Machapuchare at sunrise

between breaths

the air is still

cumulous clouds torn

by the fishtail

vapor fountains 

to the stratosphere

peaceful moment
charged with certainty
of storm

eventually
momentary 

stillness

prayer flags flap
beyond the tent 
it begins again

daily notes in the old snail log

haiku of change 

on insight timer

daily notes in the old snail log

scattered leaves on the 

pond of consciousness 

meandering past the bodhi tree

golden trout giggle 

while the big fish slumbers 

I am a fish swiming to the sea 

dissolving in the waves 

wondering if the atoms of us

ever drift to space

will our star dust escape this place?

or are we bound by Newton 

to the third planet from our small sun?

Wilderness Lost

Do you remember the naked desert?

time flowed to rock 

Do you recall when this rock was better than that rock?

When the wine was so foul we watered the sand with Gallo red?

You left a clay figure of hopeless to melt

abandoned in the cold of winter desert

old Saab sliding up hill and down 

building momentum to crest the summit to Saline valley

opening up to  

sky and  rock

to the soulless cold of desert night

to Death Valley in winter 

Our journeys into the darkness were ways to find the light

So often we went from alone together to just alone

You on the path out... me on the path to wildness 

The long high hike alone, with Tolstoy for company

The high ledge and million star sky a lifelong touchstone

I lay on the stone and fell into the cosmos 

always there 

in my stony heart 

always there 

my high granite bed 

under the yawning sky 

there were signs that said turn back. 

a hawk screeching and flashing talons in my eyes, 

stay away 

    stay away 

        stay away 

I kept on 

Stepping over a downed log I a wasp stabbed me. 

electric shock snapped my head out the hike and into alert. 

signs to turn back? 

challenged to go on

I hiked

Hawk and wasp echoing

widow maker limb fell 

crash bashed across the path

just a step behind

A pause, a shrug, an extra breath and I'd been dead.

Instead I hike on alone 

three warnings

before 

I found IT 

on the stone bed in the night. 

I found solitude and Tolstoy.

I hiked  

    one hundred miles 

        one hundred miles 

alone

now and then the same 

now and then connected 

all I've carried 

all these years 

connected

to song and soaring grace 

found in the backcountry

I carry it all 

blessed

and still alive!

sunday

barrel chest wrapped with pain

sore 

wrapped in a blanket of tears 

for the pain 

for the hurt

for the weight of 

a human 

floating and sinking

floating belly to the sky into space

between planets in the family orbit

touch the face of whatever god you can imagine

find 

strength and peace 

share it share it share it....

Old friend

 Old friend

lost so many years ago 

at the cross road

solo or family

you are alone

I am not

yet we have the same task

live with ourselves

live with it

live

hidden memories of trail days

bubble like the burp of Yellowstone mud

reach to the light

form in the mind

remember when we were young 

and so dumb

Know with all my heart

Janice warm inside

silent snow sleeps outside

blazing inner fire

touched by winter

wind disguised as summer

wind chimes 

bird song

meditating

San Diego bird song

stills my wandering mind

my breath

like the surf sliding

on a gentle shore

blissful wave

breathe balance

breathe 

be present

feel the crest

with all my heart

this song of sweet life

we sing together

Crazy Hiram's Used Computer Emporium

Would you buy an online education from this guy?

(This is a revision of a post published in 2010) 

I was wallowing in Unix and trapped in 1980's corporate computing. I knew it was time to bust the rut and do something different.  How to escape?

The idea for Hiram Access the computer guru as a printed calendar was born in a Carson City Nevada coffee shop talking with Wolf Kohtz.  I collaborated with a cartoonist to create a series of 12 cartoons. 

Let me note for the record, this is a project where the only person to get paid was the artist! 

The closest I got to a deal was standing in line to talk with the computer columnist John Dvorak.  I pitched him with the mock-up calendar. John gave me a one word review: 

"Cute." ~ John Dvorak   

That word killed the project for me. Somewhere in the files I still have a proof copy, but the calendar never went to press. In the world before the world wide web, you printed things! 

Today I resurrected Hiram Access and 'minted' him as an NFT.  

Update:  Now's your chance to own a very limited edition of the "Epiphany Image" of Hiram Access as a gas free NFT on OpenSea. 

Confessions of an American Teacher

Written October 14, 2006
Slightly revised June 6, 2014
Minor revision January 19, 2018

A bit more revision October 8, 2021


I’m tired of saying the right thing. I've taken too many bullets for the team. I've been a Pollyanna with my head stuck up my ass… and a visionary that changed lives for the better. 

I walked picket lines, exposed evil, compromised my integrity, and given with all my soul. I've ranted across the desks of more than one superintendent and rolled over for others. 

I charmed, trashed, ignored, sympathized with, and bullshitted hundreds of parents. I faced surly classes and then flipped them into open-minded learners. I missed as many teachable moments as I caught. I helped some kids gain 4 years on the reading test and ignored others because they were hopeless punks who pissed me off. 

I hung around in the computer labs and classrooms weeping with inspiration and happiness for simply being part of the learning environment I dreamed of building, 

I hated the deep rut of driving back to school every morning to participate in the systematic destruction of joy and trust that small-minded inane administrators and school board members call education.

I was an American Teacher for 45 years and I’m sick at heart about public education. I want to tear the system down and let the ferrets run free. I want to teach skepticism and critical thinking and create a generation that will fight for their minds and fight for freedom. 

But I’m tired of tilting at windmills. I’ve learned to choose my battles. I’m not sure how much fight is left in me.

Sometimes I just want to scream and tell it all. All the good, all the bad, the lunacy and the laughs and everything in between. Instead, I’ll just blog.

I got my credential in 1974 despite a system that kept trying to talk me out of wasting my life in the classroom. All my neurotic friends in the graduate English Department at Berkeley thought I was nuts.

“You’re too good for teaching. Why waste your talent in a classroom?”

The application committee at the CSUN asked me the same thing (after beating me up for misspelling the word professional in my writing sample). 

“You don’t want to teach. There’s no money in it. You won't’ be able to get a job, there are too many teachers already.”

But I was stubborn and burned out by the life I’d been leading and looking for direction. Up in Canada, I made a deep woods camp. I spent time on mountain tops and in the wild thinking about it all. It gets old talking to fish and sitting on the high ground with a rifle. Ultimately, you are left with the questions only you can answer…

My career choices came down to law or education. I could be a lawyer or a teacher. I could make a living working with people at their worst or helping kids learn. I chose to teach and despite 45 years of classroom joy and pain, I don’t regret the choice.

Remembering My Grandfather Frank Thomas O'Connor November 11, 2020

My grandfather, Frank Thomas O'Connor was born on May 29, 1894, in Omaha, Nebraska.  He died February 25, 1965, in Los Angeles, California, at the age of 70.

Frank, was a graduate of Creighton University, where he boxed and played football. At age 23, in 1917 he was working as a Public Defender in Omaha.  

He tried to volunteer to become an officer in the AEF.  They turned him down because of an eye injury he got when he was a teenager.  He sang in an Irish trio. Here's a picture of Frank (in the middle) at age 18.

The family story is that Frank and his friends loved to sing together.  They were walking down some street in South Omaha and saw a sign on a bar that said, "No Irish Allowed".  Of course, they went in to talk about it. During the fight, Frank was hit across the face with a bottle that broke and cut his eye.  

The army wouldn't take him as an officer, but they did draft him into the infantry and made him into a machine gunner. 

Frank served  Company A, 341st Machine Gun Battalion, 177th Brigade, 89th Division of the American Expeditionary Force. He trained at Camp Funston, Fort Riley, Kansas.

Machine Gun Battalion

 

BATTLE PARTICIPATION OF THE 89TH DIVISION.

341st Machine Gun Battalion

—

(1) Lucey sector, Toul, France, 10 August-ll September 1918.

(2) St. Mihiel offensive, France, 12 September-16 September 1918.

(3) Euvezin sector, Toul, France, 17 September-7 October 1918.

(4) Meuse-Argonne offensive, France, 19 October-11 November 1918.

Frank remained in Germany assigned to the military police until he returned home in 1919.

He was part of the first element of the 89th Division to sail from Brest Brest France upon the Leviathan May l5 (1919) troops comprised the 355th Infantry, the 353rd Infantry, and 340th and 341st Machine Gun Battalions.

Frank's experiences in the trenches marked him for life. As a machine gunner, his job was to clear the way for the infantry. He survived gas attacks, shelling, very few of his friends ever got back to Omaha. He survived the Battle of Argonne Forest a deadly campaign resulting in over 26,000 US soldiers being killed in action (KIA) and over 120,000 total casualties.

When I was a young boy told me a few stories about the war.  He was a taciturn man. When a story came, it seemed to erupt   

He repeatedly told me how important it was to take care of my feet.  "Keep 'em dry. Otherwise, it's trench foot and they'll just rot away." 

"Don't tell me about religion. I'll tell you what it gets you.  I remember when one of the men just jumped up and started preaching.  He was really screaming about Jesus and a bunch of the guys gathered around to listen.  A shell hit and killed them all.  That's what religion gets you."

"I got lost in the trenches.  I was out in the mud for days. No water. It was night and I heard voices, I was so hungry and thirsty I just jumped into the crater. It was full of Germans,  they were as startled as I was, I managed to get away before they could shoot me."

I can only imagine what must be going on in his head in this photo from 1941.  He's got his arm around my dad, Jack E. O'Connor.  Dad was a Lieutenant in the Army Air Corps, home on leave.  He survived WWII and carried his own scars.

This day, 102 years ago, my Grandfather was alive on the battlefield with the smell of the Argonne on him when World War 1 ended at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. 

War is pain that echoes in the genes. 

My Father and Grandfather were scarred for life by the death they survived as young men. 

Memorial Day is more than a calendar event.

a moment

The queen
on her throne
under flowering Matisse
froggy nudes looking coy
the seal infuses mushrooms
we laugh
a wet bird hops at midnight
we laugh
two birds tied together
tap dance on the tiles
we laugh
together at last
the doors open
we are the light
hearts joined
still time
joyful moment
we
are
one

April 15, 2019

present moment 

perfect

love ripples

out

ripples 

back

from infinite space

to infinite place

riders

senders

sharing our water

and our cheese sandwiches.

Esther Alvina Ellinghuesen

Teacher, Publisher, Missionary: What an amazing woman.

To this day, artifacts of Esther are present in my life. 

A battered camel saddle bought in a Cairo souk 60 years ago. 

Huge brass candlesticks.

Inlaid boxes, falling to pieces.

Just tourist trinkets that seeded my life with the desire to travel and see the places of my childhood imagination.

Inside Tut's Tomb

The Lion Gate at Mycenae 

Standing atop the Great Pyramid looking out over the Sahara

The Palace at Knossus

Luxor

The Nile

The Taj Mahal

Fatehpur Sikri 

The Toy Train to Darjeeling

Kanchenjunga

Dhaulagiri

Machupuchare

Annapurna

Kaziranga

Thank you, Esther

Henri's crapgame

Henri Pierre Hillinck



For more of Henri's art see his Pinterest Page: https://www.pinterest.com/wiredinstructor/the-art-of-henri-pierre-hillinck-1900-1959/

Play The Circle Game

once I'm gone

Scatter the ashes off

point loma where my mom

and dad

dissolved

past time

Know 

I found my way to heaven

5 minutes at a time

Keep the sweet knowledge

of my love for you

Sing a song

Lift a stein

shed a sentimental tear

know

you are loved

~Dad

(sunday in la mesa 6/12/16)

Erin- so many belated birth days

Thinking about my daughter Erin. She'll always be my little girl, even though today she is young, vibrant, intelligent and very loving woman. I'm so proud of you Erin.

I remember you sleeping in your flannel pj's with Oliver the cat purring in the warmth.  This picture feels like a Tahoe Christmas.

 In the front room at the Upper Truckee house. I think that little umbrella was still around when we finally moved back in 2006. 

The father daughter dance at your school got us both dressed up. Can you remember us standing on the back deck at Tahoe? 

Here we are with your great grandmother Lillian Hillinck.  We all called her Honey. Do you remember Honey? She loved you so.

My soccer girl.  How many games do you think you played over the years? Some of the best memories of my life happened on those side lines watching you run and play. 

There were some golden moments connected with soccer (there still are). 

Maui in 2005 with Kyle. That summer before you were off to school was special.  I like remembering the sun and the water and the smiles on your faces. 

You are so beautiful. 

I'm a lucky man. 

Happy birthday Erin.

Recipe for meditation on a saturday morning

Three small cups of coffee,
spaced over several hours
mix in a portion of
coconut coffee sand
sip and savor
rattle on for an hour
then another cup of Trader Joe Chai
Costa Rican beans all in Jack's
small thick porcelain cup



tied to an iPhone
learning to breathe
and be
via bluetooth

Am I that Jacked up?

snapshots from the big picture window
in La Mesa...

watch birds in Enrique's pepper tree

a jungle at eyeball level
cactus and flowering trumpet vines
crawl the veined pepper bark

flit from feeder to tree

watch with cataract clear eyes
then with my Alaska binocs
see sparrows the size of pigeons
poised in the peppercorns and leaves

...and dream for the kids.

we talk of how our children will grow
their children
through the future
that's beyond
our reasonable reach
and smile old folks smiles
and remember being young

another ingredient:

30 minutes of caffeine induced focus
spent doing meaningful work for pay

help my students find a path
learn to think, research, imagine
a teacher's life
without the cells and bells
trading the classroom
for a computer and phone

que the chorus

can I do it?
is it possible?
could I be happy?
could I live this way?

and then the morning chores ... wrong word
duties?
not quite
opportunities
... yes
helping janice
defines my present
knowing
moments are just moments
being together is a gift
we didn't appreciate
until
it was almost lost.

Yes a bit of marital laughter
saturday morning confluence
then, with a laugh...
off to mediate
on three cups
of strong coffee

And to my surprise listening to
Karen Sother's Sacred Pause
--- well worn words
--- worked

caught me up
helped me find the (not so )
still quiet place of mediation
add spontaneous yoga
i am in the breath
escaping the spit of time

watched the floaters dance
shadow sheeted
on back lit eyelids
the breath moves
the liquids of me
in clockwise motion
iFind
"peace in the midst of it all"

Is it as simple as mixing some spiced, dark roast
into Jack's cup and
laying down on my mat
with Karen Sothers in my ears?

yes... on this saturday morning
that's all it took
used the jingle jangle coffee
to power the moment
escape the tail chase
of persistent distractions
that track my
worn worrier's mind.

what will work for you?
will you try something new?
or shrug and tug
at your triggers
till the monkey roars
and time becomes
like a toothache
in the night

my screen saver
Machupuchare at sunrise
the air is still
cumulous clouds
over the fishtail
vapor mountains
in the
stratosphere

peaceful moment
charged with certainty
of storm
followed eventually
with momentary stillness

then hear the prayer flags
whisper beyond the tent flap
as it begins again

Toni's Dad after Chosin Resevoir

http://life.time.com/history/korean-war-classic-photos-by-david-douglas-duncan/attachment/10_marine-w-sleeping-bag/

Other images from Chosin Resevoir

Last Days in the classroom (then and now).

Came across this as I sorted through my old papers in preparation for another move.  Gratifying to recall that my last days in the classroom had sweetness and light.  Thank you Christina for the kind words (then and now).

Here (or there) kitty, kitty

Schrödinger's Cat

Time

i want to live so I can see you grow

see you learn
see you change into whoever
you will become

I need a gift of time

I see clearly now that
time is more than a trick
It is a daily portion of experience
served out breath by breath

how I breathe
determines the duration and value
of time

the time I spend with you

my wife
my child
my grandchild
my friend

is what makes life sweet and worth pursuing

i want to live so I can see you grow