Here's the thing...

5 pictures project

2009-03-04T14:07:00.004-05:00

Every so often, I enjoy walking around with my camera to take a few photos of my immediate surroundings. I try not to set out with a specific composition in mind, rather I start snapping away at whatever captures my attention in the moment, be it some tiny detail that seems insignificant or a large-scale scene that spans the width of my field of vision.

It's interesting to go back and look at photos of familiar objects and places from a perspective that is one step removed from viewing them "live." The photos below are things that I see every day at work, but looking at a time-frozen image of the disaster that is my desktop or the way the stairs wind around the interior of the building removes me slightly from the immediate experience of those objects. And it causes me to speculate about why these are the things that stood out for me today and caught my attention. At the very least, it seems like a good exercise in stopping to take note of perspective.

Earlier today, I challenged a friend of mine who lives abroad to take photos of his surroundings and choose five of them that capture the essence of his day. I agreed to do the same. Below are five snapshots from the few moments this morning that I spent intentionally taking notice of the environment around me.

By the way, if any of you decide you would like to try this "5 pictures project," please let me know - I'd love to see what you come up with.

studio update #3

2009-02-01T20:40:00.002-05:00

Leslie isn't here with her laptop, so I'm back to typing on the iPhone. Ran into a little snag late this afternoon when a metal band started rehearsing in their practice room in the basement. Despite the fact that they were three floors away through several closed doors and a stairwell, it was still vibrating the walls and bleeding sound into our vocal takes. Antonia and I went down to talk to them, and since they were planning to practice for an hour and a half or so, we walked up to The Village to get a beer and bide our time. So it goes with shared space.

But we're back on track now: all guitars, mandolin, banjo, and lead vocals are done. Antonia is working on her accordion parts now, then Josh will lay down the cello tracks. It's getting late in the day - the coffee and pizza are now cold, the beer is now warm, but we're pressing on.

a few photos from today

2009-01-31T21:49:00.004-05:00

studio update #2

2009-01-31T20:02:00.002-05:00

8:03 p.m. - Progress is progress...but it's slow. Or, at least, a bit slower than we'd hoped. Jonathan is (re-)recording the last of his guitar parts. My mandolin parts are finished, and I've taken a stab at the banjo part on "You Do Too," but it's not quite there yet. And I've yet to put electric guitar on the two songs that require it. Lots of foundation to work with, but still lots to do during tomorrow's session. We'll call it a night shortly. All are getting a bit tired.

And it's STILL cold in here!

studio update #1

2009-01-31T12:26:00.003-05:00

12:36 p.m. - It is seriously cold in here. We're in a space above Metro Sound on Broad Street, and there has been no heat in the studio all morning. The recording room itself is a little warmer, as it's in the center of the building and better insulated. But Jonathan is the only one in that space right now. The rest of us are in the control room, which has big drafty windows overlooking Broad Street. It's cold enough in here that when I scrunch up my nose, it feels like it takes a couple of seconds for it to shift back into place.

We finally got the heat turned on, but not only are the overhead vents fairly ineffective given the 12-foot ceilings in the control room, it has caused a technical issue: the sound of the air coming out of the vents is being picked up by the microphone and bleeding into the recording. So we have to turn off the heat when we record, then turn it back on in between takes.

With regard to progress on the recording itself, we have the acoustic guitar parts for "St. Josephina" and "You Do Too" so far. But we only have two days to do all the parts for six songs...so we've barely scratched the surface.

recording this weekend

2009-01-31T11:21:00.002-05:00

We're in the studio this weekend recording the next Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird EP "The Fire Next Time." I'm hoping to post some thoughts and photos from the studio as we work through the process. Makes me wish I had a laptop instead of typing on my iPhone. But so it goes.

Stay tuned - updates and pics to follow...

the times they are a-changin'

2009-01-20T18:08:00.002-05:00

What a day it's been! So many things to be said about the day of Obama's inauguration...but with so many people saying all of those things already, I thought I would offer a relevant but off-the-beaten path story from my mom for your consideration. She told me this story back in November on the evening of Obama's election, and I asked her to write it down for me that week. I've been saving it ever since, waiting for today to post it.

I can’t remember the details of this little anecdote, but the impact has stayed with me all of my life. Manners were elemental to my upbringing in the Deep South of the 1950s, and one of the most heavily emphasized was respect for our elders. I naively took that to mean ALL elders.

One day when I was about 6 or 7, I was at a friend’s house. Her black maid said something to me to which I replied, “Yes, Ma’am”. Well, that’s how you addressed grown-ups, right? Evidently not. I was quickly told by my friend (or maybe her mother, I can’t recall) that “you don’t say Ma’am and Sir to ‘Negras’.” I felt embarrassed and stupid as though I had made some unforgivable social gaff. But I still didn’t understand “why”. That was just the first of many cultural double standards that would not make sense to me. It was the beginning of several years of childhood ambivalence between what society told me was appropriate and what my heart told me was right.

Tuesday morning, as I listened to the TV pundits discuss the likelihood of Barack Obama becoming our next President, it suddenly occurred to me that I had finally been vindicated. I remembered that little moment 50 years ago and knew that I had been right - right to show respect to someone who was different from me, and right to question why someone would have the audacity to tell me I shouldn’t.

next stop: the kennedy center (seriously)

2009-01-03T10:59:00.007-05:00

If you don't read anything else in this blog post, read this link: Jonathan Vassar and The Speckled Bird on the Millenium Stage at the Kennedy Center. That would be my friend Jonathan, his wife Antonia, and myself. In two weeks.

I'm not sure how I've managed not to write about all that's been going on lately with this current music project. As I mentioned a few months ago, I've been playing with my friends Antonia and Jonathan Vassar under the name Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Jonathan released his EP "The Hours and the Days" on Triple Stamp Records (a local Richmond label) back in September, and we've been busy playing shows through the fall.

The week before Christmas, we had the opportunity to play at the newly-renovated National Theater here in Richmond, opening for another local band, Louisiana Territory. It was a really fun show in a beautiful venue. The photo above is from the show...and if you have a minute, I encourage you to check out the photos of the inside of The National on their website. Really lovely.

As I mentioned earlier (in a not-so-subtle fashion): on Friday, January 16, we're making a trip north to D.C. to play at the Kennedy Center on the Millenium Stage. Each night, the Millenium Stage has a free, hour-long concert from 6:00-7:00 p.m. If you happen to be in D.C. in a couple of weeks, I hope you'll drop by...and please encourage your D.C. friends to do the same.

The following weekend, we're headed into the studio to record an EP that should be released sometime in the spring. More on that as the time draws near. Needless to say, there's a lot to be excited about so far in 2009!

P.S. - Thanks to my sister Leslie for all the photos!

in with the new

2009-01-01T00:05:00.002-05:00

Midnight on the East Coast. 2008 is over, 2009 has begun (right on time). Feels about the same as it did half an hour ago...New Year's always seems just a little anti-climactic. Still, happy to be at the start of another year, counting my blessings and thankful to be where I am.

And I'm not saying it's a New Year's resolution or anything, but I will point out that it is Day 1 of 2009, and I am writing blog post #1 of the year. That score may not stay even for long, but it's nice while it lasts.

So, here's to looking forward into the promise of the coming year. Cheers!

the next (same) hurdle

2008-11-23T17:07:00.003-05:00

Iliotibial Band Syndrome (ITBS). The "IT Band," as it is often called, is a long strip of tissue-like material that runs down the outside of the upper leg, connecting the hip to the knee. Running causes friction between the band and the femur. Too much activity (along with a number of other contributing factors including length of the IT band, effectiveness of stretching, pronation of the foot, quality of shoes, etc.) can cause inflammation of the band, radiating dull pain to the outside lateral portion of the knee. Symptoms usually begin in the first 2 or 3 miles of a run. The sharpness of the pain increases with continued activity, and inflammation subsides when the activity is stopped. It often takes weeks to heal completely.

ITBS is the thing that kept me from finishing the marathon last Saturday. I first had symptoms back in the spring when I ran the Monument Ave. 10K, and the problem flared up intermittently over the course of the marathon training. But I'd been in the clear since late August...until our 20-mile training run in late October. It's been problematic every since. But I rested it a lot during the 3-week taper leading up to the marathon, determined to run on November 15.

I started to feel it somewhere around Mile 3 of the marathon. It was exactly what I was afraid of. I suspected then that I wouldn't be able to finish, but I stopped and stretched every so often and tried to push on. I had to walk most of Mile 7 - not because I was tired or my muscles sore or my lungs struggling, but because the pain in my knee had begun to stab. I stretched for several minutes at the Mile 8 marker in an attempt to get my IT band to cooperate. It was effective for about a tenth of a mile. Finally, after stopping every 200 feet or so to stretch (and still limping along), I had to give up at the Mile 10 water station and resign myself to the fact that I'd have to tackle 26.2 another day.

I'm headed to see the sports medicine doctor on Tuesday to start rehabilitation. I hope to get back to training as soon as I can, though I'll make sure I'm completely healed first. I will say definitively that I will not let my first marathon attempt be my last.

it's now or...maybe later

2008-11-14T18:13:00.005-05:00

The Richmond Marathon starts at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. I haven't run in 8 days. I've been trying to get my left iliotibial band to heal so my knee will stop aching. Since my 20-mile run three weeks ago, I haven't been able to go more than 3 or 4 miles at a time without my IT band tightening and flaring up. Since this time last week, I've iced it, rested it, stretched it, heated it, iced it some more, taken ibuprofen, more ice, etc. It's better, but I'm not sure it feels 100%. The muscles in my legs are almost twitching with restless energy, ready to run. But if the knee doesn't hold up, it's to no avail.

So, I'm worried. I'm sitting in my study at home staring at the clock on the wall, realizing that, at this very moment, I have exactly 13 hours and 30 minutes until the start gun goes off. I'm just ready to get to it, ready to sink or swim.

And speaking of swimming...that idiomatic cliche may not be too far off the mark. Forget the cool, clear, crisp autumn mornings that we generally see around here in mid-November. Here's the hour-by-hour weather forecast for tomorrow morning:

Pushing 70 degrees in windy thunderstorms. At the very least, it will be exciting. Truth be told, I like running in the rain. It distracts me from everything else, and it makes the whole endeavor more challenging (not that tomorrow needs to be any more challenging).

So I'm hopeful that, with patience, a slow start, a careful pace, good stretching, and a whole lot of grace, I will have completed 26.2 miles by early/mid afternoon tomorrow. And if not, there's always Charlotte next month. In the meantime, it's time to load up on pasta dinner.

adding to the repertoire

2008-10-15T14:22:00.004-04:00

I've been working on a lot of new music over the past two or three months. I wish that I wrote faster, that I were more prolific...but, at the very least, I'm learning to work consistently and take progress when and where it comes without feeling too discouraged when I hit a wall for a while. It's difficult sometimes when a song is about two-thirds complete but the last little bit just won't come easily (as is the case for at least three or four pieces right now). Lots of lunch hours spent eating and writing with nothing but a full stomach to show for it in the end.

Still, I'm happy to have emerged with two completed songs so far: "More Familiar" and "Three Days." Moreover, I feel fairly satisfied - at least for now - with the recordings I've done of both. My goal is to finish the handful of other tunes still in progress in order to have enough new material for an EP-length recording.

In the meantime, I've uploaded these first two songs to Reverb Nation. If you give them a listen, I hope you'll let me know your thoughts...positive OR negative (or maybe I should say "constructive").

(N.B. - it takes a few seconds for each song to start after you hit play...)

going for a run and singing a song

2008-07-03T08:42:00.000-04:00

How it got from May 15 to July 3, I haven't a clue. All of my promises about being a better blogger have rung hollow and empty. What to do but try to begin again?

I suppose the big news of the previous weeks is that, as of the beginning of June, I am officially in training for the 2008 Richmond Marathon in November. I've been running consistently over the past year, and I was surprised at how much I loved running the Monument Avenue 10K a couple of months ago. Still, 26.2 miles is a LOT farther than the 6.2 miles that make up the 10K. I admit that I'm already a little nervous about it. The funny thing is that running a marathon isn't that big a deal these days. It used to be fairly rare to meet someone who'd run a marathon. These days I feel like half the people I know have run one. The farthest I've ever run at one time is about 6 miles, and while I've done it four or five times, I'm worried about tomorrow's 8-mile jaunt.

In other news, I've been playing some music with my friends Jonathan and Antonia under the name Jonathan Vassar and The Speckled Bird. Definitely a folky, lo-fi Americana feel, very low key. We're playing a bunch of Jonathan's original tunes (he's a prolific and excellent songwriter), so the lineup has Jonathan on guitar and lead vocals, Antonia on accordion, glockenspiel, and vocals, and I'm covering mandolin, banjo, electric guitar, and vocals. It's been a really fun project so far - if you're interested in hearing some rough live recordings, we've posted a bunch on Reverb Nation...and for those of you on MySpace, you can find us there, too: http://www.myspace.com/thespeckledbird.

Hope everyone has a happy and safe 4th of July. Maybe I'll post again before the next major holiday...Labor Day, perhaps? Anyone want to take bets?

shameless family plug

2008-05-15T10:33:00.003-04:00

If you have five free minutes (and obviously you do because you're reading this), I strongly encourage you to check out my sister Leslie's newly established blog. Only a few posts on there so far, so it doesn't take long to read the whole thing. But I'd be willing to bet the $3.52 in my pocket that it will be the best five minutes of your day. When we were little kids, I used to torture Les by telling her she was adopted...of course I was kidding, but now I'm not so sure - no one else in my family comes close to being as clever and funny as she is (and she's likely to post a lot more frequently, too).

hi. i used to play your songs in high school.

2008-05-05T15:37:00.006-04:00

Way back in the early 1990's, rock music was just beginning to transition out of its big-haired, glam-rock, 1980's childhood into a funkier, groovier, sometimes-angstier adolescence. (Actually, come to think of it - maybe that was ME and not the music. Or maybe both.) One musical era was definitively ending, a new one beginning. The new scope was pretty broad: the heavy grunge of Seattle (Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Nirvana) to the light, clean "jam band" style of Blues Traveler and Dave Matthews. Nestled in the latter camp, the Spin Doctors released their album Pocket Full Of Kryptonite in August of 1991. I was about to start 9th grade.

People just three or four years younger than I don't remember this album or its creators. But for those who do, you may recall the easily digestible candy-sweet bounce of tunes like "Jimmy Olsen's Blues," "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong," and "Two Princes." I even remember playing some of these songs with high school friends back in the day.

This is all a long way of saying that Chris Barron, lead singer for the Spin Doctors, performed for the Children's Center here at the church a couple of weeks ago. He was in town for a gig and somehow ended up playing this middle-of-the-day thing for the 25 or 30 kids in attendance (all 5 or 6 years old or younger). Really nice guy, very laid back. But I have to admit it was surreal to sit there and watch this now-over-40 front man sing to a group of kids that had no idea who he was. It was interesting to hear the new songs Barron has written - like catching up with a friend you haven't seen in years (maybe decades) and finding out all that they've been up to. But I have to confess: as much as I like the new songs, I couldn't help but get a kick out of hearing live acoustic versions of "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" and "Two Princes" while sitting in a church building with a couple of dozen little kids at lunchtime. Not an experience I would have anticipated when I was playing these songs at the age of 15.

the long and winding road

2008-04-25T21:50:00.003-04:00

In a euphemistic rendition of the old saying that suggests one should take action or move on, my mother cleverly quipped via email that I should "blog or get off the spot." Loud and clear, mother. You may be the last person still checking to see if I've managed to overcome the narcissism of my Edible Estates moment long enough to post something - ANYTHING - new. (A mother's duties are neverending.)

So here I am. Since my last post, the thematic arc of March was one of travel. In the span of just over four weeks, I had the opportunity to visit the Society of St. John the Evangelist (an Episcopal monastery in Cambridge, Mass.) for a weekend retreat, join a mission trip to help repair homes in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans during the week of my 31st birthday, and backpack across the breathtaking Galiuro Mountains of southeastern Arizona. All incredible experiences, each vastly different from the others.

I owe details about each of these trips - especially the story that unfolded in New Orleans - but the details will have to wait. In the meantime, I did manage to snap a shot of the monastery at SSJE during a morning snowstorm. It really was as beautiful as it appears.

"edible estates" piece

2008-02-21T11:56:00.002-05:00

Here is the piece that I wrote for the "Edible Estates" book that I mentioned in my last post.

February 2007. The piece of paper in front of me looked something like this:

Pros - Two flat 14’ x 20’ plots of land; south-facing; full sun all day; I’ll see the garden every day as I walk out my front door.
Cons - Everyone else will see the garden every day as they walk past my front door.

It wasn’t so much a “con” as an uncertainty. An edible front yard would be good stewardship of the little piece of land that I have. Could the “con” of high visibility actually be a “pro”? I swallowed my doubt.

March arrived. I borrowed my neighbor’s tiller, turned my yard into a plot of dirt, and panicked momentarily as I passed the “point of no return.” I laid out a walking path, cultivated beds, put in herb borders, and planted seeds.

At the very least, the resulting garden is a talking point. It piques curiosity. I’ve met more folks in the neighborhood in the last four months than I have in five years. Some ask questions. “What’s that plant?” “Are squash and zucchini hard to grow?” Most offer words of encouragement. “I love walking by every day and seeing the progress.” “I really believe in what you’re doing.” “Looks fantastic - keep up the good work!”

In truth, I’m an amateur. Last year was my first attempt at growing vegetables. It started as a pastime, a fun novelty: vegetables to which I could lay claim from my own ground. In short time, it has raised my awareness of the origins of what I eat, made me more intentional about choosing food. More than that, though, I feel intimately connected with the Earth. Watching a seed emerge from its burial to grow into a plant larger than my arms’ reach - and being an active participant in this natural cycle - has evolved into a tangible expression of faith in the natural order of things. That it produces the same fruitful results over and over again, year after year, is nothing short of miraculous. That I can share this with others in my own front yard is icing on the cake.

a few words in writing

2008-02-19T13:18:00.003-05:00

Throughout 2007, one of the more frequent topics of discussion on this blog was the transition of my front lawn from a perennial weed-scape to a more productive edible landscape, inspired largely by architect and designer Fritz Haeg. My March 3 post from last year provides a more robust explanation of the philosophy behind the movement to use one's yard in a more environmentally friendly, less destructive manner. After an article about my yard and my friend Antonia's yard ran in the Richmond Times-Dispatch last summer, I got an email from Fritz Haeg himself (!) telling me that the author of the newspaper article had emailed the story to him. He asked if I would be willing to submit "before and after" photos of my yard and a 300-word essay for inclusion in an upcoming book about his Edible Estates project. Shortly after the Fourth of July, I sent my essay and photos. I had almost forgotten about it until a couple of weeks ago. The book, called "Edible Estates: Attack on the Front Lawn", was released earlier this month, and I was fortunate enough to have my essay and photos included in the book. So...I'm published! And while it's not a huge deal (it is, after all, only a one-page essay in a garden book), I'm pretty proud of it and excited about it. I hope to post the essay in its entirety later this week.

"to whom much has been given..."

2008-01-15T12:31:00.000-05:00

OK, this might be a little heavy to start the new year, but so be it. Below is an article I've just finished writing for the newsletter at the church. I say that to provide some context for the piece, though I think the moral obligation for the responsible use of wealth need not be confined to discussions within religious circles. Anyway, I hope you'll take the time to read it and let me know if you have any thoughts in response:

I'm really no good at New Year's resolutions. Inevitably, I begin the year with a vow to make some definitive changes in my habits: eating better, exercising more, praying with more intention and regularity. And inevitably, I'm right back to where I started by February. So, I didn't make any concrete resolutions this January, but I did have a meaningful conversation in the first hours of the year that has continued to nag at me and cause me to take spiritual inventory of my own place in
God's world.

I spent the New Year's holiday in Dallas visiting with four of my college friends and their spouses. We try to make it a point to get together each year around this time to catch up with one another. In the wee hours of January 1, after the midnight celebrations had died down and most of the group had gone to sleep, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table deep in conversation with two of my friends. Both of these men are incredibly successful by society's standards. They are well-educated and well-spoken, have excelled through the ranks of their respective businesses, and have achieved financial status that few our age enjoy. And, to be frank, most of our conversational topics over the course of the weekend reflected the comfort of this lifestyle: business dealings, finances, new houses, investments, etc. But in this late-night conversation that shifted first to politics and then to issues of faith and social justice, all of the pretense of those prior conversations fell away. One of my friends confessed that he lies awake many nights wondering if he does enough with all the blessings he has received. We talked about the difficulty of knowing where to draw the line between providing for the needs of ourselves and our families and the slippery temptation to indulge extravagantly in our wants. We debated what it is, exactly, that we are called to do in the passage from Luke's Gospel that reads, “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded” (Luke 12:48).

It is a conversation that has stuck with me over the past few weeks, raising as many questions as it answers. There's no way around it: much has been given to each of us. For the most part, we are blessed with good homes, good families, good educations, good jobs...and it is clear that God is calling us to use these blessings responsively and responsibly. We just have to figure out how best to do that.

So I have only one resolution this year. It comes in the form of a question, and I'm certain it will require continuous reassessment and attention in the months ahead: am I giving of myself all that God is asking me to give, and if not, where is there room for me to improve? I realize that it is a very basic question, one that should be obvious and ever-present for us as Christians. But the truth -- at least, for me -- is that often my day-to-day activity is not rooted in answering that question. I lose sight of it in the busyness around me and the relative comfort that I enjoy. Regardless of the form in which the answer comes, I am reminded of our stewardship prayer that begins, "Disturb us, O Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves," as I pray that each of us will be given the grace and wisdom to seek (and find) the ways in which God is calling us to be his heart and hands in the world around us in 2008.

putting it out there

2007-12-11T20:59:00.000-05:00

For a while now, I've entertained this vision of finishing and recording at least a few of the dozen or so song fragments that I've begun writing since the demise of RingsEnd in May of 2003. Four and a half years later, I haven't made all that much progress. The number of fragments increases faster than the completed songs. Still, I have managed enough discipline to birth four or five fully-formed tunes with another half-dozen nearing the end of their creative gestation (talk about a long labor).

Anyway, in my original grand master plan, I envisioned myself finishing all of these songs, recording them with exquisitely eclectic arrangements (professional sound quality, of course), and releasing them as a solo album all at once. Needless to say, that hasn't happened. And since I have no idea when that will happen, I've decided to quit being so picky about it. I can polish them later with some studio time: for now, I just want to complete what I've started and get some ideas out there.

To that end, I've uploaded four songs to a site called virb.com. Of the four songs, two are new-ish (written within the past year) and two are a little older. Two are recorded with a little more polish and two are very rough guitar/vocal demos. For a slightly better description, here is the paragraph that I included on my virb page:

The songs on this page are like a bunch of teenagers, all in various stages of development: some of them are young, brand new, a little rough around the edges, barely conscious; others are a little more mature, been around a while...slightly more polished, with just a glimmer of what they potentially (God willing) might become. But none of them have reached "adulthood" yet. I don't like to share parts of songs while I'm writing them - a verse here, a chorus there - but each of these is finished to the degree that it is complete. (N.B. - Don't equate "complete" with any assessment of quality.) And while I suspect there may still be musical or lyrical changes to each at some point in the future, I feel as if maybe it's time to throw them out there while they're still coming of age.

If you want to give it a listen - and I hope you will - here's the site:
http://www.virb.com/chrisedwards

P.S. - As a total aside, I just want to state publicly that this blog is lame. I know. It used to sit untouched for days, and now it often goes weeks at a time without a single new word. And I know you're tired of my empty promises to do better...but...maybe in 2008??

outta the way, here comes W.

2007-11-19T10:31:00.001-05:00

I am currently sitting in the Richmond airport waiting to board a plane that should have left twenty minutes ago. Travel delays typical of Thanksgiving week, perhaps? Nope. The airport is on lockdown. Looking out the window as I typed the last sentence, I watched Air Force One cruise by on the tarmac with El Presidente aboard. He apparently has decided that Thanksgiving week would be an excellent time to make a quick little jaunt down to Charles City County to visit Berkeley Plantation. Thank the good Lord W. will be on hand to "talk about what we as a nation can be thankful for during Thanksgiving," as one White House spokesman put it. I'll tell you what I WAS thankful for an hour ago, Dubbs: flying on Monday of Thanksgiving week in an attempt to get home in a timely fashion and avoid delays later in the week. Instead, I'm now sitting in a crowd of people who are thrilled - no, really, just THRILLED - that your arrival has meant the delay of thousands of passengers during the busiest travel week of the year, since no one in the airport can move a muscle or look sideways or sneeze while your plane is on the ground.

And now, there goes the Presidential motorcade. Tax dollars hard at work. Anyway, don't mind us - you go enjoy Berkeley Plantation. Take your time. We'll just wait here.

now hear this...

2007-11-13T10:46:00.000-05:00

Resting on my blogging laurels again...for a whole month (plus) this time. Whoops.

I seem to remember expressing an intention to post thoughts on a variety of topics a while back. Obviously I have some catching up to do. To begin, a few bits of compelling music that have been using using up my mental bandwidth lately. It’s worth noting that memorable songs tend to pop up with some frequency. But in last few months I’ve come across several albums - both intentionally and by chance - that have lodged themselves in my psyche. I don’t intend for the thoughts below to be comprehensive reviews, rather a collection of impressions about each of these particular albums and artists.

Surprise - Paul Simon
The title couldn’t be more apt. The conversational patter of lyrics and complex intrumental layering are quintessential Paul Simon, as are the unexpected rhythmical accents and shifts that have been keystone’s of his music since “Graceland” and “Rhythm of the Saints.” But this album is...different. First of all, it’s produced by Brian Eno, who is best known for his extensive production work with U2. Eno tends to use a lot of electronica and unexpected sounds to create sonic landscapes. It doesn’t sound like something that would work with Paul Simon’s style at all. But somehow, it does. It’s similar to the way the songs on David Gray’s “White Ladder” mesh perfectly with the electronic undercurrents on that record. But here, it’s more interesting, more in the forefront, more a defining piece of each of the songs without getting in the way of the musical textures and lyrics. For example: in “Everything About It Is a Love Song,” the first verse begins with a loping, syncopated feel. But halfway through the verse, the electronic rhythm pattern kicks in, and suddenly the song has a straight-ahead double-time feel. An unexpected "surprise." Good stuff. One of my favorite lyrical lines comes in that same tune:

A tear drop consists of
electrolytes and salt -
the chemistry of crying
is not concerned with blame or fault

Other album highlights: “How Can You Live in the Northeast?”; “Outrageous”; “Wartime Prayers”.

Emotionalism - The Avett Brothers
Each Avett Brothers album seems better than the one that preceeded it. Without a doubt, there are some real gems on Live Vol. 2, Mignonette, and Four Thieves Gone. But if one looks at the Avett Brothers’ work through the lens of their previous albums, Emotionalism represents a vision coming into focus. The sound is still raw and heart-felt (you never doubt that they mean every word they sing...or scream), but the playing here is just better, the singing is tighter, and the songs are well-crafted and downright catchy. Their melodic lines are the best they’ve ever been, and the album has a consistent feel throughout. I find myself picking through songs on the Avetts’ earlier albums. Definitely not the case here: I love this album as a coherent whole. I love it for its musical and lyrical honesty. I love its inherent melodrama (it IS called “Emotionalism,” after all) and the fact that it somehow manages to feel exposed and vulnerable rather than contrived. In short, I think it's pretty brilliant.
Album highlights: “Die, Die, Die”; “The Weight of Lies”; “Pretty Girl From San Diego”.

Kismet - Jesca Hoop
I came across this album by accident, and now I can’t even remember how. Was it an Amazon.com recommendation? An iTunes highlight? Did I read about it while searching for info on another artist? I honestly can’t remember. But I’m glad I found it. Jesca Hoop grew up Mormon in Northern California, broke away from her family tradition, and lived in the Wyoming wilderness before coming back to California and working as a nanny for Tom Waits’ kids. Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up. Kismet is a quirky album. There are several different styles and genres going on here, all of which make sense when you read Jesca’s myriad musical influences. In the first few seconds of “Summertime” (the first track), one has the sense that this might be another cheesy pop album. And then, something happens. I’m not sure what. It builds. There’s a hint of opening and widening. She sings variations on the syllable “la” in a way that, for me at least, conjures images of running and African grasslands. I have no idea why. And just as I begin to get used to the feel, to come to terms with it, there’s a totally unexpected chordal shift. Abrupt without sounding ridiculous. The whole album is inexplicable like that. Songs morph from one genre to the next, but they’re all connected by an intricacy that is perpetually unexpected and refreshing. Interestingly, the best song on the album is the last. The first time I heard “Love and Love Again,” I said out loud (to no one) at the end of the song, “Oh my God, that’s really good.” And I went back to the beginning of the song. Three times. The melody line is so well written it sounds as if it would be right at home as a musical theater ballad. In fact, it conjures the same sensation that one gets when watching a play, the sensation that the too-perfect backdrop and too-convenient love story and too-perfect timing just might be real in some parallel universe. And this is the theme song for that parallel universe.
Album highlights: “Enemy”; “Love Is All We Have”; “Havoc In Heaven”; “Love and Love Again”

remembering eleanor, remembering the south

2007-10-05T12:57:00.000-04:00

As promised, despite the maelstrom of activity swirling around eating up the hours of my days, one of the topics that currently warrants the most attention in this forum (albeit a bit belatedly) is the passing of my grandmother a few weeks ago at the ripe old age of 93. My August vacation didn't begin the way I'd planned after I cut my foot on the oyster beds and subsequently hobbled around for the next four or five days. Likewise, it ended differently than I'd anticipated as we made the five hour drive from St. George Island up to Selma, Alabama, for my grandmother's funeral.

I could provide a blow-by-blow description of the familial activities and the service itself, but I don't think it would do justice to the experience. I was more struck by the abstract facets of this visit than the concrete. To explain: I've been away from the Deep South for a long time now, longer than I'd realized. While the memory of it is familiar to my conscious mind, the experience of it is an entirely different being altogether. I sensed in myself a very definite internal response to being in that part of the country...largely because of its familiarity to me, but also because of some inherent, undefinable quality that belongs to the land and the people there. It would be only partially accurate to call it an emotional response, or a spiritual response. The word that comes to mind is from my high school Latin class: "animus." It is a word that means mind and spirit and consciousness and being, all in one. Finding yourself in Selma, Alabama, in late August (or any time of year, really...but especially summer) is not just a different experience or way of feeling or way of thinking. It is an entirely different mode of being altogether.

People tell stories about the past. They talk about people they knew and knew about, and the ways those people were interconnected. This practice obviously is not unique to the South, but I think the method of doing so may be. These stories are told with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm and charisma one would expect from a children's fairy tale or a campfire ghost story. It's a consequence of inflection, an unconscious rise and fall of the voice, a slowing or quickening of the words at just the right time. It isn't affected...it's just the way things are done. The brilliant thing about it is that it is unintentional, off-the-cuff, and universal - it seems as if everyone is capable of this feat, as if the ability to be a storyteller is just another genetically defined trait like green eyes or tan skin. (N.B. - I'm reluctant even to point this out. Much like the "observer effect" in physics, I fear that, in shining a light on this phenomenon, I will somehow change it in the process.) Even the stories themselves have a mythical quality to them. There is a sense that they don't even belong to the world in which we live, to this culture or this time period, but to some parallel universe that is often richer, darker, more mysterious. Is it any wonder that when I read Flannery O'Connor's short stories in college, they never seemed to be too bizarre, too gothic, too far afield?

So, on a thick, muggy August afternoon, I found myself in suit pants and rolled shirt sleeves standing with my family in Selma's Live Oak Cemetery, shovel in hand, sweating through my clothes despite the shade of enormous two-hundred-year-old oak trees. We - my parents, my cousin, my uncles, my aunt...even my grandparents' housekeeper (as much a member of the family as any blood kin) - we turned shovels full of red-clay earth on top of the ashes of both my grandparents as we sang "I'll Fly Away" and "Amazing Grace." Acapella. In harmony.

The experience was so vastly different from day-to-day life in Richmond. Simultaneously (paradoxically?), there was a strange sense of it being more familiar, more directly linked to the essence of my animus. The line between the mythology of the Deep South and the mythology of my grandparents has always been blurry and shifting for me. It's like trying to define the point at which the ocean meets the land. It changes every second. Eventually you stop trying to pin it down and begin to regard that liminal space and the regions it separates as components of a single, unified landscape. Such was the case as the physicality of my grandparents was fused - quite literally - with the land that sustained sustained them and the culture that defined them.

it wouldn't be fall if there were no football

2007-09-30T00:36:00.000-04:00

Just before the kickoff of the Auburn vs. Florida game in The Swamp, Lou Holtz had this to say (in his crazed, increasingly senile mode of shouting at the camera) about unranked Auburn's chances against #4 ranked Florida:

Lou Holtz: "[Florida] will be totally focused, the fans will be excited...and they will win BIG."

Scott Van Pelt: "Any chance that Auburn - I mean, we've seen that upsets happen - is there any chance in your mind that Auburn gets it together in this game?"

Lou Holtz: "I think about the same chance of me being senator of Florida....It isn't going to happen, it isn't going to be close."

I've got two words for you, Lou: EAT IT.

After a 14-0 lead at halftime (yes, that's right Lou - Florida DIDN'T SCORE in the first half), Auburn managed to hang tough the whole game, even after losing Quentin Groves to a foot injury. Tied at 17 with three seconds to go, Wes Byrum - a true freshman - knocks down a 43-yard field goal to win the game for Auburn. And he does it not once, but TWICE, after Urban Meyer calls a clever (but kind of cheap) timeout right before the snap of the first kick.

Yes, Wes - you can Gator-chomp at the Florida fans all you like. You earned it. War Eagle!

next topic, please

2007-09-21T23:24:00.000-04:00

My nasty foot has been on the front page of my blog for long enough. Gross. It's much better now, having healed very cleanly from the mess that it was. Thank God it's been captured forever in digital format and paraded like some freakish spectacle for almost a month on this page - I'm certain you've all been enraptured by it for weeks.

There is, of course, far more to report than I have the energy to write at the moment. Hopefully, upcoming posts will include stories and pictures of the shed that my dad and I are building in my back yard (really more a small house - you'll see), my thoughts on Paul Simon's most recent album (released May 2006), and an homage to my recently deceased grandmother, who passed away at the ripe old age of 93 last month. Just a smattering of the happenings around here, but that's the way it goes in September. Never a dull (or spare) moment.

To be continued...

beware the oyster beds

2007-08-22T14:46:00.000-04:00

OK, so...this is not exactly the way I'd planned to start my vacation.

I like to think of the Gulf coast of Florida as a second home. I've been coming down here in the summers since birth, and my parents live here full time now. I know the land, I know the waters, I know how to fish and how hot and humid the weather really gets. In short, I may be on vacation, but I'm no tourist: I know how to live in this place. That being said, I may as well have been wearing plaid shorts, long white socks, brown loafers and a big stripe of white zinc oxide across my nose yesterday while fishing with my dad. The afternoon went like this:

Dad and I are out in the bay in our 19-foot Mako, fishing our third spot in as many hours. This particular spot is called Dry Bar, a very shallow (1-3 feet deep) bit of water over oyster beds surrounding a narrow, dry strip of sand bar. It often serves as a feeding place for speckled trout (and the occasional shark, but that's neither here nor there). As we anchor, I come around to the back of the boat, where the sides are low. With my back to the side of the boat, I place my rod in the holder and reach up for a loose piece of fishing line that has spun off another reel and into the water behind the boat. A wave rocks the boat suddenly, causing the side of the boat to clip the backs of my knees and seat me quickly on the edge. I instictively pull the line in my hand, but it's not taut. There's nothing to grab onto. My sudden movement - along with the rock of the boat - sends me tumbling over the side into the water. It's less than two feet deep. As my feet splash down, my right foot lands on sandy bottom, a single oyster shell near my toe. My left foot is not so lucky. It crashes down at an angle onto a pile of oyster shells. Initially, I think I've scraped the top of my foot - annoying, but not serious. I float to the front of the boat and hoist myself up by the bar around the bow. I swing into the boat and look down as my feet hit the floor. Expecting to see the equivalent of a skinned knee, I am surprised by the flow of blood and water off of my foot that reveals a jagged line of splayed skin almost three inches long. It's deep. I see a tiny piece of something shiny, which I later learn is the tendon to my pinky toe (not cut, luckily).

Dad is calm about the whole ordeal, as he always is (as long as the blood is not his own). On the boat ride back to the house, I clutch a towel over the wound as we weigh our options. There's the possibility of having Dad sew it up in our living room using regular needle and thread, a thought to which we give considerable attention. But we eventually decide that ice cubes and tequila shots are probably not adequate for anesthesia in this case. Instead, we pick up my Mom at work and make the half-hour drive to the Weems Memorial Hospital Emergency Room across the bay in Apalachicola. It takes eleven creative stitches to close the wound tight. The doctor does a phenomenal job, an artistic masterpiece given the ragged edges I'd presented as his canvas.

I admit, I feel foolish about the whole thing. I'd just taken off my Crocs five minutes before I fell in. I'd had them on all day, and if I had kept them on, they would have shielded my feet against the shells. But beyond that, the heart of the issue is the fact that I've grown up in and around the water my whole life...who falls out of an anchored boat? Even the most land-locked turista can stand in a floating structure without falling into the water, right? I feel like the pale guy who falls asleep in the sun and becomes the object of muffled snickers by the tanned locals when he has to buy multiple bottles of aloe for his sun-blistered skin. Or the guy who treks off into the woods convinced that he knows how to rough it for a few days, only to slink sheepishly back into town hours later with frostbite, snake bite, or a searing poison ivy rash all over his body. I want to shout, "I know better! I know better! I promise! I'm no amateur!" But the fact is that I fell out of the boat onto an oyster bar when I was not wearing shoes, and I've got eleven stitches that suggest I'm not quite the pro that I think I am, after all.

On the upside (for what it's worth), I did catch one gray snapper.

view from the top

2007-08-19T18:09:00.000-04:00

We got back from Alaska on August 1, and it's almost impossible to believe that that was two and half weeks ago - I can feel time beginning to accelerate as September approaches. This picture is from the ridgeline of Mt. Fellows in Alaska. After our week of work, we did a three-day, two-night rafting and camping trip on the Nenana River along the border of Denali National Park. We camped in the same spot that we did the two previous years, a river-side site that's only accessible by water. On the middle day of the rafting trip, we did an all-day hike up Mt. Fellows in an attempt to reach the summit. We didn't quite make it all the way (ran out of water near the top), but we did make it to the summit ridgeline. It was approximately 8 or 9 miles round trip over a vertical elevation of about 4,000 feet. By far the toughest hike I've ever done. But the view from the top was well worth it!

Meanwhile, lots of things happening over the past couple of weeks: Leslie moved up to Richmond and is preparing to start grad school at the VCU Ad Center, Mom and Dad came up for a visit, Dad (and the rest of the fam) helped me build a new shed/workshop in the backyard (or, at least, we got started), and I'm heading down to Florida tomorrow for a week of vacation at the beach before the program year at the church starts on September 9. It will be nice to have a little quiet time just to relax and read, do a little fishing, a little scalloping...basically a week just to enjoy existing.

the end begins

2007-07-21T01:36:00.000-04:00

It is currently about 20 of 2:00 in the morning. The flight for our youth mission trip to Alaska leaves in less than 12 hours.

Exciting, to be sure. But so is the fact that the final Harry Potter book is now in-hand. Like true book-nerds, Nancy and I ventured to Barnes and Noble at 11:30 p.m. for the midnight sale. We joined a crowd of approximately 700 other people (no exaggeration) equally excited about the final installment of the series.

I have to give credit to Barnes and Noble: we were near the end of the line, and it took us less than an hour to wend our way through the entire store to the cashier's desk. Pretty efficient...and, truth be told, shorter than most of my browsing trips to B&N.

I'm off to read a few pages before bed. Looking forward to spending the better part of three long plane rides reading. Being the relatively slow reader that I am, I'm thankful that I'll be in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness for a week and a half where no one can spoil any of the book for me. If only I can make it through the airports tomorrow, I should be home free...

more africa photos

2007-07-12T11:58:00.000-04:00

Weeks after the fact, I have finally managed to sort through the 1,296 photos that I took in Sudan and Kenya. I'm picking up prints (yes, actual photographs that one can hold in hand) this afternoon from Richmond Camera. I culled the mass of photos down to just under 200, and I have uploaded them to Kodak Gallery and arranged them chronologically to provide some semblance of a story line. If you're interested in seeing our little corner of Africa as we saw it, you can get to the online Kodak Gallery Album here.

Enjoy...

toothpaste epiphany

2007-07-02T23:28:00.001-04:00

I had an epiphany while brushing my teeth a few minutes ago. It's so simple and obvious that it hardly seems worth the breath to say it. The thought (I swear I've been mulling this over like a Zen koan for the past 15 minutes) is this: You can only see what is right in front of your face. It's so obvious as to sound painful, idiotic. Reminds me of that line from the play Anything Goes: "It's always darkest just before they turn on the lights."

What I mean is that you can't really know something fully until you experience it for yourself. And we can choose, to some degree, what we see and don't see (and here I intend "seeing" to encompass all types of personal experience). For instance: we can know - rationally - that a sunset is considered beautiful...but we don't know it as a part of ourselves until we actually see one in all its grandeur. We can "know" that disease exists, but we don't know it until people close to us (or we ourselves) fall ill. We can conceptualize what it is like to be incredibly wealthy or unacceptably poor...but we don't feel those things fully until we see them firsthand.

I guess what I'm getting at is that most of us living as middle-to-upper class Americans are comfortable. Yes, there are things that we want and need that we don't have. But generally speaking, we have the comfort of being able to choose. There are any number of things and experiences that we can't control in our lives...but there are a vast number that we can. And if it's true that "we can only see what is right in front of our faces," it seems to me that we have a moral obligation to place in our field of vision ideas and experiences that benefit others as much as (or more than) they benefit us. This is a tough idea in a country that prides itself on "the individual" and the personal gain inherent in pulling oneself up by the bootstraps. But given our global position of relative wealth, choosing to put others' needs in front of our faces - voluntarily compromising our anesthetic blindness of unknowing, the comfort of our unwillingness to look closely - seems to be the only responsible course of action in order for us to evolve as humans.

(OK, I admit it: this post is an oblique reflection on the whole Africa experience. Still struggling with what to make of it and, more importantly, what to do with it...especially as I increasingly see it as a microcosm of the human condition. Feel free to call me out if you think this is all pseudo-philosophical overly-sentimental idealistic B.S....but be prepared to defend your position.)

garden in the paper

2007-07-01T21:29:00.000-04:00

A follow-up on the May 30 post about my garden being in the Richmond Times-Dispatch. The article ran on Saturday, June 9 while I was in Africa. I was really happy with the way it turned out and the amount of space given to this edible front yard idea - the article about Antonia's garden covered the entire front page of the Home and Garden section. Very exciting - and affirming - for these projects to be displayed so publicly. Here are links to both articles (mine is the second, leading out of the first):

Times-Dispatch article on Antonia's garden
Times Dispatch article on my garden

Sorry the pictures seem to be unavailable at this point, but at least the articles are still there...

a thousand words (i hope)

2007-06-24T00:01:00.000-04:00

A few more pictures from the Sudan trip. I fear that Africa may be the predominant blogging topic for a while - if that suits you, excellent; if not, bear with me.

I hope these images begin to capture the scope of activity, emotion, and atmosphere of our experience. I considered not including the rather graphic image of the slaughtered bull below, but I felt it would be dishonest not to attempt to show the full breadth of what we saw. Hope you find something you like within these images:

(re-)defining a sense of place

2007-06-22T17:50:00.000-04:00

From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

homesick- (adj.) longing for home and family while absent from them

This word feels strange to me. It feels as ambivalent now as it once felt unequivocal. The concept seems so obvious: you have a home and family, and you long for those things when they are not near you. It is cured when you return to them.

The problem is that I am tempted to claim that I am homesick for Sudan. But I can't. Not really. It isn't my home, and the people there are not my family. Still...the feeling is a close approximation. I miss Sudan in a way that is more than just "missing" it. I long for the land, the people, the way of life, as if it makes as much (maybe more?) sense to me than my own home. It feels more immediate, more intentional than Richmond. Less anesthetized than life as an American. I'm certain that my perspective will shift back to "normal" at some point...but a week and a half after our return, it still lingers like the residue of a dream that continues to color your waking hours long into the afternoon.

More photos and thoughts later - about to head out the door...

the garden

2007-05-30T12:17:00.000-04:00

One last post before I go. Here's an updated shot of the garden with things growing, the beds weeded, and the path re-mulched. The Richmond Times-Dispatch is planning on doing a little story on the edible front yard thing, and it will feature my friend Antonia's garden as well as my front yard. More on that after I get back!

t-minus 1 day: it's go time

2007-05-29T22:44:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I leave for the Sudan.

The month of May was relentless, with event after event, week after week. The occasional day of rest wasn't so much restorative as it was an all-too-brief respite in the midst of a beating. Like taking a 5-second break between running endless wind sprints. In any case, this Sudan trip has been looming on the horizon for some time, and I've been consciously aware of how fast it's been approaching. I just haven't felt ready yet. I've been pacing myself and trying not to procrastinate as I've gotten all my shots and shopped for necessary items and begun to pack my bag. But I just don't quite feel ready.

But here's the thing: I'm not sure I'll ever be ready - mentally, physically, spiritually. Not fully. I can research Sudan the country, I can find photographs of Sudan the people, I can read articles about Sudan in civil war. I can learn about its political climate, its meteorological climate, its social climate. And the gleaning of information does make me feel more ready. But I suspect there is no substitute for the experience, for the "being there." When it comes down to it, I know only that I will be there soon...and I will do the best that I can to help the people who spend their lives living in that difficult environment every day without any other choice but to do the best that they can.

I may have a chance to post once more in the morning before I leave. If not, I'll be back in the country on June 12. In the meantime, throw out some good vibes and little prayers for me, the team, and the people of the Sudan...

a travelling dollar

2007-05-16T10:06:00.000-04:00

Back in September (09.28.06), I wrote a post about a currency tracking project that I'd come across called "Where's George?". The basic gist is that people enter dollar bill serial numbers into the wheresgeorge.com database, mark those dollar bills with the wheresgeorge.com site address, and then spend the dollars in the hopes that someone else will enter them into the database so their "progress" can be tracked.

Over the course of a couple of weeks back in the fall, I entered 14 bills into the database. Because I didn't have a "Where's George?" stamp and I got tired of writing on bills in red pen, I gave it up. But lo and behold, I got an email yesterday saying that one of my bills had gotten a "hit" - after 234 days. Someone in Milton, West Virginia, had entered one of my marked bills. I Googled Milton and found a few stats on this little town:

- Location: Cabell County, WV, about 30 miles west of Charleston
- Population: Approximately 2,250
- Median age of residents: 39
- Racial distribution: 98.7% White, 0.7% Hispanic (Which still leaves 0.6%, or roughly 13 people unaccounted for. Go figure.)

A little silly to get excited about tracking a dollar, but it makes one wonder what the bill has been doing for the past 8 months. Has it changed hands a lot? Or did it sit in a bank or a cash register for a while? Who knows? But, for the moment, it's chillin' in Milton before moving on to its next destination.

little updates

2007-05-01T22:44:00.000-04:00

I know, I know. Almost three weeks since the last post. Virtually inexcusable. You've probably stopped checking at this point. April is indeed the cruelest month, at least in terms of scheduling. Plus, when the Virginia Tech incident happened a couple of weeks ago, it felt crass to try to write about anything else, even though I didn't feel as if I had the capability to say anything significant and insightful about the Tech tragedy itself. Thus, no words for a while.

The countdown has started for the Sudan trip at the end of this month. For the most part, the small collection of folks who read this blog know about the trip...but for those who don't: I'm going on a medical mission trip with St. James's to a little town called Akot in Southern Sudan on May 30. At present, there is a widespread meningitis epidemic ravaging that part of Africa (as tends to happen every year during the rainy season). Thousands are dying because the meningitis vaccine is unavailable in the Sudan. Working through a clinic established by Mustard Seed International, our goal is to provide 12,000 vaccinations while we are in the country. I feel certain that it will be a life-changing trip, though I feel equally certain that any expectations I have will fall far short of the reality of the situation. Anyway, more on the Sudan in future posts as the trip approaches.

Meanwhile, on the home front: I've spent a good bit of time in the garden lately trying to get things going. So, a quick update on what's happening for those keeping score:

To date, I have the following plants sprouting from seed:
- Swiss Chard
- Snow Peas
- Carrots
- Hidatsa Shield Figure Beans
- Mesclun Lettuce
- Thyme
- Basil
- Chili Pepper

The following seeds have been planted, but not yet sprouted:
- Yellow Squash
- Zucchini
- Butternut Squash
- Bibb Lettuce
- Green Onions

I bought a few small plants this past weekend and transplanted (most of) them into the garden:
- Thai Basil
- Bronze Fennel
- Sweet Peppers
- Ancho Pepper (Poblano)
- Several tomato plants (not yet in the ground)

Will post more pictures when I can take them. I realize this post feels a little perfunctory - will try to be less clinical and far more interesting in the future.

a sign of the times?

2007-04-12T13:54:00.000-04:00

A little break from life in my "Garden of Eden" to wax (un-)eloquent about media and culture. Indulge me for just a minute and take a look at the following "news" headlines:

- Wife doused with gas, set afire; son also hurt
- Smith's baby's dad? Answer may come soon
- Coyote attacks young boy playing in back yard
- Mom admits trying to drown 2 daughters in tub
- Fleeing suspect caught after fake leg fell off
- 2,000 stolen wedding gowns seized at border

Looks typical for the National Enquirer, no? Or perhaps some other supermarket tabloid like Star Magazine, or The Sun in the UK? Sadly, the headlines above are (apparently) considered legitimate top news stories taken straight off the CNN.com website. What's worse, this is not the result of an isolated slow news week. While all of these "news stories" have appeared in the last 48 hours, this particular week hasn't even been as bad as the usual drivel that has appeared over the past six months. How we can put "American Idol sends another contestant packing" in the same short list as "Iran may have nuclear weapons soon"?

General nausea aside, I'm not quite able to discern whether this is more upsetting because of the commentary it makes on the state of our media, or the commentary it makes on the state of American culture. (Maybe it's not either/or: maybe it's BOTH). Is it because the media think these nuggets of information are honestly worthy of our time and attention, or are these headlines really the things about which we want to be informed? Does knowing that a woman tried to drown her child or that a man's fake leg fell off make me a better, more informed citizen of this community, this country, the world? It's as if we are so in love with ourselves, so infatuated with our own dysfunction, that we are utterly blind to the things around us that actually do matter. We're like the spoiled teenage debutante obsessing over the state of her makeup and the gum that's somehow gotten tangled in her hair and the bad shoes that her friend has decided to buy for $400 and the boy who's run off with her best friend...all the while completely oblivious to the fact that she's standing in a house that's burning down.

Admittedly, I don't know the cause for this sensationalism, and I'm even further away from having a solution. But this I know: the line between cheap entertainment and real news shouldn't be so blurry.

completing the curve and building up

2007-04-09T23:06:00.000-04:00

Just a few quick photos to show off the garden progress for the weekend. The trellis is in (obviously), and I planted seeds for snow peas today. I also put one butternut squash seedling and one yellow squash seedling in the ground this afternoon just to see how they do. Not to sound callous, but if they die I have a few "backups" growing in the seed tray inside.

mother nature strikes back

2007-04-07T11:56:00.000-04:00

I realize it's not all about me. I know that. But I feel as if this morning's meteorological activity was Mother Nature's way of reminding me that no matter how much I try to arrange and construct and organize and plan my little corner of creation (read: putting plants in the ground when and where I want to), ultimately she is in control.

Today is April 7th, the 18th day of spring and the day before Easter in a year that has been unseasonably warm thus far. Nevertheless, here was the scene out my front and back windows at 7:15 this morning:

It's beautiful, but I mean...are you kidding me??

So. I guess this means no planting today, at least until the temperature promises to be good and stay above 32 degrees...which likely will not happen until early next week. Nevertheless, I did finish the "S" garden path yesterday, and I hope to build a bean trellis this afternoon if my fingers don't fall off from the cold. Will post updated pictures when I have them.

P.S. - I looked out my bathroom window 20 minutes ago and just happened to see two squirrels "going at it" on a tree limb. Come on, now, Mother Nature...wasn't the snow enough? Do you have to rub it in with an unobstructed view of copulating squirrels? Please.

the transformation begins

2007-04-05T17:42:00.000-04:00

I spent most of last Friday and Saturday working on my front yard garden project. I definitely panicked a few short hours after my last blog post when I got about halfway through tilling the left side of my yard. Looking at the churned dirt, I thought to myself, "My God, what have I done?!?" But since the plowing began I have come up with some semblance of a plan, at least for half of the yard. I built a little retaining wall along the sidewalk. I planted a Bing cherry tree and began to brick in a path mulched in red bark. The path will eventually form an "S" shape, though I've only had the time and supplies to do the lower curve. I planted rosemary, thyme, and sage along the front as a border. The other night, I put seeds of carrots and chard along the section next to the sidewalk. Meanwhile, in my seed trays indoors, I have all kinds of plants sprouting: pumpkin, butternut squash, yellow squash, zucchini, marigolds, peppers, thyme, basil, etc. Too bad I will have to wait a few more days to put them in the ground since it is supposed to freeze (or come close to it) for the next few nights.

And, of course, all of this sprouting and growing and gardening is happening concurrently with Holy Week, which makes for a consistent theme of growth and renewal in all that surrounds me. I love the springtime!

little miracles

2007-03-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

The tiny black dot in the middle of my hand is a single seed of thyme. It is miniscule, insignificant. Hardly bigger than a granule of dirt. That it will grow into a plant large enough to fill two hands is baffling to me. Even though this is the reason for a seed's existence - it's what it does - I can't help but feel skeptical that this little speck will amount to anything. My doubt arises even in the face of my own eye-witness proof: last year, my seeds did indeed turn into plants (much to my awe and amazement). And yet still I feel unsure that this tiny piece of potential can become something so largely actual.

The fact of this seemingly impossible metamorphosis and our trust that it will occur successfully each time represents for me the most tangible, simple expression of faith I have encountered. A plant begins life from seed, grows to its full stature, then dies; but only in dying can it create the tiny dried seeds necessary to start the cycle over again. Each time we plant one of these seeds, we trust that it will in fact turn into the plant it is destined to become, impossible though it may seem. This has great spiritual significance to me: it points toward a larger meta-structure, a pattern in nature of life springing from death. From the weakest and smallest in appearance come the greatest and strongest, far beyond any reasonable expectation of potential. The last shall be first.

On this first weekend of spring, I am about to celebrate the beautiful weather by going out in my front yard and plowing up the weeds and grass in order to plant my front yard garden. When I dropped my seeds into a tray of peat cups earlier this week, I said a little prayer that they would sprout. I cling (albeit with uncertainty) to the trust that these seeds will germinate in time, and I hope that this simple act of faith nudges me closer to the sublime force behind it all.

through the looking glass

2007-03-20T12:07:00.000-04:00

It was pointed out to me earlier this afternoon that I haven't even posted anything "to tell the world that I'm now 30." Both parts of this claim are indeed factual: the sun has set on my 20's and risen on my 30's, and I have neglected to say anything about it.

Turning 30 felt different than most events that tend to elicit increasing anticipation (or apprehension?) as said event nears. A big vacation, a work deadline, waiting for the $365 million Lotto numbers to appear...there is build up to these events that reaches a peak at the happening itself. Turning 30 should be bigger than any of these, right? A once-in-a-lifetime shift from being 20-something to 30-something? Paradoxically, it seemed less of a big deal the closer it got. So much so that, by the time March 10 arrived, it finally just...was. I don't mean to make it sound anti-climactic in a negative way: it was a smashing birthday. Frankly, I was glad that it felt like more of a pivot-point than the leap I had imagined six months ago looking ahead to the date. I truly only felt one day older than the day before.

But there was a subtle shift in perspective. Instead of seeing this new age as the endpoint of my present decade - the only perspective I could feel while still 20-something - "making the turn" has placed me in a context to view this point in time as a beginning, the starting point of the next decade. It feels new, more present, less anticipatory. An end turned into a beginning. Through the looking glass, so to speak.

Anyway...it is what it is, I am what I am, and enough of this pretentious display of sappy pseudo-philosophizing: I'm too old and too tired for this crap. I'm going to bed!

the more things change...

2007-03-08T11:13:00.001-05:00

I love this video. As the youngest person in the office, I have become the de facto computer geek despite the fact that I have no formal IT experience. The lack of training doesn't really seem to matter, though, as most of the problems people encounter are blindingly simple. The timbre of the conversation here is dead on - utter confusion on the part of the helped, respectful and patient attention (at least outwardly) on the part of the helper. Classic. (N.B. - as I reread this post, I'm aware that the subtext reads something like, "Look at me, I'm so computer savvy...and aren't I patient with all these ignorant techno-plebes?" I promise that implication is not intentional. Even if it's true.) By the way...I just remembered that this post was supposed to be more significant, as it is the 100th post to this blog. But I'm terrible at doing lists of 100 things or whatever other protocols are prescribed by the unspoken blogging rubric. Maybe I'll get my act together by post #200.

my front yard: to eat or not to eat

2007-03-03T18:56:00.000-05:00

Days and weeks are flying by. I can't believe it's March already. I have so much to post about...but it seems as if the more there is to write, the less time there is to write it.

In the meantime...it's starting to warm up, and it will be time to plant the vegetable garden again soon. Even though I'm still pretty much a novice when it comes to growing veggies, I am inordinately excited about the start of growing season. So much so that I'm beginning to feel like a greenthumb nerd. Lately I've been fascinated by this landscaping project called "Edible Estates." Architect Fritz Haeg has been designing front yard landscaping that gets rid of the lawn and instead incorporates indigenous and edible plants. Admittedly, some properties look better than others (and the website is rather clunky and hard to navigate)...but I'm captivated by the idea. The project adheres to the notion that the front lawn - a symbol of suburban Americana - is really a fairly useless waste of good earth. It looks nice, but it's high maintenance and relatively unhealthy for the environment. A good lawn requires chemical fertilizer and a lot of water, not to mention regular mowing with a two-cycle engine mower that releases a lot of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. An ABC News article about the project points out that the front lawn is actually a British aesthetic, but "in England, constant drizzle keeps lawns green. In the United States, sprinklers and fertilizers do the job."

So the question becomes: why not make that space work for you and look nice at the same time? Who's to say that a plain, flat, green front lawn is the ideal (unless you have kids playing on it)? I never sit in my front yard and enjoy it - I only mow it. I do spend lots of time in my garden. Plus, I think it could look kind of cool if it's tastefully done. Here are three photos showing the progress of one of Fritz Haeg's "Edible Estates" - feel free to click on them to get larger views:

Here's the thing: I'm going to have a garden whether it's in the front yard or the back. But if it's in the front yard: my front lawn is two perfect-sized rectangles facing directly south (ideal for vegetable gardening); I wouldn't have to mow; Scout gets the whole back yard to herself; I wouldn't have to wrap each bed in chicken wire to protect it from Scout; and it's an opportunity to do some interesting, different (and edible) landscaping. Good stewardship of the land that I own and, hopefully, the environment in general.

A handful of you have been very supportive of this idea (each of you knows who you are - thank you!). The rest of you feel free to chime in and tell me that this is (a) sheer genius or (b) absolute neo-hippie insanity brought on by some premature midlife crisis.

hitting the slopes

2007-02-16T22:58:00.000-05:00

Headed out to Wintergreen to ski tomorrow. The other youth group leaders and I are taking a handful of kids from the youth group and leaving at 7:00 a.m. to get on the slopes by 9:00 or 9:30. I haven't been skiing since we took the kids last year...and, in truth, I've only been one other time before that. I'm pretty much just hoping to avoid any major injuries (and ridicule).

stupid tv, stupid computer

2007-02-08T23:34:00.000-05:00

OK, I am willing to admit publicly that I watch Gray's Anatomy each week. Yes, it's a fairly ridiculous show...but generally I'm able to see past the inaccuracies and improbabilities and impossibilities and enjoy it (to varying degrees).

But let me just go on the record stating that tonight's episode was just straight up stupid. I wish I could get that hour of my life back.

In other news of wasted time: I did finally get to level 11 of Bubble Trouble for the second time in two days. I know, you're all just swelling with pride at my accomplishment...

sick days and silly games

2007-02-07T23:26:00.000-05:00

I came home from work sick yesterday. I feel kind of lame about it, because I didn't have a fever, and it wasn't a stomach bug, and I could function fairly normally (more or less)...but my throat was sore and scratchy, even as I was actively engaged in drinking water. And I felt tired and had no energy. I just didn't feel that great.

So I came home at lunchtime and decided to take a nap around 3:00 or 3:30. I didn't wake up until almost 6:00 p.m. A one-hour nap is pretty long for me, and the only time I sleep longer than that is if I've only gotten four or five hours of sleep the night before. I assumed that a near-three-hour nap would certainly have an adverse effect on my ability to fall asleep later in the night. Not so: I was out by 11:00 and didn't get up until 9:00 this morning. It's a whole lot of sleeping for a 24-hour period...but I felt much better by the time I showered and got dressed for work. I'm still not sure I'm quite 100%, but significantly better than yesterday.

Meanwhile, I have found (or, rather, have been shown) the computer game equivalent of crack cocaine. I've spent far too much time in the past 48 hours (maybe more, but that's all I'll admit to) playing Bubble Trouble. I have Nancy to thank for that. (Side note: you should read Nancy's blog - it's better than mine.) Go ahead, try Bubble Trouble: I know it's a ridiculous, simple, silly game, and maybe it will seem pointless to you...but getting past Level 11 is suddenly of grave importance to me.

the end of an era

2007-01-31T22:53:00.000-05:00

This post is for my dad, whose last official day as a working man was yesterday. Goodbye pediatrics, hello retirement!

For the record, my dad has always worked his ass off. I can remember repeatedly throughout my childhood the nights when the phone would ring several times, the weekends and holidays dad was on call, the mornings he would get up at 5:45 and be out of the house by 6:30 (which was most mornings, come to think of it) and not get home until 7:00 or later.

And despite this workload that, quite frankly, would crush me if I had to keep it up, he still found time to do stuff with me and Leslie all the time - I never had the sense that he was absent. When I was young, we went to Waites Bakery on Tuesday mornings for chocolate covered donuts. We read The Chronicles of Narnia and The Hardy Boys and Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn and the Shel Silverstein books together. And as I got older, we threw the baseball, rode bikes, went to UAB basketball games and Auburn football games, and went waterskiing at the lake. He took me to my first blues club to hear live music one night in New Orleans when I was only about 13 and talked the bouncer into letting us in. He taught me how to drive stick shift (that was an experience) and how to catch fish out of the surf at the beach. Once, when I was in junior high, he took me out of class in the middle of the day to go down to the Birmingham Civic Center when Eric Clapton was in town setting up for a show, just to see if we could catch a glimpse of Clapton and try to meet him (we didn't, but it was a good try nonetheless and the show that night was fantastic).

Not that I was always as appreciative of all this effort as I should have been. I neglected some fairly simple tasks in high school...mostly thing like keeping my room clean and failing to pick up certain items (read: "all my crap") that sat at the foot of the steps waiting to be carried upstairs. I can only imagine how aggravating it must have been for Dad, who worked all day, to come home to the mess created by me and my sister. ("One day you'll understand," he used to say - maybe now I do?)

When my parents dropped me off at W&L to start college, my dad said, "Make yourself proud and you'll make us proud." I hope I can do just that - I've certainly had a role model to show me exactly how it's done. I love you, Dad - congrats on a great career! Cheers!

new leadership in the church

2007-01-26T10:23:00.000-05:00

It's a big day today in Virginia Episco-world: The Episcopal Diocese of Virginia will be electing its next bishop. This would be a fairly big deal under any circumstances, but there are two factors that lend even more gravity to this election:

1. The Diocese has been under the leadership of the same bishop - The Rt. Rev. Peter Lee - for 22 years. Bishop Lee is the senior-most bishop in the Episcopal Church, and The Diocese of Virginia is the largest Episcopal Diocese in the country (in terms of population).

2. Given the recent strife between the vast majority of the diocese and the handful of churches that have chosen to break away from the Episcopal Church, it would be a gross understatement to call these "trying times." The outcome of the legal proceedings over church property in Virginia will set a precedent for the rest of the country.

It goes without saying that the three men and two women who have been nominated to fill the role of Bishop of Virginia will have very big shoes to fill. The Annual Council of the Diocese - and, specifically, the voting for the new bishop - is taking place right now at the downtown convention center here in Richmond. In fact, according to the agenda, the first ballot is supposed to take place in three minutes. While all of this matters little to most people, I think it will significantly shape the tone and course of the Episcopal Church in Virginia for years to come.

a snowstorm of inconsequential proportion

2007-01-25T14:27:00.000-05:00

I realize that it is bloggerifically cliche to post pictures of the view from one's window on one's blog. Lame. Banal. Trite. Hackneyed. Etc. Etc.

Whatever. I'm lamenting the snowstorm that almost was.

Here's the view from my window thirty minutes ago:

Finally, a winter that actually looks and feels like winter. It is January, after all. A January snowstorm would be seasonal, fitting. Go ahead, click the photo for the full-sized image and see for yourself. Look at how it's starting to accumulate - just ever so slightly - in the bottom right corner of the photo. And in the air...big snowflakes! Driving wind! Solid overcast sky!

But hang on...a change...a lessening...wait for it...wait for it...ah! There it is. 40-degrees and sunny again. Which brings us to the updated hackneyed, trite, commonplace, banal "view out my window" as of right now.

Is one snowstorm that sticks (and sticks around for more than 10 minutes) too much to ask from the days of late January? I love spring and summer and fall, but if it's going to be winter...it'd be nice to have a littlte winter for a change.

putting the pen back to paper

2007-01-19T17:47:00.000-05:00

It's been quite a while since I've done any collaborative music writing and recording. The last RingsEnd album was recorded in February 2002 and released about a year later. Since then, I've dabbled in some solo work and laid down a few songs for my own benefit, but nothing significant to speak of.

A day or two before I went home for Christmas, I had lunch with my friend Matt, who I've only run into a few times since he and I co-led the youth mission trip to Montana two and a half years ago. We started talking about music, and he mentioned that he'd been writing a lot lately and was looking to put together a collaborative project. This kind of conversation always makes me wary - I usually find that I'm not too crazy about the kind of music that needs a "collaborative effort." It seems as if that phrase is often code for "these songs kinda suck - how can I make them better?"

Not the case here. It turns out that Matt has a real gift for melody, despite the fact that he doesn't play an instrument. And the lyrics he's written are thought provoking and intentional without being cheesy. He sent me an mp3 of him singing one of the tunes he's written - no instruments, just a cappella - and I sent him back an arrangement with guitar chords and harmony vocals. We met earlier this week to record a more fleshed-out version. The best part was that I think some of the other songs may turn out to be better than this one.

Regardless, it's nice to be actively working on music with someone who's interested and capable. We'll see how the other songs go.

In other completely unrelated news...today is my sister's 26th birthday. Happy birthday, Les!! Welcome to the B side of your mid-20's. Hope the celebration is a good one.

a great end to a great season

2007-01-09T00:10:00.000-05:00

You know I love college football. More specifically, if you know me at all, you know I love Auburn football in particular and SEC football in general. While Florida is a big rival of Auburn during the regular season, I'm always happy to see the SEC do well in post season play.

But Florida didn't just do well. They won the National Championship. And they didn't just beat Ohio State, a team that's been ranked #1 in the polls every single week since the season started in early September. They absolutely crushed them. I think 41-14 is fairly decisive. Aside from the opening play of the game - Ohio State's 93-yard kickoff return for a touchdown - Florida owned Ohio State to the point of embarassment. I do feel bad for Troy Smith, who is a fantastic player and (apparently) a great guy. But I'm happy to see an SEC team take home the title.

And on a purely selfish note...Florida wins the championship with one loss on their record. Their one loss? Auburn, 27-17. Not that Auburn deserved to be in the National Championship game themselves - as my dad pointed out, Florida matured as a team over the course of the season whereas Auburn did not - but it does add an extra dollop of satisfaction atop an already-sweet BCS outcome.

another trip around the sun

2007-01-01T22:18:00.000-05:00

Well. The parties are over and now the new year can start in earnest. 2007 indeed.

I haven't quite gotten my brain in gear after the weekend festivities (Jack's 30th birthday party on the 30th with New Year's Eve nipping a bit too quickly at its heels). So, no thoughtful ruminations yet - insightful or otherwise - about the past year or the upcoming one. Just trying to "be" a little bit for a day or two and see how the new calendar feels before I begin making blanket statements about what has been or what will be. I did, however, make a mix CD just before Christmas - something of a personal musical retrospective of 2006. Not necessarily songs that were released this past year, just ones that captured my attention over the last 12 months. Let me know if you're interested and I'd be happy to mail you a copy.

Peace and blessings for a happy, healthy, fruitful 2007!

blogging from birmingham

2006-12-26T12:26:00.000-05:00

Five years. That's how long it's been since I was last home for Christmas. Hard to know what to expect outside of my Richmond Christmas routine.

Scout and I got into Birmingham late Friday night after a drive of nearly 11 hours. Leslie showed up Saturday morning delerious from three hours of sleep and an early-morning flight. And, as she is wont to do, she immediately slips into her terribly un-PC imitation of an Indian immigrant, announcing a Merry Christmas to all with the holiday promise of "Uncle Ghandi's goat ball stew." We decide to give our parents a break and make a trip to the nearest mall with every intention of picking up last-minute gifts to round out our Christmas shopping. We actually waltz into Parisian and buy one of the first bracelets we see, a perfect Grandmother gift. Christmas shopping never felt so easy or so smooth.

But then we get sucked in by the sale at Banana Republic. Not so much for other people - mostly for ourselves.

Chris: Hey. I need your opinion. Do you like this sweater?
Leslie: Yeah. Is it on sale?
Chris: Used to be $70, on sale for $45.
Leslie: Sweet. Give it to me - I still need to get you a present. Merry Christmas. Act surprised when you open it.

After shopping, a leisurely mid-afternoon catch-up lunch with my friend Charles (of Jamaican wedding fame) turns into a delightful two hour affair involving as much drinking as eating. Fun though it is, this puts me and Leslie in the precarious position of having polished off two bottles of wine before dropping by to visit our grandmother. We find this situation strangely hilarious, and we call to tell Grandmother we'll be by to see her momentarily. In the retirement home parking lot, Leslie can't stop laughing - she gets out of the car red-eyed, dancing like a monkey, snorting uncontrollably. This is not abnormal behavior for my sister, though perhaps it is not the ideal time for such antics. In a move to stall for time and gain some semblence of decorum and composure, I open the trunk and stand there staring into it, trying to stop laughing myself. "What are you doing?" Les asks. "We're not taking any presents inside." "I know," I answer, "I'm trying to kill a little time so that woman by the front door will walk away...I don't want her to see us and think we're crazy." Needless to say, this only exacerbates Leslie's behavior.

Saturday night we go to a party thrown by a high school friend of ours. Some drinks are had. We decide it's time to go home when Les glances in the mirror and is faced with the result of too little sleep and too much wine: deep-seated black circles under her eyes that look like smeared mascara. The ensuing hangover on Sunday morning - Christmas Eve morning - goes something like this:

[7:30 A.M. on Sunday. Leslie and I are sleeping on the twin beds in the guest room.]
Leslie: Ow.
Chris: What's up?
Leslie: My head. I need Alka Seltzer.
Chris: Why not Advil?
Leslie: Do you have Advil?
Chris: No.
Leslie: Alka Seltzer. Headache, stomach, all in one. I'm calling Mom.
Chris: What?
Leslie [picking up her cell phone]: I'm calling Mom.
Chris: I'm sorry, what? Upstairs? That's ridiculous. Just walk upstairs and find some.
[15 seconds of silence. A phone starts ringing upstairs.]
Chris: Dude, tell me you're NOT calling Mom.
[silence, followed by a second ring upstairs]
Unbelievable.
Leslie [into the phone]: Hi. Merry Christmas! [pause] I know, but it IS Chrismas Eve. [pause] Um...do you have any Alka Seltzer? I have a headache the size of Montana.

Leslie eventually goes back to sleep. Dad slips out to Walgreens and leaves a box of extra strength Alka Seltzer on the bedside table so Les will see it when she wakes up. Sure enough, she opens her eyes and acts as if someone has left her a small fortune, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She drops two tablets into her water and says, "Plop plop fizz fizz...it's like a snowstorm in my glass." She smiles and waves at the glass the way an awe-struck kid at Disney World stares and waves at Mickey Mouse. "Hi Alka Seltzer."

I spend Christmas Eve afternoon catching up with a few friends. A long-overdue, much-needed lunch with Baldwin (who always maintains great perspective), an afternoon beer with Ashley, Jay, and James. Mom makes a great Christmas Eve dinner, a sequel to Thanksgiving every bit as good as the original (think The Godfather and The Godfather II). My grandmother stays in our guest bedroom on Christmas Eve and is terrified that we will wake up before her in the morning and open our stockings without her. She stays behind as we leave for midnight mass around 10:00 p.m. I try to explain to her that she is going to bed now, and we will be roughly four hours behind her - there's no way we're waking up before she does. But this does little to assuage her fear of missing out on the Christmas morning party.

Christmas Day is a whirlwind. Sure enough, my grandmother is awake, showered, dressed, and packed by the time we get up about 8:30...and she's surprised we haven't been up for hours already. Apparently she has temporarily forgotten that we're not 7 and thus don't wake up at 6:00 a.m. on Christmas anymore. But all is well as we unpack our stockings and open presents and eat our traditional Christmas brunch late in the morning. It's stress-free and everyone is happy.

I crash out about 12:30 in the afternoon and sleep for an hour or so. It gives me just enough energy to make the evening rounds catching up with folks: the Abele/Hall's, then the Smith's party (a 29-year Christmas Night tradition!), followed by dinner at the Moore's before Leslie and I go back to the Smith's and on to the Abele/Hall's again. We get home at 1:00-something in the morning to a very enthusiastic Scout, who has eaten most of the ham bone I gave her before we left earlier in the night. As we start turning off lights and locking up the house, Leslie says, "Your dog was manic when we got in. Should I give her a Lexapro?"

I tell her I can only think that's a bad idea.

Here's the thing: It's not the same Christmas I've grown accustomed to over the past five years. It's not even the same Christmas that I knew as a kid - my parents live in a townhouse now; there's no Christmas Eve party at my aunt and uncle's house; there are fewer of us on Christmas morning (a mere 5-person gathering). But it's Christmas nonetheless. Not quite like any other one that's come before it...but Christmas nonetheless. And, in some ways, maybe even better than the old ones.

Wherever you are, I hope your Christmas has been a happy one....or, at the very least, eventful and memorable.

Merry Christmas!
(And happy Boxing Day/St. Stephen's Day.)

the anomaly of drinking pina coladas in december

2006-12-15T12:48:00.000-05:00

I am under no illusion that the "resort" Jamaica I experienced last weekend is the real Jamaica. I know that much of rural Jamaica is poor and not tourist-friendly (though the topography seems to be stunning no matter where you are). For what it was, though - a three night stay in a 5-star Jamaican resort - the trip was phenomenal. A tropical vacation in December makes it hard to remember that Christmas is only a couple of weeks away.

Half Moon Resort in Rose Hall (just outside of Montego Bay) sprawls over 400 acres along the Jamaican coast. The amazing thing is that this land spreads out horizontally to give the resort two miles of beachfront property. The occasion for the trip was a destination wedding of a good friend of mine from high school. He and his fiance booked a room in the main resort building on the beach. The rest of us stayed in villas near the east end of the property a couple of hundred yards up the road from the beach.

In my mind, a tropical "villa" conjures images of quaint hut-like structures with beach decor. Roomy, but humble. Maybe a grass thatched roof. Not so. The villas are 5, 6, or 7 bedroom white colonial manor houses, each with a private pool and two golf carts for driving around the resort. The only photo I have of our villa is below. Despite the darkness, I think it's still apparent that these were pretty posh accommodations.

As if this weren't enough, each villa is staffed with a cook, a butler, and a housekeeper. We took our butler shopping with us to help us get food on the first afternoon. Our cook, Paula, prepared and served meals that we requested at times appointed by us. We would leave little notes on the stove top at night that read something like this:

"Paula,
We would love to have breakfast around 9 a.m. - eggs, bacon, sausage, and french toast.
Thanks - see you in the morning!"

How is one supposed to feel about such an opulent luxury? Grateful? Guilty? It seems presumptuous, but at the same time it feels perfectly natural given the setting. In reality, is it over-the-top? Decadent? Oh yeah. But did we love it? Absolutely. I thought of my own squalid kitchen, still messy when I left it at 5:00 a.m. last Friday...and I laughed when I imagined transposing this waitstaff scenario to my own house in Richmond, leaving a note for my roommate:

"Colin,
I have to be at work at 9:00. Eggs and bacon would be nice, perhaps with a side of cereal. Save the buttermilk pancakes for later in the week.
8:15 would be perfect.
Thanks."

Preposterous.

The wedding itself was beautiful, despite a rain shower two hours before the ceremony that threatened to dampen more than just wedding-day spirits. With about 50 people in attendance and the sun falling toward the horizon at 4:30, it was everything a destination wedding is supposed to be.

The only unfortunate piece to the whole trip was that I didn't bring my camera. Or, more accurately, I thought I had lost it before we left. At 5:00 in the morning, I couldn't find it at my house, and Erin and I even stopped by my office on the way to the airport thinking it might be there. It turns out it was in the mud room off of my back porch (NO idea how it got there), so I'm having to rely on pictures from others. I am really bummed to have missed such an incredible photo opportunity...but at the same time, not having a camera in my hands all the time really allowed me to enjoy the experience fully.

A few pictures are included below, and perhaps I can post a few more when/if I get them...

on the road again

2006-12-08T04:30:00.000-05:00

It is currently 4:30 in the morning.

By mid-afternoon, I will be here:

Half Moon Resort. Montego Bay, Jamaica.

Pictures, stories, and the long-overdue catch-up after I get back on Monday...

a little square of heaven

2006-11-16T17:39:00.000-05:00

Nancy made brownies for me, Erin, and Colin on Tuesday night. Arguably one of the best things that's happened all week. Not only did she go out and buy all the ingredients, she did all the work making them. And these are no ordinary brownies: they have cut up Reese's cups on top of them. This is excellent for two reasons:

1. The salt of the peanut butter contrasts nicely with the sweetness of the chocolate, making an already-fantastic brownie even more delicious.

2. Since Colin doesn't like peanut butter...more for the rest of us.

The only downside is that I keep cutting little pieces and grazing all day long...especially since today was my day off. Someone please come over here and eat some of these before I finish them off myself.

Thanks Nancy - you can bake at our place anytime!

whatever you do, don't lend it to me

2006-11-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

I've come to the terrible conclusion that I have evolved into something that I never wanted to be: a bad borrower. Too often of late I've found myself making the mental note, "Oh yeah, I need to give _______ back to ______ . I've had it for too long." I've decided that I need to quantify this trend, to unveil the extent of my "bad borrowing" in empirical terms rather than perpetuating my denial via abstract admissions (e.g., "I have a lot of stuff that I need to return to some people").

After a brief attempt at closing my eyes and making a mental list, I began walking through the house with a pad and pencil like a health inspector in a restaurant kitchen. I became increasingly embarassed as I spotted borrowed items in almost every room.

So, as a public confession, I'm publishing a list of items that are currently on loan to me. I fear that this is by no means an exhaustive list. In fact, it really only covers books and movies at the moment and completely ignores the fact that my next door neighbor's lawn mower is still sitting in my shed. It also does not take into account the old Gibson bass guitar that I borrowed from Patrick Sweeney in 1994 or the Birmingham Baron's baseball bat that I borrowed from Mark Erdberg for our Mountain Brook High School production of "Damn Yankees" my senior year.

Anyway, you're likely to spot something of yours on here. Or maybe you're expecting to see a book you lent me two years ago and it's not on the list. If that's the case, please leave a comment or send me an email and let me know. My goal is to start returning these items in the near future (ah! another vague abstraction! I probably promised to return these "in the near future" the first time around, too, didn't I?). Here's what I've got...and yes, I remember who owns each item - I'm just not posting it:

MOVIES
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Monty Python's The Meaning of Life
Annie Hall
Lost, Season 1
Freaks and Geeks, The Complete Series

BOOKS
The Omnivore's Dilemma
The Spiral Staircase
God's Funeral
The Irrational Season
Middlesex
Assassination Vacation
The Partly Cloudy Patriot
Take the Cannoli
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
Barrel Fever
The Shadow of the Wind
Early Christianity
Showing Mary
The Secret Life of Bees
The Solace of Leaving Early
The Known World
Clapton's Guitar: Watching Wayne Henderson Build the Perfect Instrument

(note: I did return a copy of Tom Robbins' "Skinny Legs and All" to its rightful owner a couple of weeks ago, but the return was offset by the fact that it had been almost a decade since I borrowed it.)

i love a good soapbox as much as the next guy

2006-11-07T14:12:00.000-05:00

I was awake this morning by 6:00 a.m. As is the case every Tuesday, I rise early to get to the church shortly after 7:00 to prepare for our weekly young men's Bible study breakfast. But today is Election Day...so the early start allowed me to stop by my polling place (I vote at the retirement home about a block away from my house) before I headed out for work. I dropped in around 6:20 a.m. Voter #36 at this particular poll.

I have to admit, this election has gotten so much press that I even dreamed about it this morning before the alarm went off. People may disagree on which policies are best for running our country. People may argue and debate and discuss and argue some more. But one thing holds true universally, cliched though it may be: it is an immense blessing that we are allowed to have a voice in our own governance - however small that voice may be individually - and we should not take it for granted. I would rather have someone whose views are diametrically opposed to mine go out and vote than to have someone who agrees wholeheartedly with me sit at home. I feel more and more strongly about this every time I cast a ballot. It is our responsibility to educate ourselves about issues and candidates in order to facilitate an informed decision that we are allowed to voice on Election Day.

So if you've voted today, I hope you feel good about having participated in the political process, regardless of whether your candidate wins. And if you haven't voted yet, I hope you will before the day is out.

a day of sloth

2006-11-06T15:01:00.000-05:00

It seems as if my day-to-day pace has been in high gear for months now. Even the summer didn't feel terribly slow, and it certainly wasn't any sort of "break." Both weekdays and weekends have been packed full since early September when the program year started at the church. Upon realizing last week that Saturday, Nov. 4, was a day with nothing on the calendar, Erin and I decided to plan a "day of sloth": a sabbath (little "s") day of utterly useless, unproductive lounging around and eating. Kind of like Jabba the Hut.

The day's activities - and I use that word in its laziest, least "active" sense - included reading, movie watching, napping, cooking, and putting a fire in the fireplace. The big one, though, was cooking. We messed up and cleaned up the kitchen at least three times. It went down something like this:

Breakfast - homemade buttermilk pancakes

Post-breakfast cooking - (1) Erin made a chocolate cake (more like a torte - really thick) for after dinner, and (2) I made a Thai curry paste to be used with dinner

Lunch - I picked the remainder of the tomatoes from my garden before the Friday night freeze, so we sliced them to make fried green tomatoes. Actually, we made fried green tomato sandwiches on ciabatta rolls with homemade pesto mayonnaise that was made from the basil in my garden. Delicious - probably my favorite meal all day. See picture above.

Dinner - Thai Vegetable Curry over brown Basmati rice, a recipe from one of the Moosewood cookbooks. Aforementioned chocolate cake for dessert.

And I wonder why I never get in any better shape...

remembering the saints

2006-11-01T23:00:00.000-05:00

Today is All Saints Day. It's the day we remember all of those who came before us, those people whose lives have provided the generational foundations which undergird our own. It's not just about the saint saints, those untouchable "superstars" who have been officially canonized by the church - it's about the people who struggle daily to live good lives by sharing their spirit of love with us. Parents. Grandparents. Siblings and friends.

Last year, we ("we" meaning "the St. James's staff") decided to set up a microphone on the front steps of the church and read the full names and ages of all the U.S. soldiers who had been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan since the inception of the war. There were about 2,200 names, and it took us about two and a half hours. This year, we felt it would only be right to do the same for those killed since All Saints Day last year. Sadly, we still had a list of more than 900 names to read. The median age in this list of departed was around 21.

From the portico of the church, those attending the noon Eucharist service took turns reading names from a multi-page printout. I read a series of fifty names somewhere in the mid-400s. By odd coincidence, two of the first three names were Christophers. Another couple of Christophers showed up later in my list. Almost every name I read was younger than I by several years.

This service is a powerful experience, but not always in the way you might expect. Yes, it is shocking when the first few names are followed by numbers like "20" or "22" - even some that end in "-teen". Yes, it is awe-inspiring and awful that a list of young dead takes an hour to read aloud. But the thing I was most mortified about was how un-personal the whole experience became somewhere in the middle. After a certain number of names and ages, the wave of sound became blurry and abstract. I couldn't imagine faces with names anymore. It felt fuzzy and run-together. It's the same mechanism that allows someone to fall asleep in the midst of loud music: as long as the sound is constant, it can be tuned out, ignored. White noise. I realized this as I stood listening and trying to make each name personal to me, to attach meanings to them. Instead, it was like a photo negative of what I should have felt. Blankness where there should have been...something. And I think it's mostly due to the sheer number: too many to keep up with.

Nowadays, when someone questions what we're doing in Iraq in the first place, many people respond with, "Well, we shouldn't worry about why we're there now - we need to worry about how to fix it and get out." We do need to figure out how to fix things and get out. But that first question, the one about why we're there in the first place? I can think of over 900 really good reasons that question deserves an answer.

cranking up the banjo, liturgical style

2006-10-29T20:50:00.000-05:00

This morning at the 9:00 service, we played Sufjan Stevens' "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands" for the anthem at Communion. I'd been looking forward to playing this piece for months - the opportunity to play a song in church that I enjoy listening to anyway (ie, quality singer/songwriter stuff, no cheesy Christian pop) is an event worth noting. I was given the task of writing the Music Notes about the piece for the Sunday bulletin. I know this is two postings in a row in which I've put up something I've written that has to do with church...but please indulge me one more time, as I really feel strongly about this song as a quality piece of writing that achieves in structure what it intends to convey in lyrical theme.

This morning’s anthem at Communion is “All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands” by Episcopalian singer/songwriter Sufjan (pronounced SOOF-yan) Stevens from his album Seven Swans. The title of the song is taken from Isaiah 55:12. More “indie singer/songwriter” than “contemporary Christian pop,” Stevens scrutinizes his own faith in lush soundscapes of unconventional instrumentation and introspective, less-than-overt lyrics that hint at a myriad of emotional responses: doubt, hope, self-consciousness, joy, awe.

“All the Trees…” begins with a simple banjo line that repeats like a meditative mantra beneath the opening question, “If I am alive this time next year / will I have arrived in time to share?” This kind of lyrical tension exists throughout the piece as Stevens alternately notes the joy of God’s kingdom (“I heard from the hills a band was made”) and wonders at his own place within it (“Will I be invited to the sound?”). As the song progresses, musical layers are added in sequence to the banjo foundation. Each part is uncomplicated, but completely different from the others: a piano line, a second banjo, a chorus of women. A declaration of intent comes into focus as Stevens, over the sum of these musical parts, states with purpose, “I am joining all my thoughts to you / and I’m preparing every part for you.” Indeed, the structure of the music itself mirrors the devoted intention of the singer as these seemingly disparate pieces are “joined” and “prepared” in a unified offering of praise to God.

If you aren't familiar with Sufjan Stevens, I highly recommend listening to Seven Swans in its entirety. Even if you're not into music with religious themes, the instrumentation alone warrants a second listen. It is a challenging record that drifts beyond quirky into downright weird at times...but on the whole, I think it's absolutely mesmerizing.

saving the world...one pumpkin at a time

2006-10-25T23:02:00.000-04:00

The pumpkin-picking at Ashland Berry Farm last week turned out even better than I expected. It was one of those moments that reminds me why I like my job so much and why I think the kids I work with are so great. The following is an account of the afternoon (with a few visual aids thrown in) that I wrote for St. James's monthly newsletter:

Counting Our Blessings in Pumpkins

St. James’s high school youth group is all about fellowship. Every Sunday evening, we meet to eat dinner together and participate in a fun activity, and we always end up having a good time. But as a part of the parish at large, our youth group is also a means for us to serve, to give thanks for our many blessings by sharing what we have with others.

Emily Steele is a St. James’s parishioner and former youth group volunteer leader of four years. As principal of Fair Oaks Elementary School in Henrico County’s Varina district, Emily needed 30 pumpkins for her school’s third annual Community Day on October 21. As Emily put it, Community Day “celebrates the connection between home and school” with a fun afternoon that includes “an inflatable obstacle course, games, pizza, hay rides and more.” The school needed pumpkins for a pumpkin-painting station, so our youth group offered to take a trip to Ashland Berry Farm to pick pumpkins and donate them to the cause.

Ashland Berry Farm is bustling with people in mid-October, due in large part to the deal they give on pumpkins: all the pumpkins you can carry (and take three steps) for $20. We sat in a line of traffic for 15 minutes just to get into the parking lot and stood in line for another half an hour to hop on the hayride out to the pumpkin patch. Despite the hoops we had to jump through, we found lots of ideal pumpkins once we were out in the field. Our pile grew bigger and bigger until we were uncertain we could carry all that we had amassed.

But there were lots of side comments as we counted and stacked pumpkins. “I picked this one – I’m taking it home.” “This is my favorite, I’m keeping it for myself.” “This one is perfect. It’s mine – I call it.” So we stopped for a moment. We talked about why were taking on this project. We talked about a spirit of giving, about sharing all that we have and not keeping the best for ourselves, about providing for others and trusting God to provide for us. It was quiet for a minute, and then everyone let go – literally and figuratively – of their pumpkins.

That turn of spirit marked an infectious change in the whole dynamic of the afternoon. The tractor driver of the hayride offered the front shovel of his tractor to carry our pumpkins safely back to the farm. “I’m gonna drive real slow – I don’t want to spill any of these charitable pumpkins,” he said, raising the shovel up as if the pumpkins were a sacred offering. The woman collecting money helped us get all of the pumpkins into four armloads (we had tested it out in five), and then only charged us for three. “It’s for a good cause!” she said.

In all, we gathered almost 50 pumpkins for Fair Oaks’ Community Day and loaded them in the back of Emily’s truck. Emily writes, “Thank you so much to St. James’s and their amazing youth group who have touched lives and provided smiles for an entire community!” The whole experience was a timely reminder for me – and, I hope, for our youth – that we are blessed with much, and sharing those blessings with others is really what it’s all about.

a birthday of sorts

2006-10-15T13:09:00.000-04:00

Today is October 15...which means this blog is officially a year old today. Not a terribly strong frequency of postings to show for it of late, but worth noting nonetheless. As was the case this weekend last year, the youth group is off to Ashland Berry Farm shortly to pick pumpkins that will be donated to a local elementary school for their Community Day. And it's the perfect day for it - mid-60s, clear and sunny.

Will try to follow up with photos and a recap of the last couple of weeks in the near future...

where's george?

2006-09-28T11:03:00.000-04:00

As if I don't have enough slightly nerdy hobbies and interests already (remind me to tell you about letterboxing sometime if I haven't yet), a new favorite appeared out of nowhere last week after I taught my usual Wednesday mandolin lesson. The $5 bill that was included as part of my payment bore a message stamped in red: "Track this bill @ www.wheresgeorge.com." Curious as to what this meant - and not being one to say "no" when money talks - I logged on.

It turns out that the website wheresgeorge.com allows you to enter the serial number of any U.S. currency and track its progress as it is spent across the country. Theoretically, anyway - tracking depends on those same bills being entered when others come into possession of them. Hence the stamp on the bill - I guess it worked since it caught my attention.

So I entered my $5 bill to see where it had come from. Most bills that receive "hits" do so within a couple of months, on average. My bill had only been entered into the system only once, almost two years ago, by some guy in Tennessee. Since last week, I've been entering lots of bills - especially $1's. Since I don't have a stamp, I've actually been writing the message "track this bill - www.wheresgeorge.com" in red ink on each (yes, THIS is the point where the whole thing becomes exceptionally dorky). No hits yet, but maybe something will turn up.

I'm fascinated by the idea that we, as inhabitants of our community, the country, and the world - or really just by the sheer fact of our human-ness - are all joined together. I love being given little reminders of this interconnectedness: all of us, whether we're rich, poor, black, white, straight, gay, Republican, Democrat, genius, or idiot...we all use common pieces of paper - currency - as a crucial means of interaction. It can be virtually anonymous: you probably won't know the gas station attendant to whom you hand over five bucks to buy a Coke and a bag of chips on your next road trip. Or, it can be incredibly intimate: you give your best friend $100 that she desperately needs without any expectation that she pay you back.

Sometimes we're connected by common friends and acquaintances, sometimes by the work that we do or the activities we enjoy. But in a divisive world in which it has become increasingly difficult to find common ground, peaceful ground, with other segments of society, it's nice to know that we ARE connected to the guy in Tennessee or the banker in New York or the garbage man in Baltimore or the farmer in Idaho...even if the connecting thread is something as small and simple as the fact that each of us has held, for a short time, the same dollar bill.

the gig, part deux

2006-09-22T15:11:00.000-04:00

Really, I couldn't have asked for last night to go any better. Though things got started a little later than planned (after 10:30 by the time I took the stage), I thought the show flowed smoothly without any major train wrecks. OK, one flubbed chord in "Apres Moi"...but other than that, I was very happy with the way things turned out. I especially appreciated the enthusiastic and rowdy support of all the friends who showed up - you know who you are!

There were three real highlights for me:

1. Using one of those old-school (or old-school-looking) microphones...especially starting the set with the Jeff Buckley version of "Be Your Husband." The mic was almost identical to the one Buckley is holding on the cover of Grace.

2. Playing a new original - "Camouflaged Again" - for the first time in public, as well as the new revised (and hopefully final?) version of "Eyes on Fire".

3. Having Tully and his drummer sit in on "Rider" to finish out the set.

Fun night - makes me miss the days of doing this full-time. Here's the complete set list if anyone is interested.

Set List - 9.21.06
Be Your Husband
Oration
Naked As We Came
Winding Wheel
Tangle
Camouflaged Again
Summertime
Eyes On Fire
Apres Moi
Rider

P.S. - I decided it was time for a new look for the blog. Any thoughts??

no freebird...and that's a promise

2006-09-21T19:34:00.000-04:00

Tonight I'm playing a solo acoustic set at a club in Richmond for the first time in over a year. Tully's band from Virginia Beach (called The Influence) is headlining at Cary Street Cafe this evening, and they were kind enough to offer me the opening slot. I have to admit, I was flattered that Tully asked, but I was seized immediately by a vague sense of discomfort that swelled nearer to panic as I realized...I have no idea what to play. Most of the solo shows I've played recently have been private parties where people want to hear lots of covers. By contrast, I tend to think of club shows as opportunities to showcase original music - it almost seems expected, as if one would only resort to playing covers if he can't hack it with enough originals. It's a setting where someone might actually be listening to you rather than just allowing you to invade their subconscious from somewhere in the background as they pour another beer and tear into more burgers and ribs. As tonight's set is only 45 minutes, I think I can pull of 5 originals and about 5 tasteful covers. No cheesy stuff. No "fillers." Keep your fingers crossed and hold up your lighters (or cell phones) for the encore...

ready, set...

2006-09-09T23:06:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is Opening Sunday, the first day of the 2006-2007 program year at the church. That means I will undoubtedly sleep badly tonight and have a long day tomorrow...but it will be fun. A service with West Gallery Choir in the morning, a ropes course teambuilding event with the 6th-9th graders during the day, and the parish picnic in the afternoon (where Oak Lane, our bluegrass band, will be playing). A 12 hour day, but it marks definitively the start of my autumn.

And tomorrow also marks 6 months exactly until my 30th birthday...

where to start?

2006-09-04T22:03:00.000-04:00

Nancy was just over hanging out at the house chiding me (rightly so) for not having written anything despite the fact that I've been back in the country for over a week. So. Do I start with yet another apology for not having posted in two weeks? Or do I jump straight to pictures? Maybe accounts of the madness and mayhem (not really) that were Alaska and England? Or is it just far too late for a synopsis of any kind at this point?

I'll shoot for the brief overview - with a picture or two for good measure - in the hopes that I can get relatively caught up to the present.

With the help of Erin and Randy (my boss), I ventured into the middle of Alaska with 12 kids during the last week in July. Our goal was to help the Diocese of Alaska continue building a retreat and conference center in Manley Hot Springs, about 150 miles from Fairbanks. In short, it was the best of the youth mission trips that I've been a part of since I started working at St. James's. It was a fantastic group. The kids didn't work terribly hard...but they got along so well as a group that it didn't really matter. My article for St. James's September newsletter (on page 11) has a few more details about the sequence of events.

The next adventure of the summer was the choir trip to England. St. James's Parish Choir was in residence at Canterbury Cathedral for a week singing evensong services each evening. The previous weekend, we sang the Saturday and Sunday services at Westminster Abbey in London. These are arguably the two most well-known churches in Anglican Christendom: Canterbury is considered the heart of the Anglican Communion because it is the seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Westminster Abbey has been the site of the coronations of English monarchs for seven or eight centuries. Several of us attended the Friday evensong service at Westminster Abbey the day that we arrived in London in order to mentally prepare ourselves for our own singing experience the following afternoon. Walking past Big Ben and the houses of parliament to face the Abbey was a little daunting. In our nerdy, choirboy hearts, there was a sense that this was it. This was "the big time" as far as Anglican church gigs go. Remember that scene in Hoosiers where the team makes it to the state championships and, when they walk awestruck into the arena, Gene Hackman's character has them measure the height of the basket and the length of the foul line just to reassure them? It was kind of like that.

More specifics about the trips will surface as autumn progresses and the level of daily excitement in my life slows to a trickle due to work demands. In the meantime, two other pieces of not-so-uplifting news:

1. Nickel Creek is apparently planning to end their run as a band in order to pursue separate paths. I look forward to seeing what comes of this new arrangement musically, but I can't help feeling as if good friends of mine are breaking off a long relationship. It will be sad to see them go.

2. In even sadder news, it's hard to believe that Steve Irwin (aka, The Crocodile Hunter) has met his untimely demise. The guy wrestled enormous gators and crocs for years. He picked up deadly snakes like they were walking sticks. He swam (albeit often by accident) in piranha-infested waters. And he did it all with the energy and excitement of a ten-year-old. That he died in a chance encounter with a buried stingray while doing a shoot for a children's show instead of filming "The Ocean's Deadliest" is a crushing irony. I probably haven't watched his show in five years, but I miss him already.

from alaska to england

2006-08-18T13:55:00.000-04:00

OK, I've never been this bad about posting before, so apologies to those who might actually be keeping up. A brief catch-up, for now: Alaska was amazing, I was home for a couple of weeks, and I'm currently in London with the choir from St. James's to sing weekend services at Westminster Abbey and a week-long choral residency at Canterbury Cathedral next week. We just arrived this morning. I've only slept about 40 minutes in the last 30 hours, but it's been a great trip so far. I suppose I'll need to post lots of pictures - both of Alaska and England - when I return. Probably won't get another chance to post until I get back on the 26th, but will put in a short update along the way if possible. Cheers...

into the interior

2006-07-24T10:55:00.000-04:00

Quick post, as I'm leaving for Alaska momentarily. Randy, Erin and I are taking 12 kids to Manley Hot Springs again this summer for the youth mission trip. We meet at the airport in an hour. I hope to have good pictures and good stories when we get back on Aug. 2nd!

Until then...

P.S. - I was thinking about Alaska being called "Seward's Folly" and feeling a little disconcerted that you can rearrange the letters (and add one "d") make it "Edwards's Folly." Yikes.

an inconvenient truth

2006-07-13T19:16:00.000-04:00

Erin and I went to go see "An Inconvenient Truth" on Tuesday night. For the uninitiated, this is Al Gore's documentary about global warming and the effects on the planet. It stems from a Power Point presentation that Gore has been giving for years in hundreds of cities around the world.

Yes, it's a movie about a Power Point presentation. Starring Al Gore.

Let me state right off the bat that I'm no huge Al Gore fan. And might this film have a little too much Al Gore talking about Al Gore? Absolutely. Political grandstanding? Yeah, probably. BUT...

This is also the most compelling movie I've seen all year. Maybe in the last couple of years.

This movie includes real - and I would say indisputable - scientific data to back up the claims of global warming. Forget those magazine columnists and political pundits and newspaper folks who write about the problem abstractly...like the ones who say, "Well, it's all just part of a several-thousand-year cycle." No more vague claims: this movies shows empirical data - measurements - that left me speechless. As one conservative remarked in this week's Newsweek article The New Greening of America, "Al Gore can't convince me, but his data can convince me."

In short: GO SEE THIS FILM. Ignore Gore talking about Gore if you want, but GO SEE THIS FILM. Seriously, I don't make recommendations that often. If you and I are friends, do me this favor and go see it. I really do feel that it is our duty as human beings to take an honest - and scientifically sound - look at this problem.

going out with a (head) bang

2006-07-10T10:58:00.000-04:00

My 12th grade AP English teacher was arguably the most lenient, least effective, and least favorite of my high school English teachers. However, she did leave us with a little pearl of wisdom on the next-to-last day of high school that has stuck with me for years: "It's never too late to ruin a good reputation."

Watching the final match of the World Cup yesterday, I couldn't help being reminded of this admonition. I love soccer for its grace and perpetual motion, for its requisite athleticism and (more often than not) its sportsmanship. Though Italy had been stalwart throughout the tournament with a defense that did not allow an offensive goal (there was one own-goal scored in the game against the U.S.), I was pulling for France primarily because this was Zinedine Zidane's last run before retiring. He's a fun player to watch, one of the greatest of the age, and his skill in controlling the ball commands immense respect. Frankly, I wanted to see him end his 18-year career with a World Cup win.

So when Zidane was ejected after earning himself a red card for head-butting Materazzi in the chest with ten minutes to go in overtime, all I could think was, "Ten more minutes. Couldn't you have made it ten more minutes?" France had outplayed Italy the whole game, and Zidane would have been France's best chance for a goal in the final minutes (not to mention the penalty kick shootout). I'm sure Materazzi said something that very well may have warranted an ass-kicking, but maybe at another time and place, and in a different manner.

I can only imagine working the same job for almost two decades...and then, at 4:50 p.m. on the last day, walking up to an unsavory coworker and knocking the crap out of them.

This incident doesn't change years of amazing accomplishments throughout Zidane's career. But it does cast them in a different light. They are overshadowed by this final, failing move. People will see him differently because of it. I know I do.

big news

2006-06-22T09:02:00.000-04:00

My sister Leslie: I've known her for 25 years. I still picture her as a chubby five-year-old standing on the beach wearing a pink and white striped dress with hair white like cornsilk. But she's certainly no kid anymore. She sharp, funny, beautiful, and self-assured - and now my "little" (6'0") sister is GETTING MARRIED!!

Congrats to you and Jorge, kiddo - I love you!

here, there, and everywhere

2006-06-16T09:19:00.000-04:00

I feel kind of scattered this morning, like my mind is on 100 different things in rotation. Consequently, I feel incapable of writing a single-subject post that is focused and taut...so maybe if a toss out a few of these random nuggets in writing, I can get a little clearer. So, how about list form?

1. Yesterday was my friend Josh's 28th birthday. He is currently in Haiti for a month working for the Catholic church, doing good work and having even better philosophical thoughts (he's even more "in his head" than I am in mine). I do recommend Josh's Haiti blog, though perhaps not all at once - there's some heavy thinking going on in there. Happy birthday, my friend.

2. Today is "Bloomsday." James Joyce's novel Ulysses takes place over the course of one day - June 16 - following the hour-by-hour course of a Dubliner named Leopold Bloom as he moves throughout the city. Have a pint of stout today and celebrate the Irish.

3. My friends Nate and Alyssa are getting married this weekend - Erin and I (along with Colin and Alexis) are heading down to Durham later this morning for the weekend celebration. It promises to be a ridiculously good time.

4. Next weekend is the church's annual Beach Retreat at Emerald Isle, NC. The theme this year has to do with creation - stories, sounds, and patterns in nature. I'm in charge of half the program. I'm thinking about doing a piece on fractals, and a piece on harmonic singing. Any other ideas?? Because I'm pretty sure I'm screwed.

5. Erin only lives a mile from my house. Lately, instead of driving back and forth, I've taken to riding my bike through the neighborhood. I admit, I do feel a little bit like a 9-year-old as I pull into the backyard and heave my bike onto the deck, but it's been good exercise and it's such a pretty ride. Quiet, no radio...and slow enough to take in the scenery. It feels very European (and I'm obviously feeling very pretentious).

6. I've gotten to see some great music in the past week. Nickel Creek last Friday, the Avett Brothers and the Hackensaw Boys last night. Fantastic shows. (Side note: at a concert where you can see the stage AND there is a big screen broadcasting the show, why is it that many eyes are drawn to the screen rather than to the stage? the facade of the show rather than the show itself??)

That's about all I can handle at the moment, as it is time to finish packing for this wedding trip. Hopefully there will be stories and pictures worth publishing after the weekend.

and for our next trick

2006-06-08T08:46:00.001-04:00

I realize it's been a couple of weeks. I've had this one post in mind that I've been meaning to write for about 12 days now (though this is NOT said post), but one thing or another has gotten in the way.

Perhaps I'll get to that other lengthy post later in the day, but I think I'm going to have to build up to it. Erin and I had dinner with our friends Antonia and Jonathan last night, which is always such a fantastic time. We DID, however, learn a valuable lesson this time around involving the reserve supply of wine and our own self control. Namely, that the intuitive sense one gets after the first two or three bottles - the feeling that all of the remaining wine in the house is bound to go bad before sunrise - is, in fact, incorrect. Wow.

I realize this post sounds a little ridiculous on the heels of the last post. A bit of a regression, perhaps? Maybe. But it was fun, regardless.

be still

2006-05-24T11:11:00.000-04:00

Our whole staff from St. James's spent Monday and Tuesday on retreat at the Cathedral College of Preachers, an ecclesiastical continuing education center attached to the National Cathedral in D.C. The sole purpose of this retreat was to force the thirteen of us into a place where we could not work or do anything other than relax and participate in some guided meditations and contemplative prayer. We were led by Tilden Edwards, the founder and 27-year director of the Shalem Institute dedicated to the support of contemplative living. The guy is pretty amazing - his guided meditations were so effective, and following one of them after lunch, we were asked to move about the grounds of the cathedral (or sit still) on our own and just "be" in silence for an hour and a half. I realize it may sound a little cheesy or New Agey or something. But imagine if you could take your brain out of your head and scrub it clean of residue and clutter before putting it back in your skull. The whole experience felt kind of like that. Clarity. A clean slate. An ease of being. An openness to things just as they are without trying to make them into something else. A reliance on intuition and experience rather than analytical naming. (I sound like a total hippie.)

It was a renewing, centering experience. And yes, there was more to the retreat than the meditations. There was lots of food. And some wine. And more than a little bourbon and cigar smoking. Mostly it was an enjoyable two days with a group of people I consider to be my good friends. Having now returned to "real life," I only hope that I can hang on to the sense of balance and openness that I managed to find - or that found me - once I was unplugged for a while.

worth 1,000 words? maybe a dozen or so, anyway...

2006-05-18T11:54:00.000-04:00

Finally, some pictures from our grand beach vacation...

The Fam:

Erin on the porch:

Les and Jorge:

Is Leslie actually pointing at my mother rather mockingly?? Or just being generally retarded? And why does mom look a little confused?

Mom bought "Crocs" for all of us - about as perfect as a beach shoe gets. Thanks Mom!

I shaved the beard over vacation and for just a brief, shining moment, I had a moustache that would have been the envy of porn stars and rednecks everywhere:

Dad getting ready to take us out in the boat:

Exploring Little St. George Island:

Mom at the porch door:

Doing what we do best - eating and drinking!

A view of the sunset from the house:

all good things must end

2006-05-09T15:18:00.000-04:00

A brief recap of the vacation week:

Things got off to a bit of a rough start when our plane was more than three hours late leaving Richmond. After another delay in Atlanta, we got to Panama City about midnight and walked in the door at the beach house at quarter to 2:00 in the morning. If it weren't for Erin's patience and unflappable good nature, I probably would have thrown at least one tantrum at some point in the travel process. As it was, though, we enjoyed getting some time to sit and relax and revel in the fact that we did not have to be anywhere (not that there was anywhere to go in the airport). So the night ended late, to be sure...but not late enough to forego a big plate of veggie lasagna that our parents' friend Ronnie had made for us.

Despite the delayed beginning, the rest of the week was indescribably great - got to see Mom, Dad, Les, Jorge, my Aunt Anne and Uncle Joe, various friends, etc. Read a lot. Slept a lot. Drank my fair share (and then some). Poor Erin was subjected to a tidal wave of semi-drunk relatives and satellite "family" who descended en masse upon Monday night dinner. Thankfully, she not only tolerated this spectacle...she actually enjoyed it. (Hallelujah!)

Pictures of the week will follow soon. Meanwhile, I'll just be sitting inside working, watching my tan fade as I wallow in post-vacation self-pity.

In other breaking news: David Blaine is a moron. Seriously.

sun and sand!

2006-04-30T14:04:00.000-04:00

I'm headed out the door - FINALLY - for a week on the beach in Florida! I've been looking forward to this day for weeks. I intend to try to forget all about work and day-to-dayness until Friday.

Cheers...

lucky numbers

2006-04-20T11:53:00.000-04:00

My new addiction is the Virginia Lottery. Not long ago, my mom started getting a couple of tickets each week for the Florida Lottery because the jackpot was up to $82 million ...at least until last night, when two people matched all six numbers and crushed the jackpot back down to $3 million. It's only $1 a ticket to play in both Florida and Virginia...so why not get two or three tickets?

"Consider it entertainment that might reap big rewards," Mom says. She's right, I suppose: after all, the Mega Millions lottery in Virginia was up to $265 million on Tuesday before one person hit the jackpot in Ohio. Now it's a paltry $20 million or so. Pocket change by comparison. I bought three tickets on Tuesday and I did get the Mega Ball number correct on the first one. That won me a whopping $2. Not a big winner, but still - I was excited about the drawing all afternoon. And I made back two of the three dollars I spent. True, I didn't win a damn thing on the one ticket I bought last night for the Win for Life drawing, but who cares? There's another Mega Millions drawing on Friday night.

Who knew $1 could buy so much excitement?

holy itunes?

2006-04-15T19:46:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, the end of Holy Week. For those of us who work in the church, this is the most important (and often busiest) week of the liturgical year. It is a time when - hopefully - our hearts and minds are open to holy and the divine.

Now, with that in mind...the following statement may sound a little strange: I'd like to share with you three coincidences involving Holy Week and my iTunes. Seriously. I make no claim as to the meaning of these incidents - I know only that they happened and that the odds of all three happening are slim, to say the very least.

Incident #1: Good Friday, 2005 (last year)
Having finished singing the noon Good Friday service, I went into my office to get some work done before heading out for the afternoon. I opened iTunes on my computer and put it on shuffle. (I should note that I have over 3,400 songs in my iTunes - that's over 10 days of continuous play. I have almost my entire music collection on there.) The second or third song of the shuffle was a track from "Jesus Christ Superstar" - specifically, it was the track entitled "Trial Before Pilate (Including the 39 Lashes)." The timing was significant enough to me that I mentioned it to a couple of people in the office.

Incident #2: Palm Sunday, 2006 (last Sunday)
Each year on Palm Sunday, we end the service with a very moving rendition of the hymn "O Sacred Head Sore Wounded." It begins with a boy soprano singing the first verse solo, followed by the choir singing verse two a capella in four parts. For those not familiar with the hymn, the melody is from Bach's "Passion Chorale" - it is a traditional Holy Week hymn. Following the service, I went home to make lunch, still humming the song. As I sat down to eat, I put my iTunes on shuffle. The second track that played was Paul Simon's "American Tune." For those that don't know the song, the the melody is also from Bach's "Passion Chorale." It is the same melody as "O Sacred Head Sore Wounded." (Side note: We actually sang these two pieces - "O Sacred Head" and "American Tune" - together in alternating verses at a Maundy Thursday service two years ago.)

Incident #3: Holy Saturday, 2006 (today)
Having been busy for most of the week and finally having a day of relative rest, I decided to clean out my closet this afternoon. As I began to work, I put my iTunes on shuffle. On this day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the second song that played was from "Jesus Christ Superstar." The specific track? "Trial Before Pilate (Including the 39 Lashes)."

Happy Easter, all...

minutia of a thursday afternoon

2006-04-06T16:22:00.000-04:00

I really need to get a new look for this blog.

My friend Austin just made herself a rockin' new design and layout for her blog. Check it out: it looks pretty great, right? I think it's the second redesign in the last three months, each one better than the previous one. And all of this in spite of the fact that she promised me back in October that she would drag me out of my dorkdom by putting her creativity to use and providing some hot new design idea for my blog. You might have noticed that that hasn't actually happened yet. (Yes, I'm calling her out, just a little bit - but only because her site looks so freakin' sharp!)

Meanwhile, I have to share the best link I've received via email all week (maybe all year). Erin gets the credit for finding this little nugget - it's the Falling Bush screensaver: http://www.planetdan.net/pics/misc/georgie.htm. Republicans, beware - you won't like this. The rest of you (I think perhaps ALL of you reading this?) enjoy! And take note: when he gets stuck, you can drag him around with your mouse, even squeeze him through seemingly too-tight spaces. Endless hours of entertainment!

Speaking of entertaining, my favorite - albeit not terribly PC - quip today comes from my sister, Leslie: "There's nothing like an overweight Hasidic Jew riding on the back of a Vespa to make your day. I love Miami."

inside the ipod

2006-04-04T11:03:00.000-04:00

I can't pinpoint the date, but somewhere along the line I became a bit of a tech nerd. This morning, I got to scrub in on an iPod "surgery": Randy and I took his third generation iPod apart to replace a battery that wouldn't hold a charge anymore. This was appealing to me on three levels:

(1) I'd never seen the inside of an iPod before, and I had no clue how to open it since it seems so beautifully seamless. Fun challenge.
(2) Taking your iPod to the store to get the battery replaced costs $75. However, if you can figure out how to replace it yourself, the battery alone is only $25. I'm kind of cheap, so I love the "do-it-yourself" quality at work here.
(3) Most embarassingly, I know that this is the closest I'll ever get to participating in some cool, rare, Grey's Anatomy-style surgery (apparently I'm a TV nerd, too).

In truth, it's amazing how simple the iPod looks inside...and equally amazing how small the hard drive is that holds 20 gigs worth of digital information. We were able to swap out the battery pretty easily, and it seems to be working fine so far.

So I may not be ready for open heart surgery or brain tumor removal yet...but I bet I can program your DVD/VCR combo.

what i will NOT be doing on sunday evening

2006-03-31T18:23:00.000-05:00

Did anyone happen to catch the following CNN article today?

Holy Poor Sportsmanship! Youth Minister Charged After 'Dodgeball Rage' Incident

I have to admit, I laughed out loud in spite of myself. It sounds like it should be a headline from The Onion. I can picture this poor guy thinking "What's wrong with a harmless game of dodgeball?" just before getting beaned in the head by a 16-year-old with a strong arm and accurate aim. I mean, come on: who really thinks it's a good idea to gather a bunch of teenagers together for the sole purpose of pegging each other with a rubber ball? Who thinks it's an even better idea to jump into the middle of the fray? Recipe for disaster.

I can't decide what's worse: that this happened at all, or that it's front page news on CNN.com. Either way, I'm pretty sure we will not be playing dodgeball at youth group this Sunday...at least, not anymore.

the anti-rip-off

2006-03-28T19:12:00.000-05:00

I'm in the process of trying to get my jetted tub fixed. For the past year, turning on the jets in the tub has caused water to gush through the light fixtures in the kitchen ceiling. Probably a bad sign, no? Every time I use the tub, it is decidedly unfulfilling because I can't turn the jets on for fear of electricution and flooding. I haven't had it fixed sooner because there are no access doors to the pump and pipes; consequently, I had to have the siding ripped off around the tub just to get to the leak.

I talked to this handyman last week about coming by to fix it - he came highly recommended by a couple of people at work. Relatively young guy, probably about my age or a little younger. He dropped by this afternoon to take a look. He showed me where the sealant had come loose between the pipe and the pump. He said it was a pretty easy fix that I could do myself and told me exactly what I needed to get at the hardware store for the repair. I thanked him and asked him how much I owed him for the consult. He said, "Oh, don't worry about - you don't owe me anything. I just do repair work after my day job to make a little extra money and help people out who need it."

It seemed to be such a change from the often-expensive fee that plumbers and electricians usually charge just for showing up. It's unnecessarily kind acts like this one that restore my faith in the goodness of humanity...or at least help me get my hot tub fixed for cheap.

how the mighty have fallen

2006-03-23T22:03:00.000-05:00

It's 10:00 PM. I'm sitting in my office having just finished choir rehearsal. I checked the basketball scores on espn.com to see what I missed...and now I'm afraid to go home because DUKE just LOST. I've never seen Colin get super-pissed, but I imagine that if ever there were a time when he might be throwing things and screaming at the top of his lungs, it might be now. Yikes.

So much for my brackets.

just what i needed

2006-03-22T22:38:00.000-05:00

Salvation comes when you least expect it...and from unlikely places. I've been feeling more than a little overextended the past six weeks - as evidenced by my lack of postings on this blog - and I've been approaching a point where I need to slow down and take a break or risk total exhaustion and burn-out.

So, I was completely caught off guard when Virginia, the organist and director of the choir for the 9:00 AM Sunday service, walked into my office on Monday, told me I had been looking overly tired at rehearsals on Wednesday and Thursday nights, and asked if I wanted to take off from Wednesday night rehearsals until after Easter. For those of you that know how constant, demanding, and consuming the choirs are for me, you realize what a coup this is and how grateful I was (and still am) for the surprise suggestion. I feel blessed to have been given this little reprieve when I expected it least and needed it most.

o me of little faith

2006-03-16T19:12:00.000-05:00

It's been a beatiful few days, warm and spring-like for the most part. The kind of weather that allows me to thrive. Over the weekend, I began building vegetable garden beds in my backyard. I've never had a vegetable garden in my adult life, and I only vaguely remember helping my parents with the one we had when I was about five.

This vegetable planting has resulted from the confluence of several items. While the idea of a vegetable garden has always appealed to me, I've never had anyone who could instruct me as to what to do. (Given my natural knack for killing plants - ten, yes, TEN azalea bushes - this is an absolute necessity.) Nor have I had anyone willing to help with the manual labor of gardening on a regular basis. Thankfully, mercifully, Erin has taken on both of these roles. Brave girl. Couple this with my new-found focus on vegetables as a consequence of giving up meat for Lent, and suddenly a vegetable garden seems like an absolute necessity!

But here's the thing: seeds are small. REALLY small. Tiny. But plants...plants are big. Plants are hearty, leafy, fruitful. We started planting these tiny seeds in miniscule trays that barely hold an ounce of soil. We buried a single seed in each one and covered it with a few granules of wet dirt. All I could think was, "No way." Erin said, "Trust me. They'll grow." I shook my head. "No way." I mean, those things are tiny. "They'll get lost in there."

That was four days ago. This morning, there was life where there was no life before: little sprouts of green as my lettuce had begun to germinate and sprout.

Maybe I should reconsider how much faith I really have...

and one to grow on

2006-03-10T16:46:00.000-05:00

So. Today is my birthday. Twenty-nine. Counting down the days to 30.

Strangely, I don't have that "digging my heels in" sensation that I've sometimes had on other birthdays, that knee-jerk Peter Pan "I won't grow up" feeling. I have no idea why. But it's nice. And freeing.

It doesn't hurt that today is the first day this year that has really, legitimately felt like spring. It's that first day of good warm weather that makes me want to laugh - almost maniacally - just because it's so beautiful outside. I am thankful that some cosmic coincidence has landed that day on this particular date this year.

Birthday. Day off. Incredible weather. Dinner plans with Erin later. I can't imagine that it gets much better than this.

so, what's in the box?

2006-03-09T18:33:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that she is almost 90, my grandmother is still a very sharp, very "with it" woman. For the most part she acts as if she is 15 to 20 years younger. At Christmas, she always sends tasteful gifts: a stylish scarf, a pair of nice gloves, an interesting book, etc. - she is always very thoughtful. However, she seems to use my birthday as an occasion to exercise her practicality. Every year she sends me a care package for my birthday, and every year it includes items with which to stock my pantry. She either thinks that I am starving, or that I don't know how to shop for myself...or perhaps both.

The thought is endearing, but it's the curiosity of some of the items themselves that make me wonder what she was thinking. It gets weirder every year: I didn't even know some of these existed. Here is the inventory of this year's birthday box:

1 bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies
1 box of Orville Redenbacher "Mini Bags" of Smart Pop
1 package of generic caramel dipped shortbread cookies
1 box of Suddenly Salad Creamy Parmesan Pasta
1 box of Pasta Roni Chicken Quesadilla-flavored Pasta
1 package of Lipton "Asian Sides" Chicken Fried Rice
1 bag of Idahoan Butter & Herb "Just Add Water" Instant Mashed Potatoes.
1 "Lunch Bucket" pasta & chicken
1 package of yellow cornbread mix
1 package of brown gravy mix
1 cannister of French Fried Onions
1 "Lunch Bucket"-style spaghetti rings & franks
1 can Campbell's Split-Pea with Ham & Bacon soup
1 package of Chicken of the Sea shrimp

If I'm ever forced to build a bomb shelter and hide out in it for a couple of weeks, I think I'll be all set.

in the waiting line

2006-03-07T10:51:00.000-05:00

Having been awake far too long already today, I find myself being distracted by the most inconsequential minutia. This morning's inane burning question is this: When I use the drive-thru teller at the bank to make a deposit, it takes - on average - approximately 60 seconds from the time I put my checks in the container to the moment when the teller says, "Have a nice day." Maybe 90 seconds if I'm getting cash back. Why, then, does it often take the person in front of me upward of 6 or 7 minutes to do what they need to do? A deposit is a deposit - ceteris paribus - and shouldn't vary too much from one to another. So what are those people doing, anyway? Have they asked for cash back in nickels, dimes, and quarters? Maybe they want 50 crisp singles with no folded edges to feed the vending machines at work? Or perhaps they're submitting a loan application?

I don't know. It's a little baffling. I assume these are the same people that are able to drag the grocery checkout experience into a 15-minute ordeal, as well.

crossing the finish line

2006-03-05T13:16:00.000-05:00

These have been two of the busiest weeks of my existence...and finally they are coming to an end (Hallelujah!). It's as if every time I blink three days and 80% of my energy are lost. I spent 8 of 9 straight nights doing work-related things. We had our big Mardi Gras fundraiser at the church on Tuesday night, two services on Ash Wednesday, and then the grand finale of the work week on Thursday evening: the entire choir got booted from rehearsal halfway through because we were ill-prepared on a piece that should have been more up to snuff. We didn't even practice the two anthemns for Sunday. Unbelievable.

The weekend did bring some reprieve, though. I had a Friday happy hour gig with Oak Lane, the folk/bluegrass band I've been playing in. Not a bad start....but Saturday was the real redeemer of the week. After a Joe's Inn Saturday lunch that was so late it almost qualified as dinner, Erin and I went to the Virginia Museum of Fine Art, which I hadn't visited in over a year. The best part was that we saw all these exhibits I'd never experienced - or certainly had never appreciated - before. I finally learned to which time periods "Art Nouveau" and "Art Deco" refer. I even felt vague affection for a Frank Lloyd Wright chair - it's probably the only time I've ever actually looked at furniture in a museum and paid attention.

On top of everything else going on this week, today was Youth Sunday at the church. At the 9:00 service this morning, the youth ran everything in the service: they were the officiants, the preacher, the ushers, the acolytes, the readers, the musicians, etc. And all of them fulfilled their duties with much more poise than might be expected of people their age. They made me feel proud and privileged to have the job that I do.

And now, I plan to revel in the end of the week (or the beginning of a less-busy week, I guess) with a nap before Youth Group tonight.

2, no 6, no 12 - baker's dozen

2006-02-25T14:16:00.000-05:00

Why does February always sneak up on me as one of the busiest months of the year? It seems so odd. I realized yesterday I haven't posted in a week. Lame.

I just finished eating a single chocolate iced glazed Krispy Kreme donut, and it was the best thing that's happened to me all day. As I pulled out of the KK parking lot and drove toward home, donut in hand, I started getting nostalgic for a number of pivotal moments in my life that have revolved around donuts (I know this is weird, just stick with me for a minute). From the time I was about 3 until I was 5 or so, my dad used to take me to school on Tuesdays - his day off. Before school, we would go downtown to this bakery called Waites for breakfast, where I would have two chocolate glazed donuts and a glass of milk. The same two waitresses - Bernadette and Thadine - waited on us every week. And every week, when we would take some donuts home to my mom and my baby sister, they would put in one extra donut for free and not tell the grouchy lady at the checkout register. They even threw me a birthday party once in the back room of Waites (I think I was four) and gave me a red toy race car.

There are other moments worth remembering: one of the best little league baseball games I can remember was one Saturday morning in 2nd grade when our coach brought us glazed donuts and orange juice; my high school friends and I downed half a dozen each one night cruising around town; I went to Krispy Kreme on September 12, 2001; I kissed someone in the Krispy Kreme parking lot once; I had a donut for dinner before the Coldplay concert last fall; and today I cashed in my "free donut" valentine.

Sweet.

free at last, free at last

2006-02-17T08:41:00.000-05:00

Sometime about 12 or 13 years ago, I got my braces off. It was a glorious event, marred only by the fact that they glued this thin metal wire to the back of my lower front teeth to keep them from moving. It was a permanent retainer that I was (potentially) supposed to have for my whole life.

A few days ago, my teeth rebelled and took up arms against their metal oppressor, tearing the sliver of metal away from the glue on one side. And yesterday, when I went to the dentist for him to take a look, my teeth won their freedom, completely and forever, with the removal of the great metal monster. Hallelujah! It's like getting my braces off all over again. The real estate in my mouth feels as if it's increased threefold. The speed bump on the back of my teeth gone, it now feels more like a ramp that's been greased with Crisco. The only bad thing is that, apparently, said retainer acted as a sort of "seat belt" for my tongue...and for the first two hours it was gone, I felt my tongue wanting to slip up and loll forward (and out) of my mouth like a panting dog.

Nevertheless, it is unspeakably great to be able to feel the entire surface of the back of my lower teeth again for the first time in over a decade.

a little too personal?

2006-02-13T22:56:00.000-05:00

This is the post of personal shout-outs, because several people deserve them this week. Here we go:

- To my sister, for a number of reasons: for putting up with my ridiculousness for 25 years; for sending me several good books in the mail; for being patient when I don't mail her things in a timely fashion; for trying to teach me Spanish; for calling me while I'm on a date and chastising me (rightly) for picking up the phone.
- To Alyssa, because today is her birthday. And she just flat out rocks. And makes me laugh endlessly.
- To Josh, who also sends me good books in the mail (what is one to do with all these literary friends??). And who always has sage words of wisdom in times of need...or at least a confusing zen koan or two.
- To my favorite old woman in Miami, who's working her magic on some new guy. Keep up the good work, playa...and keep an eye out for my sister - she just moved down to Miami yesterday.
- To Nancy, who bothers to read these posts even though I see her multiple times a week. You and Colin (and Scout) make hanging around my own house a worthwhile endeavor.

OK, I think that's enough - the saccharine proportions of this post are making me throw up a little bit in the back of my mouth, so I'm going to give in to my current state of exhaustion and go to sleep.

under the weather

2006-02-08T22:46:00.000-05:00

I have a cold. Man, I'm pissed. I always seem to get sick one time every year, usually in February. Last year I made it all the way to May before I got a cold - I thought I was out of the woods, and BAM! This time it came upon me in a matter of hours: went to sleep last night feeling pretty good, woke up four hours later with a scratchy sore throat. What could have caused it? Could it be the erratic sleep schedule these days? Maybe the bourbon and gingers I had while watching the Duke/NC game last night? I don't know. I'm just hoping it's a short illness. Meanwhile, I can feel the NyQuil starting to kick in - I suppose that means I should go to bed before I write something exceptionally brilliant and interesting (read: stupid).

iron and wine, and the occasional moped

2006-02-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

I saw a moped biker gang on Friday afternoon. For real. I'm not even kidding. They drove past the outdoor patio of the bar where I was enjoying good beer, good company, and amazing February sunshine. One guy even pumped his fist in the air and gave a "Woo hoo!" in a totally tongue-in-cheek moped-riding sort of way that made everyone on the patio laugh.

But the moped gang is not what I'm intending to write about because it doesn't do much good talking about it without pictures. The effect is lost.

Instead, can we talk about the fact that I might be the last person I know to begin exploring the music of Iron and Wine? I know it's shown up in a commercial or two, and I feel like I've skated around it for a couple of years but never really listened directly. But how amazing is "Naked As We Came" (shown here with audio and video), both lyrically and musically? Or, at the very least, the two fit together like peanut butter and jelly. The lyrics are beautiful, and the music suits it in a very gentle, thoughtful sort of way:

She says "wake up, it's no use pretending"
I'll keep stealing, breathing her.
Birds are leaving over autumn's ending
One of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open, naked as we came
One will spread our ashes 'round the yard

She says "If I leave before you, darling
Don't you waste me in the ground"
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
One of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open, naked as we came
One will spread our ashes 'round the yard

It's one of those songs I wish I'd written. Even though at this point the song may be cliche to those who have heard it a million times, I've been inescapably hung up on it for a couple of days now. In fact, it's inspired me to begin compiling a list of other songs I wish I'd written...which I will put in a separate post in the near future.

it had to happen sooner or later

2006-02-01T22:33:00.000-05:00

To date, I have refrained from posting anything overtly spiritual in nature on this site because I think everyone (myself included) has his or her own way of figuring out and dealing with spirituality and religion...and everyone deserves the right to do so on their own terms without unwanted interference. That being said, this is my blog, these are the things I think about on a day to day basis, and they constitute a large part of who I am. So, if you feel as if you might need a little spiritual feeding today (or at least something to think about), keep reading...and if not, no worries: just sit this one out and catch the next post.

I came across an article written by The Rev. Ben Campbell about the nature of prayer that I found extraordinary. Ben runs Richmond Hill, an ecumenical retreat center in a converted convent here in Richmond's Church Hill (the old part of the city, just down the street from St. John's Episcopal Church where Patrick Henry delivered his "Give me liberty, or give me death" speech). I've met Ben a couple of times - he's incredibly involved in community outreach in Richmond, especially across racial divides. Very energetic and centered in a way that makes you feel as if you've known him for years. All in all, a brilliant guy...and it doesn't hurt that he sounds strikingly like Johnny Cash.

Anyway, the article appeared on the cover of Richmond Hill's January newsletter. This is the paragraph I find most compelling:

"There are many points at which prayer can become rote, superficial, or deflected, but this point is one of the most deceptive. When we pray for the salvation, healing, and transformation of people's lives, nations, and histories, we are not asking God to do something he does not want to do. We are rather aligning ourselves with what we already know is God's will - his love of each human being in particular and of humanity in general. We are praying with God more than we are praying to him."

The concept of intercessory prayer as "alignment" is not one I'd thought about before. It makes more sense to me than the idea of asking God for things that seem obvious and unnecessary (as if God doesn't get it and we have to ask in order to call it to his attention). There are several other interesting bits later in the article, and I definitely recommend the full text if you have the time and inclination to read it.