The Confessions of Ira Short

Living in the desert is to have a front seat to life at an almost primal level. That is, if you're paying attention. For some, like the desert marigold, life is a brief event, a brave foray into an inhospitable world. According to my reference it "thrives in dry, poor soils, in "extreme heat". The volunteer rye grass that sprouted up after the early rains has withered and died all around it, but the marigold soldiers on. Here on the sun-baked strip of bare dirt next to the street, it puts up a handful of small flowers to attract a pollinator, so that it can go to seed and spawn a generation of children it will not live to see. In more favorable areas, there are armies of marigolds crowded along the street, bright yellow advertisements for spring. But here there are only a few, like pioneers trying to stake a claim in a new land. It is not simply a matter of enduring the heat and lack of water and nutrients that the marigold is facing. Jostling for resources a...

Ahead of me, the freeway is dotted with cars, white and black and shades of gray. In the distance, a single red Mustang maneuvers its way through the monochrome blocks. A bank of clouds hangs ominously over the freeway ahead, black and white and shades of gray. San Gorgonio Pass Runs about 20 miles from the Highway 62 junction (where I get on Interstate 10), to the summit, roughly the junction with Highway 60 in Beaumont. Wikipedia informs me that it is one of the deepest passes in the contiguous 48 states, as it divides two peaks rising 9,000 feet above the valley floor on either side. From the desert floor to the summit of the pass is a rise of about 1800 feet; it's a long and gradual incline for 20 miles. This is one of the reasons the railroad came through this way in the middle 1800s. The steam locomotives still had to work pretty hard to go up it, so they put in a station to re-fill the water tender. Banning grew up around that. The freeway follows the railroad tracks. ...

I've been here before, this place in my life. Maybe it's a stage, rather than a place. It's a restless feeling that nags at me, like a splinter in my mind Part of it is annual. I don't like the short days of winter, I like sun and warmth ... part of why I live in the desert. When the days start to get noticeably longer, about the middle of March, it starts. I come out of hibernation, and I want to be doing. Cabin fever yields to spring fever. But there's also a longer cycle, and about every 8-10 years a deeper assessment takes place. A consideration of where I am, and where I want to be. Sort of a pause to get my bearings, and check the map. 10 years ago I made some major changes, changed tack, and headed for the horizon. A lot has happened since then, mostly good, some not so much. A course adjustment is in order; I'm not lost, just off a couple points to windward. My mom was really good at guiding me through a few of these. I didn't recognize it when...

I had my first epiphany (in the Joycean, secular sense, not the religious one) when I was in second grade, standing next to the telephone pole across the street from my house, talking to the girl next door. I don't remember how the conversation came up - it was probably one of those challenges kids throw at each other, of the "I know something you don't know" kind. The problem was "what is 3 times 2"? I couldn't tell you exactly what she said that triggered it, but at that moment a clear vision of two sets of three appeared in my head. 3 times 2 actually meant 3, two times. All I had to do was add them. Mostly what I remember though was the sensation - that feeling that a door had been opened in my head, that "ah-ha", light bulb moment. That brief moment when it seems you can touch something eternal, a glimpse into the infinite. Decades later, they still happen. I would really miss them if they didn't. On one level, I know that it is ...

So much of our time is spent on routines, doing the same things over and over, day after day. With repetition comes habituation. After performing the same actions enough times, we get to a point where we don't really have to think about what we are doing, we go on automatic pilot. This is the whole point of an athlete practicing their skills, in an effort to commit them to "muscle memory", to sharpen their reactions to a point where they become almost subconcious. But habits can be a two-edged sword. On the one hand, it does facilitate the performance of repetitive tasks, reducing them to a series of simple, well-worn steps. This allows us to accomplish mundane tasks with a minimum of effort. It gives us a sense of security in knowing that we have the day-to-day aspects of our life under control. These seemingly positive aspects of our routines become negatives after long use. The rote following of a learned behavior means that behavior is no longer being examin...

Even though I'm back to getting up in the dark because of the time change, my commute still has its rewards. That snow will be gone soon. So much of our time is spent on routines, doing the same things over and over, day after day. After awhile it becomes a habit, we become blind to it; "just another day driving to work". Yesterday afternoon I was doing yard work ... OK, I was cleaning up after the dogs. I do it every weekend, and the next weekend I'll have to do it again. It was fairly warm yesterday, and I was enjoying the warm sun on my back. I worked my way around the yard, head down, searching the sloping ground. When I reached the bottom, I stopped for a moment to scan the yard to see if I missed anything, and I briefly caught a flicker from the corner of my eye. I turned my gaze up to to look. From the empty lot across the way, dozens of butterflies were flying towards me. These were not the lazy summer butterflies that dance aimlessly from flower to flowe...

Time is a construct we have created in order to explain our presence in this precise instant. Since the future is unknown - to the point we have no idea if it will even occur - our only point of reference is the immediate past. Where you are right now is only understandable in the context of where you just were. The words I am writing right now are not in fact what I am thinking at this exact moment. Between the time the idea comes into my head and the time that the words appear on the page an entire of range of activities takes place that creates the sentence on the page. Although my perception may be that this occurs almost simultaneously, there is a measurable delay between the thought and its exposition; I am describing something that has already happened (the thought). In the meantime my thoughts have continued on to form the next idea which will then be converted into action (typing) that yields the next sentence. After the fact. From the point of view of my consciousness...