A Third Way

A friend of mine told me about this group. They, like many of us, grew tired of the culture wars. In an attempt to combat the childish name calling that is so prevalent on the modern political scene, these intelligent folks seek to find better than a middle ground. They wish to find a third way--a better way. Check it out for yourselves.

http://www.third-way.com/

Watch for Falling Turkeys!

Have a favorite pop culture Thanksgiving moment? Remember WKRP in Cincinnati's Thanksgiving show? Less: "Turkeys are falling like wet bags of cement!"

http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/TV/11/20/thanksgiving.tv/index.html

http://video.yahoo.com/video/play?vid=1499909&fr=yvmtf

The War on Christmas and How I Spoke too Soon

There are liberals out there that make my life difficult by embarrassing me. Lowe's put out adds for Family Trees. What is a Family Tree? I thought it was a graph that traces one's family origins. Lowe's used Family Trees and Holiday Trees to describe Christmas trees and in some instances where they included an add in Spanish, used 'Navidad' to sell the same trees. Apparently you can't offend those that speak Spanish. STUPID!!!! There is no Jewish person that I know that wants us Christians to call our Christmas Trees anything but Christmas trees. It's not like a Muslim is going to stick one in his living room if Lowe's calls it a family tree. To Lowe's credit, they changed their policy after admitting their mistake. As I searched for articles on this matter, I found positive responses on Christian Websites--the kind that frighten me. The kind that promote automatic rifles and Christianity in the same breath. What was more scary? They were right on target.

Here is a Christian Conservative watchdog group's response to Lowe's change in attitude:

Christmas trees are now called just that. Lowe’s informed the American Family Association that the company took down the signs reading "holiday trees." In their place went up the signs reading "Christmas trees."
That means that every store within the chain has labeled the 49 varieties of live and artificial trees as "Christmas trees." Lowe’s in fact went further to explain that the "holiday trees" label was originally a "mistake." Lowe’s had no motive of denigrating Christmas or snubbing Christians.
Customers applaud Lowe’s not only for the name change but also for the explanation. It would help if other retailers followed through with like change.
Sears has done so. They have shipped out "Merry Christmas" signs to all their stores. The executives inform store managers to display the Christmas signs in place of "holiday greetings." Their ads also will carry the "Merry Christmas" greeting.
Target says next season Salvation Army bell ringers will return.
Walgreen’s apologized that it is too late to change their "happy holidays" banners with "Merry Christmas" but next year it will be "Merry Christmas."
Here is Lowe's statement:
Lowe's has proudly sold Christmas trees in our stores for decades, and we continue to do so this year in all of our stores nationwide. All 49 varieties of live and artificial trees at Lowe's and on our web site, Lowes.com, are labeled as Christmas trees. The product signs inside Lowe's stores have always said "Christmas trees," though an outside banner did not. To ensure consistency of our message and to avoid confusion among our customers, we are now referring to the trees only as "Christmas Trees." We have also removed the banner that read "holiday trees" from the front of our stores.Lowe's apologizes for any confusion the banner created. We appreciate our customers bringing the matter to our attention and giving us the opportunity to correct the error. For many retailers, including Lowe's, the holiday season encompasses all the holidays between October and early January. Thus we adopted an overall "Home for the Holidays" theme five years ago. In addition to spanning the season, we believe this theme is respectful of all our customers, regardless of which holidays they may celebrate.

Fighting the War on the War on Christmas

Forgive me for getting a little political.

With the holidays rolling around again I wonder when I'll start hearing about the War on Christmas. The artificial trees are already peering through the windows at the local Walgreen's. If you aren't familiar with this particular war, supposedly liberals and the liberal media and possibly Satan have launched an all out assault on Jesus' birthday. Here's how the claims usually pour forth from the likes of Bill O' Riley. When your local department store has Seasons Greetings painted on its windows it's because liberals have stripped the stores freedom to paint their widows with Merry Christmas. "Merry X-mas" is another hated term by those who claim they are losing this battle. Happy Holidays posted on your local hardware store door is also unacceptable. Now I'll give them this--I do have fond childhood memories of going to the mall and seeing the word "Christmas" framed in garland as far as the eye could see.

However, it wasn't for some childhood fascination or even love for Jesus. It was because I related Christmas with the receiving of toys, crisp weather, the useless hope for snow, and seeing my grandparents. All good and wonderful and my Santa Myth still lingers as a 39 year old.

Things have changed but I dare say for the better. Political correctness gets to be a burden and sometimes is just wrong, but in this case I side with the dark side. What I don't understand is why some Christians want Jesus selling perfume at JC Penny's or a Credit Card that promises to make your life worth living. Isn't the conflict blatantly obvious? Jesus was absolutely against the idea that your stuff made you and that you can buy your way into the Kingdom. The irony is poignant in that Jesus would not want anything to do with the holiday that celebrates his birth.

So Happy Holidays to all! It's catchy and actually has Christian origins. I don't see us changing anything soon. The US is a capitalist country and I'm OK with that because I don't know of a better choice. I say embrace it. Don't go into debt but feel the joy and excitement of X-mas. If you aren't Christian, come on along. Take part in the department store sales, take part in all the joyful noise, attempt like crazy to do some good. Shouldn't we, as Christians, be overjoyed that we now have a secular holiday with more sincere origins--capitalism. The spiritual/religious/Christian Christmas can be enjoyed at home. And after you are done, go blow some cash on a new I-Phone. It's a more sincere act than getting all puffed up over what signage is hanging in the mall.

Too busy to love

"How is it my God, that you have given me this hectic life and so little time to enjoy your presence? All day, people are waiting to speak to me, and even during meals I have to keep talking to people about their concerns and needs. During sleep itself I am still dreaming about the problems that await me tomorrow. I am doing all of this for you, not for myself. My way of life is more tormenting than reward and I only that for you it is a gift of love. I know you are always beside me, yet I become so busy that I forget you and ignore you. If you want me to keep up this pace, please make me think about you and love you, even during the most hectic activity. If you do not want me to be so busy, please release me from it and teach me how others can take over some of my responsibilities."

Sister Teresa, 16th Century Carmelite Nun

The Church and Humor

Kathy Griffin, the comedian who stars in her own reality show, My Life
on the D List, that I have never seen, apparently ticked off a lot of
Christians at the Emmy's a couple of weeks ago. I have only heard parts of it. She began by saying that many people thank Jesus for winning their Emmy then continued by not thanking Jesus for her award, stating ,"No one had less to do with this award than Jesus." The big bomb was when she said that her award was her God now and that Jesus could go . . .well . . . you know.

There was a strange response from some Christians to Kathy's humor. The Catholic League was able to get the words edited from the rerun of the awards show on E! I hear an evangelical group of film makers took out a full page add in the New York Times that cost them a ton full of money. I heard from an unreliable source that the add costs $90,000.

First, I think the Church hurts itself when it throws so much energy into what a comedian says about Jesus. They only create more of an opportunity for jokes. If only the Christian film makers would have fed people or taken out a full-page add to shed light on the horrible situation in Sudan.
Secondly, I think (all but for her last statement) Kathy makes a more christian-like point than her critics. I hate when some self-absorbed movie star with her gazillions of dollars steps up to the mic and thanks Jesus for her award. Kathy is right. No one had less to do with her award than Jesus. And Yes, I think it's funny because it is true and she had the guts to make fun of her own "people."
Thirdly, I wonder if Kathy has really gone home and worshiped her Emmy. Of course not and that's also why it's funny.

The Church needs to learn to laugh at itself. It has made enough mistakes in it's life time to where we must laugh even when outsiders make the joke. Monty Python's skit about the Spanish Inquisition--Funny. Rowan Atkinson's monologue about God--Funny. Kathy Griffin-funny. We deserve it for holding so tightly to what is important to us and being so easily offended when someone goes after it. I do have my limits but come on. Lighten up or at least ignore the minor jabs by a comedian that hardly is a house hold name--until now.

Great Post By Real Live Preacher

know the feeling?

http://www.reallivepreacher.com/node/1400

On Being Non Judgemental

I assisted a family at the hospital a few nights ago. Their 20 y/o daughter had died after suffering from Sickle Cell (among other ailments.) A large family arrived to grieve their loss. Some were more demonstrative (to say the least) than others. One family member attempted to kick a doctor, twice. Another ran down the hall way smack into a stairwell door and then fell to the floor crying. Others grieved by screaming, others wept silently. After grabbing one woman by her ankles so she would stop trying to kick people, I let go of her and walked out into the hallway. From here I could get a good look at all of them. There was a dozen stories I could come up with about this family. Heck, the family had already told me a few. The deceased's mother was a no show "drugee" and the deceased's boy friend was in a custody battle with her over their 6mnth old child. He was abusive. As I was able to gain some perspective, I figured out even with that info I knew very little about these people. I didn't fully know all their hardships, what brings them joy, or who gets along with who. The family was separated into 3 groups so I assumed their was division and enough blame to go around for a few families. Then I stopped and told myself that all my inner inquiry was leading me to draw conclusions about these people-some that might be true, most not. I reentered the family room and attempted the best I could to comfort the Aunt that had practically raised the deceased as her own child. That was like trying to stop a freight train. In the middle of her 5 hours of demonstrative grieving she opened her arms up and pulled me onto my knees and gave me a big bear hug. I told her I was sorry and she said she could tell I was sorry. Especially when people are experiencing a significant loss, it behooves us to refrain from judgement. It is better that we see the suffering individual as the embodiment of Christ, no matter their shortcomings and emotional displays. It seemed to work in my favor this evening. It was one of the toughest cases I'd ever encountered. Seeing them as a child of God and as Christ embodiers, changed the way I ministered to them. They figured this out quickly and by the end of our time together there was a smidgen of something redemptive that took place in all of us. Race, culture, lies and truths alike all crossed and got mixed up for 5 hours. The gift that presented itself as a result out of this entangled mess was the truth that we are not in as much control as we pretend and that truth that God can move us to cross boundaries without much help form us at all. These are good moments. In this case, it was a good moment in the midst of a tragedy. At times I wonder if these are glimpses of the Kingdom--something larger than us and not altered by our petty hangups. Too bad we miss them most of the time.

The Nature Conservancy

If you are interested in being green but find it a turn off when Hollywood types suggest we only use one square of toilet paper when we do our binness, The Nature Conservancy might be for you. I sent my first tiny donation to them last month. They buy land legally and return it to it's natural state. They approach a farmer, for example, who is growing corn that rots in silos and makes an offer on the land. It's all up front. They work with politicians and make politicians look good which I'm convinced is one of the few things a politician cares about. They will let politicians take credit for good environmental policy as if it were their idea. I am most grateful to this org for saving the Pascagoula River that runs through my hometown. How did they do it? They purchased it and the Pascagoula River is forever safe and in my opinion one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Read more about this huge swath of marshland in South Mississippi, free flowing and natural at the link below. I had no idea when I was a teenager of the jewel of a river that was practically in my backyard.
http://www.nature.org/wherewework/northamerica/states/mississippi/preserves/art17304.html

From Green to Brown: The Gas Mower Wins

On Friday I pick up my gas powered lawn mower from the repair shop. I feel a bit defeated and a bit guilty, to boot. This summer has defeated me not with heat but with rain and long quickly growing grass and weed. The young man at the repair shop laughed when I told him I had been using a push reel mower. In Texas?, he asked. He said push reel mowers only work on certain kinds of grass. He named them. I responded, "Hey, I've never heard of those grasses." 'Exactly," he concludes with a bit of sarcasm and pity. I actually look forward to the rumble beneath my fingers as I push my mighty 10 year old Honda Lawnmower through my thicket of North Texas weeds. Save the Whales! I'll be sure to make a donation to the National Conservancy.

Why John from Cincinnatti Makes Me Angry and Why I Can't Stop Watching it

In case you haven't watched John from Cincinnati, HBO's new series, it is basically about a family in turmoil at a rundown area of forgotten beach in California. John comes along. He seems autistic but not really. Just innocent? Yea, but it's more that that. He is odd and people have begun to notice he has angelic powers. He has healed people not from his own touch but by giving people (or animals in one case) the power to do so. Since John has shown up at Imperial Beach, one former star surfer floats in the air for no reason. It helps no one but it gives this depressed father ex-surfer a sense of something outside his own problems. Shawn, the child prodigy surfer broke his neck surfing only to walk out of the hospital the same day because a parrot that Jon had resurrected earlier 'kissed' the dying Shawn in the hospital room. Nuts, huh? And hope John never looks you in the eye and tells you to ,"See God." It can be an alarming experience. In one case, Cai (sp?) was trying to coax John into a sexual encounter. She was being pretty graphic with John when he says, "Cai, See God." Cai's eyes roll back in her head and she sees certain people in her life grabbing their wounds. The Vietnam vet grabs his knee, the druggie surfer grabs his head where he has received hair transplants, and Cai grabs her breasts because of her piercings. God is seen in their wounds is the message I suppose.


This is no 7th Heaven. The characters drop more f-bombs than Tony Soprano. There is something I like about that. Real people with real problems being chased and found out by God. There is nothing sentimental about this family. They would all benefit from a 12 Step Program but, hey, they have John. Their church is a creepy run down motel. Great things happen there to the oddest and most outcast of people. Sometimes their goodness seeps out.


What ticks me off at the same time is that life doesn't work like this. There are no healing Johns though I wish there were. It's just a show and one that is currently holding my interests. I don't blame the producers. However, we are all looking for a great healer to lead us out of our troubled lives. Instead, natural disasters occur, people starve to death because of where they are born while their political leaders live it up, and marriages split because people see in their spouse what they hate in themselves. I could get real religious here and start talking about Jesus being our healer, but it wouldn't change the fact that we (I) long for this world not to be so harsh. As a very conservative and faithful Southern Baptist co-worker of mine once said through her tears, "God is not enough." I was shocked that she could voice this. She followed this comment by saying she needed someone 'in flesh' to come to her rescue. It has been a few years since I worked with her, but I hope she found her 'John'.





So, I find myself totally mesmerised by this show and it's attempt to in a very strange way speak to spirituality. On the other hand, I know Johns don't come around. People die. Families fall apart. No miracles or miracle givers come to our rescue.

Cancer Sucks!

Wrote this after visiting a family at the hospital. A mother was protecting her sick daughter like a hawk. Her insurance wouldn't pay for vital medicines that would help her Bone Marrow Transplant 'stick.' The insurance payed for her transplant but not the meds that might keep the transplant from failing. Ughh. Dirty crooks! When the Case Manager approached the mother, the mother firmly stated the line that begins this poem. It hurt the Case Manager deeply. She shared two things with the mom. They were both African-American and both were women. The Case Manager later said, "It gets up next to me." She was speaking of the pain that gets so close it is almost yours. Willy helped make each line 10 syllables long. Thanks Willy.

Up Next to Me

“You come back when you can help my daughter.”
That criterion stifles me for good.
Sweaty hands to shake could persuade fairness,
Yet half truths and inequities creep up.
You can see ‘em coming a mile away,
Never too few and too often too late.

It rubs me raw like a horsehair sweater.
Her open anger--truly justified.
And it gets up next to me, I tell ya.
I breathe it in; it nests within my pores.
Not mine and too near to be separate,
But it gets up so damn close to me still.

Rib over rib under rib, breast to breast,
Up next to me yet within and ‘round her
Like steely flesh made for a wild creature--
One more accustom to a harsher life.
This soul desires justice innate yet knows
The lack of it separates her from me.

A few mysterious thoughts light on me
Like a sparse but unexpected flurry:
Fairest Jesus, get up in between us
And that which stealthily hangs upon us
Oh, but with bane eternal hooks for her.
We can see you coming a mile away.

And never too late.

Flight of the Conchords

I mentioned in my last post that I'd be watching the HBO series, John from Cincinnati. True, I have watched it and the jury is still out on this one. But I have also run across HBO's new comedy series, Flight of the Conchords. I'm basing my review on the series opener that I found quite humorous. The basis of the show from what I can tell is these two deadpan rock band wannabes from New Zealand try their luck at making it big in New York. One of the main characters (who I've seen somewhere before) is a Mick Jagger look-a-like. Actually he is more of a caricature of ole Mick. The funniest aspect about the show is that these two who are stars in their own heads break into music videos throughout the show. Funny. The lyrics of these songs are common uncreative lyrics explaining the current emotions that are taking place with these two. After being dumped by the girl (or should I say gull) of his dreams, they sing something like, "I'm not crying, I'm not crying, it's just rainin' real hawd." And then later in the same song, "I'm not crying, I've just been choppin' onions." The characters never laugh at themselves. FUNNY, I'm tellin' ya. Watch it for a guffaw or two.

Duck Tony!

I have a confession to make. I love the Sopranos. The HBO series is the most well-written show I've ever seen on TV. I've watched from the start. Remember those days, Tony? Who coulda guessed so many people whacked? I've enjoyed the weaving in of the psychology and even spirituality from time to time amidst all the violence and stuff that a Baptist minister should probably be blogging against. But man-o-man I love the show. I have loved and hated Tony and other characters on the show. They all struggled for something higher, and all have failed. We'll see if Tony fails tonight and you gotta think he will. I also find the show quite funny. All the misspeaks that Tony and others gave without cracking a smile. Here is one as an example: (Tony speaking to his therapist about his son A.J., paraphrased) "My son oughta be out there getting laid, instead he's at home watching cartoons in a fetus position!" HA! a fetus position! That's great. He can whack people but he is dumb as a tire tool.

Tony, alive or dead, I'm gonna miss you in a weird sort of way. You should have never killed Christopher though he was on his way out anyway. It was the ultimate sin. Some things are more important than being the boss. I guess now I'll have to watch John from Cincinnati.

Society's Need for 12 Step

What the hell is wrong with us? I called my mom a few days ago and she was ticked off because Paris Hilton and her return to jail was dominating the airways. FOX NEWS: Paris. CNN NEWS: Paris. ABC local news: Paris. Do I blame this on Rupert Murdoch who I truly believe sees it his duty to control as much of the news as possible? Does he want us to forget that a mess of a war is taking place in Afghanistan and Iraq? Does he want us to forget congress' botched attempt at immigration reform? As much as I'd like to blame that jerk with the media's fascination with Paris and Bradgelina, I'm afraid the problem is with us. We are like addicts that need a good AA program. We are in denial. If we slow down, if we admit our powerlessness, we think the wheels will come off the train we all ride. However, that is exactly what we need. Our world is in a whole lot of trouble- Iraq, Sudan, the environment, New Orleans, etc. I don't have any answers. I'm mad. I get frustrated that our government is so inept that it can't help Katrina survivors and when the next disaster takes place I expect the same mismanagement of money and resources. Will they ever mess up so bad that we demand them all to go home or reform? I believe the day is coming. In the mean time maybe we can demand more of our media sources and more of ourselves. We could stop caring about the Hiltons and start singing the praises of our Troops and those that preach peace and solid solutions.

I'm glad Paris is in jail again. I hope she returns to her mansion a little more like Mother Theresa than her old posing self. I heard this morning on Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood, that she actually said she hoped the media would turn its focus to more important events like the War in Iraq. I hope she meant it. Then maybe I'd care.

Old Thoughts on Katrina

I wrote this hoping NPR would accept it on their "This I Believe" program. Honestly it's not a great piece. I have been unable to write too creatively about Hurricane Katrina b/c I have so many crazy memories and feelings associated with those memories. My younger bro along with Willy's encouragement inspired me to go ahead and place this in the blog. My brother writes about the hurricane often on his blog, http://richardswrightings.blogspot.com/. Willie just tells me that writing about it is good whether it all makes sense or not. You'll be glad to know that my parents are close to being able to move into their new home. July 4th, we pray is the moving date. but the contractor first said New Years Day, then Mother's Day. We'll see. You'll also be glad to know that my parents are excited about their new home so my fears I expressed below might be of my own creation.

This I Believe

The first water-logged object I picked up was my parent’s wedding album. If I hadn’t caught a glimpse of my father’s face with his horn rim glasses and crew cut, I wouldn’t have known these pages of black and white streaks were at one time an important piece of our family history. They might as well have been charcoal drawings the way the gulf waters washed the images away. I flung the leather carcass of useless pages into what would become the junk pile. Things do matter! Perhaps an ordained Baptist minister like me shouldn’t say such things. The spirit, the intangible, is the penultimate of creation, right? Nevertheless . . . I believe in things.

I am indeed thankful my parent’s survived Hurricane Katrina but those that continue to claim that unlike people ‘things can be replaced’ are not familiar with the stress that comes with frantically trying to hang on to memories less they quietly slip from your brain never to be retrieved. Old photos, wedding china, Nanna’s silver set, all carry memories with them.

Atop one pile of debris is a Johnny Mathis album that I remember my parent’s dancing to on Sunday afternoons now scratched beyond recognition. Strewn clear over into the neighbor’s yard, the stained-glass candle holder that as a child I purchased with some hard earned dollars for my mother at the Pascagoula Beach Park Craft Show, now shattered and useless. I actually thought about keeping it because though the gift was broken the memory it held was still in tact. Then comes hope in the form of a neighbor who pulls from behind his back a 12 X 18 framed picture of my mother in her wedding dress. The wall on which it hung is no more. It floated for an entire block and sustained little damage. Hope in the form of a thing? You betcha.

I worry about my parents who are in their mid to late 60’s and still reside in a 30ft trailer on the same property where their house once stood. I worry more about that day when they move into their new bigger, better, and brighter home chocked full with new furniture and art—all pretty and gleaming but almost void of memories. How long will they feel like strangers in that new place before their ‘stuff’ once again attracts some memories? When my family visits for the holidays, will this new place feel like home or the Holiday Inn?

I’m thinking the small number of pictures, and the new Katrina-inspired side table tiled with generations of broken china, will be enough to give new energy to a new start for my parents. Hope will gain momentum and not all memories will be lost. Yea, I’m really into things, now. I believe in the necessity of my stuff. I’m not collecting anything or saving every Mason jar, but I am taking notice of my stuff and the stories they carry.

I gave in and bought some CROCS

I know, I know. What does a slightly overweight, 6'3.5" 38 y/o male like me have any business going and buying a pair of CROCS. I need accessories to make me look cool, not like a goofy guy approaching midlife. But I was walking around in may favorite flip flops over Memorial Day Weekend and my feet were killing me. Supposedly the flip-flop craze will pay off with many of us having chronic feet issues to deal with. I believe it. So I walk into this store with buying a cool pair of those hiking shoes that are a cross between flip flops and hiking shoes on my mind. They weren't selling them but they had CROCS all over the freakin' place. I didn't go for the normal clog looking CROC but for the flip-flop CROC. I slipped them on my bare pain-stricken feet and I let out an audible sigh. It's like I was walking on air. I know I just used a tired metaphor, but my feet did feel instant relief. So, if you are not planning on being a fashion guru but want to treat your feet to some cushiony goodness, put away your pride and by some flip-flop CROCS.

IV, Ode to the Push Reel Mower

http://www.mindfully.org/Air/Lawn-Mower-Pollution.htm

Still, there is nothing like no emissions.

Part Three, Ode to the Gas Powered Mower

http://www.consumerreports.org/cro/home-garden/lawn-garden/mowers-and-tractors-5-07/cutting-lawn-mower-emissions/0507emi.htm

Above is a link that supports the gas powered power. Apparently they are much better regarding emissions than the were even 10 years ago.

Mowing Part Deaux

It is still raining in North Texas. My grass is getting higher. There are weeds I've never seen before sprouting up. The mosquitoes are huge and plenty. My tomato plants are turning yellow and need the hot sun to produce anything worthwhile. Currently they produce these little green fruit that aren't good for anything but chunking at the neighbor's dog. Wet or dry there is no way that my push reel mower will make it through this jungle. It may be time to take the gas powered mower to the repair shop. Then I went to one of my favorite websites http://www.diynetwork.com/diy/lw_landscaping_mulching/article/0,2029,DIY_14136_2272527,00.html
and the DIY folks like the push reel mower for smaller yards.

More rain is expected. The weeds that are currently growing are already too big for the push reel to handle. It will lay them down, tickle them and encourage them to spread their seed.

Mowing Saga, Chapter One

A couple of years ago I bought a push reel mower similar to the one your grandfather used. I did it for two reasons. One was environmental. No mower emissions. A little extra in the battle against global warming. Second reason was exercise. I have high cholesterol (or had I should say). At one time it got to 279. I tried all kind of herbal remedies but to no avail. I had to start taking Vytorin. Now my cholesterol is down and I'm still mowing with the push reel. The chick chick chick sound is great and I've had no repairs on my push reel for two years. But it's killing me. I'm 38 so I can take it but I must admit I look at my neighbors with envy as they mow their yards in record times. I, however, basically mow mine twice. It's been raining a lot here in Texas so I have forest yard. Weeds a foot high, grass as thick as shag carpet. One reason my grass is so high is because you can't mow the yard with a push reel mower if the ground is the least bit wet. The wheels don't spin which means the blades don't spin which means I look like a fool in front of my gas-powered neighbors as I massage my grass. Will I stick with it or will I give it up?

Wanna Be a Tree Hugger (or a Salmon Kisser)?

Have you ever been surprised by a book? This one has got me and I can't stop reading it. I'm a fiction kinda guy. This unfortunately is not fiction. I look at the world differently and I'm only 3/4 of the way through this book. Subaruwoman and I took a short trip to the Spokane/Seattle, WA area this past weekend. We saw some of the most beautiful country we'll probably ever gaze upon--The Spokane River gushing over boulders because of the snow melts. We stopped on the way to Seattle at a scenic overlook at the Columbia River on Interstate 90. Breathtaking. We passed acres and acres of beautiful farmland with tons and tons of irrigation equipment. I then wondered how many of these beautiful rivers that we saw eventually hit a damn. Then I wondered how many Salmon died when the damns were erected in order to provide the irrigation needed to support the farmland. I drank a wonderful beer made with local hops from Yakima, WA, and I wondered where the water came from to grow the hops. Ridiculous? I dunno. I'm just wondering. Did you know some damns never needed to be built? That politicians with deep pockets aligned with mining companies with deeper pockets have lied to communities so they could dig their holes, give jobs to non-locals to mine it and pollute the water table so bad that fish, land animal, bird and, yes, people became sick or died? Did you know that no more gold needs to be extracted from our Earth? We have enough to sustain out gold fetish for quite some time. But the political machine must roll on, right over you and me.

David James Duncan is a liberal though I would imagine he hates being defined by such relative terms. He is critical of both Republican and Democrats for laying waste to our rivers and air. Duncan does not mince his words and I appreciate it. I now know that we can reclaim a lot of the lands we have used for farming we don't need. Duncan makes me want to go fishing on an unsquandered river, if such a thing exists. He makes me want me to be a tree hugger and a proud one, to boot. I would be a total hypocrite. (Even Duncan struggles with his own hypocrisy.) The most I do is recycle and mow my yard with a push reel mower much to my neighbor's confusion. Ooo and I have some of those crazy looking energy saving light bulbs in the house. Point being, the task to save the Earth seems like a lost cause, Duncan speaks to his own frustrations but also gives hope of both conservative and liberal and those in between coming together to fight those that don't give a happy damn about our water table as long as they pad their dirty wallets.

Does it matter if we permanently kill off Salmon that have traveled and spawned on the same rivers long before any European stepped foot on the Eastern shores of this land? I really think it does matter. It is a spiritual practice to care. For one, we have killed a beautiful animal only to make our lives easier. Most of us can't go there though. The companies are too big and the lies are too. Perhaps it our responsibility to at least discover what the truth is when someone wants to build a gold mine next to a river near you. Perhaps it is our spiritual responsibility to find more creative ways to meet the needs of farmers and those of fisherman and those of families who drink water. Yea that's you.

If you are of a more conservative stripe, this book will piss you off. Take a chance. No one is asking you to suffer, just to do your part and when you do take advantage of our natural resources (like I do) that you know what you're doing.

It'll Make You Believe in God

8 weeks this past Sunday. Little Subarufetus has a heartbeat. A mass of cells gently hooked up to a yoke sack-the fetus' nutritional source. But a mass of cells with a heartbeat nonetheless. I saw it myself on the sonogram. It was like a butterfly in the middle of these cells. 158 beats per minute to be exact. Now, I realize that fetuses are formed everyday. I was one. You were one. Frank the Cat was one. So what is so grand about this occasion? Nothing. It happens all the time all around the world. And it is this commonness that makes this one creation mesmerizing and awe inspiring for me. If this were the only little mass of cells with a fluttering heart, I would be much less impressed. Life is awesome. It would be good if we could all be reminded of that time and again.

PS: Subaruwoman has found this website helpful for the newly pregnant: http://www.epregnancy.com/
Still struggling with infertility? Try this one: http://http://www.fertilityplus.com/

A Shot in the Ass and A Blowing of the Mind

I wrote a while back that I dreamed about zeros. I choose to believe that these were good dreams. Possibly my Creator sneaking something into my all too cynical mind. I dunno. But our good news of Easter '07 is that Subaruwoman is pregnant. We are very early on in this process, but she is surely pregnant. I guess we are 3 weeks into this journey and so by May 2nd we should have something that resembles a tadpole. Perhaps, if he is a boy we'll call him Tad. To say we are excited is to say the sun is cozy warm. To help this pregnancy stick I'm having to give my wife a shot in the ass at 9:30 each evening. Don't call at 9:30pm, please. I don't know if to feel more sorry for myself or Subaruwoman. She takes it well. I'm running out of space on this 3" x 3" square on the north end of my wife's buttocks. I guess I'm doing well myself. I act strong so Subaruwoman will feel confident about standing behind her with a syringe in my hand. There has been but a small bit of blood and Subaruwoman is pleased with my nursely efforts. There are certain things you don't sign up for when you get married. From what I see at the hospital, there will be more to come. "I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to suffer the monthly disappointment of infertility, to give you 9 weeks of progesterone shots, . . . I could get depressing and go straight to stuff like promising to change your depends BUT NOT TODAY FOLKS. I gotta concentrate on painting a nursery.

Easter Sunday and What Matters

I teach this Sunday School class for people who have not been able to find a Sunday School class that suits them. Many are too liberal for the average curriculum-driven Sunday School class. Some are new to their faith and confused. Some are divorced and don't fit in the Singles class or back in their old class. It makes for an interesting mix. The rules in the class basically are: all questions are acceptable, all thoughts are respected, there is no pressure to make it to the class every Sunday, and silence is cool, too. So, on Easter Sunday we discussed as you might imagine, Christ's Resurrection. We discussed the recent news of Jesus' bones possibly being found, how all the Gospels, even the synoptic Gospels all tell the story differently. Were there two women or three women at the tomb, the stone rolled away before they got there or afterward, physical resurrection of spiritual? There seemed to be a consensus that all these debates were a little silly. Easter is a matter of the heart and not the head. You try to wrap your head around it, you lose. The Easter story is way out there relatively speaking. The class confessed or admitted their many doubts about how it all shook out that day. They also talked about how this story is embedded within them not just as a memory of a story taught to them when they were young, but how it is a part of them like the nose on their face, part of their disposition you could say. They have a Christian ethic that even if they don't live it out everyday, is a part of their daily decision making. More importantly the resurrection story gives them hope when they feel so overcome by the violence and the suffering within an without them and keeps them looking forward to a day when hate's stronghold is broken and people live in a peaceable kingdom. How did Jesus arise from the dead? Who experienced it? I'm not sure I care, really. Can't anyone even prove it happened. The answer wouldn't change a thing in the way I lived or how I loved. Peace to you. May Love be resurrected in you daily.

Oh, and I've got some wild Easter news to share, but that's for another day.

Poking cats . . .

Not something I recommend . . .poking cats that is. I mentioned my younger bro when I blogged about East of Eden. He was the one that turned me on to the novel. He complained that I had referred to him but not provided a link. So here it is: http://memphistories.blogspot.com. If he hasn't posted recently it is because he is grieving the loss of Charlie the Cat. He came home and it was looking catatonic. HAH! Get it. CATatonic! Sorry not something to joke about. I had a cat die. It's not fun. In my defense, however, I never poked it with a coat hanger to test its level of deadness. Possibly Charlie and Bean are getting together in heaven, Richard.

Scrap Positive Thinking

I've been visiting a family at the hospital. The father of this kind family is dying of a blood-related cancer. I think a lot of this family though I have only known them for a short time. They were doing well coping with the new diagnosis. They knew it would be difficult. The patient renewed his faith and in talking with him was amazed at his ability to speak of what his illness has taught him. It was as if he had an awakening of some sort. They are Catholic and his faith has been a major factor in aiding his coping with his illness.
Then a lay person from their church visited and told them to 'keep a positive attitude" and then reinforced that this positive attitude would in some way reverse the horrible physical and mental pain this gentleman was suffering.
The family bought it some what though I think the patient's wife was cautious. Then a friend read an article in the Dallas Morning News. It was titled, The Tyranny of Positive Thinking. Love the title. You can read it at this link: http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/columnists/mjacobs/stories/DN-nh_jacobsessay_0403liv.ART.State.Edition1.212556c.html

The article had a great piece of art to illustrate the message of the article. I printed a copy of the DMN web page and rushed it down the hall to the patient's wife. I used the artwork to illustrate what positive thinking will do when it eventually becomes a burden. I pointed out the tears that were, instead of flowing down the cheeks of this face, being swallowed only to pool up in the throat. We have all felt that pooling effect at one time or another as we try to choke back our sorrow so that we may have a positive attitude. The grieving spouse got it immediately. She related quickly and thanked me. She said, "Yes, this is it. This is the way I've been feeling."
And then I wondered, where in the heck did Christians adopt this ridiculous idea that positive thinking has this much power? I find myself getting angrier and angrier over this foolishness that exists nowhere in the Bible. Good Friday was yesterday. If Jesus would have only thought more positively! Ugghh! Jesus said, "Father, Why have you forsaken me?" not, "If I could only keep my chin up . . ."
The Sunday School class I teach watched Jesus Christ Superstar this past Sunday. I was surprised few had seen it. When Jesus asked God if there was any other way out and then finally says something like, "You better make it quick before I change my mind!", one viewer said, "Wow, I knew Jesus might have questioned but I've never thought of his doubt going that deep." Could have, in my humble opinion. Positive thinking. It's the craze nowadays. Don't buy into it. It will be like eating cheeze wiz in a can. It'll taste good for a while, you'll become lazy and out of shape, then it won't taste so good anymore, but you'll be too close to dead to care.

Recommending a recommender

If you have noticed, I have recommended a couple of things in this blog--a book and a beer to be exact. There will be more of that. There is a website that I go to often for recommendations on just about anything. The site, http://www.headbutler.com/, is full of good stuff. Jesse, the author of this blog, knows his stuff. I first found him when he was a political blogger on http://www.beliefnet.com/. I sought him out when I was in a bind and needed to locate some additional last minute wedding anniversary gifts. My wife is a foodie and thankfully, Jesse and his wife are too. They appreciate good books, good food, and good drink. The London Cafe cookbook was one of the better recommendations, but the all time winner was a book called, Life is Meals by James and Kay Salter. I haven't even read the book because I'm not a foodie. I'm an eatie. Hey, it works out well. Anyway, I do know the book is structured like a devotional by giving you a reading for each day of the year. Subaruwoman ignored the style of the book and read the entire thing in about two weeks. She claims she couldn't help herself. Each reading gives you great food and drink facts. Did you know Queen Elizabeth I drank beer and wine with her breakfast because the water in the 16th century could very well kill ya? It was popular to float a piece of bread on the top of your wine to improve the taste and nourishment value. That is why we give "toasts" today!(p.91) Whodathunkit? You'll also discover good info on all things in life considered fine. If you are a foodie, go get this book and pay Jesse a visit at Headbutler. Be sure to checkout his cookbook recommendations. As an eatie, I can promise you you'll be pleased.

Labyrinth in Dallas?

This is a short story that Subaruman wrote back in 2005. I submitted it to a writing contest on the Labyrinth Society website, http://www.labyrinthsociety.org/ . Check 'em out if you want to know more about Labyrinths. If I may toot my own horn, it did win a couple hundred bucks as the Grand Prize winning entry.

Out of Place

What a perfectly strange place for a labyrinth, among the sick and the dying. I’ve always pictured them at retreat centers far deep into the forest maybe in North Carolina or better yet among the mysterious green hills of Ireland, but not in Dallas, Texas. She is awkward; stuck in the middle of a massive healthcare complex surrounded by stale high-rise medical offices and patient rooms. The Eastern Redbuds scattered about the labyrinth and the trickling waterfall almost make you feel as if you’re not in Downtown Dallas-- that you’re not here to see a brother who is receiving his final dose of chemotherapy, or that you’re not here exhausted from spending each day with your spouse of 45 years who, in all likelihood, will never leave this hospital.
It is strange to me that the architects of this particular labyrinth attempted to recreate a calming space for retreat. The tension of what the designers had in mind and the deep sorrow I feel makes me chuckle silently. Did they really think that any of us here could truly escape? Within this space, the reality always overwhelms the serenity the labyrinth offers. Still, I will walk the labyrinth today because I can make no sense of my reason for taking the first or the last step inside this space. All the ailing ones, their families, and the hospital staff curiously looking down from their glassed-in perches intensify this feeling. Their confused looks tell me they see no reason in my walking either. And therein lies the conundrum. Labyrinths do much good when they are “out-of-place.” They are wonderful additions to retreat centers and churches but they are badly needed where concrete is the main element and where anxiety hangs in the air like a morning fog.
I take a deep breath and consume the unseasonably cold air. It is overcast and windy. No one is walking the stones with me. Those who are present are sitting on benches that face the path. They don’t seem curious at all. They carry heavy loads and have come here seeking silence and an opportunity to pray to a God they are not sure really exists. “Their pain is not your pain,” I learned in my training. Easier said than done I have learned since. Today I walk just to walk—to concentrate on my steps—the sounds my feet make on the rough rocks. I follow the path to center myself not only so I can go care for these many people tomorrow. I follow the path slowly to the center and back out again so I, if only for a moment, can lay aside reason and doubt. I will know that pain and suffering is not all encompassing. There is still a world outside this hospital and outside of me that simply and magnificently . . . is. The sparrows fly briskly from limb to limb and know no difference between play and foraging for food. They are unaware of my grief and the heavier anticipated loss that inflict so many others that surround this labyrinth.
Ah, I see someone has joined me on this unending path. She staggers for a moment as if she doesn’t know at what speed or direction to begin her brief journey. “Good for her,” I think. Good for her that she is walking. Good for her that she has read no books or essays on the healing elements of the labyrinth. I’m sure she has yet to put meaning to her steps. Good for her. I wonder, “Is she as glad as I am that there are no religious symbols in this space?” I don’t walk today to add to my faith. I don’t walk today as religious practice. I walk to reconnect with my spirit that asks for nothing. She passes me on the path to my left. Both our feet drag the stone. I become conscious of my own heavy load I carry so I begin to lift my feet and really feel my ankle bone roll my foot from outside heel to inside toe and again. How often I walk flat-footed around this hospital with stale air in my lungs. I breathe in and out and walk as my feet and legs were created to walk.
We pass again and I notice her feet are no longer dragging. She still looks down; head covered from the cool wind by her lime green fleece hood, hair billowing down on both sides of her solemn face hiding all but her nose from the little sunlight the clouds have given reprieve. Her hospital gown sneaks out beneath her jacket, her plastic I.D. band hanging loosely on her bruised and dangling arms.
I reach the center where I always seem to pause and think of St. Isaac the Syrian’s counsel, “Dive down into your self, and there you will find the steps by which you might ascend.” I move on and again notice the other walker. Should I even be noticing? “Remember,” I say to myself, “you have come to walk to get away from the storms that whirl inside those patient’s rooms. Leave your pastoral identity behind. . . just for a moment.” But she stops and shifts her feet as if she might turn around and go back the way she came. She lifts her head for a moment and faces the sky with intent and begins again her walk.
It strikes me that possibly we are walking the labyrinth for different reasons. I entered to escape reason and doubt and symbols. She entered, perhaps quite by accident, to embrace her reality however laiden with saddness and worry it might be. She may be searching for symbols to give meaning to her pain. Or maybe she longs for reason to rescue her from her feeling of helplessness. Perhaps when we both leave this inward/outward path we will both arrive at a similar place. We will be able to walk back into that Cancer Center. She will face her doctor and her illness with a new hope and that rediscovered knowledge that there is much beauty in this world within and without her. I will also have a fresh look on the pain I encounter through my helping others. I’ll think of the redbuds, the sparrows, and the dead stones that scraped the leather souls of my shoes. There is an other world. One that is beyond what I encounter so deeply on a daily basis. One that is bigger but not beyond our senses.
As always, I walk the outward journey faster than the inward journey. Even when I attempt to slow my pace, I feel as if I’m being flung out of the labyrinth. Like an unstable far away moon that can no longer maitain its orbit, I’m spunout as if I’d slowly tethered myself to its center only to be released at a quicker pace. I feel my heart rate increase and a new energy swelling within my once heavy body.
I complete my outward path. I desire to turn around and look back at the other walker, even to offer her some of my ‘wisdom.’ Has she stopped and walked off deaming this excersise unneccasary or has she dropped to her knees to beg God to change her stark yet blurred reality? Instead I walk down the donor-etched brick steps and enter the revolving door of the Cancer Center. I’ll let the labyrith help her. She helped me, surely unaware, bring new meaning to my labyrith walk. I will leave her to complete her journey if she completes it at all. She has for a breif moment focused through her barely porus grief on following this path that is not there to challenge her to figure out God’s will, or struggle with its elusiveness, or even dare her to conquer her illness. The labyrinth is not even there for her to complete. She has been courageous enough to jouney inward and then outward though both paths can be difficult, full of as many thorns as opening buds. She has left the lovely cirlcle of the healthy and joined the fringes of the ill—those displaced figures looking to regain their wholeness. Possibly she’ll reconnect, not necessarily with the healthy masses, but with her innerspirit that is unscathed by disease and is outside of this temporal world and dense with beauty. She surely has been given enough trinkets, advice, and trite words. At this moment, thank God, she has no guided meditation, no mentor, no instruction booklet. Still, she walks. Good for her.

Full recommendation for Full Sail Beer

I heard someone say a while back to never trust a minister that can't turn a bottle up every now and again. You can trust me.

You see, Subaruwoman is a good person. I never have to beg or convince her to buy me beer at the local grocery store. This week she walked in with a bag of groceries. One bag contained a 6-pack of Full Sail Beer. She said, Ya ever tried this one? She knows I like trying new ale with my favorite being the Belgian varieties. Here is the Full Sail website: http://www.fullsailbrewing.com/default.cfm

Full Sail was recently rated one of the top 200 breweries in the world! I sampled the Amber. Mmmm, good. This beer is sweet and malty, but that short description doesn't do it justice. Try one. Hell, it's beer, man. A potpourri (yea, I said it) of flavors, lead by the sweetness, will satisfy your en vie for the good life. Bottoms up, sailor.

EAST OF EDEN

My little bro gave Subaruwoman the John Steinbeck novel, "East of Eden," for Christmas a few years ago. At the time it was not on my list of books to read. Watching her read each page closely and hearing her gasp and awe, I decided I had to read this oldie. I'm sure I had been told to read this in my college years but I probably read the Cliff Notes instead so I could spend my time doing anything but read a novel. There are a few reasons that I enjoyed this novel. First, they really don't write novels like that any more. It was good without having to be too dramatic or throw in shock value to keep the readers attention. Secondly, it has one of the most evil characters I've encountered in a novel. She didn't hack anybody up and eat them--not Hannibal kind of evil. But evil like a politician might be evil--conniving and confidently so. Lastly and the main reason I enjoyed this novel is because Steinbeck was on to Family Systems Theory long before anybody else. He understood family dynamics and what happens when one family member receives all the attention due to some deficit and how secrets eventually creep up from the gutter of our lives and infest and sometimes destroy people. Good stuff. Beware, small portions of the novel are a bit politically incorrect. Nevertheless, I do recommend when you complete the latest greatest book that made Oprah's Book List, you pick up an oldie like East of Eden, dust it off and give yourself some time to read it in big chunks. Hope you likie likie.

Dreaming Zeros (continued)

Willy did me the favor of going to a dream interpretation website to assist me with my dream I mentioned in an earlier post. It turns out that zeros aren't scary at all. According to this website, http://www.dreammoods.com, Zero denotes timelessness, super-conscious, eternity, and absolute freedom. It also symbolizes God. Pretty cool, huh? Thanks a million Willy.

Willy's first poem

Willy wrote this after seeing my childhood home post Hurricane Katrina. Willy says the power of water was a new concept to him. Gentle, necessary, yet fierce. Kind of like God, herself. Willy is shy about sharing his words but I tell him it's about the process, not the product. He has listened to too many high school english teachers. Most of us can relate, Willy.

WATER MYTH



W
A
T
E
R
is
not
blue.
Scoop up
Caribbean Sea
In your palm; clear to
The exposed eye. Illusion.
Wars fought over water; bottled
And given French names—a commodity.

Tender holy drops of baby’s baptism churn through my
Home that sheltered my past, exiling memories beyond once
Well-known margins. Water is . . . is not life. Flesh is yielding
And supple less we crack and split like an aged and desiccated cross.

Stagnant pool transformed takes a thousand lives. Water is ostensibly tame
Until low pressures give it rise. Veins of God’s hands full of stream fierce
And mild or perhaps exists in whole. Neither mild nor obedient yet surely
Sought. Most fierce of nature’s trinity not only in force but in the soak.

Profound source and organic desire, uncontained, not to our liking.
Surprised. Water is not blue. Nor is it mine—or only mine.
Briefly contained by myth then propagated by fools,
Truly wild like . . . nothing. Will always be.
Wild, but never blue.

"0"

Perhaps I should get a life, but I had a dream last night about the number zero. Seriously. That was it--a voice going on and on about zero. It wasn't a dream about the letter O. I know this because the voice told me so. I saw zeros in different sizes and colors. The voice philosophized about this number that, as the voice said, is not a number after all. It's zilch. The voice rambled on about the infinite circle the zero makes. Then the circles became 3 separate human fertilized eggs like you would see under a microscope. They are little "o"s, ya know. The backdrop was sea blue. This is not as strange as it seems. Subaruman and his wife, Subaruwoman, are having trouble producing another human though we have tried for 3 plus years. Damn frustrating I tell ya. This portion of the dream freaked me out a bit. Apparently the voice was aware of my freakedoutedness. It comforted me with a view of another zero. Half of the zero was highlighted in red and the voice said, "Look, half a zero is the shape of Willy's beer belly." I laughed in my sleep and then woke up to the noise of a weird bleating sound outside our bedroom window. I wondered if a dog or possum got too close to our gigantic cactus in our back yard. Nevertheless, I remained awake for a while pondering what strange animal is in my back yard and why the hell I'm dreaming of zeros. If you think you may know something of this dream and it's meaning, let me know. Adios, amigo.

Welcome to nonsense

Soon you will better get to know Subaruman and his trusty sidekick Willy. You will find Willy much more interesting, I'm sure. He is way relaxed and thinks I (Subaruman) need to be outside. I'll have to say it is beautiful in Dallas, Texas, today. We experienced a good rain last evening, something that doesn't come 'round too often anymore. My sad yard has come alive and I'm sure the Texas-sized mosquitoes from hell will be out by tomorrow ruining our 3 days of Spring we get annually. I am much more likely to rant than Willy. Willy will often be the calming voice, the hand on the shoulder, and the voice telling me to shut the hell up. I worry about termites, Willy plants flowers in the front yard. He has whispered to me that I shouldn't have mentioned the mosquitoes and guess he's right. Why can't I just say it's a beautiful day? He has also reminded me that I'm supposed to be welcoming you to this website. Welcome, friend. Let's do lunch. There is a great little Taqueria around the corner. I don't speak Spanish so I'm not sure I've spelled that right. Don't bother, it's just a place that sells Tacos and such. My hope is that we won't always agree on things but that maybe you'll pick up something worthwhile here--a novel or music recommendation, a new thought. We will discuss it all here--pop-culture, politics, theology, gadgets, and "goings-on" (as we say here in Texas) in my life. Maybe you will be able to relate. Willy says, "later." We look forward to the conversation.