The Rogers

The Elusive Big Idea – NYTimes.com.

In the past, we collected information not simply to know things. That was only the beginning. We also collected information to convert it into something larger than facts and ultimately more useful — into ideas that made sense of the information. We sought not just to apprehend the world but to truly comprehend it, which is the primary function of ideas. Great ideas explain the world and one another to us.

I have always made lists of small ideas, thoughts, things to do. I have on- and offline lists that I am constantly trying to merge into a master list. I do this for writing – to remember story ideas – and for other facets of my life. The longer-run outcome of keeping these lists is that they evolve, as I learn to understand them and distill their content into some larger more meaningful (or at least more useful) thing that I can implement or use to create.

Do you keep lists? If so, are they on- or offline? The people want to know!

One: Last night, Lindsey and I finished watching The Apartment starring Jack Lemon. It won five Academy Awards in 1960 and has a handful of good quotes. Here are a few:

J.D. Sheldrake: Ya know, you see a girl a couple of times a week, just for laughs, and right away they think you’re gonna divorce your wife. Now I ask you, is that fair?
C.C. Baxter: No, sir, it’s very unfair… Especially to your wife.

C.C. Baxter: That’s the way it crumbles… cookie-wise.

C.C. Baxter: You hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you.
Fran Kubelik: Shut up and deal…

Fran Kubelik: He’s a taker.
C.C. Baxter: A what?
Fran Kubelik: Some people take, some people get took. And they know they’re getting took and there’s nothing they can do about it.

I was surprisingly entertained by the film because I usually find the acting in older films to be overly dramatic – like the actors are trying to act. In this movie, that wasn’t the case. It was humorous and entertaining. Does anyone know if there are any remakes?

Two: This morning, I managed to finish shoveling half the driveway about fifteen minutes before the plow truck arrived. I was concerned that we hadn’t met the five-inch threshold and he wouldn’t come. Turns out I was wrong, but put in a good workout early.

Three: Tonight, Lindsey and I went on a nighttime hike through the back part of our lot and along East Shore Road. In reviewing saved articles after retiring to the couch to watch Michigan v. Virginia Tech, I happened upon the following Robert Frost Poem titled, “Dust of Snow”:

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

My day was just fine, but the cold fresh air filling my lungs is a good balance to sitting in front of a computer for a large part of the day.

That lovable guy to the right is Monsieur Yogi Bear Rogers, and he is either testing the purity of the snow or expressing his feeling towards us for not naming the house after him. (The condo was named, “Chez Yogi Bear – Mr. Slobber Face.” Or something like that.)

While Yogi was braving the blizzard, I was parked on the ol’ living room couch at Mom and Dad’s house watching MSU keep up and eventually overtake Georgia. It was nice to sink into the cushions long enough to leave a dent, and I was glad to see Mark Dantonio win his first bowl game – in triple overtime, no less. We’ll see if U of M can put on as good a show tomorrow as MSU did today and the Lions did yesterday.

Much of the rest of the day was spent organizing for the year ahead. Scanning, sorting, PDFing, etc. Such is life in a digital world. For all the benefits of technology, we spend the time saved having to sort through the overabundance of communications that no one would have dreamed of putting on paper twenty years ago. (Or so I assume, as I would have been ten years old and didn’t correspond much at that point in my life.)

Which leaves me with two inquiries for each of you:

1. How do you organize your digital content?
2. Who’s going to win the Sugar Bowl? UM or VT?

Introduction

Good Evening and welcome to the Double Dogleg Daily. Writing daily is a goal for 2012, and this daily email newsletter is one way to accomplish that. While the Daily may evolve between now and December 31st, I expect to include an interesting hyperlink and a look at the most recent 24-hour’s news from our hillside. Also, I promise to keep it short, but cannot promise that it will always (or ever) be pithy. I’m just not that interesting.

The History of the Double Dogleg

We have nicknamed our new house the “Double Dogleg.” If you are not an avid golfer, a double dogleg is golf hole that has two bends. For example, it would curve to the right from the teeing ground to the landing area and then curve to the left from there to the green. These are rare and can be challenging. Like a double dogleg golf hole, our driveway turns left and then right as you ascend to the house. We’ll see if the name sticks!

Lately, I’ve wanted to erect a ranch sign over the driveway. However, it does not look like this is permissible per the Peninsula Township Zoning Ordinance. Instead, we can install what is termed a “name plate” sign. The maximum height is four feet and max square footage for the sign is three square feet. So, come summer, when you’re driving E Shore Rd, you can look for the “Double Dogleg” sign and both know it is us and know what it means.

Happy New Year 2012!

Our tree is similar to this, except much taller. I removed the sombrero that I had placed atop the tree and will soon put our sparkly gold star on. Merry Christmas!

During 2011, Lindsey and I spent at least one night in each of the cities listed below. We hope to travel more in the future, but had the wedding and house purchase to contend with this year – worthwhile events for which to stay put, if you ask me. This was the most amazing year of my life, and will be tough to top going forward. Instead, my focus will be on loving every day I get to spend with Lindsey, enjoying time with both of our families (our united family), and anticipating the big events in others’ lives – marriages, babies, retirements, birthdays, etc. I am happy and can’t help but smile while I write this. I will speak for both of us when I wish everyone the Merriest of Christmases and a Happy and Prosperous New Year!

• Traverse City, MI – (Hometown)
• Ishpeming, MI – (Grandma Rogers’)
• Marbella, Spain – (Honeymoon – destination)
• London, England – (Honeymoon – return trip*)
• Chicago, IL – (NFDA Conference)
• Troy, MI – (Christmas shopping and Trans-Siberian Orchestra)

*The night in London was spent sleeping – or trying to sleep – in the baggage claim area of Heathrow Airport. Lindsey slept a little and I did not sleep at all. I paid for it.

Since buying the house, I’ve started carrying around a black journal in which I semi-compulsively write all of the various chores, projects, purchases, etc. that need to be accomplished. “Stress Inducing Log of Expensive Projects” might be a better term for the journal. Regardless, I wrote the following passage in it this morning:

I woke up early this morning to do some work before going to work. However, I’ve spent the first ten minutes of my extra hour looking for the coffee filters, which Lindsey had moved while unpacking the hundreds of kitchen things we (apparently) own. I spent another ten minutes waiting for my toast to toast in the toaster oven that had been shifted and, unbeknownst to me, unplugged. Now, I’m sitting in sweat pants and a hooded “Michigan” sweatshirt with hiking boots on as a precaution for having to chase after Yogi if he decides to bolt into the woods.

I wrote the last sentence about hiking boots before I put them on, and just before Yogi actually did chase after a deer. So, instead of running after the dog in boots, I was in yellow Dutch-shoe slippers. I ran around our little house, through the pricker bush thatch, up the large hill, and down half of the other side of the large hill, all the while yelling, “Yogi! Yogi! Yogi!” It was dark, I was cold, my slippers were ruined and the moral of this story is that we need to fence the other half of the yard.

We bought a two-point-six acre wooded lot with a house and detached garage on it. It’s got everything we want – good school district, room to run, and shared waterfront. We are very thankful that this worked out, and will be working very hard to spruce up the new digs.

Today, I spent six hours raking the lawn areas and removed some overgrown ivy-like plants from the front corner of the house. The grounds are already looking far better. Just in time for snowfall.

I was less successful in selecting the correct garage door remote. I chose grey. Should have picked purple. No biggie.

Yogi Bear the dog has no idea what is going on. He’s like a lawyer on vacation. He stays by my side and can’t seem to relax for fear of being left behind. Once he settles in, he should have a much improved life, as he’s not meant for a condo.

Our stuff is still in boxes and spread all over, but the house – the feel of being home – is taking shape. It won’t be long and we’ll be in order and have a house warming party for ourselves.

Balance in life requires a certain efficiency. I strive to mosey through life excelling at what I choose to do while avoiding conflict and leaving a lasting impression on people. Finding ample time for family, friends, self, work, and play is a life-long journey. It is in the pursuit of excellence in each of those endeavors that I find myself constantly refining my inefficiencies. As I make progress, the puzzle pieces, which initially overlap as a stack, separate and lay flat to fill my day. There is a graceful flow from self to family to work to family and play to self. That is the general arc of the below-described routine. The caveat is that to expecting the puzzle pieces to fit perfectly, or to make a perfect fit the goal of my life, evidences two failures: 1) such a pursuit or goal would result in my settling for less than that of which I am capable and 2) such a pursuit or goal would evidence my failure to recognize that the overlap of one area with another can improve both – or another.

Port: The port of call was 17. She was looking pretty and lean. In her white jeans and light blue tank with a butterfly on her breasts. I watched the world go ’round on her dark-lensed Ray-Bans – sailboat loaded by deckhands, speedboat misbehaving on sunken badlands, sun hanging over the white sands.

Pressed: She pressed the soft inner flesh of the orange against the rotating mound of the juicer. Her knuckles were white. She was standing on the tips of her toes. And the bangs she had just tucked behind her left ear fell in front of her eyes. The juice flowed through the built-in strainer and into the collection glass, ready to be consumed by our hungry little monsters (the children). It was 9am on Saturday morning. Our family was together. There were no youth sporting events or men’s golf leagues to attend. It was just the four of us sitting on the plush pillows of our kitchen nook, eating pancakes and fresh-squeezed orange juice while watching the rain trickle down outside.

Playground: The playground at Pathfinder School – my elementary school in Traverse City, Michigan – wasn’t the typical open field or lot with over-sized toys. It was the wood and all of its components. The myrtle-covered hills, the overgrown wander paths, the elder trees, the soft blanket of brown leaves and the black dirt a farmer would love. I could explore and wander about. I could play games. I could even get lost if I dared to do so.

Dense: The denseness of the flesh of the Honeycrisp apple surprised him as he eased his butcher’s knife through the varying diameter of its body. Still shaken by the rusty blue pick-up truck clipping his dog earlier in the afternoon, his hand was unsteady. The black carbon handle of the knife, which he had just rinsed in the double-basin stainless steel Kohler kitchen sink, was wet. The ball of his right hand, located just below where the index finger joined his palm, was the primary source of pressure on the top side of the knife handle. He leaned into the motion and pressed down harder. His eye twitched. His nose tingled. He sneezed. And then, unknown to him, his hand pressed the knife down through the apple and the index, middle and ring fingers of his left hand. The world seemed to freeze in place as he stared at the grotesque still life depicting two halves of an apple laying open on the antipodal points of what used to be a whole apple, three detached fingertips aligned behind the left apple half and a pool of blood seeping across the backdrop like anti-gravity curtains in an upside down theater.

Link to OneWord.com, which prompts me with each of the words and provides one minute to write about that word. Sometimes I run long.