What Will Become of the Hobo?

(I have always wanted to hop a ride on a freight train but have never had the courage to attempt it. I made passing reference to this desire about a year ago in a post and my Uncle Randy left a comment asking if I had ever heard the story of his freight hopping experience. Well, this was too good an invitation to pass up so I asked him if he would write it out and send it to me. Last month I received a package in the mail that contained this story and a cassette tape by Emmylou Harris, Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton singing an old Jimmie Rogers song called Hobo's Lamentation, the perfect musical accompaniment to this story. Everybody has a crazy uncle, I was blessed with two, and I admire both of them a great deal. Uncle Randy, the older of the two, is a man of great tenacity and courage. Here is his story.)

Riding the Rails

A true tale by Randy Bender

In the spring of 1966, I was a freshman at Abilene Christian College, in Abilene, Texas. I know not whence the notion sprang – but, there it was; “wouldn’t it be a great adventure to hop a freight train and ride the rails to home in Tulsa?” The idea took root and began to germinate. In the fertile mind of an eighteen year old, a spectacular brainstorm does not languish.

I promoted the idea, and two friends decided to join me. It would be a weekend trip. We would cut Friday morning classes, but would have to be back by Monday. The first task was to assure that we would have a ride back on Sunday. That need was satisfied by an acquaintance who would be returning from Bartlesville, OK.

With a date and a secure return in place, the next task was to obtain train information. I called Santa Fe [Railroad} and told them I needed to ship a refrigerator. I got the approximate time the freight train would come through Abilene and learned that in Ft. Worth we would have to change from the Santa Fe to the Frisco RR.

We packed clothes and toiletries the three of us would need for the weekend into a medium sized suitcase and a tote bag and on Friday morning went to the place where I thought the train would stop. Then we waited; and waited, and…….waited, and ………………….waited.

Questions and doubts began to knock at the door of my mind. Were we in the wrong place? Had I been given the wrong time by Santa Fe? Was the train merely late? Could it be possible that it just would not come through today? Then…, is that the thunderous rumble of a mighty diesel engine I am hearing/feeling. Is it? Is it? Could be. It just might be. …………It is, it is, IT IS!!! Louder and louder; closer and closer. Our great adventure was about to begin in earnest. Then, ……..shouldn’t it be slowing down? If it’s going to stop it has to start slowing down really soon. Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clack, right on by us. Now what do we do?

As the caboose became even smaller, we decided we would have to hitchhike to Tulsa. As we started walking toward the highway, I looked down the tracks toward our missed opportunity. Something was different. The caboose, now seeming to be about the size of a book of matches, was no longer shrinking. The train had stopped. I told Ron and Danny to look and they agreed with my assessment. New hope arose.

We began alternately walking, walking fast, and trotting down the tracks. As we went, we traded off carrying the luggage so that at any given time, one of us had the suitcase, one had the tote bag and one was recuperating. As we got closer, anticipation and excitement were rekindled and began to grow. When we were within 100-200 yards of the caboose, the train began to move forward. Digging deep within and summoning every last remnant of strength and will, we sprang into a sprint. Just by chance, Danny, who was scrawny and the weakest of the trio, was carrying the suitcase. Fortunately, there was a flatcar just ahead of the caboose. Ron and I were able to mount it. We were almost completely spent but turned to encourage Danny. Unfortunately, the gradual increase in the speed of the train combined with the extra weight and total exhaustion did not leave enough in Danny’s tank. We regretted that he had been unable to join us but we were happy to be on our way. Incidentally, the suitcase contained our clean clothes and underwear for church.

The next few hours were awash with a feeling of unbridled freedom that is rare and uncommon. The afternoon was warm enough that we were comfortable in t-shirts. The sky was pleasantly and refreshingly overcast. So that flatcar provided an idyllic perch from which to watch the West Texas countryside flow by us. Our only responsibility was to enjoy the ride and we fulfilled that responsibility in a magnificent manner.

We arrived in Ft. Worth in the late afternoon. When the train stopped in the yard, we hopped off, determined the general location of the Frisco Rail Yard and started off in that direction. As we neared it, we happened upon a greasy spoon diner. We had not eaten since breakfast, so, in we went. To our delight we discovered they had a home-style cooking menu with entrée such as fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken-fried steak, vegetables like peas, mashed potatoes, carrots, bacon seasoned green beans, and cherry pie, devil’s food cake, apple pie a la mode for desserts. The prices were good and the portions were generous. It was an ideal eatery for hard working rail yard employees, or a couple of hungry teenage boys out on an adventure. I don’t remember what I had, but, to this day, I believe it is in contention for the title of, “Best Meal I Ever Had.”

With bellies full, we set off to find a ride for the next leg of our journey. When we entered the Frisco Yard, we saw two or three trains that seemed to be linked up and ready to go. There was no way to determine which one was headed for Oklahoma City. We would have to ask. Seeing a man who looked like he belonged there, we went up to him and I asked. He said it was the nearest one. We walked toward the first boxcar with an open door. The man yelled to us, “Try to find a clean one, if you can. “If” was the operative word. You see, there is really no reason to sweep out a boxcar. Everything that is supposed to be in it is boxed in a crate, which is on skids, so that a forklift can get underneath it. Before long, we made our choice, climbed inside, and settled in to wait.

If you drive on the highways, it’s about 30 miles more from Ft. Worth to Oklahoma City than from Abilene to Ft. Worth. So we figured we would probably get to OKC about midnight, or shortly afterward. We could hardly have been more wrong. It was after 1:00 a.m. when the train pulled off on a side rail and stopped in Ardmore, OK which is about the halfway point. After the sun had set, and as we traveled further north, it grew chillier and chillier, until it became down right cold. So the train sat on the side rail, and we sat inside our car shivering for hours, literally. At some point we had been there long enough to realize that we probably were going to be there for a good while longer, we decided to dismount and search for a place nearby for a good cup of coffee. As I remember, it was an unfruitful quest. But I think we did go into a railway office where one worker was stationed, and that enabled us to warm ourselves. Of course, that just emphasized the cold when we went back out to get in our boxcar. I believe it was after 4:00 a.m. when the train resumed its movement.

I don’t know if it was in Ft. Worth or Ardmore, but somewhere along the way, we learned that the Frisco Line went straight north out of OKC, so we would, again, have to change lines, this time to the Katy RR to get to Tulsa.

It was after 8:00 a.m. by the time we got off the train in Oklahoma City. In only about 32 hours, our ride would be picking us up for the trip back. We knew not when the next train would leave for Tulsa, nor how long it would take to get there when it did. We had a decision to make. We determined the best course of action would be to hitchhike the rest of the way.

The last leg of our journey brought us within four blocks of home. I looked at my watch as we exited the car and made an observation. I told Ron and we decided to act upon it. We adjusted our gait, walking faster, trotting for a bit, slowing to a walk again, and then picking up the pace a little, so that we walked through the front door 24 hours to the minute from the time we had climbed on board the flatcar in Abilene.

Ron and I had a spectacular weekend adventure. On an adventure, you must accept the unpleasantness along with sheer joy. Poor Danny [remember Danny?] had just another average, dull weekend in the dorm. C’est la vie!

A Walk Down the Hall

Joe Biden at Cooney's Tavern

Being as that I'm new to Iowa and all, I figured it would be a lot of fun to get out there and go see a couple of candidates strutting their stuff. So when my friend Eddie mentioned that Joe Biden was going to be speaking at an Irish bar near our house I jumped at the chance on both counts. I went in with a pretty negative impression of Biden based solely on the (D) that comes in front of his name and a general perception that he was just another blowhard in a nice suit. But I walked away with a lot of respect for the guy, he probably is just another blowhard in a suit but he does have the courage to speak his mind and that's saying a lot these days.

You had me at hello...

It was in the low twenties with a decent wind blowing when we ducked into a packed Cooney's about three minutes before the fire code was officially broken. Seriously, three minutes later and we wouldn't have even made it into the door. It was packed and electric, shortly after we arrived, an older and very happy gentleman near the door led the crowd in a fun version of "Happy Days are Here Again", a song I had never heard before but that was pretty easy to pick up. After about a half hour wait Biden showed up and walked past us, shaking hands and saying hello to people on his way up to the "platform" which was as I later saw, a couple of cases of beer pushed together. The crowd quieted down as he spoke, the bartenders quit serving and leaned back against the bar to listen to his speech, given under the green Christmas lights. In his opening remarks he mentioned having gone to the University of Delaware which got a couple of lighthearted boos from some of the Iowa fans in the audience. He replied to our great delight, "Unlike other candidates I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in - we kicked Iowa's a**!" That was such a great moment, so non pandering that you had to respect his candor.

I enjoyed his speech primarily because he really didn't make any promises at all. He wasn't offering bliss, prosperity, and to tuck us into bed every night like most of his Democrat rivals. He basically said, (paraphrasing) "we've got a hard road ahead of us but nobody said life was going to be easy, the American people love a good challenge and I believe they are up to the challenge so let's pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and get after it." That's not exactly what he said but I feel like that was the gist of it. Or maybe that was just what he said when run through my conservative filter. Anyways, I was surprised to hear what I was hearing.

During a brief question and answer time after his speech, someone asked if he would support partial birth abortions. I took from the tone of the question that they were really hoping he would say yes. Well, again to my surprise he gave a pretty lengthy and specific answer saying he was completely opposed to partial birth abortion. I thought that for a Democrat running for the party's nomination that was pretty gutsy. Maybe I'm just easy, but I've always said that I am so sick of the dishonesty in politics and that I just wanted someone to speak the truth about their views and I couldn't shake the feeling that Joe was speaking from his heart what he believed.

Since then I've learned that he was one of the few Democrats who recently supported refunding the troops, a potentially politically damaging vote about which he said, "there are some things worth losing the election over." In the divisive climate in which we live we need to champion the honest no matter what side of the aisle they come from. Our allegience should be to Honesty and Character before Party.

I'm raising a glass now to the two Joes, Biden and Liebs, two islands of honesty in a sea full of empty promises. Thanks for having the character to speak your minds.

And for my part, I'll be honest by saying "Ron Paul in '08!"

The World Unseen

"Then Moses said, "Now show me your glory."

And the Lord said," I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."

Then the Lord said, "There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen."

-Exodus

A Soldier's Thoughts

(My buddy Scott should arrive home from Iraq any day and so in honor of his return I wanted to post something he wrote back in the spring for our old church in Converse, TX. For more details on Scott and his homecoming, check out his wife Gina's blog here. Thanks to all of you who prayed for his safety while he was gone. Enjoy.)

"Men of Grace, it is an honor to write to you from Mahmudiyah, Iraq. I am serving with the 10th Mountain Division in the suburbs south of Baghdad. Darren asked me to write to you about what God has shown me this year.

If I wrote about everything God has shown me this year, this might be a long message. Instead, I'll write about what God has shown me this week, which might still be a bit lengthy. Perhaps referring to what God has "shown" me is a use of the wrong tense. "Showing" might be a more accurate choice of words. But actually, I feel like I am resisting the thing He is showing me right now.

Before I elaborate, I should provide a bit of background for the thoughts I want to share. This week, I was reading in Matthew where Jesus says that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. In any other time of my life, that would've seemed like a good idea, and an idea not altogether difficult to carry out into action.

But that was before I had any actual enemies. That was before I lived in a place where people would gladly kill me. That was before I soaked my uniform in another man's blood or attended the memorial of a fellow soldier who will never make it home.

That these are our enemies, I have no doubt. But the people I have the hardest time loving are those who spend their time and energy plotting to kill not me, but each other.

On Easter, some who I consider my enemies, detonated a large bomb outside of the local hospital. Though there were no American injuries,15 Iraqis were killed, including some of their doctors as well as patients. Many more people were injured. Of these, 17 came to our aid station seeking care for significant injuries. One of those patients was a 9-year-old girl with a huge hole in her leg as well as an arterial bleed. She was screaming in a combination of pain and absolute terror. I don't think I know words to describe just how terrible her scream was. We could do nothing to comfort her because we could not speak her language. We could neither answer the questions of her parents, nor provide any explanation as we whisked her off in a helicopter for further care. All we could do was work to get her stabilized while listening to her scream.

I will never forget her scream.

Another of our patients that day might lose his leg. His son was killed in the blast, though he did not know it yet.

Still another patient from another day was severely injured in a blast that killed her husband and 3 year old son.

There were others, but you get the idea. I don't relate these events to impress you with my war stories, but rather to help you understand these enemies of mine.

Surely, Jesus didn't mean that I should actually love people like them.

When I think about those we politely call "insurgents," my reaction is akin to that of Conan the Barbarian who found fulfillment in one thing: "to crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."

But Jesus says to love them. I don't know how.

It seems that it would be a big victory for me if I could just stop hating these people who bombed a hospital and who, twice this week, bombed an outdoor marketplace. I have prayed about this often over the course of the last seven days.

Did Jesus really mean that we should love these men who are, seemingly, the embodiment of pure evil? I want to think not.

But then I am reminded of my savior on a cross asking "Father forgive them." I also know that I "don't have a high priest who can't be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but one who has been in all points tempted like we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15)

Jesus knew what it was to have enemies and He was, no doubt, tempted to hate them. But He was without sin.

Ultimately, I know that my nature will not allow me to love these people apart from Christ. In my heart, I know that they don't deserve my love or Christ's. However, I know that God loves me, and I definitely don't deserve it either.

I haven't learned how to love these insurgents who are trying to kill me, my comrades, and their own countrymen. Truthfully, I am not sure that I will ever learn to do this.

Deep down, I don't know that I even want to.

But there is one thing this experience has done for me: I have a much deeper respect, admiration, and appreciation for what Christ did for us on the cross. He loved me, and millions more like me who go against His commandments every day. We are not worthy of His love, much less his sacrifice.

So I am trying to learn to love Christ, and praying that He will enable me to love someday like He does.

I will close this message like I close much of my correspondence from Iraq. As a Soldier, it is not my job to critique our policies in Iraq. I wish that decisions could be made by Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen instead of Democrats, Republicans, and opinion polls

However, this I do know: our Soldiers are doing some incredible things in this country across the world from you. There are many amazing people here who put themselves in danger every single day to try to bring freedom to this land and its people. In return, we ask only for your prayers. Prayers for our safety, prayers for our morale, prayers for those who do not yet know Jesus, and prayers for people like me to learn to love those who seem so unlovable… unlovable just like you and me."

-sdc

Talkin Bout Country

Here's a video from country legend Waylon Jennings. This is from back when it was about the music and not the market. Just a good ol' sweaty jam.

El Paso & a Poem

Brothers

Rolling down 54

between

the setting sun and rising moon

so fat and full tonight

they hang there like scales

and I can't help but feel that we are

the ones being weighed

On the Road Again

and

I've Always Been Crazy

blaring from the radio

as we blast down that desert highway

the music coarsing through our veins

like blood

cause their ain't no song

like the one you're livin'

All day long we fought

the desert wind

and dust

but never

let them get the

best of us

so

we're off to celebrate

at Andale's tonight

Gathered round the table

we eat and drink our fill

cause tommorow

we'll die

again

between the rising sun

and setting moon

only to be

resurrected

by the beauty of mountains

and the strength of brothers

Ray's doing his best Cosell

and Brett is cracking jokes

as Shawn takes it all in

up on the hill

overlooking

dirty Juarez

Nobody's smiling

but its not cause

we aren't happy

the night wind

is blowing now

and it picks up our souls

Spinning, spinning

it carries them

high up into

the mountains

We can't get there

any other way.

Excellence

Two quotes on excellence, the first I relate to (the debilitating part), the second, healthier quote, I aspire to:

"But being [excellent] is also about having an insecurity that is almost-but not quite-debilitating. The best people have trouble living in their own skin, because nothing is ever great enough." - David Lubars in The Wall Street Journal

"This is how I see excellence, it embraces generosity, humbleness, and sincerity of effort. At it's heart it is about never being satisfied. It has nothing to do with perfection. I'm not a perfectionist. I'm an excellence-ist." - Chef Charlie Trotter in Hemispheres

Feels Like Years...

Placid
Here she is. I cannot tell you how much peace this little girl brings to me. Amidst moving (twice), starting a new job (sort of), and Margaret's birth, the last four months have been crazy. But this sweet little package of grace and love has flooded our souls with a sustaining peace and surprisngly, rest. We had initially been planning on calling her Charlotte, but as I told friends, she looked much too regal for that when we first saw her and so out of the blue she ended up as Margaret. I have received quite a bit of gentle ribbing about this, but scoffers take note: in our house, we play an endless procession of music cds and Margaret has no reaction to any of them except for the visible reaction she shows to classical music. Unlike Willie Nelson, it never fails to put her in a great mood. Told Ya!

Ramblin
We are now located in Des Moines, Iowa - one third of the way between Canada and Mexico on Interstate 35 and almost halfway between New York and San Francisco on Interstate 80. I am enjoying being at the crossroads of two great American highways, but still wish I was further south at the crossroads of I-35 and I-10. Although it is a slightly different string of pearls than I-10, I just love heading West on I-80 knowing that Cheyenne, Salt Lake, Reno and San Fran are all just sitting out there in the setting sun waiting for me.

Unbecoming
In the course of my work, I run across quite a few men in their 50's and 60's. I look up to and enjoy being around older men and so I am always excited by these brushes with wisdom. Probably more so because of the initial burst of anticipatory excitement, I am always extremely let down when they turn out to be more like a 30 year old than a 60 year old. I've got to say that one of the saddest sights in this world is a dirty old man or a bitter old woman. Old age should be a glorious time. So many battles behind you, so many rivers crossed, valleys endured and peaks enjoyed. It is a time to pass on lessons learned to those in need of your wisdom, a time to slow down a little and enjoy the world with your knowing yet grateful eyes. I am so thankful that I have grandparents who are people I can look up to.

From the Mighty Mo' to the Mighty Miss
I've been to Omaha four times now in the last few months and I've got to say that it is such a great town. The Missouri River runs along the eastern edge of town and the wide and sandy Platte River runs just to the south of it. It is a town with a great railroading heritage that is celebrated by the two locomotive engines permanently parked on the river bluff just above the highway as you come in from the east on I-80. You can feel the history in the air, the stories of both hard working men of the field and of free living hoboes riding by on boxcars heading from one great city to another. Like Des Moines, it is immediately and completely surrounded by fields full of grain, corn and beans as soon as you get out of town. Sitting on the edge of Omaha gazing west gives me a similar feeling to the one I used to get as a teenager when I would stand knee deep in Atlantic staring out into the darkness at the great emptiness between me and Europe. As you sit there can feel the vast and wonderful nothingness between you and the mountains of the West, and out of the dark, a siren song wails, tugging, tugging at you till you can barely stand it and almost give in.

Also had the chance to visit Dubuque, Iowa on the Mississippi River, a town where you feel like at any minute the ghost of Johnny Cash is going to float by, feet dangling off of one of the many barges moving either north or south as he soaks up the sun. Really, the Mississippi is stunning from St. Paul all the way down to at least Davenport ( that's as far as I have been up to now). The river runs through a deep valley surrounded on either side by towering river bluffs topped with tall and leafy trees.

The corn was 6 to 7 feet tall and green as grass when we got here and it now a bleached tan just waiting to be harvested. I am so jealous of the farmers running down miles of corn in their green John Deere combines from well before sun up to well after sun down. That has got to bring such a great feeling of accomplishment as well as a connection to both the past, and the rhythms of life and earth.

Fellow Sojourners
Before we left Texas, Jen and I were able to catch Patty Griffin live in concert in Austin. While waiting for the show to begin, we started talking to the couple next to us. I love Patty Griffin, but I've got to say the highlight of the evening was getting to meet this couple. They were so much fun to talk to. He is a scientist/conservationist type guy who was in Kileen, TX studying birds and has since moved to Florida to work on another project. I would like to point you in the direction of his blog which is filled with tons of great wildlife pictures like this one. You can get a better look at the photos by clicking on them which will enlarge them. Check out the amazing colors in the coral snake.

Iraq
My buddy Scott has one month left in Iraq, after being there for 15 months. Would you please pray for his safety during this last month?

God Bless Texas.

A Great Line

"It was a lovely night, one of those nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young. The sky was so bright and starry that when you looked at it the first question that came into your mind was whether it was really possible that all sorts of bad-tempered and unstable people could live under such a glorious sky."

-Opening line to White Nights,

a short story by Dostoevsky

The Tiny, Daily Joy Known as WSJ

The day we loaded up the moving van and headed north for Wisconsin, a friend dropped by with a bag full of old Wall Street Journals, two magazines, and six mini bottles of Scope. For those of you familiar with moving day and its well accepted practice of throwing away absolutely everything you can without getting caught by your wife and/or children, this would appear to be a gift headed straight for the garbage can. However my fellow addicts of the written word will understand why when there is no room for the little red wagon, the grill, and the patio furniture - there is still plenty of room for a bag containing two months worth of old newspapers.

I grew up reading The New York Times, The Asbury Park Press, and USA Today. I delivered the Press in the 7th and 8th grade and remember many a morning when I got out a little late because I got distracted from my duties assembling and rolling the paper by the contents contained within. I enjoyed all the aspects of being a paper boy - the tightly bound stack waiting to be cut open and assembled every morning at the end of the drive, the early mornings on deserted streets, the freedom of riding a bike through town, trying to set speed records for the entire route, meeting my friend Steve Dow in the places our routes overlapped, the heavy bag over my shoulder gradually getting lighter, and many a route spent contemplating the news of the day. It was a job so much fun I would have done it for free, and often did as I was much better at delivering papers than collecting fees. Later in life, while working as a porchboy at the Sea Bright Beach Club, I would collect and read discarded copies of the New York Times, and throughout all, avidly read USA Today which is worth it's price just for the half page color weather map that graces the back page of the news section and is very handy for planning hypothetical cross country trips. The newspaper, a little time in the morning, and a cup of coffee; although each are common and inexpensive, when combined, they make up one of the great luxuries that rivals anything modern life has to offer.

So, on to the Wall Street Journal which had been ignored by me, probably just like you, based on the false assumption that it is only for guys who worry about the negative effects of sub-prime lending on the housing market in the second quarter. I could not have been more wrong...think of the WSJ as a written version of NPR with a strong bias towards business related stories, and oh yeah, sweet illustratrions. The pen and ink dot portraits have a way of making everyone look warm and engaging, which of course only serves to make the story seem that much more interesting. Combine that with a great Op-Ed section, a global outlook and the added benefit of maybe learning something about sub-prime lending and you have got one seriously misunderstood paper.

For your reading pleasure, some highlights from the Spring of '07:

March 15th
Headline Reads: Their Duty Done, The Drowsy Dogs Can Doze Off Again Author: Ron Winslow

"For three decades, Stanford University researchers kept a colony of narcoleptic dogs to study the mysterious disorder that causes people to become excessively sleepy in the middle of daily activities.
When excited by a favorite treat or roughhousing with one another, the dogs- mainly Doberman pinschers and Labrador retrievers would suddenly crumple to the floor, limp as rag dolls"

The story goes on to explain that the pack of dogs which once numbered 80 is now down to just one as scientists have started studying the same disease in zebrafish "which are cheaper and more suited to genetics research."
As we read on we discover that one of the problems with keeping a pack of narcoleptic dogs is reproduction, discussed here by Lewanne Sharp, a researcher hired to work with the dogs. "It was a definite challenge trying to get two narcoleptic dogs to breed," she says. "When the male would get excited and mount the female, invariably he would fall asleep." Priceless.
I think my reaction to this story prompted Jen to say, "I haven't heard you laugh that hard in a long time.

March 30th
Headline Reads: To Make Lemons into Lemonade, Try 'Miracle Fruit'
Author: Joanna Slater

"Arlington, Va. - At a party here one recent Friday, Jacob Grier stood on a chair, pulled out a plastic bag full of small berries, and invited everyone to eat one apiece. 'Make sure it coats your tongue,' he said.
Mr. Grier's guests were about to go under the influence of miracle fruit, a slightly tart West African berry with a strange property: For about an hour after you eat it, everything sour tastes sweet.
Within minutes of consuming the berries, guests were devouring lime wedges as if they were candy. Straight lemon juice went down like lemonade, and goat cheese tasted as if it was "covered in powdered sugar," said one astonished partygoer. A rich stout beer seemed "like a milkshake," said another.
After languishing in obscurity since the 1970s, miracle fruit or Sysepalum dulcificum, is enjoying a small renaissance."
How have I never heard of this? (answer:FDA) The possibilities are endless. I could satisfy my sweet tooth while eating nothing but vegetables.

April 27th
Headline Reads: Twist of Fortune: Widow's Legacy Rivets Hong Kong
Authors: Geoffry A. Fowler and Jonathan Cheng

"Hong Kong- A family soap opera that has captivated Hong Kong for more than a decade has just gotten even more bizzare.
It already involved one of Asia's riches women, known for dressing in miniskirts and bobby socks with her hair in pigtails; her late, twice-kidnapped husband and his combative father; and a long trial featuring a surprise will. In the latest twist, the wealthy widow has died and a mysterious master of feng shui-the Chinese art that tried to harness good fortune through design and numerology-has emerged to challenge her charitable foundation for the multibillion dollar estate she left behind."

The moral of this story: don't pay the ransom. Twice kidnapped?!?! The first time it cost Ms. Wang 11 million, the second time she had to fork over 30 million and unfortunately but predictably it was all in vain as Mr. Wang never appeared for the inevitable 3rd kidnapping.

June 5th
Headline Reads: For Jordanians, Shotgun Weddings Can Be a Problem Author: Cam Simpson

"Madaba, Jordan-It's wedding season here. Florists are preparing bouqets bursting with white roses, lilies and irises. And in a noisy basement print shop, a 45-year-old German-made press pounds out thousands of invitations bearing entwined hearts and the message: Gunfire is forbidden.
The message is part of an unusual campoaign here in Jordan, where many people like to puncuate nupitals and other summer celebrations by aiming skyward and squeezing off a few rounds from assault rifles and handguns. Unfortunately, because of misfires and gravity, the tradition transforms some weddings into funeral processions.
"You have to wear a helmet if you are going to go to a Jordanian wedding," says Ali Zenat, who runs a small social-services agency here.
Mr. Zenat is on a mission. From his office with salmon-colored walls and torn vinyl love seats, the 38-year-old father of three is trying to get residents across the Madaba District to forgo their long local tradition of celebratory gunfire."
I love the detail of WSJ stories, comments like "salmon colored walls and torn vinyl love seats," take you in to the story and let you feel, taste, and smell it.

June 21
Headline Reads: The Rabbitslayer: Saving Rotterdam from the Varmints Subheading: A Man With a Gun, a Son, A Dog and 45 Ferrets Nabs Bunnies for the Busy Port.
Author: John W. Miller
"Rotterdam, Netherlands- Cees Noorlander, undisputed master of this port's vast open spaces, shoots intruders on sight. And he shoots to kill.
The official gamekeeper for Europe's busiest trading hub, Mr. Noorlander patrols the docklands in a tireless hunt for the varmints that could undermine global trade by tunneling under pipelines, rail tracks and levees that keep Europe's economy operating smoothly. As a container of Chinese goods rumbled by on a train early one morning recently, the 57-year-old Mr. Noorlander quickly shouldered his weaponand cut down his first rabbit of the day. "That's a small one," he said. "I'll feed it to my ferrets."
Later in the story Mr. Noorlander details some of the stresses his job involves, "You have to be careful about the place where you're shooting," Mr. Noorlander says. "Is there a pipeline, a railway, a car, a man on a bicycle?" He rarely misses, he says. He has never hit a tank or pipeline- or a man on a bicycle."
Later on the story comes to its detail soaked and commentary free conclusion on page A14 sandwiched between a story about Hillary Clinton's (who looks old but happy in the inkdot illustration) Fundraising efforts and a story about the internal strife between AIG's former chief executive and it's board of directors.
"He parked on a grassy strip in front of a network of a dozen holes atop an underground oil pipeline. The Kuwaiti refinery emitted a low hum. Nearby, traffic on the A15 highway was building with morning commuters. Mr. Noorlander pulled the two ferrets out of a wooden box and poured them down one of the holes.
'The Big One'
Three minutes later, a rabbit emerged. A loud boom from Mr. Noorlander's Browning rumbled across the flat land. The rabbit fell dead, its body peppered black with shot.
Shortly thereafter, a smaller rabbit jumped out of the hole. Mr. Noorlander held his fire. "I wait for the big one," he said. On cue, the big rabbit appeared. The hunter fired but succeeded only in wounding his quarry. Mr. Noorlander released Rex. Instincts blazing, the six-year-old bounded out of his cage toward his prey. His master guided him with hand signals.
Rex returned, rabbit in mouth. It was still alive. Mr. Noorlander finished the job with a clean karate chop."
The morbid aspects of this story are not what is interesting, it is the way in which they are delivered. I cannot get enough of the way they tell a story. To paraphrase Larry the Cable Guy, "now that's interesting...I don't care who you are...that's interesting."

Thank you Victor. And you dear reader, please support the kind of news that is delivered in a form that you can hold in your hands, smell, touch and fold as you linger over coffee. The newspaper business is struggling to stay afloat in this digital age. As we come to view information instantaneously delivered as a necessity, let us not forget the great luxury that is the newspaper.

In Good Company - Part 2

Quarrytech - Late Summer 2006

Quarrytech - Fall 2003

What a fun ride it has been! I've got to thank the two owners, Jay Heck and J.R. Heck for giving me the opportunity four years ago to come and help them build Quarrytech into a South Texas powerhouse. They have been unbelievably generous over the years, paying us all way more than anybody else would have, treating us to beach trips, lavish dinners,numerous bonuses, and time off. In addition, they have always bent over backwards to supply us with the highest quality equipment to ensure that we are able to do our jobs without the hassles of repeated equipment failure. It's been fun to work for two guys whose faith has compelled them to spread the wealth around rather than hoarding it for themselves.

In Good Company - Part 1

Thomas, getting 'er done in New Braunfels, TX

Nicknames: Longshanks, X-Factor, Bones, T-Train
Songs: Hard Working Man - Brooks & Dunn, Jole Blon - Waylon Jennings

In one Word: Loyal

Tom is the kind of guy who can build, fix, or modify anything. I keep telling him that when the Chinese, or whomever, invade us, that my family is moving with his up into the mountains in [secret location] where we will live off the land and form a resistance movement. A hard working and talented guy, Tom has been a great co-worker over the past couple of years.

Shawn, happy to be standing on a frozen lake in Colorado moments before we set off on a four mile hike through the snow that nearly did us in.

Nicknames: Sunday Morning, Mr. Automatic

Songs: Easy - The Commodores, Boom - P.O.D., Copenhagen - Robert Earl Keen

In One Word: Steadfast

Shawn is the most reliable and constant guy I have ever worked with. He is like Tim Duncan, quietly and steadily banking 10 footers off the glass day in and day out. I will miss his easy going personality and infectious laugh. I can imagine Shawn sitting on his front porch calmly chewing tobacco and drinking ice tea during a category 5 hurricane saying something like "how bout that?", as the world crashes down all around him.

Bobby, on cloud 9 in southwestern Oklahoma.

Nicknames: Mr. Boucher, The Comeback Kid
Songs: Heart of Gold - Neil Young, Against the Wind - Bob Seger, Rusty Cage - Johnny Cash

In Three Words: Tough as Nails

If you can imagine it, Bobby has experienced it. Life keeps dealing him blow after blow and Bobby keeps getting back up long after most guys would have given up or died. Three stories filed under the category "Dog" will illustrate what I'm talking about. The first year I worked with Bobby, one of his dogs was kidnapped and taken to Pennsylvania by a heartbroken elderly man whose own dog had recently passed away. With the help of friends, Bobby was able to track down his dog and fly it back home.
Last year, on the company beach trip his son Dylan ended up in the hospital after a pit bull bit his knee. And finally, earlier this year his dog killed a monkey in the front yard. Yes, read that last sentence again, bearing in mind that we live in Texas. His dog killed a monkey!

As tragedy after tragedy far more serious than a kidnapped dog or dead monkey has entered Bobby's life, he has risen with a resolve and inner reservoir of strength that has left me amazed. And just like Job, he has refused to curse God, his faith stronger rather than weaker after all he has been through. I have seen Bobby work hard all day, time after time on days when most guys in his situation would just have called in sick. More importantly, Bobby is an all-star dad who gives 110% to his kids as well as his job. I am humbled to work with him, his example will live in my heart as long as I live.

Nate, pausing to watch Shawn's 4x4 hijinks after a hard day's work clearing brush.

Nickname: Nate Dogg
Song: Crazy - Gnarls Barkley

In One Word: Creative

Nate is a computer, marketing and PR genius. He is slowly transforming the look and presentation of the company. Nate's sharp wit and sense of humor keep us all laughing whenever we are in the office. And whenever anybody has a computer question the response is always, "call Nate, he'll know." Nate's computer skills, business savvy and humor will take him far in life.

Brett, auditioning for "When Animals Attack!" in southern Cali.

Nicknames: Friday Night, Dyno-mite!
Songs: Get Down Tonight - KC and The Sunshine Band, Bang a Gong (Get it On) - T. Rex

In one Word: Encouraging

Brett is the life of the party, always clownin' around and making everybody laugh. On the toughest days, he'll drive by whistling and hollering or doing something to lift your spirits. Also incredibly devoted to his teammates, if Brett's around - you know somebody's got your back.

The people you work with end up being like a second family - you laugh, cry, fight, and experience large portions of life together. In our case, "like a band of gypsies [we've rolled] down the highway" spending many a day together in far away places, working our tails off, enjoying the scenery, eating like kings, and trying not to let the "sound of our own wheels drive us crazy."

Helprin Quote

" How he loved it when an electric lamp shone in a room just on the edge of darkness, for then the light was mobile, its condition like a sunrise or sunset, the relative strengths of room light and lamplight changing in infinite gradation, at first the lamplight unneeded and then the only thing left, having become a sun. It was four o'clock, just at the point of balance after which the war of lights would intensify."

- From Freddy and Frederika

Searching For The Perfect Job

Well, the race is on as we prepare to peel north like the Dukes of Hazzard, hootin and hollering the whole way as we try to outrun unemployment before the baby comes. I've got a great job now that I will miss sorely but Uncle Jesse is calling Daisy home and so off we go. As I search for a new job my thoughts keep wandering to the perfect job and just so I'll quit thinking about it here's a partial list of some of the many jobs I would love to have.

Tugboat Captain. A life on the sea and home for dinner every night. I can only imagine how neat it would be to pull up next to a super tanker and feel completely overwhelmed by the immensity of it. The sounds of the sea gulls, water lapping, the hum of the diesel engine, and the almost rhythmic clanging of the buoy bells would create a wonderful sonic backdrop to the incredible views you would be taking in all day. I would love to do this job with my family as the crew. I would wear a thick wool sweater during the colder months and would occasionally smoke a pipe.

Shepherd. I imagine it would be a lot of fun to roam the hills of Scotland trying to keep a herd of sheep safe and in line. I would carry a small knapsack with wine, water, bread, chocolate and a harmonica. I think the kids would enjoy this as well, Jen... not so much.

Lighthouse Keeper. Again, another job the whole family could enjoy together. Unfortunately, I don't think this job exists anymore.

Winemaker or Farmer. Every time I pass a vineyard, orchard, or field of crops I am mesmerized by the order of it all, and I can only imagine the bliss of watching the asymmetrical dramas of nature play out over, under and through symmetrical rows of harvest.

Train Engineer. If you are a train guy (or gal) then I don't need to explain the lure of this one, and if you are not , then no amount of explaining would help.

California Love

The last four years I have had the fortunate privilege of visiting Southern California in the spring when the snow is still capping the peaks above Los Angeles and wildflowers carpet the high desert. I have mixed feelings about California, I love to visit and I love to leave. They have every conceivable variety of vegetation, desert, and mountain all jammed into a pretty small area. All four years my head has been on a constant swivel just trying to take it all in. The negative, of course, is all the people jammed into that same small area. Don't stop to smell the flowers - you'll get run over.


A little slice of heaven off of Interstate 5 south of Lebec



A Texas-like view on Highway 138 between Gorman and Palmdale


The RR tracks running along Historic route 66 in Oro Grande


My co-worker Shawn with Mt. San Antonio in the background last April. Getting to see this sight was a total surprise and near accident.

Yeah, I think I can make it

Took these pictures yesterday on the bridge just below Gruene. Not sure what this guy was thinking, but heard on the news that he was rescued and then immediately arrested. You can't see it in the picture but his car was getting tore up from all the debris in the water. The dam is going to be letting off this much water all week so he's not going to have much left if they don't figure out a way to get it out of there.

Overflowing

"He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good and sends his rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." - Matthew 5:45

The grace of God is everywhere and it has overtaken and consumed me. In the midst of both the ordinary and unusual pains of life, there is this joy that cannot be squelched. It is a joy that has become physical in that I feel this lightness in my chest as if my heart had wings and it is just floating around in my body, my ribs being the only thing preventing it from flying on out of here. And yet occasionally in moments of ecstasy it does escape, floating about the room and I'm forced in my mind's eye to run after it, leaping off the sofa to catch it before it becomes entangled in the ceiling fan. It is the strangest feeling, and one that has been growing in intensity over the last five years. I guess you could say that I am falling in love. God has grabbed a hold of me and I can't look away.

Life doesn't make any sense to me. I honestly can't figure it out. Part game whose rules I don't know, part random tragedy, part minor heartbreak, and all struggle from the first to the last. My perception, right or wrong, is that there are some people who have an innate knowledge of how "the game is played", some internal indicator that let's them know how to act or react in any given situation. Whether or not that is true, what is true is that I am not one of those people. I am at a complete loss as to how to move through this life with grace and effectiveness. The image that comes to mind when I think of my life and thus my relationship with God is of a rat in a flood swollen and raging river clinging to a log, scrambling, scrambling, claws extended trying deperately to keep from being ripped off and swept away.

At some point in the last five years, I finally started to get a grip on the log. The river, choked with debris and rapids is only getting worse, the bank further away, but amidst the terror, I have started to enjoy the journey. Perched precariously atop my log I have seen glimpses of beauty, perceived only from this vantage point that sustain me and give me strength for the ride.

The grace of God is the most beautiful thing in the universe and because of its beauty, it has the power to sustain and uphold. The most beautiful and powerful display of God's grace was Jesus birth, life, death and resurection. The beauty of Jesus, in principle and in reality is so powerful that it overflows and fills all of life. As I cling desperately to Christ amid the torrents of life, inwardly my soul is flooded with beauty until I find that the rat has begun to do an Irish jig atop his log, laughing and crying all at once as the waters rage.

I have never experienced a major tragedy in my life and so I'm not yet qualified to speak on that subject but I have found that throughout the minor aches and pains of life that Christ's love and grace has given me the power to move forward. His love has saved my soul, yes, but in the meantime his beauty is redeeming my life.

A red flower in the desert west of Phoenix just last week, a drop of water slowly running down the shower wall earlier this year, the rising sun exposing the flaws in a brick wall by casting a thousand tiny shadows across it's rusty red face shortly after 9/11, my daughters' two arms wrapped tight around my neck in a fierce growling hug (she doesn't hug so much as attack), the color green in a hundred hues as seen through my back door, a breeze weighted with the smell of cedar, a sip of wine, the ripple of muscle in a longhorn's side as he tries to shoo the flies away, and the trembling sound made by a guitar in that Eli Young song that took me took me far, far away. All of these and so many more are examples of the love and grace of God that overflows and spills everywhere; signposts pointing to his beauty, foretastes of the kingdom, hints of the not yet, sustenance and power for the now.

To look at me outwardly, you would not know this great symphony playing in my chest, nor would I probably suspect of you. I guess that is one of our great challenges, isn't it? How do we transfer inward realities into external momentum? The cry for help goes out again...Jeeesuuss!

"There is no event so commonplace but that God is present within it, always hiddenly, always leaving you room to recognize him or not to recognize him, but all the more fascinatingly because of that, all the more compellingly and hauntingly. In writing those lectures and the book they later turned into, it came to seem to me that if I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was trying to say both as a novelist and as a preacher, it would be something like this: listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." - Frederick Buechner

Thanks, Lady Bird

The bluebonnets are back and we are loving it down here in Texas. Carpets of bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrushes and various other native wildflowers dotting the landscape along our highways and county roads make driving just about anywhere in Texas a joy this time of year. For that we can thank our former first lady, Lady Bird Johnson, a woman whose tireless efforts to promote natural beauty and conservation led to the Highway Beautification Act of 1965.

While looking at Mrs. Johnsons' website wildflower.org I ran across the following quote that I'll finish this post with - "Mrs. Johnson's concern for the environment was matched by her deep appreciation for wild America's native beauty. Her belief that beauty can bolster the spirit of a society and her determination to make the United States a more beautiful place became Lady Bird's true legacy. "Ugliness is so grim," Lady Bird Johnson once said. "A little beauty can help create harmony which will lessen tensions."

Photos taken along Interste 10 between Houston and San Antonio.

PATTY GRIFFIN!

That's Right

Uno, Dos, TRES!

From Iraq

I am constantly amazed at how different our war experience is from that of the WWII generation. We have a major war going on right now but aside from the daily rants of self serving politicians and talking heads and the odd bumper sticker you'd never know it. In the place of rations and sacrifice, we have a booming economy and an excess of everything. Instead of individuals laying down personal comfort for the common good, we have the usual every man for himself in the race for more. It is the War That is Easy to Ignore. And yet as we go about the daily routines of our life, 300,000+ of our fellow citizens are in harm's way serving the rest us. One of them is my buddy Scott (see Dec 25th post).

Scott's grandmother died last week, a hard loss to endure at any time, but especially hard when you are halfway around the world and separated from the rest of your family. However, Scott is a humble, selfless man prone to action rather than complaining. One of the tough who get going during the hard times. He would never complain or feel sorry for himself but I know he would appreciate our prayers during this difficult time. If you are reading this would you please pray both for his encouragement during this time and for his safety while traveling around Iraq. And while you're at it throw in an extra one for his wife Gina and their two young daughters as well. Thanks.

Scott sent me a song that he wrote about his grandmother after she died and I would like to post it here to both honor him and his grandmother.

When I Close My Eyes
for Grandma Carow

Shriveled hands hang down from arms that once were strong
Thin white hair is now where brown hair once belonged
My fragile legs lack the strength to stand
But I know I'll walk again when I'm in the promised land

And when I close my eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see once again
I will run into the arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

Do not cry for me for I know to die is gain
I've lived this life for so long and now there's only pain
I must go to the healing arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

And when I close my eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see once again
I will run into the arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

 Where I go
 I know
 There's a mansion waiting for me
 When I look up
 I'll see
 Brilliant colors that I've never seen
 I'll join a choir of angels
 And our songs will fill the skies
 When I close these earthly eyes

And when I close these eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see clearly once again
I will run down a street made of gold with my Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes


sdc

Catching Up: Pictures from the last 3 months

Jen and the kids on Canyon Lake Dam in November (a family photo if you count my reflection in Jen's glasses)

Snow in the mountains above El Paso last month

Kinda makes you wish you knew how to ride a horse, don't it?

Wonderfully lonely in Rocky Mountain National Park (early December)

A new take on a familiar scene last month in Cloudcroft, New Mexico (see October Archives)

Duststorm near Odessa, Texas yesterday (this picture reminds me of the planet Luke Skywalker lived on in the Original Star Wars)

Church

From Hans Kung's book, On Being a Christian, as found in Brennan Manning's Book, A Glimpse of Jesus:
"The church of Jesus Christ is a home not only for the morally upright but for those who for a variety of reasons have not been able to honor denominational teaching. The Church is a healing community proclaiming the Father's indiscriminate love and unconditional grace, offering pardon, reconciliation and salvation to the down-trodden and leaving the judgment to God.
A Church that will not accept the fact that it consists of sinful men and exists for sinful men becomes hard-hearted, self-righteous, inhuman. It deserves neither God's mercy nor men's trust. But if a Church with a history of fidelity and infidelity, of knowledge and error, takes seriously the fact that it is only in God's Kingdom that the wheat is separated from the tares, good fish from bad, sheep from goats, a holiness will be acknowledged in it by grace which it cannot create for itself. Such a Church is then aware that it has no need to present a spectacle of higher morality to society, as if everything in it were ordered to the best. It is aware that its faith is weak, its knowledge dim, its profession of faith haltering, that there is not a single sin or failing which it has not in one way or another been guilty of. And though it is true that the Church must always dissociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. It the Church self-righteously remains aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God's kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted."

I read this passage nearly two weeks ago and the power of it is still resonating like a church bell within my chest. The vibration inspiring and unsettling at the same time. I view it as a part of the answer, a piece of the puzzle. If you were to hold this in one hand and a call to holiness and repentance in the other, I feel you would be moving in the right direction.

The painting above is Scene at the Entrance of a Cathedral by Karl Brullhoff. For more reading on the church see the February 4th post on my friend John's blog.

A Poem, Author Unknown

The next time you are in your local bookstore browsing your way through a rainy day I would like to recommend a book to you: How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. It is a wonderfully rich glimpse at among other things; the Fall of the Roman Empire, Saint Patrick, and the Irish monks who painstakingly copied ancient manuscripts that were elsewhere being destroyed by barbarians. I love the book because it is written, at times, just slightly over your head but never so far as to be out of reach and you are constantly rewarded for slogging through some of the tougher sections with these incredibly alive and downright edible portions of text that will keep you mentally munching for days afterwards. It is one of those books that not only makes you feel smarter than you are but one that actually sticks with you and well..., makes you smarter. Two sections I'll recommend for quick browsing in the store before you inevitably buy it, St. Patrick's prayer on pages 116-119 (hardcover) and pages 152 - 164 (hardcover) or just 159 - 164 if you are in a hurry. The latter section deals with the monkish scribes who actually sat down and copied word for word ancient manuscripts. It has quite a few excerpts from the notes that they would make in the margins as they either interacted with the text or fought off boredom. Hands down one of the most giddy and thrilling pieces of writing (besides Yancey and Manning) I have ever laid my eyes on. Cahill sets the scene so well, you can feel the cold, damp air through which green and rocky hills appear and recede in the fog as young bookish men attempt to keep warm while hunched over musty smelling texts. These men come to life through their various postscripts and suddenly you realize, we are not all that different, us and them. I'll leave you with an excerpt from page 162 that goes nicely with The Moussacre of 07 on my cousins' blog.

"Perhaps the clearest picture we possess of what it was like to be a scribal scholar is contained in a four stanza Irish poem slipped into a ninth-century manuscript, which otherwise contains such learned material as a Latin commentary on Virgil and a list of Greek paradigms:

I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye,
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his."

Not exactly groundbreaking poetry I realize, but when you consider the context, it becomes a classic. Imagine for a minute that there are no printing presses and you make a living by hand copying word for word such classics as The Catcher in the Rye or Crime and Punishment. Tedious, tedious work, the only thing keeping you from going insane with boredom is your love for the written word. As you copy you entertain yourself by making up little poems in your head that help you pass the time. And then in one heady and mischevious moment you decide to write your poem in the margin or at the bottom of the page, a bold act that declares "I am here! I matter!" This poem is not just about the words, because of its context, it is one of the most essentially human poems I've read, containing the essence of what it is to live down here. "You are not forgotten anonymous Irish scribe, 1200 years later your poem still rings true. For chutzpah alone you are a legend in my mind, may we meet in heaven one day where you can introduce me to Virgil and I will introduce you to Helprin."

How the Irish Saved Civilization was the first of what is now five and will eventually be seven books in the Hinges of History series by Thomas Cahill. I have also read The Gift of the Jews and would recommend it as well. His latest is called Mysteries of the Middle Ages, a book so beautiful it caused drool to run down my chin as I browsed through it mouth agape at the bookstore last month.

Patty Griffin @ Gruene Hall

Last night, Patty Griffin opened a brief tour in support of her new album children running through at the beautiful and ancient Gruene Hall. It was a rare cold and rainy night here in South Texas that amplified the warmth and beauty of Patty's voice. The roughly three to four hundred people crammed into the hall soaked up every note, screaming for two encores. Unfortunately, I was not among them. Despite the fact that Gruene Hall is only two miles from my house I was unable to score tickets to the concert. But that didn't stop me from listening to the entire show, standing on the lawn outside the venue, in what turned out to be one of the neatest concerts I've been to.

Built on a bluff overlooking the Guadalupe River sometime in the 1880's, Gruene Hall looks as if every piece of wood in the place is original to the structure. On warm nights large wooden shutters are opened and standing out on the lawn you can see in through the chicken wire that covers the open windows and watch the show going on inside. When it's cold and rainy like last night they close the shutters but the building is so rustic and porous that in addition to hearing the music at concert decibels, occasionaly through large gaps you can see parts of the stage. In a rare stroke of bad luck, a speaker blocked my view last night so that all I could see on the times I tried were the bass player and Patty's mic stand. But, I was not there for the view, I was there for the music and it was outstanding. Unless you have one of those quirky college stations in your town you will never hear Patty Griffin on the radio despite the fact that she is the greatest female singer on the planet right now. Slightly raspy, melancholic, lyrical, angelic - Jen describes her voice in the following way, "I can see her singing on a dirty street, and fitting in there, yet somehow rising above, transcending it." A brilliant songwriter, she has written songs covered by the Dixie Chicks, Emmylou Harris, Martina Mcbride and several others. And I can attest, her voice in person loses none of the power that comes through in her recordings.

I love the roar of the crowd when the first notes of an old favorite begin to play. Standing outside, a large grin slowly spreading replaced a scream when I heard favorites like Making Pies, Kite Song, Truth No. 2, and Top of the World. She sang a few from her new album including the brilliant, Heavenly Day and one I'd never heard before Re: Mary, that I looked for but couldn't find on iTunes when I got home. In the beginning I was joined by a couple slow dancing in the rain, but they left after a few songs and I was alone until the first encore when I was joined by a carpenter from San Antonio who was recently turned on to Patty Griffin by a friend, and a tennis instructor from South Africa (living in Texas) who had a couple of CD jackets he was hoping to get autographed. We had a great conversation about our mutual love for Patty's voice before somehow the conversation turned to Bob Dylan. All in all it was a great night, spent alone and then with fellow diehards listening to one of the special voices of our time in a truly historic setting. It will be a long time before I forget, if ever, standing outside under the water tower watching smoke curl up from the chimney of that old wooden dance hall into a night sky heavy with mist as an angelic voice sang out "strange how hard it rains now, rows and rows of big dark clouds, when I'm still alive underneath this shroud, rain." Alive, yes, very much so.

From the Archives - July 2003

Man's soul leaves body, photographed outside Boston church.

My favorite photo for so many reasons. First, just a great father son pic, second; a great representation of my inner man. So often internally I feel like Calvin, full of joy to the bursting point, but outwardly look just like I do in this photo; semi-catatonic. Third, the red bricks, white window frame, and green hue from the tree reflected in the window make this picture absolutely pop. Kudos to the hot wife for sneaking this one in from across the street.

Accepted

It would be impossible to overestimate the impact these meals have had upon the poor and the sinners. By accepting them as friends and equals Jesus had taken away their shame, humiliation and guilt. By showing them that they mattered to him as people he gave them a sense of dignity and released them from their old captivity. The physical contact which he must have had with them at table (John 13:25) and which he obviously never dreamed of disallowing (Luke 7:38-39) must have made them feel clean and acceptable. Moreover because Jesus was looked upon as a man of God and a prophet, they would have interpreted his gesture of friendship as God's approval of them. They were now acceptable to God. Their sinfulness, ignorance and uncleanness had been overlooked and were no longer being held against them.

Through table-fellowship Jesus ritually acted out his insight into the Father's indiscriminate love-a love that causes his sun to rise on bad people as well as good, and his rain to fall on the honest and the dishonest alike (Matt. 5:45). The inclusion of sinners in the community of salvation, achieved in table-fellowship, is the most dramatic expression of the message of the redeeming love of the merciful God. -Brennan Manning in A Glimpse of Jesus

Painting is Cornfield by Moonlight - Samuel Palmer

A Few of My Favorite Things: Words

Before I begin this installment of my favorite things I'll give you another Helprin quote. This one from the story Ellis Island, is from the perspective of a young man immigrating to the United States from Europe. Shortly before the ship arrives in New York he is imagining what life will be like in his new home. "And, I thought that I would finally get to see the American Talking Chicken, who, it was believed in my village (why not?), possessed the mildly altruistic trait of sitting down with you just before he was to be cooked, to determine the best recipe. I imagine that such a conversation would be both candid and touching."

An incomplete list, constantly in flux:

1) Foxes. The fox is probably just about my favorite animal, but that's not why it's on the list, or maybe it is, (with words it is sometimes hard to tell), it's on the list because it is the key word in two of my favorite album titles - Catch For Us The Foxes by mewithoutyou and Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case.
2) Lush. One of the hard workers, a word with three meanings. a.) Abundant, plentiful, thriving, productive. b.) Characterized by luxuriant vegetation. c.) Drunkard; alcoholic. I originally wrote this list in high school and as best as I can remember, this word is the only survivor from that original list. I remember the first time I heard someone referred to as a lush (alcoholic) and me, without knowing the meaning thinking, "I want to be a lush, I hope that someday someone describes me that way."
3) Abalone. Much like a woman's neck, this word brings to mind something elegant, slender, and strong. A feminine word. Again, may or may not be tied indirectly to the meaning, we'll never know. A great word, nonetheless.
4) Copse. If I ever hear this word used in a sentence, I'll probably be doing something fun, outdoors, standing in a field, looking off into the distance.
5) Erstwhile. Don't know what it means, don't even need to know right now, still really like it.
6) Oxen. Nice masculine word.
7) Chino. First saw this word in the J.Crew catalog as a teenager. Later on, I was doing some landscaping for a Wall Street hotshot in Jersey when I first heard it in a sentence. His wife was telling me the story about how their son's college party was raided by a SWAT team who had narrowly missed a large drug bust earlier in the night and were dejectedly riding back to the station when a neighbor called in to complain about noise from the party. So the cops busted up the party dressed in full on SWAT gear and swagger. Her quote was something like, "Can you imagine?! Just a couple of frat boys in chinos standing around drinking beer and the SWAT team swoops in!" I enjoyed the story and the word somehow came to represent the entire crazy image it conjured up in my mind. I have used it once in a sentence, felt good, I remember being surprised when it came out of my mouth (nearly animate) after sitting dormant for nearly a decade.
8) Savannah. Even if you did not know what this word meant, I think you would still like it for the sweet yet efficient way it just sort of rolls of your tongue.
9) Cudgel. Back in Kansas City, my old boss and I used to get the word of the day from dictionary.com or something like it. This was one of our words. It can be used as a noun or a verb and refers to a short, thick stick used as a weapon; club or a verb as in "I'll cudgel you!" Makes me think of cavemen and how they who (allegedly) used very few words, had a very fancy word to describe thier crude weapons. I also like the word because it reminds me of two guys without degrees, yet very much in love with learning, trying to better themselves and beat (cudgel) the system in the process.
10) Brogue. Much like copse, if I am ever in a position to hear this used in a sentence, I'll probably be in a pretty happy place.
11) Lavish. This one is definitely tied to the meaning, when used in the spiritual sense, God's attitude towards and treatment of us.
12) River. Probably on this list right now because of the Springsteen song. Whenever I see the word, I hear him singing it.
13) Verde. This word stands on its own strength and needs no comment from me.

Cal Bob Gets After It

Here is a picture of Calvin with his trophy, a log he cut into thirds with a hacksaw. I was so proud of him, especially for his perseverance to stick with it till the job was complete and his enthusiasm while working. The kid flat out loves to work.