Blog Posts

Up close and personal...

2/12/2018

The Winter Olympics are well underway, and a local sportswriter wrote disparagingly this morning, saying no one is watching or interested because there are no stars.

I beg to differ. I'm old enough to remember Jim McKay and the "Up Close and Personal" segments on the athletes - not just the US athletes, but also athletes from other countries who might be complete unknowns to the US audience.

It was a great way to follow the Olympics, and I often found myself rooting for people like Soviet skaters Irina Rodnina and Alexander Zaitsev after hearing their stories. I discovered the incredible Jean-Claude Killy, and learned about the Norwegian ski-jumpers. It broadened my world to see sports I'd never seen like luge, and realize that athletes in other countries had the same hopes and dreams as the US athletes.

So, my original intention was to write about how this time I’m watching curling and beginning to understand how it works, and enjoying athletes from other countries, not just the US athletes. In a way, I enjoy our athletes more because I see them as part of a greater whole.

But when I started to write about Jim McKay, I found myself remembering how he anchored the coverage of the terrorist attack on the Israeli athletes in Munich, and the weight of grief in his voice when he announced that they were all dead. He is the only sportscaster to win a news Emmy, which he won for that coverage.

He was the host of ABC’s Wide World of Sports, and you always wanted to tune in because you never knew what or who you might see. He had a gift for fitting in no matter the sport or the athlete.

For a time, he covered the Triple Crown, and although it was hard to let go of the quirky Heywood Hale Broun and the great Jack Whittaker, I came to love Jim McKay at the Kentucky Derby as well. It seemed he had the same affinity with the horses that he did with the human athletes.

More than any broadcaster, sports, news or commentary, Jim McKay was the embodiment of the spirit of the Olympics. His genuine expression of interest and wonder made our common humanity a reality, even if only for an hour and a half, or a week or two.

Take care,

Doc

Super...duper?

2/5/2018

Yesterday was the Super Bowl. I watched the first half, then turned it off, though I did check the score periodically until the end of the game. Today, I watched Good Morning Football so I could hear Nate, Peter, Kay, and Kyle give their takes on the game, and see some of the key plays I missed.

More and more I have found that my greatest pleasure in football is in the analysis of it. That probably makes a lot of folks cringe. Me too, in a way. I do remember the awe I felt watching Lynn Swann make an impossible reception of a Terry Bradshaw pass, and there's no question I can still feel that awe with Antonio Brown and Ben Roethlisberger.

The thing is, I can't forget the sight of Ryan Shazier lying on the ground unable to move his legs in Cincinnati last fall. Yes, he is back up on his legs now, with help, but I still can't forget. Nor can I forget listening to Terry Bradshaw talk with Arsenio Hall about his experience of dementia, a souvenir from his playing days. The hit on Brandin Cooks yesterday made me feel sick.

It isn't that people should take risks - life is a risk. We can't hide in our houses and cower in fear that something might happen. Heck, I could trip on a chair leg or an electrical cord at home and break an arm.

A rock formation in Arches National Park in Moab, Utah that reminds me of the Lombardi Trophy

With the Winter Olympics coming up, there are plenty of sports I watch that are dangerous, like luge and snowboarding. Two of my all-time favorite sports are horse racing and Indy Car racing, and those are also dangerous. I remember watching the Breeders Cup the day Go for Wand broke down. There were two races with breakdowns that day, and I cried my way through the races, but I didn't turn the television off.

Steve Haskin wrote an incredible blog post a couple of years ago, One Death too Many, which brought up some similar questions. He started it off by saying: There comes a breaking point in every person’s life when you ask yourself if your passion in life is worth the heartache that accompanies it.

I took this picture of Unbridled's Song the day I met him, one of my favorite racehorses

That's a choice we have to make when we love anyone or anything. After my yellow Lab Blarney died, one of my neighbors said that was why she didn't have pets. She just couldn't bear to lose them.

I understood, but if I hadn't been willing to lose Blarney, I never would have had the indescribable joy of living with her for the six-and-a-half short years of her life. I had her from the time she was eight weeks old, and remember taking her to Cape Cod for a week, looking into her eyes one night and saying, "Who are you?" And I remember the night she tangled with a skunk, and even after several tomato juice baths she still had an intense smell. She was so upset she wanted to sleep right next to me, and I didn't have the heart to push her away. And I remember her grinning with delight as the kids in the neighborhood would step on her toes and inadvertently pull her tail and ears. She never growled, never nipped, she just loved it.

So I suppose you could say the football players are willing to take the risks of the game. And that's fair enough. But when I feel sick at so much of what I see as I watch, I wonder have I reached the point where the sickness outweighs the awe.

Whether it's football, horse racing, or Indy Car, I study the players/horses/jockeys/drivers, I know the owners, I know the teams and trainers, the pit crews and coaches, and I love weighing the possibilities and strategies and then seeing how it all plays out.

I don't pretend to have any answers, for myself or anyone else. What I do know, is that, like Steve, I need to ask the questions.

Take care,

Doc

Blarney, with my parents, many years ago - my mother loved Blarney so much she let her on the porch furniture!

The gift of Dibs...

1/29/2018

I just finished reading Dibs: In Search of Self again. It is my favorite book, ever, and it isn't even a novel. It's the story of a five-year-old boy whose parents and teachers believe he may be retarded or in some way mentally deficient, and of how he discovers the inner strength to be himself with the help of a therapist and the practice of play therapy.

The story of Dibs was written in 1964, and was a Readers Digest Condensed Book selection in 1967, which is where I first found it. Virginia M. Axline, one of the pioneers of play therapy, wrote it, and it has never been out of print in the 50+ years since it was first published.

After only one preliminary session with Dibs, Axline wrote, "I had respect for his inner strength and capacity. He was a child of great courage." The playroom became the place where he could safely explore and express his inner world, and I know that in all of my many readings of this book, I have always learned something about myself every time I've read it.

One of the early conflicts Dibs has to come to terms with is the necessity to leave and go home at the end of the hour. At first, this is wrenching for him, and with Axline's help, he is able to accept it.

He looked so small, and yet so filled with hope and courage and confidence that I could feel the power of his dignity and assurance.

"I come with gladness into this room," he said again. "I leave it with sadness."

And the reader's heart is broken that Dibs has to leave the place in which he is nourished and feels whole. We want to stay there with him, because it makes us feel whole as well.

There are no limits to what Dibs can play with in the playroom. There are paints, and army men, a tea set, a dollhouse, farm animals, and on a very special day, a set of figures and buildings with which Dibs can create his own world. His play with the dollhouse during one session makes it possible for him to express his anguish: "I weep because I feel again the hurt of closed and locked against me," he sobbed.

Axline shares her insights with the reader: His feelings had torn through him without mercy. The locked doors in Dibs' young life had brought him intense suffering...all the doors of acceptance that had been closed and locked against him, depriving him of the love, respect, and understanding he needed so desperately.

Although my life was different in so many ways, on some level I understood how Dibs felt, and felt grateful for the sense of comradeship I experienced with both Dibs and Axline.

By the end of the book I am always filled with awe at the tremendous growth and courage, and inspired by Dibs and his journey. In one of his final visits he recognizes the change: "The little boy is gone now...But big Dibs is big and strong and brave. He is not afraid any more."

Axline puts it in more clinical, though no less powerful terms: In his symbolic play he had poured out his hurt, bruised feelings, and had emerged with feelings of strength and security...He was no longer afraid to be himself.

May we all find the courage of Dibs to be ourselves.

Take care,

Doc

May I deal with honour...

1/22/2018

May I deal with honour,
May I act with courage,
May I achieve humility.
Dick Francis in Straight

The motto above, which novelist Dick Francis created for one of his characters, is simple to understand, important to aspire to, and difficult to attain. Every time I've read it, I ask myself how I stack up against those three lines. The answer to that question can be hard to swallow.

I recently read a blog by Steve Haskin on the Blood Horse in which he wrote about one woman's crusade to save racehorses in danger of being sold for slaughter, and asking why so many who could, do so little. He said that he couldn't do his first Derby Dozen of the year without getting that off his chest.

There's been a lot written and spoken about issues of gender, race, sexual harassment, sexual orientation/identification, natural disasters, genocides, the environment, wars, and immigration to name a few. At times, it feels overwhelming trying to figure out how to respond, and where to put your energies and/or financial support. How do you even speak or write about it without causing offense, even unwittingly?

There have been times in my life when I've spoken up, and there have been times when I've hung back. For me, it's always been easier to stand up for someone else than it has been to stand up for myself. There have also been times when I simply blundered ahead, too blind, too naïve to understand what was really at stake. Sometimes that has been effective, just as often, it's been hurtful or offensive.

Dina, the woman Steve wrote about, has found a solution that I've also seen succeed in working with the homeless, with at-risk youth, and with those who feel separate. One being at a time. One step at a time. There are times when focusing on one person, one situation, makes it possible to find a resolution.

That's not to say the larger issues don't need to be addressed on a larger stage. They do. But for most of us, trying to figure out what the heck to do or say, we could do a lot worse than follow Dina's example, and follow the words of Dick Francis.

May I deal with honour,
May I act with courage,
May I achieve humility...

Take care,
Doc

Dick Francis...

1/15/2018

One of my Christmas presents was a set of three Dick Francis novels - Decider, Easy Money, and Blood Sport. For anyone who doesn't know who Dick Francis is, he was a champion steeplechase jockey in England who rode for the Queen Mother. After retiring, he became a journalist, then a bestselling writer of suspense novels, all of which had some connection with horse racing.

My first encounter with Dick Francis was via Readers Digest Condensed Books - I read In the Frame, and loved it. Not long after, a friend lent me a copy of Banker, and I was hooked. While each book includes horse racing in some way, each one also focused on some other area - In the Frame had a protagonist who was an artist, and Banker was set in a merchant bank and a thoroughbred breeding operation.

However, what made his books so wonderful wasn't the taut mysteries, or the detailed backgrounds, though those were terrific and exciting. What made a Dick Francis novel a must-read over and over was his understanding of human nature - his tolerance and compassion for humanity.

To give you some idea of what I love about his novels, and I've read every one of them, I'll describe each of the three I got for Christmas. Decider is pictured above, and is unusual in that the protagonist Lee Morris, an architect and builder, has six children and five of them are with him throughout the book. His awareness of their individual and collective needs, balanced against his personal needs and desires, is one of the through lines of the book. Francis shows us Lee's individual relationship with each of them, particularly Christopher, the eldest; Neil, the youngest (of those with him); and Toby, the troubled middle child. Their presence is woven into the plot, and provides a counterpoint to the dysfunctional family that owns and operates the racecourse with which Lee finds himself entangled. The boys are part of the climactic scene in the book, as both victims and heroes.

Even Money is one of the books Francis co-wrote with his son, Felix (who has continued the franchise since his father died in 2010). Ned Talbot is a bookmaker, and his wife suffers from bi-polar disorder and spends a great deal of her life in mental institutions trying to get her medications balanced. There is a tragic secret in Ned's past that reverberates in his present life after a father he thought had died 37 years before shows up at the track.

Dick Francis' wife Mary, who did the research for his novels until her death in 2000, suffered from ill health (she'd had polio when young), and he writes of Ned's wife Sophie with profound understanding of the strains chronic illness can place on a marriage and the healthy spouse's work.

Francis prefers his protagonists to solve their own problems, sometimes in less-than-traditional ways, and generally outside the purview of the law. Often the police are antagonists, as in Easy Money, though sometimes there is a grudging respect between the main character and the law.

I saved Blood Sport for last, because in some ways it is one of the most deeply satisfying novels on many levels. Gene Hawkins is in intelligence work; he clears people for government work - in other words, he looks for spies trying to get a toehold in high security areas. He agrees to investigate the disappearance of a racehorse in the US, though he is supposed to be on a vacation he doesn't want. He is also seriously depressed, to the extent that he longs for the release of suicide.

The mystery itself is one of the most fascinating from my point of view. That part of the story is a mix of ingenious investigation, an ability to make intentional actions look like accidents, and using people's behaviors to get them to do what is needed.

From first page to last, Gene wrestles with his inner demons. Although circumstances bring him close to death again and again, he can't allow himself to give in as long as people are relying on him. He has a code of honor and he follows it, at whatever cost to himself.

Adrian Houston/Idols, photographer

There is a wistful romance for Gene, which illustrates the author's tender respect for the women in his stories. Francis doesn't have protagonist's who assume women will fall all over them. Instead, his heroes are diffident. It may be that because his wife worked so closely with him that he was able to write women as whole human beings, worthy of the same compassion and understanding he gave to his male characters.

We are all moved by different writers, different characters, different worlds. I've often compared or paired Dick Francis with Maeve Binchy, the Irish writer of women's fiction, because they both offer a similar view of the world that doesn't judge the human heart harshly. There is a sense of justice and morality in both, which is tempered with the awareness that few of us are saints.

As a writer, I only hope I can do half as well!

Take care,

Doc

Nothing to fear but...

1/8/2018

FDR doing a radio address

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, our 32nd president, famously said, "...we have nothing to fear but fear itself." That is quoted often, for many different purposes, by many different people.

The thing is, doesn't fear mean something different to each of us? We aren't all afraid of exactly the same things. So why is fear the thing we have to fear?

I'll admit, I never really gave it a lot of thought until I listened to a talk given by my Buddhist teacher, Teah. She talked about various kinds of fear, then pointed out that fear is always in the future, and always in the mind.

If you're like me, you're saying to yourself, no that's not true. You feel that rush of adrenalin when you're afraid, right? And that is accurate. However, when something happens, you are in that moment. You aren't thinking, I'm afraid this dog will bite me. When the dog bites, you react. It isn't fear, it's response.

The fear comes during your anticipation of what might happen. Your mind runs through the possibilities, evaluates options, plans actions. The fear is about what might happen in the future. The response is how you react to what does happen in the moment.

Why do I bring this up now? Yes, it's the beginning of a new year, so it's always a great time for taking stock of things like our fears. But it's a bit more personal than that.

I decided to re-read the manuscript of my work-in-progress before I went back to revisions. When I did, I felt very unsettled - it took me a while to realize that what I felt was fear.

It wasn't what I'd written that inspired the fear, it was what I imagined might happen when people read it that frightened me. I knew some would like it, some wouldn't, and that didn't bother me. It was the thought that I would be revealing something deeply personal; a kind of statement of how I view the world through my characters and my story.

It was a moment in which I realized that writing a book is a tremendous commitment of one's self. How I proceeded would determine if it was a commitment to the deepest expression of my personal truths, or a commitment to protect myself.

Intrepid snail on the path at Asilomar.

I suppose that each reader will have to determine for themselves what choice I made. I know which one I think I made, and I can only hope that it will translate to the page.

Thank you for your choices, your commitments, your expressions.

Take care,

Doc

The Novel Approach...

1/1/2018

I absolutely loved the first workshop I attended in Bristol, Connecticut. It was intense, demanding, and taught me more about how to write a novel than anything I'd read or experienced up until that time. When I came home from that workshop I followed Gary's 14 Steps, and about a year later, I had a complete first draft.

I've learned from Gary, after his death I taught his material at the workshop, and now I'm planning to teach the workshop material in a weekly class for folks who can't take the time or who don't have the money to go for 5 to 10 days.

Gary was one of the most generous human beings I've ever known, and this seemed a great way to share his work, and give writers yet another way to discover the value of the 14 Steps.

The Novel Approach will be offered in the North Hills area of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania starting in early February, 2018. I'm looking forward to learning from the participants, and working with them on their novels. I'll keep you posted....

Happy New Year!

Doc

The participants of the first workshop I attended in Bristol, CT

Compassion and presence...

12/18/2017

In Ken McLeod’s book An Arrow to the Heart, he says the essence of the Heart Sutra is that “Compassion is presence.” This book was something of a guidebook as I tried to navigate my way through the Master of Divinity program at Naropa University from 2007-2010. Those three words: compassion is presence still resonate through my life more than any other thing I've learned.

You might call it a statement of belief, or a manifesto, or simply truth. That it is true has been proven again and again in my own experience.

The most clear example of this is going to a funeral. No one likes doing it. No one really knows what to say. And none of that matters. What matters to the loved ones is that you show up. Your presence says that you care, and that means more than any words you can come up with. It is compassion in action.

Another example of this is showing compassion to yourself, by being present to how you feel, who you are, what you need. So often we push ourselves aside with our to-do lists, and we cover up what's going on inside with lots of activity outside. There is no presence, only absence, which means there is no compassion, only harshness or indifference.

My Buddhist teacher used to ask me, "Why are you killing yourself?" I didn't understand that for a long time, though it felt true, even when I didn't know why. At the same time, when I would talk about being angry or irritated with someone, or even happy, she would ask me how that felt in my body. In frustration I finally snapped at her that my body and I hadn't been on speaking terms for years. I was so unable to be present with myself, physically and emotionally, that she saw it as a form of killing or smothering myself. It took me a long time to see that, and even longer to find compassion for myself.

Me with my beloved Pongo

The first time I can remember feeling compassion for myself was after I'd driven my teacher to the airport, and realized that I was terrified something might happen to her. Instead of telling myself what an idiot I was, I acknowledged the fear with a kind of understanding and gentleness I'd never had toward myself before.

Eventually, that allowed me to have genuine compassion for others as well, which manifested in being able to be present to their grief or their joy, without needing to try to fix it or validate it.

It's still a work in progress - or maybe I should say I'm still a work in progress. There's still a lot to learn.

Compassion is presence. Can I embody that in my writing? That question leads to other questions, and in the end, the one question that really matters is: am I willing to try? It requires both courage and openness, and I will admit I've never seen myself as particularly heroic. In one sense, we are all heroes as we move through our day, present to the world around us and within us. Thanks for your compassion and presence.

Take care,

Doc

I'll be away for the holidays, so the next new blog will be Tuesday, January 2nd. Have a great holiday!

Reboot...

12/11/2017

I've been reading United, Cory Booker's autobiographical manifesto, or as he puts it, "...about my political and personal awakening." He caught my attention when he gave a speech at the Democratic National Convention last year. I loved what he said and the passion with which he said it. When I ran across his book this fall, I immediately bought it and then buried it for a month or two under the pile of other books I wanted to read when I got a chance.

What prompted me to pick it up now, was a discussion I had at Thanksgiving, during which I brought up his name as one of the people Hillary Clinton shortlisted for VP. I thought that if she'd chosen him, she might have won - we'll never know, of course; that was my speculation and nothing more. I also said that I thought that history would see Barack Obama as one of our great presidents, along with Abraham Lincoln and FDR.

Presidential portrait from barackobama.com

(You can listen to the entire speech or read it at: https://constitutioncenter.org/amoreperfectunion/)

The person with whom I was talking was convinced that the only reason I supported either of those men was because they were black politicians. Even when I explained that my admiration for President Obama had its roots in his speech on race in Philadelphia in 2008, in which I first had a glimpse of the breadth of his vision, my cousin was skeptical. Then-Senator Obama took what was in many ways a very personal issue, the controversial statements made by his pastor, and addressed that issue by acknowledging their relationship while also asserting that his pastor did not speak for him. Then he placed the situation in the context of race relations in our country, and spoke about the importance of talking about what was uncomfortable and difficult to discuss. I knew that even if I didn't agree with everything he did, Barack Obama would be a president I could trust to act with integrity and intention.

That depth and breadth of mind that I loved in Barack Obama is what I glimpsed in Cory Booker at the DNC last year. It has nothing to do with the color of one's skin. It has everything to do with who they are as human beings, and how they articulate their beliefs and their vision.

I'm only on page 47, and already I've highlighted a number of things that resonate for me, not so much on a political level as on a human level. This is the passage that is reverberating through me these days, and it's a paraphrasing of what his mother said to him:

...the world needs the full measure of your faith, your courage, your boldest thoughts, your most inspiring dreams.

Right in the center of that you'll find the word "courage."

It takes courage to share the full measure of your faith with the world. It takes courage to share your boldest thoughts with the world. And it takes courage to share your most inspiring dreams with the world.

The world can be brutal to those who open themselves and share freely. And that is the only thing that can change the world. No trying to protect yourself, no pulling punches. Just - this is it, this is the best I have to offer.

This is the hardest thing anyone, including a writer, can do. And it's also the thing that is essential to writing something that will change lives, including your own. There is a visceral experience when we are courageous. It is the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual experience of being aware and present with our fear, and moving forward in the face of it, whether in words or actions.

This is the time of year when we often take stock of ourselves, and start thinking about what we'll do different in the new year. When I read those words, I find myself feeling the need to reboot as a writer. What that will mean for me, I don't know. What I do know is that courage will be the essential ingredient in the mix.

Take care,

Doc

What matters most...

12/5/2017

I'm late with this post. I'd intended to write it last night, and I couldn't. The Steeler game was on TV, and I was watching for a while before I wrote. About 4 minutes into the game, a young man on the Steeler team made a tackle the wrong way, and was injured. He wasn't moving his legs, and it looked catastrophic. His teammates and coach were visibly upset, and even the other team was concerned. They had trouble concentrating on football. I had trouble concentrating on writing.

What in the world was there to say? That I was sitting on the couch in the TV room, sick at heart at the possibility that a young man might be seriously injured? Nothing I could think about to write made any sense at all in that moment, so I didn't write.

Today, I heard that he is doing better, and has some movement in his legs. They are still doing tests, but that is hopeful.

The Steeler sideline at Heinz Field before the first preseason game this year

A sunset on the Big Sur coast - not a fire area, just fiery in appearance

Then there was the news of the Thomas Fire in Ventura County, California. 60,000 acres in the last 24-36 hours, zero percent contained, spreading very fast because of the Santa Ana winds. I have a friend who, along with her partner and their animals, are at risk if it keeps spreading. The picture she posted this morning on Instagram was terrifying, especially if she took the picture herself.

And what is there to say about that? That I hope they are safe, of course. And all of the other folks impacted by the fire.

Someone once wrote to me in an email that it felt like there was always something - an onslaught of traumas or painful experiences. I don't know if there are more now than there ever were before. Maybe it's partly that we live longer than people used to, so we experience more over time.

I also ran across a journal I kept for a class when I was at Naropa, in which I shared this: I found that a lot of anger has come up...In talking with my teacher, she suggested I try not to identify it or fix it, but just to be with it when it comes up, and let my body work with it and through it. That, of course, is very uncomfortable...

It seems that we are required to bear witness to much that feels unbearable. And there are, in fact, times when we must try to fix things in our world, and participate rather that simply observe. But in the times when we can do nothing except be present or turn away, we need to be present. It's like going to a funeral and feeling unable to find anything to say. The words don't matter. Our wordless presence says it all - we are willing to be there to support someone we care about. That is love.

Wednesday, December 6 update: I heard from my friend, who along with her partner and animals was evacuated yesterday. They are safe, though the fire line is approximately a mile from their home and the fire is 0% contained as of this morning. The winds have died down overnight, but are expected to increase again. Yesterday, according to one news source, the fire burned at an acre a second, the equivalent of Central Park in New York being consumed in 15 minutes.

Be well,

Doc

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