FIVE THINGS | DAVE BRUBECK, DIVERGENT QUESTIONING, TWO YEAR OLDS, COUNTESS BECCA, MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

I can enjoy conversations with a wide variety of people, but one thing I don't ever see happening is me getting along with somebody who has anything - and I mean anything - negative to say about Dave Brubeck's 1959 masterpiece Blue Rondo à la Turk. Oftentimes great songs, and especially great jazz, can take repeated listenings to really get into. Not Blue Rondo. Consider rotating into your Sunday morning listening schedule for the rest of your life. You're welcome.

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I have been processing and cross-pollinating the synthesis of two ideas the last couple weeks. Number one, the idea of framing. The way we choose to frame our approach to a particular situation, decision, or problem. And number two, the idea of divergent questioning; the antithesis of convergent questioning, in which questions are asked that have closed and absolute answers. Divergent questions might be described more simply as open-ended; questions that invite ideas and excitement; that generate possibilities and enthusiasm and snowball into more questions. Divergent questioning also involves giving up a certain amount of ego or expertise and acknowledging that in tackling a particular situation or problem, often the best thing you can do first off is to ask the best question possible...which brings us back to the importance of framing. 

So how do we frame our approach to anything, family or social or work or creative or logistical or whatever, in a way that prioritizes divergent questions and invites ways to solve or approach it that get us excited about tackling it?

Anyway. 

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Our two-year old. Technically, 27-month old, or 2.25 year old, or 2 1/4, etc. but counting in months starts to get ridiculous after...two. In the last two weeks, it is astounding the leaps he has made. Probably a greater two-week evolution than any period that comes to mind in his lifetime thus far. He is drawing frenetically, frantically, and frequently, and they have started to become recognizably representational; generally as family members or Sesame Street characters. 

And humor, oh thank you, thank you thank you God and universe for helping him to not have a dreadful sense of humor, or to simply lack one period. It appears that he has one that is functioning, as evidenced by his pleasure in adding "poop" to the end (or beginnings) of words and deliberately referring to uncles as "aunties;" something which sends him into hysterical gigglings. 

Sadly, he consistently skips over six and seven when he's counting to ten. Child specialist visits, here we come.*

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Oh, we're 20 weeks into the new little one coming along. This is what functions as an announcement; buried on this little blog on this little post halfway through. 

I approach big information a little like super rich people approach cell phones: the wealthier you are these days, the more you seem to divorce yourself of functional "necessities" like mobile phones. The more important the information and news we have to share, the less inclined we are to share it to the world en masse. Sometimes scarcity is what makes something special; sometimes that's the very definition.

Silly us. 

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Becca has been attending a dental convention the past two days. The children and I have embarked on transit adventures throughout Portland during a large chunk of this time, but that is for another time and for when I have the energy to properly highlight and embellish those tales. 

Regarding Becca: I am so proud of the way she approaches these classes. Continuing Education (CE) is required for her field. At some point during the year she needs to get a certain number of credits to keep an active license. Back to that whole idea of framing: there are plenty of people who grumble and groan about having to go through the process every year of attending CE courses.

Not Becca. She is a learner. An educator at heart; someone who actively seeks improved ways of doing her job and broadening the parameters of what it means to serve others in a professional capacity. She has approached her career with both confidence and humility as long as I've known her - which is her entire career. :) Every year it is more amazing to me how she performs work that is physically exhausting and often emotionally draining, yet she consistently frames her experiences with patients in the most positive ways and constantly looks for the good in the people she interacts with. 

She frames her CE required courses as opportunities; as a chance to improve. Instead of coasting, of gliding through and doing the minimum possible, of finding the fastest, easiest classes; of joining the inevitable choruses in any field of grumbling...she has chosen to quietly, confidently, humbly get everything possible out of these courses. Not just attend. Not just listen and take a few notes. Not just sign in to get it over with. 

She goes to these and she comes back with ideas and excitement and is full of enthusiasm about new and fresh ways to be a better hygienist. 

What a wonderful example. She is a living example to me of one of my fave quotes:

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”

I love that.

I love her.

I love how she illuminates the world around and constantly seeks, quietly and humbly, to improve. 

Thank you. 

*kidding

POEM : REST STOP.

The temp was 86, I reckoned.
Call of sweet ice caffeine to me beckoned.
My cool dude sons, I told
We gonna get some drinks, super duper cold.

This would be time well spent, I knew
Me and my boys make quite the crew.
We’d chill and chat and talk about Leonidas
And tell stories about creatures that could potentially bite us
One was excited to talk of Athens and Sparta too.
One was not and would rather play peekaboo.
where there’s a way there’s a will
And where’s there’s this guy there’s a pill.
Strolled into the conditioner cooled place
Thump thump Ace of Bass smile to my face
Boys, we gonna hang in here a real short while
You be good for pops, please go the extra mile?

The seven nods, the one-year toots
Old guys look up, mustachioed cowboy coots
Little fists my chest for YES
Relief immediate I have to confess,

We gonna chill guys, I firmly say
Boy look up: I obey dad, pretty much almost every day.

So here the plan
Clock go tick tick man
We keep a low profile
Then we leave after a little while

I order my drink while one boy starts math
The other one, I notice, needs a bath
But his help is immense
As he shakes my wallet of dollar and cents
Set him down to the floor,
He make a run for the door
Hey you buddy! I shout!
That whole low key thing, what that about?

He looks around frantically, frenetic concern
That his whereabouts I’ll soon completely discern
I already have, certainly so
Because I am dad, and I told him no go.

His eyes scan the coffeehouse place
And search for a comrade kinda face.
He sees a middle age man
And swiftly devises a plan,
Waddling over to overstuffed chair
He points and he grunts like an underfed bear.
His Morse code bleeps and dot dashes
Are too incomprehensible for the man with mustaches.
I stalk over to both parties of men
He wants outside, I explain, but that’s somewhere he’s already been

Boy puffs and he huffs and he gets super mad,
But I remind him again of who is still dad.
You’re not escaping from here,
I remind him.
Your mind is bright but your memory is dim.
I win, I win again, I win all the time,
And whoever you bribe, will take more than a dime.

He listened real close , well most
except for two teen girls to whom he could boast.
In line they stood for some afternoon treat
A beverage to nullify eighty six heat.
He attracted their attention with focused intention,
His plan was something I’d rather not mention
But involved a loud thunder from down under,
His diaper shaking, almost ripped super asunder.
They giggled and chuckled and smiled at him.
That was all needed to blow kisses to them.
Low profile! I hissed.
The idea was that we’d never be missed.

He laughed and climbed up out of my lap.
Please oh please I breathed; maybe a nap?
Upon the communal table we shared
He laid down his plumb body and head blond haired
Stretching out to full length on back
He gathered lungs for a vocal attack
Attack of the singing boy song
Who might ever think it to be very wrong?

Well, when a profile presence tiny is what you’ve desired
But singsonging diaper poet instead is what has been hired
Then the table dancing song sing diaper man
Is simply not on the list of good plan, no nuh uh man.

I turn to help other son with some numbers
Instead make mistake and brain feeling dead or under deep slumbers.
The escape artist sees a break and makes it happen
Irrepressible spirit no thwarten or dampen.
He runs to a friendly 20ish fellow
Who perhaps seems appropriately mellow.

The year old criminal marches up to this millennial cool dude
With the moxie and grace of a hipster elite attitude
And picks up his juice bottle and keys
With nothing so much as a please
I race over and redact them from dirty fat hand
And scream what did you super not understand?

He cries for a while
But five seconds after with apparentless guile
He smiles and points to the newspaper stand.
Look I say but don’t touch.
If you do, I won’t probably like you more much.

He obeys letter of law and leaves the Wall Street Journal alone
But begins scampering up newspaper RACK to climbing skills hone.
He gets up ten feet or so,
Stops to smile at me far down below
I shake my head and sigh with sadness
I thought we’d relax here, but it’s simply been madness
My drink is melting in sad little plastic
I thought this would be some relaxing fantastic

I reach up high to lift him all the way down
He disagrees with decision and scowls noisy clown frown.
But back at his seat he sits content
With a book that cost a buck ninety-nine cent
There’s animals in it and pictures of cows too
He lets the whole place know that chickens say cock-a-doodle-moo
But he tires of that whole reading scene soon
And begs and screeches for a knife or a spoon
Cause the best soundtrack for relaxation
In this beautiful nation of creation
Is to drum the beat of your heart
With something loud and noisy and do your part
To fill a room with huge massive noise
And remind everyone you’re not of those demure quiet boys

We finally at last do start to depart
I mentally list what to purchase at the grocery mart
As I drag him out under my arms
I remember a picture of sweet orangutan farms
And consider the notion of a donation far across the ocean, but ixnay this mental deliberation as a no-go motion
This child is funny and dirty and a little wild too
And has trouble remembering that monkeys don’t moo.
But I am fond of him most of the times
Even when busy with non-felony crimes.
I juggle a backpack some books, and squirmy big little him
And he grabs the lid of my drink by the broad icy brim
With grubby fingers he yank and yink
Too late instincts react as my heart sank and then sink.
He pulls the straw fully all out
And draws his arm back, five feet or so there is no doubt
He winds it around like a big league thrower
This boy who sprout up faster than a big weed grower
And he snaps the straw like a personal challenge or dare
With a laugh, a toot, and an air of what do I care?
The coffee drops fly in slow motion
Like a tidal wave from the deep ocean
I don’t stop to see where they land
Because customers won’t understand
They’ll growl at me and say why didn’t you raise him cute?
And before I’ll reply, he’ll cackle and smile and make a big toot.

So we’ll fly out of there really fast
Before I’m beat up and wearing a cast,
And I’ll remember so well, fleeing pell mell
This relaxation hour of coffee shop h-e-l-l.

And know that he’ll sleep super good tonight and be well rested
After another full day of dad battle-tested...

...oh no, please tell me he didn’t just drink half my fully-caffeinated coffee...

Some new buds. Kody, Christian, Jacob, and Cody (l to r). If you look closely at the middle of the photograph, there's also a really short person. “He’s gonna be a shredder,” Kody said. “For sure.” Super neat humans. Thanks guys. There’s always people looking up to you. #flyviewaerial #44pacificnwplaces #skateparks #battlegroundwa #allthepeopleinalltheworld #childhood #44children #scootergang #pnwlife

A post shared by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on May 14, 2018 at 9:00pm PDT

LAUGHTER, AND ITS DIRECTION AT THE ANGELS.

I confess to a certain level of affection for these children’s mother.

It is highly probable that there is not anyone who laughs at me more than her, although the competition for top spot is all contained in this image.

It is as it should be.

Merry December. Be nice to all.