Just A Fun Small Town Story

The store was closed yesterday so Jen and I decided to jump on the day and make the most of only the second dry, warm day this spring. Of course, by the time we woke our way through a couple of cups of coffee, checked the weather and emails, practiced our French, and tried one last fix on the dying water heater, it was no longer all that early.

Then the phone rang and a friend called and asked if we could drop off the bikes we had been storing for her. And we decided to go to the Y and work out. And take showers as long as they had hot water which we didn't have. And we decided to go open Pam and Kevin's place for them and leave some flowers for them. And that meant we might as well take a circuitous route to the Y.

So we drove down to the grocery store, bought a few groceries and some flowers, decided to drive past the new marina, from there went to drop off the bikes, then to open the condo and finally to the Y.

We had a nice time working for the rest of the day clearing part of the field, making a kayak rack for the truck, and cleaning the boat in preparation for dropping it in the water. In the evening we ran down to Pam and Kevin's, watch the sunset with some good friends and better wine (or maybe I have that backwards), and got back home in time to shut the chickens in before the last light dropped out of the west. In fact, the only unsettling thing was that, when we got back from the Y, I noticed that there were tire prints in the drive that were not mine. Yes, I am wound a little tight.

This morning, I couldn't find my wallet. I actually don't carry it on me much, but I always know where it is. I mentioned to Jen to watch for it, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. In replaying the prior days events, I knew I had taken it to pay for the groceries, but I didn't have it now and the only last place it could be was between the cushions in the truck. But it wasn't there either.

I mentally retraced my steps and remembered one difference. The grocery store we go to insists on carrying your groceries to your car (I'm not joking). This time, though, instead of carrying them, the clerk brought them out in the cart. When we got to the side of the truck I realized that I really didn't want them in the front as we had plenty of other stuff up there, but, instead, wanted the bag handles tied and the bags put in back. I remembered grabbing the bags to tie and move and realized that I had probably put my wallet down (I never carry it in my pocket) in order to do that and had forgotten to grab it again. So I figured I would call the grocery store and see if they had it.

By this time I was driving over to open the store. As I walked in the back door, the phone was ringing. It was the clerk from another store around the corner. She had seen Jen's car go by and wanted to call right away to let me know that she had my wallet. I started laughing, and she went on to tell me the story. Apparently, I did indeed put my wallet down somewhere on the truck. When I turned the sharp corner to turn down to the marina, it slipped off and landed on the road.

The county happened to be running the street sweeper in town and found it as the ground there way around that corner. The sweeper driver gave it to his boss who took off and drove over to our place to give it back to me. When I wasn't there he drove over to the store only to find out that the store was closed on Mondays. But he knew the store around the corner was open and so he drove there and gave it to her to give to me. She had actually already called yesterday, just in case we stopped in but then, as mentioned, quickly called again when she saw Jen's car go by. And, most importantly, now I know why there were tire prints in my driveway.

A Time For Reflection

Easter has come. The celebration has subsided. However, there is one thing of a more serious nature that remains to be done. Before the power of the rising has been diluted with life's realities, take some time for reflection.

A while back, at the beginning of the lenten season, I wrote about the power of releasing the control of some issue in your life, a giving back to God what was his to begin with. Now is not the time to revert, but to ponder. What did you give? What did you get? Was it well given or did you struggle? How were you blessed through releasing control? Were you blessed at all? Do you take back that given, permanently release, or modify?

For me it was a struggle. I believe that I did a better job at giving up control of my time and that, mostly, I was blessed by it. When I really effected a release, I was more worry free, happier, and, ultimately, more productive. I don't want to fall into the trap that doing good things is better than contemplation or relaxation, but the area in which I struggled was that of knowing there was work to be done and finding other business to keep me occupied.

The times when I petulantly held on to my desire to escape that which should be done, I struggled. I got defensive, distracted, and self-centered. It also was hard in that I have clung to my time-control for a long time; it is a well ingrained habit.

For me, I need to continue practicing the release of control over my time. I simply do not do as well when I try to control my time as when I give it up and act obediently. I am certainly not as balanced. Going back would be to go backwards.

For others, the return of that given should at least be a source of celebration. I hope, however, that it is even more and that with this reflection each of you find a richer and deeper connection with yourself, your strengths and weakness, with your Lord, and with the path unfolding before you. Through Adam sin entered the world and through Christ redemption. But it's even bigger than that; through Adam sin affected all the world but through Christ, all things are redeemable. The rising brought hope not just for an afterlife, but for redemption de jour as well.

Is It For Me?

My mom tells a story that I find charming. Completely coincidentally, it is about me. The story comes from a time when we lived in southern Indiana. I was probably 3.

In the story my mom comes and wakes me up and runs me to the window. Outside the snow is still coming down and there is a light covering of snow on the ground, trees, garage roof, sidewalk, etc... Apparently I stared at it for a while, mesmerized. I then turned to my mom and asked, "Is it for me?"

"Abba, abba, I put my life in your hands." We sang this the other day, a twin statement of Christ's and, imperfectly, ours. Our anxiety at this release is understandable; even Christ himself desired his Father's will so little that he asked for change. But we know the rest of the story.

A practice version, warts and all, of the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjICVdWX-6g&feature=youtube_gdata

As part of that story I love the almost collegial interchange between Christ and Pilate. Pilate was no idiot. I feel for the guy. He is in an absolutely no win situation. He's not a Jew, so, other than due process and his own conscience, he doesn't really care. Yet the political implications are huge. The Jewish crowd even used his political position to coerce him into acting their way. And I love how Jesus explains to Pilate that given all the events, including scriptural prophecy, Pilate is locked in and Christ even goes so far as to tell him that his sin is less than Judas'.  Again, maning-up.

But Christ is killed. We wait, this second day, knowing the promise of tomorrow, but emotion-dulled by the telling for the 1983rd time. What would it be like instead to see for the first time, to be surprised for the first time, to not understand for the first time?

There are times I wish I were still three and standing with my mom by the window. I know I wish for that guilelessness. Would that I could wake tomorrow and hear what happened, and ask, "Is it for me?"

                                          Photo credit: Dennis Ribbens, 2010

Secrets Of the Divine Brotherhood

There is something profoundly sexual in the Maundy Thursday story. I don't mean sexy sexual, but masculine sexual. Christ is a man. I'll get back to this in a minute as there are multiple elements that need to come together.

Sometimes it is fascinating to watch these blog posts run in and out of life. In this case, yesterday I kind of rambled about friendship. Little did I know that today would bring about a defferent ascpect of friendness.

This morning Jen and I read much of Matthew 26 and I was reminded of the word choice (and ironically reminded given yesterday's post) when Jesus says to Judas, "Friend, do that for which you came." I especially like it that Jesus used excellent grammar.

Then I logged onto my emails and found another from the attorney I mentioned yesterday. Without apologizing, he did back off and provide a direct answer to what was a question that he must have thought was cornering. I found this interesting as my last email to him was along the colloquialism of, "Dude, knock it off", or maybe more formally, "Listen, my friend ..."

But, of course, I did not mean friend at all in the way we usually use it. So I went to the lexicon.

There are three Greek words for friend. One is really a Greek word for man and is almost always used as such. The second is akin to our word friend wherein it suggests an intimacy, knowledge, and mutual care. The third is only used three times and only by Matthew.

The first time it is used is in the story of the workers who fussed after those who worked all day were paid the same as those who only worked one hour. The second is when the king invites people to his wedding but no one comes. So instead the servants gather anyone who wants to come. After they are gathered the king notices one improperly dressed. And the third is when Judas betrays Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

In the first the landowner says, "Friend, we made a bargain. Why are you now unhappy?" In the second the king says, "Friend, how did you get in here without proper clothes?" Jesus' comment has already been noted.

In the first two instances it doesn't appear that either man knew each other. And while Jesus knew Judas, it wasn't an interaction that should occur between "friends". So Matthew's use of the word can't be that of a collegial acquaintance. Instead, it is in the vein of my challenge to the attorney.

The commonality in each of the examples is that of being called out. Within the relationships men have with each other there is the right to call someone to accountability when one of the rules of relationship are about to be or have been broken. It is simply a last resort warning and, among men, it is understood as right advice. It makes clear that the person about to act has to own his decision. In essence, it is a call to man up.

So, in this context, the word "friend" is code for equal or peer, but also a reminder that this is about relationship and the conduct set which defines acting like a man. And to this extent, Christ's comment is totally male. There are some similar, but ultimately different, cautions used in other human dynamics, but the authority and right and depth of this specific caution is exclusive to the world of man-to-man relationship.

And notice that it is not a threat. This caution is not about consequence but about self determination. It ultimately communicates "Do what you are going to do, but know that you have violated an unspoken rule of how a man should act; whatever decision you make is yours alone."

I fear I am not making my point well, so accept my apologies if I am not being clear. Let me instead give you two references if you want to think more about the idea of a code of conduct that boys learn as they become men and by which men are supposed to act.

First, here is a link to a video of a professional golfer. He had a record setting bad hole, scoring a 16 on a par 4. As it relates here, the point is that he didn't throw a hissy fit, he played by the rules, and he counted all his penalty shots. He sucked, but he was a man.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWTXoNzuk8c

Second, there is a powerful book which I hesitate to recommend. It is written by Norah Vincent and is entitled Self-Made Man. It is not for the faint of heart. In it, Vincent, a very butch lesbian, disguises herself as a man and spends time experiencing life as a man would be treated. She goes through a wide range of emotions, but ultimately comes down to the opinion that there are huge differences between men and women and that the brotherhood of maleness includes a set of behaviors which probably save the world on a regular basis. She also paints a very clear picture of how part of the process of growing up into a man is learning that there are codes of conduct like fair play, winning, strength, and, when necessary, being called out.

She writes in a very direct fashion, is detailed, frequently crude, and, given her sexuality and that of the book, may well be uncomfortable for some. As a sociological study it is fascinating and certainly changed the way I look at human sexuality. And so tonight I celebrate Christ as a man. I love it that he had strength as well as compassion. And I love it that he called out Judas. Dude!

What Is A Friend?

I had two experiences today which made me think about relationships. And that made me think of the idea of friends. And that made me think about defining friendship since my personality really likes to block and define and categorize things. And I decided that I don't know.

The first thing that happened is that I had a series of email exchanges with the attorney who handles that portion of the state bar which monitors any outstanding fees. I am in the process of applying to get my law license back and one of the things I need to do is show that my financial house is in order. I know there are monies owed and we have been having a discourse about the amount, timing, and necessity of paying up. What surprised me is the tone of his emails. There is an old joke about 99% of all attorneys giving the rest a bad name and this would tend to fit that trend. It strikes me that it is mutually advantageous to resolve this promptly and equitably. But, and I have noticed this more often than not, lawyers hear that we are in an adversarial system and seem to quickly train themselves to be adversarial pricks right out of the box. Here, we are more colleagues than opponents but still, basic civility is non-existent.

The second thing that happened was that Jen mentioned that one of her sisters stopped by and that they had a lovely time just chatting. There were almost no rules and the conversation just wandered from subject to subject with a freedom she hadn't experienced for a while. i am told that it was lovely. The fact that this is the week we face Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and, thank God, Easter, is also a good reason to ponder both the meaning of relationship and how we are relationally acting. And part of that is friendship.

So I wonder. What is it that defines a friendship? Is it common interests? Compatible personalities? Continued empathy? Physical proximity? Shared experiences? How is it that someone with whom we just clicked initially, frustrates later? Or someone with whom we butted heads becomes a treasure? I don't pretend to be an excellent friend and I am not one who feels the need to have a lot of friends so I am ill suited to advise. But the questions are worth reflection.

I do know this; I count as my friends some whom I see nearly every day. Some I see once or twice a year. Most are a few times a month. The only absolute commonality that I see is that, in each case, the occasion of re-meeting is timeless and the conversation and emotional reaction flows as if never apart. My only other suggestion, for those interested, is to read The Chosen by Chaim Potok and The Human Comedy by William Saroyan. Both are novels that really explore the ideas of friendship and relationship, and, while there are many other excellent reads (since just about every good novel is about relationship) those two have been powerful challenges to me and I recommend them without hesitation.

So Much With Which To Aquaint You

Actually, that is true. As opposed to the last few days, today I could probably write about a number of things. So I will. Be warned beforehand, these are wildly disparate issues; do not look for some form of continuity.

First of all a wine update. For those who enjoy wine frequently but in modest quantity, buying wine can bring the challenge of how to justify a bottle if you won't drink it relatively promptly. Some box wines really do rise to the challenge of balancing taste and economy. I've already mentioned Bota Box Old Vine Zinfandel. I will now also recommend the Bota Box Riesling for those who prefer a white. Yes, it is a sweeter white, but not intensely so like a Mamartino or Muscato (although those also have their place) but also without that acidity of a Sauvignon Blanc. The thing about a box wine is that it cannot be too categorical as you will be drinking it over a period of days with a variety of foods (or not). So, with a box wine, you are actual looking for a middle ground as opposed to a bottled wine where you are looking for a niche taste. And it's not that there aren't other good boxed wines. Black Box, for instance, rarely is a mistake. But, to be recommended, a wine must be more than acceptable; for it's category, it must be clearly above norm.

One other wine update; I previously mentioned the Clifford Bay 2009 Sauvignon Blanc. I have now picked up 6 bottles. Of those 6, three were truly spectacular and, for the price, the steal of the year. However, the other three were off-colored and ranged from vinegary to rotten. Two I actually returned. The third I threw away after the store owner said that she had taken the last returned bottle home, had consumed it, and had found it delicious. First of all, as to consuming food items returned by a customer, gross (which also suggests that I don't believe she actually did). Second, because of the high rate of skunky wine, I retract my recommendation. By the way, each bad bottle also had seal issues, so maybe it was something specific to a particular run of bottles.

Second, Jen and went to Sturgeon Bay and saw the matinee of "Soul Surfer". Yes, it was a Sunday, but, if you are a cheap bugger and if the weather is annoying you, a matinee is an excellent waste of money. Anyway, I liked it. You probably already know the beginning, middle, and end, but you know the Charlton Heston 10 Commandments also and yet you still watch. Since there really can't be a plot spoiler, the basic line is this. A young, talented surfer loses her left arm to a shark attack. Despite the odds, she both lives and re-learns her surfing skills to become a pro surfer.

It is a softly Christ affirming movie. The family is Christian and their faith plays a role in the plot. I liked it. I am not recommending it as I don't know your tastes, and it is definitely a "type" movie. But if you like a feel good movie with a faith component, you will probably like this one. I usually only tear up in movies when a nice car gets destroyed, but this one got to me a number of times. I remember two times in particular. First was when the youth group leader quoted Jeremiah. I don't exactly know why, but the profession of faith through the public acclamation of scripture always gets me. The second was when the dad had a one-armed surf board prepared for the girl who lost her arm. Must be a dad/daughter thing. I liked it, squishy as it was, and, given that God is in control of all things, must have needed to see it.

One discordant thing that really hit me (regarding the movie) was that, at a deeper level than ever before, I felt really old, like decrepit old. Not a good feeling and I am not sure what that means. And why did God have me be born and live in Wisconsin rather than Hawaii? That can't be right.

Third, there are a number of things for which each of us need to give our parents thanks. In my case, that includes the introduction to Dave Brubeck. I read once that he explained his love of weird rhythm from watching the differing tempo of pumped water drops dripping into cattle watering tubs. Whatever. I love what he has done and how what he has done has done to me. Thanks Mom and Dad.

Finally, in going over the next set of legal filings for my fight with the DOR I re-visited the "delinquent taxpayer" website. I am no longer listed. Why, I am not sure (although, obviously, I agree). I love how the tax man does things without notice. Anyway, in looking up my status, I saw others listed, some of whom I know. It actually made me think of the book, "The Millionaire Next Door". Both are worth reading. The point of the book is that most millionaires live lives of quiet simplicity. It is their understated lifestyle which made them millionaires. The point of the delinquent tax list is to shame. While I did not know that to be the point of the government, I will pass on that for now and simply say this; if you are interested in gossip, don't check it out. Speaking as one who once was, those listed don't need that.

However, just as you may not know that there is a millionaire next door, if you go on the site to be humbled by the fact that someone you may know is fighting to keep face in spite of daunting odds, I encourage you to check it out. The difference in appearance between the millionaire next door and the tax delinquent next door is largely non-existent. Use the information gathered by either of these resources to be non-judgmental. Neither looks that different from yourself and, absent a few life circumstances, neither is different. As I said, it's humbling stuff.

Now, for being a diligent reader, you get a picture cookie from last year, about the same time minus half a month, with a different look than what is out my window right now. Yes, the water is 180' below. And yes, it is that clear.

We Have Snow On The Ground

I had an interesting day. I spent much of it preparing the next set of filings for my DOR mess, but progress is being made. Well it was being made until 4 hours into the project my browser decided to shut down and the online forms were not save-able. So I went to run a few errands and drive around and see the water and clear my head.

I found some interesting things. For instance, this picture is important.

First of all, it's snowing! I'm really not happy about that. Second, it's windy (check out the flag). Finally, if you look carefully you'll see Dave's white truck on the left side of the white building and if you are exceptionally lucky, you'll see Becky's black SUV just peeking around the right hand side. This means they're down doing something on the boat. However, there is no boat. What this tells us is that they took off for Chambers Island. This further means that the ice is out of the harbor out at the Island. Despite the snow, spring really is here.

I cruised around town for a little bit and was surprised by how fast the snow was increasing. The bluffs were almost completely obscured even when just a block or two away. This is a shot looking at the bluffs up Cottage Row.

I eventually made my way to the top of the bluff and took this picture looking back over part of the harbor. It was cold and wet and beautiful.

I ended up back at home but was struck by the sweetness of this tree (Hawthorne I think) relatively protected, wet with sticky snow melt, and somehow vibrating a life underneath its still winter skin. Have a blessed Palm Sunday.

Not So Funny

It starts out funny. Lars, my son, and I had a very rocky summer last year. He decided (some months earlier) that while living under my roof and eating my food and driving my car and using my support for travel trips was OK, the expectation of following my rules was not. So he picked the one and discarded the other. Actually, it didn't start out funny at all.

By June, I fully realized the discord in his choices. An ultimatum was given and rejected. The result of the 10 minutes that followed his rejection included calls to dispatch and my chasing him across the neighbor's field. In the end, I was slow and he was fast. That's the last time he lived in my house. For the record; after some subsequent rebuilding of our relationship he was given the opportunity to come back but he chose to stay where he was.

The funny part is this (and funny is the wrong word; what I really mean is something closer to charming); a few weeks later he bought his first car. What I found charming was that he bought a car his old man would have bought, an '89 Mercedes 300e. I soon became very grateful that my belief in quality cars somehow made it through his thick skull.

The next morning, while driving through the southwest section of the state, he called to tell me he had been in an accident. He called at about 7:15 in the morning. He had driven down to Beloit to visit his girlfriend and, after leaving very early in the morning to make it back in time for work, fell asleep while driving. He was only about 15 miles from home and in a light residential area. The car drifted to the right, angled down a moderate ditch embankment, and smashed into a 1 1/2' high driveway culvert that was built up to bridge from the road to the actual driveway.

He must have been going pretty fast. I'd guess it was between 45 and 55 mph. The impact sheared off the front undercarriage and the angle of the drive shot the car up into the air. The front bumper clipped off a small pine about 15' above the ground while the impact of the tree slowly flipped the car over the remainder of its trajectory so that, by the time it landed, it hit on its driver's side.

He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. It was a major accident which totaled the car. This was one of those game-changer deals. He walked away with a 1/4 blister on his left hand where some of the powder from the air bag landed. I don't mean to be dismissive about God's care and providence but I am grateful that my son was driving that car on that day.

Buy good cars. Buy your kids good cars. Encourage them to buy their own good cars. Lars' car still sits on my property and the wind blew the tarp off it the other day. I went up on the ridge and re-attached the tarp. The car is ugly, broken, useless, and sitting with weeds growing around it. I have rarely seen something as beautiful.

Oh, The Humanity!

I sang at a church service tonight. The music was fun, I got to sing with Katie, an organist who, like so many people in Door County, has professional credentials through the roof, and the people were lovingly welcoming. I also got a little nostalgic since the service centered around a dramatic monologue of Judas.

As a kid these were my favorite sermons. I loved the story behind the story and the bible characters really came to life. This one was different, however, in that it also had a kind of discussion forum at the end. I was curious how this would work given that we don't have a lot of biography on Judas and so, while thought provoking, it might be difficult to grapple with specifics at the expense of the drama. I need not have worried.

The discussion took the form of shout-outs. The minister asked what people thought and members of the congregation said whatever was on their mind. Examples included that Judas was self-centered, that it was hard to believe that he didn't know Jesus would actually die, and that we couldn't forget that Judas really didn't have a choice since Christ told him he was going to be the betrayer.

What will stick with me the most, though, was the last comment. The last speaker had a fairly lengthy discussion on how, since Judas ended up killing himself, he must have been in deep torment and pain. The speaker also stated that she believed that Christ's foot-washing was not just an act of service but also an act of forgiveness and that Judas was, in essence, pre-forgiven. In addition, she said that she is comforted by the idea that when Jesus went to Hell prior to his resurrection, Judas was the first person he saw and the first person to experience the saving power of the resurrection.

Wow. When did Walt Disney infiltrate the church? I am not saying that her hypothetical couldn't have happened; God's power is complete and just about the time I gain certainty in my knowledge of how he works, I get royally brain slapped. So it's possible. But what reason is there for even imagining such a series of extra-biblical events much less presenting them as an acceptable part of our belief system? The only I can think of is our intense societal desire for the happy ending.

Disney has taken all the classic story lines and repackaged them with feel-good endings. After a steady diet of this for 60+ years, we seem to be unable to deal with the idea that sometimes life sucks. Bad things happen. The good guy doesn't always win. Evil can overwhelm and seem frequently victorious. Judas may be in Hell smoking away. I don't know, but I know that we're not dealing with a tame lion and that getting shredded by his claws is a real mathematical possibility.

The current trend of sweet endings being espoused by the modern church, from the reduction of the power of Hell, to this idea that Judas was reunited post resurrection, to a sermon from last Pentecost that never once mentioned the Holy Spirit (but instead had a young girl floating around the world on birthday balloons) is not good. This seems to be a steady diet of milk and toast and never a spiritual advance to meat, dark Swedish Limpa, 6 year cheddar and a Killians Red. These things are as generational as our economy. It's time to redirect both.

Today's Our Anniversary (Sort Of ...)

            My wife and I fell in love at first sight. It was April 17^th, 1986. It was a Thursday.  We had both gone to the local Baptist church for their singles group and to play volleyball. It was the first time either of us went. It was the last time either of us went. We weren’t single anymore. I guess the group did its job. Or maybe it failed miserably. But without a doubt, Jennifer and I, ages 23 and 19 respectively, were madly in love.

            Actually, we had seen each other before. The prior Sunday, April 12th, at church service, we sat at rather opposite ends of the same pew. I was sitting with a family I had recently met. She was sitting alone. We glanced at each other casually, and then did an immediate double take. And then a triple. Then, she started waving. It took me a minute to realize that she was waving to the family I was with, but looking at me. Unfortunately, the pastor took that moment to start praying. It was a long prayer. I was a good boy. I kept my eyes closed. He stopped. I looked. She was gone. After church, I looked all over for her.  But she was gone.

            But the story should really start a little earlier. I had recently moved to Door County, Wisconsin. At church, I met a matronly woman who headed most of the young people’s activities. She invited me to have dinner with her family at which time we talked about other people my age. In passing, she mentioned a certain Jennifer. For whatever reason, I continued turning the conversation back to the details of this verbally elusive creature. For reasons I understood later, she kept turning the conversation back to the details of her daughter who, coincidentally, was also my age.

            Meanwhile, Jennifer, recently back to Door County, heard from her mother that there was a new guy in town. In April, in Door County, eligible single men don’t normally appear.

            “In addition”, her mother said, “he’s good looking.

            “What’s wrong with him?”, asked Jennifer.

            This was actually a double conundrum for Jennifer. Here was a good looking, single, apparently eligible man showing up in the most unlikely of spots at the most unlikely of times. There must be a hideous flaw in his person somewhere. But worse than that, she had recently gotten done explaining to God that she was sick of the dating scene and that from this point forward, she wanted to be either single or married. No more of this Mickey Mouse, messing-around, ambiguous, dating sort of stuff. It was to be all or nothing. This angst led to her early departure from church that Sunday.

            And I suppose the story could start even a little further back when, just a few weeks earlier, I dropped out of college to go work as a commercial fisherman and Jennifer, after giving downtown Chicago’s lifestyle a full but painful run, came back home to start fresh. But even that, I suppose, is not the true beginning.  Jennifer grew up in Door County. I was infatuated with that sliver of rock from somewhere around the time I was 13. Ours was a meeting long in the making.

            While we were playing volleyball, she took off her sweatshirt. She claims she knew I was hers from that moment on. Apparently my reaction was less suave than that for which I would have hoped. I, however, moved smoothly on with my best pick-up line ever.

            “Do you know we’re standing on the Niagara Escarpment?”, I asked.

            It must have worked. I had never tried that line before and I had never been married before. This time I tried it out, she accepted my invitation to dinner the next night, didn’t object when I told her I was interested in marrying her two days later, and agreed to marry me when I proposed nine days after that. My line had worked. We were married on September 6^th, 1986.  I still love it when she takes her sweatshirt off.  And she still loves it when I talk about limestone.

Insects Are Amazing

Jen and I cleaned up some of the yard yesterday. This included tearing down last fall's chicken yard. As part of their yard, I had taken an old 500 gallon steel tank (which I normally use for hauling water to transplanted trees) and tipped it on its side so that the hens could use it as additional shelter.

While cleaning up, I tipped the tank upright and saw a wasp nest that had been hanging from what was the top. It was about the size of one of those oversize softballs (I think they are 16" in circumference). I grabbed it, gently twisted it, and it just kind of popped off, cleanly severed from its home base. I never saw one quite like this before.

The walls of the outer "paper" nest part were labyrinth. Because of the smooth lining of the tank, and since it came off so cleanly, the structure was incredibly preserved. I also noted that there was a lot of spider web material around the hole of the nest. I broke the nest apart to reveal the puppa chambers and found more spider webbing and a number of dead wasps. Later I also found out that they weren't wasps, but hornets (or at least I think so). So I offer some really cool photos. What I find fascinating is how quickly and completely insects make everything their homes. And I love the progression here. I take an old tank. The chickens use it for day shelter. Hornets decide it's perfect for their use. Spiders come along and figure that the nest is a perfect fall vacation home. I wonder who would have claimed it next?

 

Sunday, April 10th

This post will be very short as I am having internet problems at home after the storm that blew through last night. I am down at the Blue Horse drinking coffee, but I need to head out in just a couple of minutes.

I just heard that Dave is dropping his boat in on Tuesday so, hopefully, we'll have our in soon too. When I got down here a little while ago the harbor was blocked off by local fog but has gradually blown off over the last few minutes leaving an overcast sky and blobs of steel blue corroded ice blobs the size of city blocks shifting in the water.

To make up for this post's brevity, I'll have wasp nest photos for tomorrow (and the crowd goes wild!). Have a great Sunday.

p.s. Tuesday's post should be fun too.

Physician, Heal Thyself

Technically I am a doctor although, by rules of arcane academia, I don't think I can use the title. For a smart guy I can be really dumb though. I hop on my blog and pontificate about engaging and thinking and living ... yet I have 240 unread emails.

The thing is that the emails are not those avoided or unwanted or even spam. They are from me. And no, I am not that egotistical. The reason they are from me is that I use my email as a sort of file folder. Anytime I come across something on the internet that I think I might find useful, I send myself an email so I don't lose it. Most of them are from odd stuff, cars, tools or whatever that I find listed for sale.

I just checked the oldest unread email. Apparently it was mandatory that I keep a record of an ad listing a used cast iron table saw (in need of minor repairs) that was sitting in some guys garage in Lake Geneva. The ad was from November '09. I wonder if it's still for sale?

Of equal import was the emailed receipt from March '10 showing proof that I bought a security pack from Norton after the trial one that came with my laptop from the prior Christmas ran out. You never know when you might forget that you bought something that pops up at you each time you turn on your computer ...

The embarrassing thing is not that I have 240 unread emails. The embarrassing thing is that it was only today, after noticing that I had 241 new emails (meaning to my mind I had 1), after reading that 1 (so that a quick glance would show me if I had any new emails (beyond the 240 new emails)), and after letting my mind wander while I swept the last of the winter weight-sand from the back of the truck (a nicely repetitive task that allows the brain some real freedom), that I realized the sheer stupidity of this habit. How much time and energy have I wasted keeping records of a million possibilities, most of which are no longer possible, at the expense of paying attention to the opportunities God has planned for me? Talk about not being engaged.

So, in the spring cleaning spirit, I have decided to purge. I am going to go back and erase all the unread emails more than one month old without even reading them. For those from the last month, I will read them, delete most, and READ the one's I actually should keep. I think that will be the last area of my life that needs attention so then I can get back to critiquing others' issues without out worrying about hypocrisy.

To Eat Or Not To Eat; That's Half The Question

I finally got to get the girlfriend chair out tonight. It was delightful this evening with a clear gorgeous sunset, warm temperatures, and no wind. I do virtual all my own automotive work and tonight I wanted to get a new front brake caliper on the truck. I had noticed that that hub was a little warm after getting back from Escanaba the other week and, while I had assumed it was wheel bearings, found out after getting the bearings and starting to replace them that the caliper slides were totally hung up and it was actually the unreleasing brake that was generating the heat (well, actually the friction which produced the heat).

Anyway, when I work on vehicles, especially in the evening, Jen comes outside with her knitting and sits nearby and works on her projects while I bang away. We have a lawn chair that gets moved around for her to sit on and I call it the girlfriend chair since it always reminds me of the quintessential high school sweetheart image of the teenage boy earnestly flailing away at pistons, tires, trannys, or whatever while his girlfriend hangs out checking her nails, chewing gum, and spending unbelievable amounts of time waiting for him to finish. Sometimes I think the patience of 17 year old girlfriends could put us all to shame. Either that or they waste an amazing amount of time on guys more interested in cars than girls ...

The thing on my mind is actually kind of a sad story. Some friends of ours were invited to another couple's house last Friday. The invitees were Catholic, the invitors not. Without thinking about it (indeed, probably without even knowing it was an issue), the hosts made a dinner including porter-house steaks on the grill. Our friends who were invited turned down the meat as inappropriate to their religious observance. They told us later of this fact with some pride.

I struggled with how to respond to the story, and I have no idea whether I handled it well or not. But what I am sure of is this; their refusal was poorly done, poorly done indeed (extra credit points if you pick up the movie reference in that last sentence). It seems that religion will regularly be used to stunt relationship.

The thing that hit me most directly, was that Paul talks about almost this exact situation (invertedly). In Romans 14 Paul discusses the risk of using food to usurp God's work and mentions the eating of meat as one example. There was something about the story we were told that really made me understand how good Satan's twisting skill can be.

In the end, I don't think much was accomplished in terms of helping the burgeoning friendship thus challenged. I know that what was chosen was chosen for the pride of being religiously steadfast. Nothing wrong with that but it came at the expense of their hosts and there is something wrong with that. I also know that it would have been wrong to have arbitrarily blown past their accepted obligation with some breezy sense of total freedom. Our commitments are serious but not ultimates. It was an incredibly poignant reminder that the attitude of the heart makes all the difference in our actions. No act, in and of itself, is right or wrong but the context of our motivations breathes morality into the skeletal act and gives it moral life. 

As I Was Saying ...

I really like spring. Actually, I don't really like spring, I really like what spring brings. Spring is actually kind of cold and muddy and reveals the detritus of things winter-dumped or left from fall, snow slowly peeling back its stripper's skirt to flash the varicose veined leg of a debutant-no-more. But the skin is still warm and the leg reflects the longing of what was and, re-generationally, what can be again.

Ultimately, I like spring because it brings summer. I live in a place which sees high temperatures of 60 or more about half the year. I am either a glutton for punishment or I just explained why summer is such a big deal (both days). In my enjoyment of spring, the observation of change is probably my favorite component.

Today was again a good day to prove that spring is here. The ice on the bay continues to succumb to adjacent water temperatures like rice-crispy bars left out. There is the steady increase of birds and the increase of bird activity. This morning I noticed shreds of insulation snowed on the ground, ripped from some cavity by the incredible aggression of Starlings doing due diligence on their next crevice of real estate. The crows are also all hitched in their giddy-up and two of them treed a significantly larger red tail hawk in the biggest maple on the south fence row. He eventually tired of their incessant critique and made a swoop for it but only cleared the last bare branch by a couple of feet before they dropped from upper perches to run him across to the woodlot across the field.

And driving home showed that Susan was out raking the lawn in front of her immaculate horse barn (with two new spring foals outside for the first time), Glen's RV was home from the four month trip he takes with his wife every December (I have to see if he still has the remainder of firewood I was supposed to take before he left), and Rick and Jan's Frisians are out on the ridge to the north of their barn, a silhouetted spot they will own until snowfall, gorgeous ambassadors to all who cut short on the county road to avoid the highway traffic. I think they should get an oat commission from the tourist board.

At home we gathered blown junk from the yard and did a quick burn, giving the wandering fire fingers some leeway to clear old grass and weed. I might end up burning a bunch of the yard this spring. I'd like to throw some more seed down and, since I did almost no lawn mowing last year (our first year with a pseudo lawn), there are some non-grass things in the lawn that look more tree-like than fescue. I'd like to clear some of that out. And this year I think I'll put in a patio. On an evening like this, I wish I already had one. On a night like this, sitting outside watching the sun set, things once possible suddenly seem almost fait accompli. I love the promise of spring.

Traveling North

It was interesting. Jen and I went to St. Louis last weekend. Had a great time. We stayed with friends who wine and dine and pamper ...

Friday was quiet. We actually got there around 1:00 in the afternoon, but Kev was involved with saving a deal that was imploding and Pam had previously agreed to take a woman from church to the doctor as she has some significant eye problems (which result from other problems). The appointment was at 1:30, so we saw Pam briefly and made plans for a couple of hours later. The doctor didn't even see them until 5:30. I appreciate that sometimes things run late, but that is ridiculous.

Kevin and I had run to the store and picked up groceries for dinner. Apparently the important things were wine and shrimp and potato chips since I believe that is all we ended up eating. We had originally intended great things, but, by the time Pam made it home, a glass or two of wine were had, and the patio fire started, shrimp on the fire seemed like the logical meal. Dr. Oz would not approve.

We stayed Saturday and Sunday and left about 8:50 Monday morning. Driving home was interesting. I usually do most of the driving and this trip I did all. I really wanted to see how the car would perform on a trip like this. It's not every day you get to drive for 20 hours in a $675 Mercedes, and, while I believed we would have no problems, the social programing that cost equals quality is a hard one to shake. Great little car by the way and I'll tell its story some other time.

The real point is that Sunday hit 89 in St. Louis. When we left the next morning it was in the 60's. As we drove north it slowly got colder. By the time we hit Beaver Dam we started seeing snow on the north side of the heavier woodlots. Oshkosh saw the first ice on water, not on the drainage ways, but back on the mini-bays of Lake Butte des Morts. By the time we reached Green Bay the south section of the bay was open, ice was visible and largely solid beyond the point of Dyckesville, and snow was scattered around without regard to sun's angle. Valmy brought the most snow on the ground and the harbor hear is still punky but full of rotten ice. Spring is coming and, for my taste, can't come too soon.

When You Can't Get a Word In Edgewise ...

Friday morning I woke up at 3:00, made a quick cup of coffee, and loaded Jen, the last couple bags, and my cup of coffee into the car. By 3:30 we were on the road, and, roughly 10 hours later, were down in St. Louis for a short vacation. The car ride was quiet. I thought. A lot.

The other day I made the comment that most writers, especially bloggers, probably write what they need to read more than what their audience needs to read. I still believe that to be true, but I also think there is an area of our lives for which the same principle can be applied even more relevantly. Most people say what they need to hear. With an increase in anger comes an increase in this truth. By the time someone is actually yelling, I think there is very little communicating going on. Well, actually, there is a lot of communicating, it just has nothing to do with what the yeller thinks is being communicated.

But this is not all bad. Every social interaction provides an opportunity to learn. We typically think of speaking as a give and take of information with the speaker giving and the listener receiving. And, so the thinking goes, this back-and-forth give-and-take brings about a transference of knowledge and ideas and provides growth upon the receipt thereof. Sometimes, maybe even frequently, it may happen just like that.


It is a rare person who is able to maintain the mental control of really considering the position and needs of the other while at the same time allowing there emotions to rise. There is something self-centered about most anger. I remember a client I had once who scared me to death. He loved the adrenaline rush that came with anger and he would deliberately release his self control to feed that rush. That same ego-centrism shows in almost all yelling. By that time, the speaker is only dispensing that which feeds his need for release and the continued emotional high.


Every stock market crash provides buying opportunities. In like fashion, every time the normal give and take of communication breaks down there are also new opportunities. What I have come to realize is that if you can maintain a decent boundary-oriented distance, it is possible to learn a tremendous amount through the other person's anger for, at that moment, the speaker is telling you word for word what they themselves most fear, or find disgusting, or find uncomfortable. Just as the person you most dislike at a party is the one who has the issues you most dislike in yourself, so to the issues which generate the most anger when speaking are the issues you most struggle with yourself.

So, as listener, how do you use the experience for good? Once again it is all about relationship. Listen, absorb, and recognize the amazing glimpse you just had into someone's life with all the pretense stripped away. Take that information, recognize their vulnerabilities, and commit to caring for them, including taking into consideration their new-found weaknesses, in an even more complete way.