Personal

Personal reflections, comments about things I've been doing, etc.

What time is it on this beautiful moon?

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit, I say quietly to myself as I climb out of bed, in hopes that this month will bring about a quiet change of fortune. I offer up a little prayer as well. The past couple days have been emotionally intense, so I’m writing a long personal post.

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Into the Abyss

Seven years ago, I got remarried and then left my last full time job on Wall Street. During the following years, I’ve consulted to financial firms, volunteered for political campaigns and non profits and found my mix of work shifting more and more from Wall Street to a focus on social change. Many of my friends have told me that I spend too much time doing pro bono work and I need to be more aggressive in marketing myself and in making sure that the opportunities I take up are financially rewarding, as well as meeting my needs to help bring about social change. They are probably right. I’m working on that.

While I was working full time on Wall Street, I could easily afford our house, Orient Lodge, which this blog is named after. Yet, as I spend less and less time on Wall Street it is time to downsize. Today, we accepted an offer on our house, and assuming nothing goes wrong over the next six weeks, we will be moving.

Where will we move? Well, that depends on a lot of variables, in particular, where can I find reasonable paying gigs. It would be great to stay in the Fourth CD and help with Jim Himes’ campaign. Some good friends are encouraging us to move to Milford, close enough to still help with Jim’s campaign, but where we could also help with Kerri Rowland’s effort to become Milford’s next Mayor . Some suggest that we should move into western Milford in hopes that Kim would run for an open State Rep seat.

Milford would be great, especially if we could find a place near the water. It isn’t all the way to Bethany, which is what Kim’s father hopes for, but it is a lot closer.

Last weekend, we went to a party in the woods near Redding. A small house in the woods wouldn’t be all that bad either. For most of my work, all I really need is a good Internet connection.

Looking at it that way, moving back to the state of my birth, the great State of Maine, wouldn’t be at all bad, if I could find jobs I could do from there. Then, there is Massachusetts. My mother’s house may be going on the market soon, and perhaps I could move to Williamstown. Fiona would put in a good word for the other end of the state, out on Cape Cod.

With all the options opened up, New Hampshire, North Carolina, Washington DC or even Washington State are all on the table. A job in DC wouldn’t be all that bad since I’ll have two daughters in college in Virginia. We could live in the Virginia suburbs of DC. Kim’s dad might not be all that happy, but we would find ways of getting them together.

For that matter, if I could find a way to support myself, make sure that Fiona got a good education, and not feel too guilty about the amount of gas I would have to burn up, I would spend a few years videoblogging my way across this country, a twenty first century adaptation of Robert Pirsig, William Least Heat Moon, Jim Bronson, Charles Kuralt and any other great travel writers I can throw in. But if Maine is a pipe dream, that’s probably at least two bowls of a pipe dream.

So, as I prepare to close the final door on Orient Lodge, the house, not the blog, and peer out the window of opportunity, which people assure me God is opening, I have yet to make out the two paths diverging in a yellow wood to choose from. Instead, right now all I see is a pathless wood. Perhaps I should rename my blog, the Birch Swinger.

Into the abyss, wish us luck and Godspeed.

The Farmer’s Market

This morning, Kim, Fiona and I went over to a local farmers market. We had signed up with a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm. For the next eighteen weeks, we will stop by every Saturday and pick up a box of locally grown fruits and vegetables.

It was a beautiful day. We picked up our box of produce, and then supplemented it with some other food. One farmer was selling fresh picked peas and we bought some of them and some strawberries. We then sat down underneath a tree and shelled and ate some of the peas and ate a few of the strawberries.

I told Fiona of picking peas when I was a kid. We had plenty of pea plants and would spend the early morning picking peas and spend the late morning shelling them. My mother would then freeze them for the winter. If we were lucky, we would get to go swimming in the afternoon.

Fiona said hello to everyone that showed up with a dog and asked if she could pat the dogs. She stopped by and patted a goat and Kim picked up some ribs from a farm in Northern Connecticut. It was pretty close to an idyllic Saturday morning.

For me, this gets to the sort of sacrifices that we need to make in order to live a more sustainable life style. Instead of eating frozen peas grown in Renville, MN and shipped 1,300 miles, not including stops for processing, we ate fresh peas that had probably been picked this morning in Middlebury, CT before their 50-mile trip to the farmers market.

The ribs we will eat this evening will have traveled about as far, coming down from Ox Hollow Farm in Roxbury. However, the ribs may have traveled further than that. Doing a lookup on Ox Hollow Farm, I see that they show some of their livestock at the BigE. Who knows, perhaps I met the pig I am about to eat part of last fall.

Yes, it does take a little more time. It takes time to go to the farmers market with the family. It takes time to shell and enjoy the peas, yet it is time well spent. If you want to deal with climate change, the problems of factory farms, how farm workers are treated, and a myriad of other concerns, a good starting point is your local farmer’s market. Then, a good follow up is getting a few friends to go as well.

Wordless Wednesday



raccoon 002, originally uploaded by Aldon.

The content of their character

Last night, I went to the 8th Grade dinner at King Low Heywood Thomas School in Stamford. It is a private school where my ex-wife teaches and where Miranda has been attending for the past three years. They showed pictures of the students doing the things that they enjoy which made me stop and think for a moment.

By most standards, we are fairly wealthy. You have to be fairly wealthy even to own a house in Stamford, CT, and our house is particularly nice. In large part due to Amy teaching at KLHT, we’ve managed to afford to send Miranda to a nice private school. Sure, we’ve been struggling to get by financially as I spend more time working with political campaigns and non-profit organizations. Neither of which pay the good old Wall Street salaries that I got for so long.

Yet last night, as I looked at all the activities of these kids; ski trips out west, sailing, scuba diving, horseback riding and so on, I saw a lifestyle very different from my own. Sure, we’ve done a little bit of this over the past several years, but not on the scale or with the style shown in these pictures. I felt a little remorseful, a little regretful that I couldn’t provide all the opportunities to my kids that many of these kids have had.

Yet I’m also proud of what they have done. Miranda won the eight-grade class prize at KLHT. In announcing the award, Mr. Lewis said, "She understands it is alright to be different whether in dress or philosophy and as such she is very accepting to those around here. Her message of inclusivity is inspiring. This thoughtful dedication to classmates, teammates, KLHT and the greater community is exceptional.”

This message of inclusivity is in stark contrast to what we see so much of in politics today. The poor don’t trust the rich. The rich don’t trust the poor. Journalists question whether a candidate that has a nice haircut or a large house can care for the poor. I got into a discussion about that at a dinner the other day, and I asserted that those who repeat suggestions that reach people cannot care for poor people are doing our country a grave disservice.

The children at KLHT, many of whom come from much more fortunate families than mine understand that. They have been exemplars in community service. They have written letters to soldiers in Iraq. They have explored what they can do to help address the atrocities in Darfur.

If anything, they understand that the status symbols that matter are not what you wear or what your hair looks like but the content of their character. We can learn a lot from these wonderful kids.

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