Victory (Part 3 of 3)

In a flash Mitchell... put his thumb in his mouth.  When everyone began confirming that all was lost, he pulled his thumb out again and shot an arrow from an unseen bow he had hidden in his diaper.  It landed on shore just before the Taibhse Lochlannach touched shore.

The Taibhse Lochlannach again let out an evil gáire.  “It is written that the first to touch the shore would win.  An arrow is not sufficient!”  Mitchell simply smiled and waited from Franklin to retrieve his arrow from the sand.  About the same time Franklin arrived with the arrow in his mouth, Seanathair Smith arrived on the island.  Mitchell explained, gugu gah maga. 

It was Seanathair Smith’s turn to laugh.  He explained, “Before the arrow was shot, Mitchell bit off a tip of his fingernail and placed it on the arrow.  The fingernail from the hand of a Smith legally touched the island first.  You have lost!”

The Taibhse Lochlannach let out an evil gáire once again as he said he would be ready in a thousand years time to claim the island and he disappeared. 

Seanathair Smith took Mitchell in his arms as they left for the castle to claim Queen Ruth.  “How did you ever think to use a finger nail to claim victory?” 

“I remember the story of the first Prince and wondered why he chopped off his whole hand when a finger would have been sufficient.  I guess a red finger wouldn’t be so inspiring as a red hand on the Ulster flag, but I am not one for dramatics.  I prepped my fingernail on the beach just before we started the competition, just in case.  I was ready when I had to go to plan B.

A bark from Franklin brought them back to the present.  Mitchell explained as they arrived at the castle that Franklin was actually the King of the Leprechauns on Oileán Thiar and that Seanathair Smith was the guardian of the leprechauns.  You see, the word leprechaun comes form the Irish words leath bhrogan which mean shoemaker.  Smith comes from the word Sheaghshee which means protector of the leprechaun.  The treasure of the leprechaun is rightly the property of  Seanathair Smith.  An dhte treasure of the leprechaun is Queen Ruth.  Everyone smiled because they already knew this.  As they walked through the castle to claim the treasure, Franklin barked, Mitchell translated and Seanathair Smith translated into Gaelic:

Glac bog an saol agus glacfaidh an saol bog tú
Take the world nice and easy, and the world will take you the same.

Off to Ireland (Part 2 of 3)

When the trio arrived in Shannon, they were met at the airport by a small man that introduced himself simply as snáidid.[1]

The snáidid drove them to a cove in a remote part of western Ireland.  Seanathair Smith pointed to a distant Island that almost glowed green against the dark grey sea.  “That is Oileán Thiar Mitchell.  That is where they are holding Queen Ruth.”

As Seanathair Smith finished pointing out the Island, the evil Taibhse Lochlannach appeared.  He explained in a mix of ancient Gaelic and Norse that both Mitchell and Seanathair Smith could magically understand, “It is the contest once again.  We will cross the sea to the Island and who ever touches land first will have ownership of the Island.  The winner will also claim Queen Ruth as theirs.  It is also written that only a Prince of the Smith Clan can compete.  That is why your grandson Mitchell was allowed to travel with you.  He will compete against me!”

The Taibhse Lochlannach let out an evil gáire[2] as he walked to his rowboat. 

Mitchell, whose feet were bound in his corrective shoes and bar, could not yet walk, was carried to his waiting rowboat by Seanathair Smith.  Mitchell said, gugh mugugu gah, which Seanathair Smith understood correctly to mean, “Don’t worry grandfather, I will cross the sea and claim our island and save Queen Ruth.  Just set me on the beach and I will take care of the rest.” (You see, baby talk is a very efficient language).  

The snáidid pulled out a pistol from his cloak and fired it.  The Taibhse Lochlannach began rowing with all his might.

Mitchell stood up, took his thumb out of his mouth, and let out a commanding post nursing burp.  This was a surprise to every one as Mitchell had not been fed in quite some time.  Immediately Franklin ran up to the beach dragging his leash.  Mitchell grabbed the leash and Franklin jumped into the water and began swimming.  Mitchell expertly guided the swimming dog through the waves like a banshee on his way to a wake, on his shoe bar turned ski. 

The Taibhse Lochlannach in his rowboat and Mitchell on his ski were tied about 20 yards from the shore.  Franklin’s dog paddle was meeting the Taibhse Lochlannach’s oars stoke for stroke.  Then it happened.  Franklin breathed in when he should have breathed out.  The momentary wash of sea water in his uniquely delicate nose allowed the Taibhse Lochlannach to move slightly ahead.  It looked as if the Vikings would win and Queen Ruth would be lost to the Norsemen.

---

[1] The escort

[2] laugh

Glac bog an saol agus glacfaidh an saol bog tú .........Take the world nice and easy, and the world will take you the same. (Part 1 of 3)

“In ancient Ireland, a contest was held between the Vikings greatest warrior and the young Celtic Prince. It was agreed that whoever could row their boat the quickest and touch the land fist would be declared ruler of the Emerald Isle.  The Viking warrior was an experienced and able rower.  The Prince was a great horseman, but had little experience with the sea.  The Viking warrior rowed more quickly and was about to touch the shore with the young Prince some 20 yards behind him and farther out to sea. However, the young Prince was declared the winner and inherited the kingdom.”

Grandpa Smith was just about to finish telling this old Irish tale to his great grandson, Mitchell when Franklin, Mitchell’s dog came in the room with a letter clutched tight in his mouth.  He dropped the letter at the feet of Grandpa Smith and began to bark to get his attention.

“What is this?” Grandpa Smith asked Franklin.  Franklin answered with another distinctive bark that sounded a lot like a sneeze.  

“Open the letter grandpa!” suggested Mitchell in baby talk that sounded to anyone else like agu ahh.  Grandpa Smith was the only person who understood Mitchell’s words as plainly as anyone else’s speech. 

Grandpa Smith broke the beeswax seal on the letter, opened the flap and pulled out a piece of beautiful handmade paper. He began to read:

Máistir[1] Smith:

We have Queen Ruth locked in the castle on Oileán Thiar[2].  Come quickly if you want us to release her. 

Tionlaic your grandson Mitchell[3].

Taibhse Lochlannach[4]

 Franklin began barking again.  Mitchell, who could understand Franklin’s words explained, using his secret code for his great grandpa, “Seanathair[5], Franklin says we need to leave right a way to save Queen Ruth.”

Than off we go Mitchell.  It seems Franklin knows what is going on here, so let’s bring him with us. 

So off the trio flew to the Emerald Isle:  Seanathair Smith who could understand the words and wisdom of Mitchell; Mitchell, who could understand the words and wisdom of Franklin the dog; and Franklin, who was the only one who knew the true identity of Seanathair Smith.

On the flight to Ireland, Seanathair Smith explained to Mitchell that Oileán Thiar was the rightful home of the Smith clan and all its descendants, including Mitchell.  The Vikings tried to take the island away from the Smiths a thousand years ago.  “The story I was told as a boy was that the ghost of the Viking king would rise again in a millennium of time to try to take the Island that felt they were robbed of all those years ago.  You see, the story that is told of the Irish Prince and the Viking warrior is true.  It happened just as it is told and happened at Oileán Thiar.  The Irish Prince who was about to lose wanted the Island more than the Viking and actually chopped off his hand and threw it to the Island, this touching land before the Vikings.  Unfortunately, the Prince died shortly after the contest.  You see, he could not tie a tourniquet on his injured arm with just one hand.” 

Mitchell didn’t say a word.  Franklin began to whimper.

---

[1] Master Smith

[2] West Island

[3] Only your grandson Mitchell can accompany you

[4] Signed: The Viking Ghost

[5] Grandfather

 And thus began a simple story shared between a grandson and his grandfather.  

More on this next week.

T E Lawrence and Heros

Some years ago I bought a 1^st edition of 7 Pillars of Wisdom  by T E Lawrence on Portobello Road in London.  I am fascinated by the period of time Lawrence traveled in the Middle East and the subsequent years in which he wrote and lobbied for his Middle East policies.  Walking through the stalls on Portobello Road, and book shops on Charing Cross Road I am also reminded of many other British authors, thinkers, travelers and world thought leaders through history.  For such a relatively small place, it is amazing the amount of fascinating men and women this country has produced.  Is it possibly the Oxford and Cambridge connection?  Between them they produced 135 Nobel Prize winners, Wittgenstein to Santayana, Newton to Hawkings, Keynes to Friedman, Tenneyson to CS Lewis, Wesley to Shaghi Effendi, Boyles to Berner-Lee; 26 British Prime Ministers and over 30 International leaders from King Abdullah II to Aung San Suu Kyi.  But then there are the Churchills and Kiplings that have little or no connection to these schools.

It seems, whatever the reasons for the preparation and timing of many great people, destiny formed some sort of partnership with this island nation.   At the same time they were doing so many things well (according to metrics of that day), they were also doing some things wrong; so badly that they would eventually lose much of the empire on which the sun never set.  But they raised a generation of men and women—many flawed, but with a spark of something few posses.

A new book Hero by Michael Korda provides a fresh look at T E Lawrence and indirectly the time and environment of this era of British hegemony.  Additionally, a map of the Middle East that belonged to Lawrence has been put on exhibition at the Imperial War Museum in London. It was drafted by him and presented to Britain's War Cabinet in November 1918.  The map provides an alternative to present-day borders in the region, apparently partly designed with the intention to marginalise the post-war role of France in the region by limiting its direct colonial control to today's Lebanon. It includes a separate state for the Armenians, a separate state of Palestine, and groups the people of present-day Syria, Jordan and parts of Saudi Arabia in another state, based on tribal patterns and commercial routes.  Korda’s book is one to add to anyone’s library that is interested in this time period, in Lawrence, or the Middle East.  As the title suggests, this is also a book for those who study or are searching for leaders and heroes.  This is a popular pastime, as Francois Keraudy, Sorbonne Professor and French author (and Oxford Graduate) of a recent Churchill biography notes,

“Nostalgia for great leaders when there seem to be so many small ones around.”

The Square Root of an Ash Tree

I have two books I am writing still in rough draft form. One book is done, but I need to go through another draft because it is missing something. I wonder how many more drafts it will take to find that missing thread. Hopefully it will be found before I get so sick and tired of the book that I just toss it in the trash. The other book is only about a third completed and I hate to admit it, but I have sat it on the shelf so many times due to other demands that I have gone through several drafts warming myself back up to the story. That is not (for me) the best way to get a story down on paper. I like to get a very rough sketch of the entire thing completed and then go through the drafting process. I experience the rare sparks of creativity in starts and stops. I don’t know about you, but it always surprises me. Great ideas, well, ideas that inspire me, tend to hide behind the bushes and pop out at the least expected times. And when it happens, I have to go with it, or wait for the next unplanned moment, which can be a very long wait. That doesn’t work well in my “planned and scheduled” world. I need to be independently wealthy, with a small cottage at the beach, where the incoming ocean waves, made higher by morning off-shore breezes from the cold land to the warm water offer the promise of newness and fresh ideas and where the afternoon on-shore breezes actually hold me up. Then, when creativity strikes, I can jump on it and hold it until it eventually slips out of my hands. That would work for me because the wind and the waves would still be there.

I just finished a book on media and meaning, so I suppose I should have some answers to how meaning is created and why it happens. I have some ideas, some tested hypotheses, and some interesting theories, but the actual spark is an awesome and mysterious thing and I think it will always remain so. As Miguel de Unamuno warned, when we dissect something to understand it, we kill it. We cannot know the square root of the ash tree.

So I will continue to write when I can and be surprised when I write something that is really good. It is always worth the wait.

A picture is worth a thousand words

Napolean suggested,

"Un bon croquis vaut mieux qu'un long discours,"

or "A good sketch is better than a long speech".

Some years ago I was entering into a entrepreneurial partnership with a person on the other side of the country. We knew each other fairly well, but needed to give this professional relationship a better chance of survival. He suggested we select a picture that best described our self-image as a business person. He saw himself as a fire fighter. His passion was stepping into the chaos of a company on fire (meaning a company going down in flames, or so hot it would implode of its own heat)and putting its house in order, and then leaving. Below is part of my response to him, plus some additional information and pictorial thoughts that I have added to this exercise since then. I have also used this as a reality check, running it by trusted friends, family and associates. Someone asked me this very question the other day, so I thought i would post some of this info--not so much to know me, but to highlight the value of the exercise.

I suppose if I had to use a one-word description of myself, my passion, it would be “builder.” I love building companies or any organization—maturation of processes, culture, climate, finding potential, creating catalytic mechanisms that avoid having to call firefighters... I want people to go to work excited and go home fulfilled—armed and ready to be a better person in all their stewardships. I am goal oriented, but reaching the goal is only part of the fun. It is like the Nietzsche thought: Not every end is a goal. The end of a melody is not its goal, but nonetheless, if the melody had not reached its end it would not have reached its goal... The following box I clipped from something I had the executive staff in a previous organization accomplish. We did one of those “personality tests”—this one from the book, Now Discover Your Strengths which provided the one word descriptives. We then described ourselves in a paragraph that we bounced off the group for a reality check.

Mike:
Achiever
Intellection
Learner
Input
Belief
I don’t like surprises, but I love a good risky adventure. I don’t like to rock the boat, but I do like to push for understanding—which can rock the boat sometimes. I need to improve my empathy, but I love diversity. I like to learn new skills and become a master at things, but the process is as important as the result. From that growth new vistas are created, new ideas are incubated, questions arise, introspection goes deeper. That intellectual introspection is checked by my values, ethics, and especially spiritual guidance. That guidance demands that I find work that meshes with my values. My actions must be meaningful and make a difference. I need to live out my values or find the job where I can. My actions require new research, study, writing, understanding and clarity; so I read, collect input and seek diversity. From that new input I learn and grow and the cycle continues for another turn. Sometimes I write and seek input too much from others. I think and do and then adjust. I can bend pretty far, but then I am decisive—sometimes to a fault.

Disappointed with Congress

So I am not going to get political here, just talk about manners. I was very disappointed with Congress tonight. It doesn't matter what party someone supports, but when the President comes to Congress and presents his case for an action, he is a guest in your house. You do not yell on live international TV "You Lie!" as Congressman Joe Wilson of South Carolina did. He not only went out on a limb--he cut it off. I was embarrassed for Congress and disappointed in our elected officials. Although shouts are a practice in the House of Commons of many Parliaments around the world, especially during Question Time, it is not the norm of acceptable behavior in Joint Sessions of Congress with a guest. That the guest in this case represents all Americans (no matter who voted for him--and to hopefully highlight my credibility that this post is not another political rant like so many out there I will admit I didn't vote for President Obama. But he is my President)it is doubly reprehensible. There is a movement to donate money to Congressman Wilson's opponent's election campaign. I'm not going there, but if anyone knows where an upset American can write in, let me know. It is times like this that I wish I had more than two people that read my blog. Am I the only one that also is to the bone tired of happy chuckles by Democrats that seem to say "in your ear!" to the other side of the isle and the Republicans that sit there with stern faces and arms folded no matter what the subject is(or with roles reversed some years ago)? Majority Party does not equate to Majesty Party and the Loyal Opposition does not equate to Log Jam Opposition. It is time to be bigger than politics and bigger than getting elected.