About Me

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Husband, father, grandfather, friend...a few of the roles acquired in 61 years of living.  I keep an upbeat attitude, loving humor and the singular freedom of a perfect laugh.  I don't let curmudgeons ruin my day; that only gives them power over me.  Having experienced death once, I no longer fear it, although I am still frightened by the process of dying.  I love to write because it allows me the freedom to vent those complex feelings that bounce restlessly off the walls of my mind; and express the beauty that can only be found within the human heart.

Astronomy Picture of the Day

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Where I Want to Live


Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

I want to live in a place where people wake up with the promise that as long as they draw breath, they can make a difference, if not in the whole world, at least their corner of it.

I want to live in a place where friending someone is done over a back fence or a cup of coffee, and not over an artificial electronic network.

I want to live in a place where a conversation consists of more than 140 characters.

I want to live in a place where a smartphone or tablet is a tool, not a way of life.

I want to live in a place where the television is reserved for those times when the weather is too inclement to go visit the neighbors.

I want to live in a place where people watch out for each other, rather than investigate each other.

I want to live in a place where people know their neighborhood, and their neighbors, better than the back of their hand.

I want to live in a place where government knows that the people are their bosses -- not the other way around.

I want to live in a place where people know, and kids learn that the decision to solve one's own problems is the hallmark of being an adult.

I want to live in a place where people know that the most common source of one's difficulties is not government or society, but that familiar face in the mirror.

I want to live in a place where people realize that no matter how fervent their views, there exists the possibility that they may be wrong.

I want to live in a place where debate is a respectful, meaningful process and not a weapon of war.

I want to live in a place where people are kind to each other, for no other reason than "just because."

I want to live in a place where differing opinions don't automatically mean we should hate each other.

I want to live in a place where people are grateful for what they have, not envious of what they lack.

I want to live in a place where people can sing the national anthem loudly and proudly without one shred of self-consciousness or judgement.

I want to live in a place where people prove their discipleship, not by words, but by their everyday actions.  Especially when they think no one's looking.

I want to live in a place where people recognize that a diverse community is a human community.

I want to live in a place where wealth is an opportunity to give back, and poverty is not an invitation to give up.

I want to live in a place where people know that politicians and pundits, if not held accountable for the truth by their own followers, will lie with ease and without conscience.

I want to live in a place where people do the hard, time-consuming job of research to form their own opinions, rather than mindlessly parrot the statements of their leaders.

I want to live in a place where people respect each other's journey, and don't judge the destination.

I know in my heart that somewhere, such a place exists.

Which is why I wait with great anticipation for interstellar travel.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Another Birthday...

Yeah, I feel like this sometimes...

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

A few days from today, the anniversary date of my arrival in this world will arrive.  This has always provoked a time of deep thought about where I am, where I've been, and most importantly, where I'm going.  I think that's a common thing among adults, especially as those years begin to pile up.  

I've discovered that there are three phases of attitude towards birthdays:

(1) Celebration
(2) Denial
(3) Acceptance

These phases are tied to whatever age we find ourselves.  The Celebration phase is strictly for the young.  At that point, we are happy that for at least one day, it's all about us.  We get gifts, a sugary treat (or several), and a measure of indulgence from others.  We get excited and happy, and it's usually a day to be remembered, at least until the next one rolls around.

I see this phase lasting up until about the early 30's.  By then, we begin to notice the subtle signs of age creeping up.  A slight loss of energy.  Maybe we don't have the stamina we used to have.  Getting out of bed in the mornings becomes a bit more of a chore.  And where we used to burn the midnight oil with relative impunity, now it's much harder to stay up late, and especially wake up the next morning.  It's no coincidence that this is when most of us are neck deep in raising children and pursuing our careers.  As a result, we have very little time that really belongs to us alone.  Also, we begin to sense the passage of time.  We can see the years behind us, and are beginning to realize that the years yet to come will not be the carefree devil-may-care ones that we might have wanted them to be.

This is when the Denial phase begins to ooze into our thinking.  We know that we are getting older, and we don't want to get older.  As we move into our 40's this becomes especially acute.  We begin to review our life, and seeing only missed opportunities, or chances that we didn't take that we should have.  Our conversations with ourselves more and more start with the words "If only..."  Into our mid and late 40's is when our little birds begin to flee the nest, and we discover that the thing which consumed almost every minute of 20 or 25 years of life is suddenly gone.  Those times of fun and chaos are gone, and we are left with a silent, empty house, and a phone that now never rings often enough.  If we have done our jobs as parents, then we have bequeathed to the world fully-formed adults, capable of standing on their own two feet, and making their own way through life without subsidy from us or the government.  But in that success we also mourn the idea that suddenly we aren't needed anymore.

Once we get into our 50's and 60's, we recognize that time is going to march forward regardless of how vigorously we try to hold it back.  We also know that every day, our bodies and minds are going to slide a little bit.  And in the not-too-distant future will be that day when we will be confined by senility and senescence to a home, a chair, and eventually, a bed.  The thought of that makes us a bit sad, so while we accept the signposts of those birthdays, now we realize more than ever how important it is to celebrate, not only a birthday, but every day.  Because now we know for certain that these days have numbers; and once they pass, there's no way to get them back.

For me, I am fully into the acceptance phase.  This will be number 62, in terms of birthdays, and the recent years have been more and more contemplative in nature.  I've stopped regretting my past, because it is a useless exercise to mourn something that is by its nature unchangeable.  If I make a wrong turn on the freeway, I just have to go to the next exit and go back the way I came.  Life doesn't work like that.  There's no replay button, or U-turn opportunity.  What has happened, has happened, and whatever the consequences, I am either stuck or blessed with them.

How much longer will I go?  Hard to say.  I have a long list of medical infirmities, but on the plus side, I'm exercising more than I ever have in my life.  I have dropped over 30 pounds since retiring, and in terms of health, am better off than I have been in decades.  I now have the time to pursue the joy of writing, something that was hard to find time to do before.  This is important because doing things you love to do adds years to a life.  My father died just before age 80.  My grandfather was killed while trying to put a locomotive back on the rails.  My great-grandfather lived to age 80-ish, so it may be that my road has yet a ways to run. Or, I could be smacked by a truck next Wednesday.  Either way, I know that each day is a gift, one to be unwrapped and savored to its fullest.  To celebrate the rising sun is, I think, a fine way to go about living.

In that respect, every day is now a day of celebration.  I will work the opportunities that the day provides, and for once, I will let tomorrow take care of itself.

Sunday, May 07, 2017

The Search for "Home"

Oakwood Homes, Inc.

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

One of the major steps in a relocation is finding a place to live.  Our situation is more than a little fluid, since I'm retired and Cheryl is a Travel Nurse, working a series of 13-week contracts in a variety of locations.  

Part of the adventure of being a Travel Nurse, or Traveller, is the excitement of going to a completely different place for each new assignment.  Since we haven't really decided where to live yet, that's an important opportunity. Visiting someplace for a few days doesn't really provide the best perspective. Living there for a period of time, however, gives you a chance to "try it on for size."  You not only see the front parlor of the community, but also the dirty basement, allowing you to make an informed decision.

For us, the list of possibilities is long and varied, driven by factors such as economics, proximity to grandkids, and available activities.  Included on our roster are places like Las Vegas, Denver or Colorado Springs, Kansas City, Amarillo or Lubbock, Seattle, Honolulu, Phoenix, and Provo, Utah.  Yes, their all decidedly on the western side of the country. We had our fill of the east after 12 years of high costs and ridiculous traffic and now yearn for more agreeable surroundings.  Each place on the list has its own set of charms and flaws, and some are more affordable than others.  But the most important factor is that indescribable and unquantifiable sense of "home."

Home is not so much a place as a feeling.  It embodies all the positives of safety, privacy, comfort, and sense of ownership (even a rental).  And family.  For so many, "home" is a place of memories.

I've lived in a lot of places, but there have only been one or two that met that nebulous definition.  On the road for so much of my life, when people ask me where home is, I simply reply, "Wherever the motorcycle's parked."

In the four months that we've been in Colorado, it has begun to grow on us.  The hardest part was acclimating to the altitude after living at sea level.  When we first got here, going up a flight of stairs was exhausting.  Now, we're finding it much easier to get around without wheezing and whoofing.  Lately, we've begun to explore the possibility of settling here.  The drawback, something that lies at the very heart of our considerations, is cost.  Denver and its surrounding areas have been defined as a "hot market" for real estate.  That's never good news for buyers.  The houses are uniformly expensive and selling rapidly, even though hundreds more are being built every month.  And prices continue to rise.  In January, we looked at a particular new home, but couldn't pull the trigger.  Last week, we discovered that same home had increased some $40,000 in price since then.

Wednesday, May 03, 2017

Altitude and Attitude

Aurora Reservoir Trail, Arapahoe County, Colorado

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

It's been about four months since we quit Northern Virginia for Colorado, embarking on the latest chapter of our life.  The first month here was rough for me.  I was trying to get used to the idea that I had no job to go to while mourning the end of my career.  I finally decided that I could no longer sit around feeling sorry for myself and turning my back firmly on the past, began to look resolutely towards the future.

There were a few things that I embraced towards that change in perspective.  One was my grandchildren.  They are fascinating little people, and a joy to be around.  Having pulled myself out of my funk, I really began to enjoy being with them.  Another thing was the completion of my first novel, Tales of Barely, Missouri, (available on Amazon Kindle for $2.99).  This was, as I noted in my last post, a real turning point for me.  I had proven to myself that there was something I could accomplish outside of my former life.  The early reviews are very good, and I hope that those who decide to spend the money find as much enjoyment reading the book as I had in the writing thereof.

The third thing was a continuation of the activity I had been doing back east, walking and hiking.  

Here in suburban Denver, every community it seems has a plethora of trails for walking/running/biking, most multiple miles in length. Some, like the Smoky Hill and the Piney Creek harken back to the time when this area was all open prairie, and those trails were the immigrant highways by which thousands traveled westward.  My only beef was the term "trails," which as an experienced hiker I took to mean dirt paths.  Alas, practicality has prevailed and these "trails" are actually concrete sidewalks. For dirt trails, one has to go westward into the foothills of the Rockies.

One of the things I learned very quickly was the significant difference in the oxygen content of the atmosphere here in the Mile High City versus the coastal Appalachians of Virginia.  There, I hiked roughly 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail through Virginia.  The highest ridge I had to climb topped out at about 3,500 feet.  Just walking on a sidewalk along Colfax Avenue here in Denver puts you about 2,000 feet higher up.  

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

My First Book, and the World Created Therein


Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

"Writing a story about a place 
calls that world into existence."
--Alan McCluskey

About six years ago while crawling through the impossible traffic that inundates the Washington DC metro area, I allowed my mind to wander a bit.  In that short-lived ramble, an idea came to me as a sort of a formless, nascent presence.  Over the next few months, I allowed that idea to toss about my mind, kind of like a sock in a dryer.  Eventually, the idea took a more substantial form from which a myriad of possibilities sprung.  About nine months later, I sat down at my computer and began to give life to those possibilities.  Five years hence, that promising genesis has grown into that most difficult of enterprises:  My first book.

This past week, after two months of invaluable therapy provided by my editor, the incomparable Dr. Gayle Herde, this long-awaited accomplishment went live on Amazon Kindle, under the title "Tales of Barely, Missouri."

In my late professional life, a big part of my job as an intelligence analyst was taking a simple idea and shepherding it from birth through analysis to completion.  It always felt like an accomplishment, particularly since the subject matter was always excruciatingly difficult.  But this was different.  This was personal.

Monday, March 13, 2017

The Last Real Team

Eric Hosmer's mad...no, insane dash home
and what was the penultimate moment of the 2015 World Series.
© 2015 Newsday

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only.

It was magic.  There's no other way to describe that moment on a cool November night in New York City when Wade Davis blew a third strike past the buckling knees of the Mets' Wilmer Flores.  The Royals, after coming so close the year before, and coming so far from the previous 30 years, had been crowned baseball's World Champions.

To say that the win produced a cascade of celebration would be to labor in understatement.  While Kansas City rocked in joyous emotions, it was remarkable to observe that this midwestern metropolis wasn't the only place where the cheers could be heard.  This team, marked by such pluck, courage, and unity, had earned a following across the nation, and across the world.  Everyone remembers the Korean superfan and Seoul-mate Sungwoo Lee who expressed such a deep long distance ardor, that he was actually flown to Kansas City for a visit.  That summer, my wife and I were in France, and during that whole visit, my Royals cap inspired a host of smiles and spontaneous conversation from Parisians.  

It isn't hard to discover why that team was so popular.  Their youth, unity, that never-say-die attitude were all elements to that wide acclaim.  But I think the thing that really got to people was that these guys were having fun!  Baseball was still a game to them, and behind those infectious grins everyone could see the 9-year-old that still lived within.

2016 was a disappointment, but understandable.  Any team in any sport that parks five all-stars on the disabled list for extended periods of time is going to suffer.  But that passion never left them.  Alex Gordon's wrist certainly bothered him more than that titular Sgt. Rock would ever admit.  And close to the end of the season, it was painful to watch Lorenzo Cain try to swing a bat with one hand.  But through the swarm of injuries, that desire, that love of the game never wavered.  Even though they missed the playoffs, to Royals Nation, they were still our champions.

Friday, March 10, 2017

The Challenge of the Final Frontier



NASA, Apollo 8

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only

Curiosity.  Wonder.  That persistent desire to know the unknown, to answer the unanswerable.  It is a fundamental part of our human makeup, whether a scientist or explorer, or any of the rest of us taking a stroll around a new neighborhood, visiting a new store, or shopping center;  perhaps vacationing to somewhere we've never been. However the desire manifests itself, it is a link, perhaps even a bond that connects people across culture, nation, and ideology.

From the first stirrings of conscience, humans have ever looked to the skies in wonder.  At first, the sky and its myriad points of light was populated with figures risen from imagination; omnipotent, angry creatures with unimaginable power who required unquestioned fealty and sacrifice in hopes of staving off their destructive revenge. Eventually, science replaced gods with objects, stars, galaxies, clouds of gas and dust, and now we know with certainty, other planets.

We don't yet know if there is life out there, although some of the exoplanets offer tantalizing possibilities.  Our current limitations of physics and the human lifespan keep them at a frustrating arm's length.

A host of galaxies from the Hubble Ultra Deep Field, Hubble Space Telescope

But perhaps that is not such a bad thing.  As a species, we insist on being at war with each other, whether the weapons are words or bullets.  Until we learn how to get along with each other, we have no business bothering anybody else. The stark reality is our refusal to let go of these conflicts means there is no common voice for the people of planet Earth.  Who among the contentious nations, cultures, or religions truly speaks for humanity?

Monday, March 06, 2017

"The Big Short" and The Curse of Earned Cynicism

The U.S. housing market in 2008.
(US Atomic Energy Commission/Department of Energy)



Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Written Content Only

Movies come out by the dozens every year, some good, most so-so, some which were not worth the effort.  But once in a while, a film is released that touches a nerve, opens some eyes, and changes the way the world is viewed.

For me, such was The Big Short, the cinematic treatment of Michael Lewis' book of the same name which recounted the factors leading up to the devastation of the U.S. housing market in 2008.  

Investment banking, in fact Wall Street in general is something of an esoteric field, rife with its own language purposefully designed to keep from the rest of us what is truly going on with the markets, and our money.  The story is one of shocking incompetence, willful blindness, collusion, and an absolute contempt for the welfare of the public at large.  If you haven't seen it, you should, if you have any kind of institutional retirement account.  Especially if you were one of the faceless millions who were financially raped in 2008.

I'll try to briefly summarize, but it is a complex subject and for full understanding, you need to read Lewis' book and then see the movie, several times.

Wednesday, March 01, 2017

Finding Passion in Words of Freedom

From Monticello.org

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

Of the many things we Americans take for granted, at the top, or close to it, are what are called the founding documents, those incredible collections of wisdom that established our country, and to a large extent, have defined us as a people.  Not to date myself unnecessarily, but when I was in elementary and what used to be called junior high school, I was required -- required -- to read and study the three main documents, the Declaration of Independence, The Constitution of the United States, and the first ten amendments known as the Bill of Rights.  Before graduating high school, I had to take, and pass a civics test which covered among other things, those three documents.  The whole point of that exercise was to ensure that when I became age-eligible to vote, I fully understood how my government worked, and also the principles upon which it was built.

That kind of comprehensive learning is apparently not done in public schools today, which puzzles and saddens me.

Documents of any kind are at their root collections of words formed into sentences and arranged into paragraphs.  The end game is to communicate a specific message to the reader.  But words on a page do not by themselves communicate the emotion out of which such messages are crafted.  The second greatest speech ever given on U.S. soil, after the Gettysburg Address, was given by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at the Lincoln Memorial on a hot and steamy August 28, 1963 in Washington, DC.  Known as "I Have a Dream," it was a powerful cry from a people who, despite being citizens, had been systematically oppressed by the white majority.  Even a study of the text impresses the reader with its message.  But the most powerful element was Dr. King himself.  Drawing on his passion and the shared dreams of the tens of thousands gathered, he turned a speech into an epic tone poem.  The combination of the strength of those words and the power of his delivery created a riveting, and for America, a life-changing moment in our history.  Even today, I can't read that speech without hearing Dr. King in my head.

Such words and moments are borne out of the times in which they are crafted.  It was the same for the the crafters of our founding documents.  These were people who also felt repression; who also yearned for the freedom to determine their own destiny.  There is power in those words as well.  The problem is for the modern citizen, those statements are framed in a somewhat antiquated form of expression which, while clear and distinct at that time, tends to make understanding their full import today somewhat difficult.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

Building Something New From the Rubble of the Past

Ultra Deep Field Image from the Hubble Space Telescope
NASA/JPL 2014

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey

I often find myself in idle contemplation of the universe.  Looking up on a clear night, I can see about 10,000 stars, each one demonstrating to me the finite and the infinite that lies beyond our tiny planet.  I think this is one of the common experiences of all humans, to look and wonder.

My interest has inspired an ongoing quest for knowledge about what lies Out There, and that knowledge has continually fed my imagination.  But in the contemplation of that universe, I have also been able to frame answers to some of my more earth-bound concerns.

The universe has no fixed reference point.  Everything is in motion, and the only accurate thing we can measure is how far we are from a certain object, and how fast we are approaching or receding.  For people whose life is a constant measure of movement to or from a point in space or time, this is truly a difficult thing to understand.  For example, in the time it takes for earth to complete one orbit of the sun, the solar system, which is also in motion, has traveled about 24 billion miles through space.  When we take two weeks off from work and do the "stay-cation," we actually have traveled some 910 million miles.  Too bad we can't get frequent flyer credits for that.

But the universe, and all the objects within, is not in a static condition.  It's not just that stars and galaxies are in motion, they are constantly changing.  With an inexpensive telescope, one can point it at the constellation of Orion the Hunter and see in the "sword" portion of that group a place that glows in molecular gases.  


Within the dark cloud of the well-known Horsehead Nebula, gas and dust is being compressed and heated.  Eventually, stars will form here.  If you had the patience, and the lifespan, to watch this cloud, you would be witness to stellar creation.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Hiking, Part 43




Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Words and pictures

Today, in our fifth week as Coloradans, we took to the trails to take our first hike since moving here in January.  For the last three weeks, I had been industriously walking the concrete paths (I won't call it a trail unless it consists of dirt, rocks, and roots) around the southern part of Aurora.  I have been working my way up in distance, and am now doing 8 miles at a stretch.  The point of that being to get my lungs and legs ready to tackle the trails that course through the front range foothills, and eventually, the Rockies themselves.

The biggest challenge has been adjusting to the altitude.  I have to keep reminding myself that the tallest peaks I climbed in Virginia are still 2,000 feet lower than the feet of the mountains we see here.  We have been asking people how long it takes to get acclimated, and get answers ranging from three months to three years.  And I believe that.  Even the simple act of climbing stairs still leaves us a bit breathless.  Where the strain shows is in tackling inclines.  Walking on flat ground is not terribly taxing, but let that path start to ascend, and immediately the lungs begin to work desperately hard to pull what little breathable oxygen exists in this huge sky.

Today was Cheryl's day off, and we decided to attempt our first dirt hike.  Our daughter recommended the William F. Hayden Green Mountain Park, a 2,400 acre expanse on the western edge of the Denver 'burb of Lakewood.  When you get out of the car, you're standing at about 6,050 feet altitude.  The summit at the top of the park is 6,800 feet.  On the Appalachian Trail in Virginia, a 750-foot ascent is just part of the hike.  The highest peak I attempted there was Hogback Mountain at just under 3,500 feet.  I remember that day, and how tired and sore I was at the end of that particular trek.  So, by that measure, a mere 750 feet should pose no problems, right?

Thursday, February 09, 2017

The Mess of Role Reversal

Chicken Parmesan....

...and Italian-Style Meat Loaf
Picture credits?  Not sure, but 
they're all better at cooking than I am.
Why is it mine never look this good?

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only.

It's called "role reversal," that part of human interaction where two people (usually married) at some point trade jobs.  In our case, my retirement freed up a lot of time that normally would have spent working productively at a job.  Cheryl, because of the economics of her retirement, still works, something she reminds of each and every day.  Because of that, it became necessary for me to undertake a new set of expectational chores.

I'm not a Neanderthal, by the way.  I do laundry, fold n' iron, make the bed, and attend to various other household chores, and have been doing this for most of my adult life.  Most of the time, without being told...er...reminded.  Now I have been asked to undertake the task of providing sustenance for the evening meal.

Cooking, for me, has always been a mystery.  When the kids were smaller, I did my duty on the nights when Cheryl was stuck at the hospital, which usually involved some form of hamburger helper, or something frozen from Sam's Club.  Attempting creativity was, shall we say, not greeted with anything approaching enthusiasm.  In fact, once our oldest got his driver's license, Chef Dad nights became for them Chez McDonald's.

As the years rolled on, it became apparent that cooking was just something beyond my ken.  I stuck to those things I knew I could execute, french toast, eggs over easy, omelettes, and anything microwavable.  Some of the manufacturers, in a stroke of genius, came out with those "meal in a bag" items.  I loved this.  Didn't have to add, mix, measure, or guess.  Just unbag it, put it in the oven or pot of boiling water, and within 20 minutes -- Voila! -- a tasty, (mostly) nutritious meal.  More importantly, the end product actually looked like the picture on the bag.  As long as you didn't look to closely.  

Saturday, February 04, 2017

They STILL Say the Darndest Things

Ian Couey
Photo © 2017 by Yukyung Couey

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only.

"We can waste a lifetime 
of study and contemplation
 pursuing the truth of life, 
when all we really ever had to do 
was ask our five-year-old."
--R. F. Couey

Last month, in my farewell address to my colleagues, I encouraged them that while they were navigating the maelstrom that spins through their lives, to be alert for those marvelous moments of the now.  It can be too easy that while we are fully focused on the "have-to-do's" and "gotta-be-there's" that crowd our schedules that we can become unaware of those moments when they occur.  Those magical snippets can become golden memories.

Art Linkletter had a television show in the 1960's called, "Kids Say the Darndest Things."  The format was delightfully simple.  Art sat down with some kids, what today would be called a panel, and asked them questions.  The wonderful attraction to the program was the delightful and incredible things that came out of the mouths of those babes.  Young children are very prone to saying what is exactly on their mind, lacking, or perhaps ignoring, the social filters that keep such utterances from adults locked firmly inside.  As they grow older, they become, in a way, more cynical and less frank, and of course, much less entertaining.

Our grandson Ian just turned six years old, and has always been a reliably hilarious source of such gems.  He is very intelligent (yeah, yeah, I know.  ALL grandparents say that.), but in the last couple years has revealed a real sense of humor.  And a very contagious laugh.

Ian's Mom and Dad began writing these things down for posterity, something we have come to call "Ian-isms."  While this is the kind of thing parents normally save for when they meet the boy's first girlfriend, they are truly amazing, and reflect his active mind.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Getting in Rythm


Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Words and Pictures

We humans are creatures of habit.  A regular routine helps keep us sane, giving each day a slightly different cast, but still managing to help us march through the calendar.  We look at our weeks and know that certain things happen on certain days and times.  For most of us, our jobs and those related activities occupy Mondays through Fridays.  Weekends, for parents, are driven by the schedules of the kids, i.e. baseball, football, basketball, gymnastics, and the seemingly never-ending soccer season.  For some, Sunday means church followed by an afternoon either watching or playing sports, or just taking a snooze on the couch.  This makes our days fairly predictable, if frenetic.  As I have discovered, there is safety in that routine.

Schedules, whether we like them or not, run our lives, and when there is a major change to that routine, we are left adrift; confused and gasping for air.

One of the things I have had to get used to, now in my third week of retirement, is learning how to live a life mostly bereft of scheduled obligations.  I used to work Wednesdays through Saturdays, and upon waking up on these three Wednesdays, my first thought was if I had ironed a shirt for work. Then realizing that was no longer necessary.  For decades, I lived my live in suits, ties, and slacks.  Now, it's mainly jeans.  We're still sorting out boxes here in my daughter's house, so I guess you could say I still have a job, albeit a different one.

The really fun thing we've discovered is the freedom we have to go do things without consulting our smartphone calendars.  This week, on a whim, we drove up to Breckenridge, Colorado for a day...just because.  We walked around town, did some shopping, some eating, spent the night and drove home the next day through a driving snowstorm.  Today, we were passing a theater, and decided to go see a movie.  Just like that.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Birds, Brains, and Beauty

From Crafthub.com

Copyright © 2017
by Ralph F, Couey
Written content only

Nature is many things from the violent to the visually stunning.  In some of those things, there is a stunning complexity to the design and execution that would challenge the ablest human artist or engineer.  If we only take the time to slow down, stop, and look closer, we can be amazed.

A couple of autumns ago, I was hiking on a section of the Appalachian Trail near Harper's Ferry, West Virginia.  This section has a very steep ascent called Weverton Cliffs.  The trail zigzags up 600 feet to a hiker's treat, a long, level stretch.  As I was struggling up the hillside, I came across a bird's nest lying just off trail under a good-size sycamore tree.  I picked it up and continued on.  When I finally go to the top, I stopped and sat on a convenient rock to catch my breath.  As I sat there, I began to look at the nest.  This was not the first nest I had seen, but it was the first one I had actually looked at.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

From the Other Side

From Pinterest.com

©2017
by Ralph F. Couey

There are times in life when something huge is looming in our path, a life-changing moment the outcome of which is utterly unclear.  In those moments of shaky anticipation, one can't spend too much time worrying about what may or may not happen. Such breathless foreboding only guarantees the sleepless nights and hollow eyes that pave the road to a nervous breakdown.  

I have adopted the hiker's philosophy implemented at the foot of every long, steep ascent.  One step at a time.  Don't look up, don't look down. Have faith that, even on the Appalachian Trail, hills do eventually end.  To others, this can be translated as "This too shall pass."

Retirement can be viewed in one of two ways. "I'm ready, it's time, let's do this." Or, "I have to do this because the alternative is even worse."  I detailed in previous posts my struggles in recent months which led to that decision.  That my bosses could not have been more compassionate and accommodating made things easier, but in the end, I still found myself on a cold, cloudy Virginia afternoon standing on the outside, looking in.

I'd rather put hot needles in my eyes than re-live the past two months.  But now that I'm on the other side of those events, I can look at them with a bit more pragmatism.  And understanding.

Every change in life involves some kind of personal trauma.  I hated to leave behind...what I left behind.  The exciting, challenging work, the wonderful and awesomely intelligent people I was privileged to work with.  There was cachet in the organization and the mission which lent an air of the extraordinary to my days. As one of my friends put it, "After all this, it's hard to be ordinary again."  There's a tinge of pain to that statement.  Let me hasten to say that this was not about ego, but rather about the personal fulfillment engendered in not just doing work, but performing a mission. We were defending our country, a calling by any definition.

On my last day, there was a ceremony.  People said some really nice things about me, and I gave a perhaps too lengthy speech out of the need to get those thoughts off my chest.  My family was there and got a chance to meet some of those singular individuals.  But after the ceremony, the pizza, and some final goodbyes, I went down to the security office.  There, I sat across the table from a man who had me sign some non-disclosure forms written in very stiff language.  I was read out of my clearances and programs.  I surrendered my badges, and in the final moments, in the friendliest way, I was shown the door.  Several of them in fact, as befits the multiple barriers of one of those undisclosed locations.