John Walters

I Don’t Care

Posted on July 22, 2011 by John Walters

A lot of things happen in life. Many good things, yes, but also nasty things, discouraging things. Recently, and by this I mean in the last three months or so, things have been going awry for me personally; I have been stymied, frustrated, knocked for a loop. Looking at the situation from the outside one might ask why. Nothing special set it off, but rather a series of events and mental processes like dominoes, one affecting another until the whole setup began tumbling down. It affected my work, my family, my own peace of mind. But what to do about it?

The first thing to understand when you experience discouragement or despair is that you can’t just think yourself out of it. Nor can you distract yourself out of it through drugs, or drink, or entertainment. It’s right there when you sober up, or step out of the movie theater, or come home from the party. It must be dealt with, somehow, but not by conventional means. Somehow that little voice inside that tells you to give in to all the negative must be silenced. I don’t know how it is with you, but with me that negative voice often comes in the guise of fantasy scenarios. What if this happens? What if that happens? What if it doesn’t work out? What if you fail? What if nobody you counted on comes through in your time of need? I have a vivid imagination – after all, I write science fiction stories – and these fantasies can get quite elaborate on occasion. And if you explore in detail all the things that can possibly go wrong in your life, it can really get you down. And if some of those things are in fact actually going wrong, that’s even worse. It’s like quicksand: the more you struggle the faster you go under.

Even during my recent trip to the States, which was supposed to be relaxing and therapeutic, I wrestled with this problem. I had good days and bad days. Mostly I had good days because I was visiting my sons, my brothers and sisters, my father, and we indulged in plenty of special activities, sightseeing, and so on. But when I got back here to Greece it was all waiting for me. As I said, distraction can only do so much, and cannot solve the core problem or problems. I pluralize it because most of us have a lot of problems and not just one which if solved would render life paradisiacal.

But life is good, or at least it can be, no matter what the circumstances. And I have a lot of good things going on in my life. I have a great wife and five sons. I have a day-job I’m good at, successful at, praised for. I have my writing, which affords me great satisfaction and a bit of income, and which is growing as a presence both on the Web and in print. I have good books to read. And it’s summer in Greece, and several times a week we go to the beach and swim in the warm, clear, clean Mediterranean waters.

So why the discontent? It should not be so.

What brought on the collapse of my mental and spiritual strength? I’m not sure. It may have been overwork. By the end of the school year I was carrying a terrific load, and every spare moment I had I was marking compositions. Maybe I just burned out. My defenses were down and those negative thoughts overwhelmed me. For weeks and months I reeled and staggered and tried to fight back, but made little headway.

Then, just recently, I came up with three little words that have turned the whole situation around: “I don’t care.”

How does it work? Well, most of those negative scenarios have to do with what might happen in the future. Not what will happen, but what might happen. Some are possible,
while others are far-fetched to say the least. But dwelling on these bleak possibilities brings on a sick feeling in the pit of the stomach and an inability to enjoy life as it is now. In addition, it does nothing to forestall or alleviate the problems. So, when one of
these fantasies pops up its ugly head, I think to myself, “I don’t care.” I can’t do anything about it, so why should I bother about it? Some of the negative thoughts are like little imps, easy to dismiss with one little statement: “I don’t care.” Others are bigger, nastier,
more serious, like ogres or monsters, and I have to chant it: “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care…” and so on, as long as it takes to dispel the enemy, which is the negative thought. I want to enjoy the time with my family, or the work, or the writing, or the reading, or the swim at the beach, and not have it spoiled by an invading army of negative possibilities. Life is too short to dwell on what might be in the future. Far more important is to live life now, to seize what is true and good and honest and appealing now – to make an effort to forestall or prevent future problems, yes, but not to sink helplessly in a storm of angst.

This helps not only if you are going through a personal crisis like I was, but with other situations that may arise as well. “What if I don’t get the job?” “I don’t care.” “What if I don’t pass the test?” “I don’t care.” “What if she doesn’t want to go out with me?” “I
don’t care.” Now here’s the paradox: you really do care about all these things, and you try your best to make them happen. You fill out the application carefully, you shower and dress well for the interview; you study the subject you will be tested on; you do your best to make yourself attractive for your potential date. But when you have done all you can
and you approach the moment, dwelling on negative scenarios will do no good
whatsoever. It will only bring on anxiety which will hasten your downfall.
Instead, when all those negative possibilities erupt like the many-headed Hydra, cut them down with this weapon: “I don’t care.”

Of course you really do care. We all do, at least all of us who are sane. I care too much sometimes, so that it comes near to breaking my heart. Don’t stop caring for those you love, and for important work that you believe in.

But when it comes to doubt, disillusionment,discouragement, despondency, and despair:
I don’t care.

Posted in On Writing, Parenting | Tagged Parenting, positive thinking, Writing | 4 Comments

Painsharing and Other Stories by John Walters – Now Available!

Posted on July 19, 2011 by John Walters

My second short story collection is now available in electronic editions, and will be available in print later this year. These are science fiction stories, some previously published and some original, set on near and far future Earth and on distant planets.

Amazon’s Kindle version is here: http://www.amazon.com/Painsharing-and-Other-Stories-ebook/dp/B005C41AE4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311056050&sr=1-1

It’s also available at Smashwords in various electronic formats: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/72687

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Painsharing and Other Stories, short stories, Writing | Leave a comment

On Reading The Lord of the Rings for the Fourteenth Time, Part Three: The Return of the King

Posted on July 15, 2011 by John Walters

Now we come to the end of it. There are some splendid passages in this book that never fail to bring tears to my eyes. As Gandalf says, “Not all tears are an evil.” One of the greatest is the ride of the Rohirrim and their attack and battle at the Pellenor Fields, the fall of King Theoden, and the defeat of the Nazgul Chieftain. Then there is Frodo and Sam’s heroic struggle through Mordor to Mount Doom, despite hunger and thirst and devastating despair. (By the way, one of the ridiculous aspects of the screenplay in which for some strange reason they felt necessary to deviate from the book was the sundering of the friendship of Frodo and Sam – ridiculous, I say, because their unshakeable unity and resolve is one of the core elements of the plot and the reason they succeed.) And the story also tells of Aragorn and the Gray Company’s journey through the paths of the dead, commandeering of the enemy’s ships, and timely arrival at the siege of Minas Tirith. In the book the dead help to clear the ships and then are released, and therefore the battle before the city is accomplished by mortals only, giving it greater verisimilitude, honor, and sense of victory. I never was too keen on the movie’s take: that the horde of green ghosties move in and cream the enemy. What honor is there in that? It’s too blatant a contrivance.

Overall, this book is shorter than the others, though the movie version is the longest of the three. The movie uses material from the second book, “The Two Towers”, but leaves out long chapters in “The Return of the King” that would indeed have slowed down the film but are very important in the book. One of these sub-plots is the romance of Faramir and Eowyn, which is elegantly told. Another is the scouring of the Shire. The hobbits get back home only to discover that Saruman has been working mischief in the Shire, and they must use what they have learned of strategy and arms to drive off the unsavory invaders. I like this chapter because it shows that what they experienced in far-off lands strengthened them and gave them the wisdom and maturity to deal with important problems at home.

At the end of “The Return of the King” are the appendixes. There are genealogies, explanations of the alphabets and grammar of the major languages, timelines, and histories. In the past, for the first dozen readings or so, I continued into the appendixes as if they were part of the primary story. Therein is a lot which is thrilling and inspiring.
You can find out what happened to each of the fellowship, for example. This time I am skimming over them, because I have such a backlog of other things to read. One story I did not skip over, however, and which I commend to you, is “A Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen” in Appendix A. It tells of how they met but were separated when Aragorn departed for his years of laboring in the wilderness, how they became betrothed in Lorien, how they ruled as king and queen in joy for many years, and finally it tells of their parting, of the death of Aragorn, and Arwen’s subsequent lonely wandering in the fading woods of
Lothlorien until she herself dies a mortal’s death. It is a bittersweet but lovely tale.

This book is full of ennobling virtue, if one reads it with an open heart. It has great goodness, courage, nobility, honor. It makes me want to choose the good and abhor and resist evil. Every time I read it I am made better in some way. Plus it is thrilling,
adventurous, and poignant. What more could one ask than that?

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words. I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible. If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. Thanks!

Posted in Book Reviews | Tagged The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King | 1 Comment

West to East: Jet Lag Revisited

Posted on July 10, 2011 by John Walters

Last night I slept well. I fell asleep around 12:30 a.m. and woke up at 7:30, fell back asleep
and woke up at ten. Some of you may not realize what an amazing phenomenon that was until I explain.

I recently returned to Greece from a three and a half week trip to the States. Much of the time on this journey I was disoriented time-wise, but near the end I had found a sleep
pattern that suited me and yielded six or seven hours sleep a night, which is more than I usually get at home. But when I returned to Greece crazy things started happening. I would lie awake all night and then not be able to nap during the day. Or I’d fall
asleep around midnight and then wake up, wide awake, about two or three in the
morning. This has been going on for days, and it has been intensely frustrating.
At least, as a teacher, I have no work during these summer months, and I can stagger around semi-functional while I recover my temporal equilibrium. But it is disconcerting,
befuddling, and exhausting, and there has been nothing I have been able to do about it.

Yesterday the problem was compounded by the fact that we went to the beach. Don’t get me wrong: the beach was wonderful. The water was clear and clean, the sandy shore was uncrowded, and it was blissful to relax as the breeze tempered the hot air.

But we did not properly estimate the sun’s strength, mellowed as it was by the gentle wind, and we stayed out too long. And came home with beet-red sunburn. It was the kind that throbs as if your skin itself has become a furnace. So I had not slept since three in the morning the night before, I had terrible sunburn, and to top it all off, probably due to my compromised immune system through all this, I began to sneeze and my nose and eyes ran.

The darkest hour is just before dawn, right?

This morning I woke up feeling great, though I still have the cold and the sunburn. Both are more manageable than they were yesterday. I am on the road to recovery.

The moral? Sometimes things just seem crazy. And they can go on seeming crazy for day after day after day, until you wonder if the craziness will ever pass. During this time you
just have to persevere and do your best, craziness notwithstanding, until things sort themselves out and it all aligns properly again. Patience plays a large part in it, as does
fortitude, as does just plain hanging on. The things to avoid are the four D’s:
discouragement, despondency, doubt, and despair. I don’t know about you but it seems that something is always going out-of-kilter in my life. If it’s not the teaching it’s the writing; if it’s not mechanical failure of appliances or vehicles it’s finances in general; if there’s not a problem with one or more of my sons then I’m in the midst of my own emotional turmoil.

Things happen. That’s a part of life. When they do we need to regain our balance, restore our equilibrium. For a time things may go well. If they do, avoid the temptation to get
lackadaisical. Something else will go wrong; it always does. Life is messy and imperfect. Instead of yielding to complacency fortify yourself to fight the next battle. In saying this I don’t necessarily mean start doing push-ups or jumping-jacks, though sometimes this may be the best you could do. Other times taking a holiday might be the right move. Or watching a film. Or visiting a friend. Or writing a story.

But when everything seems like one insane funhouse ride, remember: this too shall pass.

Posted in Travel | Tagged Greece, jet lag, travel | Leave a comment

A Movie Premier at Times Square Considered as a Greek Political Gabfest

Posted on July 3, 2011 by John Walters

It was my first trip to New York. I had, many years before, passed through it while hitchhiking to and from the airport enroute to Europe and further destinations, but I had never gone into its heart to observe it for itself.

I was visiting my son, who teaches math and physics at a high school in New Jersey. As soon as we emerged from Penn Station after the train from Trenton I felt as if we were in
another world, an almost magical, fascinating world. New York is vast, and there are many filthy, unsavory parts, but upper Manhattan, which is the first of its many faces that
most visitors see, is dazzling, multifaceted, and enigmatic. Huge advertising videos erupt from the sides of buildings. Stores of famous brands with which we are all familiar from movies and TV appear on every block. There are theaters with marquis splashed with
the names of blockbuster musicals. There are restaurants, souvenir shops, sidewalk food stalls, and everywhere people, all kinds of people, from ultra-rich in spotless suits to homeless bums in rags, from orthodox Jews in skullcaps to rappers with their pants slung halfway down their asses, from brisk businesspeople to families of tourists with their
noses buried in guidebooks and maps.

When we reached Times Square part of it was cordoned off and surrounded by police on foot and on horse, along with police cars and ambulances. After looking around for the
cause of the uproar we realized that they were focused on a single individual who had climbed up and was sitting atop a lamppost. Some rescue workers rolled out and inflated a huge yellow mattress while three police on a flatbed truck tried to talk the man down. We watched for a while, but as the situation seemed to be at a stalemate we decided to move on, after remarking on the expense and trouble the NYPD was going to for one lamppost sitter. “I bet he’s doing it for the publicity,” I said. “He’s probably trying to promote his book or his music.” Later we read about it online, and it turned out that the guy, who was eventually arrested, was a rapper trying to drum up publicity for his CD.

Farther on, at the center of Times Square, we came across another cordoned area, but this for a different type of event. On a raised stage was an arc of broken cars and a huge model of the transformer Bumblebee. Security guards dressed in dark suits, whispering to each other on cell phones and suspiciously watching passers-by, stood behind the barriers. It turned out that later that afternoon at that very spot was to be the ceremony for the US premier of “Transformers 3”. My son, a great film buff, immediately determined that we had to change our plans in order not to miss the premier.

So it was that that afternoon, after having walked miles all over Upper and Lower Manhattan, we returned to the spot about forty-five minutes before the event was to take place. Already a crowd had formed, and we were soon in the midst of a huge throng of people, tightly pressed on every side. A tall, very wide overweight woman was
directly in front of me; my son had a slightly better view. The sweltering heat was oppressive, and the combined body heat of all those around us increased our discomfort
exponentially. “At least this is America, not Greece,” I told my son. “Surely they’ll start on time.” But it was not to be so. The starting time came and went, and still we and the many other people waited. And waited, and waited.

Now here comes the comparison. At any event to which important politicians are invited in Greece, it is taken for granted that they will be late. They are not expected to come on time; people would be shocked if they did. We are not talking about a matter of a few minutes either. Sometimes they are hours late, but at the least half an hour or forty-five minutes. The more important the speaker, the later he or she is. In the meantime everyone else, who had to come on time or they would not have obtained a seat or standing room or whatever, must sit or stand in discomfort whether it is hot or cold or overcrowded or whatever. Eventually, a minor politician will speak – though not, of course, the person everyone came to hear. Then another minor politician, and another. Everyone has to get up and have their say before the big shots. And finally, finally, after your muscles are cramped and you have to use the toilet and your kids are nagging you and you would give it all up and force your way through the crowd if you could and go home, finally, I say, the big shots will appear.

That’s what this premier at Times Square was like. My son didn’t care. He was elated to see and hear it all. I cared. I wondered who organized the thing and why it was all so
inefficient. It must have cost a hell of a lot of money for the props and the gigantic videos on the sides of the nearby buildings and the space itself, which you can bet the city of New York didn’t donate. All this expense, and nobody bothered to streamline the show. It made me want to boycott the film. They started almost an hour late, and introduced an executive producer that no one had ever heard of, which was followed by limited applause. I’m sure that the man was very important in the making of the film, but he was not who the people had come to see. Then fifteen or twenty minutes more passed, and then someone else was introduced, and on it went. The stage was full of photographers, news
announcers, and pretty starlets with handsome escorts, all of them sweating copiously and visibly wilting in the heat, but nothing would speed up the glacial pace of the presentation.

In the end the big shots showed up. We took some photos. My son was happy. As for me, it was an interesting experience, but I wondered what had happened to whoever was supposed to have organized the event. Were they on vacation? Or could this really be how it was planned, with such disdain for the comfort of the many fans who had assembled? Nothing could have been done about the weather, or that the crowd was so tightly packed, but surely it could have started on time, and could have carried on more briskly. We are supposed to believe that the film will hold our attention, even keep us at the edge of our seats; if the introductory festivities are any indication of what will follow it will not be so. Where was the publicity department, with whom so much money is entrusted, in the midst of all this?

We expect politicians to be boring, but not action film premiers. Wake up, folks.

Posted in Travel | Tagged Greece, movie premier, New York, Transformers | Leave a comment

On Reading The Lord of the Rings for the Fourteenth Time, Part Two: The Two Towers

Posted on June 26, 2011 by John Walters

I’m in a martial arts studio in New Jersey watching my oldest son train. A peculiar situation, you might say, in which to write a review of a fantasy story. But not so.
“The Lord of the Rings” has to do with the struggle of good versus evil. The difference, in the novel at least, is stark. In real life often it is not. Absolutes exist, to be sure, but we do not always see them in the floods of shades of gray. Martial arts training is one way to deal with the modern wave of violence in the streets. Not that if you have it you kick the shit out of anyone who threatens you. It is more for personal confidence and peace of mind. And of course for physical fitness.

“The Lord of the Rings”, setting out as it does the good and the bad so obviously, always causes in me a slight feeling of envy. Would that our world could be so simple. Instead it is vague, uncertain, nebulous, hazy. Often I don’t know what is the right thing to do.

Be that as it may, “The Two Towers”, as the interim volume, has always been more difficult to read than the other two. If there is any slow spot in the books, I think it is in the description of the capture of Merry and Pippin by the orcs, and their flight towards Isengard. I always read it in toto, but I often wish it were more brief. After that,
though, the story picks up, as the riders of Rohan and King Theoden are introduced and the battle of Helm’s Deep and the storming of Isengard are described. In Peter Jackson’s movie version there are deviations from the book in this section, but I will not nitpick into every detail.

The main deviations with which I disagree in “The Two Towers”, as in “The Fellowship of the Ring”, have to do with characterization. Firstly, there is the character of Faramir. In the book he is marvelously developed, a princely man indeed, who does not love war for its own sake, who craves peace and art and poetry, who possesses great wisdom and discernment. In the movie, to be honest, he is presented as a bit of a wimp. Not only that, but in the book he expresses his deep-felt conviction that he would never touch the ring though it were laying on the ground in front of him, while in the movie he craves it for his father, to reconcile himself to him. This is not right.

Another area in which the movie errs is in the character of Samwise. The choices he is confronted with at the end of this book are profound and greatly illuminate his
character. The movie brushes over this depth, and in the film Frodo sending Sam away, overcome as he is by the deception of Gollum, is completely out of left field. Frodo never doubts Sam in the book, and Gollum is never able to overwhelm him with his delusions.

As I have mentioned before, in the review of “The Fellowship of the Rings”, I greatly enjoy the films, but the books are far superior.

The martial arts class goes on, as does the struggle of good against evil. In this world, our
world, there is real good, and there is real evil, and we all must make choices daily to walk the paths of honor and responsibility and courage. Destiny does not imply lack of choice,
because only through right choices can destiny be discovered. In “The Two Towers” the Fellowship is sundered and each of the members are scattered in different directions and
must make choices according to their circumstances, and it is only when they decide on the noble and unselfish options that they are able to clearly see their next step.

Lately I have been going through changes in my own life through which I must discern my right path. It isn’t easy. Important decisions seldom are. But a book like “The Lord of the Rings” is ennobling, and encourages me to find the right way, the honorable way, which is usually not the easy way. Actually, in the confusion of the last few months it has been difficult for me to read anything at all. I chose “The Lord of the Rings” because it always gives me a boost in the spirit, as it has this time as well. “The Two Towers” concludes in darkness and despair. But it is not the end.

Posted in Book Reviews | Tagged book review, JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers | 1 Comment

The Beach House: End of an Era

Posted on June 18, 2011 by John Walters

About fifty years ago my parents bought some beachfront property in Puget Sound near Hood Canal Bridge. It cost them ten thousand dollars; they had to put one thousand dollars down. It was overgrown and the house was more in the nature of a shack, but it had a wide lawn in front and a spectacular view across Hood Canal to the evergreen-covered Olympic Peninsula and the Olympic Mountains.

The area was little-populated and little-traveled in those days. The small town of Port Gamble, a mile away, had a thriving lumber mill, and logging companies were running riot
over the nearby forests of old growth fir and cedar. In addition, isolated farms were scattered here and there.

My father, always the handyman, got busy right away mowing the lawn, clearing a safe trail to the beach, repairing the house, installing enough furniture for a family of six (and counting).

We kids, of course, commenced exploring. We soon found out that the sea water was
arctic cold, and indeed it did flow down in swift currents from northern regions. Swimming was impossible; even a swift leap in and screaming and shuddering bound out was only for the brave even on the hottest days. But there was plenty else to do. We could search for rocks and shells. We could climb over the abundant driftwood. We could fish with worms for tiny bullheads, keep them in a bucket for a while, and then toss them
back into the water. When the tide was out we could dig for geoducks and clams. In addition to all this we could also, of course, play games with balls, Frisbees, sticks for swords, and so on. On the grass of the bank leading to the beach we would often catch
garter snakes, which was a great thrill. Once I even managed to capture a chipmunk, which I meant to keep for a pet until our dog got too curious and knocked the cover off its cage.

The great adventure was when four or five of us kids would obtain a few pennies each and walk along the highway to Port Gamble and buy candy. We also had a small power boat
and would go out into deep waters to fish for cod or salmon.

Those were good days, simple days.

As I got older, I was often reluctant to go out there from Seattle for the summer. I wanted to stay in town so I could hang out with my friends. For years I had this tussle with my parents over where I would spend the summer. In the end I had to yield; I wasn’t old enough to insist. My mother also had a struggle sometimes getting me out of the cabin into the fresh air; I was a consummate bookworm and would curl up on the couch and read even in the best of weather until I was pried off and shoved out.

Later still, on my own, I would take girls out to the beach house, or go out there with my buddies to drink and party. My parents weren’t too thrilled when they found out about those escapades.

Things happened and my parents divorced. My father moved out there, and would commute into town every day to his dental office. When he retired he continued to live at the beach house, and I would visit now and again when I was in town during respites from my wanderings. After we had our first three kids my wife and I once visited from Greece for a week or so.

All this to say that there is a lot of history tied up in that place.

Yesterday I visited it for what will probably be the last time. My father is moving to a
retirement home and has sold it. I went down to the beach and sat there alone on the rocks reminiscing. All those happy times came back to me. I hadn’t always appreciated the place or the activities. Things often seem to acquire a golden glow in retrospect. It came to me that good things happen to all of us throughout our lives, but for various
reasons we don’t always appreciate them when we have them. In hindsight they appear glorious; when we live through them there is often something to tarnish or lessen the experience. If only we could learn something from this, but it is not just a childish phenomenon; it seems to continue on into adulthood. Great things happen but we
don’t always see them as great things. And as we progress onward through the journey of life opportunities abound constantly to make the most of it, but we shuffle along, heads down, senses dulled, wishing this or that bit of inconvenience would go away, our eyes on the trivialities and not the glory.

The truth is, it’s all glorious, every bit of it. Enjoy it while you have it.

But if you lose one bit of it, don’t despair. There are greater things ahead.

Posted in Memoir | Tagged beach house, Hood Canal, memoir, Port Gamble | 1 Comment

Jet Lag and the Juxtaposition of Cultures

Posted on June 11, 2011 by John Walters

I arrived in San Diego after about twenty-eight hours of travel time. Leaving Thessaloniki,
Greece, early Thursday morning I flew to Athens, then boarded a plane for an eleven-hour flight to Newark, New Jersey, my port of entry to the United States. It was fortunate I had a three-hour stopover there, because I needed almost all of it to go through security: passport check and customs.

First of all, the huge hall in which document checks were carried out could only be described as a circus or a madhouse. The two lines, one for US citizens and one for foreigners, were equally long. They twisted back and forth through paths marked with restraining ropes, hundreds of people with their carry-on bags slung over their shoulders or trailing behind them on wheels. A number of flights had arrived around the same time and all the passengers had converged on the hall. That line was the only way through, no special treatment or exceptions. I wondered if I would have enough time to catch my connecting flight. I don’t question the necessity of checking everyone’s documents, but it was exasperating, frustrating, and exhausting. Because there was nothing I could do about it, however, it was also a good exercise in patience and serenity. The line would proceed at its own pace and anything I would try to do to hasten it along would only result in more delay, or worse. So I relaxed and observed the people around me.

Though I am an American citizen, I live in Greece. Due to finances and busy schedules I don’t have the opportunity to visit the States often – only once every several years. Every time I do, in the beginning I experience profound culture shock. Americans and Greeks are very different from each other, and their countries and cultures have evolved in profoundly different ways.

Anyway, I finally got through passport control, then got into the line for customs, where my bags, belt, shoes, items from pockets, and so on all had to go through the x-ray machines. I must have appeared innocent, as I escaped the full-body scans and searches to which others were being subjected. Upon finally completing all the red tape and rigmarole, I proceeded to the gate at which my ongoing flight was scheduled to depart. Another flight was listed but the attendant assured me that as soon as that flight left my flight would board by that gate. After I had sat around, dazed by weariness, until it was almost my boarding time, the attendant made an announcement that my flight had been changed to another gate all the way on the other side of the terminal. Throwing my two bags over my shoulders, I set out at top speed. It turned out the plane that was supposed to have been ours had got stuck in Chicago and they had had to substitute another plane. Not to worry, they said, the delay would be minimal. And indeed, after a short time we boarded the plane. That is, however, where things got more dicey. We were informed that our flight was subject to indefinite delay. The pilot would announce a possible takeoff time, and then when the time approached would revise his estimate and suggest a new time. Finally he announced that due to a weather front moving across the central States all flights were on hold and he didn’t know when we’d be able to move. In the end I arrived two and a half hours late in San Diego. My son who was supposed to meet me had left the airport in frustration, as no reliable information had been available, and was waiting for my call, necessitating a further delay, though a short one, as he returned to the airport.

So now, I sit alone in the early morning, when I should be resting and recovering from the ordeal of the trip. Jet lag will not allow me to sleep. If you’ve ever experienced it, you know that it plays havoc with your system, wakes you up at crazy times and exhausts you at other times when everyone else is fully alert.

I mentioned differences between the United States and Greece. One thing I have noticed since I have come is how overweight many Americans are. There are fat Greeks too, of course, but I was unpleasantly surprised at the large proportion of overweight people in the US. It goes all across the board too: old folks, the middle-aged, young men and
women. This is a recent phenomenon. It did not used to be so. There is a reason the Beach Boys sang about “California Girls” back in the 60s. Americans then, for the most part, were slim, lithe, and attractive. What happened? Why did you let yourself go, Americans? Was it just a matter of having too much of everything?

Another thing struck me as soon as I exited the airport in San Diego. While waiting for my son on the sidewalk I noticed a designated smoking area, a very small patch of concrete no more than a few paces wide. In Greece, though it is prohibited to smoke in most public buildings, the streets and sidewalks are still fair game. I talked to a lone woman puffing on a cigarette while carefully standing on safe ground, and she informed me that not only were such designated areas getting smaller and smaller and in more and more inconvenient areas, but it is even forbidden to smoke in your own car while on certain roads. I’m not a smoker and I don’t necessarily approve of smoking, but this seems to be a case of Big Brother government going a little too far in its legislation of righteousness.

I had another little jolt of culture shock when my twenty-three-year-old son was buying some liquor and was asked for identification. Now, liquor can be dangerous and I am certainly not in favor of drunkenness or alcoholism, but in Greece my nine-year-old can walk into most any shop and buy alcoholic drinks. Many children do run errands for
their parents in this way – but there is no higher proportion of alcoholics in Greece that I am aware of, nor do young people overuse alcohol any more than they do in the States, despite the much easier availability.

Different cultures, different lifestyles. It’s not my intention here to go into all the reasons for these differences, merely to point them out. Remember, I am speaking, at the moment, from the perspective of jet lag and culture shock. If I wrote this tomorrow it would doubtlessly be put into other words, but the differences in cultures would remain the same.

Posted in Travel | Tagged Greece, jet lag, travel, United States | Leave a comment

On Reading The Lord of the Rings for the Fourteenth Time, Part One: The Fellowship of the Ring

Posted on June 5, 2011 by John Walters

Every time I read “The Lord of the Rings” it is a profound literary experience. I’m not
sure I have read it fourteen times; it could be thirteen or fifteen, but I think fourteen is a good guess. Most of those times were when I was much younger, in my teens and early twenties, but I have read it several times recently too.

I received my first copy of “The Lord of the Rings”, a boxed set of the Ballantine paperback edition, as a Christmas present from my maternal grandmother, bless her heart and rest her soul. I was in my mid-teens. At the time I had never heard of the book, voracious reader though I was. We had a large three-storey house and I had a room alone in the basement, and I still vividly remember reading “The Fellowship of the Ring” for the first
time. I was in awe as the black riders stalked Frodo, Sam, and Pippin through the Shire. It was a totally engrossing experience, as if the words had placed a spell over me and I could not pull my mind from the pages. Everything around me disappeared and during the time that I read the story I lived in Middle Earth. I was noble as the characters were
noble. I was courageous, adventurous, chivalrous, kind to the good and ruthless to the evil. I set out on the road as they did, not knowing where it would take me.

Those books changed me. Eventually I did hit the road to seek my fortune. There were other influences, sure, but “The Lord of the Rings” was a big one.

In the meantime, though, before I was ready for the road, when I was still a mess of insecure, uncertain, fearful teenage angst, “The Lord of the Rings” set me an example of an ideal – a fantasy ideal, of course, but an ideal nonetheless – of goodness, nobility, courage,
and so on, when I really needed something to cling to.

To the present: what does it mean to me now? I am still in the midst of the great adventure that is life. I finally got out and hit the road and I am still on the road. I have a family, a wife and five sons, but that is part of the great adventure. As I read this book now I find it as uplifting and inspiring as ever, but I no longer need to live vicariously
through the characters. Adventure can be found in many places and in many forms.

One thing that we have now that I did not used to have is the trilogy of films by Peter Jackson. I love those films, and I have watched them over and over. But if I had to choose between the books and the films I would take the books any day. They are deeper, more profound, more detailed. Jackson had to sacrifice a lot, to pare it down to the basics, even to fit into the extended versions. To my mind he made a lot of mistakes in the screenplays; he cut things he shouldn’t have, added other things he shouldn’t have, and took far too much liberty with the story to suit his supposed cinematic needs. Okay, it was his party
and overall he came out with a great product in the end, but some things need be said.

One of the greatest errors, and one which I can find no reason for at all, was the debasement of the character of Aragorn. In the book Aragorn is portrayed as a noble
heir to Elendil, true and faithful always, never doubting his destiny. He must wait a long time before claiming his crown – indeed, there is doubt as to whether he will ever triumph – but he travels the wilderness, ever a foe of the enemy and a protector of the innocent and ignorant. The years of journeying weigh heavily upon him until he is no longer fair to look upon, but his heart is always steadfast. Jackson presents him as one who has forsaken his calling – a deserter, in fact; one might almost say a coward – but why? It demeans the
character and does nothing to enrich the plot. No, this should not have been done.

Another error was to cast Gimli as the comic relief. Gimli in the book has a great, profound heart and is anything but silly. He stays true to the fellowship through much adversity and sorrow. He represents the race of dwarves, as Legolas does the elves, and they are not a ridiculous people (though there is some humor in Tolkien’s descriptions of them) but a proud race with a noble history.

There are other mistakes of lesser importance that distract a reader of the books in the films, and some of them I may touch on in my essays about the next two books. One
problem is Jackson’s crass disregard of time and distance in presenting his plotline. The blonde elf, Haldir I think, is first encountered in the film in Lothlorien, but then he appears in “The Two Towers” supposedly sent by Elrond, who would have been
hundreds of miles away in Rivendell, at Helm’s Deep. How would they have known of the danger at Helm’s Deep from such a distance, when the only available communication was
messenger, and how would they have marched so far so fast? Okay, okay, I’ll stop nit-picking. I enjoyed the scene when the elves showed up to help with the battle too. But it
makes no sense.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. It is “The Fellowship of the Rings” that we are concerned with here, and it is wonderful to read it and enjoy all the parts that are left out of the film: the last walk through the Shire, the old forest, Tom Bombadil, the barrow-wights, Barliman Butterbur, the extended council of Elrond at which many stories are told, the description of Moria (which gave me great joy and dread the first time I read it), and an account of the time they spent at Lothlorien, with many more details than the movies were able to provide.

If you check out the book reviews on my blog, you’ll see that I read a lot, and I read a lot of different kinds of books. I usually alternate between fiction and non-fiction, but otherwise it’s wide open. I’m interested in a lot of different subjects and want to learn about them all. But I have been going through some personal crises lately – I experienced a sort of burnout due to a work overload and became very weak and disoriented, and I chose to re-read “The Lord of the Rings” because for me, no matter how many times I read it, it is always positive and uplifting. So it is proving to be during this time as well. I recommend it to all, for any reason or for no reason. It is a great experience.