Thoughts on transformation

One definition of transformation is:

" (1): the operation of changing (as by rotation or mapping) one configuration or expression into another in accordance with a mathematical rule ; especially : a change of variables or coordinates in which a function of new variables or coordinates is substituted for each original variable or coordinate (2): the formula that effects a transformation b: function 5a c: an operation that converts (as by insertion, deletion, or permutation) one grammatical string (as a sentence) into another ; also : a formal statement of such an operation."(Merriam Webster Dictionary)

For some reason I have been thinking of transformation a lot in the past several weeks. I'm sure seeing the Susan Boyle u tube piece triggered it. But, I am sure the thoughts are , mostly, the result of the subconscious pull of analyzing the transitioning process from full time employment to full time retirement, i.e. the need to find meaning in a life without full time dedication to a profession one loves ~ the need for continued identity and sense of self worth. I have to say the change from full time professor to full time "retired" was abrupt! Cancer definitely speed-ed up the retirement decision. Without the challenge of a strong desire to remodel the lake cabin I don't know what I would have done. But, now the remodel is substantially done. If I had it to do over again, I certainly would have attempted to ease myself out of academia in a little less abrupt manner. So I guess "here I sit trying to define myself!" :-) Or maybe I'm just looking for another project! My friend Paul Graul says the only regret Skip is going to have when he dies is that he didn't finish his last project. That is probably true.

Transformation as a concept is different from a "defining moment", i.e. one can be transformed without a defining moment. However, a defining moment implies transformation. A good example of both occurring would be Susan Boyle's defining moment on Britain has Talent. I am sure Ms Boyle's transformation to singer was a life time process. However, she will forever be defined by her moment on Britain has Talent. I have observed in the course of my life that the defining moment may come at the beginning or end of the transformation process. I clearly remember being asked to join the accounting firm of Kenny Good and Associates in Billings Montana. I remember we were having pizza, after tax season, at the Alpine House of Pizza(interesting name) in Billings when I was asked. I knew the moment that I said no, I'm sorry, I want to be an accounting professor, that I had, at that moment, set course for a life in academia. I often look"back" and wonder...

I'm not looking for a defining moment. I'm just looking for "the formula that effects a transformation". Dang, I'm not sure I know what the variables are or what mathematical rule applies at this point. If any of you out there knows the equation and variables, let me know ~ please. :-)

On a more positive note, I am thinking about remodeling the bathroom at the cabin. And, I will build the RV port if I ever get the permit to do so.

Dad, et. al.

father daughter fly fishing trip

Jennie and I had a day of laughing and fly fishing yesterday! What a glorious time it was ~ from catching fish to watching dad fall in the river up to his neck! Jennie was yelling "dad don't fall in!" and I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to drown because I was already in up to my neck. All I could think was grab my $400 dollar fly rod and let me drown. Thankfully, it was a 90 degree day and I could use the cooling down. So funny.

The fishing was slow and we caught only small ones. But, we made plans to return in the fall when the larger fish once again move into the river. We did see a few large ones feeding that we didn't seem to be able to entice. And, I saw a huge bull trout that was after a small cutthroat that I had hooked. It was the largest fish I have ever seen on the St. Joe River.

My heart soared like a hawk as I watched my older daughter cast the fly line. It was the first time I have ever really stopped and watched as she fished. She has the gift! I was reminded of the time I was watching my good friend Paul Dierks fish. He had fairly good mechanics. Unfortunately, he was standing smack dab in the middle of the area that he should have been casting to ~ i.e. where the fish were apt to be. Not only does Jennie have good mechanics but she has a natural feel for the water ~ where to set the fly. She has to work on her landing of the fish, however. She has to play it off of the rod and not try to drag the fish in with the line. She'll have a heart attack in the fall when we get into the big ones! Jane Fonda better get out of the way. Jennie is a better caster and is better looking. :-) Love is when you enjoy watching your child catching fish more than catching them yourself. Now to get my daughter Katy out on the stream.

Fly fishing with Jennie naturally got us to reminiscing about grandpa Jack's fly fishing ability and what he passed on to us. I told her of my memories of my dad's fishing abilities. He was a natural also and I learned how to fly fish as I watched him. He wasn't one for giving specific lessons. He just gave me a fly rod and reel one summer and said watch what I do. So I did! And I was hooked. He would ocassionally offer me helpful hints. He would say things like "now would be a good time to use an up stream mend". I don't think he ever really used the term "mend" but he would show me what to do when you needed less drag on the fly. Now days they have fancy names for all of the techniques that we just learned to do naturally, i.e. techniques that seemed to work. Trial and error still seems to work and as a result I might add the experience is often richer. Some times you just gotta learn for yourself. No substitute.

One of my favorite fly fishing stories of my dad involves him fishing from the back of a horse. He was an excellent horseman as well as a fisherman. The second year we had the pitchfork ranch he purchased an older retired roping horse named Star. Star was a beautiful horse. He was black with a star on his forehead and three white socks. He had, of course, been roped "off of" and was unflappable. He was pop's pride and joy. One of my fondest memories is of my Dad fly fishing in the saddle as we made our way up the Greybull river to our summer fishing camp. He'd say, "Skip, let's get some fish for dinner on the way up to camp." During the summer, in place of the rifle that he carried in his saddle scabbard during hunting season he would place his trusty bamboo fly rod. Out would come the fly rod. He would assemble it and rig it up aboard Star. And off he and Star would go up the middle of the "Greybull" ~ at this point the Greybull river was more of a creek than a river. Old Star would just stand there as dad would haul up a sixteen inch flopping cutthroat trout. In fairly short order we would have enough for dinner and we would head on in to camp. Gosh those trout tasted good. They were not much more than an hour from "stream to pan". It wasn't long before I was fishing off of the back of old blue ~ riding bare back too I should add! Dad claimed he had shot elk off of the the back of Star too. Although, I was never able to witness this claim!

Jennie, do you recognize this fishing hole? This is a picture of my friend Leonard. I'm really sorry that I didn't get a picture of you "casting the line". I will in the fall.

Dad, et al

Huckleberry Update

Huckleberry picking at Priest Lake is the best I have ever seen. The planets must be in perfect alignment. Rose and I picked for only an hour on Saturday and each of us had over a quart of huckleberries. I have a new secret place. But I can be had!! We now have enough berries in the cabin refrig to provide a summer of huckleberry pancakes. :-) yummm

Returned home on Sunday in time for my "sleep study". Yes, they did confirm that I sleep at night, but only after first tossing and turning for well over an hour and then frequent wake up calls thereafter. I go this afternoon to get fitted for my new sleep helper thingie. I was told I have moderate sleep apnea. Hope it helps. I'm tired of being tired. I personally think a lot of this sleep dysfunction is simply old age. And there ain't no cure for that!

I took the picture of the robin this weekend after I had reviewed my writing on Brandon' death. It's so true that we don't appreciate life's gifts until after they are gone. Of all the pictures of the birds of Cambria, I have none in that collection of the lowly robin, a common bird but one of my favorites. What a bleak place our world would be without this bird's songs, both morning and evening, it's curious routine in scoping out "worm" possibilities, and it's joy in running threw the sprinkler. What would life be without the familiar sound of its song after a rain storm?

Once again I have been reminded to enjoy those moments in between life's tests and trials! One of cancer's lessons.

Gordon, et al

Joe's visit

Joe visited us last week. We had a great time. He and his mom were able to spend some quality time at the cabin last week end. He and Rose came back looking obviously relaxed and happy. The cabin will do that to you!

Rose and I leave for the cabin tomorrow . We return Sunday in time for Gordon to have his "sleep study". Not sure I'll be able to sleep, but I will give it a try.

G

Another reason

Another reason to like David Brooks; he's brutally honest! He is going to catch Hell for this interview! I can't believe he said it! Any of it.

Gordon

Dignity

What can I say? I'm a fiscally conservative liberal ~ I'm an accountant after all. I like David Brooks. I certainly don't agree with all he says. But, I especially like his sense of what is "right and wrong" and his steadfast insistence on civility. And, I like his ability to say he was wrong when it needs to be said.

His comments on "dignity" are "dead on". See his comments at


http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/07/opinion/07brooks.html?em

Gordon

loss

We had a terrible loss in our "family" this week. Jennifer's nephew Brandon Hay, the son of Don and Lorie Hay, was killed in a horrific automobile accident. He was only 17 years old. He was a gifted musician entering the prime of his life. His two cousins, Krissie and Kimmie are asking "why Brandon?" I don't know "why". What I do know is that our lives will never be the same. Whether life will have more meaning for us and whether we become better people as a result of this "lesson offered" is up to us.

Krissie and Kimmie, it is natural for us to become angry with "things" that are out of our control. We cannot control death and it frightens us. At a very stressful point in my life, my fears manifested themselves in anger ~ an anger I could not explain. Once I learned that the anger was really fear, I was better able to deal with my anger. We all fear death and have a very difficult time finding meaning in the finality of it all, especially when it happens to someone so young as Brandon. Life is not fair. I do know that we can only control our actions and how we react to life's injustices. I have every confidence that you both will value life even more now and will honor Brandon's life with a life lived to its fullest. I love you both so very much. My heart is heavy and weeps for your pain.

Grandpa Skip

Judging a book by its cover - once again

Communication

I watched a special on public Television last night by Garrison Keillor. Several of his comments "struck a cord", but one in particular seemed especially relevant. He talked of his and his wife's need to move back to Minnesota from New York City with their daughter to be close to family. He had been raised around many aunts and uncles (over twenty in total!) and felt the need to return to that comfort zone. I understood completely.

Between my mother and father, I had twenty two aunts and uncles, including spouses. Apparently, Garrison could have had as high as forty aunts and uncles! When I was young I was fortunate to have been raised by three particular sets of parents; all birth given. There was my mom and dad, my uncle Martin and aunt Julia, and my uncle Walter and aunt Tommie. Aunt Julia was my mom's older sister. Uncle Walt was my mom's older brother. I "answered" to all of them. In addition to surrogate parents I had the advantage of surrogate brothers and sisters. I had my brother Brad and Sister Candy. But I also had my brother/cousins Sonny, Johnny, Barry, Bob and Roy. And, I had my sister/cousin Jeanie. Hardly a holiday or long weekend passed when we were not all together. In addition, during the summers I lived off and on with both sets of aunts and uncles as help was needed for haying and other farm events such as grain harvest. Often my mother would be in tears because I would run and hide when she came to retrieve me to go "home". I always felt like I was at home with my family. I remember one particular night at my aunt Julia's when it came time to go home and they could not find me. After about an hour of frantic searching they found me hiding in a hay field in a dry irrigation ditch. They didn't know whether to laugh, cry or kill me. I didn't want to go home. I was about eight years old. Ironically, the same thing happened to my brother years later, only he had fallen asleep.

I fear that in today's society we are losing this extended sense of family and perhaps worse the extended sense of communication. Smaller more geographically mobile families do not lend themselves to the closeness of extended families. Oh I know, they say things such as mobile phones, email, twitter, air travel and the like are suppose to bring us closer together. But to my way of thinking these "technological advances" simply serve to isolate us even more one from the another, i.e. we can now "communicate" with others while we are alone in our rooms. There is more to communicating than the simple exchange of language symbols, i.e. such things as the smell and taste of fresh fried chicken and mashed potatoes as the elders discuss cattle prices, the taste of fresh asparagus after ditch side forays by my aunts brought about discussions relative to the city folks infringing on their irrigation ditch side asparagus patches, and the sound of crickets as the elders discuss on the porch who was to care for Grandma Kinsfather next and the tears in their eyes as they did so. We don't communicate through language alone. We have to be present in so many ways. And, obviously, it isn't always the words of the message that we remember. For me 'family" interactions presented the opportunity to learn this lesson.

Years later as I stood before my dissertation committee after I had "defended" my doctoral dissertation, it wasn't the words "congratulations, you passed" that I remember. I can't actually remember the exact words that were uttered. I assume I passed ~ I have the degree hanging on a wall some place. It was the haunting melody in my mind of Peggy Lee singing "is that all there is to that" and the utter emotion of being entirely "alone" that I remember. I remember the emotions around the message more than the message.


Gordon, et. al.