Live Free and Die Hard - Old Friends and Beginning a World Journey

You know what they say about old friends... wait, what do they say? I feel like there is an old saying - something about tried and true... die hard... you know, Bruce Willis-type stuff. Well, I have come to know many friends in my day, and I always like to think we can all catch up right where we left off - some sort of unspoken continuum that transcends space and time. In many cases, I have found that to be true.

Fittingly so, I chose to start my world tour visiting two of those guys who fall into the category of Die Hard Friends. Two others are assisting me on the Walking Amadeus video project. With any luck, I will see a few more before I complete the circle.

Destination #1 - San Diego, California

San Diego is quite a wonderful place to be. There are many reasons, but temperature, beach, food, and craft beer are among the best... those, and my good friend Jeff lives there with his lovely Liz. We knew I wouldn't get any great stouts for, gosh, months (!) ...gulp, so we had a good couple days of exploring a few more from among the 100 or so local breweries. Of course, we had to make a trip to Underbelly for ramen just prior to my flight. Watch out, Asia; Underbelly sets the bar pretty high. I don't know if any of y'all know about ramen, but they sure do. Thanks, Jeff for the great send-off.

Destination #2 - Lahaina, Maui

I had to count, but I believe this was my eleventh time to the Hawaiian Islands. My dad took me the first seven times. He taught me that all you need is a cheap flight, a cheap hotel, and some food money, and you've got yourself a vacation. For better or worse, my dining budget has snowballed a bit since the days of KFC and bargain buffets. I won't mention how Tom and his friend made me smuggle out all of that buffet chicken in my backpack for beach snacks. Oh wait, I just did.

Anyway, I picked Lahaina, because I wanted to go visit my long-lost friend, Shaun. We were fast friends from his sixteenth birthday when he got to drive his Mustang to school, invited me out to lunch, and he had a Van Halen tape at the ready. Done. I say "long-lost," because since he moved to Maui in the late '90s, I think I've seen him twice. We haven't been that good about staying in touch, but it's great to know the offer still stands to just show up in West Maui, and I'll have a friend and a place to crash. We had a pleasant reunion, and it was fascinating to see him and his younger brother as dads now. Hopefully, it won't be as long until we meet again - found three more little kids who call me "Uncle!" I don't actually know how many people call me "Uncle Mark," but it seems like a lot these days.

Well, off to Asia!

San Bernardino, CA

Many things come to the minds of those in faraway places who learn that I am from California. Probably very few of those things are correct about San Bernardino. Nobody surfs. We don't talk like Spicoli. Our city is bankrupt, and a fair amount of its roughly 200,000 residents would claim to be "broke." Several years ago I was surprised to learn there was an actual term used disparagingly in reference to my people and those in neighboring cities of the "Inland Empire" - "909ers." I heard it on a television program and thought, "Really, they call us by our area code?" It's true - Orange County folk, LA... they are embarrassed to share the state with us. In fact, most people who can, do flee San Bernardino eventually.

However, just because I'm leaving, I have no interest in further compounding the list of ills of my city to join the degradation. One could even look at it as a failure - not being the part of a solution. There is crime, there's smog, there's poverty, and there's blight, yet I will still always have a fond recollection of my first 21 years of life (and then some) in this much maligned dysfunctional institution of a city. I could list the ordinary and extraordinary people who taught me, trained me, coached me, prayed with me, counseled me, and befriended me in this place, but it would be far too extensive and not very flashy. The truth is we took on race relations decades ago, and many of us learned how to live together. Nobody cares what religion you are or into what family you were born. We are all proud Californians, but our identities have little to do with Hollywood or a surfboard. We are uniquely proud that we are nestled in a valley with fantastic sunsets, year-round shorts weather, and short drives away from mountains, beaches, the desert, Las Vegas, Palm Springs, Mexico, and several major airports and sporting events... and we have plenty of great Mexican food. Growing up in San Bernardino teaches that you are blessed, but certainly not entitled; you can be proud, without being arrogant; you have to be strong, but you will never be indestructible; you can aspire, and you can escape if you wish.

I imagine many of the same claims could be made for a lot of hometowns. We should all be so fortunate to have such a nest out of which to be kicked... even if we do our own kicking.

Walking Amadeus S01:E01 "Departures"

Episode 1 - Departures

Riverside and San Diego, USA; Lahaina, USA (2015)

First episode of a one-man trip around the world - leaving home in California back in April of 2015, Mark Porter starts his journey in the Inland Empire, on to San Diego, and off to Maui. This is an interactive project, in that viewers are encouraged to participate in the open-ended journey by suggesting routes of travel, destinations, challenges, visitations, etc by emailing walkingamadeus@gmail.com

The Theory of Everything That Matters

I tend to wonder about the people who claim to "love" science. Do they actually mean that they enjoy the fruits of other people's study of science, or are they active thinkers in facts, theories, experimentation and logic? Sometimes I feel that some are simply trying to politically aggravate the people who have an active faith in God. In any case, science is truly an abundantly useful and necessary human creation. However, the explanation of "everything" in a single elegant mathematical equation is certainly ambitious, yet perhaps foolhardy. I claim this not only as a Christian or a social scientist, but as a humble singular note in a symphony of millenia. Indeed, my Theory of Everything That Matters will serve us even better than the best explanation of the story of all existence based upon a stated starting point in the infinity of time - not as a repudiation of science or facts, but as a complement to what we already think we know as well as an alteration of perspective.

There are many certainties (pardon my audacity, Ben Franklin) in life. This is not to say that they are infinitely durable or constant, but for the period of time in which I am interested (now until the foreseeable future), consider the following as truths:

There is light, and there is dark. There is and always will be right now as well as the past. Actions are caused by other actions, and certain conclusions necessarily follow. Circumstances will occur that do not seem fair. As long as humans walk the earth there will be conflict, love, and conscience. We all are born, and we all will pass. Our planet is merely a small piece of creation, yet somehow our decisions matter and can affect the universe outside of ourselves. Balance is the result of more than one force interacting with each or one another. Change will always occur due to variables in the equation, yet many of these variables can be predicted to some degree of accuracy. Evil exists. Life has a profound tendency to persevere as well as destroy.

The phenomenon of everything is rather broad and reaches beyond what any human could possibly understand. Everything that matters is only relevant as long as there are thinking rational beings to whom such affects. For instance, some catastrophe could destroy all life on Earth tomorrow, leaving no one left to care if my theory is actually correct. Absent said catastrophe, it is fair to say that everything that matters is the aggregate of human choices in their natural world. We ought not conclude necessarily that everything happens for a reason, because that presupposes a very personal attachment to the outcome, when in actuality every event is part of a larger movement toward equilibrium. The enlightened human - whether through travel, study, or affairs of the heart - realizes that the world is so much bigger than oneself. Armstrong, Einstein, King, and Shakespeare all made discoveries that contributed to the enlightenment of the human race, and all were catalysts granting the opportunities for positive movements in the world.

Everything that matters is a direct result of action by variables that have a choice over the constants that can be measured by mathematical analysis. For instance, when a certain amount of rain falls, it loosens the ground which triggers the falling of a boulder via the force of gravity down the given trajectory of a hillside to crush a car traveling at a specific velocity on the road below; this can all be predicted and explained quite methodically. The active choice of another human to risk her life to rescue the driver of the car is a phenomenon that cannot be predicted assuredly. Therefore, everything that matters is born in the human mind and carried out with the human spirit - not as a scientific equation that logically progresses throughout millenia in Xs and Ys born in some "big bang" at the beginning of time. The actual big bang occurs every day in the synapses journeyed in our minds and the profound capacities of our hearts to have some immeasurable impact on the world. Furthermore, the very American (although assuredly not exclusively) belief in a Creator, rather than sheer happenstance or marriage to incontrovertible scientific proof, has an impact on our world - through human choices in morality and purpose - that should not be understated. Indeed, everything that matters lies not in what has been proven or can be predicted with certainty, but rather in the unforeseen actions by capricious and inspired creatures and all that we affect throughout the courses of our given lifetimes.

Thanks for the Memory - Photographs of Thanksgivings Past

Thanks for the memory... of so many wonderful people, laughter, great food, and all the rest.

Happy Thanksgiving.

My Peruvian Familia's First Thanksgiving

New York Thanksgiving Night in Little Italy

Loubna's First Thanksgiving in Bowie, MD with Chef Phil

Curried Camote Soup at my place in DC

Lone Pine Family in San Bernardino

Cooking in Lima, Peru

Family Dinner in Alexandria

San Bernardino Thanksgiving

Waiting for my guests - Washington, DC

Waiting for dinner in Springfield, VA

Dearly Departed

As a child, I had the good fortune of taking a ride in a hot air balloon over Northern California with my mom, my uncle, my grandma, and a few strangers. The morning air was crisply cool, although I took comfort in the heat that emanated in bursts from the burners just overhead. Flight was nothing new to me, even at a young age, but hovering a mile above the ground with nothing under my feet but a wicker basket was quite extraordinary. I knew my mom would not have taken me up had she believed this to be dangerous, yet I understood the inherent precariousness of such an Icarian endeavor. Fortunately our pilot did not succumb to hubris that day.

Today is a day that is uniquely special to me. For some time now, the journey toward inevitable departure has weighed thickly on my mind. I have met and known many people in my time so far; some remain close in one way or another, and others vanish. The most influential, in some fashion, maintain a proper perch in our minds, a luminous guide for our steps, and a tugging force on our hearts. If we believe that our human endeavor is a collection of our innumerable experiences and interactions with the world and her temporary inhabitants, then even though we all physically depart from one another, the spirit of who we are together is everlasting.

We each take a balloon ride in our life - seeking the perennial balance of altitude between too low and too high. We share parts of the ride (if we're lucky) with some pretty wonderful passengers. As perplexing a notion as someone dear to us having floated away is, it is essential - and of great consolation - that we approach it with the child-like ambition that we can and should fly, and so should they. Perhaps the best we can do is let them go and pray they get to where they need to be. Who knows? Maybe that destination is where we will meet again.

"See You In Heaven" - In Memory of Gary Porter

I suppose you could say my dad was an eternal optimist. He was a coach to me, my brothers, my friends, and hundreds of other kids over the course of a few decades, and even in the face of insurmountable odds, he would encourage us to keep up the fight. He had the highest of hopes for my brothers and me in life and career - even suggesting I become a doctor or a pharmacist due to my care-taking qualifications this year. He would celebrate our accomplishments, our advancements, and our endeavors. Upon being diagnosed with late-stage inoperable cancer, his automatic response was to fight; even late in his treatment, with no cure in sight, he insisted on us reading books from the library on how to overcome, and he kept the hope of the day when he could go back to his hikes. Perhaps he was trying to be strong for me - some last lesson in perseverance - but really I think it was his own trademark stubborn persistence. Never give up hope. There are better days ahead.

Coach Porter was a unique individual in that he didn't just coach because his sons were on the team; he would often take on two teams in different age groups in soccer, and went across town to coach baseball in poorer areas and even reported violence having occurred at or near the practice fields. He truly enjoyed coaching kids of all backgrounds and ages. He had a love of sport that was pure, but he was never fanatical; he enjoyed baseball, football, soccer, and basketball, but I rarely (if ever) heard him speak higher of any professional or college team than of the teams we played for growing up. Not only was he a dedicated coach, but he was one of our biggest fans. He was there in the stands when I hit my first home run, and he was at nearly every Cajon soccer match - home and away - when I played. Eventually, I would coach high school soccer, and he would be there rooting for my girls with the same enthusiasm.

My dad's appetite for sports was probably only matched by his appetite for a good meal. That is not to say he was interested in unique cuisines or fine dining; his tastes were fairly simple and his list of favorite restaurants short. I suppose growing up hungry gave him the incentive to enjoy his meals with pride. He loved going out to eat, but his most famous culinary exploit was the Indian burritos that were often the talk of the classroom on Friday mornings at Assumption. Since he had few other hobbies, I made it a point these last eleven months to take him on a culinary journey around the world with our dinners at home. With little protest, I introduced Dad to foods from Italy, Peru, Mexico, Spain, Turkey, Morocco, and Greece. He loved tomatoes, but seemed to think mozzarella caprese was strange. When I could convince him not to go get biscuits and gravy from DJ's, I would make pancakes for breakfast, and we must have had a dozen or so varieties - banana, blueberry, strawberry, sweet potato...

All else aside, the main event of Dad's day for many years was his "hike." He was not so much a runner as an avid walker. He was not big on most things social, but he did enjoy his hikes up toward the university and through the foothills for several miles daily and the people he met along the way. Often he would report people taking the time to slow down and honk at him on Northpark Boulevard to say hello. He was always proud of his fitness and routinely encouraged me to get out there and walk. Supposedly, "walking cures everything." It was a good lesson.

But, who was he? My dad was a fairly private person, but made a few things known. He left the Indian reservation as a young man and was determined to make it on his own. He climbed the ranks of the US Forest Service and bought a home and made a life. He charted his own course and even changed his name. He believed in the power of the individual, yet we are nothing if we do not elevate those around us. He had no tolerance for pettiness, rudeness, disloyalty, or laziness. He was a Catholic who always sat in the back of the church and offered to help. He made his boys his priority. His granddaughters were his treasure.

Yes, Gary "Winter Bird" Porter was a fiercely dedicated father, proud example and motivator, and determined optimist. He received his final holy communion at home just last week. The eucharistic minister was a very nice lady from the church. She bid him farewell, and he answered her in the last distinct message I will remember, "see you in Heaven."

Thank you, Dad. Rest in peace.

Gary H. Porter  

September 27, 1932 - September 30, 2014