Com-posting

Hello, It's me again.  I don't know what's so hard about jotting a few lines about what's going on in your life, but I'm sure it has something to do with inhibitions and thinking that everything has to be perfect.  We had a bountiful grape harvest.  We got five buckets off our grapes and five more from Denise and Ken's.  We got about a hundred quarts.  With a new steamer, bottles, lids, propane and two days labor, I figure that each bottle cost around $5.00.   We'll treat it like fine wine and save it for special occasions - like dinner.  Misty came up and we enjoyed the boys and basked in the spirit of being self-sufficient.  

Saturday morning Nate helped me dig the newest addition to the Porter Family Plantation; "The Porter Memorial Compost Pile - Where New Life Comes From Death."  It's quickly filling up with all the yard clippings, leaves and table scraps.  I've been studying up on the finer points of composting and after several weeks of thought, investigation shopping and anguish, I broke down and bought a chipper / shredder.  My small plot of ground has been such a source of inspiration and growth and I need to give back.  Which brings to mind one of my favorite Emerson Quotes: "There comes a time in every man's education, when he arrives at the conviction, that envy is ignorance, that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better or worse - as his lot.  That though the whole world is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him, but by his toil bestowed upon that plot of ground which is given him to till."

I am a happy tiller!  Hey, check out my very first pitch fork.

 

I've been reading "Lives So Full - The Life Story of George Harding Mortimer  and Veda Jane Porter.  I won't bore you with all the details that brought this delightful biography into my possession, but I am thoroughly enjoying it.  I come home each afternoon eagerly anticipating the next installment.  I use to think that when this life was over I would like to go off into some insignificant corner of the universe and learn to play the guitar - really well.  I still would like to do that, but before I do I would like to read through the many billions of biographies written about and in behalf of earth's inhabitants. 

Happy Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas and if a dream or two may chance to come your way, hold on tight and let it grow - some day you'll be composting it.  

School has begun.  I was a little concerned about meeting the requirements of teaching and the needs of the kids this year - nothing new really, and I zoomed off to a conversation I had with Nate's dad when we were in Delta for the Fourth of July.  He was talking about his dairy experiences and where it had led him and he said, "that's just what I do."  I'm a 2nd grade teacher, "that's just what I do."  It's been a good career, full of challenge, accomplishment, frustration and every other emotion that I've become acquainted with.  I'll give it my best shot this year and make a difference in the lives of these kids.  

This is one of Valerie's pictures from Zion.  It instantly connected with me and I put it on my desktop.  I study it quite often as I meditate on my life.  I know everyone was disappointed when we didn't get to hike the Subway.  The Right Fork was a mediocre hike at best, but it brought us together for a moment in time.  In my "olden days" I was always seeking for glimpses of the divine as I hiked along pondering my life's potentialities.  Now I look at these crumbling cliffs and rock-strewn shores and feel a sense of my inner self.  I tend toward disorganization and find myself in endless cycles of improvement and renewal.  Sometimes I throw out the old before I begin the new, but not very often  - thus clutter collects.  

We've been moving rooms.  Nathan moved into Erica's room, Josh moved into my upstairs room, I moved down to Nathan's old room and Erica moved to Grandmas.  I've spent a lot of time going on trips to D.I. and the dumpster.  

Denice pointed out that under a tree, on the right, there is a Bigfoot creature sitting on a log.  Bigfoot and other illusions stalk my landscape at times.  We nurture the ideal and the big, smelly, hairy beast of reality tramples on it.   So many of my ideals were formed in Zion as I hiked through red-rock canyons, stained black from seeping water.  There is a sense of eternity here.  Time slowly chips away at the vain and unnecessary elements of our lives, helping us identify and  realize our fondest hopes and dreams.   

Zion has just the right balance of colors.  They complement and contrast with each other - always pleasing to the eye.  Yellow has always been my favorite color - it's bright and enthusiastic.   The past few years green has been creeping up on me and eclipsing yellow.  Green is the color of life and has so many shades.  Color is one of life's greatest blessings and joys.  It's just there, everywhere you look, beckoning you to pay attention and enjoy the ride we're experiencing on Spaceship Earth.  I didn't get to the sky and water, but those ramblings will have to wait for another post.  

Summer's Almost Over

Here's what I've been up to this summer:

Working on mom's personal history.   As the History Committee Chairman, I wrote in the Porter Family Newsletter: "I'm having a wonderful experience with my mother, recording her personal history!  We talk and type, reread and refine as she shares stories of life, love, courage and hope - line upon line.  My mother is a quilt maker, and is feverishly working to create quilts for each of her living posterity.  Each experience we record is a block in her life's quilt, one that will be shared by all.  My love and respect for her has deepened, my desire to be more like her has grown." 

Creating a kiva for my classroom.  After two years of investigating and planning I built my classroom kiva.  The materials cost $250.  Mike Leemaster (a former student and Josh's old freind) and his dad, came over to show me how to carpet it.  I realized I was in over my head and called Blair Sampson, who carpeted our family room, to do the job (that cost $100).  It's essential to know what you can and can't do, and when it's best to let a professional do the job. I just read through my journal for this past year and that's why I made this last comment.  I've been trying to focus on "the essentials."  You could say "how time flies," but you could also say, "time creeps like and ancient turtle slogging through silent slippery sand."  Actually you can say anything you want - and what a two-edged sword that is.  For your information, a kiva is:  1) a sacred, underground ceremonial chamber  2) an underground storage pit  3) a loan made to poor entrepreneurs in third world countries.  I combined all three concepts to help me organize and unify my 2nd grade charges this year.  My only limitation was I had to keep it above ground.  

We had new siding put on the house.  With the forest and desert mingling with the outside walls it was time to put our last set of clothes on the house before yard and house become as one.

Finishing the weekend project I started in January.  This is a substitute for my dream of building a cabin that will most likely not come to pass (the downsizing of a dream).  The old knotty pine bedroom lives on.  Mom made the drapes.  Mom and I chose the couch.  Erica and mom argued about most of the decor, but agreed that the final outcome was "just fine."   Welcome to our family kiva - partially underground.

Survival of the Fittest

Before our “blog conversation” with the family down in Zion, I knew “Survival of the Fittest” was a fit for my up and coming perspective on life. Like David, I think I’ve always been able to overcome challenges, meet expectations and generally carry on in a somewhat acceptable manner – until the past few years. I’ve learned that trials are trials because they don’t have completion dates; you might make it through and then you might not, but definitely your own resources are not adequate. Survival asks us to attune to our world, to take nothing for granted, to be vigilant and wary. I have several quotes that define my efforts to be a more humane human. “I don’t divide the world into the weak and the strong, or the successes and the failures, those who make it or those who don’t. I divide the world into learners and nonlearners. There are people who learn, who are open to what happens around them, who listen, who hear the lessons. When they do something stupid, they don’t do it again. And when they do something that works a little bit, they do it even better and harder the next time. The question to ask is not whether you are a success or a failure, but whether you are a learner or a nonlearner – Carole Hyatt and Linda Gottlieb.” I’ve seen so many characteristics in family members these past weeks that I want to more fully develop. Words so many times mask our inner insecurities. It’s easy to talk, but harder to walk the talk. I want to more than survive I want to thrive, but first things first. I’ll always remember My Grandpa Porter’s lament near the end of his life; “Paul, why didn’t I ever do anything great?” His expectations for himself stretched beyond what his daily allotment of time could reach. I guess I’m a little like that.

Calm Amidst the Storm

I spent the day cleaning, organizing and generally trying to dissipate nervous energy - it didn't work.  I went to bed early hoping to find rest, but couldn't find it.  Madison, our summer neighbor, was over jumping on the trampoline this afternoon and when she was all tired out, she lay down and stared at the sky.  The sights and sounds of night can have a calming effect on the soul.  After my first retina detachment I spent nights out on the trampoline, listening to The Work and the Glory, and slept during the day.

The full moon is illuminating the clouds.  it's quite a sight for a Thursday evening.  I wouldn't trade it for any television program or book on tape.  I've found a new radio station, KUER 90.1 from the University of Utah.  I find the dialogue stimulating and lacking the "in your face" style of so many today.  I guess that's what I'm looking for; calm  amidst the storm.

My best friend from high school, Val Call, and his brother Mont, came to David's memorial service.  Mont asked if we could get together and talk.  I went over on Sunday and we carried on for eight hours with hardly a stop.  He's dealing with diabetes and alienation from his family and trying to put it all into perspective.  I don't know which is worse.  Of course alienation deepens diseases despair.  Isn't it the quality of our relationships that gives life it's meaning?

Where did the clouds go?  Did the moonbeams disperse them?  I see more clearly now and understand a little better, but for the most part, "I see through a glass darkly," yearning for mystical moments when illuminating clouds cast a spell of heavenly hope.

David – My Brother

David Lynn Porter was born June 24, 1953, a year and a half before me. In the eternal scheme of things, a year and a half isn’t much, but through the past fifty three years he has ever remained “my older brother.”

David was born with a sense of perfection and a desire to implement it. When we got our first rotary lawn mower I remember him showing me how to checkerboard the lawn by going over it twice. It’s lucky it was self-propelled or he might have had mutiny on his hands.

When it was someone else’s turn for doing the dishes he would inspect our work to make sure everything was done to his exacting standards.

We lived together in an upstairs attic room, along with our brother Evan, that was lined with knotty pine. It had a walk-in closet inside and a small closet on the landing just outside the door. His was on the landing of course, isn’t that how it is with older brothers – they get what they want.

Believe me when I tell you that it was the coolest room in the universe. It was the gathering place for all our friends. It ebbed and flowed with all our creative ventures, but always remained knotty pine – now the eaves under my backyard patio. We were always arranging and rearranging the beds. We had a trundle bed that we left out so someone could sleep under the higher bed. I remember our long evening talks. I’m sure it was mostly David talking. He was very popular and athletic and I loved hearing about all the going ons of his friends and their activities.

Over the years we had several common friends. The first was Jimmy Powell. Jimmy and David were avid skiers – the best in Utah County, I thought. Jimmy and I became partners in crime, which David, for the most part, stayed away from.

As the sixties bloomed around us, we acquired a black light and began to put posters of our favorite rock groups on the walls. Dad invested some of our hard earned money in penny stocks and we bought a nice stereo system. I painted a staff with black light paint, and with incense burning, we danced and sang to the beat of the sixties.

In Jr. High, David took wood shop. We acquired some plywood, 2 X 8’s, naugahide and padding and made three waterbeds. We used a flour and water paste and plastered the closet walls with pictures from magazines, then painted the molding orange and yellow.

We had the first 8 track tape recorder and were always recording albums onto 8 track tapes for friends. We had quite a selection of music that we acquired through our thrift and five finger discount.

To earn our money we mowed lawns, picked cherries, hoed tomatoes, and in our teenage years worked at the Grandview Café. I could never do anything better than David and he reminded me of this quite often. I’m sure it was true. He was born with a work ethic that gave him the ability to spin straw into gold. He knew how to save, used his money wisely, always bought quality and took care of what he had.

When I was ten mom and dad told me that if I earned half the money they would pay the other fifty dollars to buy me a five-speed stingray bike. My great accomplishment was shattered a week later when it was stolen. It wasn’t until years later that David confessed that he had taken it to Miracle bowl and leaving it unlocked, it was stolen. Maybe that’s why when he bought a orange Porsche 914 he let me borrow it sometimes.

Whenever he did something for me or let me use his things there was a price associated with it; tickling his back, massages, cleaning and waxing his car…When I left to go on a mission he bought my albums and stereo equipment, but gave back, what was left of them, when I returned.

One summer, dad had a meeting in Montana, so he dropped David, Lonnie Kallas and myself off in Yellowstone. It was my first experience drinking alcohol – our journeys of self-medication had begun.

David was a tennis player. One summer he was in the finals of thirteen tournaments and won only one. He wouldn’t let mom watch him. I wanted to be as good as he was. David was #1 on the A-team and I was #1 on the B-team. It was that summer that I learned that I had cataracts and would gradually lose my eyesight. I still remember and appreciate the discipline that tennis helped me develop. It was the love of David’s life - the backyard of his present home being a tennis court.

In the spring of 1974 dad got me a job on the railroad, working on the tie gang in the desert near Woodside, Utah. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. I persevered day in and day out – I was walking exhaustion. Living at Grandma and Grandpa Porters gave me a break from old friends and family and I started contemplating more earnestly the purpose of life. On trips home David continued to remind me of his superior work ability and ethic. I was determined to be the best worker on the railroad.

For once, David decided to follow me in employment opportunities. He camped out at the Helper train station, in front of Mike Kannaris’ office and asked for a job every time he walked in or out. After several days he rewarded his perseverance with a job on the rail gang. The first day they transported him to Soldier Summit, where he was working with people of many nationalities. The work was hard. He lasted til noon, then walked the twenty miles to Helper to get his car and return home. I was no longer living in the shadow of my older brother, I now was my own man. One weekend, when I was home, he was trying to enforce one of his dictates. I wrestled him down and threw him in the bush. I gained a little more equality in our relationship that day.

Our lives diverged, conflicts arose between friends, but David ever remained David – a hard worker, committed to quality. He traveled to Australia and Japan to work and see the world. I trekked through the mountains seeking direction and peace. I decided to quit the railroad and return to school. Everyone thought I was crazy. Back home at my farewell dinner David asked what I was going to become. I thought for a while and answered, “a philosopher.” He fell off his chair laughing. That one experience charted the course of the next year and a half of my life – I was determined to become a philosopher.

Water passes under bridges, time rolls on and peoples lives become complicated and increasingly more difficult, but when we live according to a set of unerring principles we snatch moments of peace and accomplishment. David’s hard work paid off in the form of a home, nice possessions, faithful friends and a family. When Denice and I were first married we lived behind David and Kathy. Kathy would have me test some of her new dishes before she fed them to David.

We moved to Pleasant Grove and put a wood burning stove in our basement. David also had one and we became woodcutting buddies. On our rides to and fro, in my rickety old truck and trailer, we discussed our lives and what we were becoming. With a few beers down him the ride home turned into a discussion of our beliefs, religion and what it all means. He was always fishing for my approbation. He wanted to know that I respected him for who he was. Of course I did, but I was too selfish and immature to come right out and say it. Those days passed and so did the fishing for approbation, but as I matured I found myself looking for ways to capture those lost moments. David I appreciate you for the example, friend and mentor you have been in my life. I made a commitment this summer that I was going to strengthen our relationship, to help and support you through the difficult recovery you were going to have with your shoulder. I know what you were facing because I’ve been dealing with it for the past eight years. Your OCD and my ADD have both enriched and battered our lives. Finding outlets for our compulsive behaviors has been a lifetime quest. My life is tied to yours with so many unseen cords. There is so much I could say, so much that I want to say, but only one thing I need to say, I love you David – my brother.

David took his life on July 2, 2008.