Save The Arm

I need to save the arm.

I had the opportunity to toss a football with one of my daughter's class mates last week.This lad is 11 years old and is the quarterback for his team. The kid has a good live arm with a tight spiral most of the time. We were not on level ground and he was having to zip the ball a bit to compensate for throwing uphill to me. We talked a little while throwing the ball to each other.I liked that very much. I asked him to run a few routes and I would lead him with my throws.It occurred to me that a subtle dialog was going on,completely non verbal but communication none the less.The skill set for throwing a good ball is actually complex :the angle of the arc which determines the distance of the throw , the velocity of the spin which I believe is dependent upon the "snap"of the wrist at the moment the ball leaves your fingertips ,the "Kentucky Windage"of deciding just how far ahead you should lead your receiver which is related to his running speed.

I have always thoroughly enjoyed throwing a football. I find it to be akin to a spiritual endeavor.I lose my mind,I find peace and great beauty in seeking a perfect throw....I always have. You are giving flight to this are artfully motivating an ellipse in space, watching it's arc, mindful of the trueness of it's spiral journey through the ether. A tad overstated you say? I am nearly 60 years old and I am becoming aware of a creeping wistfulness and a bittersweetness that is now present in these moments.I value the exchange,the dialog and the unspoken subtle language of the throw and the receipt,the requesting of the other to trust me to lead him on a journey to catch this throw.How long will I want to do this? How long will I do this effortlessly? Will I continue to find great joy and peace in this endeavor? Will I be able to bring this joy ten years hence when I am approaching 70 years of age and my 10 year old son asks me to engage in this simple and profound ritual of father and son? It's too early for me to answer these questions yet I believe my essential soul is childlike and will summon the body to give life and flight to the ball. We want to play in the sun.

Save the arm.


Facebook Paradise

Odysseus's personal mythology was chronicled in the Odyssey.

We have Facebook.

The mud runs, the boat drinks, the food ,the friends, the hikes, the travels, the shared links, the art. Facebook is the default setting for our daily digital dose of personal mythology.  Gone are the hypnotic sirens wrecking havoc with our intrepid we document traffic jams. Gone are the existential struggles in a world ruled by callous and cavalier gods wielding their awesome powers like children in the throws of epic temper tantrums.  Now we have Throw Back Thursday. Oh...I am so unworthy.

The shimmering pornographic sushi presented naked on the plate.  I did not taste it.  Oh I am so unworthy.  The violent pitching 100 foot swells in the North Sea.  I did not witness it.  Oh I am so unworthy.  The fly over Victoria Falls in an ultralight.  I was unavailable.  I am so unworthy. The run around Lake Michigan.  I was to tired that day.  I am so unworthy.

And so it goes...we are the documentarians, the archivists now.  The metaphoric beasts we slay, the adventures bagged, the consumed exotic libations, all the challenges met with great fortitude and steely resolve are all recorded by our neo-Homers.

Warhol was right.  We all get our 15 minutes of fame.  What he did not predict was that they would go on forever.