Unconscious

I'm amazed at how the unconscious part of the mind can blindside you.  Woke up in the middle of the night from a really bad dream-memory.  Thought I was done with that when I worked through it in therapy, but at least it doesn't have it's previous power over me.

An early anniversary, busy weekend

Have a nice dinner out planned for tonight with mrs tg, as an early celebration of our anniversary.  The actual calendar date is Sunday, but I have two singing gigs that day, one in the afternoon and the other in the evening.  I imagine we may go out to dessert on Sunday after all is finished.  It's shaping up to be a very busy weekend, though, especially now that I have to replace a storm door on Saturday morning, too.  So, for now, the weekend looks like this:
Leisurely dinner date tonight
Men's group, 7:30 am
Replace storm door
Pick up granddaughters, drive to Richmond, IN for 4:00 Christmas show
Dinner in Richmond after show, or on the way back
Mass Sunday morning
Jubilee gig Sunday afternoon at assisted care facility
Dinner at fellow Jubilean's home between gigs
Jubilee gig (Advent Evensong, very cool!) Sunday evening
Dessert with mrs tg
Collapse in a heap

Advent

I love this season, and every year insist on holding fast to it while the world around me is rushing into an artificial version of Christmas. Even the Christian radio stations, which at least are focusing on the right aspects of the season, will stop playing Christmas music on December 26th, just a day into a weeks-long celebration that allows us to reflect on so many different aspects of the Word becoming flesh: the Incarnation (Christmas day) of God the co-eternal Son, born into a holy family (Sunday within the Octave) on earth, revealed to the whole world (Epiphany) to bring us back into relationship with God (Baptism of the Lord). I'm just not ready for the season to be over as soon as the grandkids have all unwrapped their gifts!

Well, part of the key to that is to celebrate Advent well. Our parish does this, adding Advent Evensong celebrated each Sunday to the rich liturgies for each week of the season. Now Jubilee is getting a chance to do so, too, offering an expanded version of this ancient, rich prayer service with wonderful Advent music. And both of these music ministries are also reaching out to those often forgotten by our society, with visits to several area assisted living centers, celebrating Christ's Advent with those who are too often cast aside by our society. I count myself blessed to be a part of these two great groups of music ministers.

Is blog neglect a felony?

Wow, have I been neglecting this! Could be because of a houseful of grandkids (3 4-and-under) and their mom, and a bible study, and a choir rehearsal, and Jubilee rehearsals starting back up. I'm sorry, little blog; you deserve better.

But my son-in-law in basic training really deserves better, so I'm going to have to neglect you for a while longer.

* on average

Manipulative marketing drives me batty.

The Pringles package in my kitchen boldly proclaims:

100 crisps in every can*
*on average

Now I'm wondering why they'd bother putting the word "every" in that slogan, aside from how catchy it sounds. I'm also curious how that approach would've worked for a political slogan:

A chicken in every pot*
*on average

How's that for instilling confidence among the citizenry? Of course, the actual slogan didn't work out too well, either.

Godspeed, Nic

Our son-in-law leaves for basic training today. Well, in-processes at the MEPS center and leaves the state tomorrow, but leaves town today.

What incredible love, to take such a step for his family. Our hearts and our prayers go with him.

Out of sorts

It's hard when there's so much to blog about. I wanted to write about our great vacation, but didn't much feel like focusing on that in the aftermath of my friend Chris' death. He died unexpectedly while I was out west. I hope to get back into the swing of things here soon. With a new Bible study started up, on Eucharist, I'll have plenty to think and write about.

"I'll take the Physical Challenge"

"How ya doin?" the volunteer asked enthusiastically, as I approached the rest stop.

"Okay," I replied waveringly. Then, deciding honesty was the best policy, "But there's no way I'm going to be able to finish this ride," I concluded with far more conviction. He nodded his head sympathetically, rushing over to grab my bike from me as I dismounted, my right hamstring suddenly seized by another cramp as I raised my leg over the seat, immediately followed by my left. "Walk it out," he advised, which was easy advice to take as I'd been forced to do that very thing during part of the climb I'd just finished.

I still had 45 very hilly miles to go, and it was pretty clear why they called this the Cheat Mountain Challenge. But even if I wasn't going to be up to meeting this challenge, I was glad I'd taken it on. After all, how often do we get a chance to really test our limits? If I hadn't come - budget considerations had nearly kept me away - I'd be wondering what it was like, how my friends were doing, how much additional ground I'd lost on them because of the work they were getting in this weekend while I was either sitting at home or riding more casually. Even though I was convinced I'd be riding the bus rather than my bike up the remaining climbs, especially the 6-mile finish up to the Snowshoe resort, I was glad I'd tested myself in this way. And the scenery so far had varied from "very nice" to "breathtaking."

We don't have any mountains around my current home in Dayton. I'd trained on a few of the more popular and challenging cycling hills in the area, and thought I'd gotten in enough work to be well-prepared. Little did I know. And somehow we'd overlooked the first climb of the day, near the beginning of the course. About two-thirds up it and already in my lowest gear, I considered turning around right then and there; struggling this much so early, how was I going to handle the steeper and longer ascents to come? But I'd pressed on thus far, beginning to cramp on the climb up Cranberry Mountain, and having to walk for a while on the steepest part of Black Mountain due to stronger and more unyielding cramps. I'd been careful to drink a lot all morning, too.

I talked to the rest stop volunteers about the SAG bus, which they told me was following the last rider on the course. After downing another whole bottle of sports drink ("It's got electrolytes. It's what plants crave.") and eating a bit - well, what hadn't been put away because of the rainstorm that had passed through just before I got to the stop - and resting for about 10 minutes, I got to thinking. "Y'know," I said to myself, "if I can't go any further, I can just get off the bike and wait by the side of the road for the bus." That thought was pretty comforting; I wasn't going to be stuck in the middle of West Virginia with no way back to Snowshoe. So I refilled my water bottles and climbed back onto the saddle. There were another couple of miles left of this climb, but not nearly as steep as the section before the rest stop. I passed another rider sitting in the grass, waiting for the SAG bus. But I managed this section pretty well, stopping to rest my legs once and hitting the next rest stop in pretty good shape.

"Okay," they advised us, "you've got a smooth, 5-mile descent, followed by a 3-mile, 7% climb. Don't look up, just keep your head down and keep pedaling." Well, that strategy was not going to work for me today. My legs were going to need to rest a couple times during that three miles. But since I don't have a cyclocomputer on my bike, I thought I might deceive myself a little along the way. A mile into the ascent, I'd tell myself it had only been a half mile. I'd pick a point ahead of me at which I'd take a short break, then pedal beyond it and pick another point. I did stop on the way up, but only twice, and at no point did I think I couldn't make it up the hill. Now, the six mile climb at the end? That was sure to be another matter. But I was beginning to think I just might finish on my bike instead of on the bus.

At this rest area, they let me know I had a gradual uphill in front of me, followed by mostly downhill to the Snowshoe Welcome Center. That easily winding descent was a great break and a lot of fun, and when things flattened out to slightly uphill for the last couple miles before the ascent up Cheat Mountain, I felt I might be ready to give it a shot.

Maybe a mile into it, I was straddling my bike, resting for a moment, when I heard the SAG bus
pull up. I figured that meant there were no more riders on the course behind me. I thought I might make it up this hill using the same strategies as the previous one, but I sure didn't want an audience! I waved for the driver of the bus to pull up alongside of me.

"I'm going to make it up this hill," I told him with far more confidence than I felt, "but I may have to stop a few times along the way." He had about a dozen riders on the bus, with their bikes on the trailer behind it. He said he'd take them up and drop them off, then come back to check on me.

I probably stopped about 4 more times on the way up that hill, but was pedaling when the bus driver waved on his way back down the hill, and still going as he passed me going back up with two more bikes on the trailer. As things started leveling off, I saw another rider walking his bike in front of me. As I approached him, I saw it was one of my friends, and called his name in inquisitive surprise. He turned and replied with mine in the exact same tone of voice. Shortly after riding past him, I turned to see him back on his bike, pedaling along behind me.

We were the last two finishers. But we did it! The following morning, as I drove down the mountain to begin the journey home, I was amazed at the length of that final climb, and proud that I'd accomplished it. But my proudest moment had come while still sweaty and smelly, after stowing my bike in the car, walking back into Snowshoe Village. As I walked up alongside a couple of strangers, I heard one of them say, "Hey, there's my new hero!" At first I thought he was teasing, but he'd been on the bus at the end, and heard me tell the driver I was going to make it up the mountain, and was impressed that I'd done it.

While I'm sure he didn't mean all that might imply - I have a pretty good idea of what real heroism is and am painfully aware of my own failings - I'm really pleased with having met the Cheat Mountain Challenge!

World's greatest little present opener

Our four-year-old granddaughter's birthday is today, and yesterday was her party. It was a rather large gathering, with lots of cousins and friends invited. Usually, the present-opening at such a big party gets to be a bit of a chore, but her enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest, and seemingly every gift was just what she wanted.

My favorite moment had to be when she was pulling items out of one of the gift bags and exclaimed with a excited gasp: "Batteries!"

Avoiding the dismissive "Whatever . . . "

Warning: this post contains references to defacatory material; proceed at your own risk!

Last week, mrs tg and I arrived home to find that our dog had found one of our grandchildren's soiled Pampers and torn it up on our living room rug. In the ensuing cleanup process, I observed that it probably was a mistake for the diaper to have been left where the dog could get it (rather than thrown away in the lidded trash can).

I should share some background. Early in our marriage, mrs tg was not a good housekeeper. Actually, that is a gross understatement. Indeed, to suggest she isn't a very good housekeeper today would be true enough, but she may be among the most improved housekeepers on the planet.

So, she became rather defensive over my implication that she was partly responsible for the mess strewn across the rug. Now, it isn't as if a dog can be held accountable for acting like a dog. But in her mind, this incident was completely his fault. She accused me of treating her as if she still routinely indulges the unsanitary habits of her youth. Yes, this was now an aberration, but it still would have been nice had she been able to say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I should've taken care of that," acknowledging her role in the (fecal) matter.

I somehow managed not to vocalize my thoughts, because had I actually let out with a "What.EVER . . . ," in the course of that cleanup, well, the shit might have really hit the fan.

Yesterday, at lunch time, I found another diaper on the family room floor. I managed to indicate it to her as I calmly threw it away, again steering clear of the condescending smugness that I'd surely have indulged in our earlier life together.

The point of all this isn't that my wife needs to be more consistent in taking care of diapers. Rather: if I eschew condescension, any real issues will probably provide a better opportunity for their resolution.

When things don't go according to plan . . .

. . . sometimes they work out for the best.

Here I was this afternoon, lolling around the house, waiting for our group ride. I'd planned to go out yesterday morning with another friend, but the rain squelched that one. I considered just heading out on my own. Today was a little warmer than it has been, but still mild for late July (it's been an incredible summer, really), so an early afternoon ride would've been fine. Anyway, the group planned to go out at 4. I should've had my antennae up a little higher when one of the e-mails said "I'll text on my way back" into town. But I did check e-mail for further discussion: no word generally means no change. About 3, I noticed my cell phone was dead, so put it on the charger so I'd have it ready in case of an emergency. I took my time getting dressed, ate a sandwich, and packed enough Clif bars and electrolyte tablets for a longer ride. Then I casually pedaled to our meeting point.

Except when I got there, there was no one to meet. Whipping out my phone to check the time, I see a text message that I hadn't gotten while it was on the charger: they went out at 3:30.

Ugh!!

One of those things. I thought, "If I'd wanted to ride by myself, I would've gone out earlier in the day and been almost finished by now!" It wasn't really anybody's fault, though it still left my nose pretty out of joint. At any rate, I really needed both distance and hills. I haven't ridden more than 62 miles this summer, and that ride was 6 weeks ago. And I haven't done much hill training. So the Cheat Mountain Challenge is looking pretty well beyond me if I don't do something about it soon.

I ended up doing about 75 miles, with about 6 good (for around here) hill climbs - short, but with some grade to them. I was limping home with cramps in my right thigh for the last dozen miles, but it was just the prep ride I needed. I found out later that the group only did about 35 miles, which wouldn't have served my needs nearly as well.

Too much on my plate

I'm looking forward to two upcoming events. On August 1st I'll be participating in a memorial golf outing for the son of our very dear friends. Jeff passed away several years ago, leaving behind a young son. He was also my friend, as well as our friends' son; I was certainly closer to his age. Like most left behind after a suicide, I agonized over what I might have done to intervene in his life. Of course, I understand I was not responsible for his death. Jeff enjoyed sports, and I golfed with him, and his dad and his brothers, on a couple of occasions. Now his family organizes a golf outing each year around his birthday. Proceeds go to his son's education fund.

Next up after that will be the Cheat Mountain Challenge, a 108-mile bike ride in West Virginia that finishes with an ascent of Snowshoe, on August 15. A group of my cycling friends are doing this ride, and it fits right in with my long-term goal of riding a century in every state. It should be a gorgeous and challenging ride.

Here's why those two things, between them, represent too much commitment:

• I haven't swung a golf club yet this year.
• I haven't ridden my bike further than a metric century (100km, or 62 miles), and that was in early June.
  
• There's rain in the forecast for four of the next five days

With only ten days to get ready to keep from completely embarrassing myself on the golf course (best ball, fortunately, but I'd still like to contribute), followed by two weeks to keep from killing myself riding up a mountain, I sure could use a break in the weather!

Emotional rollercoaster

Last night I was reflecting on the gospel passage (Lk 15, 4-6) about the shepherd who leaves the 99 in the flock to chase after the one stray, and the joy that results when he is found.

Our former son-in-law, who asked me to sponsor him in the RCIA process in '06, soon thereafter divorced our daughter. Since a brief attempt at reconciling that made clear he hadn't dealt with his underlying issues, he hadn't been in contact with any of us in over a year. Even aside from his relationship with our daughter, we've missed him. He was part of our family, we've hurt deeply over his absence. Suddenly, he and our daughter are on friendly terms again, and he is back in our lives. What a joy!

Today we've learned that our youngest son-in-law is likely joining the Army. It's a great decision for him and his young family. Though I never mentioned it to them, I've always considered military service the most likely way for him to provide them with financial security and stability. Still, the thought of our three youngest grandchildren moving away saddens us greatly. We know that this is just a transition, that they will still be an important part of our lives, but being distant grandparents for the first time is definitely going to take some getting used to.

Sometimes you can go home again

A wonderful week in MD. Our office was closed last week, so it was a great opportunity for us get away for a week. I decided not to mess with taking my bike, so got up early on Sunday morning for a short ride (20 miles or so), after which we got on the road. I was surprised at the traffic volume, but it mostly moved pretty well.

The first couple of days were mostly decompression. Visited with mrs tg's dad and some friends in the neighborhood. Went to visit her mom's grave, then my dad's, which is an interesting and potentially expensive story.

Took my running shoes, and ran on alternate days (first time this year; man did my legs hurt for the first few days!). Wednesday, went to an afternoon game at OP@CY; the O's blew a 4-run lead in the 9th to lose in extra innings. This team will be good if their young arms develop as hoped. In the evening, stopped for excellent crabcakes at the local seafood restaurant.

Thursday, helped get the yard ready for a party on Friday. My band mates from high school & college were coming over. The last time we were all together was probably my wedding! Played guitars, grilled out, swam in the pool, had a great view of the community fireworks from the driveway. What a grand day!

Saturday, my cousin had a get-together at his place. I met my new baby cousin, and spent a fabulous afternoon and evening with my side of the family. Another wonderful day!

Sunday, great weather and smooth traffic for the drive home.

Dad's grave site

First of all, I was sure I must've blogged about some of this background info before, but can't find it to link to it.

"Dad" is a more complicated word for me than for most. When I refer to dad, I'm almost always referring to my adoptive father, who married my mom when I was about 3, I think, as opposed to my biological father - whom I've never met - or stepfather.

Anyway, dad was a tortured man, an alcoholic whose glory days of high school and semi-pro athletics were past, and whose adopted son was never going to be the athlete he had been. When he took his own life when I was 14, in some ways he did me a favor. I no longer had a dad who treated me with disdain. Mom went on to get involved with my stepfather a couple years later, who had some positive and terribly negative influence on my life, and I inevitably grew up despite all that, with the warped sense of normalcy that I've learned so many of us share.

In recent years, I've unsuccessfully tried to visit dad's gravesite on several visits back home, usually on the weekend. He was buried in '74, and while I was pretty sure where his grave was, I never could locate it. But now the cemetery office was open, so I had the specific location of his plot. I still couldn't find it.

I called over one of the workers, who showed me where to look on the markers for the plot numbers. It turns out his marker had sunk. "No problem," he assured me, they could raise it for me. The guy had only worked there for about three weeks, and when he and his coworker went to pry it up, the concrete base was broken in half. I'm pretty sure it happened right then, when they were prying it, but they hadn't cleared it sufficiently for me to be certain.

They don't use concrete anymore, because it deteriorates over time. So to mount the bronze marker on granite in place of the current concrete will cost around $800. Dad had other kids from previous marriages, but I've never known any of them, and my sister and mom have long since passed on. I haven't decided whether it makes sense to spend the money on his marker. That I know of, nobody other than me has visited the grave in at least two decades, so I figure there's no rush. In the grand scheme of things, I think I'll keep that money in pocket until after we replace our 45-year-old furnace and central air unit.

Pentecost!

This feast day is definitely one of the highlights of my year! Since the Holy Spirit transformed my life, and brought me to an intimate, personal relationship with Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, I have loved celebrating this feast!

There is a scripture passage from today's liturgy that I can't help but feel is in need of a little expansion in our day. St. Paul tells us that "No one can say 'Jesus is Lord' unless he is under the influence of the Holy Spirit." Today, we toss the verb "say" around pretty loosely, partly because it has become so common to say things we don't fully mean or understand. Examples could fill a book! Of course, anyone can say any words at all. I believe what St. Paul must mean is that no one can profess "Jesus is my Lord" except by faith which is the gift of grace that can only come by the Holy Spirit's movement in an open, humble heart.

We're entirely too proud of ourselves to submit to the Spirit's transforming power. "Come, Holy Spirit! Fill the hearts of your faithful, and enkindle in us the fire of Your love! Lord, send forth Your Spirit, and they shall be created, and You shall renew the face of the earth!"

Create me anew, O Spirit!

Great week

It has been a really great Easter season so far, and this past week has been the tops.

My mom's only sister

What pleasure!

lick
smooth
suck
creamy
nibble
taste
delicious
savor
revel
delight
swallow
the sensations far exceed words




i just love eating ice cream!

Holy Week

A post previously written but not posted:

The Lenten season has provided so many opportunities for growth. It's amazing to me that, no matter how long we walk with the Lord, there are always so many new and challenging and exciting things to learn about our wonderful, loving God, who continually calls us deeper.

Sunday evening after getting home from our party following our final Way of the Cross for this Lenten season, I sat down to pray the Office of Readings for the day. I don't know if it's that Palm Sunday is typically so busy that I haven't had time to pray this "hour" previously, or if it just struck me afresh this time. But the idea from St. Andrew of Crete that so struck me was this image of should running enthusiastically to meet Jesus on his entry into Jerusalem. Instead of laying down palm branches or garments along his way, St. Andrew suggests that we should lay down our very selves in supporting Christ. This is only way I can now smooth the way for Christ's triumphal entry into the lives of those who do not yet have personal experience of his unfathomable love and glory.

I find that I get so wrapped up in aspects of my life to which I'm too attached, which I don't want to give up. My Lenten journey always reveals this to me in some way.

Lenten catch-up

Wow, I haven't entered anything new here for a while! Been too busy living, I guess. I haven't had time to ride, either!

Jubilee's season has been going great. What a wonderful Way of the Cross service we're blessed to offer to the parishes in the area. I may get to experience most of it from the congregation's perspective on Friday, as I'm fighting off a cold and doubt my voice will be up to snuff, barring Divine intervention in the next 20 hours. I'll need to be there anyway, to play on the one guitar piece that's part of the program, so I may as well prayerfully immerse myself in these wonderful reflections and prayers from an entirely different perspective.

The weekend before last, we got to share this service with dear friends from our time in Biloxi in the first half of the 80's. Three and a half years ago, when our youngest daughter was in the hospital giving birth to her oldest child, a familiar looking person strode through the door into the hospital lobby. We hadn't seen Carol and Phil in 8 years, only twice in the preceeding 20, and never outside of Mississippi. Their daughter and son-in-law had moved here, and they were also soon welcoming a new grandchild. We've managed to visit together whenever they've been in town in the ensuing years. This dear couple was part of the faith community that was so instrumental in forming my relationship with my Lord. We won't be seeing them locally again, as their daughter and her family are moving away, but we're looking forward to visiting our friends in their home in Colorado, where they now live. These several years of intermittent time with them was such a wonderful gift, and their affirmation of the power of my current ministry is all the more precious because we know they've walked closely with Christ for so long.

Oh, our CD turned out great!

This week has offered another wonderful set of blessings. Our associate pastor, Fr. Satish Joseph, used to travel the length and breadth of India offering parish missions with a close priest friend of his, who now resides and ministers in St. Louis. So this week the two of them were reunited, offering their first parish mission in the U.S. here. Next week they'll do another in Fr. Rajpaul's parish. The churches (of our two partner parishes) were packed with 500-700 people each night. The praise and worship was wonderful, the teaching inspiring, and the Holy Spirit was clearly at work. The theme was "Hakuna Mattata." Sounds unlikely, I know. But it was about looking at Christ through the eyes of St. Paul, a man who was in prison when he wrote about the joys of being a prisoner for Christ. (I'm pretty sure they didn't have cable T.V. or workout areas in first century Roman prisons.) What a great message. Once I encounter Christ, as Saul did on the road to Damascus, the events of my life are never measured the same way, and I can find joy in the midst of whatever else life brings, through Him who strengthens me. Setting aside all of the credentials and credits in which the world puts so much faith, we count them as rubbish (Fr. Rajpaul implied the actual Greek word St. Paul used is more like excrement) compared to what Jesus has done for us.

Also, we had a fabulous Catholic men's conference last Saturday. Cincinnati has had 15 of them; I've been to 12 or 13. This one was maybe the best ever; at least top 2.

Well, that's the biggest part of what I've been up to during this season of grace and reconciliation, besides striving to walk closely with Christ each day. May He continue to bless this Lenten season, that our celebration of our resurrection with Him may be complete!

A warped sense of normalcy

(3/17; Here's an unpublished post from a month ago; the granddaughter is fine.)

Well, that subject could cover a multitude of issues, couldn't it? In this case:

With our daughters' and grandchildren's chronic and acute medical issues, primarily with familial pancreatitis, but also with asthma, a recent emergency appendectomy, and the like, our family seems to have grown accustomed to having a family member in the hospital. It has become part of our sense of "normal." So when our 3-month-old granddaughter had to be taken in last night because she wasn't keeping anything down, we kinda' shifted into crisis mode, but neglected to ask those around us to help with prayer support. It just seemed almost like, "No big deal, we've been here before," especially given that so many others are dealing with so much, too.

Our dear little one really doesn't seem to be doing too badly. She has rotavirus, on top of the RSV with which she was diagnosed last week, but I went by to see her at lunch time, and she's bright, alert, and happy as ever. But that doesn't change the fact that, aside from her not-so-scary diagnosis, condition, and prognosis - depending how quickly she responds, she could be home today - this really cranks up our stress level, too. Mrs tg is in Maryland this week, celebrating with her dad and siblings her mom's first birthday in heaven - at least she has our baby girl's big sister with her, so there's one less grandchild to make arrangements for (including transportation to and from preschool). Middle daughter and I took turns last night helping out with "Bubby," who was about as dear and sweet as I've ever seen him; I think he's really flourishing in his time out of big sister's shadow.

Still, this morning I was feeling a bit chagrined by my lack of clearer vision, and chastised for not immediately turning to the Source of our strength. Finally getting a bit more on-track, I took a short break at work this morning to compose an e-mail asking our friends to lift us up before our loving Lord.

A tenuous metaphor

(This started as part of a reply comment, but I wanted to expand on my thoughts beyond the time I had available, so copied it into a draft post that I could edit on at my leisure. Tom, you've given me a good chance to write - albeit obliquely - about something I've been dealing with. I mention this so you'll know I'm not attempting to elucidate some lesson for you, as if your shivering over my pictures represented some sort of deeper issue that you really need to deal with. Nothing of the sort.)

Don't you think we overrate comfort sometimes?

Physically, in the realms of fitness and sport, we don't make real progress until we push ourselves further than we thought capable. "No pain, no gain," whether the pain is the physical ache of our muscles or the toughening of our psyches. Little irritates us more than an athlete who looks for the easy way out, getting by on performance aids or not giving their all to fulfill their prodigious talent.

Intellectually, until we challenge our mind with new ideas and new ways of thinking, our conception of the world can be a set of superstitions (which can take many forms, including rationalism). It can be difficult to encounter a seemingly well reasoned perspective that counters our own. Sometimes we find a flaw in that perspective that allows appropriate parts of it to then fit into our understanding. Other times, we may be surprised to find that our view has been incomplete or inaccurate.

In Christian parlance (I'm sure other spiritual circles make similar observations), we speak of the importance of leaving our "comfort zones" to reach out to others in new ways with the love of Christ. This is an important and often overlooked aspect of becoming the Body of Christ in the world, as we learn to recognize and minister to His presence in ways we never considered before.

I've been dealing with a weird combination of feelings in my life (I'll spare you the details). It would be easier not to experience them, and I've long been careful to avoid situations that evoke them. I didn't respond so well to them, at first, falling back into familiar, old, and - well, a bit immature - patterns of thinking. But I've subsequently become convinced that dealing with them more appropriately is playing an important role in my becoming the person I'm called to be. So while they're uncomfortable, and somewhat evitable (like that morning's cold, which I didn't have to face, after all), I believe that - in the long term - choosing to avoid them (by holing up in a safer or warmer or more familiar and comfortable emotional "place") will really keep me from important growth (something better than a few great pictures).

Saturday in the park

Here are a few shots I took on 1/31. It was a bitterly cold (single-digits °F) morning, at the end of a cold week following a round of sleet and snow on Tuesday night and Wednesday. The snow still looked fresh even though it had been on the ground for several days, and many of the trees were ice covered. These first shots are from nearby Clifton Gorge. When I got there, another guy told me I'd encounter this frozen waterfall in perfect light about 500 yards in. Having decided to go on the spur of the moment and snapping other shots along the way, I nearly ran out of battery before I had a chance to shoot this one! (I've got to buy an extra!) But he was definitely right about the lighting. I'd been playing around with the manual exposure settings on my digital (Kodak P712), which is as close as I've ever gotten to "real" photography. I'm really pleased with the results!

I've noticed these trees growing from the side of the Gorge many times before. This morning I was also trying to capture the ice-covered twigs which show up pretty well on the left side of the color version of this shot. The printed black-and-white version looks almost drawn rather than photographed, like a piece of sci-fi/fantasy art, especially near the bottom. I'm not sure how that will show up in the reduced-resolution online version.

This one was shot before the others, at home before I went to the Gorge. There's a lot going on for a simple-looking photo. I love the interplay of light and shadow, especially on the vertical posts supporting the lattice. The path worn in the snow from the porch door was from our dog (Col. Potter) going out to do his business throughout the week. But my favorite part of the picture is pretty subtle: there's a thin horizontal line of sunlight peeking through the snow on top of the railing, on the right. It (along with some shots of the sunlight glistening on icicles, which I might post later) was what got me playing around with the manual settings in the first place; the automatic exposure settings just wouldn't capture it, and that thin, glowing line that so captivated me was completely lost in the snow above and below it. Switched to manual, and on my third adjustment (on a different shot, taken from the porch doorway) - BINGO! (You'll see it better if you click on the link.) Then I was heading down for a couple shots in the back yard, happened to look back where I'd been, and saw this shot. It doesn't seem as effective in monochrome, but I may tweak it a bit more and try again.

Weather weirdness

So Saturday things finally warmed up enough to allow me to clear the ice from my driveway and sidewalk. We'd had snow on the ground for nearly two weeks, kind of unusual for here. (Oh, I have to get a couple of the pictures posted from last Saturday morning at the park!) Anyway, if it had just fallen as snow I'd have cleared it right away, but it sleeted first, so scraping off all of the snow that followed would have actually been more dangerous. So it all ended up getting packed down, but at least everyone knew what they were dealing with. The roads were treacherous for several days last week, though.

Anyway, things started warming up on Friday, such that the surface got slick and I got stuck in the driveway trying to get out to work. I figured that was a sign that I should clear it when I got a decent chance. So after returning from dropping off some compact fluorescents at the collection point Saturday morning, I started in on it. I was fascinated by the way the melted layer underneath resulted in big chunks of the packed ice breaking off at a time, and how that underlying water would then run downhill. I probably cleared about twice what I intended just because I was amused by it. Simple minds, eh? Speaking of which, mine goes weird places when doing laborious work. So do you call a guy who takes the blame for the planting the wrong flowers a landscapegoat?

The nice weather held for Sunday - mid-40's, sunny, and the roads were dry enough for my first bike ride of the year. Yeah, I had to "gear up," but it was so nice to be out. Woo hoo! Am I out of shape! I've been on the trainer pretty much every week, but as important as that is, it's no substitute for miles on the road.

It's even better riding weather today. My legs are telling me that it's a good thing I have to work instead! Looks like more wintry temps return by the weekend.

Studio session 2

Last night I was back in the studio for some guitar work. What a blast, though I was so nervous! It was a completely different approach to playing. Over the past thirty years of "performing," I've learned how to handle a mistake: you simply press onward. I've had plenty of practice with that! Sunday's session was the same way, as we didn't want to interrupt a choir take for something we could fix later. Last night, though, they wanted me to stop immediately on the slightest flub, even a muted chord or slightly missed beat. And I could hear everything I was doing! Usually, I'm somewhat buried amid the mix, which makes it okay if everything isn't perfect. I'm sure it will be that way in the end.

It sure took some getting used to, but I'm really pleased with what we ended up with!

Baltimore football

Was home from yesterday's recording session in time to watch the AFC championship game on the DVR; barely got caught up to watch the end of the game live. The good news is that I won't be shelling out money for crab meat to make crab cakes on Super Bowl Sunday, but then, that's pretty much the bad news, too, since McGahee is ok. My team had a better year than we had any right to expect.

I try to not be too outspoken as a Ravens fan living in Ohio. Even this close to Cincinnati, I know quite a few Browns fans. It isn't that I'm cowed by them, but that I understand their feelings. Most of them become more accepting of my allegiance when I mention that I refused to support the new Baltimore team until Cleveland had their own team again, and point out that at least they're still rooting for the Browns. I wish the elder Irsay would've at least handled things the same way. After all, what do the people of Indianapolis care about Raymond Berry, Lenny Moore, Gino Marchetti, Artie Donovan, Alan Ameche, John Mackey, Alex Sandusky (as a kid, I used to bowl in his bowling alley in Riviera Beach, MD; duckpin bowling, baby!), the late Johnny U., or even Steve Myhra? These guys are all Baltimore legends! And I love that eHow still lists the old lyrics to the team's fight song, even though they haven't fit the circumstances in decades.

I wonder if folks in L.A. have similar feelings about the Rams? I don't have the same sympathy for them re: the Raiders, though; they never should have left Oakland in the first place.

One ironic thing: the city of Baltimore's collective memory would be almost as incomplete without those Mayflower moving trucks as if Myhra had missed that field goal in '58. Here's another neat article about that game. In the past 6 weeks, with all the coverage that game has received, I've gained a fresh understanding of just how 2-bit Baltimore was considered before the Colts came to town and subsequently won that championship.

My first recording studio sojourn

We loved the music from our Matthew Kelly event so much that we've decided to record it! We had our first studio session yesterday. What a fun, challenging process! I can't imagine what it would have been like in the old days of analog multitrack tape recordings. There were lots of things that the engineer was able to fix with a few clicks of the mouse, that would have resulted in a bad take "back in the day."

Instrumentalists arrived around 2, followed by the rest of the choir. We left there around 7:45 or 8. We have a LOT left to do, and only one more choir session scheduled to do it in. I'll be going back in Thursday night to lay down a guitar track. We'll see how that goes!

Walk this Way!

Oh no - two song-titled posts in a row! I don't mean to trample someone else's blog theme; I won't make it a habit.

Jubilee's primary ministry consists of musical reflections on the Stations of the Cross. The group is entering our 11th year of taking this devotion into area parishes, and attendees are always moved by a new appreciation for what our Lord has done for us.

The addition of "living stations" in the last couple of years - with participants ("liturgical dancers," but they don't "dance" in the usual sense) posing to represent each station - has brought a new element to people's experience, and has been overwhelmingly well received. We're more in demand than ever, and will be singing in 11 parishes this Lent. But even with that, and while we've substituted in new music piecemeal through the years, we've been using the same basic flow, spoken reflections, and communal prayers from the beginning.

Our director decided she wanted to rework things for this year, so a subgroup of us have been meeting and working on them since October. I've been the primary text author (though insight has seemed to come straight from the Holy Spirit, at times), but the finished product really was a team effort. We've finally finished selecting songs and editing the new spoken reflections and prayers. I am so pleased with how it has turned out!

For starters, we've refocused our attention by using the other traditional title - The Way of the Cross - to reinforce that this devotion should lead us to walk the Way with our whole lives. Next, we made a change to our order of service that should result in a more prayerful service. Mainly, we were blessed with loads of fresh insights. Many of these we've included, others we had to sacrifice, both due to time considerations and to maintain a balance between head and heart. Filling our limited time with too many thought-provoking ideas (head) would interfere with a moving, transforming connection with the Lord's Passion (heart). I'm going to suggest we publish a companion pamphlet for next year with some of this additional content, so that attendees can continue to reflect more deeply long after our service is over.

The response we've received so far has been great. One team member who had an advance copy shared it with the youth group she leads. They liked it so well they've asked to use it for their own Lenten stations. And one of the more spiritual and prayerful members of Jubilee was also very pleased with what he sees. The nice thing about this limited sampling is that it reflects one of our goals: to allow the Spirit to touch people from diverse degrees of spiritual maturity.

It's already worth the long hours of meeting and writing and revising. I'm really looking forward to Lent!

It's a Small World

But at least I still have a job . . .

Still, I refuse to sit with my back turned completely toward the door. No, my peripheral vision doesn't quite serve me fully with my monitor in the corner like this, but it's better than the alternative. We'll see how I feel about this space in a week. If I'm miserable, then it may be time to apply the second part of the serenity prayer . . .

Employee assistance program

We get periodic e-mails reminding us that our EAP is available if we're having any problems that we might need some help with. I would certainly take advantage of it if I needed to. This time, I felt like asking if they could help me with this anxious feeling that the walls are closing in on me.

You see, our cubes are shrinking this weekend. It isn't that we urgently need additional cubes, but rather that other parts of the company have already shrunk. It wouldn't be fair for us to keep our roomy 10x10 cubes while others are stuck in 7.5x10.

Ah, life in a cube farm. I don't really mind, and at least I have what looks like a stable job. But then, I'm not in the smaller space yet. We'll see how I feel about it on Monday!