Every now and then, I have a little thought that I think is worth communicating in some way. I put those thoughts in this category. Read and learn that the brain of Tim Stone is never idle, and some interesting things can pop out of that stream-of-consciousness.
Category : Thought of the Moment
I have a page at about.me. I created it a few months ago just to squat my name there. It’s always a good idea to snag your user name on sites like that, so some schmuck doesn’t come and turn your id into a porn page or something. Lots of good people have been smeared by inaction in the social web. Anyway, I’ve let it sit because it’s not particularly interesting to me, but tonight for some reason I decided to pay it some attention.
About.me is a simple affair. It offers some aggregation of your social web activity, and lets you put links to your web places, like timsworlds.com for me. It also lets you make a short biographical statement. Writing those kinds of things are terribly challenging for me, and that’s probably why I didn’t mess with the page to start with. But tonight I decided to give it a go.
How do you describe yourself in a paragraph? It’s impossible, but yet sometimes that’s what we have to do. So I thought about it for a while, and here’s what I came up with:
I enjoy so many things about life it’s impossible to list them all. I think deeply and feel even more deeply. I’m business politically astute and somewhat cynical. I love good sarcasm and can be the best friend you’ve ever had if you can accept the whole package. Don’t try to change me; I won’t try to change you. Put Rachmaninoff’s Adagio Sostenuto on your iPod. Then go way out in the country on a clear moonless night and look up at the billions of stars. Find the Milky Way. Watch until you see a shooting star. How does it all makes you feel? That’s how it feels to be me.
Venus. Jupiter. The Waxing Gibbous Moon. Lined up like three soldiers marching across the sky to at the rate of Earth’s rotation. Thin cirrus turn them into glowing orbs. A huge halo encircles Luna. It is February 2 at 40 degrees north latitude. There is a fire in the fire pit. I sit there bathed in its warmth, breathing in the acrid smoke filled moist air. It is the dead of winter. It is fifty degrees warmer than it should be. Who is complaining? For a few minutes, I am in heaven.
I spent the day sitting on my butt in front of my computer working on a spreadsheet. I don’t know much about spreadsheets, but I managed to get it to do what I wanted, and I was able to suggest a solution to a really thorny problem. I hope my bosses will think I rock. Now I sit on my butt in front of a fire, and it doesn’t matter if I rock or not. The sky rocks. The air rocks. The wood burning in a pile in front of me rocks. The water splashing down the waterfall into the pond rocks. The rocks rock. Spreadsheets and budgets and expenses and breathtaking numbers of millions of dollars are all just juxtapositions of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 0. Oh yes, don’t forget the zeros. The smoke rings in front of me look like them. The smoke rings are more real than the dollars. Fifteen million dollars? In this moment I’m not sure I’d trade all of them for the halo around the moon.
Ben comes out and asks how to know if you’re ready to get married. The smoke answers him. It blows its smoke rings in his face and he whisks them away before his eyes start burning. He can’t stand burning eyes. He’s not ready.
The fire dies down a little. Should I get some more wood? Probably. It has taught me more in a few minutes than the rest of the day did altogether.
I waited for more than 10 minutes at the place where I was supposed to pick up Diann this afternoon. This is not unusual. It’s usually the case where I’m to hurry up so I can wait for her. It’s been that way since the beginning of our relationship, nearly 40 years ago. Back when she was going to Moody Bible Institute, I would be supposed to meet her at something o’clock, and so I’d get there at something o’clock. She’d finally appear at sometime later o’clock, as if she was right on time and I was silly for being so early. Yeah, I wait for her a lot.
I’m usually alright with waiting for her. She’s my companion. She’s worth waiting for. Tonight was one of those worth waiting for times. She’s been gone for a few days, and I didn’t do very well with her not here. I was cranky. Morose. Unmotivated. I basically accomplished nothing while she was gone. The dishes piled up. My dirty clothes piled up. I slept more than I should have. I was just about as much of a mess as my environs.
Someday, if she passes on before me, I’ll be alone. Weekends like this make me wonder what I’ll be like. I think I’ll be even more of a mess. Waiting for her to get home is one thing. That she’s never coming home is another. Will I be able to move on? I don’t know. Somehow, I doubt it.
Time passes slowly when you’re waiting
Learning to play piano is simply teaching your fingers to obey your mind, and opening your mind to the music within.
It’s interesting to me to see how frequently people think that their disagreement with me should matter to me.