Wisdom from a Wiseass

House of Cards

2010-11-18T07:05:00.000-08:00

It seems as though life is a house of cards. I struggle to get the pieces lined up. I’m afraid to let go of each card fearing that as soon as I do, it will cave in on itself. Balancing father vs husband, owner vs worker, mechanic, landscaper, handy man, councilor, coach, friend, lover, banker, cook, dishwasher, garbage man and occasionally, even just a passerby; it’s overwhelming. And it seems that I am always running from one to the other trying to shore up the walls of my card house. Constantly in fear that one card will shift just far enough out of place to collapse the whole thing. I shift. I change roles. Always nudging some card back into place and trying not to dislodge its neighbor.

An amazing thing a card house. From the outside, every card looks the same yet from within, each is completely unique. Pressures from without never know what card they effect nor which cards in turn may be effected. Nudge a 2 and a Queen may fall, a King topple or an Ace slide from the table. No one outside can see how it’s been arranged around us; the back of a card is, after all, simply the back of a card. Nor can they see our frantic activity within, the constant propping up of the cards, catching them just before they fall. Quickly, more friend, less accountant; more dad, less coach; more lover, less husband. All of this while living in fear of the random event that will bring it all down around us. The card we can’t nudge back into place, the gust of wind that sweeps it all away.

We go about walking that fine line. Wondering how long we can keep up with it. How long until I don’t have the energy, until I just can’t adjust fast enough to keep it all balanced? How long until it crashes down around me like a house of cards?

Bill Randall 2007

You

2010-11-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

I know you. I know you better than you know you. And that’s what scares you. The thought that someone could get inside that head of yours. The thought that I might pan the depths of your emotional tides and come out with a nugget of truth. Truth that you didn’t know lied within. Truth that, on some level you’ve truly longed for, but out of fear skimmed only the surface of your mind, afraid of the tumult of your past, the currents of your present and the uncertain distant shores that the future holds for you. Like a lonely soul wandering the shores, getting only your feet wet, finding only the flotsam and jetsam that the sea has purged onto its shores, marveling at what he has found all the while strolling past the true treasures. Past the jewels and riches that are only yards away, but beneath the surface. You pass by those treasures, those nuggets, those delightful oddities that make us unique. You pass by, none the worse for wear, but certainly no better for it either. Yes, I know you.

I know you. Far, far better than you think; far better than you’ve feared. Better than you’ve ever hoped to know yourself. I know you. While you stand at the jagged edge of you that falls away into the swirling abyss of your emotions, your urges, dreams, desires and your unbridled subconscious mind, you tremble and faint. The very thought of introspection creates in you an emotional vertigo that paralyzes. Fear leaves you frozen, motionless, silent. But I, I jump in. Without second thought or looking back I fling myself from that precipice into the depths that remain hidden to you. I have seen far more than you could ever hope to. I have the scars to prove it. And when I crawl out of the primeval depths that you try to hide deep inside, when I climb back up to that jagged edge again and find you still there, paralyzed with fear, I laugh wildly and once again launch myself into the void. Oh Yeah, I know you. Better than you know you.

I know you. We met a couple of times, but that was long ago and the occasions were rare. I was at your grandfather’s funeral and I know what you felt. The stirring of the “big” questions: What of life and death? Will I leave any kind of legacy? Will people remember me? Yes, I was there. We spoke, if only briefly, but I know you. We ran into each other just before graduation day. Really more just brushing past each other than a true meeting, but I was there. And I knew you then too. Your wedding rehearsal, the day your child was born, when you lost your first job and when you accepted Christ, I was there. I understood even if you didn’t. Do I deserve her? Can I be a role model? What do I do now? Am I ready? What do I really believe? I know you. I heard you ask those questions. They are the same questions that I ask. Even now, you are asking questions. You ask but you are afraid to get dirty. You’re too terrified to seek out the dark corners and dusty storerooms of your mind, of your soul, where answers may lie. But I’m not. I will seek them for you. I know you. I know you better than you think. I know you, because I am you.

Bill Randall © 2007 (12/12/07)

Cricket Music

2010-11-16T15:36:00.000-08:00

Crickets
Crickets singing, chirping, playing
the melody sounds
it plays, it trickles, it surrounds me.
I am lost in that sound.
In the distance a dog barks; and barks again.
A plane circles overhead.
A train in the darkness; then it’s rumble is heard, no felt.
That dog again.
The train grows nearer.
The rumble. the horn. the horn.
The plane drones on.
The rumble fades; a distant horn.
The plane circles and is gone.
And the crickets, oh the crickets they continue
Their sweet gentle harmony continues; the constant music of the crickets.

Perchance to Dream. . . .Bill Randall 2010

2010-08-09T15:56:00.000-07:00

To sleep, perchance to dream. . . But what then when those dreams be nightmares and one sleeps not for fear of such a nightly visage as would chill the blood and cause brows to glisten. What, when that sacred place of dreams has been trampled and soiled such as one dares not return, dares not dream, dares not look beyond this waking moment? What then? What sleep if not to dream? And if not to dream, if not to pursue such ethereal and vaporous wraiths upon waking, why wake at all? For ‘tis not the dreams, nor the dreamer, that give life to human pursuits. But rather the pursuit of dreams which gives life to humans.

touching base

2010-02-17T06:55:00.000-08:00

I am aware that I have not recently donned pen to paper. I extend my most sincere apologies as of late, those most fickle of beings which are muses have not seen fit to bestow the gift of inspiration upon my brow. I shall return to you once they have again graced me with their presence and have allighted in the galleries of my mind. . .

small world indeed

2009-12-02T16:35:00.000-08:00

So we (my wife and I) used to have a coffee shop. I was blessed to hang out with a lot of great people. Some in particular became great friends. Some of those folks became more.

There were younger folks whom I listened to and advised when asked. And there were older folks whom I listened to and took advise from. And there were all the great musicians who taught me to play and inspired not only me but my patrons as well. These are very special memories that I will cherish forever. I miss those special moments. Many times, those with whom I developed tight relationships with moved on, as happens in life. I miss them more than the moments.

But the coolest thing happened to me this morning. I had two voice mails. I know, doesn't sound like much, but they were from two of those special friends. Folks that I really talked about life with, you know; those really deep, up till 3 in the morning discussions that could have gone on longer, but we had to work the next day kind of conversations. Good stuff. Anyway, these two had moved on long before we closed the coffee shop. They did not know each other and were off living their lives and doing their thing when they ran into each other. They started talking about Woodstock and coffee shops and they realized that they had both been friends of mine and they had both been a part of the music scene at our shop, just at different times.

They both called right then and there, but of course, I had the ringer turned off; thus the two voice mails. Anyway, these two lives that touched me and were touched by The Serene Bean, have run into each other in south Florida. I don't know if they will bond in friendship or even if they will ever see each other again. But to me anyway, It is neat to follow the web of life and have this glimpse of how it ties us all together across time and distance. Both of these folks are special to me, and that they ran into each other, well let's just say I don't believe in coincidence.

I'm not sure where I am trying to go with this, but to me anyway, it was deep or cool or meaningful or whatever word you want to use. Soemthing that was a huge part of my life, but is no more (The Serene Bean), lives on in that chance encounter. And that lifts a part of my spirit that had sunk so low that I forgot it was there, much less that it needed lifting.

Untitled and Unfinished - Bill Randall 2007

2009-11-22T19:12:00.000-08:00

Uncertainty weighs heavy and thick, much the way the humidity hangs in the air of the Dixie summer; like Spanish moss in the costal oaks or Confederate Jasmine suffocating the abandoned hedgerows of what was once the carefully manicured estates of my future, my dreams. Clarity obscured like the marsh in the morning mist. Emotions turbulent and muddy like a river swollen with the rains of misfortune and strife. The sun will rise. Lifting with it the misty veil and revealing truth; certainty. But what truth? And the certainty of what? For it is not the misty veil nor the turbulent waters that cause me to shudder and hide but rather the terror of not knowing what lies beyond. The paradox of having complete uncertainty except for the certainty of a new uncertainty creates an emotional vertigo that could send even the strongest spiraling down to depths normally left unexplored, undocumented and relegated to the realms of mythology and nightmares. And few who fall prey will ever break the surface again, drowned in their own confusion and uncertainty.

Perception

2009-09-15T17:22:00.000-07:00

My baby sister turned 25 today. A quarter of a century old. She posted some comment somewhere about "been rock'n this world since 1984". I responded back, of course, giving her grief, of course. I told her to let me know when the soundtrack of her youth started popping up on "classic rock" stations. Incidentally, 1984 was a pretty fair Van Halen album.
But I digress.

I began to think about how much more and how much longer my parents have experienced than I. And also how much less my children (10 & 4) have seen. And still further my newest nephew, only days old, who has so much laid out before him and so little behind. And today, Winnie Collins of Littlestown, PA turned 100. What has Winnie seen? What has become of the soundtrack of her youth? And I wonder what in 1934, at her quarter century, constituted "rock'n this world"?

Just for grins and giggles:
in 1909, William Taft was sworn in as the 27th President of the U.S. That's right, she's seen 18 U.S. Presidents.
There were only 46 states in the Union; New Mexico, Arizona, Alaska and Hawaii were added later.
There were only 16 amendments to the constitution. (there are 27 now)
Winnie has witnessed WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, The gulf war, and The Iraq war.
She was there when the Berlin wall went up, and when it came down again.
She lived through both Pearl Harbor and 9/11 (and those nearly 50 years apart)
Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts were formed during her childhood.
She survived the roaring 20's and the Great Depression(s, both of them;~)
Segregation was abolished, a few presidents were impeached, and others assassinated.
She has seen the first Female leaders in our country, the first Black leaders and most tellingly the first Black president.

I can't even imagine what Winnie's perception of the world must be, much less how she might perceive my sister's comment "been rock'n this world since 1984". But I do know that we all have a lot more to experience. And I hope that we all have the opportunity to share some of it with each other. . .

Happy Birthday Winnie. Happy Birthday Shannon. Thank you both for the gifts that you are those around you.

Bill

P.S.
If I ever see the day that Shannon's favorite pastimes are cooking and crocheting, I might just stroke out right then and there!

New beginings. . .

2009-09-08T13:36:00.000-07:00

Last evening I became an uncle. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it got me to thinking. And that (most of you already know) can be dangerous. However, I would like to keep things on the lighter side today.

So, Congratulations Heather and Chris, there is no blessing (or trial) quite like parenthood. And welcome little Tyler. I know this world seems so strange to you now. But get used to it, things won't get much better . . . but you will learn to roll with it and manage the wierdness as time goes on. As a welcome, I would like to post something I wrote awhile ago. Some of you have seen it, but it seems fitting for the occasion.

Autobiography

An empty page. That's how life starts; as an empty page. The first experiences are cold and scary. Thoughts scarely understood and only vaugely recorded. But this is a great way to introduce the story. It must be, because they all start that way. Yep, a stranger in a strange land surrounded by strange things and even stranger people. Sound Familiar?

An original tlae, and each of us with a story. Encyclopedias, paperbacks, comic books, classic literature and trashy romance novels; many different types of texts but all are written in the first person. And they all start the same way. Peculiar yet oddly comforting really, that they all start the samy way. And fascinating how differently they all turn out. Some are tattered and worn. Well used tomes that have been read, re-read and shared across generations. While others. beautifully displayed on a pedestal or under glass like fine works of art, reveal themselves to be entirely sterile and devoid of substance. And musty old journals, left mostly unrecorded, undocumented and unwritten. Still stiff, the uncreased spine complains as the cover is lifted on this obscure text and pages rarwly turned stick to eachother as if embarrassed for their naked leaves and unwritten chapters to see the light of day.

One account may require considerably more paper than another while others are written on cocktail napkins or the backs of claim checks. Some of these chronicles are chiseled in stone and others are etched in precious metals. Bold and brash tales with a sense of permanence. Others still are written in the sands by the shore or on the ethereal scent of early spring blooms. Fleeting fairy-tales; beautiful to behold but lost with the next tide and the summer rains. These enchanting tales tickle the back of ones mind like the comfortable memory of an lod friend. But no one book is any more or less significant than another.

An autobiography; written one day at a time, hour by hour, moment by moment. Is it fiction? A fantasy? Maybe a little of both. Critics say that is usually the way these things turn out. If my experience is any indication, I would say mostly a comedy of errors with hints of tragedy for effect.

Welcome to the world little Tyler. May yours be a bold & brash tale to be remembered fondly and forever. May you slay your dragons, rescue your damsels, feast with your friends and of course, live happily ever after.

Uncle Bill

Freedom isn't pretty. . .

2009-09-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

Freedom isn’t free. We have all heard that phrase before. And here in America I dare say that most of us, on some level or another, agree with this concept. It is a blessing that must be earned, cultivated and protected. But what most people don’t understand (or refuse to accept) is that Freedom isn’t pretty.

“What!?!?!?” You ask incredulously. “Not pretty? Noble eagles soaring against the canvas of a blazing sunset. The sun hung low in the evening skies, caressing purple mountains majesty like a sated lover; inducing a golden glow of contentment across the endless fruited plains.” How can that not be considered beautiful? Much less the baser status of pretty? I agree with you. The imagery of freedom is powerful, beautiful and even awe inspiring. The imagery of slaves throwing off their shackles, of countries toppling oppressive regimes and of common folk dropping the yoke of elitist controls in favor of designing their own destiny is truly beautiful and amazing on more levels than most of us can perceive at once. The imagery of freedom is stunning; but Freedom isn’t pretty.

Freedom is sneaking onto a boat in the middle of the night to toss crates of tea into Boston harbor. Freedom is men coming together quietly (without full disclosure, without press releases, without embedded media personnel) to draft a document many would have considered treason; to literally sign their own death warrants should things not go as planned. I wonder how many of our current “leaders” would have had the gumption to follow through with such a task. It might be scary, but Freedom isn’t pretty.

In retrospect, we tell the story of the midnight ride of Paul Revere with pride and humbled awe. But that is in retrospect. Imagine the night of the ride. One man scared out of his gourd; reeking of fear and sweat on a horse that smelled much the same. Riding at breakneck speed over fields and through forests risking his life to proclaim the beginning of the battle of rebellion. Yes rebellion. We won, so we refer to it as our battle for independence. But had we lost, it would have only been referred to as a rebellion put down by Mother England. Freedom isn’t pretty.

Someone has to keep tabs on the world around us to anticipate and head off threats to our country. Someone has to make preemptive strikes to ensure our safety and avoid larger conflicts. Espionage can be ugly, but the world can be uglier. There are those who are jealous of our freedoms and would rather destroy them than allow the idea to spread. As long as there is freedom, there will be those who would take it away. And as long as people are attacking our way of life, then there will be those who stand to defend it. Hostility is not our goal but is sometimes necessary; is sometimes thrust upon us. Conflict is ugly. But then again, Freedom isn’t pretty.

The invasion of Iraq, the war in Afghanistan even our own Civil war were all ugly, brutal, conflicts. But at the heart of each was the simple belief that a people, any people, have the right to form their own future; that they have the right to design their own destiny. The idea that a governing body can inflict their plan on the people it governs will always result in conflict. Rather it is the people, who by right and by design, should be inflicting their plan upon the governing body; the government itself being merely a tool of the people and not visa versa. Conflict, rebellion, war, espionage; these are all ugly concepts. But every time a people has claimed or defended their freedom, one or more of these has been involved. Freedom is a concept so pure, so necessary, and so innate to our mortal being that most of us would have it, or die trying to obtain it. And once held, we would rather die defending it for ourselves and our loved ones rather than relinquish the sweet existence of a free people. Freedom is wonderful, and amazing and truly awe inspiring. Freedom is the stuff of anthems, of epics, of myth and of legend. But Freedom isn’t free and Freedom isn’t pretty.

A fable

2009-09-03T20:58:00.000-07:00

Fw: [NBSCircle] A fable

I found this on another Blog and thought that it was worth sharing. . .

The good of the many outweigh the good of the few

2009-08-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

So they want to question the interrogation tactics used on terrorist prisoners. So they think water boarding and mock executions go too far; that it is unfair to humiliate those whose sole goal in life is the destruction of our way of life.

I'm curious. Gather up the survivors of all the attacks on 9/11 and the families of those who did not survive and ask them what they think. Ask those who lost loved ones in embassy attacks. Ask those still dealing with the fallout from bombing of the USS Cole. Ask them if having their family and friends back, ask them if avoiding nightly nightmares, ask if them avoiding the shattering of their lives and dreams wouldn't have been worth pulling a few finger nails.

I don't advocate torture, but lets keep things in perspective. . .

Things Americans should remember. . .Item 1

2009-08-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

As Americans we are guaranteed life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

No one ever guaranteed what the results of that pursuit might be.

Bill Randall, 2009

Daily musing. . .

2009-08-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

Where, oh where pray tell is that oh so fine line between confidence and arrogance?

And why, oh why hath the divine hand of fate marked such a precipice with invisible ink?

Warning: ascending soap box - Architect Part II

2009-08-27T06:55:00.000-07:00

Hey. How did it go? Did you find any listings? No not for those computer guys. Did you find any listings for building designing, bricks and mortar Architects? The ones with licenses and liability insurance and continuing education? HELL NO!!!!!!!!!!! And if you did, it was probably on the order of 1 for every 25 computer job listings.

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be in the throws of a 2 year job search (yes the economy is that bad) and have to deal with this garbage every day. Just because "Programmer" is not a cool enough word anymore? Well tough noogies! Architects have been around for centuries. What gives the new kid on the block the right to come in and usurp our titles? Find something else for goodness sake. There are hundreds of things that you could choose to describe what you do, but only one for me; "ARCHITECT".

Further, in most states in the country, IT IS ILLEGAL TO CALL YOURSELF AN ARCHITECT IF YOU DO NOT HAVE THE APPROPRIATE LICENSE! This means that nearly every computer jockey, IT junky and code monkey out that who have embraced the use of Architect to describe what they do is BREAKING THE LAW! That's right Career Builder, Monster and all you other job posting outlets. Every time that you allow a company to post listings such as "Data Architect", "Enterprise Architect", "Solutions Architect", "Microstatagies Architect" or "I could go on for hours and not run out of examples Architect" you are literally aiding and abetting criminal activity. Seriously, in most states in the country, it is illegal for them to use that title. Which brings me to an entirely different but completely related matter.

Secretaries of State across this great Union:

Why are you not addressing this issue? You issue the licenses (in most cases). You regulate who can use the title "Architect". Why do I have to test and pay fees and it's illegal for me to do otherwise while these jokers are out here throwing the name Architect around willy nilly? Please do something about this!!!!!!!!

American Institute Of Architects:

How much do you charge Architects for the pleasure of being part of your organization? And your mission is to " promote the scientific and practical perfection of its members" and "elevate the standing of the profession". Really??? Upjohn is spinning in his grave. What would be more practical than being able to find a job without being accosted by a flood of completely unrelated job postings?

Right from your own website "until this point anyone who wished to call himself an architect could do so. This included masons, carpenters, brick layers and other members of the building trades". I mean, this issue was one of the foundational issues of the organization. Frankly, I'd rather a carpenter call himself an architect that a computer programmer. At least a carpenter can read construction documents and is operating in the same industry!! But hey, I guess that you are doing a great job. I haven't heard a mason call himself an Architect in, well, never. If you could just do something about the completely unrelated computer programming field, maybe Upjohn and his brethren could rest in piece.

NCARB:

Frankly, I'm getting tired of typing. But considering that since 1951 every state of this union has laws regarding the practice of architecture and presumably the title of Architect, I would think that somebody within your organization could get off their duff and address this situation.

And Finally:

I'm sure that some of you are thinking that I'm worked up over nothing. And I am sure that others want to know what I am doing about it. Well, I am worked up. I challenge anyone to go through the type of downturn that our profession is facing without getting worked up. Add to this 2 years of a job search that returns 100's of leads just to find out that 95 of them are really not for Architects but rather for code writers. Honestly, I have nothing against the computer guys. Some of my best friends are in that profession. But I don't call them Architects and they don't call me a Programmer. AS for what I'm doing about. . .well hopefully I am issuing a call to arms. Hopefully, I am stirring the organizations that charge us for memberships to action. Hopefully I have issued the first salvo in what will become at the very least a passionate and powerful debate.

In the mean time, I need to go wade through another hundred job listings that have nothing to do with my chosen profession.

Warning: ascending soap box - Architect

2009-08-27T06:26:00.000-07:00

Arg!!!!!!

I am an Architect. And I don't mean one of those keyboard jockeys slinging code and developing software. I mean a real, Honest to God Architect. A t-square using, pencil sharpening, AutoCAD drafting, building designing, presentation drawing Mike Brady of an Architect. I have a 5 year bachelor of Architecture degree (incidentally, costing 10s of thousands of dollars). I completed a 3 year internship, sat through 9 exams (some 8 hours apiece) earned my license, paid the fees and the membership dues and 14 years worth of continuing education credits. With literally hundreds of thousands of square feet in construction under my belt and 4000+ hours of site planning and thousands more of design and presentation; with thousands of hours of site time under my belt, by golly, I have earned the right to wear the mantle of Architect. And I wear it proudly. However. . .

Do me a favor? Just for grins and giggles? Pretend for just a moment that you too are a "bricks and mortar" architect. Hop on the job search engine of your choosing. OK, now type in Architect and see what listings come up. I will be back in a few to check in with you. . .

We've only just begun

2008-05-08T07:20:00.000-07:00

Hello World,

And with those simple words yet another Blogger takes his place in cyberspace ready to inflict the unwary traveler with his brand of humor, wisdom or philosophy as only he sees fit. Cloaked in the invisibility of technology and the anonymous nature of the internet and launching random sorties of intellectual numbness, miscellaneous madness and even on occasion, the random nugget of wisdom; if you are willing to pick it up, polish it off and study your reflection staring at you from somewhere deep within. There will be no maliciousness but there will be no apologies either for one should never have to apologize for observations, opinions or the random musings inspired by such things.

Thank you for indulging me in this brief introduction and I am indeed looking forward with great anticipation to our next meeting.