A bridge to a manger--five days travel 'til Christmas

"Seeking a Manger," 5 x 7 acrylic Christmas card

“The bridge will only take you halfway there, to those mysterious lands you long to see. Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fair, and moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share the twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there." --Shel Silverstein

"The Precepts of Jesus and A Guide to Peace and Happiness." --Raja Ram Roy, 1772-1833. Hindu scholar, philosopher, reformer, speaker of seven languages, "father of modern India."

This painting didn't start out about a bridge, but a story about seeking a manger, a feeding trough, located in a stable, (barn). But I've often used bridges in my cards, metaphors of journeys and more, and this man I've never heard of considered bridges the link between the past and the future.

For those who are seekers, for change, for something better, nothing is truer, and what is the Christmas season all about but seeking the source of its promise? Crossing a bridge of time from darkness and turmoil, seeking light and peace. Ram Roy's reforms overcame Imperial England for changes, just as Jesus overcame Imperial Rome and the subsequent empires of materialism for changes.

Bridges carry so much symbolic traffic, especially in this season, five days 'til Christmas. Think of the bridges we've crossed in the past, and which ones lie ahead, that we know not, except for one.

Borrowed thoughts:

• The bridge is symbolic of communication and union,--whether heaven and earth of different places. Thus a connection between God and mankind, or passage to reality or crossing to  eternity, 

• Bridges connect one previously isolated place to another, bringing people together. We say "building bridges" when we want unification, not separation. Thus a symbol of hope and connection.

Thus I believe the arts, whether painting , poetry, music, sculpture and more, are bridges, helping people change, see, listen, connecting with emotions and other people. 

Deeper thoughts than I intended when just painting a barn, but I shouldn't be surprised, For I've learned that all paintings, and art, are bridges for stories to tell in their essence, as well as by  the artist or the audience.

Country at top of world, No. 119 on the blog

Mountains speak to me, and to many others, but I imagine they speak no louder anyplace in the world that in Nepal, where a reader clicked on the blog this week, making it the 119th country to have done so.
"The roof of the world" sounds trite, and understates this place I've always dream of visiting for two reasons. The first is the mountains. Nepal is home to the world's highest point, Mt.Everest, (Sagarmatha (सगरमाथा) in Nepali, "Forehead of the Sky"), at 29,029 feet, on the northern border with Tibet/China...and the country is home to 240 Himalayan peaks topping 20,000 feet.

It's not all mountains however, with a fertile, humid lowlands in the south. The other reason I'd like to visit is the name of its capital, Kathmandu. That is just so beckoning of adventure and being far away. I've been fortunate to have one Nepalese student here at UCO.
The country is a little larger than Arkansas and a little smaller than Oklahoma. It stretches 487 miles from from east to west, and from 150 to 250 miles wide, landlocked between Tibet--now ruled by China--and India, with a population of about 27 million.

About 80 percent of the population are Hindus, and, although Gautama Buddha was born in the country, about nine percent Buddhist.
The country was a monarchy  from 1768 until 2008, when a civil war ended and a federal multi-part republic was adopted. There is still turmoil between  the communist party and others, and elections are scheduled for this November.
The flag is unique in the world, the only one not a square or rectangle. Based on a design almost 2,000 years old, red is the national  color and that of the rhododendron. Blue symbolizes beach, and the triangles perhaps the mountains, the two symbols the permanence of the universe. (Some Material for this post came from Wikipedia.)
View a YouTube video of a flight over Everest below:

This gives me a chance to quote my favorite writer, John McPhee, who writes about geography. In Basin and Range, he wrote: "When the climbers in 1953 planted their flags on the highest mountain, they set them in snow over the skeletons of creatures that had lived in the warm clear ocean that India, moving north, blanked out. Possibly as much as twenty thousand feet below the seafloor, the skeletal remains had turned into rock. This one fact is a treatise in itself on the movements of the surface of the earth. If by some fiat I had to restrict all this writing to one sentence, this is the one I would choose: The summit of Mt. Everest is marine limestone."
At the top are 400-million-year-old fossils--the bones and shells of creatures that died in ancient seas--Ordovician limestone. The Himalayas began forming about 65 million years ago when the Indo-Australian plate of the earth's crust moved north and under the Eurasian plate, pushing the rocks up. 
The earth's crustal plates are still moving, India going north more than an inch a year, and the mountains rising up to 10 millimeters a year. That gives you an idea of how long this took, pushing mountains up more than five miles. We are small, and brief indeed.

The blog at 104

From out of the blue, literally, came a reader from the 104th country to have hit on this blog.
I'm pretty good at geography, but I had to look this one up to make sure...
Mauritius...in the Indian Ocean, 1,200 miles east of Madagascar. For some reason, someone from that pleasant little island clicked in.
Here's what I found out...
The island was uninhabited when discovered  in 1507 by the Portuguese.It was the only home of the Dodo bird, which went extinct in 80 years. The Dutch settled it in 1598 and abandoned it in 1710. The French took over in 1715, renaming it Isle de France, and imported African slaves to run the sugar plantations. After Napoleon, the British took over, and abolished slavery in 1835, paying landowners two million pounds for the loss of slaves. They then imported a half million indentured workers from India to work ...gotta have slave labor, even if you call it minimum wage.

The country gained independence in 1992, with a parliamentary government, and about 1.29 million people on the main island and a few others, including 49 uninhabited. It ranks high in freedom, economy and tourism. The flag colors are for the blood of slavery, the Ocean, the light of independence and lush vegetation.
Thanks for visiting reader, and introducing me to another place in the world.

Blog favorites on the birthday

At Black Mesa, March, 2012

Those of you who read this blog, which is now five years old, know I have some favorite topics.
Watercolors, art, traveling, New Mexico, books, family, trains, writing, a little religion. So as I started looking back over these 48 months of blogging, several articles and postings stood out. Here are my favorites.
My favorite--Best writing, humor, mingled with fun and tears--"Booth is a verb--A Love story," which stretched to more than 10,000 words in several posts over two months in August and September, 2009. Here's the link to the first episode, http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2009/08/booth-is-verba-love-story-prologue.html
Travel--lots of these but three are my favorites. First was a tie-- several posts about the USS Abraham Lincoln sailing from San Diego to Everett Washington in April 2011, thanks to former student and officer Steve Curry. When I was summarizing travel since the blog started, I left this out, and should have listed "Pacific." Sorry Steve. Here's the link to the opening post of seven about that "Pirate Proof Cruise" as I called it. http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/04/tiger-cruise-part-one.html.
I'd be hard up to rank it ahead of several posts a year ago this month, on our trip to Alaska...one of the items on my bucket list. Here's the first of 13  posts  in May and June with photos and video and writing. Here's the first link: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/05/alaska-itinerary.html
Also at the top of the list, or near it, was the flight I took on a WWII B-17 bomber on D-Day, 2010. Brother in law Jim Henry and I each paid $300 for the flight over Oklahoma City. They wouldn't let me bomb Republican headquarters, but the posting includes video as well as photos. What fun for a fan of WWII aircraft. Here's the link to one of about four related posts that month: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/search/label/B-17
Other favorites in travel included the trip to India, in March 2011, and to hike Black Mesa in Oklahoma in March, 2012, each with several posts and photos.  http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/03/flight-timeindia-journal-thoughts-i.html
http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/03/to-top-of-oklahoma-and-back.html
Then there are other blog favorites, like humorous conversations with God on tenure, heaven's bar, and church services--check the months of Feb., 2010., Oct, 2011 and July, 2012.
Too many paintings, book reviews , photos and family history, and New Mexico to share. Yes, it's multimedia, but after all these years, it practices what I preach...you have to have good writing first. Thanks for reading. More to come.

Friends and flags

 Among the readers of today's blog are residents of Bulgaria and India, places where I've made friends. I've not been to Bulgaria, though I've had several students from there, all smart, talented, fluent in English and hard-working. They've invited me to come. I'm fortunate to have visited SRM University in Chennai, and have friends there among faculty and students. You can see previous posts of mine, including video, by searching India on this blog. That was two years ago this March. Here's one link from my "India Journal" posts:
http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/03/india-coming-and-oging-video-journal.html

The Indian flag, by law, is to be made of khadi, a special type of hand-spun cloth of cotton or silk made popular by Mahatma Gandhi. Saffron, white and green are the three bands, representing courage and sacrifice, peace and truth, and faith and chivalry respectively. In the center is the Ashok Chakra, a 24-spoke wheel representing righteousness, order and the eternal wheel of law.

The Bulgarian flag has changed over the years, especially with the influence of the USSR, but it's now back to its basic three colors. It was first established at the end of the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78 when Bulgaria gained its independence. White is for peace and honesty.Red represents hardiness, bravery, strength and valor, and green,  hope, joy and love and in many cultures have a sacred significance.
A note on the map. It is no longer Yugoslavia on Bulgaria's western border,  That area next to Bulgaria is now Serbia.

Links to a year ago--India journal

• Thinking of four years ago, I realized that a year ago I was in India.
• Here are the links to those blog posts.
• 
  
• India coming and going, video journal
• Into the future, India Journal impressions
• Gandhi and me--India journal
• Flying high--India Journal--III
• Travel tails, India Journal--II
• Flight time...India journal thoughts-I

A year of journeys

I'm trying to plan a trip to Alaska for us in May, and it's not easy, unless you go to a travel agent and get stuck on one of those gargantuan cattle trucks called cruise ships, and I don't want that.

So planning the trip will be an adventure too, and as I pour over brochures, scan books, contact friends and scour the Internet, I'm aware of the journeys, planned and unplanned, to places know and unknown, that have made this year memorable.

First was a trip to Chennai, India, in February to SRM University for a conference. It was a trip of utterly new sensations, experiences and people.

Then in March, I spent a week aboard the nuclear carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, in the Pacific, thanks to a former student, the Public Affairs officer aboard one of the largest ships in the world, Lt. Cdr. Steve Curry. Much more first time living.

In April I drove to the third Culp cousin reunion at my cousin Sarah Beth Foote's house in East Texas. Ten of us were there--only one barely known was missing--the children of my Mom and her three sisters and two brothers. A journey of mixed emotions of laughter and stories and good times, mixed with the awareness of passing time, and wondering if we'd ever do it again.

May was packed. On Mother's Day, I met my brother Jerry of Lubbock, to spend a boring evening in Wichita Falls before visiting our Mom's grave in Waurika, for an emotional trip into memories. In mid-May, Susan and I went to Florida and Savannah and soaked up southern food and comfort and history.

On Memorial Day, I visited grandkids Erin, Abby and Max and daughter Dallas and son-in-law Todd  in Amarillo and then on to Walsenburg to  my last uncle, Mike, in the veterans home. A happy,  and sobering trip, where the adventures are mental and emotional.

On the Fourth of July, I flew to California to spend time with my son Vance, his wife Kerin, and granddaughters Katherine, Sarah, and to see the new baby, Neysa, for the first time. Emotional for sure, but also the adventures of touring Vandenburg AFB where they launch satellites.

There were summer  trips on Oklahoma's back roads, including US 66, taking photos, exploring, and visiting friends at newspapers, and to Guthrie to show artwork there. There was a whirlwind trip to Vales Grande in New Mexico on roads I hadn't driven  before in early August--not much, but it helped satisfy a New Mexico attack.

In October, we celebrated anniversary in Kansas City, and spent full days in Columbia, Mo., with son Derrick, daughter-in-law Naomi, and granddaughter Liberty Faye.

Then in late October, a different journey began, when I received a phone call at night about the death of my uncle Mike. That journey isn't over yet for me, even though a resulting journey was burying him in the National Cemetery at Santa Fe, across from where he lived for-30 plus years. It was only my second trip to beloved New Mexico since a year ago when I had to move him out of that apartment that had become a second home to me in the last 10 years. I've traveled many places and miles in my mind as a result.

Those are the out-of-town trips, not counting getting artwork in Adelante Gallery in Paseo and multiple trips to the frame shop and studio. Nor around town to visit in-laws, go out to eat, visit many museums, attend the press convention, go "boothing" with friends and colleagues,  attend parties, travel over chess boards,  move brushes over blank paper and words on blank computer screens, and at Thanksgiving, tour the city with myAmarillo grandkids.

Then two days ago, my oldest cousin, Charles Rogers Lutrick, died in Beaumont, beginning a new journey for him and for those who love him. His funeral is tomorrow, and while Jerry and I are too far away to make it, his passing sets us off on another mental and somber journey contemplating passing life, a passing year and passing time.

It's been a good year--I've seen all my children and grandchildren, spent time with cousins and friends and colleagues, and faced mortality.

Although I'm trying to plan the Alaska trip, and also renewed my passport last month, I'm very aware that I really have no idea what the journeys will be this coming year, nor what kind of journeys they might be. I do know that Charles and Mike make me focus on my own journey, every day.

Charles Rogers Lutrick

Aug. 29, 1930

Dec. 10, 2011

Terry M. Clark

Jan. 5, 1944

Visitor from India

Dr. Sridhar Krisnaswami of SRM University in Chennai formerly Madras), India, talking with my blogging students last week, about journalism, media, India, politics and more. He was my host on my recent visit there. He's a former foreign correspondent for the Daily Hindu newspaper, in both Washington DC., Singapore and other places. Now he's head of the journalism program at SRM, and UCO has exchanged students and faculty in a partnership arranged by Dr. Pam Washington, dean of the college of Liberal Arts, here at UCO. Photo by Dan Smith of photo services.

For more information, see my earlier posts on my India visits.

India coming and going, video journal

Here's  early rush hour outside SRM University, 30 kilometers from downtown Chennai, which has a population of 7 million in an area smaller than Oklahoma City--twice the total population of our entire state. The honking is not rude, nor telling people to move, but a warning to the driver ahead of you that some one is passing.

On the way back to the university from downtown, in light traffic. My driver, a 20-year-old journalism student at the university, speaks five languages. This is light traffic...and yes, the driver's side is on the right, and the traffic direction is on the left.He asked me if I wanted to drive. I declined.

These people managed to walk this food cart across those busy lanes. Notice the motorcycles--more than you can count. Notice the wide shoulders...for a civilization where lanes don't mean much, where people still walk, and ride buses and trains and move carts by hand.

Traffic affects us in ways we don't think. Downtown, rickshaws, buses, bikes, cars, trucks, carts

Motorcyles in a narrow downtown street area near a Hindu temple.

You learn a lot about a culture and place and people by watching the traffic, the roads, the vehicles, the adjacent buildings. Traffic reflects a civilization, but also affects every aspect of it. Traffic influences the pace and timing of life, how people live and think, their economy and religion, their leisure and learning.  Think about the American Interstates, for instance. Another case in point: In India,  you quickly learn that  there may be lanes painted  on the roads, but they don't really mean anything.

Into the future, India Journal impressions

I stepped off the plane--one of Jet Airways 111 daily flights to 30 cities-- into India and literally the future about 1 a.m. Feb. 24. Once through immigration, and out into the sudden tropical night and humidity a few minutes later, I could call home, where it was still Feb. 23, 12 hours away.

"Hello from the future," I said.

If one word describes my visit to India, it would be "overwhelmed." I saw only a small--if very populated portion--of this country, and any generalizations are certainly limited. But being overwhelmed by the numbers of people, the sights and sounds and smells added to the feeling of insignificance  you get when you view the world from the air. Look down from a plane window at 30,000 or 40,000 feet and mountains and roads and lakes dwindle in importance and impact. Even at 10,000 feet, the houses you see below--the ones that we so treasure as homes and pour thousands of dollars and hours of our lives  into--even the big ones costing millions of dollars--look no more than like tiny little toys on a Monopoly board. And when you deplane in a strange place, you know, "What is man that thou art mindful of him?"

Outside the airport were throngs of people holding up signs with people's names and organizations  just with eager faces, searching, waiting to meet travelers. No where among the crowds could I find any sign with my name on it. IA few yards away I could hear the constant noise of horns and the lights of cars and more people. Guards in their brown uniforms stood nearby. If I'd moved beyond the gateway, I'd been swallowed by the crowd, lost in anonymity even more that in the lights and my one sure place of comfort...a small space of airport walkway in glaring lights. I  knew the plane was early, so I wandered back and forth, searching.

By this time, I'd removed my sport jacket and had it drooped over the single duffel bag that carried everything I had on the trip. Travel light. No checked bags.  Just a lone Caucasian hoping for a friendly face.

The crowd thinned after 20 minutes. And then there he was, sign in hand "Terry Clarke," a smiling University student name Rahul who I'd met when he visited UCO last summer, but wasn't sure I remember.  Do you know what a relief it is to see a smiling face and a person who remembers you. all of a sudden you're no longer insignificant.

He leads me to a cab, chatting all the way, and I'm immersed in more heat and noise and one of my lasting impressions of India, even at 2 a.m.--Traffic. I've never seen so much...cars, trucks, motorized rickshaws, motorcycles.

The other lasting impression--construction everywhere, the airport, buildings and cranes and bricks everywhere, and even the roads, with poorly lit barriers and closed lanes everywhere. All the time Rahul is asking me questions, chatting, ignoring the traffic and making sure I'm comfortable and feel welcome and at ease. Another impression--the students and people I met were all so gracious and polite, friendly to this rare Caucasian in their midst. There is so much energy in India. In the traffic, it takes another 20 to 30 minutes to travel a few kilometers to the SRM university and hotel. A uniform doorman opens the way, and Iwalk into a dimly lit interior to the waiting reception desk. Rahul talks to them and I hand over my passport and fill out registration forms. Then I'm escorted up “Floor II,” the third floor and down a hall to room 306. Inside, the person with me turns on the window air conditioner and the lights. It's a marble floor, two twin sized beds, bathroom, wardrobe for my clothes, a wooden desk with an electric pot for boiling water for coffee and tea, and a TV that I never figured out how to turn on.

Thoughts of my flight linger in my mind—frozen Chicago, misty Brussels, flying over the Czech Republic, Romania, the Black Sea, Turkey, Russia the Caspian Sea, some of the stans I can’t remember, Iraq and Pakistan. A world of turmoil down there, insignificant down there from 40,000 feet. Steamy Chennai at 2 a.m.  Into the future, in more ways than one.

Into the future, photos and video of traffic and media and temples and more.

Gandhi and me--India journal

First views from SRM University, Chennai, India...

A student asked to take this photo, in front of a statue of Gandhi at the gate to SRM University. He said proudly of Gandhi, "the father of our country."

Though largely a resident campus (students live in "hostels," not "dorms"), big yellow buses also transport students from the city, 30 km away, to campus. Every college--engineering, etc--has individual buses.Those are bricks in the foreground. There is construction everywhere in India.

This is the college of bio-engineering. Lots of new buildings in the 25 year old private university.

I took this photo to show all the varied dress on the campus.

Street signs on campus...you're not in Kansas anymore.

Motorcycles are a main mode of transportation in India and on campus. We could learn from this...park in a no parking area and they deflate your tires!

One more view of Gandhi...

We have much to learn from this country and civilizations. More photos and comments and videos to come.

Flying high--India Journal--III

Watching planes going and coming outside the Brussels airport window captivates me, primarily because of the different airlines and logos on the decorated tails of the jets, symbols of far-away countries, some never seen in the U.S., certainly in Oklahoma. They are as many as the languages spoken aboard.

On the short-range jets, like those flown by Southwest, There’s the green shamrock of Aerlingus, the white cross on red of Swissair, the green and orange triangle of Italia. I saw Air Brussels, Finaire, Adria, Air Baltic, Hungarian Airways and some I can’t describe or translate.  The big boys also arrive and depart, Lufthansa, SAS, Singapore, British airways, and a few familiar ones from America.

Among the big boys I spotted this round  gold and brown tail symbol of Jet Airways, my flight to Chennai, India.

While I’m waiting, watching people, many of them Indians in various styles of dress from traditional to western, I listen to the languages. I notice that the adults shift in between English and another language, but they always speak fast. I learned in India that they speak so quickly sometimes that even though it’s English, I can’t understand.

But behind me, I hear two little girls chattering away, in English. No accent at all—they could be my granddaughters Erin and Abby playing, giggling, teasing each other, playing with coloring books and make believe. When I turn around, I see they’re Indian. 

One of the first lessons from India…the younger they are, the more “American” English they speak. I asked about this, and some of the university students—who often speak up to five languages—said it was increased western influence, a la TV, Internet, etc.

Aboard the Airbus 330, the change is dramatic. It’s a brand new aircraft. Exit signs are in English and Hindu. The plane is less than half full…I can have the four center seats to myself for the 10 hours flight.

As soon as you get on board and the doors are shut, the flight attendants move through the cabin, delivering each passenger, with tongs, a warm towel to wash your face and neck. 

Frankly, the attendants are stunning. They wear gold Nehru jackets over a black blouse and pants, contrasting with the jacket. Their dark complexioned skin and raven black hair—usually up in a pony tail or on the back of their heads--, frames immaculate makeup and red lipstick framing glowing white smiles. Their English is flawless, and their almond eyes always make eye contact. Their nametags display exotic names.

Relaxing background music fills the cabin. The pilot comes on the speaker in an Indian accent makes announcements an Indian tongue—probably Tamil, then English and perhaps Dutch. The seats carry the same color motif with maroon and tan upholstery with the light tan interior. Each seat has a matching blanket and pillow.

The safety instructions appear on the interactive TV screen on the back of the seat in front of me. No irritating voices here. Instead, tasteful animated characters act them all out.

Everything is so civilized and polite.  I settle into my seat, and before we’re airborne, they come collect the towels.

Ahead, 10 hours away…India.

The Tides of March...

...have pulled me home, from literally half a world away in India the last week of February.

It was a whirlwind, and my travel journal and note pad are full of scribbled impressions and thoughts and facts recorded. And my cell phone and camera have video and still photos to go with some of the writing.

I add this disclaimer. I visited only Chennai, formerly Madras, on the southeastern coast. What I saw and experienced was overwhelming, but I know it was only a tiny glimpse of civilizations and cultures much older than mine, in a democracy much younger. So my perspectives and conclusions are limited by my journalistic training and senses. No more could I fully understand and comprehend the vastness of India's population and history and geography from this visit than an Indian visiting Oklahoma City could understand and comprehend  the vastness of America's geography and history and much smaller population.

But still, impressions of small realities hint at larger truths and realities, just as impressionistic painting hints at them.

For the record, I went there, thanks to UCO and the College of Liberal Arts, to attend an International Symposium on Globalization in Media and Information Technology at SRM University. I was the guest of the journalism and mass communication department faculty and students, and presented part of my paper--The Effects of Information Technology on Newspapers in a Small State in the U.S.A." and chaired a panel on "The effects of social media, twitter and whatnot." I was one of about 10 faculty members and media professionals involved--from India, London, Singapore and the U.S., and we had from about 150-800 students in the audience in the two day-event.

I learned much technologically and about media in other countries, but more from the people and the experience.

Those impressions, like dabs of color in a Monet painting, will follow in pages of my "India journal."