds, then the commander turns to his fellow astronauts and comments, "We just lost the moon!" The rest of the movie was how to get back to earth without any more hitches.

I have learned much from watching a friend and colleague get no practice runs and still produce grand results from facing less than even odds of something coming off without a hitch. It's remarkable to watch - lemonade from lemons every time. All the more remarkable in a world without practice runs. My hat is off in admiration!

Doing what is good, right, and true

Resistance to doing things that are good, right, or true seems to run rampant at times. People would rather exist in the status quo, or not change when the right thing to do is to change. Where I used to marvel at people's willingness to resist, now I understand it better. It follows the wisdom as set forth in this short poem by Stephen Crane who wrote immediately following the Civil War. Of course, the reconstruction era was rife with people who resisted what was good and right and true.

The wayfarer,

Perceiving the pathway to truth,

Was struck with astonishment.

It was thickly grown with weeds.

"Ha," he said,

"I see that none has passed here

"In a long time."

Later he saw that each weed

Was a singular knife.

"Well," he mumbled at last,

"Doubtless there are other roads."

I have come to know that change can be a rather bloody matter.

The lush area of life

The place I find myself in today is very lush. Everywhere is the color of green and the color of flowers. Vines and hay are in the distance. Trees are tall and spread out over the winding road. Houses along this road are mansions with their own ponds, stables, and ponds.

Some areas of our lives are more like the Sahara. But then, some areas of our lives are like the description above. Some areas of our lives have the splash of colors that flowers provide, the branches that shade a winding road, the beauty of vines and ponds along the way.

Those areas, the persons and events that fill them, are worth remembering - forever and often.

Reminders

I'm sitting in a town different from where I live. It's a nice town and I'm here to give tribute to the daughter of someone who really helped in a time of need. I don't mind being here at all.

Beside me on the table is a cap I wear at home, however. It reminds me of where I wear it around my hometown. Just looking at it reminds me of the home scene although I am a considerable distance from the sights and sounds that make the cap come alive.

I suppose we all have those special memories to make us know where we have been and what is important to us. We don't have to be in a place. We just have to see the place in the mind's eye, or hear the voice, or remember the features of a face.

Memories keep us grounded. They tell us that while we are about our business, there's something in the background that is always important, that will always keep us coming back home. Like the ball cap, remembering the place, or the voice, or the face, gives us the vicarious experience to keep the memory alive and to allow us to take care of the temporary business at hand. After the business is completed, those memories turn our feet toward home again every time.

Just a moment

One little pocket of time.

Today was stressful. It started with not finding the proper material for someone who needed material, went to accepting recommendations that didn't at all fit what I wanted, and ended with having to inventory a whole order just to find out that someone couldn't find something sent to him. It could have been a blue day.

But, there was just this one pocket of time, small in comparison to the amount of time spent dealing with the stressful items, but very, very large in comparison to the quality it value-added to my day, that changed the dynamic of the whole day. A bubble of thoughtful meaning for a moment took the sting away for the day.

As I left work for the day, I did not remember too much the moments of stress. I fully remembered that very important pocket of time.