by Marty Coleman | Mar 19, 2015 | Curiosity - 2015, Illustrated Short Stories |
Chapter 1
Betsy heard it first as she was running her usual Saturday morning run. She had a long training run that morning and had decided to run through some lightly used trails that criss crossed open fields in the State Park behind her college. Most of the students who ran stayed much closer to home, usually running around the campus perimeter on the sidewalk. But Betsy liked the freedom and open space of getting off the beaten path. It allowed her time to let her mind wander creatively, something she sorely needed on a regular basis at her school.
As the sound got louder she looked up and saw something streak across the sky. It hit the ground within 50 feet of her, creating a big indentation in the grass. Once it hit it stayed put, not rolling, not tipping over. She ran over to it, stopping a short distance away, expecting it might be hot. She held her hands out as she walked slowing towards it. She felt no heat so she continued until she was arms distance away.
It appeared to be made of rough, porous stone. There were inscribed lines radiating out from its center and bright jewel-like lights in between the inscribed lines. She touched the stone, then one of the lights. When she touched the light a quiet tone played. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once. She touched another stone and a different tone, equally as quiet, played. She continued touching the lights, trying to hear how many different tones the object could play. She figured out that it played what seemed to be eight tones in one octave and the another eight tones exactly one octave higher.
She tried touching two lights at one time. When she did that the object played a chord. The two tones of the two lights and a third complementary tone. All the tones and the chords were incredibly beautiful to listen to. Like the clearest bell she had ever heard.
Betsy spent the next 3 hours playing the object. She found out she could make a tone repeat regularly if she held her finger on the light for 3 seconds. She found if she quickly tapped a light twice it would play the light’s normal tone and a harmonic tone at the same time. After about an hour she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She brought it out and found that her music player was notifying her that a new song had been downloaded. She went to the player and found the song. It was untitled with no cover art, no information about it at all. She played the song and heard the object’s tones. It was the sounds she had been playing.
She put the phone away and went back to playing the object. She learned more tricks and methods and came up with what she thought was a pretty cool composition. After another hour her phone vibrated again and another song from the object had been downloaded. It was the composition she had just come up with. She did this one more time, increasing the complexity and rhythm of the composition and one more time the object sent the music to her phone.
She realized it was getting late and that she had to get back to her Sorority for a big event that night. She tried pushing the object, thinking she might be able to roll it to an out of the way place. That way maybe no one else would find it and she could continue to play it. However, there was no moving the object. She would just have to hope it was still there when she came back.
Chapter Two
The event that night was a mixer with a fraternity from a neighboring school. The girls all went over to the frat in a bus. Some of the girls had already started drinking at the sorority house and were tipsy by the time the party started. The guys were all vying for attention by doing stupid party tricks or dangerous stunts out the windows and on the roof of the frat house while the girls oowed and awed.
Betsy was bored with it all and decided to find a quiet room where she could listen to the songs she made with the object. She walked into a 3rd story bedroom. Her head was down looking at her phone and she was just about to push play as she entered when she heard a grunting sound and looked up. A young woman was on the bed being held down by a large burly young man. He had on the frats sweatshirt but his pants were down around his ankle. The woman was topless, her bra in the man’s hand, which was also pinning her arm down on the bed. Her skirt was up around her waist. The woman screamed, ‘Betsy, help me!”
Betsy dropped her phone and leaped towards the man. She tackled him and the two of them fell off the bed and onto the wood floor. Just as the man started to raise his fist to strike her Betsy heard the object’s music starting to play. The man’s arm fell and his twisted, angry face lost all expression. He went limp and blank.
Betsy jumped off him and turned to look at her Sorority sister. It turned out to be Selena, one of the new girls, one she hadn’t really met except for at the rush party a few weeks earlier. Betsy asked if she was ok, if he had raped her. Selena said no, he hadn’t actually penetrated her yet but he was just about to. Betsy quickly turned back toward the man, double checking to see if he had gotten up, but he hadn’t. She picked up her phone, shut off the music and called 911. The ambulance was there within 3 minutes, as were the police. They all dealt with it as they should have; having a counselor available, taking her to the hospital, testing her, taking photos and arresting the man.
Chapter Three
The would-be rapist, a student named Bradford, eventually woke up from his stupor. He contritely confessed to the police that he had attempted to rape Selena and that he would have if Betsy hadn’t stopped him. He said he didn’t remember anything after she tackled him except some weird music as he went down. He said he had no idea where the music came from and the police chalked it up to him being knocked out cold. He was tried and convicted of attempted rape and was sentenced to 10 years in prison. He would get off in 7 if he behaved himself.
Betsy was hailed a hero by Selena, her sorority and the entire school. She got a call from Good Morning America to be interviewed about the incident and it became a national story. Time magazine did an article on the everyday heros of America and she was #12 on the list. A guy who saved puppies was right above her at #11. She tried to explain that she had no idea why he went out like a light the way he did, but most people credited it on the blow to his head as he hit the floor. It went well with the story of her being strong and fearless and there wasn’t much she could do about it. She wanted to tell someone about the music playing a part in it but she knew it would make no sense. But even if it had made sense it wouldn’t have mattered. The next time she tried to play the music it had all disappeared from her phone.
Because of all the attention and activities surrounding her saving Selena from being raped she didn’t get back to the field with the object in it for almost a week. When she did go back the object was gone. There was an indentation in the ground, but that was it.
Chapter Four
Fourteen years later she had her second and final run in with violence. She was driving on the freeway, her two kids in car seats in the back when a truck cut her off in traffic and slammed on his breaks. She just barely avoided smashing into him. The man, red-faced and angry, got out of his car and stomped back to hers.
She was scared to death but was able to roll up all the windows and lock the doors before he arrived. He started yelling obscenities at her, telling her she was a danger to society, that she should learn how to drive and that he was going to teach her a lesson. She turned to the front media console and pressed the emergency call button she had programmed. As she did this she took a quick look in her rear view mirror. She saw her 5 year old panic stricken, about to cry. But her 7 year old was calm, looking down and playing with the old cell phone her mother had given her as a play toy.
As she got 911 on the line and told them what was happening the man violently busted in her side window with his elbow. She screamed as he reached in to grab her neck. She grabbed his arm instead and pushed it towards the steering wheel. She pressed his hand against the wheel and Hit his elbow as hard as she could. She heard a sickening crack. He screamed in pain while at the same time bringing up his left hand. In his hand was a gun. He was in the act of aiming it at her face when she heard the music. It was the music of the object from so long ago. The man went blank just as the rapist had. He dropped the gun and dropped to the ground.
She turned quickly around to see how her kids were. Her 7 year old looked up, smiled and said, “That’s my favorite song. I made it up myself.”
The End
Drawing and story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 18, 2015 | Curiosity - 2015, Thomas Jefferson |
This and all napkin drawings are for sale, original or print. Please email me at marty@napkindad.com to inquire.
Curiosity
One of my favorite characteristics in my daughters is their curiosity. I love how they like to talk about anything and everything. I like how they are up for most any activity, even if it’s something they haven’t tried before. I like how their attitude towards new people and places is enthusiastic and welcoming. I like being that way as well. It’s a true positive in my mind.
Curiosity can lead to being easily distracted, it’s true. It also can lead to not having strong opinions about certain things because you are open to any number of directions. For example:
Random person: “Marty, Do you want to go to the beach or the mountains?”
Me: “Well, both are cool, both have interesting things to do and experience, I would be happy either place.”
Or
Random person: “Marty, Do you want to eat sushi or Greek?”
Me: “Well, both are cool, both have interesting tastes, both would be an adventure so I would be happy eating either cuisine.”
See what I mean? It can be negative in some situations.
Choosing
But since I eventually have to choose I try to remember choosing one of those doesn’t mean I am not interested in the other one. I am just choosing one direction in the here and now. The future? who knows. Hopefully I will be able to go in the other direction in the future!
Are you curious? How does it affect you positively and negatively?
Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Thomas Jefferson, 1743-1826, American politician, farmer, inventor
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 16, 2015 | Illustrated Short Stories, Travel |
Chapter One
She was sitting across from the man, staring out at the planes landing and taking off. He observed her in between checking his email, an intriguing diversion from the drudgery of catching up with a week’s worth of business.
She was sunburnt head to toe, glowing a deep orange/red. Her hair swept back from her forehead in cornrows to an arc as if she had a headband on, but she didn’t. From there her hair fell in tight, sharp waves to her shoulders. Her top plunged low, revealing a long expanse of skin, mottled and pealing. It had that rich deep tone that said she’d spent many a day in the sun. There was the faintest view of a tanline at the edge of the blouse, but even that area was dark, as if she had taken her straps down every time she had laid out to sun.
She had on a colorful print top, bright blue jeans rolled up halfway up her calves. Her calves were well defined and she had on a new pair of running shoes. She sat upright but not stiff, holding her purse as it nestled on top of a woven basket bag that she had obviously bought while in Mexico.
Chapter Two
She caught him looking at her at one point. She smiled and said, “You look trustworthy. Would you mind watching my stuff while I go to the bathroom?”
He responded with a smile and a nod, saying, “Actually, I am an international thief. But you are lucky, my forte isn’t stealing suitcases in airports so you are safe. I will watch your stuff.”
She took her purse and went off. He did his best to not go back to looking at his phone, wanting to actually pay attention, just in case someone did try to steal her suitcase and bag. Instead he looked around at all the tourists. He noticed a lot of bright clashing colors on a gaggle of middle aged women gathered around the tequila bar. He enjoyed seeing the the young man, a perfect specimen of male studliness, except for the sock tan line mid way up his calves. He was deeply tanned above, and white as a sheet below. A young woman walked up to the stud and kissed him on the lips, then handed him a Starbucks cup. She was wearing shorts and a bikini top. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would be cold on her flight home. He hoped she had a sweater.
The sunburnt woman came back and handed him a water. She said, “Thanks, I figured you might be thirsty from the hard work of watching my bags so I got you a water.”
He said, “Thanks, I am thirsty so it’s perfect timing.”
He introduced himself as Paul, she laughed and introduced herself as Paulina. He said, “Really, No joke?”
She said, “Yep, really named Paulina. Named after my Grandmother who came from Slovakia.”
Chapter Three
Paul and Paulina started talking about the usual things; where they stayed in Puerto Vallarta, how long they had been there, what they had done while they were in town, where they lived back home.
She had come to Puerto Vallarta alone, had spent 8 days at a small boutique hotel on the beach north of the city, and now was headed home. Her home was in Minnesota where it was currently -7º. She was not happy about returning but she was happy she had missed a week where the temperatures had been even worse. Her mom had told her in a Skype call that it hadn’t got about above -10º for 3 days in a row. They had 25″ of snow in the past 2 weeks that had really started to affect the salon’s business she said.
He meanwhile told her about his trip. He had actually not been on a vacation per se. He was down in Mexico looking for a vacation home. He had spent 5 days looking at villas north of Puerto Vallarta near the small town of Sayulita. Turns out she had actually visited Sayulita during her stay, going with another woman she had met at the hotel on a day trip. Mostly they had shopped but they also got massages on the beach. It was one of the highlights of her trip she said.
He asked, “The massage was that good?”
She said, “No, it wasn’t good at all actually. The masseuse was fine but my friend, who I just met the day before, turned out to be a moaner while getting her massage. She was laying right next to me and I was afraid she was going to have some sort of Mexico beach massage orgasm right then and there. It freaked me out so much I couldn’t relax at all. But it was also so funny I couldn’t forget it. I told my mom about it when we Skyped the next day and we laughed so hard we cried.”
He cracked up saying, “That would do the same thing to me. I would probably have told her to shut up!”
She said, “Part of me wanted to, but part of me felt like it was her massage and if she wanted to moan, who’s business was it of mine to tell her not to, right? Plus I barely knew her!”
She told him she had loved the little town though it did seem a bit overrun with tourists the day she was there. He agreed saying he liked being close to it, but not too close. He had found a house just north of Sayulita, on the way to the even smaller town of San Francisco, where there were fewer tourists. He had bought the house and was now returning home. His home was Chicago, where he owned his own business doing IT consulting for mid-sized companies wanting to expand their capabilities.
Chapter Four
Right then the flight was called to be boarded. They both got up and realized they were on the same flight to Chicago, where she would transfer to another flight to Minneapolis. They finagled a change in seats with the stud couple and sat next to each other. By the time they landed Paul had pretty much decided she was the one. She had decided he was as well. A week later he drove to Minneapolis to visit her. She came to Chicago 2 weeks after that. Within 2 months she had moved to Chicago, gotten a job a PR firm and they were a couple. A year later they had a destination wedding in Sayulita with 5 members of her family and 5 of his in attendance.
They lived at their villa in Sayulita for a month every winter, even after they started to have kids. They had 3 and they all learned Spanish fluently. He eventually sold his business, making a killing and bought a larger villa, big enough for both their families to visit at the same time. The moved to Mexico for good and she did PR consulting for hotels in the area. He became a stay at home dad and started a bilingual blog that became a world wide hit in the mommy and daddy blogosphere.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 13, 2015 | Travel Napkins |
Drawing Becky
I had to take my wife to work this morning and took the early morning opportunity to go to Starbucks on the way home and just hang out a while. I drew one of the Barista’s doing her job. She was pretty busy and seemed surprised and somewhat uncomprehending when I first showed it to her. I gave her my card and told her I would be posting it later in the day, after I colored it.
Most people I draw actually never come to the blog to see the drawing and they never contact me to get a copy. I always think that is odd, knowing that if someone drew me I would be all about seeing the final result later. Some do contact me though and it’s always a pleasure to make a new friend in that way.
Here it is in the Starbucks, uncolored. Becky had already moved on to another spot behind the counter but I wanted to get the pic anyway just to remember some colors.
Drawing © 2026 by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 11, 2015 | Labels - 2015, Toni Morrison |
Defining Oklahoma
As many of the Napkin Kin know, I live in Oklahoma. The state of Oklahoma has been in the US national news, and even the international news, in recent weeks due to the legislature passing or attempting to pass some pretty bizarre laws. To use just two examples; they have wanted to do away with AP history classes because they show too much of what has been ‘bad’ in America. Just yesterday the State House of Representatives voted to do away with granting marriage licenses because it might make some court clerks go against their religious beliefs to give a license to a gay or lesbian couple.
And of course unless you have been living under a rock you have also heard about the SAE Fraternity at OU being video taped singing a racist chant on a party bus that included the N word and a reference to lynching.
Pointing the Finger
What do these all have in common? They all show someone (a state or a fraternity, it doesn’t matter) pointing the finger at another group and defining them negatively. The people making and defending the AP curriculum are defined as ‘Unamerican’. The lesbian and gay couples wanting to marry are defined as perverted and sinful. In the chant the African-Americans at University Oklahoma are defined as ‘undesirable’ (a euphemism for sure) as pledges to the SAE fraternity, which is bad enough. But even more despicable, they are also defined as less than human, worthy of lynching simply for being black. If one was attempting to be funny you could also see them pointing the finger one row back and saying, ‘It’s all Obama’s fault!’
All three of these ‘definitions’ can potentially hurt the person being defined. This is especially true when the finger is pointed at young people who may have not yet found their own identity. Without their identity being strong, they can be led to believe the definition is true. You see it happen all the time, a woman believing she is worthless because her abusive husband says so. A young African American believing they can’t achieve something because they have been told they aren’t smart enough or strong willed enough, to make it happen. A young progressive citizen being told that they are Unamerican because they dare to question the perfect US of A.
But the definitions do something more. They hurt the definer as well. Those SAE Frat boys are missing out by never truly knowing any African Americans. The conservative county clerk is hurt by not seeing the love, care and competence with which the lesbian or gay couple are raising their kids. The conservative misses an opportunity to see how others have been affected by the history of the US in ways he and his forebearers may not have been.
Giving the Finger
If and when this sort of thing happens to you or someone you care about, tell them to do this. Give the offending party the finger. I don’t actually mean flip them the bird. I mean, take whatever finger is pointing at you and bend it back to point at the pointer. That is where the definition belongs, with the one doing the defining, not with you.
This drawing, as well as others, are available for purchase, original or print. Please email marty@napkindad.com to inquire.
Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Toni Morrison, 1931- not dead yet, American author and poet
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 9, 2015 | Labels - 2015, Soren Kierkegaard |
The Good Judgment
The world is full of judgment. Some of it is necessary. It’s important for us to judge risk, for example. When I went bodysurfing on vacation a few weeks back I loved it. I was raised on the beach bodysurfing and I was in my element. But I hadn’t done it in a long time and I took a few waves I shouldn’t have. My judgment wasn’t on target. As a result the waves slammed me into the sand hard enough to scrap my elbow to the bleeding point, much like a really bad rug rash. Later in the week I was much better at my judgment and had nothing but good and safe rides.
The Bad Label
Labeling is a form of judgment. It’s not the judgment of risk. It’s not the judgment even of preference or desire. It’s the judgment of simplistic stereotyping. It’s the judgment of ego and insecurity. The women pictured above have very different bodies. Someone will label the one on our left as ‘obese’. Not in the medical sense, but in the judgmental sense. Someone will label the woman on our right as anorexic. Once again, not for medical reasons, but for judgmental ones. The label is applied not to help the person being labeled, but to satisfy the labeler. The label gives the labeler comfort, it puts them higher up, it gives them moral worth because they aren’t obese or anorexic. They are better than those two women.
Negation
And when we label like that, we not only judge but we negate. We are blind to who they really are and thus we negate all other elements of their character and humanity.
We negate whether they are kind or loving or sacrificial or patient or brilliant or funny or great parents or fantastic business people or talented artists. We deny ourselves the chance to know who they are because we are so intent on our own moral and social comfort that we would rather just label, judge and be done with it.
How do you avoid doing that in your life?
This, and all my drawings, are for sale, original or print. Please email me at marty@napkindad.com to inquire.
Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Soren Kierkegaard, 1813 -1855, Danish Philosopher
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 6, 2015 | Series |
Missing in Action
I have been remiss in posting these days, first due to our vacation to Mexico. It was nice but unproductive work-wise.
No, this is not my leg and foot. It belongs to my sister-in-law, Earlyne, who was sitting next to me.
The death of my Father-in-Law, Tom Reynolds, which I wrote about in my last post, was right on the vacation’s heels. I have been getting the house ready for a slew of overnight guests (yes I vacuum, dust, mop and make beds) and then there are all the social and ritual events that go along with someone passing away.
These were the machines he was hooked up to in the hospital.
Coming Up
I have a number of sketchbook drawings I did over the vacation that will be coming and will be continuing the winter series I started with last week’s piece.
In addition I am working on another ‘Artist I Love’ piece. This painter is contemporary and uses words, any idea who it might be?
Where Am I?
If you know me from Facebook you know I do a lot of ‘Where Am I’ posts, where I take a picture while I am out and about, near or far, and then post it with the question, Where am I? I don’t always make it easy, sometimes so much so that I can’t even remember where I was.
Here’s a random one from the past that shouldn’t be too hard.
Where was I?
Photos and commentary by Marty Coleman. Photo of the painting by Jerry L. Thompson
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by Marty Coleman | Mar 3, 2015 | John Steinbeck, Winter - 2015 |
To Everything
As the song and bible passage goes, To everything there is a season. This has been a recent season of death for me. This isn’t a bad thing, it’s a natural thing. And no, I am not the one doing the dying, at least not in the short term. But in general I am at the age when one comes in contact with death a bit more frequently than when younger. In the past week specifically my father-in-law, Tom Reynolds, and a friend, Oren Miller, have died. A little over a month ago my Aunt Jean died. My father, Skeets Coleman, passed away less than a year ago. In addition I have a friend, Charlyn Shelton, almost die in a car wreck. On social media many of my friends have shared about their loved ones passing away as well. And so I have been thinking about death recently.
Sunny Mexico / Cold USA
Two weeks ago my wife and I took off on a vacation to Punta Mita, Mexico. It’s on the Pacific Coast, just north of Puerto Vallarta. We went with her brother and sister and their spouses. It’s the first vacation of it’s kind we have ever taken together. On the surface it seemed like we planned it pretty well. Mexico was at 78-80º every day while almost all of the US was below freezing with ice, snow, wind, sleet and general weather misery.
Winter Brings the Sweetness
But there was more to this trip than the good timing of being in warm weather while our homes were in freezing temps. There was also this: We all bought trip insurance because my wife’s father, Tom Reynolds, wasn’t doing very well. He had been battling cancer for over 12 years and it finally seemed to have got the better of him. While there was some hope, it was slim. But we made our best guess and thought it would be best to go on this trip sooner than later and so we did.
But with a day and a half to go in the vacation we got the call. He had taken a turn for the worse and was in the hospital. We did our best to figure out early flights home but it was not in the cards. That meant in spite of the situation we were going to be in Mexico one more full day, leaving the morning after that.
We had a choice to make. We could lounge around the pool and ocean, static and disconnected, giving us time to dwell on our not being able to get home, or we could go out and do something. We chose to go out and do something. We spent the day at a small beach village a few kilometers away from the resort. We ate, we bought some gifts, we walked around the town. We found a real estate office and fantasized about buying the various houses that were pictured for sale in the window of the office. We people watched. I took a lot of photos of scenes on the street.
We hadn’t forgotten about Tom, but we still had to live in our circumstances. And while we had some guilt for not being there or being able to get home right away, we also had enhanced gratitude for our lives knowing that someone we loved wasn’t far from being at the end of his. In other words, it was the winter of his life that gave a portion of sweetness to the summer of ours.
Warm Life in Winter
We did make it back on schedule and went straight to the hospital. Tom was holding his own but the overall situation wasn’t looking good. The cancer had spread to his brain, he had had seizures, his blood pressure had fallen then risen and he had contracted pneumonia. He was sedated, in no pain that we knew of, and had a ventilator doing his breathing for him.
Yesterday morning, 5 days after we returned, we got another call. His blood pressure was falling and his meds were maxed out, they couldn’t adjust for that anymore. We were told to gather. With his entire family was around him those closest to him told kind and funny stories about him. They told of his passions and eccentricities.
One of the great things about his family is they were raised by him and their mother to be musical. Linda’s sister taught music and choir in high school for decades. Linda had been an opera singer in her past and their brother had been in choirs as well. And so, as we gathered around him, they started singing his favorite hymns and some of our favorites, among others. I sang in the background or hummed along as I was able. But a lifetime of them knowing how to sing with each other came out and soft transcendent harmonies of love and beauty sent him on his mysterious way.
And then he was gone.
Warmth of Life in Summer
But we aren’t gone. We remain alive. We still eat and breathe and sleep. We still laugh. We still tell stories and wonder about things. We still worry about others. We still create and talk and love.
With a loved one’s passing or winter encasing us in cold we tend to see the negative, and it’s hard to argue with that. But ask yourself this: when do you most frequently hear admonitions to enjoy life, to embrace the joy and to live in the moment, to not let any opportunity pass by where you can let a loved one know (or a stranger for that matter) that you love them and are there beside them. Who do we hear that from the most? From one who has lost a loved one or almost lost their own life. It’s that brush with death that brings out in them the passion for life, right?
Running Life
After Tom died yesterday we lingered around the hospital until the funeral home came to get the body. We then went to lunch. After that it was time for me to go home and shortly thereafter I went to my job coaching runners. It was my first run in almost 2 weeks (I slacked off in Mexico, don’t judge). It was cold, foggy, misty and a bit windy. And I loved it. I loved it because I was alive to love it.
What and who are you alive to love?
Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by John Steinbeck, ‘Travels with Charley – In Search of America’
“What good is the warmth of summer without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
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by Marty Coleman | Feb 22, 2015 | Series, Travel |
I turned 60 last month and posted ’60 at 60′, a sort of list of things I want to do this year. One on the list was ‘visit 6 new places’ and I am at #1 on that list this week.
I am in Punta Mita, Mexico. It’s north of Puerto Vallarta by about 45 minutes. I was raised in San Diego, California as a young boy but surprisingly never went farther into Mexico than Tijuana. So this is my first time beyond the border.
I am here with my wife, her brother and sister, and their spouses. The 6 of us have wanted to do something like this for a while and two of us turning 60 was enough of an excuse to make it happen.
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It’s an all-inclusive resort, Iberostar. I was a bit worried about that since my preference would be to experience Mexico more directly than through this filter. But it’s turned out to be better than expected and very easy, something a few our party really wanted.
The key for me so far has been to choose as authentic a direction among my choices as I can. This means that while the restaurants and buffets do have ‘American’ food they also have pretty amazing Mexican food choices as well. I continue to choose those.
We’ve been on one excursion so far, to Islas Mariettas, two islands off the coast of Punta Mita. One has a hidden beach you have to swim through a cave to get to. It really isn’t hidden, a lot of tourists go to it, but that’s ok, it was a cool experience and not that crowded in the morning.
So, Here’s an example of ‘authentic’. When we got off the boat I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t want to wait until after the bouncy drive back to the hotel. The little spot filled with fisherman and others, music, smells, carts, dogs, fishing nets and beer bottles. The bathroom was not going to be the sterilized American style, I knew that much. But it was the best smelling urinal I had been in in a long time due to their life hack of throwing their used limes into it to compensate for the smell. It’s been my favorite part of the trip so far.
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by Marty Coleman | Feb 19, 2015 | George Herbert, On Purpose |
Blinded
This quote brings to mind one of my favorite lines in a song lyric: “Sometimes you are blinded by the very thing you need to see.” It’s from a song by Mary Chapin Carpenter, one of my favorite singer songwriters ever. What I like about it is how it continually teaches me to see things as clearly as possible, even those things so bright and shiny, so ‘perfect’ that they blind me. They might be the very thing I need to see.
And this quote is about the same thing. Am I aware of my blind spots in life? My attitudes, that are so ingrained as to be unseen? My behaviors that I have rationalized for so long that they are now completely legitimatized and seldom questioned?
Obscured
In a car, the blind spots are those areas that are blocked by the car itself. The frame of the car holding up the roof, the hood bulging out in front, covering the engine. Visors, mirrors, seats, decals, and more also add to the visibility problem.
And how are we trained to compensate for those things? We are taught to be slow and deliberate, to be methodical. We are told to move our head and body to see around the obstructions.
This can be applied to our attitudes and behaviors as well. Stop and think. In my words am I perpetuating something I have not evaluated and considered in a long time?
Looking Deeper
The other way we do this is by seeing only the surface of something. We deem something as being without value in its current state and so we overlook it. How we see the elderly is a perfect example of that.
I remember way back when I lived in San Jose, California. The pastor of our church had been fired and we had an interim pastor. He was very old, retired as a full time pastor and now just filling in as an interim when needed. On one occasion he complimented me on my suit, which included a short waisted Eisenhower style jacket. He pointed it out and said he thought I looked sharp. After that I started to look at him more closely. He wore well tailored and stylish clothes that were appropriate for his age and position. He dressed better than 90% of the men in the congregation, that was for sure. That led me to imagine him as a younger man. I saw him romancing his wife on the dance floor, looking sharp in a military uniform, and any number of other activities he might have done back in the day, all done with panache and style and a twinkle in his eye, which he still had.
We became ‘shake hands at the steps’ friends, talking about the sermon, complimenting hats, jackets, vestments, etc. He turned out to be one cool dude.
What are you missing in your blind spots?
Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by George Herbert, 1593-1633, English poet
This and many other of the napkins are for sale. Please inquire at marty@napkindad.com to find out more.
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