Legacy

When I first got my driver license it had a pink dot on the back that read “donor.” I did it because I thought it was a kind thing to do, but when the folks got a little weird about it the button came off. After all, I’ve always believed that decisions we make about our posthumous selves should be governed mostly and probably solely by the concerns of those who will survive us; our own desires are irrelevant at that point (indeed we can argue about their in vivo relevancy!).

So with that guiding ethos in mind I sit here and scratch my head and wonder at that age-old theme that looms so large in the great works: legacy. We speak of the legacy of presidents, philanthropists, artists and even us common folks. Legacy takes the form of accomplishment, money, bloodline, reputation, and even just plain ol’ being remembered. Once dead, though, why should any of us care? But everyone does and I don’t really understand why, though the usual reasons come to mind.

Does my stance sound glib or naïve? Think about it. Aren’t the usual reasons (and I’m purposely leaving them for the reader to define) concerned less with how people will remember us than with fears that we’ve fallen short during our lifetimes? Why can’t we let the record speak for itself? Why do we feel a need for embellishment, to justify? Are we merely substituting who we were with the memory of who we hoped to be? Who do we fool? Our loved ones? Ourselves? Our God?

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On a totally unrelated and much lighter topic, why do we congratulate people on their birthdays? As if we never expected them to make it so far!

That's it.

Contrary to the mood of the last post, I'm lovin' life right now. That was just too [something] of a dream to pass up the chance to write about it. I didn't go back and dream anything like it again, though I wish I had. I'm still holding out for the "two weeks." It was the only concrete detail I remembered and it's fun to fantasize that it might have some real-world significance.

But we can't live in a dream world all day long....

The temp project I was working on ended, but I was invited to return for another. Looks like it'll be over in a week or two. That's all right, though.

Did Car Clinic this past weekend. Fun stuff.

That's it.

In my dreams

Does this happen to anyone else? When I don’t sleep much for a couple days in a row and then get a full night’s sleep I often have particularly vivid dreams as if my mind is making up for the previous nights.

Last night I dreamed about---gulp---my wife. I’m not married and I don’t think I’ve met her yet, but I dreamed about her nonetheless. Basically the dream seemed to expose some fear that maybe my careful, prayerful approach to relationships might be causing me to miss my chance. Nothing new there. I’ll be the first to admit that in the dark of night sometimes I doubt my own convictions.

The few details I can remember about the dream go something like this. She was someone I knew as a friend, but she was frustrated that I wouldn’t make the move toward a romantic relationship. In that way that can only happen in dreams, this evolved into her being frustrated that I wouldn’t propose to her or something along those lines. In any case, I saw the next step as being a huge leap and I wanted desperately to know it was the right thing to do before I jumped. I needed confirmation that it was God’s will for my life. I needed to pray. I needed time. All well and good, but here was this wonderful, beautiful woman who had absolutely captured my heart crying her heart out. In my dream her eyes were red and swollen from crying which made me love her all the more. It would have been so easy to say yes. Any bystander would have thought I was crazy not to say yes, that I was risking losing her by asking her to wait, that I was just looking like I was afraid of commitment or something. As if I really wanted to wait! It was killing me to say no, but I just had to wait a little longer. Believe it or not, I do remember that I specifically told her to give me two weeks. Not very realistic, but it was only a dream after all!

The weirdest part of the dream is something I can’t easily describe. I saw her. I knew I would marry her and I felt that feeling tangibly. It was real, exciting and so palpable it didn’t seem like a dream at all. As I’m writing now I’m getting flashes of remembrance. I remember the anguish, her wet eye lashes sticking together from her tears. I almost remember what she looks like. I want to remember. I want to go back and dream a little more. Did she wait for me? Will she meet me in my dreams?

(I am so gonna get busted one of these days for writing all this syruppy stuff in such a public forum!)

Hey mister, could you stake a fellow American to a meal?

“Hey mister, could you stake a fellow American to a meal?” This is Bogart’s line as he plays the expatriate bum Fred C. Dobbs "Dobbsie" in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. He inadvertently hits up the same guy a few times because he never looks at the guy’s face; he merely recognizes the fine clothes for what they are—his next meal ticket....

You know, on a second reading, this post didn't sound too good so I deleted it. I thought it was pretty witty, but there were just too many ways to misunderstand it.

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On another topic altogether, I got two calls this morning that just made me laugh. One was from a friend asking when she could come by and drop off the jar of kimchi. The other was from a friend asking me what adhesive would be best to glue two pieces of sterling silver together. I laughed because these non sequitur calls are par for the course in my humble little life.

Growing sentimental

Well, pardon me for being sentimental! My sister gave me the “Whatever!” treatment the other day when I told her about this guy I saw on the train. He was studiously reading a book whose name I was trying to sneak a glance at. I never got the name of the book, but I noticed the guy—maybe about 19 years old—was wearing an oversized wedding ring that looked a little silly on such a thin, bony hand. It got me to thinking what an apt metaphor that was for someone who married so young. In a sense, you see, he’s got quite a while to go before he “grows” into his wedding ring. Best wishes to him.

Layered cake

The cake came out great. It suffered a little on the drive over and my piping technique leaves a lot to be desired, but all in all it had the desired effect.








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There is tired and then there is sleepy. Tired is when you need to take a little break before returning to your work. Sleepy is when your chin slowly moves down to your chest, your eyes roll back into your head, everything goes dizzy-blank for a couple seconds and then a little squirt of adrenaline suddenly jerks you back to consciousness like when someone unexpectedly wakes you out of a nightmare. You repeat the cycle over the course of several minutes until your beeping computer alerts you to a string of “aasaasaasaaaaaaaaaasaaaaasaa” on your screen, your pudgy little fingers spreading over a couple keys. Cycles.

In a moment of semi-conscious lucidity (neat oxymoron) you realize this was only part of the larger cycle of coming to work every day, of waking and sleeping, living and dying. These cycles—some short, some interminably long—all combine and layer to form a sort of composite sound. Somewhere in a physics, math or music class you probably came across the notion that all periodic waves can be expressed as the sum of simple sine waves. For example, a flute and a piano sound entirely different though they play the same note. Graphed on an oscilloscope the flute sound looks like a smooth sine wave. The piano plot shows the same repeating wave, but it’s scraggly, not smooth. Why? Overtones—the higher frequency waves, the sum of which combine to make the unique “shape” of the piano’s sound.

So that’s the metaphor. The happenings of our lives are almost always periodic (they repeat) and vary in frequency and intensity. Individually they can seem boring and routine (a simple sine wave), but collectively they make a sound that is complex, unique and audible. Just take a step back and listen.