They are the leaders of the free world, wield more power than a speeding locomotive and able to leap G-8 Summits in a single bound..look its a dicatator, its a Prime Mininster...its AN AMERICAN PRESIDENT!

When I was a kid we used to get two days off in February to honor our two most prominent Presidents- a day each for George and Abe. Now they have been distilled into "President's Day" like some sort of combination of parades few attend because they are attending massive "Presidents Day Sales" on everything from tires to televisions. Today is neither Washington's or Lincoln's actual birthday, its a three day weekend setting up a a four day week that was initiated by Trickie Dick Nixon as to "celebrate all Presidents including myself" I really don't want to lump Nixon in on Presidents Day...No doubt George and Abe were stellar dudes in their day and beyond but lumping them in with the likes of some of their POTUS breathren is pushing it.

Consider some of these Oval Office Offerings...

Warren G. Harding was so corrupt he would meet openly with his cronies and exchange money for political favors, kinda like now but its done openly.

Andrew Jackson was a believer in Manifest Destiny--what he and others considered the God-given right of whites to conquer North America, from coast to coast.When Jackson discovered gold on Cherokee land in Georgia, he simply ignored existing treaties and had one of his own agents, John Ridge, "negotiate" the Treaty of New Echota on behalf of the Cherokees and forcing their displacement on what became "The Trail of Tears"... yep Ole Hickory.

Frustrated by supporters of Thomas Jefferson in the press who criticized John Adams, the thin-skinned prez supported new federal laws targeting anyone making unsubstantiated remarks about him..I mean a government official. Adams had some of Jefferson's most prominent supporters arrested under the law, but it didn't matter, Jefferson won the presidency in 1800, and Adams' Federalist Party never won national office again and thats a good thing.

Then of course there are some great POTUS comments that just ooze patriotism and other good...stuff.

"This is a country for white men, and by God, as long as I am President, it shall be a government for white men."
Andrew Johnson, 1866- ..idiot.

"I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office" George Bush 2008-Freduian Slip #1

"I was under medication when I made the decision to burn the tapes." Richard Milhouse Nixon 19..never mind.

"It depends on what the meaning of the words 'is'... is." William Jefferson Clinton 1998 - means oral sex Mr. President

"For seven and a half years I've worked alongside President Reagan. We've had triumphs. Made some mistakes. We've had some sex...uh...setbacks." President George H.W. Bush 1988
Freduian Slip #2...hey..exact same name..hmmmm

Ok...enough.

Perhaps the way to do this Presidents Day thing is to construct a "Mega-Prez" basically a combination of the best of what our fearless leaders have to offer.

He would have Lincoln's towering height, Washington's military leadership, Teddy Roosevelts bravado and love of nature. He would have JFK's hair, FDR's and Reagan's ability to communicate. Perhaps we could give him Taft's moustache. Or not...you can fill in the blanks from here. Bottom line?

All The Presidents Men was a great movie. but the fact is not All The President's were great men...so today...just pick your favorite or pick on your favorite and take a moment to ponder these words of wisdom from Harry Truman.

"Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day."

Happy Presidents Day...now go out and get some new tires.

It's Sunday morning..the politcal pundits are in full swing on the morning shows and TV evangelists looking for someone to send some coin their way. It's the Sabbath for millions, the day churches and other places of worship fill up in an attempt to spiritually wash off the stench of the world we pick up during the week. I like churches, don't always like what is said in them but it got me thinking about some of the Gospels. I have always been partial to John-go figure. There is another Gospel that only a few have heard, sorta like one of them "secret sacred scrolls" from a Dan Brown book.

Its the Gospel According to Bob.

When I was about 13 or so and my parents had somehow gotten me connected to a Presbyterian church, thinking it had to do with playing on the basketball team. If I wanted to play I had to attend church etc. Before that time my church going activities were sporadic at best, tried the Catholic thing like my neighbors but could never figure out why the Nuns never smiled... but once I got inside the "Stone Church with the Warm Heart" I felt at home.

Rev. Bob G. Sills was coming in as the new Pastor and if I close my eyes long enough I can clearly see him resplendent in a light powder blue leisure suit, white boots, with a loud, broad tie. His hair was thinning and swept back and for all intensive purposes looked like Teddy Roosevelt's twin brother to me. Broad grin, hearty moustache and rimmed glasses set off his face. Not a overly big man in stature but his presence was huge. He was a sight to behold, and for me someone to connect with and look up to. I needed him more than I knew.

He was a former coal miner and field worker who said one day "God tapped him on the shoulder in the midsts of picking cotting and told him to bring forth The Word" BG took that divine direction, changed his life and began to minister "The Word" and by the time he ended up in Chicago I was ready to hear it.

He commanded the bully pulpit of the small church with a thundering voice, and I loved to sit up in the front row of the upper deck at the back of the church and watch the packed house of people react to his messages. At the end of each sermon, with the choir in full voice he would leave the sacred stage, grab his wife's hand and make way to the the massive oak doors to thank each of us that came to listen. I have no idea how long Rev. Sills held the flock back then. This was the early to mid 1970's it might have been around five years or so and I remember when he left it just wasn't the same. I stoppped going church and over the years I would think of him and realized that I didn't remember much of what he said..but rather how he said it. He was a mouthpiece for the Almighty.

Many years went by and after my Dad died in 2004 I came across Bob Sills business card in his stuff. I did some online digging and found him at a small Congregational Church in Rockford, Il. A year or so later I had the opportunity to stop on a Sunday, unannounced. I got in after the service had started, sat in the last row and watched him. Bent from age now, a bit unsteady he still had that gravel voice and summomed up the Spirit in fine form. The church was half the size of the last one I shared a space with him in and the crowd of sinners seeking redemption was small. That mattered not to Rev. Sills as he plowed on.

When his sermon was finished, the little choir raised their voices, Bob took a moment then began to leave the sacred loft and pedestal, to walk the aisle. His wife now long gone was not there to take his hand. He made his way down to the door, spied me in the last row and simply said. "John, sitting in the back like always huh?" Had not seen the man in at least 30 years..and I could not believe he kept track of where I sat so many Sundays ago.

Bob and I met in his office after the faithful left, told him about my Dad passing on and finding his card. He leaned back and whipped out a pipe, lit it and sacred smoke surrounded us. He said, "Guess your Pop wanted you to stop by then." We reminisced about days gone by, the loss of loved ones and the path of life. He shared some of his thoughts on a half century of worship. "I have learned more about people from talking with them, than preaching at them." "If you want to take the Bible literally be careful of what man-edited version you pick as your road map." "God loves all of us, for God is within us."

Just before I left I asked him after all the years of preaching and praying what was the most important thing to know about faith. He said.."Well here's The Gospel According to Bob"....

"I would rather let God define my life than spend a lifetime trying to define God."

He smiled, we hugged and I left.

A couple years ago I called looking for Rev. BG Sills, but had missed him by just a week. He had passed away just four days prior to my call. When I sit on a Sunday morning and think about how much God is thrown into politics, how humans love to wrap ourselves in the religion of righteousness and beat ourselves and each other over the head with who's version of God is better, I think of BG Sills standing out in that field picking cotton in the hot sun and being tapped on the shoulder and hearing "Its your turn."

"I would rather let God define my life than spend a lifetime trying to define God."

The Gospel According to Bob. Amen.

Its 2AM and I am wide awake for a number of reasons..but what's keeping my inner insomniac in fine form is the steady stream of "The N-Word" coming off the screen and out of the mouth of actor Edward Norton...not the bumbling and stumbling Norton from "The Honeymooners"..This Edward Norton won an Oscar for his portrayl of a racist skinhead in "American History X." When the movie came out in 1998 it caused serious waves in Hollywood not just for the actors convincing performance but the script that was peppered with "The N-Word" and I counted at least 11 times the word was used in less than a minute.

Just to make sure we are on the same page here "The N-Word" I am referring to is the slang for an African-American person. Apparently there are other "N-Word's" that could be offensive-according to the online slang dictionary "Ni994" is code for "The N-Word." Huh,learn something new every day.

A few channels over a comedian is ranting back and forth on the stage while the crowd roars its approval. He is throwing out "The N-Word" like candy on Halloween. No one seems to be insulted by his use of the word apparently because he is black and the audience is black. For the better part of an hour one could lose count of the number of times "The N-Word" was in play for pay.

On the news earlier this evening a Chicago teacher intercepts a note with "The N-Word" on it. After 25 years in the classroom he decides to use it as a teachable moment, to point out how much damage "The N-Word" can do. How even though anyone can go out and rent "American History X" for a couple of bucks and that it has no warning label about "The N-Word" usage when it comes to radical racism or how anyone can tune into the funny channel where a roomful of people are laughing their asses off when "The N-Word" sets up the punch line, this teacher begins a discussion with his class. The principal walks in, overhears "The N-Word" and promptly suspends the teacher. Ironically two of the books that the school has on its reading list are "Huck Finn" and "To Kill a Mockingbird" Guess what word is in those books..yep..."Ni994."

Edward Norton was paid a handsome sum to portray Derek Vinyard a thick-skulled skinhead and he delivered "The N-Word" in such fine form (along with a series of well launched "F-Bombs") and for his efforts he won an Oscar. The comedian was paid a handsome sum to make people laugh and part of his routine is to use "The N-Word" and..he launched some great "F-Bombs" as well. A teacher intercepts a note and his quarter century of experience tells him to use that moment to perhaps change a young mind. For his efforts he is suspended and is now suing the school system. The irony here? The teacher- Lincoln Brown- who was named after The Great Emancipator President Lincoln by his parents who were civil rights activists will never win an Oscar or have an HBO special to reap the benefit of using "The N-Word" in a way that pays. He just wants to teach.

I nearly hit Pete with the door walking into the funeral home. "Hey"..we both said. "I just talked with him last week at school" Said Pete. "We were comparing aches and pains.." he said his voice trailing off. "Take care John..."

The nice funeral home lady asked me if I was there for the Annis wake, she was a traffic cop of sorts directing the throng of humans into line so none of us cut in I suppose-not that anyone would want to. Kinda bad form at a wake. Its been some time since I had to wait in line at one of these things. I heard the talk around me from mostly teenagers that were his students now and a handful of twenty-somethings that also had sat in front of him, a musical instrument in hand, many for the first time as he patiently and artfully, and sometimes forcibly walked them through the maze of music. Three decades of students and teachers waited patiently to say good bye. Family and friends that knew him a lifetime held the space for the rest of us.

There was a smattering of old guys like me that knew him from high school, they stood off in the corner like a herd of Yaks, huddled with hands stuffed in their pockets not sure what to do. It's an uneasy feeling to see a life end, especially a life that is the same age you are. Billboards filled with Kodak moments surrounded the chapel. I moved forward in line.

When I reached the summit of this place, the space at the front of the room wherein lies the vessel, the husband, teacher brother and friend I hugged his bride, took a brief moment to give thanks for his presence, hugged the brothers and then a few friends along the way as I hurried to my place in the Yak Pack, so I could stuff my hands in my pants and contemplate the loss.

I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of kids that came to say goodbye. At one point I asked a few of them what they remember most about him. Michelle said that "he was more than a teacher, he was a father figure. When I wanted to to give up he saw something in me that I did not see in myself. I will never look at a musical instrument and not think of him." Others nodded in agreement. Erick mentioned in low voice that "he was tough but fair, funny and always had us laughing." Angelica added that "I will miss his jokes..it wasn't just about music it was so much more than that." The line kept growing and the funeral traffic cop lady was busy and the tears flowed, the smiles glowed and promises were made to not lose touch because life is so very short. It was time to go.

Pulling out of the lot inthe rain that seemed to be a fitting end to the day I watched a steady flow of mourners head for the front door of the place. "No wonder they are doing this for two nights" I thought. Then for some reason my thoughts turned to the bashing of teachers that was on the menu the past couple years. A local radio loudmouth who said that teacher's aren't really that important and perhaps they are overpaid. That they are not dedicated like they used to be and that they really don't have that big of an influence over kids like we think they do. I guess he never took music class with Carl Annis.

I drive quite a bit and for the most part its the same route between my hometown of Chicago and my adopted home of Rapid River, Michigan. Its a long story how I ended up so far north of where I was born-too much for this space so buy my books and and you can read all about it. By choice and by chance I have a home where many people go for vacation which might explain the solitude and soul restoration I feel when I walk the earth there.

With just over five hours to the Windy City I have plenty of time to ponder the universe, sing along to the 70's channel on satellite radio, count the times I see the word "EAT" and generally dissect my life to the point where only the marrow of my memories remains. Usually by that time a certain event will come to mind connected to a person that I have not seen for a long time. When that happens I either call them or put out the silent alarm for them to call me. Yesterday while driving down I saw the turn-off for the town of Antigo, Wisconsin and thought of my friend from my days in the US Coast Guard, Chief Carroll Dickman. Its been years since we talked, found his number and made the call with a small hesitation. The risk one takes of calling is that its possible the intended recipient is no longer among the living. One ring..two rings..and then the familiar growl that military lifers never lose.

It was a great fifteen minutes, and I know by the names I have what era my friends are from- to the Chief I will always be "Augie" and I learned that at 68 he beat a heart attack last summer, has stopped putting olive juice (not oil-the juice out of the bottle) into his beer, retired six years ago from his second career, walks three miles every night and hates the "goddamn Chicago Bears." I listened and laughed as my trusty Aurora ate up the asphalt rocketing southward. He promised to come up and see me this summer, just two hours away and that we'd "eat the shit outta them goddamn walleyes" and basically re-create four years we spent together from 1980 to 1984 when I was still wide eyed to the world and he was the wise old salt. He knew of my travels after seeing my books in the local shop and hearing me on the radio and remembers my mug on the TV for some show I was a guest on- and then remarked "I knew I was right" and that was it-end of the call.

Puzzled about his comment on being "right" about something I hung up and it took the better part of an hour for the realization to come to me that as my tour of duty was ending in 84' it was the Chief who was assigned to give me my re-enlistment talk. There we sat this grizzled Coastie nearing the end of his 25 years in service and me with a mere four under my belt. The "talk" lasted about a minute. "Augie get your young ass out of the military, take the discipline you have learned here and go do something big with your life. You can save a helluva lot more people with your goddamn talents than you can learning to hoist them into a goddamn helicopter."

I took his sage advice and left the government backed career in search of the road less traveled. In the 28 years since I left the military my life has been all over the map in so many ways-and there were times that I thought I made a mistake not putting in another 16 years, I could have retired at 40 with a pension! Then something will happen, a letter or message from someone I don't know who thanks me for writing "Every Moment Matters" and how it changed their life. I'll get a call after being on the air about something I said that needed to be heard or when someone recognizes my voice at a resturant and tells me that a show I did on Oprah Radio three years ago helped them decide to not take their life.

We all have our paths to follow, sometimes we get stuck in a rut which often looks like a path. The Chief saw something in me I had not yet seen in myself and knew that if I stayed in that my middle name might be "Budweiser" and that might be the extent of my contribution to society. He spoke the truth as he knew it and understood by me getting out of a rut that was a dead end- and one that I could not see, it would lead me to a path that would save my life in many ways and in turn give others permission to to do the same. Glad I listened. He was right. Thanks Chief.

Sometimes you know when you see a certain name on caller ID that the conversation that is going to follow should you choose to answer it not going to be the usual "whats up with you" exchange. Perhaps its the time of day or night that the call comes in, or a certain inner knowing that somehow raises the small hairs on the back of your neck. It's that call you get when someone dies.

The voice on the other end of the line is familiar to me and it took about ten seconds for the news to come out. My friend was giving me the details as he knew them about how it happened and when, but my thoughts were overriding his words. "Too young" kept repeating itself in my head as I asked my buddy how he was holding up with the loss of his close friend. "I don't know John...I don't know" and he really didn't. When I hung up that same pall I feel when death knocks on life's door and says "it's time." comes calling. Sat in my chair for bit, quiet and reflective on how young he was, how much he gave to so many kids as a teacher and the great conversations we had over the years. Another life finished, like it or not. Tomorrow I will attend his wake, look at all the pictures carefully selected by his family that creates the blueprint of his life. People I have not seen in years will fill the funeral home mixing in with his students and family. We will console each other the best we can, tell stories about him and at some point during the evening the initial silence around his death will change and small groups will cluster to push the pain away in with laughter as we celebrate his life. We'll promise to stay in touch, we'll promise to reach out, we'll promise to not just meet at these farewells. But we all know the truth but cannot speak it.

We all know deep down that one day it will be our turn to be the subject of that phone call. That no matter how many we see fall around us that the human ego in all its grand illusion thinks we are exempt from exit-that death is for someone else besides ourselves. Denial of our own death is a trick that we think puts off the inevitable. In our modern world we are filled with images of those that have left long ago but live on in movies with rarely a thought of "wow-no one in this film is still alive." With the advent of YouTube anyone can become a star and live on in eternal reruns, a taped testament to what we want most. To live forever.

I woke up at 4:26 am eastern standard time. I already have two days that my friend did not get. Each day that passes brings me one step closer to my death, that fact either scares the shit out of me and has me hunker down waiting for my exit strategy to manifest or it is like a spur in my side to get me up earlier, stay up later and squeeze every ounce of juice I can out of my short existence. Tomorrow is promised to no one and while's it difficult to live each day as if it were your last, it might be the best prescription you can give yourself. We all die in our own time, being fully alive before you become fully dead is a great way to make sure when the call comes in, there will be sorrow that you have left, but there will be great joy that you were here.

Its below zero in Rapid River this early morning. As has become my routine I awoke in the dark, wandered to the bathroom to take care of morning business, chatted with the cat and made a beeline for the coffee pot to get things moving. Fireplace goes on next and while its one of those gas fed deals and the logs haven't moved in years it warms me nonetheless. There is something about fire that touches a part deep inside me that is both ancient and new at the same time. Hard to explain. I was at a different kind of fire last night with a gathering of friends, old and new, in search of answers to the meaning of life, the struggle to move forward and how difficult it is to feed the Light Wolf...

An old Cherokee was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside of me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is Dark and evil: he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.” He continued, “The other is Light and good: he is joy, peace, love, hope serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, faith and forgiveness. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed the most."

Shortly before I went to bed last night I caught all the headlines about the death of Whitney Houston. Like all "celebrity" deaths it took a second to register, and I guess depending on where one is on the celebrity scale is equal to the shock of disbelief. For fans of Ms. Houston this is gonna hurt for awhile. While I like most knew her pop standards and watched her years ago in "Bodyguard" it was that powerful, note scorching voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She had a gift..The Light Wolf was fed and brought joy to millions with "The Greatest Love of All.."

Over the years she caught headlines for a different part of herself, the one that attracted Bobby Brown into her life, the self-proclaimed "Bad Boy" that fed the Dark Wolf fueling her anger, self-pity and lies. The spiral had begun, the Dark Wolf ravenous was fed more and more in ways so subtle that it almost goes un-noticed until the bottom of a life falls out. The little girl who grew up in a church background, singing in the gospel choir and loved Jesus was fed less and less. The world watched the inner battle take outer form as is the law.

Besides leaving a legacy of song, Ms. Houston also leaves a legacy of life. In full display she became the embodiment of the struggle we all face to a greater or lesser degree. Which part of us we feed, which part of us we give control to, which part of us do we embrace and heal? Pretending the Dark Wolf doesn't exist feeds it, knowing its there and accepting it with unconditional love keeps it in its cage,hungry yes-wanting-yes, but bringing Light to the Dark is a better choice than letting the Dark overtake the Light.
That, perhaps is the greatest love of all...to keep your inner light shining, because you never know how far it will go or who will need it, might just be you. Or me. Take a hard look around you, who you are with, what you do, where and how you live. Its a pretty good gauge which wolf you are feeding.

Its a tragic end to a celebrated life for Ms. Houston. She was a daughter, mother, friend and icon. The Grammy's are on tonight and no doubt it will be laced with accolades and tributes, love and loss. In time as with Elvis, Michael Jackson and now Whitney she will be remembered in many ways and great discussion will take place on drug abuse and its effect on people. The headlines will change and the Dark Wolf will go back in its cage. Until next time.

IT WAS INCREDIBLE!! No really..one of the best streams of conscious communication I have had in a long time-one of those moments where the coffee is just right, the timing is just right, the fingers are working good and its all connecting...until when looking up the word "portmanteau"I accidentally hit the delete button erasing the entire page that you would have been reading now-instead of this one.

I was rambling on about the definition of a blog-that its basically an personal online journal and that the word "blog" is in fact a "portmanteau" or combination of words that create another word in this case "web" and "log" means "blog" and that at one point I was going to call this page "John's Log" but that might generate more email than I need at this point. I could have gone with "J-Log" like "Jay-Z" or "J-Lo" but that might also generate unwanted attention. I am not always in the north when I write "Notes From The North" so its safe to call this brain drain space "John's Journal" or "JJ" for short. And for the record webs and old logs have been sharing space for a long time before the word blog In the past we might have said "Hey look at that spider's web on that log!" Now we can say "Hey look that spider has its own blog!"Enough of that.

The thoughts leaking out of my crainium today is about my sister-more to the point its my sister's birthday. The spaceship that brought her to Earth arrived right on time 51 years ago today. Considering Area 51 is well known for alien activity I think the number says it all. I kid her alot- because she is my "kid-sister" or "kidster" (portmanteau) and has taken my ribbing and teasing all her life. From the time that I put live mealworms in her breakfast cereal to getting her into a duffell bag, hanging it on a hook in the basement and spinning it as fast as I can just to see what would happen..(statute of limitations has run out on that one.) My little sister has withstood the onslaught of big brother. She has also had more than her share of hard times and loss. I have watched this person who I grew up with and shared a life with for nearly 18 years in the same house be worn down by life and then work so very hard to build back up again. I am not surprised by her strength and determination-its something that our parents, both long gone now displayed and generations of Swedes and Germans that came before us can rest easy in Valhalla knowing that the same work ethic that put Grandpa Carl in a boat on his way to America lives on when my sister gets up early to work one of two jobs.

We talk a couple times a month, schedules that seem so important keep us apart and I have not see her in so long. Saying "Love you" at the end of our conversations has increased as the count of our family and friends has decreased. I think of her often, more often than she knows and today..on her 51st birthday- I was thinking I might take her out to breakfast...put a couple of mealworms into her bowl and laugh our asses off. Happy Birthday Laurie-Love you.

I really work to stay away from the manufactured reality that fills the cable channels. I have friends that tell me they love shows like "Gator Guy" or "Bitchy Brides" or "Garbage Pickers" as an escape from the day. I always think that if your day needs to be escaped from you might want to reconsider what you are doing all day. That being said, I concede there are times when a couch can be just what's needed..and who knows, every how and then some redeeming message might get through the electronic landfill known as television.

The woman weighed just around 650 pounds, an enormous person who was trapped in her body for decades. Her husband enabled her to stay just as she was, feeding her whatever she wanted and being her "life extension" as she never had to move from the couch. The TLC show covered this woman for seven years on her journey to lose weight and find herself, and while the transformation was started with surgical aid at one point the large lady exclaimed that her weight-every single pound of it-was a hurt in her life that was never addressed. She alluded to being molested repeatedly as a child and never confronting her offenders. She spent a lifetime in inner misery that showed up in her world as a wall of weight, to keep others away and her vision of herself as a victim and not worthy of love intact. Deep shit. Her husband figured out that when he dad was seriously hurt in an electrical accident he had to be taken care of and as a boy it was part of his job. He felt great value in taking care of someone that was important to him. It carried over into his adult life.

Every one of us has splinters that have been pushed in from the outside and fester for years on the inside. A word at the wrong time can shatter a soul into silence. One accident can be lodged into a subconscious place only to be replayed over and over again, with such inner devastation that the outer becomes toxic. As in the case of our 650 pound teacher-the worst of human behavior inflicted on a child can create a fortress of fat-because the fear of telling the truth is greater than the fear of feeling at fault.

Made it through most of the show, the couple had new issues to work on because the relationship had changed now that she had lost more than half her original weight and could move around for herself. She stated that one day she might "confront the bastards that did this to me." I hope she does, because if she chooses that most courageous route she gives untold others permission to do the same.

Yeah, it hurts like Hell to pull those splinters out-but its a lifelong Hell if we don't. Sometimes you need to drill down to grab them, but in the long run, and the short run, its worth the effort.

Its rare that I write this blog in the middle of the day. Most of my thoughts for better or for worse that make it to "Notes From The North" happen between three and five am eastern time. The world is pretty quiet then here in the north woods of Rapid River. This morning I woke up early as usual and most of what is going on in my life or my thoughts about what is going on right now just did not seem to fit this space. Maybe one day-but not today. Three attempts at bringing it forth came to nothing. So I bagged it and went back to sleep. It was dark when I woke up and dark when I went back to The Land of Nod, matter of fact is been dark for a long time this winter as it tends to be.

Most of the my day has been spent waiting for a decision that is out of my control about where and how I will live. Its a dark place too, the out of control thing-and it once again reminds me of what I own and what I don't. It reminds me that the true power is in response to much of the situations life brings my way, and how I haven't always responded from my best self. I am reminded that giving my power away to people, place and events continually puts me in a powerless state for then I am at the effects, not the cause of my life. Remembering I am responsible empowers me to my "response-ability" where true change takes place.

Today I watched as people took sides on issues that are important to them, each side making their points and sticking to their guns-which is the American way. We bat the ball of opinion around effectively in this country, point, counterpoint etc...but when it really gets down to getting things done I think we have fooled ourselves into believing that talking about a problem is the same as fixing it. Conversation can lead to change, as long as the conversation is about progress, not a debate on who is right and who is wrong. To think that one side of a coin is more valuable than the other leads to both sides being useless. In the midst of the redundant rhetoric on everything from a lesbian becoming a spokesperson and how that will threaten family values while three sisters who's name begins with K go topless to sell jeans to the pundits arguing whether or not a private foundation fighting breast cancer was right in restoring grant money for public breast exams and on another channel the oddsmakers in Vegas are betting on Super Bowl details like the color of Madonna's hair at halftime..just then...

The Sun burst forth into my office...filling the room from all angles with an inmmense light. The yard in front of me and the trees that outline it were aglow with a light I have not seen for a long time. This burning star at the center of our solar system sent molten rays from 93 million miles away, and it only took about 8 minutes to reach my yard. This blazing orb that maintains its inner core balance without any of us puny humans telling it how to do so is the reason life exists on this planet. It's the reason we are a life form at all. It warms us in more ways than one. It gave me the nod I needed to turn off the side show of CNN and look at the light show that engulfs me at this very moment. Sir George said it this way.."It seems like years since its been here.." I know how he felt.

Without the sun...none of what we argue about would even exist. I am glad the clouds moved on...and the light came through. I needed it...we all need it.

One of the things that most fascinates me is why I see the world and all that goes on-the way I do. It feels like for as long as I can recall life has been presented to me like an incredible game of connect-a-dots of which I am only one point on a vast flow chart that looks great in hindsight-as I can see how things played themselves out but its only after the dominos begin to fall that you can see the true pattern. Where they begin and where they end up are two different spaces. Humans tend to only see things through one lens- OUR LENS-meaning that we filter all that goes on in our lives though an array of beliefs, many of which are hidden, buried deep in our subconscious and only become apparent when the surface behavior becomes a problem.

One of the most popular shows on cable is called Hoarders. Its a wonderful little program of people that live in squalor, mountains of trash, feces, dead animals and every piece of human generated garbage that can be created. These people wade through waves of every imaginable junk pile on a daily basis-seemingly oblivious to the filth around them-seeing the dump they live in as little more than a minor inconvience or that the mess just got a bit out of hand.

Their families of course, seeing through a much different lens are in horror at how their parents or sibilings live. They have moved out or moved on, unable to cope anymore with the living conditions. Third party in this drama is a therapist who attempts to get the hoarder to change the lens-but not by just cleaning up the landfill they live in-because it would eventually come back-but getting to the root cause of the problem. Three common elements of this part of the show is first-ITS NOT ME- being a victim from the get go none of the people on the show think they have a problem even thought its clearly visisble-its someone else's fault the way things are. Second is the resistance to what the therapist is suggesting-CHANGE- and then once the walls come down enough the-TRUTH- is revealed-the source of a lifetime of slowly accumulating crap comes out. All manner of low level human behavior is the inner cause of the outer manifestation. Rape, incest, beatings, starvation, abandoment, in some cases a couple generations of people with major unresolved issues passed down over and over again. Sad stuff. The outer is a reflection of the inner. The surroundings you are in reflect a deep innner GPS that for better or worse have you right where you are-now.

A woman with 143 cats, and carpets soaked in urine reveals that she lost children in abortion and miscarriage and never spoke of it-the cats gave her unconditional love-the more love she needed- the more cats she accumulated. A man that once was a minister fell from grace through alchoholism-had over 20 dogs that he chained up, talked to and had control over-taking the place of the people he used to preach to. A former award winning daycare owner was raped not once, but twice in a year by the same intruder-as a single mom-while her two children slept in the next room. She never told a soul-afraid of losing her business. That internal hell eventually made its way out in the form of a home filled with rotting food, trash and bags of human feces-all used as a barricade to keep the rape from happening again. In the process her son was removed due to the living conditions. On the show she broke down with the truth-and started to get some help. Years of filth nine feet deep filling a house nothing more than mirror from nine years of unresolved inner garbage of which she felt no control over. Post traumatic stress at its finest.

As with most things I see this through my lens of connect-a-dots. Its a reminder to me to keep taking out the garbage on the inside-in ways that are healthy for me-before it gets to the point of saturation and then the outer space in my life begins to get messy. Every tuesday here is garbage day-but thats just for the stuff thats in the bin-truth is I take some garbage out every day-so by the appointed date its full and can be removed. The outer is a reflection of the inner...its that scary and its that simple. We are all hoarders to one degree or another-what you are filled with on the inside is what fills up your life on the outside-for better or for worse.. but you don't need to get on a TV show to figure that out. Or maybe we do.

Its a huge table, comfortably sits at least eight people and you can squeeze ten in if need be. The talk around this piece of oak for the most part runs the gamut from politcs to spirituality and from the local news to the world view. The table has hosted hundreds of people from all over the world and Its filled with all sorts of mail, gadgets, kids drawings, tools, magazines and assorted flotsam that somehow lands on the table and while its crowded, everything looks in place odd as that may be. Yesterday I sat at the table, coffee in hand and listened to the lady of the house talk about a show she watched that had a couple guys who walked 400 miles across the Amazon. The man of the house bellowed out that he couldn't imagine doing anything at all in the Amazon. That prompted the guy with the reading glasses (that he found on the table) to look up from the ad paper and exclaim that when he was on Amazon he found a book about building saunas at a good price. The other guy pushed the cap back on his head and said when he hears the word "Amazon" he thinks of a girl he dated in high school.

We all laughed.

So is Amazon a river, an online book site or some broad shouldered babe that dragged my friend around like Kewpie Doll on their second date? Of course my mind was off to the races in search of more of these confusing words that we love to manipulate and that have multiple useage. Who decided that it was a good idea to name unwanted internet correspondance "Spam?" What does Hormel the makers of the infamous pork-shoulder laden, gel packed, salt sodden demi-meat think of that? When I was a kid the Flintstones cartoon had me singing "You'll have a good time, a dabba do time, you'll have a gay ole time!" Really? So does that mean that Fred and Barney...or Wilma and Betty were...how did Gay become slang for being homosexual or lesbian? I am shocked some Bible banging TV type hasn't made the connection yet and demanded removal of the Bedrock gang. Same thing for "Fags"..in London it will get you a ciggy..in New York it will get you something else. How did we go from a "log" being a discarded part of a tree to something we do to turn on a computer? There was a time (perhaps in my own mind) that a "website" was a place for spiders. Apple used to mean..an apple..one man got the whole thinking it means personal computer.

Of course words that used to mean one thing and now mean something different pale in comparison to the new words humans slap together like "bootylicious" or "crackberry" or "metrosexual."

There are over 250,000 words in the english language. One study showed that most of us use the same fifty words over and over again-for a lifetime-not counting "huh." Its no wonder that we have such a hard time understanding each other- its interesting to me that we place sooo much emphasis (I hate when someone uses the word sooo..)on the meaning of words. What offends one of us means nothing to another. One of the most often used words is "shit" which has multiple meanings of course. For example the difference between "shit" and "spaghetti" used in a sentence can mean two very different things. "This spaghetti TASTES like shit." Might get you socked in the eye from the cook, but saying "This spaghetti IS the shit!" Might just get you an adoring look. Now that I come to think about it I have been told at various times to "get my shit together" and "get my shit in one sock" and that I was "shit for brains" and that I woke up feeling "shitty" and that I think "my shit don't stink" and that I was "up shit creek" and "shit outta luck" and I didn't know "shit from shineola"...whatever shineola is. Turns out Shineola was an old brand of shoe polish and if you did not know the difference between shit and the product-you weren't very bright. Of course depending on the meaning Polish and Polish are two very different things...its either something you do to your shoes or on brass.or a country in Europe. Of course that leads into the words "Poles" meaning someone who comes from "Poland" or something that keeps telephone wires off the ground, allows you to catch a fish or fireman use or a woman dances on.

Got an email from a guy who said "I love the shit you write man." I took his shitty remark as a compliment.So the next time you hear the word shit and it offends you..you'll know what it means...Right?

Its Saturday morning just about 5am in Chicago. Not sure why I am awake at this hour except for the fact that I don't need to sleep as much as I used to apparently. Anything past 7am is "sleeping in" and sometimes I think my internal clock rouses me so I don't miss the best part of the day, that sacred space between the dark and the light.

My hands hurt this morning, more than usual. Over the years of having fingers mangled in football, a severe electrical shock when I was 19 that left me..well..left handed for a year, the pushing and pulling of various construction tools and my refusal as a kid to wear gloves while breaking or pouring concrete is coming back to haunt me. Most of my fingers don't straighten all the way and both pinkies are half moon at best. Tapping away on the keyboard actually helps to limber my digits up. My neck hurts as well. The combination of trying to shove my face through an opposing player's chest from pee-wee football to semi-pro mayhem is a big part of it. Car accidents and other assorted movements have me snapping and cracking all day long. My neck is too big which contributes to my snoring and sleep apnea that has me wearing a mouthpiece just like I did in football except this one makes sure I keep breathing at night. It tastes like shit in the morning and the drool pattern on my pillow is evidence that it worked if nothing else.

I can tell just about 48 hours before it rains/snows/sleets or any other weather disturbance that changes the air pressure. My right knee, devoid of cartilage is a better predictor of whats coming than any Doppler Radar. I have been sleeping on my right side for so long I think that its affected the way I see things politically. Its not because I like it, its because my deviated septum is pushed so far over, the only way I get enough air is to prop the pillows a certain way and do the sidewinder thing.

What else...

I donated a kidney to my daughter and ten years later the stitches still work their way out now and then. I have a big scar runs down the middle of my right hand, a reminder of a car accident 25 years ago. I have a fake tooth posted in my mouth after having it knocked out out coaching football. Had my first experience with a hemorrhoid about a month ago and became a fan of "Preparation H" for about a week. Lovely stuff. When I was a kid I stepped on a huge sewing needle and it broke off in my foot. I walked around with it for a week until it had to be surgically removed. There are still scars on my chest where the splinters had to be taken out after a kid threw a broken bat at me and the handle part imbedded itself in my bony frame (at the time.) I made out like nothing happened and then mom used a longnose pliers to yank out the wood.

No wonder The Machine hurts sometimes with all the pounding it has taken-and given. As I splashed water on my face and looked into my dry half opened eyes, I thought- how amazing the meat suits we are given really are. Humans can go on without body parts, both internal and external, missing pieces of brain matter, without sight or sound. As The Machine gets older I have to work a little harder to keep it in order. Can't feed it like I used to, or push it like I used to. If I am lucky The Machine should last me another 30 years or so. We often take better care of our vehicles than The Machine and maybe we need a gadget somewhere on The Machine that has a little light, just like the "Check Engine" one that goes off when something needs adjusting-like my neck, or perhaps that pain in my ass was the indicator light. Of course sometimes we just ignore it and keep on going until it breaks down and costs more to fix it. The Machine is truly a miracle. It regulates itself without me having to give it instructions. It knows how to heal itself, often without aid of outside sources and it continues to grow billions of cells, replacing the old with the new. It has miles of circuits that allow the unseen nerve endings in my finger distingush between one or two paper thin cofee filters int he morning. The optic nerve flips the image we see with our orbs that first appears upside down in a way that our brain sees it right side up. There are more system analysis going on in The Machine than any other computer on earth, including your IPhone. There has never been nor will there be a greater Machine than the one you are driving now.

There is a little story about four people named Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody.There was an important job to be done and Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.Somebody got angry about that because it was Everybody's job.Everybody thought that Anybody could do it, but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn't do it.It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

Nice huh?-Kinda sums up...just about everything.

I was talking to a person that had approached me to get involved in a project that has great potential, not in a financial way but more of an investment in humanity. When during the course of the conversation they said "We can reach everybody and then changes can really take place." When the concept of "EVERYBODY" was raised a little bell went off inside. I noted the ringing and finished the conversation. For the past couple weeks I have been marinating on the idea or concept or thought that "EVERYBODY" would be interested in the project. Truth is..they would'nt. Its a nice idea, that "EVERYBODY" would understand the challenges we face as a species..the important role humans play in the unfolding future..the opportunity that is at hand to really create a world that is about sustainability not just profitabiity. Problem is...not "EVERYBODY" cares..Not "EVERYBODY" would be interested and not "EVERYBODY" wants what "EVERYBODY" else wants. One swipe through the various reality shows should confirm that some mom who insists her four year old daughter put on fake boobs to win a tiara is probably not interested in the least about creating a sustainable environmental model for her home. The 20 year old male who's highest aspiration is to be a MMA fighter and pound another 20 something like cheap hamburger more than likely isn't onboard with what its going to take to level the playing field for Native Americans. Low probability that the six chefs trying to oust each other over dessert are more interested in burying a blade in their competitor's back than learning how conflict can lead to enlightenment- not just a book deal.

The few do the work for the many-like it or not. While the masses are distracted with the latest offerings and diversions there are men and women and young people who go about the business of fufilling their roles as agents of change. They mostly go un-noticed because taking care of a severely handicapped child is not a compelling as some superstar's new addiction. Cooking meals for the elderly isn't anywhere close to the thrill of watching "Hell's Kitchen" and dealing with the real challenges in life after losing a job pales in comparison to The Donald telling some B list celeb they are fired.

If "EVERYBODY" was really invested in transforming the world it would have already happened. Don't wait on "EVERYBODY." They aren't coming to the party. It only takes "ONE"..and guess who that "ONE" is...? Hint- it's not me...

He is sleeping upstairs which isn't that unusual considering it's 5am. Of course some days it was noon and sleep was still the order of the day, but for the most part those days are gone. Every now and then when he is in the land of nod, I will open up his bedroom door and listen to him breathe, a ritual that I have had since the day he was born, twenty-one years ago today. There have been gaps of course, he was away at college for two years and I am on the road so much that the tollway people know me by my first name-but today..this morning January 23rd- I checked on him just like I did the day he was born.

The world is a much different place than it was in 1991 when he arrived at his pre-destined coordinates. There was no internet then, gas was less than a gallon of milk, a gallon of milk was less it is now and I never had a thought of carrying a phone around in my pocket, much less one with a camera built in. Saddam Hussein was doing bad things, "Seinfeld" made its debut the very same day Andy was born and Fox was the first network to roll out condom ads..get it..roll out...never mind.

I watch him like most parents watch their kids, looking for the inevitable like mannerisms and such. But mostly I watch him just becoming himself, while reflecting back to me so much of what I sometimes forget inside me. He has no worry lines yet, his walk and gait are straightforward and his blue eyes are not yet blurred by the erosion of life. Quick to smile and laugh outloud two things that I often forget to do being the too serious soul sometimes. He is a reminder to me of the clarity and sanctity of character, a young man who knows who he is, what he stands for and will not fall for. Truth is his banner and strength is his code. He will not falter. It's hard not to hear Bob Seeger's voice singing "Like a Rock" when I look at Andy. Its harder still sometimes to find that part of me that he reflects back. There is so much uncertainty that lies ahead, adversity and challenge. Its inevitable. His path will also be filled with great triumphs and celebrations, love and excitement. All that he has learned will be put to the test many times over. Life beckons, but not today. Today is his 21st birthday...

He has been alive for 7,665 days, each and every one of those days a gift to me, a challenge to me and a lesson for me. Every single one.

In a couple hours he'll wake up when he smells the thick cut bacon sizzling-and I will make us breakfast. He'll goof around with the cat and take a shower that drains the lake a bit in preparation for his big day. Later this week he will be off to Chicago from the wilds of Rapid River to suck down his first "official" beers with his older sister Amanda at a Bulls game. His mom, grandparents and family will heap praise and presents on him and he will bask in the glow of that magical milestone called "21" and yes.. I have cried through the entire writing of this blog..as it should be. He is the best guy I know and that realization makes my eyes leak more than a little bit.


Happy Birthday Andy. The world is a better place because you are in it. Love Dad.

As I prepare for some impending changes its become necessary to let go of some things both physically and mentally which includes emotional bonds that tie me to things that no longer fit, be it a sweater or a life. A friend of mine said that he has learned to let go and has proof by the number of things in his life that have clawmarks in them-meaning the process of exchange is difficult for some-easier for others depending on the value we place on the art of discard.

I have been going thru vast artifacts of my life and sorting them into three piles. "Going...Going and Gone." The first pile is the biggest-its where the first step of letting go takes place. "Going" are those things that I know I have some connection to-which is just about everything around me and putting them aside-its the first level of discard.Trash can nearby for the first sorting. "Going...Going" is level two, sorting through the first pile and that takes a bit longer. The bubbles that pop up from some deep subconscious place connected to a photograph or trinket, box or hat amazes me. The NASCAR cap worn by Jeff Gordon given to my son when he was 10. The picture long forgotten of me up at the edge of Lake Superior with both Amanda and Andy hanging on me like monkeys-and the arc of the horizon clearly shown behind me. My dad's Teddy Bear circa 1938..waiting for his owner to come back. The second pile has tears and smiles in it.

"Gone" is the land of no turning back. The word "decide" means "to cut off from" so once the decision is made from each pile and the "Land of Gone" becomes the resting place for much life flotsam and there is a small sense of relief. The load lightens a bit as "Gone" means mostly "Goodwill" that ensures this process of letting go continues for a very long time. Someone else will make a connection with my discards and have to have it. Something inside them will say "That giant four wick candle that weighs 25 pounds would look great in the corner." Some kid will walk past that Jeff Gordon hat and grab it for a buck, not knowing that the NASCAR King wore it for a race. A leather jacket that I have not worn in 20 pounds will be just the right fit for a guy needing one.

I am reminded during this purge that while I am letting go of alot of outer "stuff" the inner "stuff" goes with it to.
Going....Going...Going....

I was putting my trusty steed, the 1998 Olds Aurora with the vaunted and nearly bulletproof Northstar V-8 through it's paces when I noticed the onboard computer was telling me that the oil pressure was about six times normal operational level. The car was running fine but according to the computer something was wrong. I finished the drive and took it to the place where broken autos go to heal. Turns out the oil sensor had burned out and a fuse along with it giving a false number on the digital read out that I was looking at. By the time I saw the oil pressure warning, something had already gone wrong...terribly wrong in the wiring. Enough of that drama.

My wiring harness is pretty much the same as yours-that is the central nervous system for humans contains the same basic blueprint, miles of nerves which is our wiring and all sorts of fuses that are signals that while things on the surface look good, by the time a fuse has blown and it shows up on the computer-the wiring has been burning for a long time. It could take years for this to happen as humans take better care of the cars than their own machinery for the most part. Its been my experience that there are memories held in our wiring harness, some we remember only when a fuse blows and others that lie dormant slowly burning for years until the whole system crashes. On the short side its a daily burn, the traffic, the kids, the bills, the news, politics, sports, the person that cut you off. Our fuses burn out every day and we become adept at covering up the minor blow-out with food, booze, reality tv, any distraction that keeps us from getting into the wiring and see whats going on in there. The more we ignored the small fuses blowing out the better chance you are headed for a major meltdown taking the fuse box and wiring harness with you. Then we end up going to see a mental mechanic and the cost of repair is higher due to the length of time we ignored the problem of blown fuses.

It's good to understand your own wiring and how it works, what torques your bolts (stay away from that) and what keeps your system in order (do more of that.) For me its been a life long learning process of finding ways to avoid that which blows my fuses, keep extra fuses close by and understanding the prevention is all about ongoing maintenance. Not always fun but getting a little dirt under the nails is a part of life.

Sitting at the bar with friends with just the right angle on the televisions hanging off the brick wall about ten feet up the carnage was apparent within the first few minutes. On one screen lay the ruptured luxury liner, on its side looking like a prop out of "The Posideon Adventure" and on the screen next to it lay Tim Tebow, prophet-like quarterback of the Denver Broncos, looking like prop out of "The Longest Yard"(Original not the Adam Sandler version.)

So there it was-full evidence that the Almighty was either a) Too busy answering the desperate prayers of those souls that were within swimming distance of the Italian port but due to the cowardice of the crew were left to jump to their death. Or b) Too busy trying every manuever possible to get Tim Tebow and the Broncos to the most coveted throne in sports-the Super Bowl. The pagan Patriots would not give in and pounded Tebow like two dollar hamburger. Or there is of course option c) that God..the all knowing, all being, Maker of Heaven and Earth, the Micro and the Macro the great I AM, the Lord of Lords and King of Kings, that omnipresent, omniscient (big word for me) and omnipotent source of the entire Universe from stem to stern isn't the least bit concerned about football or sinking ocean liners or my house payment or your most pressing problems.

Perhaps the thought that "Man was made in the image and likeness of God" has gone to our heads. Maybe we have assigned too much Human to the Being. Its possible that God isn't a male or female entity. What if the attributes of the Creator, love, forgiveness, peace and compassion are what we should be focusing on instead of the human shortcomings of hate, unforgiveness, war and judgement? Maybe the old German proverb is the best way to look at it.."God comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable" Meaning that that wake up call from God- the Broncos getting pummeled, the captain that is up on charges for running his ship aground is an opportunity in disguise to all of us to challenge what we think God is and what God isn't. Either that or both the ship sinking and the Broncos losing is because God was really busy getting ready to help the Packers beat the Giants.

In the 1977 comedy movie "Oh God!" John Denver plays Jerry Landers, a grocery store manager that gets an invite from the Almighty to bring a message to the world. George Burns shows up as God in polyester slacks,sneakers, a fishing cap and those oversize plastic framed glasses. God keeps urging Landers to spread his message that "the world can work." So the movie takes the messenger through all sorts of trials and tribulations until finally in the end God is put on trial in a court of law. Landers stands alone in his conviction that God directed his path, and when he is most vulnerable-Burns shows up in court-does some neat card tricks and leaves the Judge guessing as to what happened. Did God really appear and say all this-because in the end there was no proof.

So what happens when we think God tells us to do something? What happens to our faith when we are sure its a sign from the Almighty, the maker of Heaven and Earth, the Micro and the Macro, the Everlasting Lord of Lord and King of Kings the..well you get the drift. Can God be wrong?

In the wake of Mitt wiping up in New Hampshire and the two "God Candidates" Bachmann and Cain (sounds like a law office) both of whom said "God told me to run for POTUS" long gone I had to wonder if the Creator was playing a joke on them? On us? If they were directed by God to do this-it should have worked out right? At least if one of them was made the GOP nomination they would have to have the other one as running mate right? No other GOP wannabee Presidents have claimed they are being directed by The Big Man (or Woman) to hang their hat in DC. Santorum has claimed a WWJD stance (What would Jesus Do)and Perry brings his Bible and guns to the show but other than that-God specifically told Bachmann and Cain to ride the road to the White House. No this rodeo I guess.

At the end of the movie Landers is driving away in his new AMC Pacer-and goes past a ringing phone in a booth- he stops-ponders-drives back and answers it. God is on the line-and in the phone booth next to him. Landers goes on about how much his life has changed and God assures him that it will all work out. Denver says to Burns- "Every now and then-could we just talk?" Burns touches his cheek and says "You talk- I'll listen." Maybe thats the way is supposed to be.

One of the great glories of my life is rising early, about an hour or so before sunrise, putting on coffee and the fireplace and putting my thoughts to paper or in this case a computer screen. I am wrapped in this big house that holds the energy I need to do what I do in the world, a work that has a source and a work that I accept more and more every day.

Its not the work of my father who while an avid radio listener to WGN in Chicago never envisioned his first born on the air (they pay you for this?) My dad was in banking for 35 years, walked the same way to work every day, left at the same time, got home at the same time. He was good at his job but also lamented how much he wanted to be an architect. Its not the work of my paternal grandfather, a nomad of a man, carpenter or pirate depending on who you ask. A big fella with an intense presence who lived life "his way." I suppose in that regard I am closest to his way of seeing the world which suprises me because I don't recall spending much time with him as he was mostly off to his conquests whatever they may be. He died when I was 15. Its not the work of my maternal grandfather, a Swedish immigrant, a short stout man with a thickness of character that comes from making your way in the world at 17 with little money and a boat ride to Ellis Island. He was a mechanic, a boxer and steady hand. I have only three memories of him as he died when I was 6.

Sometimes this early in the morning I wonder what it would be like to have them all here again with me for this early morning roll call. My dad most likely would make the coffee at the same time because he was all about routine. His father, my grandpa John would probably be tearing through the newspaper looking for something to jaw about, to spin to his liking somehow validating his next move. Grandpa Karl, the Swede would be sitting at the table, a cutting board in front of him with a loaf of Limpa bread and cheese, thoughtfully staring into the fire in contemplation.

The truth is that I am them, these men that came before me have left their mark on my soul in so many ways whether I remember them cleary or not. The Dad that taught me the "routine" was anything but routine-its an exercise in persistence. Big John that impressed on me in so many ways to follow that inner voice and guide no matter where it takes you, that life is an adventure that is beckoning. Karl who contemplates from a quiet place and helps me remember who I am and the lessons learned. I am a composite of these men and all the ones that have come before them, just as I am from my mom, grandmothers and the other end of the gene pool. All of their talents, fears, faiths, failures and fortunes are lodged in my subconscious and surface for better or for worse. All that stored data has pushed me to evolve, taking them with me but all the while creating me. No, its not their work-its mine. But all who have come before me are reflected in it.

I have been "on the road" for the past two weeks in Chicago which may or may not be geographically a higher elevation than my adopted home in Rapid River, Michigan but something happens to my inner vision when I get "Up North." With Lake Michigan "below" me and Lake Superior "above" me my view of the world and all its goings on comes from an imaginary but sanity saving narrow band of land that feels like "Higher Ground" to me. Up on my perch I am away from the fray if only mentally for awhile, helps me be the observer in silence for the northwoods thrives on quiet.

Its a long way from sitting behind the microphone at WGN Radio on Michigan Avenue, pushing and prodding, dissecting and dismantling, laughing and learning, criticizing and cajoling my way through the flotsam of life. Up here I sit and look down this imagined slope as the world keeps turning and humans keep doing the most horrible and wonderful things, blaming each other for their lot in life and how this or that way of seeing the world will change it for the better as if they hold the only true lens to see through.

Its early in the morning in Rapid River, the fireplace is going and the coffee is doing its thing. By checking the news I see that nothing much has changed overnight. The GOP candidates are touting the glories of dismantling the government, Saints trounced the Lions, too many people were killed by someone else and there is a "new" YouTube video that is making the rounds, something to do with cats dressed like Newt Gingrich.

Higher Ground might only be a place in my mind at this point but it allows me to stay out of the chaos, so that when I go back in to it I am able to maintain my perspective...and the whole of our existence is about...how we see it. Higher Ground allows me simply to observe, but not judge. To observe but not engage. To observe but not participate. It allows me the space I need to disconnect with the outer and reconnect with the inner. It is the place where everything gets clear and the show called Life is not defined by traffic or trades or tirades or tragedy...and its so worth the climb to be reminded that perhaps I cannot change the world, but more importantly I cannot let the world change me.

Its 7:11am on January 1 2012. I got up just about the same time as I did on December 31st, 2011. I made my way to the bathroom like I did last year, made the coffee the same way as I did 24 hours ago matter of fact I made the coffee the same way I always have no matter what year it is...and it always tastes the same-its one of the most predictible outcomes in my life- the morning coffee.

Truth be told this morning is no different than yesterday morning or the first day of the year that rolled around in 2010 or in 1968 for that matter. The sky looks the same as it did yesterday morning and except for being slightly more wind its a duplicate of the past week as far as weather. I basically look the same as I did 24 hours ago except for the stubble of beard that has grown a bit, matter of fact I am wearing the exact same pajamas that I wore last year. Not much has really changed.

Or has it?

Humans among all creatures have an ability that no other living thing has- the power of choice based on thought-not instinct. The animal kingdom runs on a million years of predisposed action for the most part with a few higher life forms (not sure humans always belong on that list) that have a flash of insight that changes their behavior. You and I have the conscious ability (if we are conscious which is a different blog) to not only alter our environment but also our experience. One new thought that leads to a new action can literaly alter your entire existence. Pretty important thing to remember.

I put my regular coffee mug back this morning-and reached for a new one. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a new cup. Happy New Year.

Driving to downtown Chicago getting ready for my show this past Friday I was going through the usual morning routine that gets me ready for radio. I listen to what the guy in front of my is talking about so I don't sound redundant, in this case it was Bill Leff on WGN, after a bit of that then I start warming up the vocal chords. I love to sing, not bad at it but its more like a tool for me to wake up my speaking voice that I am going to put to use. Talking for three hours straight is not a normal vibration for the voice box so I drop in a CD that has songs on it I can sing to that and my vocal coaches come alive, John Denver pushing me to the high notes, Nat King Cole helping me to grab the lower notes and for some reason this past week Kenny Loggins made sure when I talked fast that my words didnt run together. After singing "This is It" (penned by Van McCoy)more than a few times the message finally got through.

There've been times in my life,
I've been wonderin' why.
Still, somehow I believed we'd always survive.
Now, I'm not so sure
You're waiting here, one good reason to try
But, what more can I say? What's left to provide?

(This is it.)
Make no mistake where you are.
(This is it.)
You're goin' no further.
(This is it.)
Until it's over and done.

(No one can tell what the future holds.)
Oh-oh-oh-oh.
(Who makes the choice of how it goes?)
It's not up to me this time.
(You know.)
Comes a day in every life.

There does come a day in every life, when decisions have to be made, where paths have to be chosen and words spoken..or not. This is that last day of 2011...this is it...who makes a choice of how it goes? Wishing you a Happy New Year is the easy part...living it..thats your part. And mine. Be well..because...THIS IS IT. Thanks Van..Kenny.

I grew up believing that you were either Democrat or Republican, cheered either the Cubs or White Sox and that you never ever put ketchup on a hot dog-mustard only-its a Chicago thing. So the first time my son put ketchup on his hot dog I was mortified! Where did I go wrong in my parenting? How could this have happened? But when he called me on it..I really didn't have an answer except..thats just the way it is.

So much of what we learn growing up from those around us is nothing more than beliefs handed down generation to generation without questioning. Sometimes that can work for you other times, it works against you. Breaking the chain of belief, testing the bars for yourself is essential if you are going become YOU and not THEM. These patterns of belief are so deeply ingrained we find ourselves doing things..thinking things and not really knowing why..execept for..thats just the way it is.

But thats only partly true.

As the new year looms ahead consider this- every day you are either adding a link to the chain of what was or breaking the chain to what can be. It takes little effort to continue to think, act and be as you always have been. It takes Herculean effort to break that chain and begin again..with your view of the world, not someone elses, with your opinion on issues, not the party line and your take on what matters, not what the media deems important. Life can be more than just "this or that" it can in fact be "this AND that" a far more inclusive, richer and rewarding experience than you previously thought it could be.

Liberation comes in the little things..its ok to cheer both the Cubs AND the White Sox...I have voted both Democrat AND Republican and the day I put ketchup on my hot dog..AND mustard is the day everything changed.

Funny how catch phrases..catch on. When I was a kid it was "Up your nose with a rubber hose.." courtesy of Vinnie Barbarino.. Then a little later it was "Where's the Beef?" from Clara Peller..I have no idea who the cell phone guy is but you can still catch a random "Can you hear me now?" if you listen carefully. Ah cell phones..far less intrusive than beef but not as painful as a rubber hose up the nose..or are they?

As I blog away a law is under consideration to ban cell phone usage in cars while driving. The NTSB- the people that usually come to mind when a plane goes down- says that as more and more cell phones flood the market, and texting has become a way of life, we are not only endangering ourselves when driving but everyone else. DD (Distracted Driving) is becoming the new DUI sez the NTSB, more and more you hear of accidents with loss of life while texting takes priority over driving. When in doubt-ban it out. My guess is that humans have been DD since Henry Ford cranked up a Model T- and as time marched on and the vehicles have gotten easier to drive and faster not too mention the number of cars on the road it was inevitable that in addition to doing makeup, eating and jamming to the tunes that something would push the limits too far. Cell phones.

While I don't think you can legislate morality, you can call attention to the problem. MADD came about because one one too many drunks who are total denial, drink and drive even though its against the law. My guess is a ban on cellphones would go unheeded-you know those silly humans know what best for them, not some watchdog group that studies these accidents for years!

I imagine a cellphone lobby (is there one?) demanding that banning cell use while driving is infringing on someones rights and that people are more responsible than they are given credit for. The will argue that if you take our phone use away, whats next? Our guns? Our homes? Our cable?

Just like every other device cellphones have a place-just like people to think that its fine to tap out a message while doing 80 miles per hour and steering with their knees exactly when they are trying to find out the latest score or doing an online search for catch phrases....