Walkabout

I like walking. I should say, I like what walking does for me, I am sort of ambivalent about the practice itself. I guess I would like it more if I had a different itinerary, but in a small town there are only so many ways you can walk a mile or two, only so many paths and backroads you can traverse. Basically, you go past the same scenery, see the same people, and take the same amount of time every time you walk.

But that's OK. Walking makes me feel energized, more alive. It's certainly better for me that vegging out in front of the TV or computer. I started walking over to the cemetery after my mom died, about a two mile walk, there and back. I did that on the weekends even when she was still with me, and it was because of her that I started. She used to tell me how much she would enjoy walking over there after her mom died (perhaps enjoy is the wrong word, but it was a positive experience however you term it). So after my dad passed in 1992 I started trekking over there when I could. I walk past all the houses on my street, walk over two bridges, past the Apple River, and up a gentle rise into the old cemetery. I go through that, down a fairly steep hill and over a bridge that runs over a small creek and up another steep hill into the new cemetery. That's where my folks are, and most of my family. My grandparents, my uncles and aunts are all there. Sad to say, at 41, most of my family is there now. I have gone to the cemetery my whole life; my mom used to tend the graves with real flowers in the summer and spring and with grave blankets in the winter. I helped her water the flowers and after my dad passed, I drove her over to pay her respects. So it's not a weird, alien experience for me, or even one that is depressing. It's just a part of me now. Some people call their folks every Sunday, or go over for dinner. I walk over and say "hi".

I try to take my digital camera with me on most trips. I love taking pictures and often there's something along the way that is photo worthy. The river, the trees along the way, maybe a stray squirrel or rabbit. Sometimes the sky is a cool shade of red or the clouds look neat. Whatever catches my eye really is fair game.

I do a lot of thinking while I'm walking too. Sometimes that's good. It gets me out of my fairly depressing house and the cool air and wind on my face can jar the lethargic cobwebs that often settle on my brain. Sometimes it's not a good thing though. I think a lot anyway, and for some reason going on those walks reminds me of how quickly time is passing and how far I have yet to go on my real journey; the journey to make something of my life.

But still I walk. My doctor told me a couple years ago one of my blood cholestrol levels was just a tad high and that it could probably be made better just by exercise. And my legs feel better after a walk. I sleep better after a walk, and have more of an appetite. It's just a good thing for me overall. I get better ideas for stories while I'm writing too. In both the long and short runs, it's a win-win.

I wish my mom could have walked more. She had agoraphobia for over half of her life, and though she improved quite a bit in the last twenty years or so, she never did get to the point of being able to walk downtown again. I can only imagine how confining and limiting it must have been for her to not be able to do that. And I kind of wish we could have walked together. For a while I did get her to walk around the block each night; I think she sort of tolerated rather than really enjoyed that.

Exercise is a reminder to me that no matter how boring or inconvenient or sometimes uncomfortable it is, you need to keep moving in order to really feel alive. I'm not Jack LaLane; I don't do "reps" and "curls" or "squats". But I do want to keep in the game and I don't want to become too comfortable in my sedentary lifestyle. It would be very easy to just let everything sort of slide over me now. But I try very hard to not let the world just come at me, but to come at it a bit too. So even though sometimes it's cold or hot or I'm tired or I just don't have that much time, I keep walking, and thinking and taking pictures and talking to my folks and nodding to the passing cars and thinking of stories, and moving toward whatever lies ahead of me.

Even though each day is pretty much the same, I'm still interested enough to make the journey

"Walk the Line": Sinning, Demons and Salvation

"Walk the Line" is a story with a couple of different dimensions. On one level, it's a classic, though very 20th century flavored, love story about two souls who seem destined to be together despite multiple hardships and personal conflicts. On another, it's the story of the saving power of love and one man's descent and emergence from a very personal hell.

The film begins in 1944 Arkansas, where the adolescent Cash and his older brother are growing up in the shadow of their harsh, alcoholic father who favors the older brother over Cash. An accident with a power saw mortally wounds the older boy and Cash's father comments that God "took the wrong son", a comment and an attitude that is destined to leave terrible psychological scars on the young Cash. Only Cash's love for his mother and their shared interest in music seems to get the boy through his time spent at home, and when he is old enough he enlists in the Army. His father seems unfazed by this move, though his other family members are saddened and will miss him.

Cash marries shortly after his stint in the military is finished and begins a family. He works as a door to door salesman, but pursues his interest in music at the same time, forming a gospel band that practices on his back porch. Times are hard for the Cash family and Cash's wife, Vivian is frustrated by the time her husband spends on his true passion, wishing instead he would concentrate on landing a more safe and profitable job.

In a scene that really reveals the depth of star Joaquin Phoenix's talent, Cash at last lands an audition with legendary country music producer Sam Phillips. Phillips doesn't think much of Cash's gospel music, and challenges Cash to present him something from the heart, something that will hit people where they live. Cash hesitates, then proceeds to launch into "Folsom Prison Blues" a song he wrote while in the service. Almost begrudingly, Phillips is impressed and soon Cash and his band are making a record and signing to Phillips' label.

Things will never again be the same for Cash, as he now begins his rise and fall journey highlighted by his soulful pursuit of June Carter's love, his battle with drug addiction and his struggle with the demons in his past.

Phoenix is phenomenal in the role, almost eerily capturing Cash's slow drawl, physical mannerisms and his singing voice. But more importantly, he conveys the essential character of the man; his tormented relationship with his father (Robert Patrick in a very strong, menacing role), his longing for his lost brother, and his dogged pursuit of the one true love of his life, his soulmate June Carter. There are really some powerhouse emotional scenes here; Cash's manic, drug addled attempt at "Stripes" just before he collapses, his confrontation with Vivian over his relationship with June, his clear torment over his need for June and his guilt from neglecting his family, all played out onstage; his truly chilling Thanksgiving clash with his father. It's a role that screams "Oscar nomination", but Phoenix never seems to be pursuing this purposefully or showboating. He is fine in the smaller moments too; his first meaningful chat with June in a diner, his tentative attempts to seduce her, and his obvious pain when he is home off the road and realizing this isn't the life he wants.

Reese Witherspoon is also terrific as June Carter; bubbly and infectiously upbeat in her public persona but deeply moral and fiercely loyal in her private one. Like Cash, Carter has a strong Christian background against which she always measures her behavior and which sometimes clashes with her personal experiences. She seems to be battling her obvious attraction to this self-destructive man, and seems to be drug kicking and screaming into a relationship that can only be accurately described as fated. I particularly liked the scenes onstage between her and Cash, where there seems to be a special kind of energy that can't be dampened by anything that occurs offstage, as if they have their own private bubble of paradise that can't be intruded upon. It's fitting that so many of the film's most important moments seem to occur when Cash is onstage; his collapse, his coaxing of Carter to sing with him for the first time, and his eventual onstage proposal.

"Walk the Line" is a powerful story that transcends the country music industry or even the life of Johnny Cash to become a tale of fated love, fall from grace and eventual redemption through the power of love. That it is based on fact makes it all the more resonant and meaningful, and for me, enjoyable.

The World is Too Much

My dad didn't know a damned thing about fixing up the house. He wasn't a carpenter, a painter, an electrician, He didn't know how to install drywall, or build on a deck, or shingle a roof or landscape a yard.

My mom wasn't on any committees. She didn't get petitions going, she didn't run for office or set up a foundation or tend a garden. She didn't have a car, and in fact didn't even drive. She didn't work outside the home and she wasn't my soccer coach. She didn't travel the world, or even that much within the U.S.


I cannot help but think how their lives would have been perceived in this modern age, particularly if they had been young adults in this 21st century. Somehow, sometime, it became unthinkable to not be able to do EVERYTHING. Your roof need replacing? Do it yourself, Wimp! Need rewiring done? Hell, get off your ass and do it! Replace your own pipes, do your own taxes, paint, school your kids at home, buy books about how to raise your kids, become an expert in every single aspect of modern life and then by God, apply it!

I suppose a lot of this trend is based on the information explosion. There is almost nothing you can't look up on the Internet or buy a "...for Dummies" book about, and why wouldn't you want to save money by doing as much as possible for yourself? Why wouldn't you want the latest thinking on child rearing, health care, investing your IRA or 401K, starting a garden, or caring for a pet? Doctors, plumbers, painters and carpenters all charge outrageous hourly fees and there is nothing wrong with being independent and frugal at the same time.

But with all this information at our disposal there comes a kind of pressure, too. Now we not only feel that we CAN learn and do just about everything, but that we HAVE to learn and do everything. If your neighbor is putting on his roof himself, you feel somewhat inadequate if you don't do the same. If your brother is rewiring his house, you feel like you should be able to as well. Never mind that your neighbor or your brother may not really know what the hell they are doing. A "how to" manual and a helpful website aren't really sufficient to make one an expert in anything, but that's how our world works these days. We all know a little bit about everything, but we don't know a LOT about anything.

That doesn't stop us from prying open the hood of the car and poking our noses around and making all kind of knowing grunts, or assuming because we can pound a nail that we can make a blueprint and understand stress points and complex geometry. We wouldn't dare do otherwise. We are all being propelled by a sense of "keeping up with the Joneses" knowledge wise, so to admit that there are actually areas we aren't particularly skilled in is socially verboten.

I'm not quite sure who is to blame for all of this. The media, our hyperkinetic culture (I long for the days of ONE treadmill; now we seem obligated to keep several going at once), or more likely, just ourselves for being so foolish and weak willed that we give into the tyranny of it all. The TV and internet can blast away all day at us, but in the end they are just devices. We are the ones with a brain and a choice. We can choose to attempt the things we have an aptitude (and time and energy) for, or we can run around like one of Ed Sullivan's plate spinners and hope that it doesn't all come crashing to the ground and expose us for the frauds that we are.

In our quite understandable joy at the freedoms the 20th century brought (access to technology and information, equal rights for all sexes, colors and religions, unprecedented economic resources) we began to feel invincible. But for all these wonderful developments, we are still limited by time and energy. There are still only 24 hours a day and we still only live to be around 80 years old. Add in the fact that some people are just more naturally inclined towards certain skills and you come up with the same formula you've always had; we're only human, despite all the advances. And while learning is absolutely essential to survival, not to mention fun, there is a point at which we need to acknowledge that everyone doesn't have to know EVERYTHING! It's OK to ask for help, or beg ignornance. You don't have to have an answer to every single question that is posed to you. Just as it's OK to say "I don't know", it's OK to say "I can't do that".


My father did know how to do difficult arithmetic in his head. He was a great organizer of people, time and resources. He coached my Little League baseball team and played catch with me nearly every night. He was in the U.S. Army in World War II, and he did government work for 32 years. He was on the local city council for ten years. But he also loved mowing the lawn, talking about high school basketball games from years gone by, keeping box scores of baseball games, and walking our dog. He liked to read the paper and take a nap. He shuttled several elderly relatives and friends to doctor's appointments, and he loved a good ice cream cone.

My mother was a great cook. She knew how to play the piano and saxophone. She had terrific handwriting, and was a great speller. She had a wonderful memory for days gone by, and was a good listener. She was good with animals, patient and loving with children and had a really witty sense of humor. She kept house, balanced a checkbook, and she played endless games with me as a child. She helped me with my homework, taught me how to treat other people with kindess and was the most giving person I have ever known. She loved to play games, watch TV, use her WebTV, chat on the phone with friends, and eat out. She liked to shop and take long rides in the country. She liked to listen to big band music and read biographies.


And, for me, they knew, and did, enough.