Seeing Differently

SeeShell Snorkel Mask on Longboat Key

I attended Foundations and Frontiers in Appreciative Inquiry in Longboat Key, Florida last week.

David Cooperrider said that "All change begins in the imagination of the mind" and that inquiry and change occur simultaneously. A change in the questions will result in a change of the answering results. Therefore, our collective image of the future will be what creates the future.

How do you cultivate wonder and a renewed vision? Cooperrider cited Fred Polak's 3 parts to a re-birth of vision:

1. Influence optimisim-the belief that humans can indeed effect the future

2. Artists, poets and spiritual leaders to demonstrate how to vision and appreciate

3. Societies that work in the public space--real civic dialogue.

I need to reflect more upon the workshop, but have some initial ideas on how to implement some of what I have learned in my work.

Its the "Crooked River" stupid

I am dumbfounded that people are seriously considering straightening the Cuyahoga River to accommodate a parking lot. The word Cuyahoga literally means CROOKED in the Iroquois language. We should be investing in infrastructure that supports a walkable, bike-able urban core that relegates cars to the periphery. Not a plan that esteems a parking facility more than the beautiful, iconic oxbow of the Cuyahoga River.



In other awful news, Senator Voinovich's solution to Governor Elect John Kasich's plan to nix the 3C rail is to reallocate the funding to roads and bridges. Really? I'd rather see the money go to a rail project in another state if our leaders refuse to use it here for non automotive infrastructure.

So, Ohio will move a river and refuse millions in federal funding because we can't see beyond our steering wheels. Great. Guess it's time to write some letters.

Car-free: Day 1

Greyhound trip from Columbus to Cleveland was great and I got some good reading done. I am officially car-free in Cleveland. Walked to brunch with friends today. I get to cancel my car insurance and get a rebate just in time for some holiday shopping. Good deal.

This weekend should be good

Here’s what I’m thinking:

Friday--Pop Up Gift Shop opening

Saturday--Burning River Roller Girls fundraiser for the Animal Protective League

Sunday--Near West Theatre’s production of Willy Wonka

I'll likely sprinkle in some Ashtanga practice, coffee from Loop, light reading and some friends.

Sound in my Faith

I'm not sure I believe in Jesus, but I do believe in the Staple Singers. Their musical journey from gospel to R&B is worth repeated listening and it parallels their physical journey from Down in Mississippi to Chicago.

I listen to the Staple Singers whenever I need a boost and also to check myself. I've always liked the sound of hand clapping in music and no one does it like the Staple family. And, Pop Staples sounds a lot like my grandpa Jesse who is also from Down in Mississippi.

The Drifter

I had a vanity license plate on my first car: D R I F T E R. My dad used to call me that when I was a teenager because I was so independent and would just take off for awhile and do my own thing. “Well look who decided to come home. It’s the drifter,” was a familiar refrain. When I bought my first car, a 1988 Toyota Camry, he made a present of the nickname and had it emblazoned on my license plate.

Heading off to college at Kent State with a vanity plate for an already very used car was a bit embarrassing, but I did feel like my car was my freedom. Besides, I couldn’t hurt my dad’s feeling by changing the plate. Inside my car I could gather my thoughts, blare music, sing at the top of my lungs, take a road trip, spread my wings, burn some rubber, see the country, get a one-armed sunburn, get off campus, get to my job. I kept the car for 5 years and 220,000 miles.

A combustible engine was always the route to freedom in my family. When I was a tot, my parents were members of the Buckeye Vanners. As members of the van club, we went on road trips, used CB radios and slept in our van. My dad’s handle was Captain Midnight and my mom was Midnight Angel.

My dad always named his cars: The Green Hornet, The Blue Maverick, . . . He had pick up trucks and motorcyles: a Triumph Bonneville, a Kawasaki, a Yamaha and a Harley. The open road meant something to us. The only vacations we took were by car, van or motorcycle. I never traveled by airplane until I was an adult. I went cross country with my dad on his Harley and arrived back home, weathered, windblown and just a little tougher than when I left.

Fast forward and freedom means something very different to me now. I’ve about had it with my current vehicle. I don’t really enjoy driving anymore. I’ve since discovered Cleveland’s Regional Transit System, Greyhound, Amtrak, a bicycle and my feet. Vehicular freedom comes with a big a price: car payments, insurance, accidents, stress, carbon emissions, traffic jams, a sedentary lifestyle, isolation.

I am giving my car to my brother. I'll drop it off when I’m home for Thanksgiving and will take Greyhound back to Cleveland. I’ll try being car-free.

I went to Sonoma for a wedding last weekend. These are the first redwoods I've seen.



God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand tempests and floods. But he cannot save them from fools.
--John Muir

Van Morrison, Summertime in England

I know it is Autumn, but listening to this song this morning made me feel rooted in this season, in the now.

It aint why . . .
It just is . . .
Thats all
Thats all there is about it.
It just is.
Can you feel the light?