Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor...

Taking a break at CrossFit Atlanta.

I've taken on an interesting project that I wrote about in an earlier post. One of our employees is very excited about immigrating to the United States as part of the U.S Government sponsored-Iraqi Refugee Program. He's been asking questions non-stop, which has forced me to think through very carefully the answers that I give him.

In short, he has no idea where he would want to live in the U.S. His only criteria is that he does not want to live in an Arab community, and it must be very rainy. Apparently he and his wife have seen pictures of people walking with umbrellas in the States during a rain shower and are quite taken by the idea of a lot of rain. Other than that, it's a blank slate.

My friend's entire goal in life is to own a small market and raise his two children in a safe and nurturing environment. Oddly enough, his wife is telling him that she wants no part of going to the United States, but he looks at me with a smile and says, "No problem, I can change her mind very easily". We've been talking about renting an apartment versus buying a home, small towns versus big cities, neighborhood markets as opposed to Wal-Mart. It's as if I'm teaching a course on American culture, and he's eager and hungry to learn everything that he can. To him it's as if some impossible dream has suddenly come true. I'm happy for him and his family and I know that some small community will gain greatly from his presence. He's one of the kindest souls I've ever met.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Loser

My wife and I purchased a simple board game that my 4 year-old son can play. It has dice and pegs that you move according with your roll. We bought it as a tool to help him learn to add, i.e. the sum of the dice. Last night my wife writes to tell me that our son is in tears because he lost his first game to her; with his weepy voice he exclaimed to his mother that ‘he should always win’. Welcome to life son.

How do you teach your child to lose? I’ve never been a good loser, even today; my ego doesn’t like it, not one bit. My son is quickly heading down the same road and we’re struggling to help him find a balance between his developing ego and compassion for others. Of course I want him to win and be successful at things that he tries, what father wouldn’t? On the other hand our dream is to teach him compassion for all things, and to raise an empathetic and loving son. I’m afraid many of these are lessons that are often lost on a 4 year-old boy, however his 44 year-old father could greatly benefit.

An Arguement For Blogging

I had a discussion with my wife about social networking sites and blogging. She astutely pointed out that once something goes online it’s there forever, for all to see. This brought up a good point, something that’s been in the back of my mind since I started blogging five years ago.

Michael Keaton made a movie once (My Life, 1993) where he played the father of an unborn son. Keaton's character was diagnosed with a terminal disease and therefor he was not going to be around to raise his son. In the movie Keaton makes stacks of videotapes for his son, imparting fatherly wisdom, and just talking to the camera so that his son could, in the future, get to know his father. I remember one scene where Keaton is giving an on-camera class on how to shave. I found it a terribly sad movie, but it has always stuck with me.

As my wife pointed out, our online presence is forever. If something were to happen to me my three sons would, in the future, be able to read about my thoughts, adventures, failings and victories, essentially my life. Furthermore, through my photographs on this blog as well as Flickr they would be able to see what their father had seen, what had caught his eye at that moment.

When I as growing up we had a family photo album with a handful of black and white photos of my parents before I was born, and some of me up through preschool. That's all I had, nothing more, but I would wade through that album time and again. Imagine now the wealth of information that will be accessible if something was to happen, or better yet if nothing were to happen at all. My sons have hundreds of posts and stories that I’ve put up over the years on a separate family blog, as well as this and other online sites. That will be something that they can value for the rest of their lives, and the lives of their children and grandchildren.

Coming To America

Iraqi boys kicking a tattered soccer ball around in the neighborhood dirt lot

We are getting word that the U.S. Government may be planning to implement a program that would grant refugee status to selected Iraqis that have assisted various media outlets and would ostensibly be in danger once the Coalition forces depart this country. As I understand it, these Iraqis, and their families, will be relocated to the United States and given economic assistance for up to eight months, after that they’re on their own to find jobs, housing, etc… Furthermore, they cannot return to Iraq for a set period of time, but will be earmarked for citizenship. On the surface it sounds like an outstanding offer.

I had a conversation with one of our young Iraqi employees yesterday, and he asked me if I thought that he should take the offer. He makes a very good living in Iraq, outside of his employment with us, buying and selling homes. He told me that he has $100K in the bank and believes that it would be enough to set him and his family up in the United States. His dream is to own a neighborhood market somewhere in America.

How do you explain the difficulties he would face living in the United States? This was my quandary. Any description of the high cost of living, increased taxes, language barriers, culture shock, housing shortages would pale when compared to what he and his family are currently living through. I wanted to describe what I believed reality would be like for him in America, but in the end felt stupid when I looked at his current situation here in Iraq.

In the end, his decision came down to what would be better for his 6 year-old son. My friend felt that the opportunities for his son would be far greater in the United States than growing up in what he envisions Iraq will be like in the near future. I felt that it was a fair and unselfish litmus test, and probably one that my ancestors made a century and half ago when they emigrated from Scotland. I hope that it works out for my friend and his family. He keeps threatening to visit me in Atlanta ☺

facebook

Spring planting in the villa gardens. "Mr. Miagi" doing his thing.

I broke down and joined the facebook community last night, and activated my profile. It’s become wildly popular and I thought that it might be a good way to re-connect with old friends and stay in touch with new ones. Something else to play with. We’ll see how it works out.

Reading On A Desert Island

In Baghdad I get a lot of time to read, and I was thinking the other day that I if were stranded on the proverbial desert island what six books would I want to have with me. Below are my selections; books that I have read numerous times and have had a great and wonderful effect on my life.


Awakening the Buddha Within. This book was originally recommended to me by a friend while I was going through a troubled period in my life. I’ve written about it before on this blog and cannot recommend it enough to those that are searching for greater spirituality in their lives.



The Alchemist. Recommended to me a number of years ago by a dear friend. The work is a fable about a young boy on a spiritual journey and his quest for wisdom and self-understanding. Aside from all of that, it’s also a great bedtime story.


The Way Of The Peaceful Warrior. Another spiritual quest and discovery book. This was the first of it’s kind that I ever read, and opened my eyes to the fact that there’s a lot more to life than meets the young, adolescent eye.


Shobogenzo. Gudo Nishijimi’s rendering 13th century’s Zen Master Dogen’s seminal work. I struggle with this book as it’s filled with lessons that are too often beyond my current level of understanding. Nonetheless, it’s a great book and one that is capable of touching the reader on a myriad of levels.


The Kilberry Book of Ceol Mor. Archibald Campbell’s collection of over 100 ancient and classical tunes (piobaireachd) written for the highland bagpipe. All of this is assuming that I’ll have a set of pipes with me on the island.


The Dogs of War. This is my favorite fiction work and what originally attracted me to the spy thriller genre. Since then, I’ve read many of Forsyth's other works, Clancy, Ludlum, Van Lustbader, and a slew of others. All great fun.

Car Bombs Over Dinner

A little Iraqi girls stares into the camera.

We’re getting car-bombed this evening. So far there have been no less than three massive explosions within the course of twenty minutes, all within a quarter mile of the villa. The windows have been shaken, doors rattled, and dinner conversations abruptly stopped. “Wow, that was a pretty good thump”. It all serves as a poignant reminder as to where we are, and the dangers that lurk closer than we believe. Sometimes we forget.

My Day At The Foreign Ministry

Another shot from the Baghdad ballet school.

I spent the day at the Iraqi Foreign Ministry (U.S. Department of State equivalent) attending a joint press conference with the French Foreign Minister. I’ll start this off by stating that the Iraqi Foreign Ministry is probably the least secure government building I’ve ever been into. It’s harder getting into any U.S. Post Office than it was the Foreign Ministry. I was completely shocked and awed by the fact that I was standing only feet from both ministers, with a concealed weapon, and no one ever bothered to check to see who I was or what I was doing.

Having said that, the building was also full of personal security details, all trying to out-cool each other. Standing on the sidelines it was humorous watching these very serious guys strutting through the dark interior with their sunglasses on, and every manner of gadget strapped to their bodies. It was an earpiece, Oakley, and tactical vest fest to say the least. Again, no one even bothered to ask about me, they were too concerned about looking cool and couldn’t be bothered.

It's Not Pretty But It's Home... For A While

A photo from last trip. Baghdad ballet students gather around their teacher.

I made it into Baghdad yesterday morning after a day and a half of traveling. Coming back to the villa is in some respects like coming home; I’ve spent so much time here over the last fifteen months or so. Few things have changed and the media guys are telling me that it’s been remarkably quiet over the past several weeks, some say that they’ve never seen it this calm.

To me there’s a sense of creeping progress, by that I mean that Iraq seems to take two steps forward and then one large step back. I see the signs of development and progress all around; thriving road-side shops, clean, well-dressed kids walking to school, families playing in the zoo or the park. Then, however, the heavily armed convoys roll past reminding me of where I am. Masked militia thundering around in police vehicles, siren screaming, and threatening people with a pointed weapon that don’t readily yield.

It’s not pretty and it’s far from what I would call normal, but it’s home for the next several weeks.

Back At It Again

Back at it again. I’ll be in Baghdad in 30 some-odd hours. Posts and photos soon to follow.

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day in the United States, the day when this nation’s war dead are officially honored. For those around the world who are unfamiliar with how it is celebrated I offer this brief description.

I grew up in New England, the northeastern part of the United States punctuated with small, agrarian towns and deep traditions. Memorial Day for us always began with a parade down the center of our tiny town, the procession being lead by serious looking veterans of past wars carrying the national and state flags. The then-aged veterans were gleefully followed by all manner of celebratory vehicles; fire trucks, riding lawn mowers, and little red wagons pulled by happy parents. The high school band was usually present along with the Girls Scouts and Boy Scouts. The parade normally ended in the town cemetery where a brief service near the grave of one of the town’s fallen and accompanied by a lone trumpeter playing Taps off in the distance under the huge oak tree.

When I was younger, marching in the high school band it all seemed like a fun prelude to summer vacation. Now, almost thirty years on, after twenty years of military service around the world, the day takes on a different significance. The young faces of the scouts and band members and glowing, smiling, and carefree. To them the day more of a celebration of up-coming school vacation, a time for shorts, swimming pools and ice-cold soda. They can’t comprehend the meaning that it holds for those serious men carrying the flags at the front of the parade. Nor do they fathom that in less time than they realize that it may be them carrying our nation’s colors, or who’s grave the precession stops at to observe a moment of silence on this special day.

The Reality Of The Moment

Early morning fog rises over an Atlanta neighborhood.

My wife and I sat out on the deck this morning over coffee, watching the sunrise through the Atlanta fog. She stared at the two groves of very rare, one year-old bamboo that we have lining our property and exclaimed, “I wish that I could see what this is going to look like in three years.” At that point our four year-old made his presence on the deck, and I began to think about my wife’s statement.

Would you be willing to leap ahead into the future, fast forward your life to get to an expected point? Can I just jump ahead a few years to when my son is already in school, or to the point when our back yard Japanese garden has taken full-form? I think that the answer is, no. Why? Because it doesn’t exist. The future is a myth, a construct of our minds, a dream, mist, nothing more.

There is no future, and for that matter there’s no past either. Neither exists. Doubt me? Then show them to me. The only thing that exists is right here, right now. I can close my eyes and feel it, it smells, it’s cold, it tastes bitter, it’s now. Nothing else exists outside of your mind. Don’t be fooled by this simple mind trick. Enjoy and live what you have here and now because in the flash of lightning it’s going to be gone and will never exist again.

The Terminator

Today I did a “disruptive employee termination”, not the funniest job I’ve ever done. I get called to watch over a company’s management team as it “terminates” an employee that may have the propensity for violence or aggression. These jobs are not very challenging, and rarely develop into anything dramatic.

I laughed a little today because this particular employee was a very small woman that looked like someone’s great aunt. I think having an armed, 6’ 6”, 215 lbs protective agent there was a little over-kill, but hey, who am I to say?

Pushing Away From The Inevitable

I’m traveling back to the Middle East again soon. I’ve been doing this now for over a year and my biggest regret is that I haven’t made more of an effort to learn Arabic. When I first arrived I was keen on hiring a local teacher to assist me a couple of times a week, but I was quickly overcome by other events and it never panned out. I cringe now when I think where I would be if I had pursued Arabic as I had originally planned.

The lesson for me has been not to put things off until I have time, and then never get around to them. Do it now because life is passing by and isn’t about to wait. I’ve been very aggressive about pursuing those things that interest me; being a good father, a good husband, a fair bagpipe player, a better than average athlete, a fledgling photographer, a competent medic, and the list goes on. There isn’t enough time for it all in a single day, but little by little I chip away, and improve.

I look at my 10 year-old son, Connor, just learning to play the bagpipes. In a few years he’s going to leave me in rolling in the dust with young, nimble fingers and lightning fast birls. I don’t stand a chance; I know that. Until then though, I’ll continue to work hard on all of those things, pushing the inevitable away just one day at a time.

The Struggle For Understanding

I’m not the best driver in the world; I’ll admit it, but I’ve probably had, however, more driver's training than 99.9 percent of the people on the roads. All of which has helped me recognize my limitations behind the wheel. Which makes me wonder how the twenty year-old kid that blew past me on the highway this afternoon; weaving in and out of traffic like a video game, knows his limitations? I’m pretty sure that he never attended a performance-driving course, so what makes him think that the world is his personal racetrack?

I struggle with understanding my rage at dangerous and inconsiderate drivers, those that put my family and I at risk because they believe they’re invincible. I understand that the problem lies within me, in other words, I’m the one that feels the anger, its my issue to grapple with. This is the great adventure of Zen, identifying life’s little snags and considering deeply the source of the emotions that they elicit. It’s a riddle or a kõan, something to be unraveled, deprogrammed; understanding then follows. The struggle continues.

Go Outside And Play

A low tree branch hangs over a slow-moving New England stream

I attended my 10 year-old son’s field trip yesterday and stood in absolute awe watching ten coach-style buses pull up at the location and unload hundreds of like-aged kids. The first thing that struck me was the absolute chaos that seemed ready to explode as the anxious and excited kids teamed everywhere while chaperons attempted to gain control. The “Army” in me was eager to take charge and put things in order, but I was only a by-stander on this trip so I bit my lip and watched with interest.

The second thing that I noticed was the physical condition of the kids. What the hell happened to gym class? When I was that age there might have been one child in the class that was “husky”. Coming off the bus, over 30 percent of them fit that chunky description. Throughout the day I witnessed the throng of hundreds sitting around the venue sucking on candy that they purchased from the gift shop and sucking down high-calorie soda. I know this is a sore topic in American culture, but this is the first time that I’ve actually witnesses it up-close.

I’m uncertain if the kids have gym class anymore, if they don’t it needs to be re-instated, and if they do, it’s a dismal failure and should be re-examined. That entire experience was a real eye opener and convinced me to redouble my efforts at monitoring my sons’ diets and exercise. “Go outside and play!”

Flowers Of The Forest

Wilted flowers sit in a plastic water bottle at the grave of a young soldier killed in the first Gulf War

I’m traveling this weekend, up in rainy Connecticut. I brought my pipes with me in hopes of finding some out of the way place where I could practice and not bother too many people. As I arrived at the hotel I noticed that the building sat right next to a cemetery… perfect!

I play piobaireachd on the highland bagpipes; sort of very old, “lamenty”, stuff meant to be played by a solo piper on a misty moor or an ancient castle abutment. The tune I’m currently working on is MacDonald of Kinlochmoidart’s Lament, which is an emotional piece that I often struggle to find the right depth of feeling.

Walking through the cemetery I discovered the emotion that the tune required. Stones marked with veterans of all of the 20th century’s wars, others stood over generations of entire families, stone angels kept vigil over the graves of lost children. The music flowed from the pipes, singing out over the garden of stone as people watched and listened from a distance. It was a good moment.

Cleaning Up

Installing a new front door on the house.

My parents visited this past weekend. It’s been years since they’ve visited me wherever I was in the world. I spent the week beforehand cleaning the yard and the house. We augmented the landscaping, and did a very thorough spring-cleaning. My wife accused me of trying to impress my parents, which grated against my Buddhist bones. I secretly believe that she made that statement on purpose.

I like neat and orderliness, and it’s always been that way for me. I don’t think that my ego is involved at all; at least that’s what I keep telling myself (Zen joke there). Of course with a 4 year-old running around it’s always a challenge to keep things in their place. I wonder sometimes what I’m doing to my son’s development by chasing after him making him pick-up everything that he casts aside, or clean up after every mishap or spill. No worries, my wife’s Type B personality more than balances my compulsions.

I’m reminded of the story of the young Zen monk who spends the day meticulously picking the fallen leaves from the rock garden, situated underneath a small tree. The head monk walks by and the student proudly displays his thoroughness. The old master walks over to the tree and gives it a good shake, and a handful of leaves gently fall on the pristine garden. “Better”, he says and moves on.

You Can't Argue With Results

In my quest for an ever-more healthy lifestyle I habitually read Mark Sisson’s site Mark’s Daily Apple. As a fellow blogger, I can see that Mark puts an immense amount of work into the site, but as the title suggests, it’s packed every day with great nutrition advice. As an example, Mark linked to another great site, Fitday.com, which is also loaded with even more great information as well as a nifty nutrition calculator.

I’ve been a competitive athlete for almost 40 years and I’ve always played under the assumption that your training results are 80 percent dictated by what you do on the field, court, or in the gym. I paid little or no attention to diet, easily consuming 3,000 calories a day, limiting fat where I could, and the rest just fell into place.

Lately the elite fitness and dietary world has taken my life-long assumption and turned it on its head. Twenty percent of your gains come from the gym and the rest… your diet!!! I loudly cried “bullshit” when I first heard this, but sadly it’s true. My “thrash yourself until you can’t stand-up”, philosophy had me doing 14-18-plus hours of work a week either swimming, biking or running, to achieve competitive form.

Now I’m heavily into CrossFit, still thrashing myself, but rarely for more than 30 minutes a day, and my diet is closely controlled along a Paleo or Zone model. The results have been stunning as I’m putting up overall fitness numbers that I haven’t seen for twenty years. I’m running faster and lifting more than I ever have, all the while with plenty of energy to excel through the day without the dreaded insulin spikes of my past workout regime. Hey, you can’t argue with results.

Nothing Special

Magical moments come often in life, the issue is that most of the time we’re not paying attention and completely miss them. You could make an argument that life itself is just one huge “magical moment’ and sadly we’re sleeping right through it, hoping and planning for some future event or dwelling on the past.

I sat out on our deck last night watching the last rays of the day peek out through the tall forest trees. The light was a wonderful amber color, filtered by the springtime leaves. Bamboo plants swayed in the gentle breeze and somewhere in the forest the wind chime subtly made its presence known. I remember thinking that the sun sets like this every day, and there’s really nothing special about this one. It’s just that life slowed down enough for me to stop and take notice. Ahhh, maybe that’s the secret.