Happy Birthday Mrs. Landbeck!

What words exist to capture how much good a single person can do with her life?

Mrs. L was born this day. I met her about nineteen years later. She has made me happy all my days since. I am thankful for her grace, beauty, wit, intelligence, and spirit. Her faith has given me strength. With her life and might, she has given me a family. Her standards move me to strive to be a better person, a better man and father. Her artistry and industry have made my home, my life beautiful.

If I spent all my life looking up adjectives in the thesaurus to describe how good she is and how happy she's made me, it would be insufficient. I knew when I met her that she was amazing, and that opinion has only deepened in certainty in the years since.

I love you, dear. Happy Birthday!



My only regret is I wish I'd met you sooner!

Go me-ee! Go me-ee! We're gonna party like it's my birf-day!

So many celebrations this time of year. Do you have your Birthday near another significant event? How do you handle it? I mean, it's just another day of the year for everyone else. Halloween. Valentine's Day. D-day. 9-11. Easter.

Christmas!

I took the philosophical, stay-on-the-happy-side route. Better one big present than two little ones. At least everyone remembers my birthday, even if it's, "Oh, hey, isn't it your birthday this week?" sometimes. And I NEVER had to go to school on MY birthday!

So here I am, forty-one.
Why do we have birthday parties?
To remember our lives?
Do you remember to thank your Mom, on this anniversary of her pain?
How can flowers make up for that?
Do you recall your victories? The pots of gold won?
The adventures you've had?
Is it just a chance for everyone who loves you to commemorate you?
That special meal, that one dessert?

See, I wake up every day gifted with a fortune in children and family
An embarassment of riches.
I come home every day, and the scent of special meals, the sense
memory of meals past, caresses me.
A wealth of love and joy that nearly buries me.

If birthdays are to celebrate, to find a particular and lovely
sentiment about the history and future in life, then
Every day is my birthday. This day, this actual anniversary is
special only on a calendar.
But each day of life is the wealth of joy, my adventure, my victories.

I don't need a party, or a cake, or a meal or gifts.
All I need, is the life I lead each day to make a day
special.

I am happy because I am loved by those I love.

Happy Birthday, Joseph!

"[The Prophet Joseph Smith] loved learning. He loved knowledge for its righteous power. Through the tribulations which had surrounded him from the day when first he made known to a skeptical world his communion with the heavens, he had been ever advancing in the acquisition of intelligence. The Lord had commanded him to study, and he was obeying. … His mind, quickened by the Holy Spirit, grasped with readiness all true principles, and one by one he mastered these branches and became in them a teacher."

--George Q. Cannon

This inspired me Sunday. What knowledge am I pursuing? Do I love the getting of wisdom? There is more to learn than there is time to study, of this I am certain. Surely the Lord will guide our pursuits, if we seek his input.

So, resolved; I will seek more earnestly to know how I should spend my time in learning.

What Makes It Feel Like Christmas?

You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white
But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas!

I'm not sure where I come down on the epic question of holiday aesthetics. Which is more sublime, more wondrous? The Elvis version or the Porky Pig version? I guess you could say . . . I am of two minds about it!

The inestimable Mrs. L asked in Family Home Evening before December started, "What makes it feel like Christmas?" She wanted us to participate in making it feel more like the holiday, so the Spirit could surround us. The answers were enlightening.

Singing Christmas songs! Which we've been doing every night after reading a loop from Mrs. L's Christmas advent paper chain.

Going caroling! Which we are going to go do as soon as number one daughter gets home from BYU.

Making Cookies, decorating the tree. Snowy weather was one suggestion, but not one I have any control over. Putting up our outside lights. One thing that makes it feel like Christmas is the crush of events, concerts, and school functions that swamps our calendar, which while tiring, is very, very rewarding.

One thing I love is hearing Christmas songs. The sappy holiday favorites. Bing Crosby's "White Christmas". Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". The radio station that signal's a surrender to middle age, Lite-FM 101.9 , switches its programming to all holiday favorites after Thanksgiving. And I love it.

Well, in small doses anyway. I realized after hearing George Michael sing "Last Christmas" for the third time in one day that 101.9 only has about three or four hours of Christmas Songs, so the likelihood of repeats is depressingly high. So it doesn't take too long before I start to switch away from the station when one of the sappier repeats rolls by.

But not so for The Royal Guardsmen's "Snoopy Versus the Red Baron". I could listen to that on a loop for at least two or three days. Add Thurl Ravenscroft's excellent baritone singing about bad bananas and arsenic sauce in "You're a Mean One, Mister Grinch", that is holidays, baby! What can I say? I love cartoons.

Though I have noticed a distinct and disheartening lack of The Waitresses' "Christmas Wrapping" on that station. Maybe it's just a little too alternative? Never fear, the internets holds everything in its infinite grasp, you can listen to it here!

But the thing that makes it feel the most like holidays? My family. I love having them around. Seeing them, talking to them, playing with them.

ahem


Kissing them!

Make the holidays happy!

The "Friend" fiend, and Come What May

First, a completely un-related aside, a warning to my daughter; avoid guys with this vibe like the plague!



I missed Elder Wirthlin's final talk, Come What May, and Love It. Ironically, I was at the emergency room, waiting for someone to stitch the gash in my youngest son's leg. My wife told me about the talk on the phone, and I wondered if now (well, I mean, then I was wondering), if now was really the time to encourage me to try to find the positive side of things...you know, in the middle of the blood, and the gauze, and the anti-biotics and stuff.

Annddd it turns out the answer is YES, that is exactly the time! There is always something to be grateful for. And finding a way to be grateful in a time of adversity, for me, means I can find a way to be happy. Instead of bitter, frustrated, angry. Happy is a good goal.

So it's winter, and lucky us, it snowed! I woke up this morning, and it was snowing! Not sticking to the road, but snowy, blowy, whirly snowing! The pre-dawn pinky orange on the horizon was amazing in the wispy snowy clouds. During the month of December, the Elders Quorum is in charge of clearing the sidewalks. So I left about 25 minutes early for my early meeting, so I could clear the walks.

Annddd about 100 yards shy of the top of that really high hill on Paradise Road...cough, sputter, wheeze, chug...my awesome 1983 classic car ran out of gas.

Out of gas!?! How is this possible? I drive it 3 miles a day, from home to seminary to the train station. Oh wait...I drove it to work a couple of weeks ago. And to harp lessons. Ah, 278 miles. Yeah, I'm out of gas.

Sigh.

So what did I love about that? I had put on a second coat this morning. I was only 1.5, maybe 2 miles from the church. It had stopped snowing. Because I left early, I knew I would still get there about in time for my meeting.

I called a friend that I knew would leaving about then for the meeting with me, and asked him if he had a gas can he could bring. He's the kind of friend who laughs at me when something funnily misfortunate happens, and said of course (snicker) I can bring some gas (giggle).

It is, I think, a good gift. The ability to instantly know exactly what to do next, and be able to just start slogging away at it. And away I slogged.

Good time to have a beard. Like a built-in scarf. The only things that got cold were my ears, my nose, and my bald spot.

I got to my meeting about six minutes late, but one of the other attendees drove out the last 200 yards to meet me. Everyone else was out shoveling the walks, and right as I arrived, my friend (and he didn't say, "HA-ha!" even once) drove me back to retrieve my classic ride.

It was definitely a "Come What May, and Love It" kind of morning.

What silver linings have you found? Do you ever look at a problem long enough, that you realize it's actually a mostly silver cloud, with just this little dark section here in the middle? I think most of our problems are like that. Not really mostly problems at all, but blessings disguised or clouded by irritation.

Two months ago, we got an audit letter from the IRS. That was definitely not a "Come What May and Love It" morning. Well, not at first. I did my slogging thing, dug out the records it asked for, began making a pile of what I would need to bring to the audit. Had I missed something? Were we in trouble?

And I found something that horrified me. Not about the audit year (2006), we were absolutely righteous about that. But in 2007, I participated in another NIH Vaccine Study (H5V1 Bird Flu), and had completely forgotten to claim the income on my taxes for that year. And the day I was doing my slogging? October 15th.

The absolute final deadline for filing a correction to 2007's income taxes. So. Completely unnecessary (and very stressful and time consuming) audit of 2006. But it pointed out to me, on the last day I could fix it without penalties, a stupid mistake I made months ago. We owed another couple of 100 bucks in taxes. I got that check out post-haste, and was grateful.

I am sure most troubles arrive with a not-so-clear indication of how they can also be blessings. But I am also sure that with the right frame of mind and heart, we can see them more clearly. Today, I am thankful for feet to walk, a coat to stay warm, friends to ferry me gas, who pitched in and helped shovel snow.

Love your Life!

Potato Corn Fritters!

What to do, two days after Thanksgiving? The awesome homemade rolls are gone. The super-yummy artichoke/mushroom stuffing is gone. Tons of potatoes, a whole bowl of corn...

Fritters!

Put a bunch of mashed potatoes and some corn in a bowl. Crack two or three raw eggs into it, and stir with a fork. You should have something that is the consistancy of ready-to-serve oatmeal.

Melt a pat (maybe 1/2 a tablespoon) of butter in a hot pan, and put forkfuls of fritter batter in the butter to fry.



Carefully flatten the forkfuls out with a spatula (so you don't scrape the pan!). Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. When they start to look brown at the edges, flip them.



I love my huge crepe-flipping spatula, but something smaller works better. Don't worry, the first several will get all scrunched up, and break when you flip them. It's not an art project, just frying potatoes; if one gets mangled, just cover it with more cheese.

Sprinkle with a little parmesan, a little cheddar.



What do you think kids?

Tam Sawyer Hucksterism or Entrepreneurial Spirit?

This is my middle daughter, industriously raking leaves.

No, seriously. Yesterday was our yard-work day, we wanted the leaves up so the City could take them all away today.

The Troop 922 Spaghetti Supper fundraiser was a week ago. With two sons in Scouts, I have a keen interest in the raising of funds; so this supper, the only fundraising the Troop does, lasts us all year. We have a service auction that raises about as much as the ticket sales. It was with great surprise I saw that my daughter had bid on one of the Scouts!

She spent her own money to secure the services of a hard-working young man for "leaf raking".

Genius! My little girl has learned how to sub-contract. She confided in me that her plan was to sit on the rocking chair, drink hot chocolate, and watch.

Our "guest worker" set a good pace. That's him in the blue hoody, helping our middle son.



The Landbecks present and "working" needed occasional goads to stay on task. You can hide, but you can't run!



Here, our oldest son used a leaf vacuum to get some of the leaves off of the bushes out front. As he empties the bag, you see our pile of full bags growing in the background.



Final tally was nearly 50 bags! I had no idea it would take so many. 3 hours of (mostly) hard work.

I'm just totally impressed with my daughter's entrepreneurial spirit. Good for her!

One True Sentence

Sometimes when I was started on a new story and I could not get going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say. If I started to write elaborately, or like someone introducing or presenting something, I found that I could cut the scrollwork or ornament out and throw it away and start with the first true simple declarative sentence I had written.
- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

Since a teenager, I always loved to write. I loved doing many other things, also, (too often, perhaps, the doing of nothing...), but I relish the pure joy of creating with text.

Many years have passed since I was a teen. I am busy in ways I never imagined then.

Life is so busy.
Aw-full, dread-full, delight-full.
It's overflowing.

I have been working on one true sentence. I want to capture the thing I feel every morning when I wake up.

It is Thanksgiving! I wake up surrounded by beauty and love, a bounty of blessings. This is the life I want, have wanted since I began speculating about my future.

But with that recognition of bounty, comes great worry. The danger they face, from passing physical harm, the consequences of their own bad choices. Decades ago, I had an amazing intro to philosophy class at BYU, taught by Chauncey Riddle. It was a pleasure to listen to him talk about how we know things, why we do things. The same year I had his class, I caught a re-broadcast of his talk on fear, given as a BYU Devotional in July of 1986.

Hmm. I have been thinking often of my old BYU professors. Funny what having a daughter in college does.

But his talk on fear has informed my adult life. He talked of the two kinds of fear; fear that comes from ignorance (where we fear what is not dangerous because we do not understand it), and fear of consequence (which can motivate us to avoid danger or aggressively seek action). Go read it when you have time, it is very thought-provoking.

I am thinking of his talk today because of the swirl of emotions I feel whenever I ponder how fortunate I am.

I awake the same every day; grateful, and afraid.

Hope everyone has a a wonderful thanksgiving day, full of cheer as well as sober reflection.

There's This Thing...

...that we do as parents. We love to cheer our kids up. We love to suprise them, make them happy. We tickle them, we hug them, we compliment them, cheer them on, point out the silver lining, the bright side, the up side, the sun coming out tomorrow.

"You can do it!"

So with my kids, we have an arrangement. I will ask them, "Guess what?" and when they say, "What?" I say, "I love you!" Sometimes, they stretch out the pause before they say, "What?" but I am very patient, and very persistant. What's more annoying than a 4-year old asking, "Why?" over and over? Your Dad asking, "Guess what?" over and over. And over.

Sometimes, occasionally (usually when my wife, isn't listening), I'll mix it up with a "Chicken Butt!" answer. But the kids know the drill. I love them, and like to tell them.

Now, if they are super grumpy, and they test me, refusing to answer, refusing to make eye contact, I will envelope them in a big hug, and ask, "On a scale of 1-10, how happy are you?" Kids, ever given to their dramatic flair, insist they are only feeling zero, or maybe one. So I insist that I must hug them, with big Daddy squeezy hugs until they are happier. Often with sound effects, like how Nacho Libre signs off his letters.

Hug! Hug!

Leetle Hug!

Squeeze!

Beeg Hug!

"Now how happy are you?" Continue until their number goes up, or they laugh. Note, though; teenagers are very protective of their angst, and will refuse to admit they are happier, even once they are struggling not to laugh.

So a few weeks ago, my youngest was sad about something. I asked him, "Hey! Guess what?"

Sullenly, without meeting my eyes, he said, "What!?"

"I love you!"

He gave the best exasperated shrug. "That's not news!"

Hee!

Squeeze your kids today.

Parably...Parablically...Parablious...um, after the manner of a Parable

A lifetime ago, I had a class at BYU called "The Bible as Literature" (English 350). To this day, it rests near the top of my list of very, very favorite classes ever. We studied the literary forms of the different bible stories, how they are put together, how they are meant to be read and understood, attempted to understand better what the different elements of the author's (pop quiz; how many biblical authors can you think of that scribed multiple-Bible-books? Moses, Jeremiah, David, Luke, John...) complete works really meant. It was taught by Steven Walker, one of the best teachers I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that because my first class with him (on J.R.R. Tolkien!) led to me meeting my wife

!

That's a tale for another blog post.

One of our class assignments was to write a Psalm, to help us really understand what it means to worship in a Psalmic fashion. Brother Walker made a point of telling us he was not assigning us to create a parable, because parables are perhaps the most difficult literary form to construct effectively. He marvelled at the expertise and craft of Jesus at making parables, and his wonder was contagious. He challenged us to find any author, anywhere, who created anything near the quantity or quality of the parables Jesus authored. There are virtually no other parables extant in the scriptures, and even the occasional parables offered by modern prophets and apostles are weak in comparison.

Most earnest students of the bible know the bit Jesus said about parables being "given unto you to know the mysteries of heaven, but unto (everyone else) it is not given...That seeing, they see not, and hearing, they hear not." Parables were a bit subversive. Jesus could communicate scathing rebukes aimed at important people, without incurring their wrath. They held forth doctrine about sensitive or exalting principles that only the worthy in heart would truly understand, because the Holy Ghost could help them interpret it.

But Brother Walker taught us about another fundamental feature of parables. A working parable is one that can be read by anyone, with the reader being able to put himself in the position of any character in the parable. So when Jesus talks about the parable of the Good Samaritan, there are lessons to be learned from the perspective of the man who gets beat up, and the priest, and the Levite, or the innkeeper and even the thieves, as well as the "Good Samaritan."

It is interesting to me, that Jesus himself never names the parables. The Lost Sheep, the Prodigal Son, The Good Samaritan, are all names we have attached to the stories, often to negative effect in my opinion. It implies that the title is the lesson, and with parables, this is never the case. The word "prodigal" isn't even in the parable of the prodigal son. It isn't even in the Bible! Do you even know what prodigal means? It's from the same root as prodigious...

I digress, even.

In the parable of the prodigal son, most LDS readers read it from the perspective of "the good son." That's because if we are LDS, and considering the parable, we are probably active in the church, and hence, are being "good." There was a video produced by the church alluding to this parable, about a man in business with one son, who has a second son who had left home when he was young, and pretty much lived a morally bankrupt life. The second son returns, is welcomed back into the home by his Dad, and the "good" son mopes around, worried about how everyone has accepted this return.

It's a video to trouble the comfortable. Anyone who has ever had the trial of a family member dealing with substance abuse knows how dangerous a period of reformation is. Addiction is powerful, a hobbling burden. People suffering with it make destructive choices, often doing enormous harm to the people they are closest to. A family member returned home disclaiming their bad choices is often just a time bomb, which goes off catastrophically later. So we watch this film, and either

• Shake our head sadly that the big brother is so hard-hearted and unforgiving, or
• Furrow our brows in discomfort that the addict's family is so trusting at his reformation

The discomfort you might feel watching the video is the very lesson Jesus is teaching about. That's one point of the parable. Who are we to second-guess our Father, if he says a wayward child has declared repentance? Importantly, we are not supposed to judge the veracity of someone's declaration of repentance, unless we are in the very specific circumstance of serving as a judge (if you aren't sure? yeah, that means you are NOT in a position to judge).



And that's hard. The natural man competes and bristles at the appearance of unfairness. Especially if someone else who didn't work as hard us gets the same reward. Or in the prodigal son parable, recognition that seems to ignore the possibility of deceipt. I think the emphasis of the church video, on the "good son," stems from the assumption that most viewers consider the parable from that perspective, so it probably over-emphasizes that part of the lesson; DON'T BE JEALOUS WHEN GOD FORGIVES THE SINS OF OTHERS.

But remember, the parable isn't just about the "good son." It's about the parent, who forgives in an instant years of grief and heartbreak. We should all be parents like that, ready to show an increase of love. And, it's about the prodigal son.

Years ago (back before I started taking the train to work, I was listening to the radio in my car, while a radio commentator related a story about his sheep ranch. A small herd of sheep went missing during a storm, and despite all his efforts to look for them, they seemed to have been lost for good in the canyons and hills on the edge of his ranch. Weeks later, on a lark, he crossed over a river that the sheep shouldn't have been able to ford, on the off-chance they'd somehow crossed anyway. He found a pasture, which was supposed to be empty of livestock, but was eaten down. He followed the eaten down grass, and found his lost sheep. They were sick, and looked awful for the lack of tending. He gathered them all up, and went back to the ranch to tend them, and share the news that they'd been found.

He ended his story with the bible quote about the joy of the shepherd at the lost sheep which returns, and I kind of shrugged in my mind at the unoriginalness of the story. I'd heard it so many times growing up, that I thought I understood it. And I thought to myself, "How unfair it must seem to all the other unlost sheep! All the fuss about knuckle-headed sheep returning, what about all of the sheep who weren't dumb enough to get lost in the first place!"

This doesn't happen to me often, but I heard words form in my mind, an actual male voice speaking. "Everyone gets lost." And I learned what the parable is many things at once, a call to action to look for the lost, a warning not to stray. But in that moment, I felt a loving, sheltering arm settle across my shoulders, and knew it was also this truth; God will always welcome us back. He will never stop hoping for our return. We should rejoice when a wayward soul repents and rejoins the flock, but that we all have moments, or weeks, or years of doubt or waywardness, and God rejoices when WE return to the flock.

So too, with the parable of the prodigal son. The lesson isn't just to tolerate the vows of repentance of a wayward son, but that we can expect the same reception when we repent of our own waywardness.

Thank you Brother Walker for helping me to have ears to listen.

The Question Is Not IF, but HOW?

Indulge me. Mrs. L talked about this Family Home Evening, but I wanted to present my thoughts on it as well.

Below are 10 groups of five words each. No, these aren't Yoda quotes.

It is possible with each group to form at least one four-word sentence. Look at the words quickly, and then mentally juggle them around until you have a sentence that makes sense, with one word left over, right? So, go ahead, take a minute, and form a sentence with each of the 10 groups.

• Him was worried she forever
• From are Florida oranges temperature
• Ball the throw toss slowly
• Shoes give replace old the
• He observeses occasionally people watches
• Be will sweat lonely they
• Sky the seamless gray is
• Should now withdraw forgetful we
• Us bingo sing play let
• Sunlight makes temperature wrinkle raisins

Wasn't that fun? Do you feel all mentally nimble now for having exercised your beautiful mind?

Except, whatever you think you feel after doing it, your behavior would demonstrate something very specific; you would act older. That sentence-construction activity hides what Malcolm Gladwell in "BLINK: The Power of Thinking without Thinking" calls a priming exercise. Peppered throughout are words alluding to old age. "Gray". "Florida". "Old". "Forgetful". Don't be irritated at the duplicity, there is a purpose to such an exercise. It helps measure what kind of effect we can exert on our unconcious selves.

Consider a study done with this kind of priming exercise. Subjects were brought, one at a time, into a room with a similar list of five-word groupings, and asked to time themselves creating four-word sentences. One half were "primed" with words with aggressive connotations, the other half with patient ones. They were instructed, when they'd completed the sentence exercise, to leave the room, go down the hall, and tell the professor they were finished.

Now here was the actual measurement. The professor was in his office, but a conspirator was in the doorway, talking to the professor, blocking access. What was actually measured was how long the subject would take before interrupting the conversation. It was thought the difference would be minimal; they joked of making sure their timers could distinguish into the hundredths of a second. After, all, it was New York City, how different could the measurements be?

The results were staggering; 82% of the volunteers who had been primed to be polite NEVER interrupted at all.

If you tend, like me, to be dubious, it might be tempting to write off such a test result as an aberration. Or perhaps you are suffering from sympathy irritation? Rassin frassin psychologists, always trying to trick those poor undergrad students. Who wants to be brainwashed into behaving politely anyway?

Fair concerns, but if that's what you are thinking, you are missing the point. Look at how profoundly behavior is influenced ... by what is essentially background noise. The stuff we behold and consume, with our eyes and ears. Do you understand that environment can have such a polarizing effect on how we act?

Another experiment in the book takes two groups of students to answer 42 demanding questions from Trivial Pursuit. Half were asked to take 5 minutes to think beforehand about what it would mean to be a professor and write down everything that came to mind. Those students got 55.6% of questions right. The other half of the studnest were asked to first sit and think about soccer hooligans. They ended up with 42.6% right.

That's a 13% difference, with no other factor involved except their primed thoughts.

So, the question I had while reading this, was how do I prime my thoughts? I feel fantasically ahead of the game, of course, because Mrs. L does such a fantastic job of priming our home for me. I am surrounded by uplifting words.



I know that puts me at great advantage, but I am sure that is not enough. Our thoughts, the music we listen to, the books we read. All prime us for something. If you knew that taking five minutes before a test to ponder the ideal academic, if that five minutes meant you were going to do 5, 10, or 15% better on the test, what kind of an idiot wouldn't take that opportunity? How different would you be if you took five minutes to ponder the ideal parent, the ideal sibling, before getting off of your knees after morning prayer?

How differently would you treat the people you encounter during your daily living if you primed yourself with the scriptures in the morning?

We live in a time of unparralled freedom, our choices bordering on the infinite. How are you using that great freedom to control your environment?

Mourning with Those Who Mourn

On the one hand, I want everyone to be able to feel what I felt, to see what I saw. On the other hand, I want you to feel a little bit of regret that you missed it, too. That regret might motivate you to seek it out next time, to not let it pass you by. So, not guilt! But seriously; you missed something amazing.

Mrs. L just finished doing the most complicated, difficult, stressful job EVER! The culimnation of months of effort, hundreds of man-hours of meetings and organization, thousands of dollars of fees, insurance. She was in charge of this year's (it's Bi-annual, so the next one isn't until 2010) Quilt Show, hosted by her guild, the Flying Geese.

It is always amazing, always busy, this quilt show. I love seeing quilters congregate. There is no other art form that so thoroughly cultivates and welcomes so many aspects of art and human behavior. There are traditional quilters, who favor muted colors, standard patterns. Utilitarian quilters, in it only for something warm to cover the bed. Fabric artists that view quilts as another canvas, using paint and fabric interchangeably. Message quilters, telling stories. Heirloom quilters, who despair at the thought of any of their work being touched. Prodigious quilters who make gifts for every occasion. Theme quilters who make every production about their favorite thing. Funny, formal, artistic, crafty, hippy, traditional, comforting, wild, sedate, practical, outrageous, avant garde, smooth, disturbing. Room for everyone at this table.

And Mrs. L right there, herding the cats exactly where they need to be.

It was a riot of color, a beehive of activity Friday night setting up. This year, there was a particular feature of the exhibit that Mrs. L was very pleased to have arranged. "Alzheimer's: Forgetting Piece by Piece!" is an exhibition of 52 quilts assembled by the Alzheimer's Art Quilt Initiative (AAQI). The quilts are "poignant interpretations of the Alzheimer's experience in fiber".

The AAQI had some interesting, and very specific requirements for the installation. The quilts had to be displayed on black backgrounds (most quilt shows display against white). The sections had to be 10 feet wide (the display equipment the Flying Geese have is 8 feet wide). It came more as an travelling exhibit of art. In fact, a good number of the venues that host and display it are not quilt shows.

Mrs. L was justifiably delighted to have the chance to participate, but wearied by the burden of it. It was a long month getting ready for the show, all the extra meetings. When the weekend of the installation finally arrived, she was already exhausted, and us with her. But she powered through. She is one of the strongest people I know, and I envy her work ethic!

Now, I've spent my whole adult life around quilts. Mrs. L is an artist of rare vision and talent, and living with her has been to my great benefit. I am surrounded with beauty and the life of her art. So I when I was ferrying materials to her during the set up for this exhibit, I was excited to see the quilts that were going up. I was not prepared for the power of the AAQI exhibit.

Mrs. L did a masterful job emphasizing the particular nature of the AAQI quilts, putting them in the center of the large gymnasium where the show was set up. I suspect her new future dream job would be as curator of some amazing gallery. She arranged the wall space for the exhibit as an enclosed square, so you could circle the outside seeing the first half of them, and then move inside through a baffled openeing and see the remainder of the quilts.

In the center, you were secluded from the rest of the show. The black fabric removed you from the crowds moving by, and a bench was there to sit on. Some of the quilts were almost abstract, some very specific biographical memorials. All were about Alzheimer's; its effect on the victim, on the families. Prospects, fears, memories. Each quilt had a posted statement from the artist discussing the quilt and its meaning.

I consider myself a fairly empathetic person, and have been moved by the stories of many people over the years. This was different, on a different scale. Every quilt I stopped to look at closely, I could feel the emotion, the power of its message. It radiated, like heat from a stove. Waves of melancholy, weary, tired mourning. The lifetimes of intelligence and good humor that slowly disappear under the relentless progress of Alzheimer's Disease. It made me feel a member of the human race, a sibling to everyone. I could feel the joint burden of our trials settle on my shoulders, and was comforted to know that the burden was lighter for being shared by all of us.

Setting up was busy, but each time I stopped to look at a quilt, I could feel tears forming in my eyes. Not entirely of sadness, but the catharsis of mourning.

Life is a difficult process, as full of setback and heartache as it is of triumph and victory. Feeling the wash of human emotion at this exhibit enobled me, made me certain that I can succeed in dealing with whatever comes. When we mourn with others, we give them a community's worth of acceptance and strength. They give us their wisdom.

Open Your Eyes, Look Up to the Skys

We look, and do not see. Our eyes are open, but we do not perceive.

Coming home the other night, my middle son and daughter were in the car. Late return from harp lessons and choir practise. We were listening to one of the excellent mix-CDs I've gotten over the years from relatives (I love being related to people with good taste). My daughter was happy, bouncing, cheery. It was late, and my son was tired. He wondered aloud if perhaps his sister might . . . contain her exuberance.

A teaching moment!

I asked my son to please listen to me, just for a bit, to give me his attention. I told him that I wanted my children to seek beauty in the world, to love aesthetic moments and wring the joy from each day. We live in amazing time, in a wonderful world. For all the evil and ugliness, there, too, is goodness. I want them all to bravely embrace happiness, to not give into ennui, to feign maturity by manifesting the popular trend of ironic disengagement. So then, when we encounter someone else who is full of happiness about something, I would hope mightily that we can appreciate the vigor of their happiness, even if their expression seems to us immature, shrill, or silly. Love life, avoid sarcasm, allow others to love life.

He quickly countered with a personal memory, of when he was the one who had been shushed for his exuberance, asking why HE was told to be quiet. I told him, honestly, that in that situation, we were wrong to scold him, that we should have taken the higher road and joined him in his joy of life. I promised him, the next time it happened, I would try harder to be happy for his happiness.

We listened to the music, and could occasionally hear my daughter happily humming and bouncing along.

But then we got home. Late, dark, quiet, tired. Both I and my son had arm-loads of stuff to take in, things to toss in the recycling bins, were ready, PAST ready, for bed. As we are moving away from the car, drudging to the house, looking forward to just turning off the light, my daughter is still standing where she got out of the car.

"What is that?" She whispered intensely, looking up.

I was || close to tiredly, exasperatedly groaning, "It's the full moon, just like the other 160-some-odd full moons you've seen." But, my words echoed in my ears. Be delighted by the delight of others. So, I put away my exasperation, and I turned my eyes sky-ward. . .

and . . .

and gasped. Beauty. The pure, piercing, amazing glory of a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event. I was dumb-founded.

After a second, I found words. I spoke reverently. "That, sweetie, is a moonbow. I've never seen one before. I suspect most people go their whole life without seeing one. Now quick, go tell your Mom if she is still awake."

I had over the years seen plenty of auras around moons (especially in the winter; I held them as personal harbingers of heavy snowfall the following day, something I was happy to see on a Sunday through Thursday night during the school year). You know, those glowing, circular halos? Never anything like this. The ephemeral, translucent circle of light around the moon, visible when there are wispy clouds or high fog, that was nice. But this . . . wow.

You could see the colors in the arc "above" the moon. Clear, ruby red, muting into orange and then a yellow band in the middle. Then, flowing into a greenish striation until it moved bluely through purple and away into the dark night sky. It glowed, almost visibly humming, color against the deep black of space.



I hurried in, made sure my son got the word to go back out and look at it. Joined Mrs. L on the front lawn to look. In a few minutes, the clouds shifted, and it was just a normal aura again.

Have a beautiful day. Be sure to allow the beauty seen by others to draw out your smiles, too.

Autumn in a Year Divisible By 4, Yep, Must Be a Post about Politics

I work for a State Government Administrative Agency. Some of my thoughts about politics, I come by professionally. I have met, briefed, and testified before elected officials. They are the best of people, they are the worst of people. Smart, competitive, eager, vain, greedy, altruistic, and vicious. I respect them, admire them for their sacrifices, and have no urge whatsoever to join their ranks or get in their way. I think that almost universally, they really are trying to do what they think is best for their electorate. But they are hobbled by the reality; in order to do anything, they have to be in office in the first place. And in order to get into office, they need money. Party support. Exposure. They almost always have to win a contest against someone else, and that contest will almost always be ugly. I have no wisdom, no answer to this. I just try to see beyond the mud, and vote for the person I think will do the most good (or the least harm).

What a Presidential Race this year! The part of me that can step back and be matter-of-fact is delighted with how emotional and intense it has been. I am excited for the number of Americans who really seem interested enough to participate this year. The issues are compelling. There is no incumbent running on either ticket for the first time in 14 elections (almost 60 years! go on, fact-check me, I dare you!)

I am conflicted. What should I base my decision on? I'll tell you something right off; there are a bunch of things I'm not going to base it on.


Polarization
First, go read this. Please, just glance at it. Where do you fall; do the candidates start to look similar in appeal to you, or do you think anyone voting for (the other candidate) is just crazy? I was fascinated by the VP choices this election. Both picks serve to appeal to the "party-base". Obama and McCain both had weakness in their appeal to the core of their parties.

McCain has been repeatedly bloodied in both the 2000 and the current primaries by other Republican candidates for not being conservative enough. The nomination of Palin injected his campaign with someone who is young and overtly religious. For all the criticism laid on Obama for being a celebrity, McCain went out and got his own!

Obama needed the foreign relations cred, needed to demonstrate his commitment to liberal ideals. For all the concern that has been expressed McCain's age, Obama went out and got an old warhorse of his own.

So I don't see the candidates as similar, they are certainly worlds apart on the issues. But I disagree with each candidate on lots of things, agree with each on lots. I see the choice between them as marginal, and will ultimately make my selection on which issue matters the most to me.


Demonizing the Opposition
John McCain is erratic. Barack Obama is inexperienced. His middle name is Hussein! He's the oldest nominee ever! Lions and Tigers and Bears!

Running for President is like parenting after a divorce; yes, everyone knows you think your opponent (your ex-spouse) is terrible. But the voters (your kids) are smart, and need to figure it out themselves. They need your permission to love the other one, or else you look like a paranoid bully (and make your kids feel guilty). There are a million reasons to NOT vote for either candidate, but if I hear even a single one of them uttered by their opponent (or one of the opponent's partisans), I automatically discount its weight. Tell me what your guy will do that's good; trying to scare me into voting by highlighting what's going to be awful about the other guys just makes me mad at you.


Contentless Attacks
Does it matter how many times John McCain referred to the audience as "my friends"? Does it matter how often Barrack Obama interrupts his sentences with the verbal hiccup of a barely pronounced "y'know"?

Yes, past is prologue. But does it really matter now if 20 years ago Obama had some kind of interaction with a then-radical? Does it matter the McCain as a young pilot was a bit of a hot dog? Well, actually, yes, it does. But not as much as what they are doing in the last ten years, what they are promising to do in the next. That old stuff is like the base coat for a mural, it gives an underlying tone, but focusing on the negative old-timey stuff of your opponent? That makes you guilty of both being negative, and being petty.

Yeesh.


Deliberate Obtuseness
Did you watch the debates, any of them? Have you ever seen a politician interviewed on TV? You know how the politician will receive a question, and then say respond with something that is tangential (at best) to the inquiry? That adherence to talking points, that refusal to answer the question, that insistance that, "What I've got to say is more important than what you were trying find out!" drives me BATS! But it works, the shame of if is that it works. Politics is a long game, with a score tallyed only once every two years at the election time. Everything a politician does every single comment, interview, committee hearing, everything, is angled towards that. So when they ask Sarah Palin what's the right place to use nuclear weapons, she's not going to give the answer (either she really is a crazy right-wing zealot who thinks she needs to assist the second coming by starting armageddon, in which case she'll use them the first chance she gets, or she understands the doctrine of deterrence, in which case she would only ever use them in an instance where a weapon of mass destruction was employed against the US or its interests). She'll use the question as a springboard to repeat her support of the troops, McCain's determination to protect the US, their shared conviction that we can and must win against the forces of evil.

Banality doesn't win the election, but the banal repetition of talking points doesn't lose the election. That's why you get so much contentless response. Up until the last few months, I was pretty happy with both McCain and Obama, felt that they generally did a good job really answering questions asked of them. But now it's close, no one wants to say the thing, use the phrase that turns into the gaffe that sinks the ship.


So, when I consider what I've heard, read, and seen these last few months, I think the McCain campaign is probably the worse in offending me. But he's behind in the polls, and conventioinal wisdom has always been to fight ugly when you are behind. Because, sad but true, fighting ugly narrows the cap. No matter how offended I get by it, there are people in American that respond. *sigh*


The "issues" for me this time;

Military in the Middle East
I think there were a hundred sound policy and strategic reasons to invade Iraq. None of them involved Al-Qaeda. Weapons of Mass Destruction was a part of it (I think the whole world bought Saddam's bluff; he didn't have them, but he sure wanted everyone to think he did), but certainly not the whole reason. It saddens, infuriates me to think of the collective good will that the Bush Administration frittered in their single-minded and poorly planned war in Iraq. But we are there now. We need a President that will do the right thing. Not withdraw willy nilly (which is not what Obama has promised). Not stay there forver (which is not what McCain has promised). Of the two, I think McCain has a better idea of what "success" means.

Definition of Family
I really believe that marriage is the union of man and woman, and it is through marriage that families are created. I feel I operate under a specific direction to promote those measures designed to maintain and strengthen the family as the fundamental unit of society. My certainty of these things puts me at odds with the powerful feelings of others, and my desire that all people should benefit from the freedom to self-direct their lives has created a great deal of angst in me as a result. But while I wish all people happiness, and the joy of self-fulfillment, I feel I must act on my personal belief and direction. The change/erosion of what constitutes marriage, of what makes a family has become a political plank. The Republicans are on the side I believe is correct.

Diplomacy
I think John McCain 8 years ago was an outstanding example of someone who could find common ground, could inspire unity. I think he was gone to great lengths to either change or hide that capacity in the last 8 months. I worry about the increasing isolation caused by America's unilateral behavior, and think the next President needs to mend our relationship with the World. No question, right now, Obama looks like a better fit.

Personal Liberty
No question, "we" have less now than we did before 9/11. In that regard, McCain represents the status quo, heightened scrutiny, and a lowered bar for that scrutiny. I think we are more secure (if more scrutinized) as a result. It is tempting for me to *shrug* and say so what, it's not like I'm going to do anything worth scrutinizing. But I am student of the Constitution, and benefit from its robust effect on society. I worship how I may, politic what I may. Those things matter. So I worry about the erosion of freedom. While I am not wholly sure which is the more moral direction to go, I think people shouldn't be so afraid of the government. Obama by a slim margin.

The Economy
*shrug* I'm not shrugging because I don't care. I'm just baffled. I liked McCain's idea to have the government re-broker loans facing foreclosure. But I thought the Hope Now Program
http://www.hopenow.com/
already did something similar. I am trying to educate myself, trying to understand what is wrong, and what would make the world a stabler, better place. Null.

The Environment
I believe the world has changed in the last 200 years. While I acknowledge those strident conservative voices who insist the change is due to normal cyclic variations, and is not the result of mankind, I think they are wrong (or at least, are not entirely correct). I think we have had a negative effect on the planet. Drilling on the continental shelf isn't the answer, and I wish McCain would spend more time talking about Nuclear Power and less time on domestic oil. I think the candidates themselves are a tie on the issue, but believe that McCain would be hobbled by the Party, and the Republican Party definitely loses in my opinion. Obama in a walk.


I think voting for the ticket you like better, even if that emotion is based purely on an instinctive resonance, is perfectly legitimate.

Voting for the candidate that will provide greater comedy for the next 4 years, while irresponsible, is also perfectly legitimate. Who does Jon Stewart mock with greater comedic effect?

I hope the Bradley Effect is gone forever, never to again make a return appearance.

But I remain conflicted, even after writing it all down. Part of me wishes we did things the way they did in the old days and, that candidates ran without VP choices, with the second place winner assuming the role of Vice President. It seems to me that Obama and McCain would make a pretty effective team. But that's just silly. So, reality check; if our military efforts overseas and the definition of the family are most important to me, then I'm voting for McCain. If they aren't, then I'm voting for Obama.

I contemplate my trip to the elementary school in 24 days, and have a feeling I will be praying for direction on the way there. Right up until the time I cast my vote.

Friday night was our church's Daddy/Daughter activity. The theme was a Western Hoe-down. My youngest daughter is the only one left at home young enough to go (it was only for girls ages 3 to 11 inclusive). We dressed up in hats and boots, tied our scarfs and headed out.

Games! Toys! Prizes! Food! It was a lot of fun getting there and seeing friends, and playing. She climbed right up on the horse and knew what to do!

But disaster struck! After getting our food (fruit salad, tortilla chips, and chili), we made our way to a table to eat, and oh no! She spilled chili all over her beautiful white shirt. A quick trip to the kitchen and vigorous scrubbing with cold water didn't help much. There was a huge orange stain down her front. It even made her tummy orange underneath! But, I thought to myself, what would my wife do? Look really close at that last picture, where she has her hand on her hip. Click it to zoom in. Then, click one of the other two pictures. Can you see it? Different shirts!

From a previous reconnoitering of the neighborhood with my aforementioned wife, I knew about the Village Economy Store three blocks South of our church. We hoofed it to the car, made it through a green light, quickly scanned the girls sections. We both agreed it should be white like the chilified shirt, and modest. One shirt was rejected because it was too short. We found one that looked good, she changed quickly in the dressing room (I don't know what the reviewer in the above-linked page means about no dressing rooms), agreed it fit, and scooted to the register. She turned around so the cashier could take price and remove the tag. Cool, it was even half off today!




Back to the dance in less than ten minutes. Just in time for cake and dancing!

~My (Your Affectionate Sobriquet of Choice) Takes the Morning Train...~

When we moved from Forest Hill to Aberdeen, one of the aspects of the move that I was most excited about was that I would have the chance to take the train to work. For the first several months, I couldn't, because I was still driving our middle son back to Forest Hill for Seminary every day so he could finish out the school year at North Harford. Theirs was the choral program that took him to China this last Spring, so it was worth the sacrifice. He has had angst since over his new school's program, saying there are only a handful of boys even in the chorus.

Then, a week after school ended, our oldest was commuting with me on her way to NASA. So, still had to drive.

But starting August 22, I've been taking the MARC train nearly every day to work.

The very non-intuitive trip planner at MTA's web-site doesn't know about my walk through the woods at the BWI end of my train ride. I hustle the two oldest boys out the door at 5:30am, drop them off for seminary, and hurry down to the station to catch the 5:48 southbound. It's too dark to see much until I get south of Baltimore, but I've seen some lovely sunrises.

And once I disembark at the BWI Amtrak station, I have a lovely walk through the woods. There is an 1/2-mile long iron bridge, maybe 25-30 feet off the ground, from the Station to MDOT headquarters that goes over a pleasant little creek. Originally, headquarters was supposed to be closer, but there was apparently a bog fern that needed to be protected along the creek. So it got protected with this super-awesome bridge instead! The rusty look of it is intended, a new-old modern technique I guess.

MY absolute favorite part about commuting via train is the walk home. You might wonder, since I walk over a creek/bog/swamp whether or not I have to battle mosquitoes; Nope! I think the bridge is so far off the ground (and so rarely used), that mosquitoes never find it. But other wildlife do occasionally.

And the bridge over the creek is idyllic. I stop there everyday and count turtles. Twice, I have seen an enormous snapping turtle floating in the water, like some kind of reptilian nuclear submarine. I like to count how many turtles are sunning themsleves on a tree that has fallen into the creek.

It's fun to feel like I am saving the planet, saving money, enjoying nature, all at the same time. So if I ever phone you between 4:45pm and 6pm on a weeknight, and it sounds like I'm calling from a busy restaurant, that's just me multi-tasking, taking advantage of the hands-free ride home on the train.

Happy Birthday!

My youngest son turned 10 two weeks ago. For his birthday, my parents sent us to Hershey Park! Thanks for having a birthday, son!

Hershey Park has this new thing; I noticed the music they have piped is locale- and ride-specific. “Riding the Storm Out,” “Born to Run” playing in the queue for Storm Runner, “Candyman” “Sugar, Sugar” and “Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch” playing at the entrance to Chocolate World. I wish I’d noticed earlier in the day, so I could have paid attention to the theme music on The Great Bear. ~Ah put a chain around my neck, lead me anywhere. Oh let me be your Teddy Bear.~


Then, the day after his birthday, Grandpa took him go-carting! He's wanted to drive a go-cart ever since he saw one of his older brothers flip one at his Uncle's house last year. So driving on this closed track seemed like a safer "first" time.

It is great to be his Dad, and not just for the chance to go to amusement parks and ride go-carts with him. His happy smile, incredible curiosity, strong testimony, make him a joy. Thanks for being in my family!

She's Gone

Number one daughter has flown the coop, gone to college yesterday. My parents are driving her out at a leisurely place. The last time I drove her across the country, it was me driving all six kids, plus one cousin, and we went in solid 4 to 5 hour blocks, not stopping, no dawdling, let's hurry up and get there fashion. I hope she is having a nice trip.

Advice to new college freshmen;

Be brave. Introduce yourself to everyone you meet. They don't know anyone either.

Invite people to go with you whenever you go anywhere. Never go anywhere alone, unless alone-time is your goal. They probably don't know anything about campus either, and will welcome the chance to explore with someone who is brave.

Be careful. The world is full of idiots and meanies. So, give folks a chance to prove themselves , but don't give them a chance to use or hurt you.

If you ever need anything, call me or your Mom, and we will tell you how you can get along without it (stolen directly from Coach Slutsky's excellent speech).

Find things you love, and make them a part of your days. The spot where you can see the sunset, or hear a brook, or nap under a tree, or listen to the orchestra practice, or observe new art installations, or smell donuts. The world is beautiful, and there are rare and wonderful things everywhere. Find those things that move you, and make sure you have the chance to be moved.

Find ways to have peace. Most of the day, you will be surrounded by humanity, which is great, but you need to have time revel in the stillness, too. There's surely a spot you can hike to, a classroom that is empty, a balcony that's rarely trod.

Write. In a journal, email, blog. Write it down. You will never regret having made a record of what you saw today, will see tomorrow.

Don't ever let guilt be a motivator. If someone tries to make you feel guilty to get you to do something, they are dysfunctional, run away from them! Guilt should motivate you to do one thing; repent. So, if the thing you are being urged to do out of guilt is not repentance, trust me, you're better off without.

Ask good questions. I know I taught you how to do this. People love to answer good questions.

Be aggressive. Say no, especially if you are not sure what the answer is.

Be curious. Discover things. Find the nooks and crannies.

Remember how much you are loved, how beautiful you are.

Be deliberate. If you like to snack, then buy snacks in the big bag and take them with you. Don't be one of those dumb college kids who spends $10 a day at vending machines. That money is much better spent on video games or something...

Find who you want to be, and try to be that person everyday.

I love you, sweetie.