I have always been a little scattered.  OK, a lot!  So, in addition to this blog, there are these.  I hope you enjoy.

Philanthropy Liaison:  A role I believe philanthropists need on their side
The Enabler's Blog:  The good connotation of the word...live fully using your God-given gifts

Come back, or comeback?

I am lucky--nay, blessed--to be able to teach my workshop titled Memories to Memoirs.
I have taught it for about eight years running, and see no end in sight, thankfully.  Each session provides me inspiration as guidance as I also try to do the same for the attendees.  The session underway at the Freeman Library in Clear Lake, as part of UHCL's Clear Lake Area Seniors Program, has encouraged me to write more in the blogosphere.  Am I coming back, or is this a comeback, of sorts?

I don't know.  And that is okay.  I created a blog in defense and support of those who contribute to the charities and causes of our society.  They are getting short shift nowadays, thrown into a kettle of fish in which they don't belong nor deserve to be associated with.  The blog is named Philanthropy Liaison. 

...whichever it is...here I come.

I love this...

This image from my journal entry while teaching photography at University of West Bohemia was about the food, and how it reminds me of the tastiness of my mom's Polish-influenced cooking. But I also like the highlighted phrase. I go to it often because it could be about old friends or new ones; photography, writing, or speaking; any of my sons or my granddaughter...life. I look at this as a reminder. I hope it reminds you.

....a pause....

The distance from my brain to my fingertips that rest on the keyboard is not very long, yet it is a chasm that is sometimes scary to jump across, intimidating, daunting and walked away from in frustration. I take this short steps, approaching the gap and then I stutter like a newbie hurdler coming to a high hurdle. I chop, try to regroup and then stop. I look across the now-wider gap and decide to return later to write again, hopefully with a shorter distance between thoughts, of which there are many, and words, of which there are few.

Lyrical Roots

Jim Croce comes out of my speakers to share wisdom in lyrics and calm in melodies. He will soon be followed by Seals and Crofts, America, CSN&Y and many more as I digitially copy old albums. What is happening is not simply posterity, but re-positioning me on the solid ground of my growing years. I learned a lot about myself by listening to tunes in my youth--as you likely did, too--and I re-learn and am re-minded (as well as reminded) of who I am in the re-listening.

In "those" days, I would write or muse while listening, and today I write with the perspectives of time past and time remaining. No matter our age, we only have a measurable amount of time remaining, and it seems to be a good thing to spend that time with surety of who you are. The tree does not stand strongly with roots solidly in the ground wondering if it is actually crabgrass.

I am assured of that message while listening to the tunes of my formative years. Sometimes because the lyrics suggest the message, but more so because the lyrics remind me of my thoughts and passions from then...which are the same things as now, though clouded by life's circumstances at times. What I was, I am; what I am, I was. Yet, I change though I remain rooted. Lyrics remind me.

The Call to Words

I've begun reading again and reading anew "Atop the Underwood" by Jack Kerouac. I've read it before and enjoyed it greatly. This time to read is providing new perspectives. The book Jack's writings between the ages of 13 and 21. Even early on he believed that he existed to write.

The book provides great insights into the writer-in-progress, a boy-becoming-man who einjoyed stories (writing or listening), words, curiosity (his own and that of others) and expression. I remember hearing from a friend that words are my exhale (that friend hung around...she's now my wife!), and I've always appreciated that insight. I fell in love with photography at the age of six and with words not long thereafter through stories and conversation with Mom and Dad. Writing hooked me in 8th grade (Thank you Mrs. Owens). In Jack's words, I am gently reminded of my past, and therefore a better view of my future.

Let's not forget two things: 1. young people can feel strong urges about their abilities and purposes and we can play a role in encouraging them, and 2. we shouldn't forget the things that moved us strongly as young adults and adults-in-the-making...there is a rich source of energy, direction and affirmation there.

Words Matter

Sometimes, all we really have are the words we choose to share that are supposed to convey our thoughts, feeling, emotions, fears, joys, sorrows and wisdom to selected, and surprise, audiences. Those are a gift when shared.

Dion (my eldest son...I do not talk about myself in Bob Dole style), went without sleep as his wife worked without sleep in the labors of...labor....to bring to the world the life they created in their daughter Lillian. As we chatted--he exhausted and his eyelids at half mast at best--he agreed that his getting sleep after a long day at the hospital would serve him and his mom-wife quite well. He smiled a depleted smile and said, "I will probably need to write some first."

He is an excellent writer, with the courage to share his ideas and his thoughts AND his feelings. I may be a bit biased, but he shares his words with nuance, skill and pride. That he would know in his heart that writing about today's delivery mattered to him, his family and perhaps some audiences indicates his understanding that words matter. His do, yours do...words matter.

Time Flies

Again, I wonder how it is that so many months have gone by between posts. So much has happened. So much has stayed the same. Nothing stays the same.

Ah, and so it is that I haven't written here, despite it being now more accessible from my new web site designed by my talented son. The reason...

...things have been like a bicycle wheel spinning madly while its bike is coursing downhill at breakneck speed. How to stop it in order to show off just one specific spoke from among the many? That is the challenge of this blog.

There, stands the challenge. I am without an answer, however, as to which of the spokes to show you or how to stop the wheel of living for long enough to share something at this time.

Hi, Dad!

The other night, I woke up in tears. I couldn't have been happier. I was so very sad.

It is not unusual for me to have a dream or two a year about my dad who has been gone for 28 years now. This dream was unusual.

One of the things that I miss are the distinct memories of dad's expressions, movements, mannerisms, and such. I feel like I have lost much detail in those areas. The dream addressed those losses in a magnificent way.

The details that I lacked were very clear in the dream, to the extent that in the dream I took notes so I could remember them better, knowing that the dream would end. When I touched his hair and noted that it was not as gray as when he was in the hospital dying, the dream ended and the notetaking began. I awoke and wrote three pages of notes--details about wrinkle lines, smiles, gait and much more. The dream was a gift; the notes are a treasure.

I've never fully understood dreams (who does?), and many of my art heroes (like Edward Weston) struggled with comprehending the messages in dreams. This one was no struggle and the message was clear: "No need to ever forget." That's a happy thought.

"You Don't Suffer Fools Well...."

I believe it is safe to say that every one of my bosses would agree with my first one in higher education when he said that I do not suffer fools well. While there are those who believe I should correct that problem, I look at it as more of my charge and calling. Particularly when fools impinge on the development and expression of the God-given talents of the people in my charge, or when their actions diminish the potential of causes larger than their own simply because of their narrow-mindedness and pettiness. There are fools, and there are fools. It is the latter that I have a hard time dealing with but quite easily hold in disdain.

Talent

I opened my fortune cookie tonight. It said something about a talent that is not shared is not really a talent. Kim opened her fortune cookie. It said the same thing. I don't believe in fortune cookies.

I do believe in talent, and the call, the mandate, the requirement that we share whatever God has given us as a gift or an ability.

While I consider the cookies and their messages, I listen to the works of Cash, Chapiin, Croce, Haggard, Jennings, Bare and more. I consider Weston, Whitman and others.

Sharing ain't easy. But it is not an option.

Ignore Your Self at your own peril

I sit here, Maker's Mark on the rocks on the desk, and Johnny Cash's "Hurt" playing, and I consider many things, not the least of which is my oldest son's finding his voice in his blog, my middle son's finding himself in his work and adventures, and my youngest finding himself (and his Self) at the doorway to manhood. I consider this collision of realities and inhibition busters and remember why it was that God gives me breath. It is not to be a paper pusher.

I've been listening to Johnny Cash, Tom Rush, Arlo Guthrie and Harry Chapin over the past hour as I scanned my book draft about being a father and a son. The strange brew, or stew, of the influences inspires me, or reminds me.

It reminds me; my sons remind me; the artists remind me; my frustrations remind me: Ignore Your Self at your own peril.

May I pour you a drink and we'll talk?

I shared stories with a group of people at a meeting today. The meeting was about work, and the stories about the boys, about lyrics and about parenting. Only then was I alive today.

Ignore Your Self at your own peril.

Where Has The Time Gone?

I've been able to spend a lot more time than usual with my youngest son and it has been awesome. Where has the time gone? I've also been fortunate to be quoted in Christian Science Monitor, Careerbuilder, Globe and Mail, Communications Briefings, Woman's World, Better Homes and Garden and more...on topics ranging from photography to fatherhood to management. It's been fun.

And, there have been the two new books. :-)

Show Me Who Yo...

Close, closer, closest

By Dion McInnis

Book Preview

The Seeing, No...

A Guide to Seeing f...

By Dion McInnis

Book Preview

I don't know what I'm taking pictures of...

...the high school student said as he walked out of the room on the way to take photographs as part of an exercise at the Visual Arts Scholastic Event (VASE). How good to hear that!

Too often we (all of us) walk in the world expecting to see what we expect, instead of admitting not knowing. The beauty is in the not knowing, in the constant attentiveness, in the curiosity, in the lack of pre-conceived ideas. Spontaneous seeing, hearing, feeling...sensing...is the key to many doors.

First Amendment?

I just read a great article about the First Amendment's guarantees and how important they are in protecting, in the long run, the ability of individuals to think and feel. (http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=59949) The verbiage intrigued me and took me back a few years.

When I separated from my wife and family, my small apartment had little in it, but it did have a mirror covering most of the wall in the tiny dining area. And on that mirror, I wrote with a dry erase marker: "Do not tell me what to say, think, feel or do." This mark of rebellion was my first step in reclaiming myself.

Now I look at the atrocities inflicted on the First Amendment by our PC government, the ACLU, and others, and realize that what the "powers that be" are doing actually constitutes emotional abuse at an individual citizen basis. And the results of abuse include symptoms such as surrender, lack of self worth, feelings of not deserving success, and powerlessness. In other words, the current political processes constitute an abuse on the psyches and spirits of Americans in a manner that results in a beaten down population that doesn't believe it can stand up for itself nor has the right to. The Founding Fathers would be mortified.

Stand tall. Write on your mirror, screen saver, and proclaim through your votes and political activities: "Don't tell me what to say, think, feel or do."

The Journey continues

It was shocking to see that my last posting here was in September. How time flies when on unmapped journeys.

This past Thursday provided a startling juncture that will guide or illuminate my path for years to come. In Quest, a men's church group class, the instructor stated that of the many hurts to be healed in our lives, the greatest is our disconnection from God. He went on to explain how we are born disassociated from God and that our life's journey exists to allow us to return to Him (reminded me of the Catholic version of Original Sin). More news: scriptures reveal time and again how our best intentions to do right are mitigated by our hearts' predisposition to evil; we have the potential for good and evil, and we are born in a trajectory away from heaven, not to it; and, a lot of our current social dilemmas are based on our sense of self-importance. The latter was revealed by statistics that show that about 20% of men and women felt they were important and offered something special to the world in the 1940s and now that number hovers close to 70%. In our world of no losers in school, points for trying, and feel good churches, we have created a society that has lost its respect for others' value, integrity, respect and importance because, after all, "I am important."

There were more lessons, too many to address here. But the foundation of the instructor's teaching was profound, but not new. The stories of hubris in ancient times appeared even more relevant after the Thursday morning class. Blessed are the humble...wherever you are.

View from the Aquarium, 3

Everything looks different when behind the glass of an aquarium. It looks different because your position doesn't change much.

I look at the tables and chairs across the way from me. I'm not at their level, nor am I at standing height, both views being the normal way that I would see them. I'm not sitting at the table, nor am I walking by; I am sitting in my office chair and seeing them persistently from a different perspective. The same is true for the walls (funny how the different tones in the wood look from here), the clutter on the walls (walking by they seem fine, but from a stationary view, the signs and postings look like clutter), and the carpet (if I view the carpet just a tad out of focus, I can find faces in it, sort of like looking at clouds). I'm sure that I would look different to my fish if they could get out the aquarium and change their angles of view by moving around. A constrained position limits vision, but it also provides a new vision when you're accustomed to less limitation.

View from the Aquarium, 2

Where as the fish in my aquarium at home can't limit my view of them, or theirs of me, by any means other than hiding, I can close my blinds if I tire of others looking in. I rarely tire of looking out. From this view, I can see how beautiful beauty can be and how nontraditional it can be; I see expressions ranging from anger to fear to joy to confusion to distraction; I see humility and hubris, confidence and insecurity. Oh, and I see some beauty, or perhaps I already mentioned that.

For every 100 women who walk by, there are 101 who I would like to photograph; for every dozen "characters" that cross my angle of view, there are a baker's dozen I'd like to chat with, if even for only a moment. For every familiar smile offered from acquiantances, or uncertain smile returned to me from strangers, there is a feeling of momentary connectedness.

I don't think my fish have those pleasures.

View from the Aquarium

A few months ago, my office was moved from upstairs to downstairs. I went from a "room with a view" to a "room to be viewed." Whereas I used to look out my window to watch trees, birds and the weather, I now look out onto an atrium where people come and go as they traverse the building for meetings, classes, entry or egress. I watch them, and they can watch me. I'm in an aquarium. This section of the blog represents this new world, this "view from the aquarium."

The Journey....of journeys

I'm at the confluence of three streams: reading "Blue Highways" and the lessons therein about the wisdom gained on journeys (of all kinds); attending the class at church about using one's gifts in service to God in service to His creation; and, collapsing under the weight of the burden of trying to keep everything under control (life as project management, as it were). The streams confluence has created a non-trivial disturbance that I hope will become an energy that will become a rapids of excitement and propulsion. But, for now...well, I have a crazy combination of influences coming together creating something new, and bringing me insights.

The overwhelming lesson on this part of the journey is simple: "Being confident is okay, but you gotta be humble." Yes, I believe that I'm called to do great things (greater things than simply success in the day job, or touching a few people with my presentations and imagery, etc.) and I'm committed to doing them, whatever they end up being. But....I have to continue to remind myself that no matter how powerful the call and how great the purpose, on a worldly, universal or eternal perspective....well, my work is nothing much. So much for "being all that and a bag of chips."

The streams are also carrying messages and insights that reveal and remind that most everyone wants to be recognized, affirmed and assured that what they are doing is important. Most everyone, I believe, wants to know that in at least some way, they are "all that."

So, where is the only place where everyone can (or should) be accepted as "all that" on at least one thing? The place where they are recognized as important because they are God's creation. That should be sufficient, but it requires faith, and active work and prayer to accept that the only "person" who matters---God---DOES belief you are "all that and a bag of chips." We all have a hard time believing that. We need our faith, particularly in these times, to find a place that says "you're special, you're loved and you ain't perfect...but that's okay."