Synchronicity & Sex

This topic was probably explored before by Freud, the man on the subject of human sexuality. The guy Time magazine credited with opening "a window on the unconscious — where, lust, rage and repression battle for supremacy — and changed the way we view ourselves" This article's author must have been male - yup double checking the author is actually listed as 'Peter Gay!' All well and fine.

But I'm thinking about Carl Jung's version of synchronicity, and must read his essay called "Synchronicity, An Accusal Connecting Principle" also I need to reacquaint myself with The Tao of Physics, by Deepak Chopra. What is it about Quantum Physics or theory that keeps dragging me back for more explanation?

Taking a quantum leap of faith, I'd say that recent events conspire to make me a believer more than a non-believer than ever. Sounds awkward but that's the point of credible beliefs we either doubt or doubt less, seldom can we simply believe in anything. That's my perspective at least. You might be quite capable of believing all sorts of things that I cannot. Such as God created the world in seven days, or Eve bit into an apple and introduced sin to the human race. Of course, make it a woman so you can walk away scott free if your a guy, basically not responsible for the sins of humanity! Give me a break.

My synchronicity about sex is simply this. I swore to my therapist that the reason I could not get over the death of my lover has to do with his irreplaceable characteristics and qualities. How many men do I expect to meet after all in this small town I live in, who are pilot, sailor, scholar, soldier. So I go out the next time I feel rowdy enough to hit the local pub, and guess what? Met pilot, sailor, scholar and soldier-to-be. Hmmmm, what part of the Universe is begging me to stay at home?

Seriously, this begs explanation. I think I've got it all worked out that I can stay at home and feel bereft for the remainder of my days 'cause nobody, I mean nobody could ever eclipse the star shine of my former (dead) lover, and here comes this character. Some guy so opinionated he can't be quiet. So desperate to be loved he spouts his issues at anyone who'll listen. Bottom line? My dead lover is dead for a reason. This guy came along to remind me of just that.

All those devastatingly attractive and exciting attributes really amount to "suck eggs." I'm not saying bail out and hang with the "Nearly Dead" crowd, but I do think I'll cautiously approach this possibility that the universe does conspire to tempt me, yet again. Perhaps life really is meant to be lived after all. And loving even a perfect stranger might make it seem like fun again, especially if that stranger is a soldier.

Summer Vacation

As a teacher summer vacations float on the horizon variously slipping away from the pier at the end of each school year or approaching the dock upon the all too quick recurrance of "back to school." Each summer approaches with renewed hope that it will be a hiatus from obligations, a time to travel, write a bit, relax a lot and to heal from the difficulties and pressures of the classroom. This summer is punctuated by jury duty for a three month period between July and September.

Naturally I foster hope that a kind, (fatherly?) judge might grant this miserable soul her request for transferral to another time of year...and yet doubt creeps in. My first request for "leave of absence" from jury duty between July 1st and August 20th was met by a formidable lady of the court telling me all about the law & how I am bound and obligated, indeed might be held in "contempt of court" for sailing away this summer as planned, indeed only for two weeks of the summer might I be granted "leave." I of course wrote another appeal for special consideration, but methinks the local court system is convinced that this obligation should take precedence over my personal desires and need to recover from a year of teaching at an alternative high school.

Realistically I spend ten months of the year devoted to public service, albeit in a different form, via class room instruction of "at risk" students, many of whom are aquainted with another side of the courtroom. And while I realize that many citizens serve their community in various forms and methods throughout the year, I wonder what part of the "system" recognizes this teacher as a special case for consideration. In general my experience of the public is one that provides encouragement and support to public school teachers although this is not by any means always the case.

A question I have revolves around the numbers involved. I have resided in this community for eleven years, during this time I have served on jury duty twice, for similar periods of duration. It starts to feel as if there is a dirth of potential jurors residing nearby. One wonders if members of the community are exempted for reasons other than having a criminal record? Does the Mayor have to serve on jury duty? Do the clerks of the court or judges? (Probably not the latter.)

A law abiding and responsible tax paying citizen, I recognize "fairness" to be a relatively childish notion with regard to living in general. Still it seems reasonable to request that I be allowed to enjoy the two months of summer vacation without this inconvenience.

Former experiences include a murder trial from which I was absolved serving as juror on due to the defendants' own admission of guilt, publicized in local newspapers prior to his hearing, which for some reason came about anyway. During his subsequent hearing, he confessed to his crime and all jurors assigned to the case were released from the burden of finding him innocent or guilty. How odd is that? Another case involved a person seeking damages (money) in addition to previously received monies (due to an unfortunate traffic accident), someone who apparently hoped to be awarded enough money to retire from of all things, teaching. How ironic is that?

One could imagine that I might prefer to serve on jury duty during the summer months, versus during the school year when I might have to subsequently miss time from my teaching obligations. However comforting it would be to believe all of us teachers to be a never ending font of giving toward humanity, I am not ostensibly without limits. In fact, my entire being resists giving up this precious freedom called summer vacation, and I would prefer the obligationary period of my life to be confined to my working months. After all, it is one of the greatest benefits of being a teacher.

Sailing away from my pier this summer has been a dream conceived long ago. Last July I purchased a beautiful and sound thirty foot sailboat capable of providing me with the means to enjoy several weeks of un-interupted respite on the waters of the Chesapeake. I admit to having doubts concerning my sailing skills and worries about the weather patterns which include increasingly violent storms accross the Nation. Still my dream exists regardless of these concerns, the considerable expense and time required to obtain the perfect sailboat which I can singlehand.

The fate of this summer dream is in the hands of a judge. I can only hope and pray that he will respond favorably to my request and permit me to sail forth under the skies of adventure so that I might begin again next school year with renewed energy and spirts.

Memories of Belize

Caribbean adventures offer glimpses of simple lifestyles and a full escape from what might be a tedious routine at home sometimes. People of Ambergris Caye, (located on the coast of Belize, formerly called British Honduras), mostly live in small colorful, somewhat shaky structures. These houses have extraordinary gardens flourishing and climbing around the perimeters, up over porch roofs, an abundance of growth beautifying and delightful. They appear to be places were the people overflow into yards and streets, where life becomes a free flowing interaction with whoever crosses one another's path. Even a tourist with open mind and heart is met with friendly smiles and greetings most of the time. Eighty percent of the people living in Belize are from some other place, which means anyone can be either a stranger or a new acquaintance.

The flora everywhere is exquisite, among gardens neglected or meticulously cared for and roadside bountiful growth of tropical plant varieties. We traveled quietly and without fumes, open air, in a rented electric golf cart from one end (beginning with the South), to the other of the Island, even crossing a swift moving current of an inlet on a tiny ferry boat pulled by hand across, then eventually back again to our hotel. Even the island dump was a sight seeing event, loaded with bird watching opportunities and lizards. Informed by the man working at the gate to keep a look out, we hoped to see an alligator (or would it have been a crocodile?) but weren’t terribly disappointed not to get close to any. There were a multitude of beaches to stop and explore, to walk the lengths selecting pretty shells, cool waters to swim or loll in with lots of colorful fish coming in close to nibble at our toes.

Sunsets were dazzling over the Tiki bar, Squirrel's Nest, located on the sands adjacent to the Banana Beach Resort. The lovely woman bartender from Belize City who'd been in Ambergris Caye five years now, laughed easily and often, making all three of us feel welcome as if we were her guests there by personal invitation. Her wicked but perfect margarita recipe: Fresh squeezed lime and lemon juice, tequila and triple sec, light salt, no ice (my personal preference.)

One stroll down the beach at dusk toward town located an evening's dinner not far from the hotel. Our appetites were strong from a full day of sightseeing that included several miles of walking and catamaran sailing. Served in a gazebo over the water at Ricco's, the shrimp scampi was quite good but the setting made it divine! Moonlit turquoise waters at our feet, fish seeking their own morsels to dine upon below us in clear view. A dog, brown spots on white, short-haired and skinny came begging quite politely, at least Alisa and I thought him courteous. John held out and refused him delicacies, the scraps from his steak, (the only food the dog had any real interest) in before the waiter chased him off.

San Pedro, the main town of Ambergris Caye had plenty shops and galleries to explore for a full week of pleasure even if you don’t take advantage of SCUBA dives or rent a catamaran like we were able to enjoy. I even got a cheap but excellent hair cut. A lovely Puerto Rican lady with a son in the US Army, has a salon just south of the main part of town. No one in NYC or Philadelphia would have given us better or friendlier service. While John and Alisa had their hair cuts I enjoyed looking at paintings and prints offered for sale in a gallery next to the salon. The gallery owner (originally from Cape Cod), supplied free and interesting bits of information about each artist who's work was exhibited filling the time most pleasantly. My favorite item was a print of Toucans and tropical vegetation done by a successful artist who reminded me of our visit to the Belize Zoo and the huge bird I'd managed to get close enough to feed from my fingertips through the wires of his cage.

Early into our week in Belize John wheedled me into a dive shop although I’d sworn our daughter was too young to try SCUBA diving. We met a nephew of the owner of Ramon’s who assured me that all I need worry about was myself, that he would take care of Alisa. Looking at him I must admit he inspired complete confidence in his ability to do just that, and it didn’t hurt that I believed him when he confessed he began diving at the same age as she happened to be at the time, eleven. We set an appointment for eleven a.m. the following day to meet at the pool and begin our “resort dive course.” Acclimating fairly quickly to the tank and breathing underwater in the pool I felt the dozen years slip away since I’d become open-water certified down in Mexico before Alisa was born.

By afternoon we were game to take a trip out to the reef and there escorted underwater by Gil in a shallow dive were the water was sun warmed I enjoyed one of the best dive experiences in my life thus far. Alisa was in heaven as well and watching her experience fearlessly the underwater paradise was a precious gift to me as well. We swam with little harmless sharks, colorful fishes of such diversity, saw two electric eels in a debate apparently about which one should get to be in a certain miniature underwater cave. Alisa and I each held a delicate long legged purple shrimp-like creature in our hand for a moment thanks to Gil. He pointed out delightful sea creatures and shells in a fantasy of color as we effortlessly swam among them, breathing happily all the time underwater, an experience which will never cease to thrill me whenever the chance arises. (One caveat to this statement; it must be in waters where visibility exceeds the distance stretching your hand out in front of you by quite a few yards!)

As our week wore it’s way to an end we made a day trip via “water taxi” to Belize City (in a forty foot open fishing type craft with three enormous Mercury outboard engines which roared across the ocean pounding waves through rainfall making the occupants huddle under tarps and fully appreciate American personal hygiene), which was very worthwhile. I could see from under the tarps (and breath fresh air), an amazing array of islands large and small, some developed to varying extent, others vacant of human occupants. All these were passing by in open waters until we zigzagged through inlets and finally into the colorful Port of Belize City. We were just in time for sunshine hot enough to make steam rise off the streets from the recent rainfall. Dozens of brightly painted canoes used for diving for lobster carved from a single tree floated alongside larger vessels, men wearing bright bandanas and colorful attire working aboard flashing smiles when noticed made the frenetic liveliness and noise of the port surreal after the quiet motion found in Ambergris the last five days.

We took a taxi to a car rental agency on the outskirts of Belize City and I coaxed John into upgrading to a four-wheel drive Isuzu so we could go anyplace no matter how large the pot-holes (this idea was based upon experiences had exploring via the golf cart on Ambergris and a fundamental desire to get where we were going and back again!) The countryside was fabulously decorated with more tiny cottages where chickens, dogs, goats and children ran around unfettered by fences and speed bumps appear out of nowhere in the road forcing anyone to reduce acceleration or be bounced right off the bloody roadway.

The mountains looked more like gangling hills dark with vegetation, rising out of the plains into clouds which moved rapidly across the region. We passed miles of fields and came to orange groves where I was captivated by the sight of a man, black as ebony, white turban around his head, bare chest, wearing some sort of ancient style draped pants that hung from his hips. I don’t frequently stare at men, but this guy striding alongside the trees carrying a machete looked like he could have existed more than a thousand years ago exactly as he was right then and there. When he turned his head and caught my eye he grinned a wide brilliant smile and I knew he didn’t mind or think me bad mannered.

We kept on up the wide red clay road into the rain forest where there were large open structures built to provide cover for picnic tables, a huge parking lot where tour buses parked and signs leading to lavatories. It was pretty peculiar to hit a tourist trap in the middle of what had seemed so unspoiled and wide open country, however as tourist traps go this wasn’t too bad.

Men chestnut brown like they’ve lived their whole lives in tropical sun approached us selling their services as guides, bidding prices for our little private group of three. Louis shooed everyone else away from us and made an offer we agreed upon. He would not only guide us among the wild vegetation, point out edible varieties, ensure our safety and privacy, he would share with us history of Mayan heritage and his knowledge of all that lay before us to explore for a few hours under his tutelage. Turned out he had a B.S. of Science from an American university in New England and really was an enthusiastic environmentalist!

We recruited inner-tubes and spelunking flashlights, stowed our gear and headed up the trail led by Louis chatting every step of the way in his high energy personable style flooding us with insight and information about the indigenous people and the rain forest. He was as full of good humor as he was energy, and made our trek fabulous throughout. In the river he walked alongside our tubes pushing or pulling as needed, keeping us away from rocks and other people, gallantly concerned every second of the trip as if our lives depended upon his watchfulness. I have never experienced any one who took their work any more seriously than did Louis. When we parted he gave me his business card in hopes we would one day meet again or at least communicate via the internet. Regrettably I have not yet done so however it will never be too late to touch base again, not with Louis, he made us certain of that.

Unfortunately a tight budget prevented me from splurges in any of the shops this trip. (And I so wanted the pair of wrap around pants made from hand-woven Guatemalan fabric in sunset colors!) Instead we have wonderful photographs capturing many of the sights enjoyed, a number of shells added to my ever-growing collection and a small but brilliant feather from the Toucan at the Belize Zoo! It was enough to return with these and my priceless memories, to have spent such a delightful time exploring parts of Belize, meeting wonderful people from all over the world, in a land capable of stealing at least a part of your heart from wherever you call "home."

school closings

Hard to imagine I'm not still asleep, dreaming, when the websites for local school districts have posted "code blue" at 5:30 a.m. Outside not a drop of snow has fallen but the darkness on the horizon is obviously an approaching winter storm. Silence so dense the humming electric box is annoying, walk further into the still cold morning air and the cloud cover is so close, the sounds of distant planes replace the electric box with eerie dull rumbles. What a delight to have an entire day off, not a "2-hour delay" or "early dismissal", but a legitimate "Snow Day!" Didn't dare hope yesterday, (knowing the forecast), but followed usual routines in anticipation of another work/school day. My mental juggling game of desires sans expectation evokes a pleasurable sensation of playing with the Universe. Now I anticipate adding sunflower seeds to the bird feeders, bringing extra firewood in, then birdwatching from indoors warmed by the woodstove and witnessing the beautiful transformation of views from these farmhouse windows. A perfect reason to stop everything and watch the snow fall on trees, river and fields. Maybe deer will come close for the green grasses in the yard. Today I will dream from within this nest of outfitting my ideal cacoon, aboard my beloved sailboat...Soon Spring will arrive and she will be "splashed" back into the water once again, and Rascal & me will resume our adventures. In the meantime I will relish this day's pleasures...perhaps drive over to the marina in the snow to say "hello" to Rascal, climb aboard her and tuck into my sleeping bag for a winter's nap in her belly. (This of course is fantasy...not the part about driving over to visit Rascal but the nap will most likely occur on a futton in front of the woodstove, where I'll dream of napping aboard on a future winter day when I've installed better matresses and a delightfully petite, Dutch built pellet-burning fireplace against her bulkhead!)