Moving Art - California

I was in LA last July. I caught these pieces of art in photo in order to research them later. I guess it might be time to do just that...

Amazing stuff...

Stop. Look. Listen.

Before you cross the street, stop, look and listen. This advice was drilled into my head as a child. Before you cross the busy street - which for me was often traffic crammed Ocean Boulevard in the heat of the Summer tourist season in Myrtle Beach, SC - you should stop, look both ways and listen for traffic coming as well as look. Stop. Look. Listen.

One of our kids, at preschool age, learned this phrase incorrectly and would utter "Stop. Look and Licken," when we would prepare to cross a street. In loving and nurturing parental fashion, we never corrected her and soon we all had a new phrase for practicing safe crossings.

There are all kinds of crossings in life.

The saying stays with me. Stop, look and listen. My life is busy. I plan each day for a busy life. I enjoy it. Living is a lot like showing up at the Sunday buffet and having to chose what you are not going to taste. I'm not particularly good at saying no. I want the entire feast!

Last weekend I spent some time in Asheville, NC. I had two wonderful days with nothing planned. I went for a hike in the mountain woods, visited the Folk Art Center, took a long sit at a Blue Ridge Parkway overlook, and tarried for hours in a local coffee shop writing, reading and relaxing. I stopped, slowed down, looked at the world I was in and savored, listened, to the details and nuances of my living - that one day. It was a beautiful day. I think I'll do it some more.

When is the last time you followed the simple direction: Stop, look and listen?

I'll Be Back...

Vacation NOW!

Delta Scared Me - Clockwork Orange Style

I flew Delta this past week and now I'm afraid of Lincoln , esurance and Fairfield. Here's how it happened.

Delta Airlines Flight Safety Video

During the take-off taxi, we were shown 3 advertisements prior to the safety video - Lincoln, esurance and Fairfield Inn. I get that. Airlines aren't able to make enough money on the ticket prices, so a little advertising revenue here and there is necessary. Then, right after take-off, but before the "you may now use your portable electronic devices" announcement, the video screens fired up again and showed us the same three ads. I tried to turn off the screen glaring at me from the headrest of the seat in front of me, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I was a captive audience. Then it occurred to me - I was living a "Clockwork Orange" moment (if you are too young to know the movie reference, leave this post now and go watch the film. It's historically significant... well to my history, anyway.)

1971 A Clockwork Orange

Here's the rub, take-off is one of the most tense moments in the flying experience. Anyone who has given any thought to the process knows that if something goes wrong during those first few minutes of take-off - it is bad (we're talking THE END bad). So, if you want to program me to associate stress with your product or brand, show it to me when I'm at one of the most stressful moments of my travels. I had this same experience on my return flight as, well. Same timing. Same brands.

Thanks Delta. Thanks Lincoln, esurance and Fairfield. I now can't drive a Lincoln, insured by esurance to my meeting at the Fairfield without a nagging feeling that I might crash and die.

*Note - the limo that took me from the airport to the resort and back was - you guessed it - a Lincoln. I'm scarred for life.

Sunday Coffee Cup – Tropical Reminder

I love the tropics. Give me 90 degree heat and 70% humidity, clear skies, crystal waters to relax in and I’m good – for a very long time. Lucky for my wife, she understands this and when we talk about vacations, the options never include heading north unless it is the peak of summer – and even then – I need a very good reason to not head to an island.

I love places like these: Bermuda, The Virgin Islands, Cozumel Mexico, The Bahamas, The Florida Keys, South Florida and in a pinch, I’ll even settle for the Carolina coast. Today’s Sunday Coffee Cup is for when I’m not at any of those places.

My mother gave us four mugs and matching saucers set for Christmas one year. They’re tropical. They make me smile and remind me of hot sun and bright sand. It isn’t anywhere near like being there, but it serves up a sizable cup of coffee and the occasion to remember and plan for tropical trips...like these.

Bermuda - Marley Beach

Bermuda

Bermuda - Witch's Island

Bermuda

Maho Bay Camps - US Virgin Islands

Cozumel 1976

Ahhhhh.... i remember them all!

Sunday Coffee Cup - Mobile Joe

As much as I enjoy a good cup of coffee, slowly savored and methodically consumed in the quiet space of my familiar home, I  also like having a cup of Joe to go! This morning's Sunday Coffee Cup fits the bill well. My son gave this one to me this past Christmas and he selected it based on all the 'must have' features for a mobile mug.

Here's my list of what you need to take your coffee mobile:

1. Stainless steel inside and out. I don't want BPA leeching into my coffee from a cheap plastic liner.
2. Vacuum insulated, double walled seal. Keeping that hot coffee hot is important when your out in the cold.
3. No drip, no spill lid. The lid needs to seal tight and secure enough to handle the occasional tilt, wobble and drop. Also, that lid needs to do the job getting the sacred essence into my mouth with out dripping on my chin or rolling down the side of the mug after a quick slurp.
4. It has to be of a size to easily fit in the car cup holder and not be so small it rattles or jostles on every turn and bump.
5. Finally, my mobile cup has to be easy to grab and drink without looking. Meaning the shape of the mug and conture of the lid need to tell me which way to tip and sip - by feel alone.

That's it, and yes, I know I've given way too much thought to the mobile cup requirements, but this is just one of the byproducts of traveling too many miles on caffeine and dreams...which is another story. Later! Time to roll.

Airport Waiting

While the air roars overhead
Methodical. Arrhythmic. Pulsing.
While the seconds tick away
Tick. Tock. Humming.
While cars stop and go
Lights on. Lights off. Horns.
While I await your arrival
I don't dare breath until
Your touch down
Into my heart
Again

Headed to Las Vegas for ASPDOTNETSTOREFRONT Conference. CYA!

If you need me this week, I'll be here: The Venetian.

I have the tough job of delivering a presentation at the ASPDOTNETSTOREFRONT Annual Conference this week. Topic Title: Social Media Sells and HOW!? - Leveraging the Uniqueness of Social Media for E-Commerce.

However, I will be voting for Scott all week and you should too!

Oprah's No Phone Zone - Expanded

So, Oprah has proclaimed a "No Phone Zone" for texting, talking and such while driving to work.

This is good. However, I've been thinking lately about having a "No Phone Zone" in my personal space - i.e. what if we all said, if you are talking to me don't check your phone, write/read text messages, or email. Take the few minutes or hour of our conversation as a No Phone Zone. Let's remember how to focus, listen and be with each other.

I may just start by observing it myself. What say you?

Fun Coincidence - Opportunity?

I've been debating this post, and decided (obviously) to write it.

Last year I spoke at the Interfaith Service for the Rotary District 7690 annual conference at Myrtle Beach, SC. My message was received very well and I was asked immediately by the incoming District Governor if I would commit to speaking again this year. I accepted.

As it happens, we are convening this weekend at The Grove Park Inn in Asheville, NC. I'll be speaking Sunday at the Interfaith Service. Last week it was announced that President Obama and his family would be vacationing this week in NC and staying at - you guessed it - The Grove Park Inn.

Currently, I'm plotting on how I can maximize this coincidence to make me famous, or at least create a superb memory. I mean there will no doubt be only a wall or two between me and The President of The United States. That has to be an opportunity - I just haven't figured out exactly how...YET!

Brookgreen Gardens Series - Chapter 3, Women

Two beautiful statues depicting women adorned separate sections of the large sculpture meadow at Brookgreen Gardens. Both are shown below. The first is a work in memory of a young woman who volunteered at an asylum. Her untimely death prompted the artist to capture her compassion and joy.  the second piece is a modern representation of women. There is no interpretation of the work provided and I'll leave it to you to create your own from the experience of the art.

Brookgreen Gardens Series - Chapter 3, Native American bronze

The collection of statuary at Brookgreen Gardens is the single largest exhibit of American statuary in the world. Most of the larger pieces are exhibited outdoors.

This piece show the variety and beauty of the settings. Numerous fountains, pedestals, walkways and live oaks make a natural backdrop.

Gently Walking

Gently Walking

beads of perspiration mark trails down my temples

paths of the journey of necessity, vigilance

arms stretch outward to maintain balance

delicate steps along the precipice of doubt

pain

once more muscles constrict and release the rhythm

of a task that moves me ever forward

mental anguish and withered cravings scream

threats of rebellion and unwillingness

fear

while gentle wisps of liberated mist rise from the earth

once bound to soil and stone now free, rising

swirling forms of supportive hands caress my frame

lifting forever a small piece of life's weighty matter

relief

i stroll on

Some Green Worth Sharing

Let's Hear It for Green

I wandered in the woods off the Blue Ridge Parkway one spring and found this place. Now this is some green worth celebrating.

No need to ask, "Where's the green in that?" (see previous post).

On Visiting Blue Hole - Bermuda

A did a piece of writing after hiking an area in Bermuda called the "Blue Hole."

The Blue Hole has an interesting history and contains some amazing submerged caves and private pools. One of the very few unsolved murders in recent Bermuda history occurred there, and it is the location of the oldest rock type on the island.

THE BLUE HOLE'S HOLD

Your now seldom trodden paths fall under new feet, withstanding each impact of soul and sole, bearing up upon unyielding and ancient rock the weight of another exploration, an adventuring spirit, another of the millions of creatures that you have felt wander across your very spine, and with thoughtless query your impatient question of 800,000 years rises again...

Will this be the one? Or will this be only another impertinent and transient creature that errantly uses the earthy mystery of this space for gathering dirt and stone, or ripping foliage aside for consumption, or splattering in fury, another's blood upon you hoping you will shroud its evil form detection? Or will this one impede the conquest and domination long enough to pause momentarily, stand still enough - long enough to allow your archaic message to creep from the core of this vain of our origination and stir as deeply within them as it resides within you, the tendril of impervious and undaunted myth that is your message?

I'm Thinking Tropical

In the tropics, the air whispers tales of the end of the journey and the beginnings of breathing. The horizons appear endless, barely even the fine line dividing planet and heavens can be seen, and that as only the obligatory nod to the proclaimed laws of physics. Seas pool in transparent marine, crystal refractors of laughter and indulgence. If the breeze blows, it is the compilation of every faded caress, every long lost lover, as the humidity clings, mocking her absent touch.

In the heat of these places, a man’s metal is tested, not by the level of his strength or the length of his endurance, but rather by the depth of his passion. For the blasting sun will lay siege to all muscle and cause even the fittest flesh to run dry. Left only with emptiness where fictitious power did reside, the soul of the man of the tropics must find relief and value elsewhere. In time, in his weathered smile - carved with canyon lines of today’s joy - can be seen the scars of victorious battles with self and the final surrender to all that surrounds and captures him. The paradox of surrender and freedom combine on the shore as waves meet sand.

There, where the deep is found in one man’s being or lost in the darkest of sea resides my destination.

"My God" and 1975

Time at home has allowed me to dig out some old CDs and take a musical ride through time. With the holiday season and all of the festivities associated with it all but over, we have cleared away the torn wrapping paper, empty boxes and some of the Christmas decorations. Today I’ve managed a few minutes to simply sit in the living room and listen to music. I would normally listen to satellite radio or an iTunes play list, but today I’ve dusted off some of the CDs stacked about the room and found an array of music that I haven’t heard for some time. Right now, it’s Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung.”

With this music comes a specific memory. This album takes me back to 1975, Myrtle Beach, SC where I grew up. I remember one very specific day in May, an afternoon after my birthday but before the summer break in between my junior and senior year of high school. I was still driving the hand-me-down family car, a 1966 Chevrolet Bellaire, and at that particular moment was cruising north on Highway 17 between Murrells Inlet and Myrtle Beach headed into town to join friends for pizza and some night time fun. The car stereo was blasting, powered by an 8-Track tape player as I listened for the first time to “My God.” What I remember today, is somehow in that drive I felt very free, and I knew that even though I didn’t fully understand what Tull was saying – I knew two things: There was more about God to learn than my parents had taught me and I liked this crazy, in-your-face, music.

I still know those two things.

"My God"

People -- what have you done --

locked Him in His golden cage.

Made Him bend to your religion --
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the god of nothing --
if that's all that you can see.
You are the god of everything --
He's inside you and me.
So lean upon Him gently
and don't call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you used to waive.
The bloody Church of England --
in chains of history --
requests your earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who --
with His plastic crucifix --
he's got him fixed --
confuses me as to who and where and why --
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin --
the endless whining sounds.
You'll be praying till next Thursday to
all the gods that you can count.

My Life Is Waffle House!?

It is very interesting what one can learn from listening.

I treated my appetite and ignored my need for low a cholesterol diet (shhhh! If you don’t tell my doctor, it doesn’t count), and had breakfast at Waffle House "the other day." As I ate, I listened.

Karen is in her mid thirties, has two children and hates it when her kids stay home for snow days. She drives an older Nissan. She has a small space between her two front teeth that she tries to hide by rolling her lip over them when she is laughing. It doesn’t work.

The cook, an all but kid in his twenties, plans to get his GED this year and then study at the community college, or maybe join the Navy. He likes his job, and doesn’t cook rubber eggs. I think that is considered an accomplishment. I know my eggs were very tasty. I think his name is Mack, or Mick. He didn’t have on a name tag.

Betty is clearly the matriarch of the group. She smiles as she listens to the banter of the ‘younger’ staff. She moves effortlessly from one task to the next, often working ahead of the others. She greets regulars by their first name, or with a knowing nod. Her under the cuff comments to the others often brings a smile or a giggle. Betty is, and wants to be the Queen of the WaffleHouse.

As I sat at the counter, eating my cheese eggs, grits and butter soaked raisin toast, gazing at the laminated menu pictures of the many heart-stopping, artery clogging, cholesterol enhanced foods, this thought crossed my mind: Is there really a difference between any of our lives, other than the package that that life might reside in?

Accidently Developing A Personal Brand

I launched this website and moved my blog over here just a few months ago. Now that I've settled into the new design and look, I'm very pleased. Thanks to the folks over at BEM Interactive (my employer - nothing like a little brown nosing) for helping me set things up and hosting the site.

This feels very much like my place. The design rightly reflects my personal energy and approach - right down to the rolling steam off the coffee cup. I'm always ready for some creativity over a cup of coffee.

"The other day" I attended a Linking Greensboro event and won a door prize of a free business card design from a local graphic artist and marketing consultant. We met, and I simply directed her to this site for artistic direction. Along with information she gleaned from our conversations, she designed a wonderful card for me to use to promote my non-employment self for speaking and teaching engagements. The design of the card, front and back, is below.

All of this to say, THANK YOU Danielle Hatfield (@dhatfield) for a professional, playful and accurate representation of me!

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

The other day I went on an eight day, seven night canoe trip with three other men through a section of the Okefenokee Swamp. I had never been on a canoe trip beyond a paddle in the local lake, so I was excited about spending some time doing manly things with other manly men in a manly environment. The swamp is home to snakes, alligators, wild mammals and amazing bird and other wildlife.

I wasn't disappointed. Everything that this type of adventure offers hit us full force, face-on impacting out lives and saturating our thirst for manly excitement and bonding. Perhaps I will share more about that trip someday, but this post isn't about the actual trip, it is about the beginning – the beginning of all things, in a way.

The four of arrived at our launch point and soon had our gear packed in the two canoes full to the top leaving barely enough room for each of us to sit – one in front and one in the rear of each canoe. We had to take everything we needed for the next eight day – food, tent, water, coolers, etc. we had gotten to the launch point later than we had expected and had to talk the ranger into letting us launch late, knowing that we would be pushing the end of daylight before we arrived at our camping platform hours away in the middle of the swamp. Once he saw us safely in the canoes and ready to shove off, her got in his truck and left. We were off!

What awaited us was to be the adventure we all had anticipated for months now. Days of gliding through still dark water, observing wild life, and risking health and hygiene for the sake of doing it! We had miles to go and only days to accomplish it in – the adventure was upon us. Paddles in hand…

Then I discovered one small problem. Although I understood the concept of steering a canoe in open water, I didn't know how. As the lead canoe launched into the swamp, my partner for the week began providing momentum for our travel from the front seat of the craft, while I sat in the back with the duel task of paddling and guiding our boat by using my paddle as a rudder, as well. We zigged. We zagged - and quickly lagged behind.

Point – If you are going to paddle a boat to an adventure, learn to paddle.

The lesson is simple enough, but how often do we get it wrong? Life is a journey – vocations, relationships, self actualization and countless other adventures await us, and how often do we impatiently launch into one thing or another with out taking the time to allow ourselves the learning we need to be able to successfully navigate the trip.

I’m not suggesting we have to be an expert before we try anything new. I am suggesting that some adventures need a mix of experience, maturity and competency before we jump into them. I’ll leave the specific applications of this ‘point’ to your own thought processes. I’ll also state that the greatest lesson I've ever learned is that if I’m going to navigate this vessel of my ‘self’ through life, I needed to spend some time learning the art of doing just that.

In the swamp that day, I had three experienced men who helped me learn what I needed to know – enough to get the boat straight and roughly on course. They never let me forget it, but we did make our first platform just after dark.