Notes From A Bear's Journey

   This all began some forty years ago, back when I was writing newsletters and publishing a few incidental articles in magazines, back when I was reflecting on a younger life, a time when life was rather carefree and moving along steadily on that treadmill.  It would be among my first forays into the world of questioning, a world that fascinated me with a balance of accepting what was and asking what could be; and I was far from alone for there was a tidal wave of music and social norms that were collapsing, not necessarily taking over the old but showing others that choices existed and that individual decisions were just that...to be made by individuals, even people like you and me.  So way back, here's what I wrote (and what became the introduction of this blog ):       It seemed difficult to believe that this foreign land of painted birds and woven greenery could hide such hatred, a hatred rationalized by political growth or religious righteousne...

   It's a classic phrase in the American sport of baseball, that crack of the bat and the announcer following the ball as it arcs ever so slowly into the distant bleachers.  A home run, the base runners gleefully rounding the bases, their team excitedly waiting at home plate, their bodies bouncing and gyrating like popcorn popping, hunks of muscled men forgiven for acting like kids, their antics only echoing our feelings in the stands.  The final word of the phrase of course is "gone," that final clunk when the ball passes the railing and reaches its end, the waiting fans all trying to snag it before it can hit the seats, their hands waving as frantically as their arms, reaching and shoving for that tiny stitched ball that is bound to sting when stopped, a final hurrah, a last burst of it energy before it heads off to a shelf or a pocket, likely never to see again what it once did.  I hesitated to use the final part of that phrase, partially because that ball's ...

   Going to visit my mother regularly has been rewarding in that slowly --ever so slowly-- I am being opened to a fish-eyed view of the world.  On one side are the young, the med-techs and the aides who are there to wipe butts and put up with all sorts of changing moods, jobs that are probably not paid well (or as well as they should be) and are likely a grudging stepping-stone for their next career move.  But many of them are still enthusiastic, perhaps seeing such tempers and accusatory remarks from the elderly on a grander scale, a commonality which is likely shared by many in such facilities...they steal, they take things, they come in my room and look around, all things I hear regularly from my mother.  The nursing assistants and aides just nod their heads as if it's all little more than old news.  And then to jump to the other side, there are the residents who have so many fascinating stories but find that those are coupled with failing memories, thei...

   We all need a getaway now and then, an escape to the "wide open spaces" and the outdoors with no walls or barriers; thus has continued the idea of office spaces with few if any cubicles, and homes with grand combined rooms and fewer defining walls.  For those without those additions, there are always the parks...not the large national parks (the National Park Service cautiously celebrated its 100th anniversary) but the smaller-scaled neighborhood parks, the ones parents take their children to or where young teens take a stroll and perhaps sneak in an innocent first kiss, and even those patches of green that somehow magically appear to have wedge themselves into a space between shadowy buildings.  Some of these are grand and generations old (such as Golden Gate Park in San Francisco) while others proudly display their smallness and newness with plasticized (and safety-oriented) playgrounds and manicured walkways or a simple set of benches.  So because such p...

   When asked to do a piece on Italy from the NY Review of Books' blog, Tim Parks (the author of over 20 books) wrote this on his page : I’ve always hated the word blog.  I dislike the idea of a writing which is perhaps more careless, off the cuff, here today and gone tomorrow...What I wanted to write about was writing itself, and reading, and books.  Not in a precious way. I thought I might use the space to say all the things I feel are never said about this profession, this habit, obsession, whatever.  The literary world is so full of piety, and snobbism, and in general a defensive need to describe everything we do as terribly important, central to the survival of Western culture, and so on.  The experience of reading books, of putting them down before we’ve finished them, of feeling that a book is very good, but nevertheless not really wanting to finish it, or again feeling it is very bad, but devouring it.  These were the things I wanted...

      There's sometimes an odd feeling when you get a call or letter and are told that you'd better "get there as soon as possible."  Often this doesn't bode well for usually that means that the person you need to see has been in an accident or has been seriously hurt or perhaps is close to dying.  Sometimes there are restrictions on you, be they time or money or obligations.  Who will take care of the kids or the dogs, and how much will that last-minute ticket be and do I have the time?  But for me, both the letter and the call came and my obligations were few, and when that all happens what excuses did I have?  An inconvenience?  Grabbing a last minute flight or car or hotel room?  Not a problem said my wife, who was more than understanding.  Quick, the neighbor of my friend seconded; you'd best be here "as soon as possible."  The person they were talking about was an old friend, an aunt of my friend really, a spitfire f...

   There is an interesting piece on TED by archeologist Sarah Parcak on what little we have discovered, a fact made more revealing when she mentioned: In the Egyptian Delta alone, we've excavated less than one-1000th of one percent of the total volume of Egyptian sites.   When you add to that the thousands of other sites my team and I have discovered, what we thought we knew pales in comparison to what we have left to discover.   When you look at the incredible work that my colleagues are doing all around the world and what they're finding, I believe that there are millions of undiscovered archaeological sites left to find.   Discovering them will do nothing less than unlock the full potential of our existence.  It's interesting to think that we have so much left to discover, although in reading Rory Stewart's recent book, The Marches , he tells of discoveries in Scotland being re-buried in order to save them from both visitors and looters alike....