Life at 3 miles an Hour

Well, I know it’s a holiday. It could have been the lack of commuter traffic on the way down here this morning. It might be the reduced ferry traffic between the islands. If nothing else, the clientele is noticeably different in my caffeinated hideout. The “usuals” are not to be seen. The machinery is a bit quieter this morning. It’s just a handful of my friendly retirees who have found me again, chattering away about the unusual phenomenon known as a winning streak for our “Mariners”. There is no one around with any real kind of employment, save the faithful baristas who man (or woman) their posts. It’s a different kind of feeling for me, sort of what I imagine it would be like if I played hooky from my community o’ faith on any given Sunday morning. So this is how the “other half” lives. Or should I say, the “other 90%” in this part of the country. It’s peaceful here, at least it is when my headphones are in place with “The Boss” flowing through my brain. I’m sure that the...

Her power steering is dead at the moment. This fact must be totally understood if anything good is to come of this story. Whatever……I know that her power steering is gone because I drove her car down to the beach this morning. It’s not the easiest thing to do at this hour of the morning, driving without power steering, and no caffeine to assist me yet. The vehicle in question is my daughters Honda. “Dad I have no more power steering”, was not exactly the thing that I wanted to hear last night. I have to say that I am proud of the fact that my daughter knows what power steering is, but the important item for the moment is that she doesn’t know how to fix it. That’s where I come in. Unfortunately, I have been blessed, or cursed, with a mechanical aptitude that doesn’t allow me, in good conscience, the luxury of passing this off on a professional. So I know that this means two things for certain. Number one is that my week has already been destined to not go as planned. For those...

I’m down here this morning, enjoying my caffeine with a view, and wondering just what exactly what the week has in store for me. Across the room sits a representative group of Seattle’s finest. You gotta believe that a place that can attract cops without the lure of a good donut must be a pretty worthwhile establishment. I find it interesting, how one reacts to the presence of uniformed law enforcement. It causes me to wonder about the placement of my cup. It causes me to be self conscious about my choice of seating. Is my posture appropriate? Do I look guilty for that last rolling stop on the way down to the beach? How much of the two hour parking have I used up? Do I look like the last APB that was broadcast over their radios? Do they even notice paranoid people like me all around them, and if they do, is there some measure of demented pleasure that comes from knowing that you can torment people like me simply by stopping by for a good cup of coffee? It’s rather funny because I have ...

I was looking at “my rock” recently and reflecting on the view that has been developing since my time spent there. For those of you who haven’t been along since the beginning of the journey, allow me to bring you up to speed. In August of 2004 I spent a very deconstructive and reconstructive week in the mountains of Colorado and Wyoming. It was an organized time of reflecting, mentoring, and listening. It was the listening that I think was the most difficult for me. Specifically it was time spent on this particular rock in question. It’s actually the rock pictured on this blog. I spent about 4 hours very much alone in the wilderness of the Medicine Bow mountain range at 11,000 feet, just my rock, my self, and my creator. I’m not sure that I realized at that moment that it was anything more than 4 hours of excruciating silence lying on my rock, not unlike a flank steak on a griddle in the eyes of the local bear population. Anyway, that is where all of this began in a very profou...