I’ve decided that instead of dividing myself into many small distinct pieces, I’m going to devote my whole self to one major project, Hole in the Fence.

Because I need to. Because I have to. Because I want to.

So head on over to my other, other (now my primary) blog. I promise more than just updates about my garden. There’s juicy stuff a’comin’…

Later, when I have minions to administrate HitF for me, I will probably come back here to write and relax. But for now, I must focus.

We were down in LA this weekend remembering my grandma’s life.

I knew this day was coming soon. About a month ago I had visited. She said, “Samson, I’m tired. I don’t think I’m going to make it to my 88th birthday.” Recently, her eyesight had gotten so bad she couldn’t read or do her beloved crossword puzzles. Essentially, she got tired of living an increasingly austere existence and decided to move on. So we gathered together on Friday night to remember.

Remembering a life in my family means telling stories that could be movies, laughing, and, of course, playing cards. This is what we did after my dad’s death about two years ago. The whole night we talked about what my dad would have done had he been there: how he would have accused his brother Kenny of cheating at least a dozen times; and how he would have laughed at least as hard as the rest of us. It was a way to keep him present without agonizing over his absence. And now he’s become a part of every game.

Cards form the foundation of the social framework in our family. Every time the family gets together, the cards come out. When I think back to my own childhood, a vivid montage plays through my mind: my mom and dad, his two brothers and their girlfriends—and later, wives—gathered around various battered kitchen tables, wreathed in cigarette smoke, drinking coffee, and laughing, laughing with glorious abandon. I wanted to be a part of that group, to feel that sense of inclusion, acceptance, and joy of togetherness.

Finally being able to participate as a fully independent player (i.e. being responsible for my own hand), felt like a rite of passage. I could sense a shift in my relationship with the people around that table. I felt the weight of privilege and responsibility, a weight I accepted gladly. I knew that such things came with adulthood, and I wanted to make my parents proud by demonstrating my intelligence and maturity.

Not that such aspirations were always (or even consistently) realized. But at least I had been given the opportunity. I was part of the group, even if i didn’t drink coffee or smoke.

Now, when I play, it is with a tinge of sadness for my dad and his parents, players who are no longer at the table. The absence would be more acute—too acute—if there wasn’t another generation to fill those empty seats. One of my cousins has taken a spot. And Logan and Kaia will be in a position to take their own place at the table in a few years. First, though, I have to show them the ropes, so we started playing go, fish recently. I love watching them concentrate on their hands, asking someone for a king with such sincerity. They are incredibly, kissably cute.

I feel such a warm sense of fulfillment as I prepare this next generation to take their place at the table, how to interact, build bonds, and strengthen ties. I can only hope they will reflect back on their experiences with the same sense nostalgia and appreciation.

I help out with lunches at Logan’s school on occasion. They have a very nicely designed program that utilizes local businesses and provides real, healthy food. It’s anti-cafeteria food, actually.

The school also has a snack purchase system that could be used by parents as a wonderful tool to teach their kids to be frugal, thoughtful consumers.

But it isn’t.

The kids are constantly overdrafting their accounts. When I looked at the sheet today, I saw that some of the accounts were $15 in the negative.

One of the kids wanted to know her current balance. “From $64 to $9,” she said to her friends, aghast, “I’ll have to tell my mom to put more money on the account.”

Here’s how it should work:

Me: “Logan, I’m putting $60 on your account for the year. That’s enough for about two snacks a week. Remember, though, that this is all you’re getting. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Plan accoringly.”

Logan: “Okay, dad.”

Then, when three months has passed and Logan has snacked himself into oblivion, he’ll come and tell me his account has dried up. And I’ll remind him of our discussion.

And I won’t change my mind.

And Logan will, I hope, learn an important lesson about fiscal responsibility. A lesson his classmates could most definitely use.

Or maybe mom will always be there to put more money in the account.

People who are pro-freedom, and who are therefore anti-big government based on the premise that big government impinges upon their freedoms, should also, by definition, be anti-big business. If their overarching value is that certain, often undefined, “freedoms” should be protected at all costs, then they should be just as willing to condemn the tactics and strategies of corporate america as much as those of the federal government.

Sadly, most of those who proclaim their allegiance to “freedom” are also pro-big business, despite overwhelming evidence that corporations continually infringe on our most basic freedoms, including those outlined and defined in the Bill of Rights.

I’ve been watching Fox News. Can you tell?

Email, twitter, rss feeds, facebook, youtube…the internet is artificially inducing ADD…

…I didn’t use to spend hours flitting from one piece of irrelevant datum to another like a hummingbird looking for its next sugar high…

…a new email. My eyes flit to the growl notification as it ghosts onto the screen, my mind quickly assess whether it’s important or unnecessary. If it’s not, I move back to my original task….

…but I’m already lost. My mind has begun to wander. Perhaps the email reminded me of another task I had planned, or perhaps the title inspired me to twitter something, or perhaps, perhaps…

…and I have work to do. Real work. Things that take time and quiet and a high level of concentration. Things that are meaningful and profound and important…

…yet I stray again, my fingers hit keyboard shortcuts of their own volition, and before I realize it I’m reading the daily email from the NYT, clicking on interesting links, and being enveloped by information, my brain sating itself on the novel, the controversial, the humorous, the grotesque…

…no more! I must reassert control of my attention span; I will not allow my free will to be subverted by the smooth, cool grays and attractive, rounded edges of firefox, netnewswire, or apple mail; I will be master of my day and my destiny.

Starting now.

My office/the extra room is a complete disaster.

I find it strangely comforting.

The level of disarray seems to be roughly equivalent to my level of creativity, and I’m feeling really creative right now. This has always happened: when I was younger my room was a chaotic conglomeration of my many projects.

It’s because I don’t have any staffing work. So eventually I’m going to be very poor. Which means that pretty soon I’ll start worrying about money and the fantastic will be obscured by the mundane, yet for the moment my office will remain a reflection of my heightened state.

Order will return soon enough—and with it a loss of a certain amount of joy and fulfillment.

Which is why I want HitF to work. I don’t want to give up the chaos.

There’s something very therapeutic and reassuring about building a fire. The pops and whines, the smoke and heat. It transports me to a different place and stage of evolution. I feel a unique, primal pride, a sense of strength and accomplishment, when I coax a fire to life.

The tinder must be bone dry. I search for it in the undergrowth: the topmost leaves from last season; dried moss in the bole of a tree; lichen draped low on bare branches. I gather two fistfuls and place them in the middle of the fire ring, then I fluff them slightly to ensure space for enough air.

Next I locate kindling, snapping each twig and branch and listening for the telltale crackle that indicates it is dry enough to catch. I lay the smallest pieces lightly atop the tinder so that it forms a rough cone.

Then I light the match.

I hold it to one or two places on the tinder, blow lightly, and watch to see that the kindling catches. When it does I place larger sticks on the fire until I have a healthy blaze.

I settle back to enjoy my fire once the first log is fully involved and the fire is popping cheerfully, casting it’s heat and it’s light into the cold dark. I breathe deeply and wish for a simpler time.

Then I reach for my iPhone to blog this.

My sis got my mom a puppy. It’s gorgeous.

It’s also driving my mom insane.

Cassie’s heart was in the right place, but it’s just not working out. My mom is not stable at the moment. It’s the sleep deprivation, mostly. And her guilt, because Major—her VERY old dog—has become a neurotic mess. My mom feels she owes Major a quiet retirement and the introduction of the puppy has thrown the previously quiet routine into complete disarray. Major now wants (begs, whines, pleads) to sleep in the car. A few nights ago, my mom slept out there with him. I don’t know if this was just guilt, or a desperate attempt to get one night of uninterrupted sleep.

The Puppy Problem, coupled with the fact that my mom is now exclusively cleaning bathrooms at Bed, Bath & Beyond, has made her life a bit overwhelming lately. She’s been in a grand funk for a few weeks, now. Which is totally noticeable with my mom, who is normally the picture of upbeat, bouncy vitality. In short, she’s a mess.

Which would explain why our meeting yesterday was also a mess. Or at least it started that way. Because I had an agenda, and my mom was having none of it. Let me give some background.

Denette has been a bit miffed at all the non-money-producing hours I’m spending in front of the laptop. A few days ago we had a serious (iPhones OFF) discussion about whether this project, which is taking increasing amounts of my time, has any chance of being successful from a financial perspective. She wanted to know:

• What does HitF have to offer?
• Where does the money come from?

Some of the angst around HitF is related to angst about money in general as my consulting business feels the effects of the downturn. (Although this has had positive effects, too). I’m probably going to have to a) devote more time to developing my consulting gig or b) pick up a part-time something to make ends meet. I’d prefer option (b) because option (a) is a big time investment with no promised returns. Either way, I need to become more diligent about my time management with the HitF project. And, as Denette helped me clarify, my mom and I needed to develop some clear business goals for HitF. But talking about operational goals and marketing strategy is not nearly as exciting as filming segments of me interviewing local farmers or Logan and Kaia chasing lizards.

So the session did not start off well. My mom had her own agenda. I could feel my energy and enthusiasm draining as we argued back and forth about middling things, circling around the topics I wanted to cover. Denette, who had joined us at my request to help with the financial brainstorming, disappeared into a book. Finally, after a wasted two hours, I started to get some traction and cover my topics. When my mom started to stray, I dragged her back to the topic, ensuring that we actually closed the topics before moving on. Ironically, I was basically doing the kind of project management work with my mom what I do with my clients in my consulting business. it’s all interconnected.

We actually got a lot done yesterday: we created a mission statement; we started putting together guiding principles; we defined about a dozen potential sources of income; and we set several long-term goals. But the most important thing I managed to do was shift the perspective and highlight all the things we’ve managed to accomplish in just 3 months—the short time that has elapsed since we launched the blog and released the first video. We have done a lot, especially considering our relative newbie status to filmmaking and all. Things were better when she left.

Now there’s just the Puppy Problem to solve…

My mom made a great suggestion today. Of course, her great suggestions usually involve more work on my part.

I’m going to start journaling about the Hole in the Fence project. This will be our “official” record of the creative process, the trials and tribulations, the blood and tears, the joys and sorrows, etc. as we seek to building a viable business that happens to be a movement, too. It’s all about the triple bottom line, baby!