Partnership & Individuality

Ma’ikwe, my wife, has been building a house this year. For anyone who has attempted this, you will be able to immediately relate to how this can be a wholly consuming project, and not at all simple (see my blogs of July 29 and Aug 1). She essentially set aside or downplayed all other threads in her life to focus on house building the last eight months, with the goal of having a livable space (meaning enclosed and weathertight) before winter.

I’m happy to report that she reached her goal, and Halloween night she slept in her house for the first time. She was understandably proud of her achievement, and has been enjoying exhalation and a certain post-finish-line euphoria these early days of November. She undertook this project with no background in construction and had to perform within the stringent environmental covenants of her home community, Dancing Rabbit, where there are serious restrictions on what building materials can be used and how they can be delivered to the work site. She was simultaneously the lead designer, construction manager, in charge of material procurement, labor organizer, bursar, main grunt, and chief cheerleader. Whew.

While there is a substantial amount of interior work remaining and house completion will still be a major part of Ma’ikwe’s labor landscape in 2010, the rush is over.

Naturally enough, Ma’ikwe has already been turning her attention to What’s Next—which is a question that has my attention also. As Ma’ikwe and I don’t live together (Dancing Rabbit is an hour’s walk away from my bedroom at Sandhill Farm) it is not a slam dunk figuring out when we’ll spend time together. This calculus is further complicated by my work as a community networker and process consultant, which has me on the road about 60% of the time (which means there’s considerable potential to not be together regardless of whether we share the same mail box).

Like most couples that are happy in their partnership, we like spending time together. Our challenge is figuring out the right mix of together and apart, keeping in mind that we both have diverse interests and already had full dance cards when we launched our intimate relationship four years ago. In some ways, or course, this is an embarrassment of riches, where we need to make selections from a menu replete with worthy choices. As much as we’d like to do it all, we can’t.

Thread #1

When Ma’ikwe slimmed down her other commitments to tackle the house, one of the things she let go of was involvement with FIC, which is a major area of commitment for me and one of the venues where our lives intersected leading up to our courting one another in 2005. Much as I’ve enjoyed her involvement in the Fellowship’s work (especially as an Event organizer), it’s not at all clear that she’ll return to any FIC role post-construction.

Thread #2

While she’s continued to be my teaching partner in facilitation training throughout construction—and that’s something that both been thoroughly enjoyable and nurturing for our relationship—she’s now questioning whether that’s a calling for her in the same way it is for me (to be clear, she loves teaching; she’s just not sure that group dynamics is where she ought to be plying that pedagogical talents). Ma’ikwe and I are committed to completing the training we’re doing in NC. After that’s completed in June, it’s not clear if we’ll do other trainings together (or consulting gigs either, which we’ve done a few times).

Thread #3

The first thing that bubbled up for Ma’ikwe when she contemplated what might be most satisfying for her as an underfed interest was Art: creative writing, painting, music, ceramics, and ritual—pretty much in any combination. As her partner, I want to support her having the life she wants. When you connect the dots however, this desire to explore her life as Artist may translate into my needing to make more money, to make sure there’s enough flow to meet her household budget. That, in turn, probably means my being on the road more, which is where I’m able to make serious money.

Thread #4

Ma’ikwe’s resurgent interest in writing coincides with my commitment to starting work on a book about cooperative group dynamics that has been rattling around inside me for several years. In fact, we have fantasy about renting a cabin in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula this summer to do a three-week writing retreat together. While it’s unclear how concurrent dates with the same Muse adds up to time together, I figure there’s something precious in there about connecting with the ebbs and flows of inspiration and written expression.

Taken all together, these threads may weave into a tapestry where the weft of my life intersects less with the warp of my wife’s, not more. I have my personal pursuits and she has hers. I have my callings and she has hers. While this wasn’t how I was hoping our lives would entwine, I’m nonetheless dedicated to her having every bit as much choice as I have, and living the life that seems most promising to her. I have no image of our partnership thriving if it’s based on constriction and my limiting her choices. While it’s not yet clear how we’ll be able to pull this all off, that’s the challenge in front of us.

It’s early days, and Ma’ikwe has not made any decisions yet about what she’ll choose. Our marriage is still young and we’re testing the resiliency of the weave, and what partnership ultimately means to each of us as individuals. While I’ve never felt closer to her than I do at this moment, it’s ironically less clear than ever how we’ll nurture and extend this precious weaving. It’s uncertain how much time we’ll have together at the loom, with one hand on a shuttle and the other in each other’s.

Funding Community Where You Are

Last Wednesday I was in Yellow Springs OH. For a couple hours in the evening I was the featured presenter at an FIC House Party—which is a gathering of folks interested in community, where everyone gets to hear from me what the Fellowship is up to, hear my pitch for why that's important in the world, and is then asked to write a check in support of our work. At the end of the night I had garnered about $800 and had fun in the process, getting folks pumped up about our efforts to build a more cooperative world.

It's the third House Party I've done (the other two were in Seattle and Ann Arbor) and it's one of my favorite activities as the Fellowship's chief fundraiser. In addition to help balance the budget (we can always think up good ways to use money faster than ways to earn it), I'm building personal connections with our constituency, learning first-hand what's exciting for them and how community touches their lives. In short, I'm building community in the process of promoting it. How good can it get?

In Yellow Springs, before I gave my 20-minute spiel about FIC's history, its current program, and the opportunities for everyone in the room to take up an oar on the Fellow Ship, we did a Go Round where I invited participants to speak briefly about their connection with community. The answers were touching—both to my heart, and to other threads in my life:

o Many lived in Yellow Springs, and connected with community that way. Though a small bedroom village in the outer orbit of Dayton in western Ohio, Yellow Springs has always had a special feeling of community by virtue of being the home to Antioch College since 1852 and the residence for many years of Arthur Morgan, author of the seminal work, Small Community, which advances the premise that small communities are the essential building block of a healthy society. While Arthur did not limited his focus to intentional communities, he was definitely promoting the idea of developing local communities with intention. Since 1940, Yellow Springs has been the headquarters of Community Service (CSI)—now styled the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions—a nonprofit devoted to the promotion of Arthur's thinking. The House Party was being held in the home of Faith Morgan & Pat Murphy. Faith is Arthur's granddaughter, and Pat is the current Executive Director of CSI.

Yellow Springs has developed a rich community heritage by virtue of a citizenry motivated to Create Community Where You Are (which has been part of FIC's core mission since 2005). This reputation has attracted others who have been Finding Community Where You Are. In both cases—whether one is a community pioneer or a community settler—residents are cherishing what they have.

(Faith, incidentally, is my age, and it's awesome for me—who has lived in community for 35 years—to have a contemporary who is not just a fellow lifer; she's third generation community.)

o One participant had attended the Arthur Morgan School a Quaker-based boarding school for grades 7-9 in Celo NC. My daughter had gone there in 1999-2002.

o Three people in the room (Ray & Pat Olds, and Don Hollister) had been part of the founding of Communities magazine in 1972. FIC took over operational control of Communities in 1992, and I'm the publisher of that periodical today.

o Faith, in conjunction with CSI, produced the video The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peal Oil, which is a terrific example of a society responding with creativity, dedication, and optimism to the challenge of drastic changes in their access to energy. It's the inspiring story of how one culture built community in response to crisis. FIC is a purveyor of hope as well, especially when anchored by community building.

o One attendee lived for years in Argenta BC, an alternative community enclave nestled in the Kootenays of southeastern BC. I have a dear friend who owns land there and used to be on the staff of the Argenta Friends School. She has been regaling me for years with stories of life there.

The House Party happened because two local people—Faith Morgan and Don Hollister—agreed to put it together. They sent out the invitations, they promoted it locally, they provided the refreshments… they took time out of their busy lives to make it happen. While FIC provided the names and addresses of people in the area with a known interest in community, all I had to do was show up and make the presentation. It was a partnership, and successful House Parties—not unlike successful communities—aren't possible without partners.

Inspired by Faith & Don's example, Raines Cohen & Betsy Morris have signed up to host a House Party in Berkeley next year. Does anyone else care to put their hand in the air?

Feedback on Giving Feedback

Last weekend I got valuable information from friends—again—about how I don't always pay enough attention to my audience when offering reflections about what they're doing. It's humbling to reflect on how many times I've had the chance to digest this lesson over the years, and still haven't gotten the job done.

There's a certain irony here in that I'm getting feedback about how effective my communication is about how effective I think others are in their choice about how to communicate their thinking. Talk about chasing one's tail (not to mention the pot calling the kettle black)…

Here's how it played out. Back in August I was the overnight guest of two married friends and I inquired about what the man had been up to lately. He's an interesting guy and he had an interesting answer. He's concerned about sustainability and energy consumption, and has been focusing in particular on how this relates to residential housing—decisions about which tend to have longer lasting consequences than most energy choices, such as diet and transportation.

I was stimulated by the conversation to think about how to apply his conclusions to Sandhill, and got excited about the idea of embracing the concept of a passive home (one so carefully constructed that the heat from occupants and appliances is sufficient to meet space heating needs, obviating the need for a furnace or wood stove) to construct my community's next building, perhaps as early as 2011. This technology has the potential of reducing the energy usage in homes by 90% and could make a real contribution in efforts to build a world that works sustainably.

At the same time, the man was troubled by what he felt were misleading claims by architects and builders relying on LEED certification to reduce energy consumption in the construction and use of buildings. He was concerned that the savings claims were specious and giving the public a false sense of progress.

Without making an assessment of about whether the facts were accurate (I'm in over my head in that regard) it caught my attention that he was making the choice to spend a significant fraction of his energy on challenging LEED claims, rather than on promoting his alternate solution. This strategic choice was what I was trying to give him feedback about (not about the importance of the topic or the soundness of his conclusions), but the conversation didn't go well. Worse, I persisted in trying to give my perspective (mainly by saying it repeatedly, with increasingly greater animation). Not surprisingly, this was not an effective tactic. (Why does anyone think that saying the same thing louder and/or faster is ever an effective choice in the face of resistance or misunderstanding?)

Worse, I came away from the August exchange thinking that at least things had ended on an up-note, because I had concluded our conversation by focusing on how impressed I was with his ideas about passive homes. Last week, when I spoke with the woman, I found out that the man felt I'd "chewed him out" in August. Yikes! That hadn't been my experience at all. The woman then proceeded to recapitulate the man's position about the LEED problem, working from the understanding that I hadn't heard what her partner had said two months ago. This was depressing. Apparently I hadn't been clear with either of them. When you take into account that I teach communication and how to constructively navigate moments when there's a significant difference in viewpoints, this bordered on embarrassing. How did I misread what was going on so badly?

As best as I can reconstruct it, I was attached to having the man hear my thoughts about why I thought it was a better strategy to emphasize positive alternatives rather than dwelling on what he didn't like about others' suggestions. For his part, the man had a considerable investment in his analysis and probably felt threatened by my critique. In retrospect, I realize that I had assumed he'd be interested in my reflections, and hadn't bothered to check that out before launching into my analysis (Mistake #1).

That error was compounded by my insistence on restating my "insight" when he didn't seem to get it. Never mind whether I was right or not about what he understood: I had ample evidence that he wasn't finding utility in what I was offering, and I kept hammering away anyway (Mistake #2).

Topping it all off (third time's the charm), I didn't bother to check out how the man felt afterward. Since I was doing OK, I assumed he was also. (Apparently, I was determined to make a hash of the exchange.) That was Mistake #3, the dimensions of which only got revealed to me last week when I got reports from two different sources about how hard the August conversation had landed for the man.

As hard as it was to hear all that, it was important that I ultimately got it, and thus have a chance to do it differently in the future. Stephen Covey encapsulates this lesson in the following nugget: Seek first to understand, and then to be understood.

Maybe someday I'll actually live that way.

Sounds of Silence, Part Three: Silence in Consensus

Communication is a huge field, and obviously integral to understanding cooperative group dynamics, which is where I work and play. In this field, one of the trickiest things to accurately interpret is silence. I want to talk about what it means when people aren't talking, and I'm offering this as a four-part harmony, one blog at a time:

Part One: Silence in Conversation (Oct 1)

Part Two: Silence on the Road to Speaking (Oct 8)

Part Three: Silence in Consensus

Part Four: Silence on Email

The roots of consensus follow two main historical threads: one is the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) and the other is a Native American tradition, especially the tribes of the Iroquois Federation. Among Quakers it is understood that silence means assent. In that culture it is the responsibility of each member to speak his or her mind. Meetings proceed at a pace where there is ample spaciousness for each person to voice their views, and if a member of a Quaker Meeting chooses not to speak it is understood that the group can move forward on solid footing.

In contrast with that, it is my understanding that the reverse was true among Native American cultures. There, silence was understood to be a withholding of agreement, and no decision could move forward until everyone had spoken.

Upon reflection, it’s obvious that you could go either way on this. The important thing is for everyone to understand which way to interpret silence in your group. After working for decades with contemporary groups using consensus, I’ve found the best solution is generally a hybrid. I ask groups for permission to interpret silence as assent on procedural matters (“Here is my summary of the conversation so far: ____. Does that seem complete and balanced?” or “I suggest that we alter the focus of the conversation from X to Y; is that OK with the group?”), yet typically insist on some active sign from each member about their views when asking for formal agreement on a proposal. I figure the stakes are fairly low when it comes to how the group focuses its attention, and fairly high when it comes to determining policy. I’m willing to go for a streamlined approach to questions about how the meeting will progress, and then slow it down for decisions establishing agreements that will bind the group into the foreseeable future.

Absent an explicit understanding about silence, it's easy to understand how the group can get into trouble. For example, a member may feel that they have nothing to add to the conversation and is not speaking out of respect for the group's time. However, someone observing that member may not be sure that's what's going on. You may guess that the member's silence is out of confusion, or possibly because they're still cogitating about what they think or how to express it. (For this reason, it's common for consensus groups to encourage members who have not addressed a topic to voice something like, "So-and-so speaks my mind" to let others know that everything is copacetic rather than unsettled. It's a simple step that can dissipate the fog and needn't take more than a few seconds.)

In addition, silence in meetings can be a powerful tool in shifting the energy or in shifting the level of engagement. It can be terrific, for example, as a change of pace. When discussions get bogged down a moment of silence can help members step back, take a deep breath, and remove themselves from unproductive wheel spinning by reflecting on what's already been contributed—the better to identify what might have not yet been voiced, or to identify what potential connections between statements have been overlooked. Alternately, silence can be used effectively to ask participants to drop into a deeper level of connection, perhaps where people speak from their hearts more than from their heads.

While the potency of this approach tends to diminish with overuse, it can nonetheless be a valuable option if used sparingly, and in the right moments.

In groups which embrace the autobahn philosophy of open discussion (no posted speed limits on how quickly one person speaks after another), an occasional moment of breath-taking can dramatically alter who feels comfortable entering the traffic flow, resulting in input from the shyer folks in the room—people who may otherwise never be heard from.

If you're part of a consensus group that doesn't normally work much with silence, I have the same advice that Dr. Zeuss offers regarding green eggs and ham: Try it, you may like it!

Why Intentional Communities are Important

I'm in Berea KY, attending the Fellowship for Intentional Community's fall organizational meetings—three days of fun and stimulation conversation with friends and fellow zealots. All day long, we talk about community, swap stories, discuss strategies for building cooperative culture, and scheme about ways to balance the budget. I love it.

One of the highlights of Day Two was listening to Board member Raines Cohen discuss the activities and missions of a variety of organizations engaged in efforts to build a better world that involved some aspect of community building. The Board's job was to sort out what role we might play in collaborating with these efforts.

This involves a number of steps. First, what do we think we're good at? I believe the answer here—the thing that intentional communities are better at than anyone else—is using a relationship-based approach to problem solving. As much as any other segment of the culture, we're learning how to handle tough issues without leaving anyone behind. We're learning the skills needed to get all of the stakeholders to the table, solicit what's crucial to each, identify the common threads, and figure out how to create an environment of curiosity and openness in which to manifest a solution. While I believe this is enormously valuable, it's interesting how little demand there is for what we know. I can't tell whether others don't believe intentional communities have this skill (perhaps because our experience is considered too alien, or because we're thought to be running away from society's issues), whether they think they have it as well, or whether that skill is not important. It's baffling.

Second, how should we approach these groups to make an offer of support? Often, the trick to getting a good reception is learning as much as possible about what your audience is really looking for and starting to build your bridge from their end—rather than insisting that others come to you. It can come as a shock to many activists that not everyone shares their agenda or that others organize reality differently.

Third, where do we think there's a sufficiently strong connection that we'll get a positive response—in other words, what attempts are worth our time and effort. This is often about as scientific as reading tea leaves, and requires sussing out what feels most likely to work. Because there's not enough time to try everything, you have to make choices. (There is a tendency to feel frustrated when efforts fail, and it can be a challenge to find the patience to give others a sufficient chance to warm up to your overtures. Hang in there!)

Trying to succeed at inter-organizational networking can be like fishing. Sometimes there are long stretches between nibbles; sometimes there's no fish in the pond; sometimes you're using the wrong bait. The thing to keep in mind is that the skill needed to make connections with other organizations is exactly the same thing that's needed in build bridges between stakeholders—that thing I posited at the beginning of this blog that we community people are so good at.

Do you suppose the universe is trying to tell us something about how far we've come on the path to perfection?

Going Like 60

I enjoyed a unique and touching 60th birthday celebration over the weekend.

Friday
It started propitiously enough when Jennifer Martin drove over from Dancing Rabbit Friday afternoon, clothed in more attitude than fabric. Arriving in a skimpy black teddy, black leather boots, long black gloves, and a choke collar, "Mistress Jennifer" got everyone's immediate attention. With an affected British accent she directed me—with crop in hand—to get my things together with alacrity and get in the car. While I was not all together certain what "things" would be needed for what lay ahead (there was a scroll directing me to bring an overnight bag, wine, and cash in small, unmarked bills, but that didn't actually cut the fog much), it was clear I needed to make choices quickly.

Hastily selecting some festive apparel (like Jennifer, I also chose a ruffled black top; unlike Jennifer, my selection—a shirt—covered more and accentuated less), I got in the car and away I was whisked for the three-mile ride from Sandhill to Dancing Rabbit. I tried, with partial success, to concentrate more on the driving than on Jennifer's decolletage and we'd only barely (so to speak) gotten into the topic of sex toys when we'd arrived and I could gracefully effect a change of subject. (Where was the weekend headed??)

To my amazement, the birthday celebration started at the Milkweed Mercantile, the not-quite-finished Eco-Inn located smack in the midst of Dancing Rabbit. My birthday dinner (the first of two) was their inaugural restaurant event, and Ma'ikwe and I were the first overnight guests at Kurt & Alline's inn. So it was an auspicious occasion for more than just me.

In addition to my surprise at seeing the Mercantile ready for service (my immediate impression was of the warm glow of flames dancing in the fireplace, complemented perfectly by the array candles happily flickering on the elegant table), guests started popping out from behind the furniture. First there was Tony, handsome in a red vest, followed by his partner Rachel, in a long print dress. Given that they're both good friends and live at DR, their attire was more unusual than their presence, so I took this first "Surprise!" in stride.

When I turned to my left however, it was shocking to find my sister Alison smiling back. She lives in Chicago. I had hardly digested that before her eldest son Allan added his "Surprise!" to the chorus. He lives in Iowa City. After finally managing to get a kiss from the party impresario, my wife Ma'ikwe, I was urged to look around a bit more closely, and discovered to my furthering surprise that a second sister was in the room—Kyle, all the way from San Antonio. Holy moly, this was getting more special all the time.

After that initial burst, the rate of surprises slowed down a bit. There was time for appetizers and drinks (which I pretty much needed by this point). Other local guests drifted in and I was able to catch my breath. (And, since Jennifer had demurely changed into an evening gown, so could others.)

After a half hour or so, the door popped open and an eager black dog skittered inside. It was one of my granddogs: seven-month-old Yoshi. He was followed immediately by his owner, my daughter Jo, just in from Ohio. Holy Toledo, now they were arriving from different time zones!

This level of surprise was sufficient to get us to dinner: dressed spinach salad garnished with slices of Asian pear, followed by a main entree of lasagna, capped off with tiramisu and dessert wine. Lovely! Somewhere between the main course and the dessert, the door burst open again. By this point it could have been Santa Claus and I wouldn't have batted an eye. Instead, it was Betsy Morris and FIC-Board member Raines Cohen from Berkeley. (Would Max Lindegger from Australia be next?) While not exactly mythical figures, Raines & Betsy are legendary travelers and world-class social butterflies, so it only made sense that they'd make an appearance. After all, there was a party going on, right? (They were en route from California to Kansas City to DC to Berea KY, and I guess Rutledge is sorta on the way.)

It was both confusing and wonderful to have at the same table so many different elements of my life, all happily commingling: my sisters, my daughter, Rutledge community connections, FIC compatriots, and even one of my bridge partners (though Jennifer usually dresses differently for the Kirksville duplicate club). While the numbers were not large, the mix and energy of the evening was satisfyingly evocative of Ma'ikwe's and my wedding in April 2007, and that's as good as it gets. Ma'ikwe was wise enough to know both how meaningful for me this would be and that I wouldn't ask for it. Therefore, she didn't ask.

There were no new arrivals after that and the party broke up around 10:30 (poor Alline was patiently reading in the corner, wondering if she'd ever get to bed). That meant that Ma'ikwe and I had the inn to ourselves for the rest of the evening, which we took full advantage of to celebrate in ways that were equally special yet beyond the scope of this blog (and you thought I didn't have any boundaries).

Saturday
After a leisurely morning in bed (read more celebration), Ma'ikwe and I drifted next door to the DR Common House and our morning coffee ritual. Eventually we were joined by all of the out-of-town guests and Ma'ikwe conducted a tour of DR. While I knew most of her spiel, there's been so much going on at DR (20 people have been accepted for residency this year, and there's more new construction then at a gold strike boom town) that it was good to get more current on what the neighbors are up to.

The tour ended at Ma'ikwe's new house, which is now only a fortnight away from being enclosed enough to be able to occupy and heat for the winter (which is very exciting). Alline catered a lunch for us at the house site, after which Allan had to depart for his regularly scheduled life back in Iowa City (though not before he got to share with me a 120-minute IPA from Dogfish Head Brewery, which is worth every penny of the $10 it costs for a 12-oz bottle).

Then the party progressed (as progressive parties do) to Sandhill, where Jo and I were the surprise dinner cooks. I had been worried about being home for five days and not contributing at all to the cook rotation at Sandhill, but my clever wife took care of that. Knowing that there isn't much I enjoy in the world more than cooking (and eating & drinking) with my kids, she arranged that Jo & I got to be the cooks for the second birthday dinner and we merrily spent five hours in the Sandhill kitchen putting together the following repast:

o Fresh mixed green salad with homemade vinaigrette dressing (aka Laird sauce)
o Sliced tomatoes and red onion marinated in homemade basil aioli mayonnaise
o French bread with brie and baked garlic
o Roasted sweet potatoes
o Homemade pasta with a choice of sauces:
—Onions and garlic, slowly caramelized in sage butter, olive oil, and black currant wine
—Mushrooms Berkeley (shiitakes, onions, and green peppers sauteed in butter and then cooked down for hours in sorghum, mustard, wine, and worcestershire)

Nobody went hungry.

Then it was back to the Mercantile for birthday cake (a choice of spice cake with maple frosting, or carrot cake with cream cheese frosting), ice cream, and a second round of partying. After getting all sugared up we watched a video that none of us had seen before: Geoph Kozeny's footage of Ma'ikwe's and my wedding roast, held the night before the ceremony in April 2007. It was just as funny the second time.

After that, we tapered off with a round of Skittles, a wooden game of Appalachian heritage that has been in the Schaub family since before my birth. (Is there anything more grounding than traditional foods, ritual activities, and convivial friends and family?) It's played in an open box that is approximately four feet long, two feet wide, and eight inches high. The box has partitions and there are 15 five-inch high wooden pins (turned on a lathe) that are set upright on designated locations around the box. The more obscure the location of the pins, the more they're worth if you knock them down. The game is played by taking turns winding up wooden tops with string and then releasing them into the box. Your score is the value of the pins your top knocks down. There are tricks to getting a lot of action out of your top, yet it's a mistake to think that your score doesn't depend substantially on luck.

Just as the tops eventually wound down, so did us revelers. After about 30 minutes of Skittles, bed beckoned to us all and the second day drew to a close.

Sunday
This was my actual birthday, yet it worked better for most of the out-of-towners to celebrate early and use Sunday as get-away day. Thus, my sisters and daughter were gone before Ma'ikwe and I had arisen from the luxury of the Mercantile's down comforters.

Again we started with coffee (which is not much different than saying I got out of bed, or the sun rose in the East). After a leisurely breakfast, we schmoozed with Betsy & Raines and then I headed down to Ma'ikwe's house to install the stove pipe for her wood stove. On Saturday I got to cook; on Sunday I got to do some construction. It made me happy (as Ma'ikwe knew it would) to be able to bookend my birthday with the opportunity to be constructive with my hands.

Although rain shortened my work day after about five hours (you can't caulk a roof penetration in the rain), I was able to complete the trickiest part—building and installing the fireproof pass-through, where the double-wall stove pipe goes through the insulated ceiling. That means the ceiling rafters will be ready for the drywall crew expected today. Whew.

Right before sundown, with rain clouds rolling in from the west, I went home and did yoga, which was a fitting conclusion to my birthday. I realized as I was stretching, that yoga was the last thing I'd done before Jennifer appeared on Friday. So while it may be questionable whether I ever got the hang of my birthday, I'm confident that I got the yin and the yang of it.
Afterword
I want to close with a reflection about connection and the threads of life. In addition to the straight forward joy of unhurried time with friends and family (which I'm pleased to report are not mutually exclusive groups), it was a delight to see how things naturally tended to flow in sequence.

o Two years ago I had asked Alison to bring Skittles to Ma'ikwe's and my wedding in Albuquerque, but there was a lot going on and it didn't happen. On the occasion of my birthday, which I didn't even know Alison was attending, she brought Skittles on her own.
o Friday night, after Ma'ikwe had created an ambience which echoed our wedding, Alison presented me with a framed statement of our wedding vows which she had calligraphed and gotten all the wedding guests to sign as witnesses. While I knew this was in the works, it was the first time I'd seen the finished product, which will be mounted over Ma'ikwe's and my bed.
o Saturday evening we watched for the first time the video of the wedding roast, after which we had queued up a game of Skittles. It was eerie to hear Ed Pultz (an original Sandhill member) say halfway through the roast that he "was surprised that no one had mentioned Skittles so far." I had forgotten he'd said that.
o I next depart home tomorrow, for the start of a 16-day trip. My first stop will be Berea KY to participate in the FIC's fall organizational meetings. It will be my first time I've ever in Berea… which just happens to be where Skittles is made.

Are there ever any accidents?

Birthday Surprises

I'm not typically big on birthdays. This year, however, I may not have a choice.

In two days I'll turn 60, and Ma'ikwe has been plotting for months about how that should be celebrated. I've been told to keep my schedule completely free from Friday afternoon through Sunday morning—that's about 44 hours worth of surprises. So even if I remain not big on birthdays, I reckon this year my birthday will be big on me. (And I'm fairly confident I'll have some great blog material come Monday morning.)

As I'm not the kind of person who tries to wheedle clues out of people, I truly have no idea what shenanigans my wife is up to. I'm just going to let the Force guide me—and hope it's guiding her as well. My mantra will be WWYD: what would Yoda do?

As it happens, Ma'ikwe turns 40 in early February, which means that no matter how out of control things get over the weekend, I only have to wait a little over three months before I have the chance to get even. (Ma'ikwe is fully aware of this, yet I'm not sure whether that knowledge is injecting some sobriety into her machinations, or egging her on to even greater excess in the hope of enhancing the luster of her own hour(s) in the spotlight of a milestone birthday. As I doubt my wife has ever met a lime she didn't embrace the light from, this could go either way.)

• • •

I just got home yesterday from a week in Colorado, and was eager to spend last night in the same bed with Ma'ikwe, but it was not meant to be. I depart early next Tuesday for the fall FIC organizational meetings (to be held Oct 30-Nov 1 in Berea KY) and I chastely stayed home (I live at Sandhill and Ma'ikwe lives at Dancing Rabbit, three rainy miles away) to compose as many of the five reports that I'm responsible for authoring for the meetings as possible. Whatever I don't accomplish before I enter Ma'ikwe's Birthday Blackout Zone this afternoon will have to be completed Monday.

I might have gotten a few of the reports done while I was in Colorado, but other than treading water in my email In Box, that time was fully subscribed by meetings about cooperative business consulting, and helping a friend rearrange the tables and (deck) chairs among the titanic mess that is her apartment.

I've never seen anyone with such a robust collection of empty boxes—all so that she won't have to spent much time re-manifesting them when she next decides to move. It borders on being a fetish. (Although partially peeved by the problem, I didn't presume to posit the possibility that the proliferation of paraphernalia in her penthouse has produced a predictable pattern that will plausibly precipitate the very peregrination and attendant distress that her procurement of plentiful boxes was meant to be prophylactic against.) I'm telling you, irony is wasted on some people. (While my observations may or may not be illustrative, at least they can be alliterative.)

The way I see it, these boxes—as in mounded so high they rain on your head or grab at your ankles whenever you try to access a shelf or a closet—are manifesting their own destiny and, sooner rather than later, she's gonna move.

For all that though, I had a great three days with my friend. We talked at length about her life choices (she's got to find a way to live in community again—living alone doesn't really work that well for anyone, but especially if you're 67, thrive on collaboration, and are trying to juggle multiple health challenges), we overhauled the furniture and organization of three of the rooms in her apartment (everything but the kitchen and the back hall closet—which has a density and tottering quality reminiscent of the legendary Fibber Magee's closet), and even managed to watch a video each night (making a modest dent in our near-hopeless backlog of Movies We'd Really Like to See).

Those three days were an excellent example of how time with friends is a major quality of life issue. In order to fully enjoy the bounty that close friendships can bring, you have to cultivate the garden of your relationships. That means spending time together where you are not always constrained by the need to be on task. One of the secrets to making my life work is that I've figured out a way to accomplish that despite having a To Do List that never reduces to a single page.

While being on the road more than half the time means I'm often away from my wife and my community (things that go on the debit side), I am richly compensated by getting to do work I love (Benefit #1) with stimulating people (Benefit #2). Less obvious are the ancillary advantages of being able to regularly see friends around the edges of my work, by extending my travel to come early and/or stay late once business has brought me to a location (Benefit #3), and by making the choice to travel by train whenever possible, thereby protecting time for reflection and transition in a life that has otherwise crowded that out (Benefit #4).

So, if you want to spend time with me, you prospects are best if you to come to Sandhill when I'm home (good luck), attend an event I'll be at, or get me work in your area. There are also possibilities if you get married and invite me to your wedding, or arrange to travel with me.

Next Tuesday I'm looking forward to spending the day with Tony Sirna, as we drive together to attend the FIC meetings in Berea. That'll supply us with the luxury of about 560 miles of visiting time. Like Ma'ikwe, Tony lives at Dancing Rabbit. Though he's a close friend and lives in the same building as my wife, we rarely hang out together when we're both in Missouri. Instead—because we're both busy guys—we've gravitated to a friendship that is substantially cultivated during blocks of time spent traveling together, usually en route to Fellowship Board meetings. While that's a somewhat exotic solution, the important thing is that it works.

And in the end, that's all that counts.