So Smart...

Well, it's been said a bazillion times before - the older I get and the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. 

Often times kids expect their science teacher to know everything.  The more I've been at this teaching gig, the less difficult it has become to admit to a kid that I don't know the answer to a particular question.  I'll tell them what I do know,where to look for the answer, then ask a few days later what they found out.  Most don't bother, just wanting a quick and definitive answer.

Watched the first episode of the new Cosmos show.  I like the old one better.  The feel of the old one was one of wonder and discovery.  The feel of this one is one of they're certain of their
answers and we're lucky they're letting us in on it. 

The older I get the more I seem to be coming into contact with "Cliff Clavens" who are convinced of how damned smart they are.  So, if you're so damned smart why do you work so hard at convincing everyone of it?  Is it so threatening that you might not be the smartest person in the room?

Also, the older I get the less patience I seem to have for the Cliffies.  I'm tired of having to be aggressive when conversing with these kinds of people, who so stubbornly cling to their need to be right even when they're not or if there isn't just one right view.   Can't we just have a conversation where you aren't the expert giving a lecture to anyone who will listen?

The genuinely off-the-charts intelligent folks I've had a chance to meet over the years have had a humility that these new know-it-alls seem to lack.  I'm not one of the truly bright ones.  Never have been, never will be.  I'm O.K. with that though.  Love talking with the folks who are.

I still love the process of learning.  Don't think I'll ever get tired of it.

What do you know?  What are you willing to admit that you don't know?

Woodstock

The Retro channel played the Woodstock documentary tonight.  I used to think I would have loved to have been there if I was ten years older.  After watching the film for the first time in a long time, I'm not so sure now.  The music was unbelievable, but the crap going on out in the fields would have been tough to put up with.  Humanity.  You have to take the bad with the good.  Guess that will never change, will it?  Far out, man.

Winter Sucks!

That's pretty much it.  At least the Seahawks won and the Husky basketball team did, too.  The sun is supposed to make another appearance Wednesday.  

                                            Hiking today.

The Big Five-O

Forty was just a number.  For some reason fifty seems more serious.  A half-century.  Maybe it's partly because I can still remember when my grandparents were at the age I am now.  It is a cliche to say I don't feel fifty, but it doesn't make it any less true.  I definitely thought I would be more mature at this age.  Fart sounds and well-timed "That's-what-she-said!" jokes still crack me up.  I can still happily watch South Park or Beevis and Butthead when I'm in the right mood for it.  I still have problems with authority or perceived authority. 

I was lucky enough to spend yesterday with my best friend, Mick and his family.  I spent the better part of today with part of my family.  It's nice to be around people I've known for over thirty years.  It's relaxing to be with folks who have seen me at my best and worst and still put up with it all.

When I was younger, I didn't think I would make it to thirty.  Now it's twenty years past that point, knowing I should be getting reading glasses, receiving mail from AARP, and talking about surgeries and aching body parts.  Being single at fifty just plain isn't much fun.  The idea of being with someone else who would be trying to tell me what's wrong with me while trying to change me into who they think they want has no appeal, either.

The best I can come up with right now is that turning fifty is still more appealing than not turning fifty.  It sort of feels like being in a car or on a train and realizing the brakes don't work.

  

Coming Down

I've been coaching basketball now for more than 30 years.  I still love the laser-like focus I get during a close game.  The rest of the world disappears, it's just me, the players, the refs, and maybe the other coach.  After all these years it still takes hours to let go after the game has played out and everyone's headed home.

Tonight was one of the few times I've had to coach both teams.  The first game we won by a basket, the second we lost by a basket.  The second game finished about four hours ago, and I'm just now beginning to ease off a little.

One of the things that definitely helps is music.  After so much time and so many different artists, my two favorite musicians are still the guys who were my favorites when I was a teenager - Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards.

I flirted with playing the guitar for a while, but it didn't take too long to realize that these two hands were not made for playing the kind of music I had hoped to produce.  It's ironic that although I hold pencils, pens, and paper clips all day, my hands look like the were made to turn wrenches, something I definitely inherited from the old man.

I can't even type efficiently to this day.  My fingers are often dyslexic.  Reading has always been easy for me, but the fingers still insist on reversing letter orders.  So tonight I've been slowly coming down, listening to old Stones, Hendrix, and Maytals tunes, and now struggling my way through typing this roundabout stream of semi-consciousness.

Good night.  Soon, I hope.