Something from everyday goings on.
My next drawing for a postcard to my parents was from a picture I took while we were walking around in Joshua Tree last Christmas. I thought my parents might never go see the nearby National Park, so I would give them a glimpse of it.
I really tried to capture the glow of the sun setting and hitting the rock formations.
My second postcard was based on the designs of the leaded glass windows at the house I grew up in in Oak Park. I thought they would appreciate a bit of the house they made a home from 1973-2021. So I went back on my phone and found a picture I took of a window during my last visit to the house in January 2021.
There were so many moments of my life and childhood looking through these windows. They truly were the frame around my view of the world growing up. Maybe it is the most formative image layered on my childhood. Does it tie into why I want to have art and creativity in my life? Does growing up in that house shape how I look at what makes a home or what is good architecture? It wasn’t a plain old pane of glass, but faceted and composed. It was a layer of home that was visible between me and the world.
It was pretty special to have that be a part of my growing up. And I realize that more now.
We often think of communication as a simple transfer of information from one person to another. In a world where technology makes it easier than ever to connect with others, it can be tempting to believe that communication is simple and straightforward. We think that if we just say the right words, in the right way, to the right person, we will be understood. But the truth is, all communication is miscommunication.
No matter how hard we try, there is always room for misunderstanding, misinterpretation, and miscommunication. Words can be misinterpreted, tone can be misconstrued, and even body language can be misread. Miscommunication happens when we assume that the person we’re communicating with sees the world in the same way we do. It happens when we assume that they understand the meaning behind our words, the context of our message, and the intent behind our actions.
But the truth is, we all come from different backgrounds, have different experiences, and interpret things in different ways. What might be clear and straightforward to us, might be confusing, or ambiguous, or even imply a completely different meaning to someone else.
So, how do we navigate this constant state of miscommunication? By being mindful of the fact that it will happen and seeing it as an opportunity to practice empathy and active listening. When we approach miscommunication with openness to others and a willingness to learn, we can turn potential miscommunication into real communication. When we listen to others with an open mind and a willingness to understand, we can learn, and hopefully gain a deeper appreciation for, their perspectives and experiences.
So, embrace the miscommunication. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, to clarify, and to admit when you don’t understand. We need to be open to different perspectives and to the possibility that we might be wrong. And we need to be willing to admit when we’ve made a mistake and to apologize when necessary.
All communication is miscommunication, but that doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. It just means that we need to work a little harder, be a little more patient, and be a little more compassionate. And in doing so, we can build deeper connections and understanding with the people around us.
I recently deleted my social media applications from my phone. I had already become disheartened by the amount of time I had found myself scrolling mindlessly. And too much time each day had slipped by. Even put a timer on the app to restrict my usage, but all that did was to point out my 15 minute increments that I was scrolling thru suggested images. So the deleting of the apps was the next step. Then I read a great article: Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid. It equated social media to the Tower of Babel.
Babel is not a story about tribalism. It’s a story about the fragmentation of everything.
And the fragmentation of everything is driving the partisanship of contemporary life. So I am resolving to spend less time consuming and more time creating. I mean, I have all these things that I think it would be great to do. So why not do them? Or spend time with family. And not be on the screens together while watching tv, but just watch TV together. Although I find myself falling asleep a lot while watching TV. But maybe that is a post for another day…
What would it be like to live in Babel in the days after its destruction? We know. It is a time of confusion and loss. But it is also a time to reflect, listen, and build.
Time to start more building.
My mother in law, Mary Courtney, passed away Saturday, the 16th. Surrounded by her children. I have always been so thankful to have been welcomed into the Courtney family, and by her.
Walking into the Courtney home you could see it filled with a reflection of Mary’s passions and loves. The numerous houseplants showed her love of nature, evidence of her deep seated love of animals was dog hair that inevitably got on your clothes.
Her home was filled with artwork as well, pastels and drawings of nature and animals, but the most striking of course was her stained glass. Leaded glass lamps, stained glass windows, art glass panels framing a doorway, and of course her recent work of colored glass mosaics.
But what she gave the most space to in her house was her most favorite creation, her family. Pictures of her children and grandchildren at every moment of their lives. School photos, baby pictures, diving and gymnastics meets. Pictures from vacations and trips, weddings and births. You can see she was a person who cherished her family and these various moments in time captured along the way.
Lately I have been sorting thru lots of things from my parents house. You can accumulate a lot over almost 50 years. And what they had was ‘inherited’ from their parents’ or aunts’ homes. One item that I had growing up, that entered our sphere from my mom’s side of the family, was an old Firemans Call Box. Before telephones and 911, these were placed around neighborhoods so residents can pull the lever and let the firemen know that there was a fire. He had a key to ours, and I used it as a safe of sorts to keep stuff in. Although sometime after my freshman year of high school I lost the key. But it kicked around in the attic, after I moved up there sophomore year, until this past November when I brought it back with to Virginia. 
I had always been curious what I had in there, I remembered some notes that were passed in class being saved in there, and I thought my signed Sidd Finch baseball card was in there too. So I pulled out the lock picks we had given to Liam one Christmas and tried to open it.
Raise your hand if you have ever successfully picked a lock. Spoiler, I am not raising my hand. Enter the electric drill…
After drilling out the lock, I was able to open up the box and unload the contents. What you can see are all the elements that are important to a nerdy middleschool/beginning high schooler. And definitely not things you would think about saving for the future.
Some comic books, first issues of a variety of random things, that are invariably not worth much. A bunch of miscellaneous coinage, mostly half-dollars, 1976 quarters, and British coinage. (anyone know the current value of a Shilling?) Some locker combinations, one for my locker by the scene shop at ORPF, and another lock combination. Neither of which happen to be for my blue Gym combination lock.
It did have my High school yearbook from 1987-88. Which is something I was never missing or looking for. But there you have it. As it happens I now am in possession of all my high school yearbooks, which is not a testament to how I hold onto my high school years, but how much my parents kept track of my childhood.
Which I can kind of get. In phone conversations over the years, when I am now a parent talking to my dad, he mentioned that raising his kids was some of the best years of his life. And I can agree with him on that. While I don’t want to return to the past, or do X, Y, or Z over again, I am thankful that how the past has gotten me to where I am now. Mistakes and all. And seeing the kids as they grow older has made me think about life in a totally different way.
Speaking of mistakes:
Did I not know I had curly hair? I definitely did not know how to take care of it. Dude.
The pandemic and quarantine has really changed everyone’s routines. And it is true for my family as well. While all homebodies to a certain extent, we have slowly acclimated to this new routine. With the at home learning of the kids and the at home work of the parents, the end of classes in the spring bled into the habits that usually happen in the summer months out of school. That regularity and movement that resulted from the old routines make us uncertain of what the regular is now, with those routines set aside. Are we going back to what we were used to? Will we still see those beloved aspects in what we go back to?
I used to feel that I was acclimated to uncertainty. When you don’t remember all the details of something and rely on others to fill them in, you get used to the idea that you can’t be certain of everything. And build up trust with your friends’ memories and recollections. That trust made me certain of what was since I had stability in my job and home. That even if I didn’t remember all of the details, I knew that everything was there somewhere.
Now are we sure of where things have been? Everyone thought the American economy generally worked, but that was proven not to work. People thought that the government generally got stuff done, and now America hasn’t finished its first wave of Covid infections, while elsewhere countries had enough reduction of cases to get worried about the next wave of infections. The flood of information and lack of trust of experts has led to doubting everything that people see, no wonder that we are anxious. Nothing is certain. And people want to know, people want routines.
I used to be completely ambivalent about my face. I mean, everyone has their own hangups on how they look. And I do too. But I never really thought about my face very much. Now that I have a full beard and not a goatee, I shave less often. My hair is cut very short , so I don’t worry about brushing it. Mainly I only saw myself when I brushed my teeth.
I am always in touch with how my family look, I see them every day. I like to think I am observant, and do make positive comments when people get a haircut or make a change.
But I have been paying attention to my looks a lot more lately. With some much time in all the various Zoom calls and meetings, it would be impossible not to. I am getting grey in the beard. I look a little tired. You really do notice the bags under my eyes. And the gap in my bottom teeth from the baby teeth that haven’t fallen out yet.
IS this what everyone sees when look at me? Not sure how I think about that.
My latest ear candy comes from the movie: Echo in the Canyon. A great documentary exploring the music being created in the 60’s in LA, predominately coming from the artists living in and around Laurel Canyon.
Since I am always a sucker for that era of music, this was a delightful look at the origins of the songs, and talking to the artists and also some artists that were inspired by the songs.Jakob Dylan obviously has a love an appreciation of the crafting of music and the works created by these artists. It intermixes him covering the songs with collaborations with other musicians of his era. Pretty great stuff.
It is a great example of what Austin Kleon calls a “scenius”. Which is the idea that genius is more communal than individual. How many leaps or changes in a field really happen without individuals being affected by another? This is one reason I really like working in the theater. You are always bouncing ideas off of others and that you can support the work of others, which may inspire you to dig deeper and try more.
Spotify has a Playlist of songs from the movie.
One of the scarier things is to be confronted with a blank page and free time. It is a challenge to succeed or fail. One that is given to us every day as our ‘today’ starts anew.