Bach: The Well Tempered Clavier

A friend of mine recently posted this short film by Alan Warburton on Facebook. It's a wonderful graphic representation of the structure and code found in music.

Bach: The Well Tempered Clavier for Sinfini Music from Alan Warburton on Vimeo.

Father's Day

It's Father's Day today. It seems like the thing to do is dig through photo albums and post some vintage paternal deliciousness of our childhoods. So dig I did, as I did with Mother's Day, finding some of my favorite pictures of my dad.

It's a little startling to look back at this pictures. Looking back I'm shocked that I've not ever really noticed how much I look like my father. We aren't doppelgängers, but if I look closely at his hands and arms, or especially his eyes, I can see my own.

And that hair. That unruly hair. It has been the bane of my existence, requiring highly trained professions to shape and a cabinet full of products to seal in place. Dark--almost black--when I was young and now slowly softening into the same white hair.

While my mom is outrageous and direct with her humor, my dad has always been a little more on the quiet side. He is the trixter of the family, always seeming to have secret knowledge of what is at hand (or about to be at hand) and engages in some sort of shenanigans behind the scenes.

Update:

We all that Maggie Russell Berkes to thanks for this little memory. She made me think of it and add it to this blog post. I have a feeling she's a trickster, too. It's why I like her.

One year my father, sister, and I drove to Florida from our home in Ohio. Normal families might stop somewhere and spend the night. I'd even settle for a semi-normal family that stopped for a civilized meal and restroom break. Things worked differently in the Mihalko family.

My dad appears to have had a bladder that could make it all the way to Florida. Our rest stops would last only long enough to fuel his car up (the worst trip ever was when we had a diesel car (I think I sustained permeant damage to my pistachio sized bladder). That, however, is a story for another day.

We were just underway--somewhere in Ohio--and I already had to pee. I was trying to distract myself. I noticed out the window a particular bird that was flying backward.

"Dad! What kind of bird is that that is flying backward?"

"It's an Olentangy Bird, son. They are very rare."

"Wow."

I believed my dad, of course. I was in grade school and my dad knew everything. My how things change.

I was in my late 30s when I next thought of the Olentangy Birds. I was driving down the highway looking for a place to stop and pee and noticed some birds flying backward.

"That god damned trickster."

I called my dad and probably called him a god damned trickster.

Profanity is generally accepted in my family and expressed as a sign of love. My mother once called me a little prick. I responded that some day I hoped to be a big prick just like my daddy. Laughter ensued and we forgot whatever it was we were arguing about.

"You remember those god damned birds that fly backward? Do you have any idea how many people I've told about the birds?

My dad starts laughing. I could picture exactly how he looks when he laughs. He gets this trickster look in his eyes that is pure delight--his, not necessarily mine.

"You're just figuring this out now? We were passing over the Olentangy River and I saw the sign."

I wonder what else I'll discover to be another one of my father's jokes?

welcoming me to the world

shoulder rights are the best--wish I still fit

napping appropriate at any age

my first of endless shaves....

getting ready for Niagra Falls

gone fishing
(note our complimentary hats)

Happy Pride

As Pride month begins, social media is filled with images and experiences representing the experiences of [mostly white] LGBT people in the United Sates. I try to spend some time looking outside of our shores to learn about the experiences of LGBT people in other countries, as well as the experiences of LGBT people in the United States that are not often represented in mainstream media.

It is one way that I remind myself of the richness of our shared human experience.

This clip comes from Pink Dot SG. Started in Singapore, Pink Dot festivals are being held through Asia (in in Toronto, Canada, and Utah, USA).

I am waiting

I Am Waiting
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

Do I listen?

Take a listen to Lalita Amos talk on two radical ideas about listening. She is magical.

"What I figured out is that I had had been bumping up against two broad common listening barriers... That is listening for agreement and listening for threat."

I hope you take a few minutes to listen to her, and think of the commentary in your mind that creates some of the noise that prevents us from truly listening to the other. You'll learn something--and laugh too. I promise.

Maybe we can all learn to "squint with our ears to really hear what people are saying by listening more deeply and completely." Make your next conversation one that opens you to a "new future."

Mother's Day

Mom and me when I was 12 hours old

I was looking through Facebook this evening and it was replete of funny, heartwarming, and bittersweet images friends with their mothers. A few years back I took custody of most of my childhood photos when my parents downsized and moved into a smaller home. My mom thought my Civil War era closet-free home might have more storage options than their new downsized home. 

I digress.

If we paid attention in high school biology class we know the stuff our bodies and minds are made up of come from the genetic material of our mother and father. 

Did you know that the genetic material of a baby spreads throughout the body of its mother and circulates around her body for the rest of her life? 

Happy mother's day, mom. Is it a surprise that I grew up to become anything other than the irreverent psychologist? 

Halloween with my sister, mom, and unidentified elf.

My mom graduating from BW with a degree in psychology
My dad in all his 70s glory
My sister demonstrating her early superiority

Graduating from BW with my degree in psychology

That's So Gay | The Gay Sweater