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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

SMERKLE GRUMPY ON LIFE AND THE RAIN

– Good morning, Smerkle Grumpy.
– Good morning.
– Thanks for meeting with us again so soon.
– More than welcome, more than welcome.
– So what’s on your mind this morning?
– Mythology.
– Mythology?
– Yes. All of us, or most of us it seems, are tangled up in our respective societies. Our governments, religions, economics, educational offerings, all that. Yet, I think we are missing something.
– How so?
– Well, somewhere recently, actually I think I was watching an old clip of Bill Graham preaching, back in 1979 I think it was, up in Nova Scotia.
– You love Nova Scotia.
– I do, very much. Anyway, he was talking about idolatry. And while it would be entirely disingenuous of me to say I am a practicing Christian, he said something which was spot on then and spot on now. He said we worship ourselves. Humanity worships itself and is, my add-on here, entirely self absorbed. King talked about –
– Dr. King?
– Yes. He talked about our arrogance, how we need to humble up a bit, that the universe is not all about us. Yes, we are part of it, but we don’t own it. The universe is not here to do our bidding.
– Can we go back for a moment?
– Sure.
– How does humanity worship itself?
– Many of us bask in our material creations, in material things, our material selves as if materialism was what matters most. I want a fancier car, a larger home, more money, the fastest computer, the most oil, the fastest plane, the largest muscles. We think that all of life is about us and so we worship us, and that is dangerous to the spirit.
– What are we missing?
– Life. We are missing life.
– Life?
– Large parts of it. How many of us are in such a rush to get to this place or that place that we don’t notice the beauty of an early morning or a sunset of the shape of the clouds in the sky? How many of us pause for a moment to look at the sky, much less consider for a moment that the cloud choreography they are witnessing will never happen again for all time. That every leaf, every bird, everything in nature is unique, nothing that repeats is an exact replica of what came before and therein lies the beauty, the magic and wonder of it all. None of this is beholden to humankind. Life was going on just fine long before we got here.

We wake up in the morning; heads soon buried in newspapers or the Internet or newscasts reeking of all that is wrong and horrible and then scamper off to make money, as much as we can because we are socialized into believing this is our mission, our purpose. Climb the ladder. And it’s a myth! There is no ladder! There is life, and so many forget to live it. We live slivers of it and forget to breathe it all in.
– That’s unsettling.
– It should be.
– What do we do?
– Humble up and live. Don’t build your life on the expectations of others, and by others I mean the society you live in. Life itself, all of life, is so much larger than any society or political design. You can find the answer in a rainfall.
– How so?
– When rain falls it strikes every surface that breaks its fall?
– Yes.
– It does not differentiate between countries or governments. It does not care whether someone is black or white or Asian or Latino of Middle Eastern. It doesn’t care of someone is gay or straight, married or unmarried. It doesn’t care about the belief systems of those living under the roof on which it plays its rhythm.
– And the rain is?
– Life. Life happens to all of us and is around all of us whether we like it or not, and if we accept this reality and allow ourselves to live it, the rewards, the joy, the happiness, the exhilaration is beyond description.
– Thank you.
– For what?
– Clarity, waking us a bit more.
– You’re more than welcome. We’ll talk again soon.
– Thank you, Smerkle Grumpy.

A TALK WITH SMERKLE GRUMPY

– Good morning.
– And good morning to you.
– About time we sat down.
– So they tell me.
– So what’s on your mind these days?
– A general frustration with a lot of things, my own government and my people.
– Because?
– We have a bunch of folks in leadership on both sides of the aisle that knew damned well we were sending our kids to war based on phoney-up intelligence. They should be jailed. There a very few clean hands in Washington and the idea that there are essentially two parties in this country, Democrat and Republican, is basically phoney as well.
– How so?
– There is one party when it comes down to it.
– That is?
– The government. Period. Not the design of the government. Churchill said, “Democracy is the worst form of government in the world, except for all the others” and he was right. But the majority of those in government now are more concerned about keeping their jobs than preserving what democracy is about.
– And the war?
– One of the biggest lines of crap you hear about the war is we are safer, that we haven’t been attacked since 9/11. The problem with that view is we’ve had nearly 4,000 of our kids killed over there, thousands injured, and God knows how many Iraqis and Afghans killed and maimed. They don’t have to attack us here, they can kill us there. How is 4,000 American dead not suffering losses since 9/11?
– Good point.
– Anything else on your mind Smerkle Grumpy?
– Yes – many things, but we can talk about it another time.
– Soon?
– Yes – soon.

THIS AIN’T A MOVIE

Life happens to us whether we like it or not. Neither the stained shirt nor ironed crease protects us from its touch. High School drop outs and Ivy League grads are subject to its touch. The presence or absence of wallet or purse holds no sway over reality. Yet so many of us, me included, have invested a great deal in living anywhere but our own life. Is this subjective on my part? Of course it is. But to my mind there is very little, if anything, that is not, at its core, subjective.

This ain’t a movie, folks. The longer I live and the more I look around, the more I see people acting like they are the people they believe they others say they are supposed to be rather than being the people they are. I see people acting like friends rather than being friends, acting like they are in a relationship, rather than being in the relationship. I’ve seen and been in relationships that present a highly polished exterior when in truth broken parts rusted quietly and not so quietly under the hood. Two good people terrified of letting go of each other, despite their unhappiness.

A friend of mine recently said to me, “You seem to require a mountain of evidence to end a relationship, more than most people.” I was surprised, very. My friend feels that because of my background, which includes its fair share of abandonment and betrayal, my loyalty includes a vein that runs deep and strong and wants to protect someone from the pain I felt when abandoned and betrayed. Perhaps he is right. I do know there are times I am baffled and times I am flat out horrified by the indifference and insensitivity people who claim to like and love each other are capable of inflicting on one another. Is this because so many have donned roles rather than our own lives and are now incapable of measuring their impact on others with any degree of accuracy?

For me, much of this comes down to loyalty. But loyalty to what? Loyalty to the reality that each person’s humanity is equal to our own. If you love someone, the loyalty must be complete and thorough and cannot rest on a nest of caveats. For it to be loyalty, it must be pure. After all, this ain’t a movie we’re in.

DEAR BLOG READER AND THEN SOME

Dear Blog Readers:

I have been moving my pen across pages unseen by others for some time now and must offer an apology to you. There are several reasons for my blog silence: the recent health scare mentioned in an earlier blog essay, a general sense of sadness mixed with anger at my country’s leadership, presidential and congressional alike, the end of a relationship and, I suppose, a quiet internal desire to regroup.

Believe me; things are not as depressing as they might sound. I have determined to respond to the health scare by climbing all the 3500-plus foot peaks in the Catskill Mountains (I’ve climbed four since we last talked) and have set my sights on becoming what is called a 46er; someone who has climbed all 46 of the highest peaks in the Adirondack Mountains. On top of all this, I’ve recently welcomed a new member to my family. His name is Charley.

He weighed in at a sturdy five pounds. He is solid black. Well, almost. There is a sliver of white under his chin. He is, as I set these words down, not more than seven weeks old. Those who know me will not be surprised to learn he is named after the Charley in John Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley.” I adopted him from a rather forlorn family in Dutchess County, New York. When I went to get him the atmosphere was shoddy and unkempt although the family giving him away was perfectly pleasant. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to give up such a beautiful puppy. I couldn’t figure it out, that is, until I noticed a very large Confederate flag hanging on their living room wall. Then their decision to surrender him made perfect sense: as I mentioned earlier, Charley is black.

Over these past weeks I’ve found myself ruminating on the subject of loyalty, or, as I see it, the lack of loyalty between people and between people and nature. I saw a bumper sticker recently that was about as spot on as a bumper sticker can get. It read: “Ignore the environment…..it will disappear”. Truer words were never spoken.

My desire to climb mountains is not without its fear. Fear is a daily presence for me, especially when a day or task calls upon me to leave my home. I am, the large percentage of the time, successful in overpowering the fear. But my first climb on my 3500-plus Catskill endeavor was not easy.

Give a listen:

July 14, 2007

If every decision I made in life was based on how I felt during my first waking hours I would rarely, if ever, participate in life outside my door. This has been the case for me for more than 20 years now.

It is 9:12 a.m. and I am pulling out of my driveway and I’m heading off to Climb Windham Mountain. This is my first step in my quest to climb all 3500 foot or higher mountains in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Hills by some standards, but a formidable challenge for this 53 year old I can tell.

Absolutely scared out of my mind. Quite convinced, I assure you, that something terrible is going to happen and I am going to die there. I am used to this though, I feel this way every time I leave my home.

The more and more I allow myself to be me, the more I realize I am, in fact, the person I always thought I was since I was a little boy.

It is just past 9:30 a.m. when I get my first glimpse of the Catskills. McKenzie (my German Shepherd) is in the back, her ears perked, ready to go. I am now flushed with excitement and joy, the fear is ebbing. Once you get past the early morning fear wall, all the rest is the glory of life. And I don’t give shit how corny that sounds. Sometimes reality can be corny, always reality can be anything.

It is 7 minutes after 10 and I don’t believe we are far from the trail head. I must confess to having stopped and picked up some nature bars for energy on the trail, but that is not really what my confession is about. When I bought the nature bars at the register, I noticed two cinnamon jelly donuts under a lovely plastic dome. I could not resist, and out of sense of fairness, bought them both, knowing they would provide great company to the black coffee I’d purchased.

I think I am close but it turns out I am wrong because someone rearranged the order of the streets last night and my directions have brought me to wonderful T in the road, with no signs and no signs of Route 23, the road that is supposed to take me to the trail head. I spend the next half hour driving around beautiful country roads, past beautiful homes, past horses grazing in well groomed paddocks, with no damned idea where I am. I’ve gotten lost in my search for the trail head.

Finally I decide I’ll go in the opposite direction of that suggested by my directions. I go four miles and, lo and behold, Route 23! I make a right. When in doubt I make a right and I do this on the childish belief that I’d rather do the right thing than the wrong thing. Needless to say, many times I’ve made the right and been, well, wrong.

Now I see the sign and know I’m getting close. I pass the sign announcing that McKenzie and I have entered more than 700,000 acres of the Catskills. Now I know the journey has really begun.

Half way up Windham (I hope!) I encounter a couple in their forties with a Scotty . The woman is from England and calls Kenzie an Alsatian. She apologizes but again calls her an Alsatian. I learn that is another name for GS. She is probably the friendliest Alsatian I’ve ever seen, said the woman. I beam with pride.

A couple of miles in I walk through a stretch of tall pines and the forest floor is a hysterical maze of roots of all shapes and size that go in every direction with no apparent rhyme or reason. I sneaking suspicion that Jackson Pollack might have done this from above, from the beyond.

Here the magic of solitude happens. There is the quiet open room without walls in the mind that allows one to roam anywhere, think freely and openly, with no boundaries, no musts and no mores.

Near the summit. We’re not too far from the summit; there are these moments during this climb where there are these little windows of clarity. Where all of a sudden I am so close to me I can feel me – again – rewrite – there are these moments of clarity, little awareness windows open and I am with me fully or so close to me I can almost feel it…I’m almost real.

I reach the summit at 1:38 p.m. McKenzie and I split a bottle of water, eat some granola bars, and head down. I am joyous.

———

And so there you have it. I promise the entries in this blog will be more frequent. My very best to you all.

Warmth and respect,

Peter

August 27, 2007

Street Signs, Confusion and Speed Means Go Slow

When I lived in New York City street signs made sense. They informed directly, clearly, left little if anything to the imagination of any driver, much less a shiftless driver up to no good. New York City signs said Stop, No U-Turn, Slow, Caution, No Parking, 35 MPH, 40 MPH, and so forth. Some signs were blisteringly clear in their intentions. For example, I saw signs on Sutton Place, a street for the well-heeled on the Upper East Side, that read, Don’t Even Think About Parking Here. Try getting out of a ticket for parking there. “You thought it fella,” the judge would say. “Now pay up.”

It was not until I moved from New York City nearly 20 years ago that I realized I’d been spoiled when it came to street signs. I foolishly thought all street signs were, by default, clear and succinct. I was wrong.

When I left the city I moved to Ellenville in Sullivan County. A beautiful area. The Center of Ellenville sits exactly 10 miles off a State Route 17 exit which blends you right into Route 209 which then leads you through several villages before bringing you to the heart of Ellenville.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, it is, for the purposes of this essay, relevant to note that in 1987, the year I moved to Ellenville, I was not yet sober. I was a heavy pot smoker. Now, when you are a driver and a pot smoker (not a wise or safe combination under any circumstances, by the way), you tend to drive with what you think is impeccable caution. You focus on street signs with what you think is a high level of diligence. You need, desperately, street signs that are clear, to the point. Anything else leads to trouble, confusion, dismay!

Let me say here and now that whoever did the wording for street signs in upstate New York was (or is) a pot smoker. I’ll show you what I mean.

I exit 17 and get onto 209. Initially I see signs that seem fine. Speed limit, 55 MPH. Good, I understand that. I drive 57 miles hour because my pot smoker paranoia tells me driving the speed limit exactly will be too suspicious. A mile or two over the speed limit will signal to any lurking patrol car that I am a, well, normal every day driver. Then I see a sign I’ve never seen before. It reads: Speed Zone Ahead. I think, Cool!, and punch the gas. After all, what the hell else could Speed Zone Ahead mean? Suddenly I’m in a world of confusion. No sooner have I hit the gas and, to my dismay, find myself barreling through the heart of the village, where there are the most people, thank you very much, than I see a sign that says 30 MPH. I quickly slow the hell down, wondering what the hell happened to the speed zone.

Now I see a sign that says School Drug Safety Zone. Now I know I’m not in Kansas anymore. It’s safe to have illegal drugs up here around the schools?! Are these people are crazy? I am beginning to second guess my decision to move from New York City.

Then, I see a sign that almost makes me bring the car to a complete stop. It says, End 30 MPH. But there’s no follow up sign! What’s the next speed limit? Do I just drive any damn speed I want? What the hell are these people doing up here, putting up one sign that tells you one speed limit has come to an end and not telling you what comes next?

All I can tell you is this. When you see a street sign, be careful. It might not mean what it says.