Goodbye 2010

2010 may well have been one of the most momentous years of my life. I retired. I moved to Colorado. I was arrested in Washington, D.C. That got your attention, didn't it? By blogging my resolution to more faithfully post in the new year, I am making a semi-public commitment to you that I am obliged to honor if I expect to keep your trust (man of my word and all that rot). I have accepted that only on rare occasion do I incite comment, but I think I may have hit upon a plan for at least encouraging the agree/disagree response. I will be intentional in the coming year about making each day's post solicitous; e.g. I'm guessing that of the three milestones I mentioned at the beginning, readers will be most interested in more details about what happened while I was at Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity. It is now up to you, dear Reader, to agree or disagree.

P.S. There are new pics at my flickr link.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Eighty-seven years is quite an accomplishment by any measure. A car that age is considered a classic, and the same applies to Dad. A child of the Great Depression, a veteran of WWII, and ordained for more than six decades, Dad is representative of what Tom Brokaw has dubbed The Greatest Generation. The proximity of our birthdays has ensured that I've never been shortchanged on distinct celebrations, and I suspect there's at least one Christmas that Dad will never forget. Innumerable people have been touched by the man that I am fortunate to have as my father, and I am sure that most of them join me in wishing him the happiest of birthdays.

Time to Get Rid of Christmas?

How Christmas is perceived says much about the worldview of the perceiver. There is little question but what the contemporary manifestation is corrupt and bereft of anything save corporate profit. Yes, this applies to institutionalized religion as well, the present example being the Church. The utter absence of the theological in our current circumstance finds expression in Black Friday preceding Christmas and Good Friday marking the day of crucifixion. I personally find merit in restoring meaning to the season, but I also sorely disagree with the interpretation of those who zealously put forth their reason as absolute. Those who sincerely seek the Christ should know that it will not likely be found beneath a tree on December 25, but will instead be discovered in the eyes of those who marvel at the miracle of love revealed.

Tuesday Afternoon (redux)

I am well aware, dear Reader, of my unfaithfulness. Discipline seems not to have followed me into retirement, nor (fortunately) has the toxicity of employment. I personally believe that there is a relationship between the two, but already I digress. I am, as I said before, well aware that my commitment to blogging has suffered during transition into this next chapter of my life. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to be free of the mandatory lunch hour! (I don't think I've opened the cover of TIME since last August. Day long doses of MSNBC has become my corporate media source, and I acknowledge that this has probably come at the regrettable expense of journalistic objectivity.) For the first time since childhood I find myself free of trying to earn my keep as a member of the human family; it's equally amazing to now discover that the cost of adult "independence" was servitude. All this is simply to say that I seek your patient company while I once again learn to crawl toward the hope of a life worthy of its creation.

Third Sunday of Advent

Solitary moments such as this one are more rare since retiring. This is equally true for Mary. The "us" that is preparing to celebrate forty Christmases together has been developing in a broader context for all these years, and I'm finding my increased exposure to Mary to be a miraculously marvelous thing! She will have to tell you how she is feeling about it. The more I learn about myself leaves no question in my mind that I am most blessed. The association between cold winter weather and Christmas logically seems more natural to both of us. The Fort Lauderdale and Las Vegas yuletides frankly seemed a bit strange, even though those climates probably more closely approximate that of the very first Christmas. Anyway, I am thoroughly enjoying a relaxed holiday season with plenty of time to spend with loved ones--especially my partner in life. There are only two gospel mentions of the nativity, but the serene image of a father, a mother and a child quietly loving one another on a winter's eve certainly helps set the stage for the greatest story ever told.

Second Sunday of Advent

Dad and his wife hold an open house each year before Christmas. One of the many pluses of moving to Colorado is getting to attend such occasions. What is described as the "bond of Christian love" is quite a remarkable thing. Present this afternoon were members of the church I literally grew up in. Time and space dissolved as eyes recognized faces associated with that period from my childhood to manhood during which we lived and loved together. Though nothing is ever the same as it was, it is that sense of community--of life shared--that transcends separation. I keenly sensed the communion of saints that surrounded our gathering, and reveled in the warm goodness of being home.

Couldn't Say It Better Myself

‎"So many people forget that this season is about Jesus Christ and the sacrifices he made for mankind, including the ultimate sacrifice, having his birthday on Christmas."

- Stephen Colbert

The Tree in the Corner

I like the inadvertent symbolism of our Christmas tree this year. The lights go about two-thirds of the way up leaving the top of the tree dark. As we prepare through Advent to celebrate the birth of the Christ into our world, the lights will eventually reach a star at the pinnacle and will shed a light which will completely dispel the darkness. This is what Christmas means to me, and I pray that you might consider allowing it to have a similar meaning for you.

Existential Indifference

I make a conscious effort to be honest. Even though this is a principle to which I aspire, I have been dishonest; I have lied both to myself and to others. Nonetheless, I have an awareness of honesty and intentionally strive to agree with it in spite of repeated failures. If I could be remembered for one thing, I would hope it should be for my honesty. The test of authentic honesty is Truth, inarguable, transcendent Truth. The aforementioned article articulates existential indifference and its effects, and I—to be honest—interpreted this in the context of what is happening now that so many find puzzling. Existential indifference ultimately negates any difference between right and wrong, good and evil. I personally find existence without meaning nearly incomprehensible, but freely admit that my worldview has been shaped by the affirmation that life is meaningful. The question of the meaning of life can be cliché or profound. The veracity of human volition is borne out through this inexorable choice. Now we only need to figure out what difference it makes.

Surprise -- People Who Think Life Is Meaningless Still Enjoy Their Lives | | AlterNet

Surprise -- People Who Think Life Is Meaningless Still Enjoy Their Lives AlterNet

Better Late Than Never

Here are the new pictures as promised (just later).

Happy Birthday, Rebecca!

Twenty-four years ago today the world became a better place. On a snowy fall evening, Mary and I drove to the Flagstaff hospital to welcome our new daughter into the world. Since then we have been blessed with two beautiful daughters who have made our lives complete. Rebecca once again resides in her hometown; the only regret about our move to Colorado is that there are now more miles between us. An ideal future (in my mind) would consist of her someday joining us here. In the meantime, Rebecca is the best friend a preschooler ever had, the best sommelier an oenophile ever met, and the best daughter a parent could hope for. Happy birthday, Rebecca, and may you have many, many more.

The Day After

Allegiant's schedule dictated a postponement of one day for our Thanksgiving feast so that Rebecca and Kevin can join us. This is the first Thanksgiving in our new Colorado home and everything is coming together nicely. I'm even getting some real turkey this year (after several attempts the past few years to pretend that tofurkey is even remotely like what it attempts to imitate). The vegetarian case is becoming stronger in my mind, however, and I will not be that surprised when I am eventually assimilated into their kind. I am taking many pictures--as many as the mood allows--and will make an earnest attempt to post them to flickr within seventy-two hours. I hear that there are millions participating in Black Friday today, but I have to confess that I find it preferable to extend the real thanksgiving by at least one more day because I have so very much for which to be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Several of you have been so kind as to let me know you'd like another post. Well, here it is. With the abundant blessedness that is ours, it would be truly sinful not to express sincere thanksgiving. Only when we turn our focus from ourselves toward all the brothers and sisters we share Earth with can we begin--through comparison and contrast--to fully appreciate our bounty. Compassion fails when it's motivation is not genuine gratitude; we end up on the wrong side of the equation and suffer from gluttonous greed. Just as it makes good sense to remember the reason for Christmas, we do well to remember the multitude of reasons we have to be thankful; not just today, but every day.

Worth Thinking About

Every great advance in natural knowledge has involved the absolute rejection of authority.
- Thomas H. Huxley

Mom Plus Dad Equals Me

Mom plus Dad equals me. Even though our rate of scientific and technological advancement is mind-boggling, this biological fact holds universally true for our species. Until humans are able to create a sperm and egg from scratch, their continuing existence is integrally dependent upon this physiological combination regardless of whatever high-tech procedures are employed to induce it. Every human is the product of male and female conjugation, and what happens after that is humanity. The most intimate human relationship is maternal, for it is from that womb we are born. Until birth there is no independent choice for mother or child; the relationship is unconditional for both. It is the male that is free from the moment of conception to decide what his role will be. Psychoanalysis did not invent--but does articulate--the critical influence of parents upon developing offspring. The two most significant people in my life are Mom and Dad; they always have been, and that's why any examination of the people who have affected my life must begin with them.

Sunday Soliloquy

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon, and I've been thinking about all the people I've known in my life. Facebook and Twitter, of course, stimulate the process, but social networking only scratches the surface of recalling the myriad of human beings that have contributed in one way or another to my collective experience since being born. I've often made reference to James Burke's work, The Day the Universe Changed, and since my retirement it has been in that context that I have begun to ponder those days that my life changed. Still paramount is the moment of birth, the miraculous introduction to life! It's only equal will be the moment of death, but the period between is marked by occasions which have significantly altered the future course.

An example of such profound change is how I now experience Sunday in contrast to my observance of the Sabbath until a decade ago. My church attendance was not perfect, but relatively near so. Sunday and church were virtually synonymous for the first half-century of my life, but the stark opposite has been true since my estrangement from organized religion.

In a strict orthodoxy this would constitute my loss of faith as grounds for excommunication, with the accompanying rejection of ordination obvious. To the contrary, however, I have discovered in such great changes a prevailing continuity, an aspect of eternal quality which creates a past, present and future from infinity. I have not lost my conviction that the nature of our relationship to that from which the infinite emerges affects the quality of life we experience, both individually and collectively.

I give thanks for the opportunity at hand to contemplate the days on which my life changed completely and yet continued. This to me is the revelation of the Christ upon human consciousness that transcends dogmatic creed and catechism. My life has changed; my faith remains.

Dear Reader,

As we settle into our new quarters, more regular blogging may be just around the corner. With the upcoming midterm election there is so much to think about and act upon. In the New Testament sense, I am both amazed and astonished by what is going on in our country. We've been warned about the consequences of losing our moral bearings, but just what that means didn't really sink in until we embraced being an idiot nation. I want to believe that the Rally to Restore Sanity might prove to be a turning point and that's why I'll be in attendance. What a hoot it would be to see you there! I finally got around to putting our recent photos on Flickr (which I hope you'll enjoy by going to the link) so that I can give my undivided attention to reporting from the rally. Keep tuned.

Morning

In the still of pre-dawn I find myself awake and ready to greet the day. I'm six weeks into retirement and loving it! Daily our new home feels more like it's ours and not just a vacation destination. We've seen the glorious fall colors in the Rocky Mountains, in town, and across Nebraska as we visited Mary's family. Today, Mom and Kim will drive down from Billings and become our first overnight guests. Life is good.

10/10/10

I just could not forgive myself if I missed this opportunity.

Some Assembly Required

My good intention to discipline myself to daily journaling has gone to hell. For better or worse, the mandatory lunch hour at my last employment enabled me to post at least four times a week. I am relishing the longest weekend of my life but it has thrown any semblance of a schedule to the wind. Mary and I made a long overdue trip to Lincoln to see our family there, and one more weight added to my guilt trip is knowing that I really need to get those photos posted to flickr. Mom and Kim will visit us this weekend, and then, just because we can, we're going to Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity in Washington, D.C. It's no wonder that it's taking us a little bit longer to unpack all the boxes. It's an interesting process, taking all the things that you have found a place for, packing them up, and moving them to a new location where the challenge becomes to discover where they all should go. We've decided that we need some furniture to replace what we left behind, and in our economic bracket that can only mean some assembly required. The bookcases are completed, the desk nearly so, and the printer stand and file drawer will just be icing on the cake. Life is good, and each day of retirement has thus far been a happy one.

Gracious and loving God,

I offer my thanks for another day to experience, another day to discover the myriad of miraculous ways your Creation manifests Itself. For too many, the experience is indescribable suffering and need. Even though I am blissfully blessed, that will ever be incomplete until such joy is universal. Let my experience be of communion with all your Creation, and may I ever be mindful that your gracious love embraces the least as surely as it sustains me. Let my life shine with the Truth of your redeeming love as it dispels Evil's darkness. May I live my life in ways that are pleasing in your holy sight. Amen.

Now Pay Attention!

I just had to post this quote from one of my favorites:

I have suffered a great deal from writers who have quoted this or that sentence of mine either out of its context or in juxtaposition to some incongruous matter which quite distorted my meaning , or destroyed it altogether.
- Alfred North Whitehead

We're On Our Way

I'm chatting online with Rebecca who's in Arizona while Mary prepares spaghetti in our new common kitchen for this evening's meal. I've not elaborated on our experiment in family relations that commenced in earnest last Tuesday. What has been in the planning stages for a couple of years now is putting rubber to the road, so to speak. It's an experiment in more eco-friendly, economically efficient housing. Somewhat to our surprise, after having first looked into communal living through the Boulder Free University back in the early seventies, it turns out that the seminal community consists of our daughter, Rachel, and her husband, Steve. We have literally split the housing costs fifty-fifty which provides us with much more amenable common areas (kitchen, dining, living, entertainment, etc) than we could afford separately. As the experiment progresses, I anticipate that other areas more conducive to a sustainable lifestyle will emerge for our common sharing. To borrow those two words used in the New Testament to describe the reaction of those who witnessed the reality of the Christ in their midst, I am both astonished and amazed that the dream is becoming real.

Mission Accomplished?

I have, dear Reader, been remiss in recording my thoughts. I excuse myself by rationalizing that relocating is a time consuming process. The move is now past tense and the process of settling in has begun. After calling Las Vegas home for nearly fifteen years, I am finding it difficult not to think that we are just on vacation. The comfort of familiar furnishings will aid the acceptance Fort Collins as our new home. I have received word from a former coworker that the timing of my retirement from DAFS is even more fortunate due to another wave of major reorganization in just the two weeks since I left. I feel such great compassion for those I left behind whose lot requires they stay in DAFS’ employ. The day must come that We the People who keep this great country running receive the respect and equality which are foundational to a democratic society. This is the critical subject I look forward to examining in detail now that I have freed myself (at least for the moment) from the bondage of subservient employment. But for now…it’s back to unpacking.

Thank You, Paul McCartney

...for singing what must be sung:

The End Of The End Lyrics:

Tuesday Afternoon

While I'll have more time to write in retirement, I've decided to give first priority to my daily journal. This, then, will be my distinction between journaling and blogging. While I understand that it would be more efficient to combine the two, I confess that I am not brave enough to bare my every personal thought in public (I can appreciate that some readers may disagree). Anyway, I'm going to continue to try to Incite the spirit of love through selections from my journal that I choose to share with you.

From yesterday:

“Christians” burning books? Extremism is the clue to the inauthenticity of the irreverent claim to a particular identity. “I am not a crook.” “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” Where from hell are you coming up with any association of the vulgar burning of the Koran with the life and teachings of Jesus bar Joseph of Nazareth, the one whom I suppose you publicly proclaim as your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Your billboard is partially correct: this is the work of the devil.

Can there be any greater satisfaction that outsmarting spell check?

hymn pro totus

Within You Without You
Artist(Band):The Beatles

We were talking-about the space between us all
And the people-who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth-then it's far too late-when they pass away.
We were talking-about the love we all could share-when we find it
To try our best to hold it there-with our love
With our love-we could save the world-if they only knew.
Try to realize it's all within yourself
No-one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small,
And life flows ON within you and without you.
We were talking-about the love that's gone so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul-
They don't know-they can't see-are you one of them?
When you've seen beyond yourself-then you may find, peace of mind,
Is waiting there-
And the time will come when you see
we're all one, and life flows on within you and without you.

A Labor Day Hymn

It has become a Labor Day tradition to post these words which ring so true:

Working Class Hero

by John Lennon

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and class less and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

P.S. I've posted pictures of the retirement party thrown by my coworkers on Flickr.

Sleepy Sunday

Mary and I are "recovering" from hitting it hard yesterday. It's difficult to grasp that our Friday deadline is now less than a week away. We're watching Paul McCartney's performance at the White House that we recorded earlier. It is a pleasant way to revive the many memories of that era. Those were turbulent times which seemed dangerous at the time but pale by comparison to whatever insanity has gripped our nation today. We were able then to identify the Nixon administration as the culprit in stark contrast to the anonymous corporate takeover of government we are experiencing today. This situation is not going away any time soon. Right now, though, it's time to concentrate on the next chapter (yes, OTR, there are more than two), and to resume the fight from the perspective of a Rocky Mountain high.

Second Stage Countdown

We move to Colorado in ten days.

The Final Day

This really needs to be a different kind of post for a very different kind of day. This is my last official day in the work force I joined when I was nine years old. That was the summer that Dad and I signed a contract for my lawn mowing services. Further employment is inevitably in my future in order to supplement my pension, but I will have some control over that by living within my means.

The morning started at 4:30 so that Mary and I could get our yoga in first thing. She prepared me a delicious and nutritious breakfast shake which I use to chase down my daily medication. These past six days we’ve enjoyed sharing the ride to and from work since we sent the Hyundai to Flagstaff with Rebecca. For the last time, I swiped by security badge at two entry points on my way to cubicle B110.


Ginny, my lead and someone I’ve worked with from the NOMADS conversion days, baked an “F/U Specialist” chocolate cake just for the occasion. There will be pictures, and perhaps somewhere along the line I’ll find the time to explain how I earned the designation. It promises to be a day full of those things of which memories are made, and I’m looking forward to it.

I’m not sure that it would be much different if a prisoner was being released. The spirit here is almost giddy with excitement over one of us escaping. It’s beginning to feel as though we’re producing “The DAFS Redemption”.

Yea! Liz gave me two postal verifications to enter. I can do this!

Rita and I just lapped the parking lot for the last time. Rita is another friend from the beginning of my time here. Only today did I learn that she’s a Tea Partier (she said any kind of party will do). I must have maintained my cover well because we’re parting as friends.

I am predictably being asked if I’m happy to be retiring, and my answer is an almost unqualified “yes”! The only misgiving I have is to leave so many of my coworkers in this untenable hell hole. I couldn’t have dictated a script as telling as the memorandum from the assistant district attorney at 4:54 pm yesterday entitled Performance & Professionlism [sic]. The entire division was broken down into “givers” and “takers”. This is consistent with the attitude toward DAFS employees from the day I started working here: employees are not the solution, they are the problem. Nevada ranks last in the civilized world for performance, and it has always been the attitude of administration and management that it’s because my coworkers and I just sit around doing nothing but expecting a paycheck. I’m tired of the demeaning and condescending attitude toward the people I work with because I know how hard they do work in an utterly dysfunctional environment. Two major studies of our division that have been conducted since I’ve been here have drawn the same conclusion. I wish that my colleagues could join me in a great escape that would leave our captains awash in the sea of uncertainty they have created.


Now it’s going to get weird. The Intake Unit of which I have been a part just gave me a very nice farewell. The food was delicious. The cards were funny and nostalgic. The gift card will be used to obtain something that will appropriately remind me of all the good people I’ve worked with here. But now, at 1:28 pm, with access to the operating system that I’ve worked with for the last decade taken away, I’m beginning to feel a little like a roach that’s been sprayed and is being watched to see how long it will take to die.

Two Days To Go

Here they are, Josh! This is the next-to-last day before I retire. It’s feeling a lot like high school graduation. I’m beginning to sense that same kind of freedom of knowing that time itself is not coming to an end, but that an era of subservient obedience is. I’m serious! Working at DAFS has been like going back to junior high, complete with a principal, vice principal and assorted counselors and advisers. I’ve shared with the various administrators I’ve worked under for the last 11 ½ years that when you treat people like children, they’re going to act like children. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was speaking to—at best—adolescents in adult bodies who understood themselves to be hall monitors charged with keeping the younger kids in line. The bittersweet truth is that little has changed about the management “philosophy” and style here, and I really feel as though I’m abandoning my coworkers as I manage to escape. Las Vegas is fundamentally immature by its very nature: naughty little boys and girls getting away with whatever they can. It is understandable, then, that the development of institutions and bureaucracies in this setting are also retarded. You can believe me that I have given hours of thought to my pastorate that failed here, wondering what I might have done differently. I have come to the same conclusion about my relationship with both the church and the county: I screwed up when I believed I was working with adults.

It's Quite Remarkable

To look at the 8/31 calendar entry: retire from Clark County; the very definition of surreal.

I've made recent mention of some of the television I've been watching, so it's about time to make mention of some of what I'm listening to. What inspired this little confession:
Source: http://www.sing365.com

Wooden Ships
------Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young)

by David Crosby, Stephen Stills, Paul Kantner


Stills: If you smile at me, I will understand
'Cause that is something everybody everywhere does
in the same language.
Crosby: I can see by your coat, my friend,
you're from the other side,
There's just one thing I got to know,
Can you tell me please, who won?
Stills: Say, can I have some of your purple berries?
Crosby: Yes, I've been eating them for six or seven weeks now,
haven't got sick once.
Stills: Probably keep us both alive.

Wooden ships on the water, very free and easy,
Easy, you know the way it's supposed to be,
Silver people on the shoreline, let us be,
Talkin' 'bout very free and easy...
Horror grips us as we watch you die,
All we can do is echo your anguished cries,
Stare as all human feelings die,
We are leaving - you don't need us.

Go, take your sister then, by the hand,
lead her away from this foreign land,
Far away, where we might laugh again,
We are leaving - you don't need us.

And it's a fair wind, blowin' warm,
Out of the south over my shoulder,
Guess I'll set a course and go...

Restoring Honor

I'm watching live on C-SPAN Glenn Beck's "Restoring Honor" rally in Washington, DC. I cannot help but think of the thirty-second chapter of Genesis in that American patriotism is being idolized. Idolatry is as old as our species because of our need for concreteness to cope with incomprehensible abstraction. When we cannot grasp our inherent value as children of God, we attempt to justify it through the citation of accomplishments which we want to believe are consistent with the eternal order. We contribute our gold to the creation of a calf which tangibly represents the glorification of self and country because we are too impatient--and perhaps too lazy--to align ourselves in harmonious relationship with the Creator. The age old dilemma is still before us: do we honor ourselves or God?

Three Days To Go

I just returned from lunch with my girlfriends: Aracely, Liz and Rikki. These are the friendships I’m going to miss dearly after I retire. There’s a spirit of camaraderie among those of us in the trenches that is just not shared with those in the rarefied ranks of management and administration. Let me give you an example of what I’m talking about. I approached the assistant district attorney, the senior management analyst, and my unit administrator with a request that I might use them as references during the process of finding employment in Fort Collins. Here are the three responses I got (in the order received): “Most certainly, Mr. Hanna.” “I will have to review your most recent evaluation, look at your performance statistics and talk to your Supervisor. I will let [you] know.” “Okay.” Now, you can have some fun matching the response to the correct person. If you do it in the comments section, I will even tell you if you’re correct or not. Now that I think about it, I’m just going to give Aracely, Liz and Rikki as my references. Nobody knows a grunt better than another.

Four Days To Go

One week from today I will be retired. I’m wondering what I will do. First, I plan not to wake up at 4:30 AM (making such a plan will probably ensure that I do). Whenever I do wake up, I don’t plan to check the weather and traffic reports before going out the door. If I do go out the door, it may be to get a nice breakfast at Denny’s (I say this simply to irritate the rest of my family). I won’t read the newspaper because we haven’t taken it for years, and I’m not sure that I’ll be eager to go online until sometime midday. I won’t go fishing because I don’t fish. I won’t go golfing because I don’t golf. The truth of the matter is that my salvation is in our imminent relocation (voluntary, of course). The movers arrive on September 10 and so the first week-and-a-half of my retirement will be spent, I’m sure, on getting ready for them. I’m guessing that it will be—at least at first—like an extended vacation. It doesn’t seem possible right now, but I imagine that that day will come when I actually miss seeing the people I’ve worked with for the past 11+ years. I can also imagine that Mary is wondering what she’s going to do with me around all the time. She may go back to work.

Five Days To Go

I am hoping to leave the smallest footprint possible when I retire. By that I mean nothing leftover from my caseload for others to handle. Those who supervise, manage and otherwise administrate me have assisted me in this endeavor by allowing me to focus on my backlog. It’s looking very much (right now) as though I’ll have everything wrapped up one week from today. August 31 is indeed going to be a very interesting day. I am to return my ID badge, manuals, keys (not to worry, the only key I have is to my work area drawers), etc. In an attempt to be proactive I asked today whether there is a time of day that I’m supposed to do all this. The answer was: before you leave. The person who provided that response leaves at 4PM, the two people she referred me to leave at 5 PM, and it apparently is no concern that I leave at 6 PM. My ID badge gets me in and out of doors, allows access to the printers and copiers, and flatters me with a picture that’s about eight years old. Any way I look at it, there may be an hour or two next Tuesday during which I may not be able to go the restroom. Come to think of it, how appropriate that retirement day and Depends day might go hand in hand. I’m also supposed to check out with the IT desk. I’m kind of hoping for a Men in Black memory erasure so that I won’t have to remember any of this. Everyone tells me how happy they are that I am able to retire, but the air is green with envy. Can I really be properly retired by people who are secretly jealous? Stay tuned.

Six Days To Go

I arrived in Las Vegas full of enthusiasm for bringing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the city of sin. It seemed at the time like a challenge worthy of my calling. That calling today remains alive only inside my own head. I redirected that enthusiasm toward the creation of an ecumenical community of faith that would enjoin hearts and minds to a new relationship with their Creator through Christ. Today that vision remains only in my memory. One final time I redirected my enthusiasm toward child support enforcement only to learn that institutions ultimately end up preserving themselves by maintaining the status quo. Any thoughts I may have had about how to improve the process here remain mine alone. What one is supposed to do with unrealized aspirations is, I guess, what I am about to find out. Save Aunt Esther and her daughter, Dalene, the only family I’ll have in Fort Collins will be Mary, Rachel and Steve. The Rocky Mountain Annual Conference of The United Methodist Church was nonplussed when I informed it that I was returning as a native son. The Larimer County child support enforcement program informed me that I was not qualified for a position for which I applied that is similar to the one I hold now. It is hard to imagine beginning a new life with a lower profile than the one I bring to retirement. I’m hoping that this is a good thing; because neither can I imagine that I am ever going to be bothered by anyone else again.

On Becoming What We Hate

Religious fundamentalism is evil by any other name. It is not a philosophy or theology, it is sectarian ideology in religious garb. I'm sitting here on my day off watching MSNBC and wondering what's really going on in the country when incredible allegations are slanderously made about the President of the United States with apparent impunity. There is no comfort in saying I told you so, because the fact that I've been warning of the growth of this movement in our society for years now has been to no avail. Corporations bought the United States Government before the very eyes that were otherwise focused upon a beguiling "consumer theology". The future of ever greater consumption is definite, but a society infatuated with the notion of buying its way into heaven willingly ignores this truth in lieu of a gratifying but false belief system. I daresay that the Christian standing of anyone, any one, who questions the standing of another is immediately drawn into question. These accusers are most definitely not disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. They cannot defend themselves against that charge because they blaspheme the Son of God, the Son of Man, by perpetrating their evil supposedly in his name. Al Qaeda, Taliban, American Right: fundamentalism by any other name...

Seven Days To Go

The carrot at the end of the tunnel is getting closer. For those who don’t quite comprehend this esoteric concept I will have to refer you to my sister who turned fifty-six yesterday. Kim has always had a unique worldview which is in touch with reality, but just barely. Seen through her eyes, everything takes on a peculiar twist including her belief that I’ve been a good brother. I’m not saying that I’ve been a bad brother, but I don’t recall anything about our growing up that would distinguish me from average. The primary reason for moving is to get the heck out of Las Vegas and be nearer to family. Mary’s folks are in eastern Nebraska, Mom and Kim and her family are in Billings, and Dad is in Littleton. Everyone will be within a day’s drive. The short sale we offered the Bank of America has not yet been declined. Rebecca is going to take the Hyundai to Flagstaff with her this weekend. The pieces are slowly but surely coming together. I’m looking forward to having all of the family nearby, even if it means that I’ll have to greet them from Walmart.

Eight Days To Go

Some days are better than others. This is what I am discovering to be true of my health. Gleevec has many possible side effects and I am very fortunate that mine are relatively mild. This is simply to say that I only made it to lunch time at work today before I realized that it was time to go home. These episodes are for some reason becoming more frequent which is fatiguing. I can tell that I am more easily distracted from the detail of my work and that has been my rationale for making liberal use in recent months of my sick time. Hey! Bank of America! That medical hardship I wrote you about wasn’t just bullshit! Let me retire in peace (God knows enough of my tax dollars went toward bailing you out to cover the upside down mortgage your industry imposed on us)! That’ll do, Pig.

Nine Days To Go

I’m feeling like a kid again. Why the end of fourth grade stands out so clearly in my mind, I don’t know. It may have had something to do with an overnight at Dean Bernard’s house on the last day of school. The sky was brilliant blue. The temperature was perfect. And I was free of the classroom for the next three months. The giddiness of graduating high school was similar, but by then I knew that college was waiting at the other end of summer. In nine days, I’m going to walk away from this oppressive place. That sounds ungrateful, I know, but the past eleven-and-a-half years have not been the happiest of my life. At every other occupation of my storied career I was basically treated as an adult. Positions of responsibility—field underwriter, peace officer, pastor—naturally accepted the degree of one’s maturity necessary to do the job. But here at DAFS, as I told the Assistant D.A. who immediately preceded the current one, it’s just one big junior high. There have been repeated lectures on dress code. Upper management rules by fear, imposing quotas and frequently flying the “termination” flag high if you fail to meet them. I’m really surprised that I don’t need a hall pass to go to the men’s room (although I think our movements are carefully monitored by those brown-noses who themselves hope to be in management some day). We clock in, work noiselessly in our cubicles, and then clock out. In nine more days I’m going to walk from this place, and I may even flip a California howdy to the surveillance camera.

Ten Days To Go

On the tenth day remaining until retirement I find myself immersed in the accumulation of problematic cases that I didn’t have time for before now. My attempts to enlist help to assist me in solving these problems isn’t turning out to be any more successful than the first time I asked. Those problems that I am unable to resolve by August 31 will become someone else’s, and so it goes. I have found it peculiar that my employer weighs all cases equally. Common sense tells you that this is absurd. But the draconian regime requiring minimum quotas (ask yourself, did it ever make you feel better to hear that law enforcement officers had a minimum number of traffic citations to issue per month?) will be something that my coworkers who remain will have to deal with. I’ve long thought that an iota of humility would do this organization a world of good, but the alpha mentality which claws its way to the top leaving no survivors may very well be incapable of such emotion. Oh, well! It’s soon not to be my problem anymore.

The Good, The Bad, and ...

Wherever you go, there are good people and not-such-good people. This is one of the things I’ve learned while living in Las Vegas. Little did we know how prophetic it was when Mom and I went to see Martin Scorsese’s Casino just months before it became known that I was to be appointed to a church in Las Vegas that summer of 1996. I’ll confess to an infatuation with stars like Sharon Stone and Elisabeth Shue, and I let that influence my imagination of what we would find here. I think the only real celebrity I’ve seen in the fourteen years we’ve been here is Matt Damon, and that was the result of being moved to first-class to get me away from a drunken and unruly passenger. Who I have met in the time we’ve been here are people who are remarkably like you and me, people who work, raise families, aspire to success and despair at failure. That’s because, for the most part, I tend to hang out with good people and to avoid the not-such-good ones. It may seem that the latter are more prevalent in Las Vegas, but from what little I know about it they come here from around the globe. It’s the yin and the yang, there are good and bad people everywhere. I do not doubt that the lure of Sin City is strong to those bent on evil, but their ilk is not exclusively the city’s population. I am grateful for the many good acquaintances I’ve made here, grateful for having successfully avoided most of the bad ones (with the exception of those I had the misfortune of being subjected to through Trinity UMC), and am looking forward to meeting the many more good people that I’m sure are in my future.

Of More Last Things

I continue to experience things for the last time. Yesterday was probably the last scheduled meeting of our unit that I will attend, although there’s always the possibility of hastily called gatherings to deal with one crisis or another. I saw it as an opportunity to—one last time—offer my opinions, formed by over six years of assessing intake cases, for how the process might be streamlined. As my regular readers well know, I am painfully slow to catch on to the reality of circumstances. There is no one here, at least at the administrative and management levels, who are in the least bit interested in what the grunts think. The assistant director recently released our performance measures. I was a little surprised, frankly, because any improvement over the previous year was marginal at best, perhaps a percentage point or two better. In all fairness, it was enough to raise our ranking from 52nd in the nation to 49th. But the notion is still firmly ingrained in this organization that policy and procedure must be developed by people who don’t have a clue how to do what must be done. In our latest reorganization, people were appointed to administrate and manage an intake process that none of them could do themselves if put in a room full of applications and left alone. National rankings and statistics prove that government in Nevada is plagued by precisely this phenomenon, and for as long as those people remain in power it is hard to figure out how they will ever get better. So why, you may ask me, knowing all this did you foolhardily open your mouth? That’s a very good question.

The End Is Near

We have but five weekends left in Las Vegas, including the one during which we will actually move. I continue to be grateful for our high miles-per-gallon Prius that allows us to cruise around town without feeling too terribly guilty. That’s just exactly what we did yesterday. What I’m sure will turn out to be our last visit to the little town of Blue Diamond was made all the more memorable by the discovery of donkeys grazing almost everywhere, including the ball field (we didn’t see any asses until we got back to Las Vegas). I have developed a deep appreciation of the desert environment and its cultivation of an almost supernatural will to live on the parts of plants and animals who survive this extreme environment. The desert has its own unique beauty and I’m glad that I’ve had a chance to learn more about it. I can’t really think of any reason—at least right now—that I would ever return to Sin City after we move. Maybe one will present itself before we leave.

A Life Wasted?

The first three cases I worked this morning all involved the same mother of four children by three men (I guess she liked the one guy enough to let him impregnate her twice). She’s the same age as Rebecca and claimed to know nothing more about the fathers of her children (ranging in age from two to nine) than their names. Through the research that is what I do to earn a living, I was able to come up with at least nominal identifying information on two of the guys, leaving number three (yeah, you guessed it, he’s the father of two) as a complete mystery. Our division has an entire unit dedicated to nothing more than trying to locate unidentified non-custodial parents. The remaining three cases I assessed before lunch didn’t get any better: infants born to child mothers with no idea who the father is. This is what I’ve been doing for the last eleven-and-a-half years, and quite frankly, I’m looking forward to retirement. Six years as a cop, fifteen as a preacher, time served as a child support enforcement agent, and, as far as I can tell, it hasn’t meant a damned thing. There’s still crime, sin, and more little bastards running around than you can shake a stick at. I was raised to believe that life has meaning and a purpose. At this point, I’d like to know what that is.

Why?

I was raised to believe that life has meaning and purpose. I now recognize that for what it is: a belief. I suppose the argument with science is that in its objective empiricism it cannot prove or disprove subjective beliefs. Science can, and has, proved certain beliefs wrong, incorrect. There’s no devil dwelling in Earth’s basement and there is no Jehovah seated on a throne overlooking a geocentric plane traveling upon a turtle’s back. These are the fragile beliefs that the scientific method shatters into irreparable pieces. But as a student of the behavioral sciences, I am aware that there are also more substantial beliefs that science hardly puts a dent in. While the fundamental question of science is how, that fundamental question of theology is why. Why am I here? Why was I born to die? Science has developed answers to how I got here and how I’m going to die, but it is no closer to answering why these things happen than religion and philosophy have come since the dawn of human thought. My impending retirement has brought into sharper focus these questions which have been with me for a lifetime. What has been the meaning of this life I lived until now? Has there been any purpose to my life? Such reflection is inevitable, I think, as one reviews years spent at many different occupations in an effort to fulfill a vocation. I’ve done some things well. There have been many things I could have done better. I’ve spent six decades on this planet and still find myself wondering why.

Easy Come, Easy Go

The buyers with whom we signed a contract little more than two weeks ago have withdrawn, and so it’s back to square one. In the current Las Vegas market one can’t even give a house away. In addition to being disappointing, it’s demoralizing to have such a major investment devalued to practically nothing. In my July 21, 2008 post, I pondered the susceptibility of Las Vegas to the impending financial crisis. Now, with two years hindsight, I can attest to the fact that Sin City was not immune. Leading the nation in unemployment and home foreclosures, Las Vegas is suffering from Wall Street's gambling as much as any place. Imagine, corporate evil actually turns on itself. I have learned many things since moving here fourteen years ago, not the least of which is that greed does not care who gets hurt—even if it means those who have faithfully nurtured it.

A Little Less Complaining, Please

I’m learning that a conundrum associated with my disease is that, even though I don’t feel especially good at times, my numbers continue to be. In all fairness, then, I must follow-up my complaint with the report I received from my oncologist last Friday that my blood counts show my CML to be in remission. This is, of course, great news! It’s just that I’m left with no reason to, at times, feel like crap. So, I am committing myself to 18 days of perfect attendance at work until I retire on the 31st. As long as I can drive myself here and back, I will be physically present (although I can make no promises about my mental state). I am deeply grateful for the medical technology that is allowing me to live longer on borrowed time, and I will welcome whatever psychological innovation may come along which will help to reduce my complaining.

A Short Complaint

The past 5+ years have literally been a blessing as Gleevec has held my leukemia at bay. I hope to be posting a similar message five years from now. But the truth of the matter is that I’m living on borrowed time, and to be honest, I just don’t feel quite as good as I used to. It’s been a frustrating process trying to work with doctors who seem to regard my seeing them as a privilege worth paying for. To a degree, this is true, but the privilege doesn’t eliminate the desire to be treated as a person of worth rather than an impending cadaver. It would be less than honest to not say that our move to Fort Collins is driven in large part by my desire to get Mary nearer to family. The peaceful death of which Thoreau spoke would, I think, elude me if I knew that I was abandoning her in Las Vegas. Per Desiderata, my timing seems to be pretty good because it looks like I’m going to be around for the relocation. This somewhat morbid musing on my part was instigated by my absence from work the last two days because of not feeling well enough to come in. I’m not feeling all that great today, but I have my three day weekend to look forward to as an opportunity to get “recharged” for next week. I’ve intentionally tried not to complain too much since being diagnosed, but I have to admit that the specter looming over my shoulder is getting a little old. I have so many things and so many people to be grateful for, and that will continue to be my focus as we move toward the good things yet to come.

Unfolding As It Should

The past weekend was a good and productive one. We signed a contract last Thursday night and it has been submitted to Bank of America for acceptance of the short-sale we are seeking. The Bekins agent gave us an estimate on Friday which we accepted. We are now scheduled to leave Las Vegas on September 10. Rachel and Steve were with us Saturday night through this morning as they travel on to San Diego. We’re happy that we’ll get to see them again on their way back to Fort Collins. We’re smart enough (I think) to understand that any of these tentative developments could fall through, but part of being optimistic is believing that things will proceed as they should. Mary is doing a tremendous job of getting us packed into boxes, etc, and I try to do what I can on the weekends. This coming Friday we’re going to make application for our retirement benefits. As I’ve already said, I’ve never retired before and that’s what makes this such an adventure. The primary goal is to move into our Fort Collins home on September 15, and right now it’s looking like we will succeed.

I Was Born Here…

Another work week comes to an end at six this evening, and then I’ll have just five weeks and two days until retirement (but I’m not counting). It’s hard to believe that what’s been a dream for the last couple of years will finally be coming to fruition. While we moved regularly during our time with the United Methodist church, we’ve been pleasantly dormant for the past decade. Moving is like bicycling, though, and it comes back to you almost immediately. The prospect of settling in Colorado just in time to see the aspens turn color provides more than enough incentive to get the job done. We will not, as I have said before, be in a position to waive employment which will be necessary to supplement the modest pension we’ll be receiving, but even that holds the lure of a new adventure. As I watched an interview of a life-long resident of New Orleans, he explained that he came back after Katrina because it was his home. “I was born here, and I’m going to die here.” Whether it’s the Big Easy or the Rockies, that’s a sentiment I can understand completely.

500

Just before lunch I finished my five-hundredth assessment of the year. It’s mundane, to say the least. Intake consists of identifying non-custodial and custodial parents and their alleged children. Eleven years ago, I was as naive as one could be about this seamy world of irresponsibility. For example, I thought that the father’s name was required on the birth certificate. That was the proverbial assumption I made on the basis of Rachel and Rebecca’s births. The child support enforcement in our country is mammoth and growing larger. Pitifully inept and inadequate sex education programs (or the complete lack thereof) are serving to pump out little bastards at increasingly alarming rates. The first case I worked this morning was for the seventh child allegedly sired by the same man with as many women (who says chivalry is dead? he at least had the courtesy to impregnate each woman only once). Some people feel that my progression from cop to preacher was a strange one, but I’ll tell you that was nothing compared to what I’ve been doing since I left the ministry. I must include myself among those who fear that the moral fabric of our society is fraying. How else do we explain the burgeoning illegitimate population in our country? Can anybody say “Palin”?

It Feels Like the Last Time

A most fitting culmination to a weekend of packing and recycling was a stop at Luv it Frozen Custard, one of our favorite spots in Las Vegas. We’ve managed to take most of our guests there at least once with regular returns requested by those who have been initiated. As I savored my Western Special, it occurred to me that this might be the last time. The closer we get to moving day increases the number of these finales. Unless something unexpected occurs, I will be making my last visit to the Nevada Cancer Institute in a couple of weeks. Prudence the Prius will have her last scheduled maintenance from the dealer this Friday. Our last meal from the Omelet House may have been this past weekend, as well. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since Nate Holt introduced me to its outstanding cuisine nearly fifteen years ago. And there are some things that won’t be lasts because they were never firsts: Olympic Garden’s topless fare which tantalizingly shares Luv it’s parking lot, or Cheetah’s Gentlemen Club which I have suggested to numerous visitors without any takers. Our Las Vegas bucket list is a work in progress, but there’s no doubt that we will need to be paying attention to the many things we’ll be doing for the last time.

Home Sweet Nothing

My first and biggest mistake was to fall in love with the place where we now live. It’s a condominium, dammit, and to project human emotions upon it is irrational. Nonetheless, for quite some time I was convinced that Ironwood would be our home forever. In my opinion, its design and setting are very nearly perfect. The homeowners association and the management company we retain are progressive and competent. The grounds, including the pool, spa and fitness center, are always impeccably maintained. There has never been any hesitation on our part to make improvements (ceiling fans in every room, water conditioning including reverse osmosis, solar shade, interior completely repainted, etc) because this place is ours and we love it! So, the humbling experience of having to accept that none of this counts for anything is indeed a bitter pill to swallow. Not because of anything we’ve done, the housing market in Nevada is worst in the nation (anyone keeping tabs will discover that this is characteristic of the Silver State in that it is #1 in almost every worst category and dead last in numerous positive measures) and that translates into no one cares anything about our home other than when the selling price will bottom out. Our gratitude for the willingness of Rachel and Steve to share our “retirement home” increases on a daily basis as we realize that our housing future is not dependent upon selling the present property (although there have been comments about the “retirement home” where we may get sent that are cause for concern). I suppose it’s something akin to loving your child dearly only to have the school principal tell you she’s worthless. I’m not going to accept that without a fight!

Watch This!

If you haven't yet read Bill Calm's July 12 comment, I'm providing the link to his video here:

http://www.vimeo.com/12762755

I am in awe of the gifted people I am privileged to call friends!

So Long, Farewell!

I’ve been humoring myself with thoughts of how my exit interview from this place might go. “Please tell us, Mr. Hanna, what things we might be doing differently to raise our performance measures.” That ain’t going to happen! My retirement from Clark County is going to consist of turning in my ID badge and the key that locks a couple of drawers in my cubicle while providing an address to which my final paycheck will be mailed. A pat down and search of my backpack will be consistent with the detention facility mentality that prevails. There might be a Men in Black type of memory eraser to prevent my walking out of here with valuable passwords and codes. I’ve never seen anyone who has already retired to ask. They just disappeared as I will the first of September. All kidding aside, I leave this place with a heavy heart for my coworkers who have no choice but to remain and endure this incredibly dysfunctional environment. Yes, I said dysfunctional, and I challenge anyone who might question my analysis to take as close a look at this middle school culture as I have for the last eleven years. I know dysfunctional when I see it, and I’m sticking by my judgment. As with so many organizations, the most valuable resource in this organization is its people. And as with so many dysfunctional organizations, management sees its people as the problem rather than the solution. I am grateful for the paychecks I have earned from Clark County, but I can honestly say that they (and my friends) are the only things I’m going to miss when I’m gone.

What Happened?

I didn’t post yesterday because I was thoroughly enjoying lunch with some of my colleagues at Baja Fresh. My time at my current employment has been remarkably unremarkable; perhaps with the exception of being the only recipient of the “bad attitude” lecture from former assistant D.A. Bob Teuton (I’ve long had the knack of rubbing authority the wrong way). But even though my name will never be engraved on the employee excellence trophy, I’ve gained some very dear friends whom I will miss greatly when I retire. My lot is the grunts (I do not say this disparagingly; we know who we are and we accept it) who do the dirty work so that our masters can keep their hands clean. In the world of superiors, we are the inferiors who manage to keep things going in spite of the elite’s best efforts to screw things up. I’ve discovered that this is not necessarily helpful when supplying references on job applications because prospective employers don’t really care about what grunts think, and those whose reference employers respect aren’t inclined to say nice things about grunts—if they even know who we are. So, the chapter about my being a Camusian bureaucrat is about to close, but the story of my friendships will last forever.

T-minus 30 Days and Counting

Counting today, I have 30 working days left until I retire from Clark County. My brain is in the process of trying to assimilate that information. Many things are being affected, including this blog. If the past week of vacation is any indication, there may be no more posts after August 31. I enjoy journaling too much to believe that such may actually be the case, but it will be interesting to watch what kind of schedule emerges when I am no longer required to take hour-long lunches. Las Vegas is treating us to characteristically hot summer weather as a way to make our departure to cool, colorful Colorado just that much sweeter. We listed the condominium the night before we left for Fort Collins, and are trying to get the word around that the home we’ve loved for a dozen years is on the market at a ridiculously low price. We feel so fortunate to have already secured new digs with the kids in Colorado which is alleviating what could otherwise be a source of profound stress. So, there may or may not be another twenty-nine posts coming to Incite, but you now know the reason why if there aren’t.

I'm Not Going Home

One of the great insights of the 20th Century was Thomas Wolfe’s observation that You Can’t Go Home Again. Much in the vein of Heraclitus’ ancient observation that “you cannot step twice into the same river,” both men recognized that the only true constant in the universe is change. Nothing remains the same. So, when I talk about returning to Colorado it is with the understanding that it is not the same place I left twenty-six years ago. Denver, my birthplace, is certainly not the overgrown cow town it was sixty years ago. Arvada, where I was raised, has been absorbed into the metropolitan area and bears virtually no resemblance to the sleepy little town we moved to in 1955. Suffice it to say that Fort Collins is in Colorado. I’m finding that the process of retirement calls into question many aspects of my life, particularly what I’ve done with it. In earlier posts I explained that the decision to move to Flagstaff, Arizona in 1984 was prompted by my desire to be recognized as my own person instead of just my prominent father’s son. It is not going to be a triumphant return home at the end of this summer. I’ve done many things and can only hope that some of them were done well. Nonetheless, it will be a modest—actually meek—blending into the population of one of the most highly rated cities in the country. I’ll not be lecturing at the university. I’ll not be preaching from any pulpit. I will be hoping that my future neighbors don’t find me too repulsive and may be kind enough to let me recycle their aluminum cans in order to pay health insurance premiums.

Good Timing

I’ve shared with readers before of my conviction that the Universe, as it says in Desiderata, is unfolding as it should. The word ‘hubris’ comes to mind to describe those who think otherwise. I spent the weekend dealing with symptoms that may be attributable to my CML and they continued through yesterday (thereby explaining no post). Even though I am under the relatively close supervision of my doctors, the reason for periodic visits is to see what changes (positive or negative) have occurred with my numbers. As Jack Kevorkian has said, “Everyone is terminal.” I am eagerly looking forward to starting my retirement in Colorado where I know Mary will be nearer to family, and this feeling has been reinforced by the realization that more “sick” days are likely in the future instead of fewer. Finally, I will be so grateful to get away from the insanity of my workplace. My only regret is leaving good friends who are stuck in this bureaucratic nightmare. Yes, the Universe is unfolding as it should, and I thank God for that!

Hot!

A blazing desert sun is keeping Las Vegas toasty today. It really is a dry heat (relative humidity is 7% right now) that would be insufferable in more humid climes. It sounds strange, but I’m going to miss this weather. I haven’t had to shovel the heat once since we moved here fourteen years ago. I remember the movers who unloaded us being rather amused by the sleds we brought from Nebraska, although Mt. Charleston (less than an hour’s drive from the Strip) has winter weather and sports which include a ski slope. I’m hopelessly in love with Colorado, a fact that was reinforced by our recent trip to Telluride. Mary and I look forward to resuming our regular trips to Rocky Mountain National Park (unless we find work, we may have to hitchhike there) and of being near our old Denver stomping grounds. The reality of our new future is slowly but surely sinking in on us which may take some of the sting out of our last summer in Las Vegas.

Day by Day

The day to day details of moving to Colorado are mundane at best, but when combined into a larger picture they become significant. I hadn’t thought of it until right now, but maybe I’ll try Googling “move from Las Vegas to Fort Collins” and see what comes up. Certainly something will. We’re going to stimulate the economy in our own little way by having Pete the handyman make the necessary repairs, by commissioning a realtor to sell the condo, by retaining a lawyer to tell us how to instruct the realtor, and by hiring movers to load and unload all our stuff (Mary is in the process of making sure that no unnecessary stuff migrates with us). I marvel at my ancestors who moved between Ireland and the United States with some regularity. I wish they could be here to help.

Sweet Home, Colorado!

Attending the magical Telluride Bluegrass Festival served to reinforce the reasons we are returning to the Columbine State. Being among a host of kindred minds refreshed and revived the soul while taking some of the sting out of being human. I learned today that Clark County is going after another of its employees, threatening to terminate on the basis of an on-the-job injury. Of course, that’s illegal, and once an attorney enters the picture the county will recant, but you can bet it wouldn’t until the employee retains legal counsel. This is in such stark contrast to the estimated 10,000 souls who congregated for four days of festivities. Anything could be left on your staked out tarp while you went elsewhere and it was still there when you came back. There was not a hint of competition in the pure Colorado air, just a spirit of cooperation that could easily pass for love. The most rejuvenating aspect of the event for me was the realization that people can get along, we can live together in harmony. “But that was only for four days” may say the cynics, but it was evidence enough for me that being intentional about loving one another, one day at a time, can work!

Wish You Were Here!

I think we must be only a step away from heaven right now. Beautiful people. Magnificent scenery. Kick ass music. Forgive my primitive means, but there are current pictures on the Flickr link for your viewing pleasure. We're here for the duration so I may post again before we leave. In the meantime, I'll try to have enough fun for all of you who can't be here.

To Leave You Must First Arrive

Leaving Las Vegas inevitably recalls how we came to be here in the first place. That takes me back to my ministry in The United Methodist Church. As I’ve explained before, I did not follow the ordinary route to ordination, a decision on my part that was never fully accepted by “real” clergy who achieved their standing the traditional way. The net result of this was my being the last one chosen on the proverbial playground of episcopal appointments. In the context of the Nebraska Annual Conference not really knowing what to do with me—the offer to let me start a new congregation was never backed by a firm commitment—an offer from my old friend and mentor in the Desert Southwest Conference was attractive. I suspected that I was being appointed to a discordant senior/associate situation similar to the one I was appointed to in Omaha, but it turned out to be much more vile. As Mary and I recently ate at Blueberry Hill it brought back memories of that night in 1996 when I witnessed the bureaucratic execution of the associate pastor that was already there. It wasn’t so much being caught between a rock and a hard place as it was having nowhere to go. The Nebraska bridge had already been burned and Las Vegas was the only place showing even a hint of interest in me. The story of being the last one chosen through that cruel playground process of picking teams was not fantasy, it was my reality, and I discovered at the age of forty-six it was something I was never going to outgrow.

My Plan for Summer

Slowly but surely the reality of our impending move to Colorado is taking hold of my consciousness. Submitting my letter of retirement was the first big step, and meeting with a realtor this evening seems to be the second milestone. Las Vegas still has the highest foreclosure rate in the nation. That’s bound to affect the sale of our condominium. This is going to be a bittersweet process for me because it seems that we’ve been living the ideal as far as housing is concerned. Hopefully, some prospective buyer will feel the same way about it and the process will go smoothly. In spite of everything that happened here as far as my falling out with the United Methodist Church was concerned, this is still the place where Rachel and Rebecca graduated high school, where Rachel married Steve, and so on. I’m definitely excited about moving to Fort Collins, but there is some nostalgia I need to work my way through this summer.

Incite Author Reports Irregularity

Apparently one thing that is being affected by our countdown to Fort Collins is the regularity of my posting on Incite. If that’s the worst that happens, we may all consider ourselves blessed. There are a number of other things for which we are grateful as the process gets underway. Pete from Pro Handyman has demonstrated his ability to do things around the place that we can’t and, three months before we move, has become a new friend. We hope to extend that friendliness to Keith from Coldwell Banker as we meet with him tomorrow to arrange the sale of our condominium. All this seems a little surreal right now, but the lure of family and the Rocky Mountains will make it alright in the end. I’m trying my best not to manifest the short-timer’s syndrome at work which actually helps the days move by more quickly. This is not to say that I am not pondering each moment and wondering how it will feel to leave Las Vegas after these many years. Right now, my guess is that it’s going to feel very good!

Does It Stay Or Does It Go?

I’m worried. Our impending move has Mary in a throw-away frame of mind and I’m hoping that I don’t get tossed with the rest of the junk. It would be unintentional, I’m sure, but anything unnecessary had better stay out of her way in the days ahead. I’m a keeper (not the noun) and I admit it. I’ve tried to analyze my great reluctance to throw anything away and have concluded it’s inherited (not from Dad). It doesn’t take a lot to irritate my nostalgia, and all my stuff is connected to the past. The unanswerable question is whether the memorabilia recalls the good times, or if it is kept as some sort of alchemy to transform the not-so-good. I’ll give an example. Stuffed inside my old Boy Scout backpack (there’s memory #1) is a lariat that I somehow inherited from Grandpa Hanna (memories to the infinite power). I have never used it, nor do I anticipate I ever will. But on the rare occasions that I run across it my mind is filled with times spent with Grandpa and the Boy Scouts (never at the same time). I know that Mary’s right and that we will have to either arrange for a convoy to transport all the stuff to Colorado, or get rid of it before we move. For everything there is a time to keep and a time to discard. If you happen by our garage and hear some soulful mourning coming from inside, you’ll know it’s just me saying goodbye to my old life and hello to the new.

To Leave Las Vegas, You Must First…

By the time we moved to Las Vegas in July of 1996 we were pretty-well adept at packing and unpacking. Mary and I already had several moves under our belts by the time Rachel and Rebecca joined the family. Courtesy of the United Methodist Church the four of us moved to Omaha, Burwell, and Oakland before coming to Las Vegas. We moved three times while here, each but the last requiring us to stay in short-term housing during the interim. After liberating myself from the appointment process of the UMC we moved into Ironwood which has proven ideal from the moment Rachel spotted it to the present. During our thirty-nine years of marriage Mary and I have never lived longer in one place than Las Vegas. And we’ve never lived in one structure longer than we’ve lived at Ironwood. Since Incite is my therapy, I’m taking this moment to reminisce about our time here to help set the stage for our departure. Once we were accustomed to going through the steps about every three years, so this relocation is extraordinary in that we’ve had the unfettered opportunity to accumulate stuff for over ten years! Mary has told me I will never even miss the stuff she’s getting rid of. If the goal of moving to Colorado was not so enticing it wouldn’t be that hard to call the whole thing off. We won’t, though, because we’re hearing the siren song of a Rocky Mountain high.

Let the Countdown Begin

I did something for the first time in my life today. I submitted a letter of retirement. Working my last day on August 31, I will retire from Clark County effective September 1.

As Mary and I watched Julie & Julia over the weekend, I noted that part of the success of Julie Powell’s blog may have had something to do with it’s goal of preparing all 524 recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a year while blogging about it each day.

I’m certainly hoping that our move to Fort Collins, Colorado, is not going to take a whole year, but for as long as it does take it will provide blog fodder that might, if nothing else, prove entertaining. So, I invite you to come along for the ride and see where we end up three months from now.

Mary Flattered Me...

...with the suggestion that I post this entry from my journal:

How do I know for certain that this is not heaven? Or hell? In what is my perception grounded and can that worldview be empirically verified as actual? This works only when we acknowledge that empiricism, too, has its limitations. It is, after all, human. Like children with a magnificently super-powerful toy we have played with science without spiritual or moral constraint and that has predictably brought us to the precipice of modern civilization. Corporations don’t have souls. And to be soulless has throughout the ages been considered evil. We still have not answered the question of what it means to be human. As a result, we have relinquished the unknown to soulless corporations that are accountable not to human needs but instead to markets of ever-expanding description. Corporations don’t care about humans in any other respect than their ability to generate profit. The ideal is generating enough revenue by whatever means to not go in the red at which time the human becomes a liability rather than an asset and must be taken care of. Taken care of, that is, by restoring profitability at any cost, even human.

Goodbye, Linda

It must be good karma to be missed so very much. Quietly, assuredly, right to the end, you devoted your gifts and talents to helping those who are in such great need. I wish that I could ask you what heaven is like because there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s where you now are. May the blessed peace of the saints be upon you as you join their communion with the something that is everything. Amen.

About Authority

I have a real problem with authority. Anyone who has found themselves in the unfortunate position of being my superior will no doubt claim this as the world’s greatest understatement. My attitude toward authority goes back almost as far as I can remember, and rather than taking the traditional route of blaming my parents for improper toilet training, etc, I’m going to blame it on Jesus. I personally have been unable to read any of the four gospels without finding evidence that he, too, had a real problem with authority. Not just any authority, but the kind that is not justified. Let me see if I can explain.

Gravity has a universal authority on the planet Earth. Humankind has found ways around that authority, but it nonetheless applies to everyone equally. This is in contrast to the “because I told you so” brand of authority. I’ll admit to hours on the therapist’s couch—usually at the insistence of someone who was displeased with my insubordinate attitude—and one of the first insights I gained from that process was that everybody puts their pants (or pantyhose) on one leg at a time. I first experienced that truth when learning about Jesus. His “superiors” reportedly often asked, “By what authority is he saying or doing these things?” Such as having the audacity to tell the commoners that they were just as important in God’s eyes as those who assume positions of authority because of their "superiority".

So, my argument is not with universal authority, but with that which is contrived. The kind of authority that I rebel against is that which considers itself as superior and me as inferior; e.g. you must obey me because I am your superior. In a world where there’s no shortage of super-egoism, this paradigm quickly becomes one of oppression that inevitably deteriorates into violence. Again, in the four gospel texts which provide our fundamental understanding of Jesus of Nazareth--later to be proclaimed the Christ--I cannot find any example of him telling his friends and disciples that he was superior to them. Instead, he considered himself their equal, one of them. Now, that’s my kind of authority.

If You Don’t Do What I Want…

…I will kill you. I’ve puzzled over what constitutes power and authority among us humans, and I think I’ve finally arrived at an answer. As I study the history of civilization and apply it our contemporary world, I end up with a fundamental proposition of kill or be killed. We’ve piled prettiness and fanciness on top of this ugly truth in order to disguise it, but I am now convinced that it holds true in either the literal or figurative sense. While war violently practices the literal interpretation, the figurative is, of course, far more subtle and abstract. If you are not doing what I want you to do, and “civilized” behavior won’t allow me to physically end your life, that does not mean that I can’t resort to emotional and psychological tactics like saying, “You are dead to me.” The utter irony of Christianity is that it has adopted and practiced this tactic despite that fact that it’s utterly antithetical to the teachings of Jesus. So, learn what Jesus taught or be damned to hell!

Tuesday’s Rumination

It’s one of those days when I don’t seem to know what to write about. Just when I’m beginning to think that Incite really is just my own personal monologue, up pop two comments on yesterday’s post about how wonderful marriage can be. So, is that the direction I should be taking to stimulate a virtual dialogue? I’m tempted to cite the many factors and variables that can affect a marriage, but anyone who’s married already knows that. I’m tempted to offer my opinion that one’s worldview is the fundamental determinant of how any human relationships go, but then I’m getting all theological (philosophical with God mixed in) and that, for the most part, has not stirred reader reaction. I’ve written about my thoughts on love and justice (both of which are critical elements of a good marriage) without much response (I do want to know who you are that sometimes disagrees with me). I’ll admit that it’s primarily my ego at stake, but I have developed this lofty rationalization that our species may not have a lot more time left to figure out how we’re going to successfully live with one another as the geographic boundaries of our planet are made increasingly smaller by an ever-advancing technology. I feel like crying every time I see what’s going on in the Gulf of Mexico right now, partly because it emphasizes (in my mind, at least) the critical need for We the People to take our nation back—not just from the government but from the corporations that obviously own the government. So much to do. So little time.

A Perfect Day

As of yesterday, Mary and I have been married for thirty-nine years. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I grew up in a family where marriage was spoken of with sarcasm and ridicule. Now I understand that when a marriage isn’t good that finds expression in any number of ridiculing and demeaning ways. I thank God every day that I’m so blessed as to share life with my very best friend. Yeah, I guess Mary is my BFF. After four decades together we still enjoy each other’s company, have things to talk about, and share in the blessing of having raised our beautiful daughters. I am well aware that this isn’t the way it goes for a lot of people, and for them I am genuinely sorry—sorry that they will never know the joy of two hearts made one by the spirit of love. I know that sounds like a schmaltzy old man talking but, hey! I’m the lucky one who’s been married for the last thirty-nine years.

Learning My Place

The lesson I apparently need to learn in my sixties is acceptance. I’ve been submitting job applications online to Larimer County, Colorado (kudos for their excellent, user-friendly program!) so that Mary and I can hasten our move to Fort Collins. “We are sorry to inform you that your application…is no longer being considered because you did not meet the minimum qualifications for the position.” Or, “We are sorry to inform you that your application…was not accepted by the hiring department because other candidates were better qualified for the position.” That one smarted a bit because I was applying for the same position I currently hold in Clark County. I guess they really did check my references. And as for those minimum qualifications: high school diploma and breathing. Anyway, I can’t blame anyone for not wanting to hire a sick, tired old man. It was announced by my current employer that the Front Desk and Intake functionalities are being merged, something I proposed nearly a year ago that was met with incredulity. Ideas have credence only when they come from superior, not inferior, minds (we’ve already covered that I don’t have covered parking). I think that there are some feed lots around Fort Collins. I’m going to find a refresher course in shoveling shit and then apply.

PS
On a much, much happier note, congratulations to Rachel and Steve on their 4th wedding anniversary. Keep up the good fight, you guys!

The Dalai Lama Thinks It Can Spur World Peace!

If you haven’t already, I would encourage you to read Maia Szalavitz’s article, How to Deprogram Bullies: Teaching Kindness 101. Just when I’m beginning to let myself see the glass as half empty along comes a report like this that offers a sense of genuine hope for our future. I am not surprised that with the demise of institutions like the church and the nuclear family, public schools are being looked to as our last best hope to inspire humankind to be all it can be (Mary and I have discussed this phenomenon at length and share the concern that public education is being undermined by all the “anti-socialist” rhetoric that the extreme Right feels so free to throw around). I’m beginning to think that the argument against socialism is that it’s cooperative rather than competitive and I’ve already expressed my opinion about how embracing competition is antithetical to the great religious traditions around the globe. Anyway, I think that this article is well worth reading and I hope that it incites the same spark of hope in you that it does in me.

PS
I offer my sympathy to Mom for the loss of her feline companion of eleven years. I have waxed philosophical about death, but I know of no cure for the sense of loss experienced by those who survive. Clint was a good cat and we will miss him.

Getting Uglier By the Day

It’s another beautiful day in Las Vegas. The temperatures this month have been cooler than normal; there have been some very strong winds, but all that is forgotten on days such as this. I awoke this morning after an uninterrupted night’s sleep, showered with plenty of clean, hot water, downed a breakfast shake lovingly prepared by Mary, and headed toward steady employment on a multiple lane freeway in my Prius. I must be the man who has everything! I’m sure that’s the way at least three-quarters of the world population would see me. But I’m an American. So woven into the blissful start to this day were myriads of commercial messages intended to make me believe that I want—no, that I must have!—more. This is what makes America #1, right? This is what makes us superior, right? Our lifestyle exceeds most of the rest of the world and yet we are convinced that our future happiness depends upon acquiring more than we already have. Our greed has caused innumerable problems and yet we have arranged things in such a way that we don’t have to see it that way. My drive to work this morning was in a minute way responsible for the toxic oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. My fat gut that hardly fits into my pants anymore is in a minute way at the expense of the millions who are starving. I flush my bowel movements with more water than many people have available for cooking and drinking. Eugene Burdick and William Lederer wrote of The Ugly American back in 1958, but in the forty-two years since I seem to have done little more than become uglier yet. I am in sore need of some prayerful introspection.

Taking Myself Down a Notch or Two

Here’s a happy little factoid I ran across in this week’s issue of TIME: 41% of women who gave birth in 2008 were not married, the highest number ever recorded. To those of us who do what I do, this is no surprise. If you weren’t already aware, unmarried females are capable of getting pregnant and giving birth. Male sperm is still required, but you can apparently get that just about anywhere. I’ve been concerned with our values for a long time now, but the extremists have been getting quite of bit of press lately for their campaign to restore America’s values. By this, they apparently mean the “right” to bear arms (concealed or not) anywhere they wish, the “rights” of unborn fetuses, and the “right” to dissemble the very government that gives them their rights. I’ll admit that I feel superior to these, what Keith Olbermann calls idiots, but that unfortunately puts all of us who feel that way on the same page. So, here’s my challenge: get over my damnably smug sense of superiority so that I can open my eyes to what we all have in common, what equalizes us, if you will. I know their side isn’t ever going to lose a moment’s thought on such a proposition, but that isn’t going to excuse me from trying. Damn, it’s hard to be humble when you’re as great as I am (from a t-shirt I bought in high school).

What Would Constantine Do?

Three centuries of persecution came to an end for early Christians when Constantine interpreted his vision of the cross as a sign of victory in an upcoming battle, and voila! Christianity became legalized in the Roman Empire. I wonder how Constantine might be affected by his vision of what’s happening in the Gulf of Mexico right now. Bryan Walsh writes in this week’s issue of TIME, “The next step is to put in place truly comprehensive energy and climate legislation, laws that could slap a price of some sort on fossil fuels while channeling serious funds toward clean-energy research and deployment. Whether in the form of a tax, cap-and-trade or some other mechanism, pricing carbon has long been a nonstarter in Washington, but that needs to change.”

We lived through the oil shortage of the early 70s, watched the Exxon Valdez fiasco in 1989, and are now witnessing the horrific events as they unfold in the Gulf of Mexico. And yet, I’m still driving around in a car that uses gasoline, still consuming electricity that is generated by fossil fuels (although Las Vegas does benefit some from the hydroelectric generated at Hoover Dam), and still behaving like I’m the only one on the planet who is deserving of all this. When are we going to wake up? When are we going to grow up? When are we going to evolve into enlightened, rational creatures that are created a little lower than the angels? I guess we need a sign.

The Least of These

The paradox of moving past the human urge to be superior and not inferior is rarely spoken of in these exact terms. To begin with, it is considered reasonable by those who even stop to think about it, and it is safe to say that the majority of humans don’t even give it any conscious thought. We want to be the best, but we never stop to ask why. The superior-inferior dichotomy is so pervasive among the species as to be considered “natural”. When something like Kohlberg’s research on moral development is applied, the compulsion to be superior could simply be the result of not wanting to be inferior. I mean, really! Who want’s to be inferior? No one. And since equality seems to be such an abstraction, the more concrete inferiority-avoidance seems best achieved by superiority. As I have said, it’s in our DNA. Enlightened educators (like Mary) have long realized that cooperation is a fundamentally more effective paradigm for teaching and learning, and yet academia is the bulwark of competition. Everything about our society is about rewarding superiority and treating inferiority, well, as inferior. I confess that it is my employment that got me to thinking about this whole thing a little more seriously, because the numbers prove that I’m inferior. It’s not a good feeling, and it would feel better if someone more proficient than me reached out with a helping hand to bring me along. Instead, it’s the dog-eat-dog world of superiority vanquishing inferiority by defeating and eliminating it. Perhaps this is as it should be, but I am at a loss to understand how it is going to make for a more peaceful and loving world. Jesus may have just been full of it.

To Just or Not to Just?

Do you like to be treated fairly? So do I. Does it bother you to be treated unfairly? Me, too. This, in a nutshell, explains why justice and injustice are topics that we should think about daily. I don’t know where I came by my fascination with precedence, but I feel as if I am able to trace virtually every injustice to a precedent that somehow established it as acceptable. Part of being a moral person is an ongoing awareness of the distinction between good and evil, right and wrong, and then integrating that understanding into the way I behave. I will not, however, have to look too far to discover a precedent that manages to challenge the veracity of the original choice. Why did I do that? Because Johnny did it first. Did Johnny do the right thing? That doesn’t seem to matter as much as that he did it first. I should warn you that this habit of determining what is just and what is unjust is problematic because it can quickly devolve into judgment. The ethic of mutual reciprocity (e.g. The Golden Rule) does not afford the luxury of judging others. I will treat others fairly because I like being treated fairly. End of story! I’m not being fair because it makes me superior, nor does it make someone who acts unfairly inferior. Unless something is done to turn it around, the human population of planet Earth is unflinchingly marching toward SRO (standing room only). It may not seem so important right now to be a proponent of justice and an adversary of injustice, but when we’re bumping into someone every time we turn around it will be crucial.