"Knowing when you have enough avoids dishonor..." The Tao Te Ching

I have to remind myself every day that I'm one of the wealthiest people on the planet. The population quickly approaches 7 billion and I have more material possessions than at least 80% of them. This is absurd, but what approaches ridiculousness is the way that I still want more.

Megan and I have jobs that, by American standards, do not pay well. Yet, when I say the words "[2.1x]" or fill out a W-4 I'm amazed at how high that is. I have good reason to believe my parents never made more than $[x] in any given year. My household has doubled the income of my parents' household. This is progress to be proud of, if progress makes you proud. For me, it does. Yet I sometimes lose sight of the fact that we are told multiple hundreds of millions of people--billions even--live on $1 a day. We are told that for mere pennies a day we can sustain the nourishment and education of children in third world countries. So why do I become upset when I can't afford a Wii and Beatles Rock Band?

We, for all intents and purposes, own a home. We have a parcel of land, a piece of our universal earth, that is solely our right and property, mortgage not withstanding. The ability to do this, let alone the reality of completing such a transaction, is wealth beyond measure on a global scale. Let's not forget that I spend a tidy sum every month for the added comfort of artificially controlling the weather and the condition of the water inside my home.

Let's just talk about what I do inside this home: automatically wash laundry and dishes; access the Internet with a computer that I own, or that is given to me by my employer; bathe in more water than some people see in a day; sleep on a mattress that, while uncomfortable, beats lying on the ground and has no bugs; spend money to feed an animal that provides me with no food items whatsoever; put product in my hair; throw away or ignore altogether food that a billion people might murder for; entertain myself by staring at the TV; leave on a night light; play video games; I suppose the list of unnecessary activities and items could really be endless.

We own two cars, four bicycles and a 50cc scooter. We have two licensed drivers. There are people in this town who cannot afford the life-changing power that one old clunker would give them. If memory serves, there's a historical study somewhere that supports the mobility of populations as a major key to the acquisition of wealth. If I really wanted it that bad, recession aside, I could easily drive to the bigger market in Wichita and make myself richer.

Speaking of jobs and being richer, I have the luxury of working at a job that is meaningful to me. I am not forced to do whatever I can, anything at all, to feed my children. For that matter, I have the wealth to hire a doctor to safely and successfully put an end to my acquisition of children!

Life is truly good and I am undeservedly fortunate.

So why do I constantly want more, even in the face of all of this knowledge?




Photo courtesy of jeremyclawson.blogspot.com
RIP JAC

Un-fully-formed thought for the day

 

I'm concerned that Christianity could perhaps be the understanding of God that has wandered farthest from the source. Three basic assumptions to inform the space from which I begin:

God is indefinable;

God is uncontrollable;

God is all-powerful and all-merciful, both of which are obvious by our very existence.

So it seems to me that Christianity, of all the world's religions, has attempted to apply the most definition to, exert the most control over, and claim for itself the power and mercy inherent in, the Prime Mover. One of the most important pieces of evidence for this is the figure of Jesus Christ, a half-human, whom Christianity places at the center of all relationship with the infinite. Thus, in the Christian model, a human being becomes God incarnate, the "right-hand-man," and the powerful counsel, judge, jury, and executioner. In most denominational foci, in fact, a Son of Man has indeed become God through the Trinitarian position. In a large historical context construction, then, Christianity has altered the concept of God to place humanity at the center instead of the Prime Mover.

It has then grown up, as de facto God, placing restrictions on the relationship with the infinite, limits on God's love, strict definitions about which portions of creation are most important or even acceptable (see: role of women; subservience of nature; the book of Revelation; draconian treatises on homosexuality, questions of faith, or human weakness [New Testament statements]). God's mystery, unpredictability, power and mercy are all still proclaimed, but only through the lens of acceptability that is Jesus' human ascension to the throne.

Islam is guilty of many of the harsh definitions and pigeon-holes for God that I mention in Christianity as well. Islam, as I understand it, would however agree with my position that Jesus, as a human, has been incorrectly raised to the level of God. Eastern religions would all tend to fall nicely within the assumptions I laid out above.

In historical, philosophical and theological contexts, however, I wonder if Christianity has created an understanding where humans are actually at the center of study and worship, instead of God. This would make sense with Christianity having been born out of Middle Eastern Hellenistic culture.

I am neither historian, philosopher, nor theologian; I am but a traveler and observer.

No I would not sleep in this bed of lies,

So toss me out, and turn in.

And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes.

I'm marking it down to learning; I am.

What's been on my mind

This is a photo of the craziest play I ever performed in. The man in the middle is Jeremy Clawson, the woman on his right is his wife, Cheyla. As I recall, they met and fell in love during this show. That's how I remember it.



1st Lt. Jeremy Clawson - One of the most enigmatic and striking people I've ever known died recently and my thoughts about his passing have been worthy of a Jackson Pollock painting. I met Jeremy about 12 years ago, as near as I can recall, and can only claim him as a part of my life for no more than 1 year, but I'm tempted to say it was more like 6 months. Jeremy was a person that you do not easily forget. Intense in every way, quick to laughter with wells for eyes, he was instantly likeable. I cannot possibly do justice to the impact that this thunderclap of a human left on me in such a short time.

Ironically, in context of my description of his impact, it's easily been 10 years since I've spoken to Jeremy in person. (As I sit at a coffee shop in Kansas City typing this, the song from his funeral, which I had never heard before that day, I am now hearing for the second time in my life. Weird. [Death Cab for Cutie, "I'll Follow You Into the Dark]) However, both Megan and I know that Jeremy and Cheyla's journey of love contains many powerful parallels with our own. So, as we did our best to explain to Cheyla at Jeremy's funeral, we've always looked to them from afar for assurance that love can be maintained through intensity--that it can be tested and strengthened in the process. So to see the passionate husband and father taken out of that equation is unsettling at the least.

I did, through the power of Facebook, have the opportunity to chat with Jeremy online over the last few years. A couple of those times, he was on deployment in Afghanistan. He was, of course, a soldier; by all accounts, a proud and exemplary, dedicated soldier. He was also a staunch advocate for the human condition, an obvious believer in the value of humanity, the power of the human mind and spirit. As much as that belief does not mesh with military service in my mind, the thought that keeps coming back to me is this: the person who would have been the most fun, most intellegent, and most challenging to engage in that conversation was Jeremy, and I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to do that. It is true that I barely knew him, but I respected, observed, even envied him. The human condition is reduced with his passing.

The New Evolution

It doesn't seem right that I am much more interested in sitting around engaging the plight of the working class, planning their emergence and freeing their minds through education than I am actually engaging working class people. It doesn't seem right, and yet I know that I am guilty of the sin of subscribing to intellectual evolution. I don't know if other people have coined or used this term or concept, but what I'm getting at is the idea that through education a human being can quite literally evolve. The difference in only one lifetime when education surpasses the previous generation's can be equivalent to many generations of Darwinian evolution--I truly believe the difference can be so stark.

Elitism. This is an option for the POV that I'm referencing. Elitism, however, requires a feeling of arrogance. This can be true in some cases of established white-collar/blue-collar tensions, but that's not exactly what I'm referring to. What I'm NOT speaking of is a person who is an established member of the white-collar class with no hands-on blue collar experience; in this case avoidance or a hands-off approach would indeed be a candidate for elitism.

The intellectual evolution of which I speak happens within an individual, within a lifetime. In this case, the unwillingness to engage the blue-collar world from which said individual evolved is based, not in arrogance and lack of understanding, but in fear and intimate understanding. The outward signs of this intolerance can perhaps be the same as elitism--aloofness, scoffing, avoidance, distaste and distrust--but the internal struggle is completely different. The outward signs are a result not of a lack of knowledge (as in elitism) but of intimate knowledge and, having "seen the light," a fear of "going backward." This notion of "going backward" is not at all fair to the place from which the person evolved, nor to the people who still inhabit that space. But the individual, perceiving personal enlightenment, believes their journey to be one of progression, the inverse of which would be regression. So, through this progression or personal evolution, the concept of "overcoming" emerges. "I have overcome and to engage or embrace my previous incarnation is to take a step backwards."

I am beginning to see that this personal evolution is, in fact, a circle, not a line. The further growth and progression from the starting point leads not to greater distance but, in fact, a greater understanding and a closer look and, eventually, the release of fear.

Until next time...

Breathe it in

In my heart lies a memory
To tell the stars above.
Don't forget to remember me, my love

Ooooooh, I don't like to fill the days. I'd rather take them as they come, spontaneously surfing from one moment to the next, but life is busy.
I'd rather be classy, but mostly I'm crude.
I'd rather be compassionate, but mostly I'm sarcastic.
I'd rather be driven to be all the great things I'm not, but mostly I'm pretty comfortable with me.

Until next time...

I'll cop out to the change but a stranger is putting the tease on...

I feel like a lot happened over the holiday weekend. I know a lot happened in my head.

I went in to the weekend with all of the stress and tension involved with the end of the fiscal year at work. Uncertain as a team whether we would achieve our goals when it was all said and done, and certain as an individual that I'd not done my best to make sure we did hit the mark. I some times do that; occasionally I get in a funk and don't live up to my potential. This year, however, is the first time I've ever looked at the situation while I was in it and summed it up in terms of potential. Although it doesn't expunge the sin of failing to pull my weight, I'm somehow pleased with the observation that I have the ability to do better--the option to live up to my potential or not. I hope I can consider myself under this light in all things large and small. The fact is, the potential of a given individual human is an impressive thing. Being a human, I guess I'm comfortable with the concept that this also includes me.

This observation leads me to a commitment to consciously consider "my best" in every moment. I've done a lot of being in my life, but I'm not sure I've done much being my best. Here's to being my best in husbandry, fatherhood, humanity and humility.

Until next time...

War or Peace

Who's bold enough to believe
In either love, or war?
Both just leave you busted, and broken down
Wanting more.

I hope I never, ever know what it really means to experience war. That would make me lucky, and rare on a human scale. I don't know how it really feels, but I dreamed it last night. I peered through the window with my children by my side, trying impossibly to hide behind the sill so as not to be seen. Outside, an army in street clothes stole through the neighborhood, house to house with the occasional sound of resistance ringing in the air, but ultimately submission. The fear that I felt was horrible, and my children looked to us for answers...and safety. In the dream, we were helpless against the intruders, and terrible things happened. I'm sad to say that upon waking, my first thought was disappointment at not owning a gun. As though just owning one would salve my fear; or would it only potentially force someone else to feel it for me?

Many families are experiencing that fear right now. Fear that, as a fat and happy American, I cannot begin to understand. And why do they endure this? I challenge you to find a violent situation that doesn't boil down to one person seeking power over another. The only reason violence ever occurs is because someone has been held down. There may be moments where the violence appears to be defensive and just; but somewhere in the past is a moment where, had the fair choice been made, the present moment could have been changed.

I'll never forget the terror of the dream I had last night, but as vivid as it was I cannot imagine the terror of reality. War is over, if you want it.

Father's Day

This year was a good Father's Day in many ways; although I didn't expect it to be. I basically hadn't seen the kids since Tuesday night because Megan and I were doing tech for Broadway at Bethel and Megan's cousin Sarah was nannying for us. Wednesday night the kids all left our house and stayed with Sarah's family until Sunday. Sunday afternoon the kids came to campus with Megan's mom to watch the show. It was so wonderful to hug and kiss them. There is so much warmth and love in their little arms. It felt so invigorating to just inhale them after the week apart, when I never felt we'd quite reconnected after our Vegas trip. I bemoan the business of my life that keeps me away from them so much, yet I know that they need to be confident without me there. Maggie is turning into such a beautiful young person. She's got freckles all over her face--signs of happy times under the sun. She shows me such maturity alongside her childishness. There is so much joy in her smile, it hurts to know that she will experience pain at all. Lennon is so full of engagement that it sometimes comes out in kicks and pinches, but he really just wants to experience contact. He's such a good little hugger! He's starting to tell us why things are funny, and they both ask such good questions all the time. Maggie asked me about Adam and Eve recently and whether I believed it was true. She's really thinking about things. What a wonder is wonderment! What a lucky dad I am.

Father's Day is really a time to celebrate the kids and all that they bring; not least of all because we lost Megan's dad on Father's Day, 2007. Remembering him and how he would have loved these two is a wonderful way to celebrate them, while acknowledging and healing from the pain at the same time. If it wasn't for the little lives around us, the loss of the big lives would be too much for the heart to take. So, Jim, here's a nod to you. We miss you so--your steadiness, your thoughtfulness, your sly humor and your gentle direction. Your legacy lives here on earth through these children. You are not a memory to them; you are a real and living person, waiting to see us all again, hopefully later than sooner. And so, the day for fathers that I thought might always be bitter at the memory of your passing, is all the sweeter for the memory of your love.

Way back in nineteen-hundred and sixty-seven

I can't begin to tell you the joy I experienced on a recent evening, in our basement, slung in various states of repose around the room, cuddled tight in blankets and watching The Beatles animated movie Yellow Submarine with the kids. I've always loved the movie so much but haven't gotten it out since Maggie was a toddler. Lennon is so in to being named after a Beatle and bringing it all to him in cartoon form was a great time. As we watched, all singing along, learning the words as we went, I experienced the unique beauty of sharing a deep passion of mine with my children--who are in fact my deepest passion. The kids would occasionally check themselves on making sure they knew which Beatle was whom, ask me to clarify storyline (not easy in a fairly trippy plot), or ask questions about the individual Beatles' personalities. In the end, Maggie told me she really wanted a CD with all the movie songs on it. I probably can't wait until birthdays or Christmas to bestow that gift.

"Try to love one another right now"

The student part of me says that I should finish a book before I comment on it. The emotional part of me says that I must share my experience now even though it is incomplete.

No Other Name? A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes Toward the World Religions by Paul Knitter is rocking my world. It's more or less a text book, and it's pretty academic, but it's a wonderful exploration of how Christians have chosen to react to one big problem: Christianity claims to have access to the full and final revelation/incarnation of God on earth, yet after 2000 years of mission work and attempts to convert the world Christianity cannot even claim a majority of human souls, let alone all of them. How then do Christians deal with the fact that so many humans claim a full and satisfying revelation of God without Christ? An amazing question if you ask me, and a clarification of a journey I've been on for awhile but couldn't clearly state.

Knitter explores 7 reactions to this Christian conundrum: all are relative; all are essentially the same; all have a common psychic origin; the conservative evangelical model of one true religion; the mainline Protestant model of salvation only in Christ; the Catholic model of many ways, one norm; the theocentric model of many ways to the center. He then attempts to offer a solution that lets Christians still be specifically and energetically Christian. I'm only through the first two explorations, preparing to dive into the concept of one psychic origin.

Here's the format: the reaction as most clearly stated by a particular theologian or proponent, two other cases for the point of view, questions presented for Christians, and problems with the position. My favorite observation so far comes from "metaphysician-mystic" Frithjof Schuon, commenting on the reaction that all are essentially the same. As explained by Knitter:

"...he sees the dividing lines among religions running not vertically between the different religions but horizontally across them all. It is not that all Christians are different from all Hindus. Rather, there is something that makes for a definite difference between one Christian and the next; this same something makes for the same difference between one Hindu and the next. And what makes for common differences among Christians as among Hindus also constitutes a fundamental unity between certain Christians and certain Hindus."

These commonalities are basically defined as responding to an esoteric or an exoteric God; fundamentally, do persons find more meaning in an introverted relationship (more commonly represented by Eastern religions and societies [Buddhist, Hindus, etc]) or in an extroverted relationship (more commonly represented by Western religions and societies [Judaism, Christianity, Islam]). So far, I've seen nothing to convince me that the many religions are conceptually different from the many paintings of an art class observing the very same subject.

Exciting.

"...where the bright lights and the big city meet."

I am such a bleeding heart.

We spent a weekend in Las Vegas and, with the exception of the very happy couple who were married, I hated just about every minute of it. All I could think the whole time was that here was the epicenter of everything that is wrong about America and about the world: excess, avarice, detachment, selfishness, mindless distraction, mass consumerism, perversion and poverty. And listen, I'm no prude by a longshot but I don't think every 10th vehicle needs to advertise "Hot Babes Straight To You" to get the point across. And yes, there were children--tons of them. We, as discerning adults can make sense of not only the massive amounts of sensory stimulation (although it took us half a day to adjust to that) and sexuality, but what's the redeeming value in having your kids there?

As we stood in front of the Bellagio, towering high in the western sky, watching the plumes of thousands of gallons of water being launched into the air by high-powered cannon-fountains, the only amazement I felt was at being in the middle of the desert staring at an amount of water used for entertainment that could have quenched millions of mouths worth of thirst. Not just the water, but the dollars spent to create this neat but pointless spectacle could have made a difference in the world in countless ways, innumerable places.

The indelible image in my mind was that of a homeless man on the north strip, bedraggled, rancid, manged and emaciated, passed out at the bus stop. At his feet lay a container spilled onto its side, bleeding its unknown contents on to the sidewalk. On his back a shirt proclaiming the spectacular Treasure Island Resort Hotel in Las Vegas. Such a billboard never entered the minds of the Las Vegas Bureau of Tourism.

Dream speak

During last night's dreams the words "it would have been better for him never to have been born than to have seen these days" played over and over in my mind. This concept sounds vaguely familiar. I have the distinct sensation that it plays a large role in the Bible, Shakespeare, Greek tragedy, Tolkien and probably a zillion others; all of these things having figured heavily into my reading at some point or another.

Isn't it a tragic statement though? It's a monumentally weighty thought to be so deep in despair that illimitable good memories are not enough to overcome the bad of this very moment. I've been there. Megan has been there. Probably most people have been there at some point. Some of the people I've known never got past that moment. But most have. If I think about that for a moment it blows me away.

But what about the people we know who didn't have the strength to live or die their way out of the quagmire of hopelessness? For some, I believe, it is a feat of superhuman strength to overcome anguish by owning death. For many, they perhaps felt they'd already been sentenced to death. I'm thinking not only of terminally ill patients who walk the road of assisted suicide, but of schizophrenics or others who are aware of their disease, who have struggled mightily against an unbreakable wall, who have picked themselves up from the fall to once again scale insurmountable odds. In that moment when the struggle becomes clear in its infinity, isn't it being realistic to consider that self-determination includes many forms of victory? I don't know. I'm considering the options as I write.

For me, suicide is not the unforgivable sin; but, then again, I do not believe God is puppeteering each of my moments. I'm reminded of the theme song from M*A*S*H: suicide is painless, it brings on many changes; and I can take or leave it if I please. Doesn't that suggest empowerment?

It occurs to me that I should probably mention two things. One, I'm not depressed I'm just running with a strange dream. And, two, I know that suicide is a terrible thing for a family to go through and I hope this conversation is not disrespectful to that pain.

But back to the people who don't feel they can live or die their way out of their position. What about them? It seems to me that the sentence is a life of sadness and despair, angry and suspicious of the world. I guess I'm really thinking of my mother, who I admit I do not have the strength to face. She's a paranoid schizophrenic who tumbles through life like so much laundry in the dryer, bouncing from one point to another with no control over whither or when. This is how I think of her, though I confess she may be fundamentally in control with medication or therapy and I would not know it. But when I think of her, I think of a person damned to unhappiness and bitterness, with no options for self-actualization, lost in the interminable wash of people whose existence leaves little mark on the world. But she left her children, who are leaving their children. I have said before that I'd rather not have been born than deal with growing up in our house. Each time I've said that I've meant it. But there's an amazing juxtaposition of relationship for me to look back up the road and see my mother, then turn down the road and see my children and all that they could be and know that those separate worlds are intimately connected--by me. I see fear that the road will circle, but hope that it continues upward.

For each time that you've made someone laugh, or feel anything at all it is better that you were born. For each time your children brought the world joy in its smallest corner it is better that you were born. For each moment that you stitch into the tapestry of humanity it is better that you were born. Even in the darkest of days, better.

I weep under the weight of humanity that has gone before

I was looking through some of my friend Peter's photos. He's on a service mission in the Middle East. As I looked through his photos of Lebanon, I was moved and overwhelmed at the vastness of day to day emotions that have lived on this earth through the millenia. Here were only a few photos of one small corner of earth where for thousands of years people have worried, feared, wept, loved, smiled, laughed, slept, had sex, starved, wanted, endured, created, sang, and died. The size of each of those things in my life, multiplied by untold millions, literally leaves me short of breath. Here are a couple of Peter's photos, shared without permission, but with a request for his forgiveness.

Busy, busy, busy

So we've undertaken a number of projects that need doing. Really, too many at once. I replaced the front door, but we still need to paint it and do the storm door. We've begun putting up the privacy fence in the back yard. That will allow Rigby to run with more freedom, as well as...well...privacy, I guess. We can feel a little more comfortable setting the kids free. (I admit to being a little paranoid and overprotective.) We've tilled up the front and east yards and laid down grass seed in an attempt to make it look a little better. As you can see above, it's probably a little sloppier than it should be, but it is what it is. (Be sure and check with Megan for her opinion.) We still need to paint the interior this summer, fix the Deere mower, finish the fence (obviously), and fix the siding. I'm sure Megan would like wood flooring to be a part of that, too. See photos for appropriate updates and don't forget to enjoy the bonus storm photo where I was pretty sure we were toast. Oh, and I've developed tennis elbow in the process. Yes!

Colombia, not Columbia...apparently

We spent a portion of our marriage afraid that we couldn't make friends together. We started college together as Theatre majors but the schedule for shows made it too easy for me to ignore work, class, etc., so I was invited not to return to school and Megan continued on. From that time forward, although we always had each other, we never ran in the same circle and manufacturing relationships to share was very difficult. That was seven years of marriage and maybe two-and-a-half years of dating.

Megan had her friends and I had my friends, but we could never figure out why we weren't finding a large circle wherein we both felt at home. The solution, in a roundabout way, came from the Mennonite culture. From our experiences with Hesston and Bethel we have stumbled across amazing families, people, conversations, adventures, places, smiles, homes, pastures, children and so much more. At this time in our lives we feel so blessed to know so many wonderful people of many ages and dispositions, histories and beliefs. Something about the communities of which we have been a part these last five years has made us feel at home and comfortable, with other people that we both love. There are so many, too many to name; but if you're reading this you are one of them, to be sure.

Thanks to all of you, whether we grow closer or remain acquaintances, for being who you are. We now know for sure that the two of us can run in the same circle--and it feels good.

Pictorial update II

dying eggs with friends















Megan made this dress
































So close buddy! That "m" does look like two "n"s hooked together!















Daddy's girl

Pictorial update

...maybe he's just looking for, someone to dance with...Michael Penn















...if I'm well you can tell that she's been with me...James Taylor
















...5, 6, 7 8 9 10, I love you...The Beatles















...and you may ask yourself--how did I get here?...Talking Heads















...hey, hey we're the monkees...The Monkees

What can I say, when I can't say much?

April has been a paltry month for posts. I think back to my first post in January when I considered the possibility of a post a day on my shiny new blog. I've not been nearly that prolific, but I've been very happy with the experience of blogging so far. That said, April will likely fall short of a robust February where I took the opportunity to post 8 times.

Why the decline? Certainly some of the newness has worn off, and some intermittent issues with the home computer haven't helped either. The biggest hurdle by far though has been that most of what I've been dealing with is work, and that's something I try not to discuss in this blog.

There are a number of reasons that I don't discuss work here, although for anyone stumbling across this blog I can say that "work" is Bethel College (KS). First, it's well-documented that public ranting about work can very easily come back to bite--hard. Second, I realize that feelings about work are cyclical; sometimes it's great, other times we'd rather be anywhere else. Third, I care very deeply for Bethel. My experience here has been life-changing, affirming, and fulfilling.

So, since the last month has dealt with some unpleasantries, and those unpleasantries have been pretty consuming, I've not had the opportunity or desire to discuss much else; thus, the lack of posts.

Suffice it to say that the economic downturn has come home to small town Kansas with a vengeance. Layoffs all over the area have dominated the headlines, and Bethel is not immune. So it's been with heavy hearts that the larger community mourn the loss of colleagues and mentors, attempting as a body of alumni to assess the changes necessary for long-term strength. It has been a long month, but I still hope.

He ain't right

Headed west on US50 there's a sign: Are you ready to meet the Lord?

While germane to traveling that particular highway, I'm wondering if that's the best thing for a potentially nervous driver to read while perilously navigating a roadway that seems to have more than its fair share of fatalities?

*

To that same end, about 10 miles before I reached said sign, the driver behind me decided it was time to pass when it was, in fact, not. Once the touch-and-go situation was over, I considered what options--besides continuing safely westward--I could have potentially experienced. I settled on the following:

While passing me on the left the driver realized that they were not going to make it around me before oncoming traffic hit him/her head on. Quickly realizing that the greatest chance of survival lay in running me off the road, he/she sideswiped me to save him/herself. I, of course, careened into the ditch and began a series of headlong flips, end-over-end, through the fields lining the highway until at last I came to rest in an irrigation ditch. Broken and bloody, I was in a lot of pain, but would survive. Unfortunately, however, a head trauma would surely leave me with brain damage.

Not to worry. I, through sheer force of will, would rewire my own brain around the damage, fully restoring my normal (dys)functionality.

Later in life, while at an interview, I would be asked, "What qualifies you for this position?" I would of course reply, "I rewired my OWN brain! What have you done?"

13 years

13 years ago tonight I told Megan that I didn't want us to date other people. All she could say? "Is this an April Fool's joke?"

I can't imagine my life without her.

I'm glad it worked out.

A waking dream

Last night I had a dream about a dream I used to have.

I was small and I was scared. She came almost every night, that rotting woman from the bathtub in The Shining. Even as a five-year-old I had been struck by the beauty of the nude woman in the bathroom, and then suddenly she was grotesque and horrific, and she visited me most nights.

So I was small and I was scared. Tucked deep at the bottom of my bed, securely folded into the sheets, with a coffee mug and a small television to ward off sleep, I would await the sound of "1...2...3." The numbers would appear in the air, red, at the sound of the bodiless voice warning me of her arrival. At "3" she was there, and my attempt to hide was never successful. She would always corner me and tickle me, cruelly mixing the glee of playing with the fear of her rot.

I would run downstairs and into my parents bedroom, a place of mystery and privacy. I would open the door and there they would be, or I presumed it to be them. Dark shapes, with no definable characteristics, broken only by a bright orange glow where mouths with kisses and kind words should have been. I would crawl between these shapes, the smell of burning cigarettes in my nose. I was allowed space but the space was cold, and there was no comfort.

I awoke from this dream of a dream and a memory--it's always difficult to distinguish which was which--and was confused by seeing my small face staring back at me from the darkness of my own bedroom, and the sound of my small voice telling me that the dream had scared him. He laid down between us and I knew that he needed to be warm, because I had been so cold. But he doesn't like the covers like I do. So, although he didn't know why I needed to, we held hands, and I could give him what I didn't get, and we all went down to dreams together.

The Darndest Things

Funny things that Lennon shared with me this weekend while it was just the two of us:

Dad, where do cotton balls come from?
From cotton plants.
Dad, cotton balls are meatballs.

Tommy doesn't believe that I'm Superman and Spiderman at the same time. Can you tell him mean that I am?

Daddy, this balloon has a penis.

I'm not climbing this ladder, I'm standing on it.

L: Do you want a tattoo?
Yes.
L: Well, this tattoo hurts you so maybe you should be careful.

Dad, is this The Beatles?
No, it's Def Leppard.
But The Beatles taught the Leppards how to do it, right?
Yes they did.

Smell of Summer

Yesterday was a particularly warm day; fortuitous on the first day of Maggie's spring break. We rode our bikes up to Bethel for convo and then around town for awhile. It was quite a trek for a girl who wouldn't get on her bike a few months ago just for the fear of falling.

I don't have very many positive childhood memories, but one came rushing back to me as I watched Maggie yesterday. At one point, we went over a small, steep, stone bridge in North Newton. Maggie thought it was so much fun that she begged me to let her go back and do it again. As I stood and watched her fly back over the bridge, all smiles and laughter, with the sun on my face and the smell of my own bike tires, budding trees and asphalt in my nose, I recalled the childhood freedom that went along with biking. I remembered speeding down the sidewalk on those first warm days of spring and summer, not a care in the world, imagining that I was a hero on the way to rescue a beautiful woman in trouble. This was my favorite game to play, often to the strains of Bonnie Tyler's "I Need A Hero" playing in my head. I didn't bother to tone down the melodrama when I eventually reached dating age, either. :)

Good times.