This is true...

Whatever happens it is still going to be 2010 anno domini, the year of our Lord.

That makes all the difference.

This is not a joke...

A Danish newspaper declares that President Obama is "greater then Jesus". 

I guess 2009 can't end soon enough...

It's a strange world...

My Facebook page had, as part of its rotating series of ads, an advertisement for a men's waxing service including a "brazilian" wax. I googled it just because while I had heard of waxing this was the first time I had heard of this particular form.

All I can say is owwwwwwwwww!

The sleet...

is already starting to fall, lightly now but with great fury in a few hours. They say up to 20 inches of snow will fall with rain and frozen ice mixed in. The world will go still for Christmas whether it wants to or not. 

Nativity services at St. Elias have been cancelled, a victim of what will come. I had been hoping everything would move south or north but the center of the storm is bearing down on us and even leaving the house looks like it will be a chore. I am at once comfortable with the idea that the people of St. Elias will at least be safe in their homes and disappointed that this evening will pass us by. I mark my years by Christmases and absent a Liturgy the evening seems, well, absent. 

Yet all is in God's hands. There is much I don't understand but this I do. 

If I don't get back to writing for a few days know that I will be out with the snowblower, cutting a hole in the snow even as it continues to fall and filling the air with its distinct and comforting note. Be blessed this Christmas and may it's Gift be in your heart always.

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

Memory Eternal...

It has been reported that his Eminence, Archbishop Job, of the OCA Diocese of the Midwest unexpectedly fell asleep in the Lord this morning.

May his memory be eternal.

It's things like this...

that reaffirm my doubts about capital punishment. Had this man been sentenced to death...

PC greeting for the season...

Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2010, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

Hat Tip to Mr. Baltz.

Gluttonous fasting...

For those of you who come to visit and are not Orthodox this period of time, despite the songs you hear at the mall, is not "looking a lot like Christmas...". Historically, in both the Eastern and Western forms of the ancient Faith this period, the weeks before Christmas, is a fasting time called Advent, or Nativity Lent. Less rigorous then the Lenten fast, except for the period of December 20-24 in the East, it still is a time when we are to limit our diets while increasing our prayers and charitable endeavors.

This, of course, is not regularly practiced in large swaths of Christian America. Most American Christians haven't even heard of this ancient practice and in a world where the weeks following Thanksgiving are largely an orgy of commercialism and consumption the idea of restraint in any period of the year, let alone now, is radical. Even many Orthodox Christians take a "wink, wink, nudge, nudge" approach to the fast before Nativity (Christmas).

For me the largely vegetarian part of the fast is not particularly difficult. My diet is predominantly vegetarian anyway and as I get older I'm less inclined to eat meat at any time of the year. I just don't like it that much. So I suppose a person looking at me from the outside would see that I'm largely in technical compliance with the rules of the fast. But is my "technical fast" a true fast?

Looking back I'm not sure. It's amazing how skilled a person can get in finding foods that technically meet the fasting requirements but are largely absent from its spirit. Twizzlers, a favorite candy of mine, are completely fast eligible in the technical sense of the word as they have no meat or dairy products (come to think of it they really don't have any natural ingredients) but is eating a "vegetarian" candy really fasting? No.

Yet another issue looms for me, quantity. It is quite possible to gorge yourself on vegetables and I've figured out, on many occasions, how to stuff myself while appearing to piously keep the fast. Gluttony is gluttony whether its ice cream or carrots and to consume more than I need is not only a bad health practice but also hardly an example of fasting in the best sense of the word.

That's the hardest deception for me to face, the illusion of fasting. Because of it I can feel like I have fasted but in fact my heart and soul are still in that place of feeding things which should not be nourished. The deep and true blessings of the fast, of any fast, still elude me if I have only managed nothing more then keeping chocolate out of my mouth or feasted at a salad bar.

Knowing that it's quite probable that after more then a decade in Orthodoxy I'm still just now learning to fast.

Call me a climate skeptic...

but its a wisdom born out of time. If you live long enough you develop an informed naivete, a kind of hope that people will be their best selves, Christian faith helps with that, but with one eye open just in case. I'm not, for example, sure I believe the caricature of every person concerned about the global temperature being a wild eyed communist bent on establishing a new world order but at the same time I'm skeptical about predicting weather 20 years from now when the meteorologist on TV often can't get it right for next week.

The truth is there is an argument for conserving the environment and seeking to live on this planet as gently as possible. It's a moral and spiritual argument rooted in the Christian tradition that all creation is God's and that we are merely stewards of it as we pass through this life. It's a beautiful argument based in the mystery of God and humanity and when practiced can be part of a larger and more whole kind of existence in the world.


Sadly, in our world of materialism there is no God and so no appeal can be made to anything truly and deeply spiritual. At best we can create a kind of secularized mythology but its power is tied to its substance and lacking both it has no real ability to convince, only coerce. Without something of higher substance to relate to it can only achieve its aims by fear. So we are given pictures of exaggerated apocalyptic scenarios in an attempt to manipulate us and if the evidence is not strong enough well, then, change the computer model to make it so.


In the end, the great failure of the global warming debate may be the failure of secular religions to inspire, built as they are on houses of sand, and that may actually open the door for an understanding of creation rooted in the heart and soul of humans responding in love to their Creator if people of Christian faith will take the time to learn what they believe and act on it.

Here's my solution...

Every so often we get another pseudo-intellectual talking about how we need to reduce the "over-population" of the world. So here's my solution.

Any person advocating population reduction to solve any problem in the world will be required, unless they are an only child, to commit suicide. After all, if China's barbaric one child policy really is the solution to global warming, as the article linked above proposes, then those who advocate it have a duty, if they are child two through whatever, to implement that policy or be considered elitist frauds. In addition, if they are an only child and have managed to bring more then one child into the world themselves they must choose which of their children must die therefore ensuring both the implementation of their policy and maintaining intellectual credibility. (BTW the author of the story linked above has two so we'll have to wait and see which one she wishes to get rid of).


Until this happens they should be ignored.

My Favorite Christmas Carol...

O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight

For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love
O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And Peace to men on earth

How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may his His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel

We're waiting...

for the snow to come early tomorrow morning and into the evening. Up to a foot near LaCrosse and 4-6 inches around here. The shovel is by the back porch. The snowblower is gassed up and pointed towards the door. If you had anything left to do in the yard it'll have to wait until spring.

It's the trade off of life in these parts. The land is fertile in part because it rests in the cold for six months a year. Snow is water sinking in to the ground as spring emerges, ready for seed and growth and refreshing the lakes. Winter keeps the cockroaches around these parts small and always on the defensive and there's nothing like a night around zero to keep the thugs off the streets. Whether this makes up for the semi-hibernation of these days, the exasperatingly slow pace of traffic, and the possibility of losing a foot to frost bite is still up in the air. Somehow we just do it.

Anyway it was bound to happen. The weather has been wonderful for these parts all through November and whether we want it or not winter and snow are, like death and taxes, inevitable. My boots and snowsuit are ready. The shovel is right outside the back door. There's a full tank of gas in my car and a warm place to spend the night so let er rip.

The coming ice age...

of 1975. Yes I do remember. The lesson here is whenever someone tries to panic you take a deep breath, stop running with the herd, and look for the larger picture. Knowledge changes. Wisdom endures.

A wonderful package...

was in the mail today, arriving much sooner than I expected. It was five vials of oil that had been in the reliquary of St. John Maximovitch whose incorrupt remains are interred at the Cathedral Church of the Theotokos, Joy of All who Sorrow, in San Francisco.

In his life St. John was a wonderworker, a person used by God to perform miracles, and following his death his intercessions have been coveted by many who are sick or in need of a miracle. My hope is that this oil, applied to the faithful as per the Scriptures and Tradition, will bless those needing health and restoration.

What a joy to possess even a small amount of this oil. What a blessing to share it with whoever is in need. Holy St John Maximovitch pray for us!

Simply the best fuitcake recipe...

Grandma Ely's Fruit Cake (Single Recipe 2 Loaves)
Pan Preparation:
Standard bread loaf pan 9 x 5 x 3

Line with heavy duty foil with extra above edges to wrap over fruitcake when done
No shortening or flour needed if you use tin foil.

Ingredients

Boil Together for Three Minutes

1 1/2 pounds fruit (citrons)
2 cups of water
2 cups of brown sugar or dark brown sugar
2 tsp of cinnamon
1 tsp of nutmeg
½ tsp of cloves
½ of allspice
1 tbsp of salt
2 cups of raisins (light raisins make the fruitcake less sweet)
2/3 cup of shortening or butter – needs to be a hard margarine or butter do not use Take Control, or Benecol
After mixture has cooled to lukewarm add:

4 cups of flour
2 tsp of baking powder
1 ½ cup chopped nuts
Bake at 350 degrees for at least one hour
Test for done like cake with long toothpick. Clean toothpick indicates done.
Age at least one week, wrapped in tin foil, in the refrigerator before consuming.

The service was small...

this Sunday, something to be expected following Thanksgiving. Yet what they say about "two or three gathered together..." in the Scriptures is true and size is no indicator of grace.

It is an awesome thing to stand before holy gifts and to lead the people of God in worship. Despite what would appear to the untrained or unknowing eye as repetition and ritual there is great power and presence flowing through, in, and with the liturgies of the Church. It is a calm holiness, a peaceful sense of presence, the experience of touching larger things in a moment out of time.

When I was actively seeking out and living in the charismatic movements of protestantism my heart and the hearts of those with me were genuinely seeking. Yet I could not endure the sheer volume, the confusion I saw around me in worship. I would stand, alone, surrounded by voices in languages without comprehension and wonder why I was left out, why the music went on without me.

As I traveled on to Orthodoxy I came to realize that it was not the earthquake or the whirlwind that mattered but rather the still small voice. A heart filled with the noise of the world or replacing that noise for noise with holy intent is still not at rest. In the quiet pacing of words and action larger than the moment and greater than the people completing them is a place where the still small voice can be heard and rest comes to those who seek it.

I am most whole, most complete, most real, when I worship.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

mince pie. Those who know will understand.

Simply beautiful...

The Entrance Hymn from the Liturgy of the Pre-Sanctified...

An article...

worth reading on politics and liberty from Front Porch Republic.

The sun is shining...

and the air is cold as it should be in late November. Somewhere out there people are pushing and shoving for whatever is left on the racks. Not me. Today is a rare day when there is nothing official on the docket. I may or may not leave the house and I may or may not get out of my pajamas. Just depends on how the day unfolds.

God was wise to declare a sabbath for humans. Given our natural propensities we would fill every waking moment with something to do and develop the drugs to keep us awake all the time. Come to think of it we have. Once a week we need to have very little to do, preferably nothing, and let these mortal bodies rest and regain something of what has been lost over the prior week.

So I'm going to sit here for a while. It's the least I can do.

Happy Thanksgiving...

Thanksgiving Homily...

We live in a culture of cultivated ungratitude. To be discontent with our lot is as American as apple pie. It’s the air we breathe, the environment we live in, and from the time we are children we are programmed to seek out whatever is next, whatever we assume is better, and to shed even the useable things we have for the coming big thing.

There’s a good side to this. Innovations brought into being by people unhappy with the status quo have brought great good to our lives. Would anyone really want a Model “A” Ford for thier everyday car again? That millions of us have never even given polio, a scourge in times past, a single thought is a tribute to those who believed we needed to do better.

But there’s a dark side as well. The kind of discontent that drives innovation can also set us on a perpetual journey, a lifetime of never being happy with what we have or where we are and a discarding of important things that have stood the test of time.

After a lifetime of watching commercials we seem to be never be able to rest, never be able to settle down and enjoy. New cars, new jobs, new people, more of this, more of that, last year’s clothes perfectly good but already out of style, and the TV says you got to have more. They want you to feel this way, the people who produce goods and services. Your boss always wants you to be hungry because then they can drive you farther and faster. The government wants you to consume and acquire so they can tax and spend. The idea is to keep the great pyramid of cards together by everyone buying into the idea that more is better, contentment is laziness, and busy people without time to think about what they have make the best worker bees to feed the hive.

No one in their right mind craves hard times but in these days when things are lean there may also be the still small voice of God calling us to something better. Perhaps God is reminding us that this mad chase we’re is just that, a kind of insanity that robs us of our happiness even as our life is sucked away from us for no good reason.

Hard times shatter our illusions, refocus our lives, and call us to see things in a different way. Their poverty forces us off from the buy, buy, sell, sell, work, work, merry-go-round and gives us a chance to catch our breath and regain our perspective. We see, perhaps only in hard times, the illusion of things, the dark side of the American dream, and realize what can transcend them all. We’re like an alcoholic one day into sobriety, we hurt, but we see the world with eyes clear for the first time in years.

No one wants hard times, difficult days, the threat of poverty and the challenge of sustaining life. But they are hear and wise people, discerning people, people who have come to their senses will see in this a precious opportunity, a call from God to have eyes of gratitude, the awareness and cherishing of all that we have, all that matters, and all that lasts.

And with those eyes wide open we can become, perhaps for the first time, free of the illusions, awake from the long dream, loosed from the meaningless chase our culture sets before us as an ideal life, and truly alive. God grant us the eyes, the heart, the soul of gratitude. Make us aware of all that we have been blessed with. Quiet the rumblings in our heart, the unease of a mind focused on that which matters little.Grant us in this day, a sense of all that we have been given and the many ways you have sustained us and in so doing help us to turn our hearts first to You and in that light see the world anew.

Bob Dylan jumps the shark...

Yes, it's him. No, it's not a joke or a flashback from some bad 60's acid.

h/t again to Rod Dreher

Paul and Grayson...

heroes today for the little guy by standing up for an audit, finally, of the Federal Reserve. Will it pass through Congress? Who knows? But it's the first hammer against our own Berlin Wall, the wall that protects elite financial and political institutions that shape our lives in ways we can't imagine from public scrutiny. Viva democracy!

H/T to Rod Dreher (see link on this page)

One of the interesting things...

about being on Facebook is you really do find out how many people you know and how you're connected with others. I enjoy the chat feature where I can say a quick hello to folks far away. It doesn't beat a face to face, of course, but it will do in the short term.

Your prayers are asked...

for Resa Ellison now in the hospital in Minneapolis, MN with grave complications from H1N1 and pnuemonia. Yesterday the doctors had run out of treatment options and told her family she may not make it through the day. As of now she is still with us but we need a miracle. Pass this on.

This Sunday's homily in advance...

Sunday, November 21, 2009
Homily

These beautiful days in November are a gift to us. In the normal course of things we would expect grey days, cold rain, snow, and ground frozen hard like stone. But such has not been the case for most of this month. The air is cool but the sun is bright and we’ve been given a reprieve from the inevitable if only for a week or two.

We know from years of living in this area that weather can change in a heartbeat and so people are using these days, this break in the normal climate, to get things done, to complete tasks that normally would be impossible now. Leaves are raked, painting is done, roofs are repaired, roads are being cared for, and the harvest is being brought it. The clock is ticking. One day in the near future we’ll look out our windows and see the snow flying and with it the understanding that everything will have to wait until spring.

It’s wise to be prepared, to have good tires on your car, a furnace that works, food tucked away, money in the bank, and everything in good repair. This would seem to be common sense but in our culture where we live from day to day, paycheck to paycheck, and party to party we often forget this only to learn painful lessons when times get lean.

Yet as wise as it is to be prepared for the ups and downs of life, to live frugally and wisely so we are not caught unaware and vulnerable in the ebbs and flows of time, to rake the leaves and make sure everything is ready before the snow flies, there is a greater preparation, greater but often ignored.

How are we preparing our soul?

The Gospel for this day reminds us that the preparation of things and possessions is without value if not accompanied by an equal or greater desire to store up virtue, faith, and all the needs of the soul. The Gospels tell us that we can possess everything and still lose our soul. We can build bigger barns and still leave life empty of that which matters most. We can have false confidence in what we can acquire and in so doing find ourselves spiritually poor even in the presence of worldly abundance.

Imagine what the world would be like if the Christians inhabiting it would place as much of their lives into their faith as they did their 401k’s. How would things be different if we prepared our souls with the same care we use for our house or car? Could we fathom a culture where people dedicated themselves to holiness with the same passion as their career path? What if we loved God as much as we love our television sets?

I stand convicted of being careful about things earthly and careless with things heavenly. I’m guilty of taking so many parts of my life seriously and leaving God the scraps to work with. I often wonder how I would be different if I prepared to stand before Christ with the same effort I’ve used for my retirement. It’s almost certain that I’ve not taken a fraction of the time I use to practice for an audience as a musician to prepare to one day stand before Christ.

Some day everything I’ve done will be meaningless and everything I’ve acquired will be sold or given to someone else. Only a soul carefully tended with prayer and holy things will remain and yet I feel so unready. In truth many of us are as well.

Yet the mercy of God is beyond our comprehension. One flickering candle of piety in our hearts is met with pure and holy light, one act of virtue with a flood of grace, one moment of repentance with an eternal mercy.

We, you and I, can recall what matters most in the end and change our path, redirect our existence towards that which truly matters, and find the peace we desire here and the salvation we crave for eternity. Seize this day with a holy urgency and be saved.

It's been a sunny...

several weeks in November with warm for here days and light streaming in through the windows in the morning. Even as winter is on its way there is a reprieve, a pardon, in it all, a sense that inevitability is delayed in the depth of the season's cold hand being stayed.

I wish I had a window in my office but I take every opportunity to walk between the buildings on my campus and get a taste of these days. Seconds are stored up for withdrawal later when the snow flies and cold winds keep us all indoors like plants in a terrarium. Soon these days, a disaster if they happened south of here, will seem balmy. In other places crops would die and people would shiver in the dark but here in Minnesota 40 degrees and sun is relief.

People always say that life is best lived day by day but we rarely do it. Mostly we plan and scheme and live always for the next day or some aspiration yet to be revealed. Time slips by and we grow too soon old and too late wise. But a sunny day in November is a treasure in and of itself, a reminder to slow down and enjoy the gift. Pity the poor person driving home through the hordes oblivious to the sun on their face.

More of "I couldn't resist..."

$250,000 fine for flipping off..

fans at a recent football game.

I did this once when I was a little kid (I didn't know what it meant just that it was something bad you did to people who made you mad) and I got my mouth washed out with soap.

Guess it's inflation.

I couldn't resist...

A man, down on his luck, went into a church which catered to the "uppity". Spotting the man's dirty clothes a deacon, worried about the churches image, went to the man and asked him if he needed help. The man said, "I was praying and the Lord told me to come to this church."

The deacon suggested that the man go pray some more and possibly he might get a different answer. The next Sunday the man returned. The deacon asked, "Did you get a different answer?"

The man replied, "Yes I did. I told the Lord that they don't want me in that church and the Lord said, 'Don't worry about it son; I've been trying to get into that church for years and haven't made it yet."

I had a bout of sleeplessness...

last night and so I took the time to do a little fix up work on the blog.The search for a header reminded me that I do like church buildings wherever I find them. At times, even to this day, I'll be driving though a town and take a detour when I see a steeple, trying to guess who the church belongs to before I arrive.

There's an aesthetic part about it. I just think churches are interesting. I like the sight of them, the smell of them (Orthodox churches smell best), and the sense by their presence that everything is stable in the world, even when its not and may not even be within the church. Even the word down ones are beautiful in their own way and sometimes a simple one out in the country carries as much magnificence as the edifice on the big city corner.

Now when I see them I think, too, about just having a place to be. I've been on the road for going on five years now and little St. Elias has made big strides. I'm so proud of them. We put in a sink this past week in the sanctuary, not a big thing for most parishes but it was the first time that we've ever, since the early 1900's mind you, had hot and cold running water on the main floor. We have some money in the bank now and we've made major improvements throughout. These are good people and everyday it seems like one more step and we'll cross over to the next level.

Yet time and the economy have taken their toll. It's hard for a small parish to fund a full time priest and in these times its harder still. Jobs, especially for khourias, are essential and in smaller towns the right one is harder to find. It's like a hand is holding things back even as God's hand is in all of it.

And so a steeple here and there reminds me of a settled life yet to come, a town, a parish, the simple blessing of stability and the sense of belonging. Oh well, not yet.

Something...

you should read. Wise words in difficult times.

Here you are guys...

the online source for instructions on how to tie your tie, even a bowtie.

Just a note...

Andrew W., if you read this post please give me a call.

Fr John

Oh yes I did...

put up Christmas lights yesterday. The weather was way better than average. I had the day off and a list of chores and added that little project on.

Oh, by the way, the switch is on "off". Just cause I didn't want to put them up in a snowstorm doesn't mean they'll be on any time soon. In Minnesota when you have a good day you think ahead.

Better times...

When I was a child the Packers were our heroes. It was the sixties, we were kids crazy about football, and the Packers were on top of the world. I had a Bart Starr jersey I wore until my body didn't fit anymore. It was a different world.

We're all older now and it seems like there's so much more at stake. We scream, yell, get angry. There's too much money on the line. We forget it's a game and life is far more than a game. Enjoy the moment but don't let the moment overwhelm the rest of you.

I'm glad its not the best of seasons for the Packers. No, I don't like the losing, the fact that people might get hurt, or that kind of sinking feeling when other people gloat over your team's hard times. But I hope people learn the lessons of which rough seasons are a reminder. Don't let your happiness ride on the shoulders of others. Enjoy the game, the moments, but don't let a group of men with jerseys be your only great cause, life is more than what happens on Sunday afternoon.

All this comes to mind because yesterday I bought a Bart Starr jersey, a reminder of better times, of different people who played the game and different children who listened on the radio. It's a bigger size, of course, and I've learned more then I knew then, for better or worse. Yet there's still a kid inside and I want that to stay the same, forever.

A warm weekend in November...

means that everything you need to do on the outside of the house gets done in the next few days or languishes untill spring. I'm expecting the neighborhood to be whirring with leaf blowers, last minute painting projects, and people covering things up for the season. Seize the day!

PS My snow blower is already gassed up, clean, ready, and pointed out the garage door should the occasion arise.

We need help...

Hat tip to Pithless Thoughts

The sun is out...

this morning and again its a welcome relief.

When I was a child there was a charm to all of this, the change of seasons, the adventure of early night and the aura of autumn moving into fall. As I get older that charm has passed and now this time of year is often heavy on me, weighing me down, and making me listless and sleepy.

There is much to love if you live in the upper midwest of the United States. People from the coasts scoff at all of this as "flyover country" but if you have a dose or two of the bumper to bumper chase for the money, living around here is like fresh air. I can't imagine there would be enough money to get me to move to New York City or LA.

But winter can be hard and confining and as I get older I realize this and why people live in Florida and Arizona from December through March. And the first few weeks of daylight savings time are the worst of all. The sight of a precious glimmer of light in the morning is paid for by a drive home from work in the dark before supper. Summer's loss is acutely felt. Life and sanity requires that you get out of the house and into the world but sometimes you must force yourself.

The one blessing, perhaps, is that over the years you realize its going to happen and so there's time to prepare. Time to get the sun on your face when it comes. Time to find the people who can help you through until January. Time to plan on how you're going to make it through.

This morning, though, the sun is out and so the blinds are pulled and the windows opened so the precious light can come in. I'll catch as much of it as I can and so will the cats and together we'll store it up for the night ahead.

I had an interesting...

dream last night. My wife and I were trying to pack for a trip to Las Vegas for the weekend and suddenly we realized there was no one for services on Sunday. So we decided to make the trip for just one day!

I guess once your a Priest your one in your dreams as well!

It's been reported..

that Packer fans were giving the finger to the bus carrying the Vikings to Lambeau field. It's one thing to root for your team, and I'm not a Vikings fan, but its another to be a jackass.

Had my daily dose...

of masochism with a tour of ocanews.org. Am I the only one looking at what's happening in the Antiochian Archdiocese and thinking "Oh my goodness, what's next?"

I know the feeling...

Just a Thought...

You know you're a small time musician when you have to worry about hitting a deer on the way to your gig.

Some more humor...

Left leaning churches, the FCC...

and the desire to control the media through hate speech regulations. Read it here.

Now there's an idea...

A sign from an Orthodox parish. "Cell phone on in church - 100 prostrations!"

Why credit cards are...

like heroin. Now you could get charged for paying your bills on time!

Did you ever notice...

that the people who advocate population reductions as a cure for global warming always seem to want somebody else to be the person "reduced". After all if you really believe that an excess of breathing humans is an environmental disaster there are any number of ways you can stop.

People who who believe nothing...

will believe anything. And they think religious people are nuts.

Upright bass master...

Preliminary reports...

are indicating that the recent meeting of the Antiochian Archdiocesan Board of Trustees and Synod of Bishops has resulted in a decision to have an "internal" audit of the Archdiocese's finances, the return of Bishop Demetri to retirement, and the redirection of the manual for bishops to a committee.

Bishop Demetri, who was convicted several years ago of a sexual offense, had been retired and was quietly returned to a position with the Archdiocese of Mexico and the Caribbean with his salary paid for through the Archdiocese in the US. If the tentative information is true he will return to retirement.

An internal audit of the Archdiocese's finances, if the preliminary reports are correct, is not the external audit that many have requested but it, depending on the nature of those selected to conduct it, could be a step forward to greater transparency and trust in Archdiocesan finances.

The manual of hierarchical responsibilities, depending on how it was worded, could have become a divisive document and its postponement to committee may also be related to the development of such a manual by the Holy Synod of Antioch.

For more information go to ocanews.org.

Keep us in your prayers.

Some of the worst...

tattoos in the world can be found here. I've never thought of anything I'd like to tack on my body forever and I'm afraid anything now is just destined to slide down as the years march on.

Apparently...

the BBC has now changed its mind on global warming. Apparently they were noticing all the snow and record cold temperatures around the world. Ya think?

Riverview Cafe...

We had the chance to play an open mic last night at the Riverview Cafe in Minneapolis. We were a duo, Ross and I, and because we were new we had the chance to jump up in the list and get on stage for our three songs before the event closed.

An open mic often draws singer/songwriter types who wish to try out material with an audience and this night was no exception. The problem is, though, that so many of the songs are, in effect, the emesis of some personal tragedy or larger global concern. If rock and roll can be critiqued for being too trite folk music could also be critiqued for taking itself to seriously. I wish I had a nickel for every time someone stood up on stage at an open mic and said "I wrote this song in a very hard time for me...", or "I'm so concerned about the environment that I just had to write this song..." which unfortunately sounds like all the other protest songs on the topic. Maybe that's what is meant by reduce, reuse, recycle.

Ross and I, though, we keep our emotional baggage to ourselves and we save cans without singing about it. Our set was swingy, light, Cajun, and made people feel like dancing. Not a shred of heartbreak, not a single emotional crisis, and it was like air was let into the room for the first time. Come to think of it maybe that was our message.

Anyway, we'll be back and next time I want to see some people dance.

Please pray...

for the Synod and Board of Trustees now meeting in Houston, Texas. Many around the Antiochian Archdiocese, myself included, are watching and waiting in the hope these meetings will produce a new era of accountability, transparency, and hope. The effects of the decisions made today and tomorrow will be far reaching so we pray the Holy Spirit's presence with thos gathered.

My 2 cents worth...

Thrift stores...

I've been fortunate, in one sense, because I was raised without the need to appear in whatever the culture says is the current uniform and never had the suburban affliction of being afraid to be seen in Wal Marts and thrift stores.

The truth is I like to hunt for the bargains and there's a certain joy in finding something special in a shirt for less then three bucks. I have a whole wardrobe of Eddie Bauer stuff and I'd be surprised if I paid more than $30 for the whole lot. Last night I bought an Eddie Bauer sweater and shirt for less then $8 and a dress shirt for work, great condition and one wash away from being mine, for $2.99. It's amazing what people throw away and a wise person can capitalize on other's waste.

There's a morbid part of it for me as well as I can have a tendency to a black sense of humor and often call what I wear "dead guy shirts" because I know someone probably passed away, especially in the case of the better stuff, and I'm reaping what the family sowed. But such is the nature of things and I know that one day when I have shed away this mortal coil my clothes will also find their way to the thrift store. It's the circle of life don'tcha know and I feed in it now and it will feed on me later. Cue Elton John.

It's also kind of a protest against the way of things in this world. I get caught up in it, for sure, but sometimes I just like to stick a thumb in the eye of the idea that life is just a never ending round of purchases dictated by some folks somewhere out there in the ether who are labeled as "trend setters". They've convinced people to change and throw away not for the good but for the whim and I'll profit from their insanity by keeping both my head and my hard earned money in this man made hurricane.

Huzzah and excelsior! Fellow cheapskates and dissidents of the world unite. You have nothing to lose but your chains and you're one wash away from starving the beast.

A little humor...

Apparently...

2012 is not the end of the world.

Woke up this morning...

with a fine dusting of global warming on the grass and roof. No sense washing the car yesterday because I knew it was coming.

Most of the trees are still green, some are flecked with color, but imagine their surprise at what came in the night. If this keeps up it could be a long winter. Is there ever a short one in these parts? But my couch is comfortable and the cat on the other end is snoring the morning away, tail tucked around head, whiskers twitching as it dreams.

Life is full of small blessings, a night of sleep, a morning with sun, a place that's warm to stay in, a hundred things that pass us by in the ordinary business of life. But on a Saturday morning when a powdering of snow catches the sun through the clouds one quiet moment brings it to mind.

And now to the day.

A little indulgence...

Pastors packing heat...

in church. The wave of crimes in churches have some clergy giving new meaning to the words "piece be with you..." After the recent Midwest Parish Life Conference where armed guards were present to protect our Bishop Mark from a threat by a parishioner at a Michigan church, this story is not an abstraction. Who knows what disgruntled soul with a gun could step into any church?

The point, though, is moot for Orthodox clergy. We, unlike Protestant clergy, cannot carry weapons. Although a holster would fit nicely under the epigonation (For those who aren't Orthodox an epigonation is a diamond shaped vestment worn on the right hip).

Just kidding folks.

I fixed it...

Hat tip to Craig.

I had the chance...

to speak with my Bishop Mark yesterday night along with other clergy from our deanery (a deanery is a small grouping within a diocese). I was impressed.

If there was a person would had every right to be bitter and jaded about everything that has happened it would Bishop Mark but there was nothing of the sort as he spoke with us. He spoke from his heart and his heart was not dark or angry. He spoke of how all of this has drawn him closer to Christ. We had questions and he had answers but no recriminations, no hostility, and no resentments. For about two hours we got to see what a Bishop truly is and I am better for it.

Many years!

The day the music died...

It's an obscure place. North on 8th Street, right on 315th, left on Gull, Clear Lake Iowa. Look for the pair of glasses and then walk 1/2 mile west along the fence.

I was pondering whether to go at all. I had no desire to feed the macabre side of human nature and my imagination went to what it must have been like in those last few moments. Did they know? Did they have time to prepare? What thoughts raced through their heads in the cold winter night as gravity overcame technology and pulled them to earth?

The wind came from the west, cold, and shedding mist as clouds passed before the sun. The sky was wide as it is in these places where trees are scarce. We walked, hand in hand, on a dirt path keeping an eye on the fence. Somewhere along the wire there would be a break and we would know.

Towards the end of the field was a small metal sign. Buddy Holly. Ritchie Valens. Big Bopper. 50 years ago a small plane with three rising stars fresh from the applause was suddenly brought down to earth just minutes after it took off for North Dakota and the hope of a warm bed. For the next hours the bodies would lay in the snow waiting for others to discover that the bus with the band had arrived but they were not to be found. Valens was still in his teens and the Big Bopper had not yet reached 30.

We paused for a minute as the breeze circled around us and the air got colder. Rain from a cloud far away fell in a short burst as we walked away. It was almost 7 at night and the fields were quiet except for the sound of the wind. Everything else was silent and at rest as Iowa prepared to sleep.

Holy Trinity Church, Overland Park, Kansas...

It's not been the best of years to be Orthodox in the Antiochian Archdiocese. Byzantine finances, felons in official structures, a sex offender restored to ministry involving parishes. And the beat goes on...

I wish it would all go away, but it will not. I wish it would change, but it won't, at least not for the near future. I'd like to wake up one morning and not say to myself "My goodness, what are they thinking...?" It's push through time, slog on step by step, take care of the parish, play the game and wait for some breakthrough. Months? Years? Who knows?

I was hoping for something better. Actually, truth be told, I was expecting better. This is the Church, after all, and I know its made up of strugglers just like me but I was hoping that somehow there was a sum better than the parts. Perhaps there is in the whole of history but not in this moment.

So yesterday morning I stood in the back of Holy Trinity Orthodox Church and let the music and the liturgy wash over me. Now the rest of the story is supposed to go something like, "..and then my heart melted and great joy and peace flooded through my soul." Well it wasn't quite like that. I'm still tired. I'm still troubled. I'm still disappointed. Yet standing there I remembered why I came to this Faith and why I'll stay.

That's a start.

From Fox News...

Where have all the Christians gone?

I couldn't resist...

I'll be on vacation...

through Monday and offline. Folks are staying over to watch the house and the fortune cookie I had at supper told me to relax and so I'm leaving the computer at home. We'll talk when I get back.

Stillwater on Saturday...

How many people...

have you actually slept with? An interesting article from England.

Busker...

Apparently I am techinically a busker, not a professional musician. I stand corrected. Actually as an Orthodox priest, bassist, and busker I just stand alot.

Tomorrow night...

I'll be back in Woodville, WI, this time as part of a trio "Ross, Martin, and John" (the bassist always seems to get last billing) because we don't have another name yet. We have a five song set and the crowd, if there is one, will probably determine how many of them we play.

There's something about night in a small town. Mostly dark, with streaks of light wherever people gather, the shadows are cool and inviting and so are the sounds that greet you when you step indoors. Playing at these small places is like beautiful noise in the middle of quiet and when its done everything returns to silence again. The first step out the door is always the best.

I may forget to take the interstate on the way back and take my chances with the small highways and the villages strung along them like irregular pearls. Its the smell of the outdoors as it speeds past your window and the sense of home as you pass through into the night. There is a romance in the dusk that day dwellers never seem to understand.

I have many lives all wrapped up in one body and this life, the life where music flows from my fingers for two or two hundred as night settles into the countryside is one of my favorites. I never tire of it and tomorrow as the sun sets I'll be heading east into Wisconsin to sample the menu.

I was hoping...

that in a crazy world the Church would be an anchor, an alternative, something better and higher. February 24th of this year changed all that. It turns out that Orthodoxy, like everything else, like me, has its moments of weakness.

So what to do?

I could descend into bitterness or cynicism and dwell on the betrayal of it all. Believe me the thought has occurred. I could pretend, from the safety of my parish kingdom, that things aren't as they seem and just bide the time until folks go away or pass away. I could get up and leave for greener grass on the other side of some fence.

Only one thing seems certain now. I have to do my best to stay faithful. The rest is in God's hands.

My thanks to...

the man in the cowboy hat and his wife who stopped by and dropped a $5 bill in the guitar case where we were playing. I'm now a professional musician!

Filed under "I couldn't resist..."

I'm holding out hope...

that everyone makes it to heaven in the life to come.

Now I'm not a universalist. I know people choose to be away from God and in the life to come God grants them their request. That's hell, it's real, and the thought of it is harsh, worse than the whole red devils and pitchfork thing of medieval paintings. Yet I still hope.

The Church keeps a list of the Saints, those we know by virtue of their faith, holiness, and intercessions are in the presence of God. The Church, however, does not keep a list of the damned, those we know are outside of God's presence and until it does neither will I.

In a few days...

we'll go quiet in my family as we think about my brother Paul and life that passed too soon.

I can remember it quite vividly, September 11, 2006, the call to my work. Something was wrong at Paul's hotel room, paramedics, 44, gone. Mouth open, no words. Mind in full acquisition mode, no reasons. Drive to his wife's, or is it his widow's home. What can we do? Here's money to help out. God, he has kids, why? And the sky is silent.

Tonight I'll go to his grave and light a candle. This Sunday, as I always do, I'll pray for him and his family. Yet the words still do not come to me and the sky, at least in this matter, refuses to answer.

7 PM, Woodville, Wisconsin...

and the main street is quiet. A cluster of cars, like horses in time past, are angled nose first around the Wildwood Bar and Grill. There are a thousand Wildwoods in Wisconsin, shelters of a sort, where beer is served by the the better looking women in town, or some guy named Frank, and you can laugh until the evening forces you out into the cold.

Passing through the bar the door opens to the stage at the front of a building, attached but separate, with a Budweiser poster as the backdrop. The seats themselves are empty but on the stage a local is already singing. The local has the long gray hair of a man who star has already passed, but so have we all, the people who wander in to sing on open mic night in Woodville.

There's the former boat mechanic who lost some of his hearing plying his trade in the bottom of tourist paddlewheels but still finger picks with passion and sings old country songs to a nearly empty room. A lady with a willowy sweet voice who somehow found her way to the rump of Wisconsin from New Zealand fills the air with minor chords and songs of lost love. A few people drift in and out while the local plays master of ceremonies as a ceiling fan with fluorescent bulbs wobbles in the rafters.

We were the first to get up, my partner and I, three songs prepared and a towel for sweat. Fifty years ago and a thousand miles south our music would have been in the thick of things in a room full of men with red arms in overalls dancing with ladies holding their hair up with bobby pins. That's who we are, a band out of time that's grabbed onto music from people long gone and plays it for others who talk while we sing. Yet that's how it goes and three songs became seven and then a call back that made it around ten doing whatever we could, on the fly, unrehearsed but alive.

When it was done they clapped for us and we for them when they played and all of us vicariously for the people who should have been there, who would have heard us had not our star passed in the night. Somewhere out there a caravan of semis and buses full of performers and roadies and "people" will drive through to the next place down the road and thousands will pay for three hours of being in the presence of the famous. That's okay, we'd like to be there too.

But tonight we're in Woodville where we pack our own gear and no one asks for an autograph. There is a kind of music here as well, the freedom to play with our hearts, the freedom to be two guys combing music's cemeteries in hopes of a Lazarus worth bringing back and playing even if the audience is talking and the beer drinkers next door have their gaze fixed on the lovely behind the bar.

The guys in the band...

Kind of a neat old car...

50's Nash Rambler wagon.

Some wisdom...

from Cal Thomas.

Someone at work...

lost their job yesterday one of those things where they pack you out that day with your stuff in a box and no explanations left behind.

I knew who it was, a competent employee but an unhappy soul with personal skills like gravel in the gears. I know what its like, too, to have that conversation where a boss somewhere tells you that you don't fit into the plan, or the future, or whatever is next and today is the end. Whether you think it's coming or not there's still no good way to walk out of a building with your personal life in a cardboard box.

And in these times there may be no going back. It's not like the days when you could get dropped from one place and scooped up by another and sometimes even do better then before. Now you wait with a hundred others, people younger, people cheaper, people better prepared, and hope you can elbow someone out of the way and avoid getting the skinny envelope from HR.

Two things cross my mind at this moment. I feel sad for yesterday's unemployed. This morning when he wakes up and the day is just filled with hours he either starts to see the horizon or starts to see the living room walls. From what I know of him it may be the walls. Selfishly, of course, I think of myself, simultaneously glad that it wasn't me and dreading the day it could be. What would I do? Where would I go? How would I feel? Having made it through before could I do it again?

If not for faith, who knows?

You never know...

how strong spider webs are until you try to hose them off your house. Tis the end of summer and the clean up begins.

The State Fair is tomorrow...

and with it the summer begins its departure. The daylight is already shorter, the temperatures cooler, and children are thinking of school.

The older I get the more the charm of winter fades but autumn has retained its hold on me. The heat of the summer disappears yet warmth remains. The days are shorter but the colors compensate for it in their vibrancy. September is the best of months, the only one I wish would last the year. October has its moments, the month when you can wear your best sweaters, but then the long wait begins.

Darkness settles, snow falls, the cold descends and refuses to loosen its grip until some time in March when life again will not be denied. We hibernate, if not in fact at least in spirit, our horizons constrained by the chill just outside our doors. The only sign of hope is the calendar on our wall, a tropical scene for each month, a reminder that somewhere what is all around us is not all there is.

But this morning is sunny and cool, the best kind of day and I'll store each and every one of these days in my soul like a battery to power me through the night to come. It's time to be outside, to move freely, to absorb the sun, and take care of chores. It is the season of drawing all things together so that spring, when it comes, will find a remaining spark of life, an ember that its gentle winds can once again restore to flame.

Sometimes people wonder...

why the Orthodox church is so firm on proper order and decorum in worship. The video below is of a "clown mass" and yes its real and while its extreme it's an example of what can happen when people decide the Liturgy is about them and not about God and abandon the time tested forms.

Filed under couldn't resist...

If you happen...

to be in the area of LaCrosse, WI, today or Saturday consider dropping in to our first annual Rummage Sale at the Church. Like they say, one person's trash is another's treasure (although we've taken care to not have actual trash in our sale).

Hmmmmmm....

On August 18th the Vikings signed Brett Favre. The next two days were marked by tornadoes and torrential rain in the Twin Cities. Coincidence? I think not!

As sand through the hourglass...

so are the days of our lives. I just received an email from an old acquaintance in high school who announced that she's going to be a grandmother.

Sigh...

Brett Favre became a Viking, and on my birthday yet.

I miss the era of heroes even if it was all a myth. Thank goodness there is still Nitschke.

Hat tip to Paradosis...

A blast from the past...

It's come to my attention...

that a handful of seminarians from the Antiochian Archdiocese have been moved from the OCA related seminaries they were about to attend and transferred, through the Archdiocesan offices, to Holy Cross Seminary in Boston. The presumption is that this is a protest against the OCA not silencing the blogger responsible for ocanews.org which has printed articles and information regarding the Archdiocese and our recent struggles.

My sadness is simply this. The very first experience of "ministry" these men, and their families, will have is this event. Yes, serving the Church sometimes means long hours and sacrifice, but there are also many beautiful and wonderful things about it that make it worthwhile and good. Men and families come to seminary with a certain kind of idealism and yes, future events will temper that but the desire to serve, that love of God will also be the fuel that keeps them going when the days are long and the troubles many.

Presuming that the accounts are true this action says to these men and their families "You are a cog in the machine, a piece in the larger game that can be moved for other's reasons." There is a certain truth in that, we do serve our Church but we also serve its Bishops, yet I hope these events will not dampen the fire that brought these men, their wives, and families to this place. I hope they can see beyond the moment and realize the value of what they are called to do and be even if those who are charged with their pastoral care sometimes forget.

Axios and may God grant each of them and their families many years,

Time changes everything...

or at least it should if the normal maturing processes are in place and running. The sadness of age is the physical changes but its glory is perspective. Having just been around and living life has its own way of burning off the impurities, buffing the rough edges, and rubbing off the burrs. Youth is whiskey, straight from the still, age is bourbon charred with the ashes inside its barrel, the price of mellowing.

High school football captains grow gray, teenage beauty queens sag because gravity will not be denied. Whiz kids cannot escape time despite their calculations, and strong and weak change with the ebbs and flows of fate. Such is the nature of life and the only way to understand this is to live it with your eyes, heart, and soul wide open.

And its the way I wish things to be. No pining for a mythical yesterday. No pondering a still to be discovered future. Just alive and awake in this moment.

Of course I wouldn't mind my hair coming back but, oh well...

Tonight is the night...

when my classmates will gather for our 30th high school reunion. I'll not be there.

There's a lady at my parish who's ill and needs to be visited, and people, perhaps, to see on the way down to LaCrosse. There are services to tend to and apparently a neighbor who's put their fence too far on to church property. The stuff of life. Real life.

High school is like a dream, a far away three years that occasionally reaches out to touch you but for the most part is lost in the mists. In the old days, perhaps, the people you went to high school with were also the people you grew up with, childhood friends from a hometown you remember but now in these mobile days this seems to be more rare. High school is a stop on the way, and the relationships that matter are more often to be found outside its doors in whatever life lies ahead.

The truth is that I live less than a half hour from my high school but its a world of time, places, and experiences away. I care for those people who were with me in those days, but I don't long for them or that time. I wish them well, and pray for them often, but my life is now and any nostalgia is only about what could have been and not what was. My best days are now, always have been.

So, if somehow a member of the Mahtomedi High School class of 79 stumbles onto this blog, know that I wish you all the best and my prayers and hope are that life has been good and kind to you. Be well. Be blessed. May you find every happiness and more than that may you always know God. But tonight I'll be at Vespers with whoever comes through the door. I need to be there for more reasons than you can possibly imagine but I won't forget you either.

Rip em up, tear em up, give em hell Zephyrs...

Is it just me...

or are there others out there who are as sick and tired of TV commercials for "enhancement" products for men as I am?

Can't I watch a move in peace without someone telling me about their new found prowess? I don't care, really, take my word for it and I feel sorry for parents have to try to explain to their five year old about the grandpa on the screen with the funny smile.

And, by the way, as a musician I wouldn't be caught dead sitting around with a bunch of geezers singing "Viva Viagra". Here's your check, thanks for singing, we'll give you back your pride when we're done with it..."

End of rant.

Rain...

There is a glorious rain falling in eastern Minnesota this morning. Slow, steady, lasting, somewhere between the rain that passes just quickly enough to ruin your car wash and the torrents that rip the siding from a house.

It's been a dry summer here along the Mississippi River, they say we're about seven inches under normal, and the skies have been the beautiful, unforgiving, blue of a drought. The old trees can make it because their roots are deep but the lawns, wide and shallow, have become brown and the beauty of flowers has been stunted.

I have many things planned for today. Places to go, people to see, tasks to be accomplished. But it's raining in eastern Minnesota today and the weather trumps everything in this part of the world. Frankly, I don't mind a bit.

Helpless...

After years of hearing it you can recognize the voice on the phone, regardless of who it is, and you know what's coming next.

There will be no magic words. There will be no quote from the Fathers that provides illumination. The sacraments will help but they will not take away the coming gauntlet. There's a cry for help and if you answer it you'll not escape a piece of the trauma because to help means that you, too, must go with and through.

While you never seem to quite get used to it over time you come to accept it, the terrible intimacy of holding the hand of someone walking through dark places. You get used to the helplessness, the reality that all of your skills matter little and you, your presence and your ear on the phone in the small hours of the morning, matter most. When words fail, and they often do in the face of mortality, all that's left is a whisper "I'm here".

So it's okay, you're not a bother, call me when you need to and I'll do my best. Don't, though, expect a miracle or lights shining down from heaven or an instant answer. If that happens glory be to God but if not just know that I'm here.

The Old House...

I have memories of dill smells
and the living room's piano
where a mouse made a nest
and I learned my passion.

There were stairs to an attic
with young boy hidden corners
and a basement, dark and cool
relief in the summer.

Our room was a shared one
two beds and one window
at night we would listen
and hear the floor's creaking.

It was brick, on a corner
as strong as Gibraltar
and it carried us through
the storms and the quiets.

Still time took us away
we left in the winter
houses change in an instant
drifting thoughts, though, they stay.

I'm nearly fifty now
the house close to a hundred
a lifetime away from me
and still I remember.

Original "House of the Rising Sun"...

Just a thought...

This is something probably only an Orthodox Christian would think about but "Why would a hermitage have a web site?".

De-electrifying...

Twitter is gone. If people really want to know want to know what's going on with me they can call or email. Or better yet we can go out for supper some time and talk.

My electronic planners are on the way out. I'm going back to a book, with paper. The next cell phone will be just that, a phone, and if I need to find my way I'll open an atlas first, GPS second. I'm even working my music backwards and away from the plugs. I want to hear sounds made of wood and steel, breath and valve, stick and skin.

There are simply too many devices around telling me what to do, where to go, and how to communicate. I remember reading once, it was fun as I recall. I remember as well what life was like without the need for a constant supply of batteries. Many years ago watching a thunderstorm was entertainment from the safety of a front porch and when I wanted to experience nature I actually went outside.

No, I'm not a luddite. I'm keeping the computer and the blog and I'm not keen on the idea of cutting the power lines to the house. It's just that too much is too much and I've reached my own personal saturation point. I like pencils, music on the front porch, sun in my face, and hanging out in person. I have this image of myself as a pale, emaciated, creature with large eyes staring at a screen while a tube feeds nutrients in one end and evacuates waste in the other and I'm choosing to rebel against that future.

And it all started with pot. Yes I did "inhale" in high school because I was 17 and at the height of my personal stupidity but that's decades gone with no regrets. It was more about an incident some days ago when a musician in the acoustic jam I attend talked about how he sometimes smoked a bit before coming to play. My response was that I preferred to be alive, awake, and yes even nervous before I played because I wanted to feel everything as it really is.

Then it occurred to me. There are too many times when I, clean and sober for years when it comes to chemicals, still hang out way to much in a fantasy e-world. I started thinking about whether all those buzzing and whirring devices, the plugs ins and screens, were becoming my own personal "weed".

And just in case I'm going cold turkey.

My fingertips hurt...

and the muscles around my neck are feeling the strain. For over three hours tonight music poured out of me as it does once or twice a week and has from the time I was a child

It's not that I'm the best. I'm not even close. Yet if my life were a movie there would be a soundtrack and it would be way better than the picture. There is always, has always been, music inside, around, over, and above me. Some time before I was born the spring was wound and the music box has yet to stop.

Now some people swim in a sea of numbers, others in facts, others in tasks. I swim in music and even my words are their best when they sound like lyrics. My life is a song I hope will become a hymn that never ends.

So my fingers hurt, bass strings are like wires, but every other part of me is awake, aware, and alive even as this day closes and the next arrives in my sleep.

Little truths from life...

You never really know how dirty your carpets are until you buy a new vacuum cleaner.

Found that out this morning. Pulled up enough hair to make a third cat. I'm not that dirty. Really.

I was talking with some folks...

about trapping skunks (I have some interesting conversations) and I found out what you use to bait the trap. Spam and sardines. And yes, there apparently is a market for skunk pelts but I do not want to know where.

August is the month...

of reflection, the month of my birthday, the month that marks the passage of time. Every August I think about things, where they've gone, and where they may go. August is a pondering month.

When I was a child the age I am now was unimaginable, the age of parents and teachers and doctors. How far away these days were, and how far away were their concerns. But mirrors do not lie and neither do hard to get out of bed mornings. I have arrived and much too quickly for my liking.

I'm happy with the music, a musician being what I should have been if I could do it again, but still it is good to know that it has never died. I'm happy with my family. We've changed. We've grown. We're the same faces but different people. Except for the yawning chasm left by my brother's death there is goodness among us. I continue to write, it feeds me and I feed it. I'm lucky in love, unfortunate in hairline, spreading out some in the middle, but not too old to dream.

Yet I'm restless too. I believe there is something more and its close but not yet here. I feel it but it is undefined. I still have a horizon and probably always will. Always within me is the sense that I was destined for something more, something better, but it is not about the fleeting passage of fame. Rather its the sense that this world, this place, these days, are not my final destination. Everybody hears that call but few listen.

I cannot drown it out.

Some wisdom on these times...

can be found here.

Real Men Don't Rehearse...

In the small hours...

of the morning when dreams are most vivid I had a dream as well.

I was with a young child and we were walking through my hometown of Wausau, Wisconsin. I was showing him various places and we finally made it to the last home we lived in which, far from its current run down shape, was bright, vibrant, and large. On the street by the house there were a group of teenagers playing basketball, some I knew and some I didn't, but I joined the game and took a few shots.

Then, in the moment, I said "You know what I want to do when I get to heaven? I want to shoot hoops."

Interesting, and a pleasant dream.

A smile for the day...