Those last two posts about the song "Simple Gifts" make even more sense in the arc of my life when you consider this:
Too many years ago, when I was a freshman music major in college, I took my first conducting class. I remember we spent almost a week perfecting our downbeat (you have to let it drop with intention, but not too tense or controlled).
This was a Christian college, and much of the class was focused on congregational songleading. This was in the day when most churches were led in worship by a gentleman who stood at the front and "conducted" the congregation, while being accompanied by the piano. I knew how to do this well simply because it was the way of the church I had grown up in; as it happened, the gentleman who led our church was usually my father, and the pianist was usually my mother. So I had seen first-hand how congregational songleading went.
I was eager to push things out a bit more, and found my chance when we were given our final assignment. Each member of the class was to pick a song and teach it to either the college choir or orchestra, and then conduct that group in that song during a concert.
Since I was in the orchestra (and not the choir), I naturally decided to conduct the orchestra. I spent a few dusty hours one afternoon going through the school's music library. Most of the songs there were of the Christian Music genre. Variations on "How Great Thou Art" and "Amazing Grace," "Fantasia on Psalm 95," and the like. Nothing grabbed my attention.
Until, somewhere in the back of the file as if forgotten, I found the orchestration to Copland's "Simple Gifts" from Appalachian Spring. And I knew that was the one. (side note: I never really wondered until now how this "secular" song by a non-Christian composer ever made it into their library. I'm sure if they knew more about the real person of Copland, this song would not have been allowed. So finding it was a tiny bit of fresh air, the beauty of the outside world breaking into such a stifling, insulated, controlling atmosphere).
I pulled the parts, organized them all, and confidently (or at least I was pretending) handed them out to the orchestra a few days later. We ran through it a couple times. And the string players all grumbled at the cascading, screaming lines there about the 2 minute mark. But we worked on it (I even had the chance to do some personal work with one of the cuter string players (which was a no-no at this conservative Bible College but I did it anyway)), and we made some cuts and we rearranged a few things, and eventually, early in the spring, in a concert of the Prairie Bible College Orchestra, I conducted my first real orchestral work ever. And I must say, it went well.
This isn't a recording of that concert. I'm sure this is much better than we did. But this is the song (well, up until about the 3-minute mark) I conducted, the first major work of my short musical career.
And it's a beautiful song, one that I still listen to quite often, when I need a little peace of mind.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 03, 2013
Monday, November 04, 2013
Simple Gifts 1
I was homeless once.
Not sleeping-in-the-streets homeless, but lacking in a home, and thus relying on the kindness of others for a place to lay my head. It lasted quite awhile. I was just out of college, working as a part-time youth pastor, unable to find an income to supplement that ministry salary.
I had been rooming with a college friend, but then he decided to leave me, and move in with his girlfriend. I couldn't afford rent on my own, and couldn't find anybody to share the space, so I had to move out.
For a little while, the church where I worked set me up with a spare room, giving me the space in exchange for playing part-time security guard. We had a gymnasium with showers, and a nice kitchen, so I had everything I needed. Except it was a little lonely, especially when earthquakes happened at 5 in the morning.
During that time I also slept on the floor of an acquaintance for a brief period, a security guard at the local strip mall. Every weekend he'd tell me I might need to find other arrangements, because he was expecting to bring "a hot little lady" home for the night. It never happened. He was a good chess player, though, and we spent hours playing chess in front of our little TV. I remember watching the Branch Davidian compound burn to the ground while we ate some cheap pizza and he killed me at chess once again.
But it turned out he wasn't paying rent. And he wasn't supposed to have the three cats he kept. And he never told the apartment managers about me. So I went away on a weekend trip with the youth group, and returned to find the apartment locked up by the local sheriff. I talked to the apartment owners, but since they didn't know me, I was out of luck. Thankfully, I didn't have much stuff in there.
I slept in my office at the church a couple of days, and eventually, right around the holidays, was invited to live temporarily in an airstream trailer in somebody's backyard.
It was sort of nice to have my own space, and a cool airstream trailer, at that. On the other hand, it was lonely, living in somebody's backyard. And this wasn't just any somebody. This was the classic grumpy church busybody who seems to show up in every church, the lady who complains about anything and everything, believing herself to be the expert on all of the church's business, even though she was really just a gossip.
I once walked into the office of my mentor, the previous youth minister, to find him in tears. He had just gotten off the phone with this woman. Later on, it all ended when the church was forced to kick her out, telling her she would either get counseling or never come back. She was that bad. But that was a year or so after I lived in her backyard.
The family was gracious to not even charge me rent. The only real cost to me was having to spend 30 minutes with this woman every morning, listening to her rant and rage and gossip about all the goings-on at the church. The fact that I worked in the office and was present at board meetings, and thus had first-hand knowledge of what was actually happening didn't sway her. She had her opinions, and she was going to tell them to me.
She also absolutely, positively, without question hated praise choruses. And I helped lead worship. So I got an earful on that, too.
During that time I finally found a second job, working in a localsweat shop Christian book store. It was a store that took ministry profits seriously. I've written about it elsewhere, even going so far as to make the claim that I almost lost my faith while working in that bookstore. But that's another story.
The connection is this: I spent some of my hard-earned money to buy some Christmas CDs that year. I even bought a couple strings of Christmas lights, and hung them inside the airstream.
Which is how I found myself one night all alone in the airstream, bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights, sitting out a rainstorm that pelted the aluminum walls with a regular smattering of rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat, feeling a little lost and lonely and friendless and maybe just a little depressed, when this song came on:
And I was mesmerized. Enchanted. Overwhelmed. Between the tight chord structures, the tender piano, the soaring violin, the rushing, ascending lines of the melody - Christmas flooded into my airstream, and I was blessed. The aching beauty of the song called forth to the deep ache in my heart, and took my breath away.
It came to an end too quickly, and I hit repeat.* And again. And again. I played the rest of the CD, and went back and listened to this one again. For a moment I was living in a world of pure beauty. And all was well.
I still have this CD, and every time this song comes on, I'm instantly back in that trailer, feeling lonely and a little lost, trying to make sense of the world and the plan I was supposedly following. And this song is a gift to me today as much as it was back then. Simplicity is good. Simplicity is a gift. Loneliness isn't the end of the world, because of Immanuel. Christ has come.
In the gift we deliver, in the gift we receive
is the living spirit Mary did conceive;
A royal gift of love, incandescent flame,
is given to all mankind in his name,
Joy, joy it is our true delight
to give and receive on this wondrous night
The boy-child to Mary is borne
and his light will shine on beyond the dawn.
Consider this an early Christmas present.
__________
*remember back in the old days before CDs, when you had to hit "rewind" and wait for the tape to go back through the song? And then they came out with 'auto-rewinds' that could sense where the break between songs was? And how we thought that was the most amazing technology ever invented?
Not sleeping-in-the-streets homeless, but lacking in a home, and thus relying on the kindness of others for a place to lay my head. It lasted quite awhile. I was just out of college, working as a part-time youth pastor, unable to find an income to supplement that ministry salary.
I had been rooming with a college friend, but then he decided to leave me, and move in with his girlfriend. I couldn't afford rent on my own, and couldn't find anybody to share the space, so I had to move out.
For a little while, the church where I worked set me up with a spare room, giving me the space in exchange for playing part-time security guard. We had a gymnasium with showers, and a nice kitchen, so I had everything I needed. Except it was a little lonely, especially when earthquakes happened at 5 in the morning.
During that time I also slept on the floor of an acquaintance for a brief period, a security guard at the local strip mall. Every weekend he'd tell me I might need to find other arrangements, because he was expecting to bring "a hot little lady" home for the night. It never happened. He was a good chess player, though, and we spent hours playing chess in front of our little TV. I remember watching the Branch Davidian compound burn to the ground while we ate some cheap pizza and he killed me at chess once again.
But it turned out he wasn't paying rent. And he wasn't supposed to have the three cats he kept. And he never told the apartment managers about me. So I went away on a weekend trip with the youth group, and returned to find the apartment locked up by the local sheriff. I talked to the apartment owners, but since they didn't know me, I was out of luck. Thankfully, I didn't have much stuff in there.
I slept in my office at the church a couple of days, and eventually, right around the holidays, was invited to live temporarily in an airstream trailer in somebody's backyard.
It was sort of nice to have my own space, and a cool airstream trailer, at that. On the other hand, it was lonely, living in somebody's backyard. And this wasn't just any somebody. This was the classic grumpy church busybody who seems to show up in every church, the lady who complains about anything and everything, believing herself to be the expert on all of the church's business, even though she was really just a gossip.
I once walked into the office of my mentor, the previous youth minister, to find him in tears. He had just gotten off the phone with this woman. Later on, it all ended when the church was forced to kick her out, telling her she would either get counseling or never come back. She was that bad. But that was a year or so after I lived in her backyard.
The family was gracious to not even charge me rent. The only real cost to me was having to spend 30 minutes with this woman every morning, listening to her rant and rage and gossip about all the goings-on at the church. The fact that I worked in the office and was present at board meetings, and thus had first-hand knowledge of what was actually happening didn't sway her. She had her opinions, and she was going to tell them to me.
She also absolutely, positively, without question hated praise choruses. And I helped lead worship. So I got an earful on that, too.
During that time I finally found a second job, working in a local
The connection is this: I spent some of my hard-earned money to buy some Christmas CDs that year. I even bought a couple strings of Christmas lights, and hung them inside the airstream.
Which is how I found myself one night all alone in the airstream, bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights, sitting out a rainstorm that pelted the aluminum walls with a regular smattering of rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat, feeling a little lost and lonely and friendless and maybe just a little depressed, when this song came on:
And I was mesmerized. Enchanted. Overwhelmed. Between the tight chord structures, the tender piano, the soaring violin, the rushing, ascending lines of the melody - Christmas flooded into my airstream, and I was blessed. The aching beauty of the song called forth to the deep ache in my heart, and took my breath away.
It came to an end too quickly, and I hit repeat.* And again. And again. I played the rest of the CD, and went back and listened to this one again. For a moment I was living in a world of pure beauty. And all was well.
I still have this CD, and every time this song comes on, I'm instantly back in that trailer, feeling lonely and a little lost, trying to make sense of the world and the plan I was supposedly following. And this song is a gift to me today as much as it was back then. Simplicity is good. Simplicity is a gift. Loneliness isn't the end of the world, because of Immanuel. Christ has come.
In the gift we deliver, in the gift we receive
is the living spirit Mary did conceive;
A royal gift of love, incandescent flame,
is given to all mankind in his name,
Joy, joy it is our true delight
to give and receive on this wondrous night
The boy-child to Mary is borne
and his light will shine on beyond the dawn.
Consider this an early Christmas present.
__________
*remember back in the old days before CDs, when you had to hit "rewind" and wait for the tape to go back through the song? And then they came out with 'auto-rewinds' that could sense where the break between songs was? And how we thought that was the most amazing technology ever invented?
Monday, September 24, 2012
Pain
This was briefly touched on over on the facebooks, but to bring everybody else into the story. . .
One of my greatest joys over the last few years was playing in the Signature Brass Quintet, of which I am one of two original members. We've played some wonderful music, some fun venues, and I was enjoying the chance to hang out with the guys on a regular basis. It was a nice break from the normal routine of life in ministry, and it gave voice to a part of my that had disappeared after college. All in all, it was, and was still becoming, an important piece of my life.
Not any more.
Last week I got a phone call from one of the other players. Essentially, his message was:
a) we think this group can be great
b)but not with you, so
c) you're out, and we're looking for a new trumpet player.
I give Manny credit - he did his best to break the news with grace and dignity, but let's be honest - there's no way to say "we're all better than you so you're out" without it stinging just a bit.
I'm not naturally an angry person. But I admit it. This one hurt quite a bit.
And not just because they took away something so important to me, and not just because it was all a bit unfair, the way they all made this decision without even consulting me.
It's more because the musicality isn't the issue. That's the smokescreen that covers a much deeper problem. Namely, that one of the other players (who shall remain nameless) is a ninny.
Yep, I just said that. A ninny.
It really came down to this: that particular player pulled a stunt that was unethical and unfair, and then criticized the rest of us when we didn't respond like he thought we should. So I pointed out his unethical behavior. At which point he threw a hissy fit and emotionally blackmailed the other guys into kicking me out.
It's all so junior-high-playgroundesque.
So there's the grief piece, in losing something that was a huge part of my life, an activity that brought me great joy and satisfaction. And then there's the outrage piece, at the injustice of it all, of essentially being bullied by a grown man unable to deal with his own issues.*
Like I said, I'm not naturally an angry person. But it's been an angry week for me. It doesn't help that pastors aren't really supposed to get angry, and that we're all expected to be examples of peace and forgiveness. That we're not supposed to maintain vengeful thoughts in the deep recesses of our brains. But there they are. Yes, I know forgiveness will come with time, and no, I'm not going to act on those vengeful thoughts. But if it helps you to know that pastors sometimes get angry and dream about punching other people in the face, there you go.
That's my story.
But last week I also sat with a friend who told me they had just signed the papers to officially end their marriage, and it was freeing but it was also the most painful day of their life. And then I sat with another friend whose marriage has gone frigid and dark and is probably over. And then another friend erupted in a message to me, sharing the pain of all the ways Christians have betrayed and hurt them over the decades. And I'm hurting for our church, as we've lost six more families over the last few weeks.
And this morning I learned that Heidi slipped away into eternity in the night, and I can only imagine Joe's grief. They fought for so long, and even a week ago thought they might defeat this ugly thing called cancer, but then it hit with a vengeance and there was nothing to be done. We rejoice, knowing that Heidi is now in the arms of God, that her life was redeemed long ago by Jesus, and that at the resurrection she and Joe will see each other once again. But today, it seems, is a day of grief.
I asked Karina this morning, "when does all this pain stop?" and she replied (much too quickly, I think) "it never does." And that's the truth. There are many wonderful, glorious, delightful moments in life. But the pain is always there, just the same.
Which is why I'm thankful to know and be known by a God who promises justice for wrongs done, who promises healing for broken hearts, who promises love to those cast aside, who promises resurrection from the power of death. The knowledge that all is well, and that all manner of things shall be well, is life-giving power, and not just a pithy proverb. The promise that all shall be brought under his rule, a rule marked by love, justice, and righteousness, is just the news we need to hang onto. We can grieve our losses, we can speak out the wounds we receive, and we can lay it all in the hands of One who has known injustice and loss. And there, we can rest.
Not that I'm there yet, mind you. I still feel like punching that guy in the teeth. But God's working on me there.
But this has been running around in my head today, especially once we got the news about Heidi. Listen prayerfully, and let God speak to you through it.
_____________
*One of my patented maxims is "The number one thing that gets me into trouble is expecting adults to behave like adults." Feel free to quote me on that one.
One of my greatest joys over the last few years was playing in the Signature Brass Quintet, of which I am one of two original members. We've played some wonderful music, some fun venues, and I was enjoying the chance to hang out with the guys on a regular basis. It was a nice break from the normal routine of life in ministry, and it gave voice to a part of my that had disappeared after college. All in all, it was, and was still becoming, an important piece of my life.
Not any more.
Last week I got a phone call from one of the other players. Essentially, his message was:
a) we think this group can be great
b)but not with you, so
c) you're out, and we're looking for a new trumpet player.
I give Manny credit - he did his best to break the news with grace and dignity, but let's be honest - there's no way to say "we're all better than you so you're out" without it stinging just a bit.
I'm not naturally an angry person. But I admit it. This one hurt quite a bit.
And not just because they took away something so important to me, and not just because it was all a bit unfair, the way they all made this decision without even consulting me.
It's more because the musicality isn't the issue. That's the smokescreen that covers a much deeper problem. Namely, that one of the other players (who shall remain nameless) is a ninny.
Yep, I just said that. A ninny.
It really came down to this: that particular player pulled a stunt that was unethical and unfair, and then criticized the rest of us when we didn't respond like he thought we should. So I pointed out his unethical behavior. At which point he threw a hissy fit and emotionally blackmailed the other guys into kicking me out.
It's all so junior-high-playgroundesque.
So there's the grief piece, in losing something that was a huge part of my life, an activity that brought me great joy and satisfaction. And then there's the outrage piece, at the injustice of it all, of essentially being bullied by a grown man unable to deal with his own issues.*
Like I said, I'm not naturally an angry person. But it's been an angry week for me. It doesn't help that pastors aren't really supposed to get angry, and that we're all expected to be examples of peace and forgiveness. That we're not supposed to maintain vengeful thoughts in the deep recesses of our brains. But there they are. Yes, I know forgiveness will come with time, and no, I'm not going to act on those vengeful thoughts. But if it helps you to know that pastors sometimes get angry and dream about punching other people in the face, there you go.
That's my story.
But last week I also sat with a friend who told me they had just signed the papers to officially end their marriage, and it was freeing but it was also the most painful day of their life. And then I sat with another friend whose marriage has gone frigid and dark and is probably over. And then another friend erupted in a message to me, sharing the pain of all the ways Christians have betrayed and hurt them over the decades. And I'm hurting for our church, as we've lost six more families over the last few weeks.
And this morning I learned that Heidi slipped away into eternity in the night, and I can only imagine Joe's grief. They fought for so long, and even a week ago thought they might defeat this ugly thing called cancer, but then it hit with a vengeance and there was nothing to be done. We rejoice, knowing that Heidi is now in the arms of God, that her life was redeemed long ago by Jesus, and that at the resurrection she and Joe will see each other once again. But today, it seems, is a day of grief.
I asked Karina this morning, "when does all this pain stop?" and she replied (much too quickly, I think) "it never does." And that's the truth. There are many wonderful, glorious, delightful moments in life. But the pain is always there, just the same.
Which is why I'm thankful to know and be known by a God who promises justice for wrongs done, who promises healing for broken hearts, who promises love to those cast aside, who promises resurrection from the power of death. The knowledge that all is well, and that all manner of things shall be well, is life-giving power, and not just a pithy proverb. The promise that all shall be brought under his rule, a rule marked by love, justice, and righteousness, is just the news we need to hang onto. We can grieve our losses, we can speak out the wounds we receive, and we can lay it all in the hands of One who has known injustice and loss. And there, we can rest.
Not that I'm there yet, mind you. I still feel like punching that guy in the teeth. But God's working on me there.
But this has been running around in my head today, especially once we got the news about Heidi. Listen prayerfully, and let God speak to you through it.
_____________
*One of my patented maxims is "The number one thing that gets me into trouble is expecting adults to behave like adults." Feel free to quote me on that one.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Thursday
- -Last Thursday, we woke up in sunny Southern California. By mid-day, it was approaching 96 degrees. Did I mention it was sunny? Then on Sunday we strolled the beach in San Simeon under a clear blue sky, with temperatures in the mid-70s. Did I mention the sunshine? Tuesday I took a walk with Clara along the rim of a large reservoir in Upland under a brilliant blue sky, the sun shining down on us, temperatures hovering in the mid-80s. Yes, I got a little sunburned, but most of that came Monday as we wandered around Disneyland under - of course - clear blue skies and warm sunshine.
Arrived in Seattle yesterday. Got in the car and headed up toward my parents' house in Shoreline. Somewhere along that way, as we headed up Aurora north of Woodland Park, it started to rain. Hard. Only it was cold rain, mixed with snow. And the sky was black. Driving south toward Tacoma we passed through a blinding, dark rainstorm. By the time we hit Gig Harbor there was quite a bit of snow mixed in there. And the bank at Key Center was brightly proclaiming a temperature of 36 degrees.
- - While waiting in line at Space Mountain I noticed the man behind us was wearing a T-shirt with the name "Megan Whitmarsh" on it. So we struck up a conversation. Turns out Megan Whitmarsh is his sister, an artist in Los Angeles. I don't know that I've ever met another Whitmarsh that I wasn't related to, and there we were, next to Whitmarshes in the line for Space Mountain. Unfortunately, just as we started talking he received a phone call, and then we got pushed through the entrance and we never saw him again.
- - -I'm listening to the new Alison Krauss And Union Station album, which is streaming live at NPR until it releases on April 12.
- - -I missed the first few days of baseball season whilst on our journey, but I'm happy to see the Mariners picked up right where they left off. We did drive by the new Rainiers Stadium last night, and it looks like they've done nice work. I'll have to schedule a game in sometime soon.
- - -It was kind of a rough flight from Oakland to Seattle yesterday. When I looked in the cockpit, I saw why. Pilots are looking younger and younger these days.
Arrived in Seattle yesterday. Got in the car and headed up toward my parents' house in Shoreline. Somewhere along that way, as we headed up Aurora north of Woodland Park, it started to rain. Hard. Only it was cold rain, mixed with snow. And the sky was black. Driving south toward Tacoma we passed through a blinding, dark rainstorm. By the time we hit Gig Harbor there was quite a bit of snow mixed in there. And the bank at Key Center was brightly proclaiming a temperature of 36 degrees.
- - While waiting in line at Space Mountain I noticed the man behind us was wearing a T-shirt with the name "Megan Whitmarsh" on it. So we struck up a conversation. Turns out Megan Whitmarsh is his sister, an artist in Los Angeles. I don't know that I've ever met another Whitmarsh that I wasn't related to, and there we were, next to Whitmarshes in the line for Space Mountain. Unfortunately, just as we started talking he received a phone call, and then we got pushed through the entrance and we never saw him again.
- - -I'm listening to the new Alison Krauss And Union Station album, which is streaming live at NPR until it releases on April 12.
- - -I missed the first few days of baseball season whilst on our journey, but I'm happy to see the Mariners picked up right where they left off. We did drive by the new Rainiers Stadium last night, and it looks like they've done nice work. I'll have to schedule a game in sometime soon.
- - -It was kind of a rough flight from Oakland to Seattle yesterday. When I looked in the cockpit, I saw why. Pilots are looking younger and younger these days.
Friday, February 04, 2011
So the fun is over. . .now the fun begins
Midwinter 2011 is over. In my experience, it was one of the best I've attended. I'll probably post some highlights later. But now the next part of this journey commences. I decided a couple months ago to take the train home from Chicago - a 45 hour journey. Call it a mini-sabbatical, a personal retreat, a chance to think and process and do some long-range planning. . .and maybe just to sit and watch the country go by.
So here I sit at Chicago's Union Station, waiting to board the Empire Builder. . .and it's already delayed an hour. We're off to a great start!
So here I sit at Chicago's Union Station, waiting to board the Empire Builder. . .and it's already delayed an hour. We're off to a great start!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Romance of the Rails is gone; or, How I Almost Got Arrested
Back when I was but a lad, once or twice a year we'd go camping up on Stevens Pass. One of the activities necessary to call it a complete trip was a visit to the Western portal of the 8-mile-long Cascade Tunnel. What could be more exciting to a young boy than watching 5500 horsepower of diesel-electric locomotive bursting into daylight from deep within the mountain? What was more mysterious than watching Amtrak's Empire Builder disappearing into the cold, dark mouth if this man-made cave? Hours were spent, first with my grandparents and parents, and later with my hiking buddies, standing outside the tunnel, wandering 100 yards or so inside, and exploring the remains left over from the 1920s construction camp.
So earlier this month I took Mike up there, he of the recently posted backpacking video. Parked above the portal, wandered down and took a look inside, showed him the gated Pioneer Tunnel left over from the original construction. Nothing seemed to be coming so we turned and wandered the tracks down toward the original site of the Scenic Hot Springs Hotel, covered over and abandoned during the line relocation in '28. Nothing to be seen there, so we wandered back. A railroad employee was cleaning up some paint supplies at the job shack in Scenic. He told us we shouldn't be on the tracks. Then added, somewhat sheepishly, "They make us say that. Tell us to tell any trespassers to get off."
He was friendly enough, and when I told him my grandfather used to work for the Great Northern (the railroad that originally built the tunnel), and that I had a lifelong history of visiting that place, and wasn't just some yokel lookyloo, he warmed up to us. Spend about 20 minutes regaling us with yarns of the railroad. Complaining about "management." Cussing at the idiots who didn't know how to clean up their messes.
But then. . .up drives an official-looking SUV. BNSF Police it says on the side. The guy inside rolls down his window and motions to our new friend to come over. "Who are these guys?" he asks. I quickly shouted (with a smile) "He did his job! Told us to get off the tracks!" Said policeman wasn't amused. "You know you're trespassing? You know I could fine you $250 just for being here? Nobody's allowed on these tracks. If a terrorist blew up that tunnel, you'd destroy the nation's economy!" (I refrained from pointing out that currently Stampede Pass to the south, as well as the mainline through the Columbia River Gorge, were in fine shape and under-utilized, so blowing up the tunnel would be sad and an inconvenience, but wouldn't actually hurt the economy very much.)
It turns out there's now a tall steel tower sitting there about 300 yards from the tunnel entrance. On that tower are no less than three video cameras, giving a direct feed to an office in Texas. Right as we were climbing out of the Jeep and I was enjoying giving Mike the tour, some guy in Texas was gazing into his computer monitor muttering "terrorists, by gum! Terrorists!" and calling up the railroad police to run us off their tracks. Which means no more standing outside the tunnel waiting for trains, no pictures of headlights piercing the darkness, no exploring the remains of the construction village. The whole area is off limits. Go there and they'll think you're a terrorist.
For what it's worth, it wasn't a total loss. The first gentleman we met had to give us a drive back to the Jeep, so we got some more stories. And we discovered the policeman is an avid RC airplane modeler. We ended up having a lovely conversation about model airplanes; he even showed us some pictures. However, when I asked him where we could stand in the future to watch trains, he replied, "Why does anybody care? They're just trains."
Although, it occurred to me that part of the historical romance of the rails was bums running from the railroad cops. Lots of old ballads written about that very thing. So I suppose we just experienced part of the lore of railroading, and got a good story out of it.
But Mike was glad we weren't arrested. He may never have gotten back to his family in Canada.
So earlier this month I took Mike up there, he of the recently posted backpacking video. Parked above the portal, wandered down and took a look inside, showed him the gated Pioneer Tunnel left over from the original construction. Nothing seemed to be coming so we turned and wandered the tracks down toward the original site of the Scenic Hot Springs Hotel, covered over and abandoned during the line relocation in '28. Nothing to be seen there, so we wandered back. A railroad employee was cleaning up some paint supplies at the job shack in Scenic. He told us we shouldn't be on the tracks. Then added, somewhat sheepishly, "They make us say that. Tell us to tell any trespassers to get off."
He was friendly enough, and when I told him my grandfather used to work for the Great Northern (the railroad that originally built the tunnel), and that I had a lifelong history of visiting that place, and wasn't just some yokel lookyloo, he warmed up to us. Spend about 20 minutes regaling us with yarns of the railroad. Complaining about "management." Cussing at the idiots who didn't know how to clean up their messes.
But then. . .up drives an official-looking SUV. BNSF Police it says on the side. The guy inside rolls down his window and motions to our new friend to come over. "Who are these guys?" he asks. I quickly shouted (with a smile) "He did his job! Told us to get off the tracks!" Said policeman wasn't amused. "You know you're trespassing? You know I could fine you $250 just for being here? Nobody's allowed on these tracks. If a terrorist blew up that tunnel, you'd destroy the nation's economy!" (I refrained from pointing out that currently Stampede Pass to the south, as well as the mainline through the Columbia River Gorge, were in fine shape and under-utilized, so blowing up the tunnel would be sad and an inconvenience, but wouldn't actually hurt the economy very much.)
It turns out there's now a tall steel tower sitting there about 300 yards from the tunnel entrance. On that tower are no less than three video cameras, giving a direct feed to an office in Texas. Right as we were climbing out of the Jeep and I was enjoying giving Mike the tour, some guy in Texas was gazing into his computer monitor muttering "terrorists, by gum! Terrorists!" and calling up the railroad police to run us off their tracks. Which means no more standing outside the tunnel waiting for trains, no pictures of headlights piercing the darkness, no exploring the remains of the construction village. The whole area is off limits. Go there and they'll think you're a terrorist.
For what it's worth, it wasn't a total loss. The first gentleman we met had to give us a drive back to the Jeep, so we got some more stories. And we discovered the policeman is an avid RC airplane modeler. We ended up having a lovely conversation about model airplanes; he even showed us some pictures. However, when I asked him where we could stand in the future to watch trains, he replied, "Why does anybody care? They're just trains."
Although, it occurred to me that part of the historical romance of the rails was bums running from the railroad cops. Lots of old ballads written about that very thing. So I suppose we just experienced part of the lore of railroading, and got a good story out of it.
But Mike was glad we weren't arrested. He may never have gotten back to his family in Canada.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Another long one
One more step in saying goodbye to Abbie: this Friday at 11 we're laying her to rest with her mother in Puyallup. Hard to believe it was only 8 months ago we were there to say goodbye to Katy. So there's some funeral prep to take care of.
This coming weekend is also our Alpha weekend away, at Soundview Camp in Longbranch. I'm looking forward to it; it looks like a great group of people going. But it also requires some prep work.
And honestly, the resounding thunder that is Easter is pounding in my ears. Lots to do before that all rolls around.
So today, and most of this week, will be spent hunkered down trying to get all that prep work done. So far, the soundtrack has been the Verdi Requiem, the Mozart Requiem, and a Canadian songstress thrown in between. And we're on track, I think. But here I go, back to work. . .
This coming weekend is also our Alpha weekend away, at Soundview Camp in Longbranch. I'm looking forward to it; it looks like a great group of people going. But it also requires some prep work.
And honestly, the resounding thunder that is Easter is pounding in my ears. Lots to do before that all rolls around.
So today, and most of this week, will be spent hunkered down trying to get all that prep work done. So far, the soundtrack has been the Verdi Requiem, the Mozart Requiem, and a Canadian songstress thrown in between. And we're on track, I think. But here I go, back to work. . .
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Today is my birthday (da na na na na)
Celebrated by taking the ferry over to Edmonds and meeting my parents and sister for lunch. And by leaving the girls with my parents and sister, thus affording Karina and I a quiet trip back home, even stopping by the eponymous Central Market in Poulsbo. Now we get to watch a movie without little ones interrupting us. This, my friends, is my new definition of bliss.
However, I'm realizing there is a problem. For the last weeks I've been so focused on the glory of Christmas, the anticipation of birthdays and New Years, that I seem to have been unaware that there would be anything on the other side of Christmas, birthdays, and New Years. I was so caught up in the moment (carpe diem and all that) that I didn't consider the possibility that there might be 'normal life' on the other side. More sermons to write, sermon series to plan out, newsletter articles to ponder and blog posts to post on my blog, witty comments to tweet and board retreats to plan. I mean, existentially I knew those things were coming. . .but I didn't want to think about them.
Can we all just keep celebrating for a bit longer and ignore the reality around us? That would be my vote. Because, otherwise, I need to go write a sermon.
However, I'm realizing there is a problem. For the last weeks I've been so focused on the glory of Christmas, the anticipation of birthdays and New Years, that I seem to have been unaware that there would be anything on the other side of Christmas, birthdays, and New Years. I was so caught up in the moment (carpe diem and all that) that I didn't consider the possibility that there might be 'normal life' on the other side. More sermons to write, sermon series to plan out, newsletter articles to ponder and blog posts to post on my blog, witty comments to tweet and board retreats to plan. I mean, existentially I knew those things were coming. . .but I didn't want to think about them.
Can we all just keep celebrating for a bit longer and ignore the reality around us? That would be my vote. Because, otherwise, I need to go write a sermon.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Messiah
In spite of that horrific episode in Toys-R-Us, the weekend was a festive success; crowned, of course, with Handel's Messiah performed by the Seattle Symphony.
They decided to go with the classic chamber music format, eschewing the bombast of a full symphony. A mere half-dozen violinists, 3 cellos, a handful of viola, two upright bass, all directed from the harpsichord. In addition, they chose to add a lute, which was subtle and yet enriching to the whole ensemble. The brass section was represented by two trumpets; their first appearance was off-stage in the "Glory to God," they then reappeared late in the third section for the grand trio of "The Trumpet Shall Sound," "Worthy is the Lamb/Blessing and Honor. . .," and the spine-tingling "Amen." The four vocal soloists (one a last-minute substitution) were splendid, and the Seattle Symphony Chorale were marvelous, rich in tone and warmth.
In this age of instant access to all sorts of recordings, it's easy to get used to hearing all this music through our headphones or stereo speakers. I was reminded again on this night just how much better, how much fuller, how much richer is live sound, resonating straight from string or vocal chord directly to the ear. And Benaroya Hall is a wonderful place to experience it all. It was truly a magical night, topped off by rousing standing ovations and smiles on the faces of all the patrons who exited.
Add to all that the fact that it was a date, or a double-date, to be accurate; begun with dinner at one of Seattle's more popular restaurants, packed to the walls with holiday diners. It was the night like which I need much more. Good food, good conversation, laughter, holiday decorations and cheer.
And then. . .afterward we were going to meet at a coffee shop before heading our separate ways. But it took longer getting out of the parking garage than we hoped. So a text message to a friend who suggested a French bakery/coffee shop in Bell Town, dodging crowds of hipsters dressed as Santa Clauses, and into the warmth for a cup of coffee and some dessert.
But wait. . .down at the end of the row of seats. . .was that? Could it be? Why, yes, it is! Henry Mark! A friend from college, who I haven't seen in almost 10 years. But there he was, sitting with some friends. So the night was finished with a happy reunion, and another few moments with Robert and Kristen, as well.
So, forget Toys-R-Us and their demonic toys. It really was a great weekend, one full of memories to last for years to come.
They decided to go with the classic chamber music format, eschewing the bombast of a full symphony. A mere half-dozen violinists, 3 cellos, a handful of viola, two upright bass, all directed from the harpsichord. In addition, they chose to add a lute, which was subtle and yet enriching to the whole ensemble. The brass section was represented by two trumpets; their first appearance was off-stage in the "Glory to God," they then reappeared late in the third section for the grand trio of "The Trumpet Shall Sound," "Worthy is the Lamb/Blessing and Honor. . .," and the spine-tingling "Amen." The four vocal soloists (one a last-minute substitution) were splendid, and the Seattle Symphony Chorale were marvelous, rich in tone and warmth.
In this age of instant access to all sorts of recordings, it's easy to get used to hearing all this music through our headphones or stereo speakers. I was reminded again on this night just how much better, how much fuller, how much richer is live sound, resonating straight from string or vocal chord directly to the ear. And Benaroya Hall is a wonderful place to experience it all. It was truly a magical night, topped off by rousing standing ovations and smiles on the faces of all the patrons who exited.
Add to all that the fact that it was a date, or a double-date, to be accurate; begun with dinner at one of Seattle's more popular restaurants, packed to the walls with holiday diners. It was the night like which I need much more. Good food, good conversation, laughter, holiday decorations and cheer.
And then. . .afterward we were going to meet at a coffee shop before heading our separate ways. But it took longer getting out of the parking garage than we hoped. So a text message to a friend who suggested a French bakery/coffee shop in Bell Town, dodging crowds of hipsters dressed as Santa Clauses, and into the warmth for a cup of coffee and some dessert.
But wait. . .down at the end of the row of seats. . .was that? Could it be? Why, yes, it is! Henry Mark! A friend from college, who I haven't seen in almost 10 years. But there he was, sitting with some friends. So the night was finished with a happy reunion, and another few moments with Robert and Kristen, as well.
So, forget Toys-R-Us and their demonic toys. It really was a great weekend, one full of memories to last for years to come.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Tuesday Stuff
- A great video of a unique introduction to Jesus (h/t Nate)
- Roshni pointed me toward a new music label/collective/project made up of a few of the more 'fringey' artists in the Christian music scene (Danielson, Leigh Nash, Sufjan Stevens, and more!). Three songs off their first release are available on their myspace. It may take you a listen or two to 'get it,' but there really is some depth and artistry here.
- Add me to the list of "Fans Against Neon Green Football Jerseys."
- Flash mob protest at Whole Foods in Oakland. note: a tiny bit of language that some readers might find offensive, and a whole lot of politics that some people might find offensive. But in the end. . .it's still a lot of fun. This is what protests ought to look like, whether or not you agree with the underlying point. They make their statement, and at the same time give people something to laugh about.
- Looks like I got all that firewood chopped up just in time. The forecast high for today is a chilly 57 degrees. Personally, I love the fall, and look forward to all that it brings. It's just the winter on the other side of fall that gets me less-than-enthusiastic.
- A friend and occasional former mentor has created a new organization with the aim of supporting theological education in the developing world. Ron helped me out with some good counsel after I was ignominiously fired from my first church; years later, I sat in my backyard in Turlock, talking to him in Australia, picking his brain about a current logjam I faced, and again his wisdom helped push me forward. (Oh, and once, when I was still single, his youngest daughter came over and made me dinner, and even before that I took his oldest daughter out to dinner. . .). So I'm happy to point you to Synseis Alliance International.
- Upcoming Gigs
The Down Home Band (with yours truly on lead trumpet) is playing this Saturday night at the Key Pen Cornucopia Dinner and fundraiser, following the KP Farm tour.
I've been invited to participate in the 1st Annual Gig Harbor/KP Blessing of Law Enforcement, firefighters, EMTs and their families. The event is this Sunday from 1-4 at the Gig Harbor United Methodist Church, with the blessing taking place from 2:00-2:30.
- Roshni pointed me toward a new music label/collective/project made up of a few of the more 'fringey' artists in the Christian music scene (Danielson, Leigh Nash, Sufjan Stevens, and more!). Three songs off their first release are available on their myspace. It may take you a listen or two to 'get it,' but there really is some depth and artistry here.
- Add me to the list of "Fans Against Neon Green Football Jerseys."
- Flash mob protest at Whole Foods in Oakland. note: a tiny bit of language that some readers might find offensive, and a whole lot of politics that some people might find offensive. But in the end. . .it's still a lot of fun. This is what protests ought to look like, whether or not you agree with the underlying point. They make their statement, and at the same time give people something to laugh about.
- Looks like I got all that firewood chopped up just in time. The forecast high for today is a chilly 57 degrees. Personally, I love the fall, and look forward to all that it brings. It's just the winter on the other side of fall that gets me less-than-enthusiastic.
- A friend and occasional former mentor has created a new organization with the aim of supporting theological education in the developing world. Ron helped me out with some good counsel after I was ignominiously fired from my first church; years later, I sat in my backyard in Turlock, talking to him in Australia, picking his brain about a current logjam I faced, and again his wisdom helped push me forward. (Oh, and once, when I was still single, his youngest daughter came over and made me dinner, and even before that I took his oldest daughter out to dinner. . .). So I'm happy to point you to Synseis Alliance International.
- Upcoming Gigs
The Down Home Band (with yours truly on lead trumpet) is playing this Saturday night at the Key Pen Cornucopia Dinner and fundraiser, following the KP Farm tour.
I've been invited to participate in the 1st Annual Gig Harbor/KP Blessing of Law Enforcement, firefighters, EMTs and their families. The event is this Sunday from 1-4 at the Gig Harbor United Methodist Church, with the blessing taking place from 2:00-2:30.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
As musicians grow old
I remember when Frank Sinatra died. More importantly, I remember the final years of his life. I never saw him live, but watched a documentary or two, and saw footage of some of his final concerts. Sinatra only seemed to get better as he aged. There was a mellowing, as he seemed to grow richer and deeper in life. If anything, he grew in dignity, and became more of a presence on that platform. Sinatra aged well.
I don't remember when Sammy Davis Jr. died, but I've listened to recordings he made, and seen video clips of some of his later work. Again, he aged well. He brought a dignity to his work; his lyric and dance seemed to carry the weight of the ages - in a good way. One would watch him and see a life well lived, an embrace of the wisdom of decades that had passed. He seemed to fill out his role as "elder statesman." Sammy aged well.What was it about that generation that helped them age well? That allowed them to maintain their dignity and passion, living with youthful hearts but aged souls? How did they finish so well?
I ask only because it seems today's artists never learned that trait. Madonna, in her 50s, is still dancing about the stage in her underwear. The Stones still strut and growl as if they were teenagers. And Michael Jackson died a freak - who knows where he would have ended had he lived another 30 years? What did Frank and Sammy know that Michael didn't? And what does it say about our world when our "stars" seem unable to grow up? When our seniors still behave like randy college students?
And who do you want to be when you are old? Over the years Karina and I have talked about aging well, of maintaining youthful spirits without denying our true biological age. When I was 30, I wanted to be good for 30. Now that I'm 40 I realize it's foolish to pretend I'm still 18. I simply want to be healthy and youth-ful in my 40s. And when I'm 60? I don't want to be "old," but neither do I wish to be a 60-year-old still behaving like a 20-year old. And when I'm 80? I still hope I can laugh, can hike trails and walk barefoot in the surf; I also hope I can maintain the dignity of age.
It seems we've lost the ability to live the age we really are. In a culture so fixated on "forever 21," in a culture that glorifies youth and wild living and lack of responsibility and smooth skin, it seems we no longer can accept the passage of time. And so our stars, who so often reflect our own desires, simply live out the fantasy that a geriatric can still be hot and sexy and cool like a teenager.
So at the end, which would you prefer to be - Sammy and Frank? Or Michael and Madonna?
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Man - Million
In which John Denver shows up three times. . .
Forgive a couple moments of reminiscing. 15 years ago (or so) I went with some friends, and some kids from our youth group, to see Peter, Paul, and Mary live at the Hollywood Bowl. A couple of these kids had just graduated, and were soon to head off to college; one or two were really dear friends, and there was a sense of this being a special moment before we all went our separate ways. So, when PP&M moved into "Leavin' on a Jetplane" it was all the more poignant as we faced many of those same feelings. In the middle of the song I leaned back, my arm around the shoulder of one who was like a little sister to me, one who was leaving, I glanced up into the sky, and what should fly over at that moment but the Space Shuttle/Mir Space Station combination, high in orbit overhead. It was. . .magical.
7 years ago (0r so) Karina, Olivia, and I had gone up after Christmas to visit the Gibbs' cabin, high in the Sierra. We'd visited the Big Trees, we'd played in the snow, we'd had a fun time together. We left late one evening, heading down through a snowstorm, driving the Jeep along treacherous, icy roads as the coming storm began to dump thick snow upon us. And I have this one moment locked in my mind - of driving through town, watching the snowfall illuminated by overhead street lights, just at the moment Sixpence were singing "Like a Million Parachutes," a song all about snow falling onto the cold ground. Again, it was nothing short of magical.
Man on the Moon - R.E.M.
Margaret Ann Robertson - Lewis and Clark Original Soundtrack
Martyrs and Thieves - Jennifer Knapp
Matthew - John Denver
Maybe You'll Be There - Diana Krall
Me and My Uncle - John Denver
Medley: Leaving on a Jet Plane/Goodbye Again - John Denver
Melody of You - Sixpence None the Richer
Mexico - James Taylor
Michelangelo - Emmylou Harris
A Mighty Fortress is our God - St. Olaf Choir
A Million Parachutes - Sixpence None the Richer
Forgive a couple moments of reminiscing. 15 years ago (or so) I went with some friends, and some kids from our youth group, to see Peter, Paul, and Mary live at the Hollywood Bowl. A couple of these kids had just graduated, and were soon to head off to college; one or two were really dear friends, and there was a sense of this being a special moment before we all went our separate ways. So, when PP&M moved into "Leavin' on a Jetplane" it was all the more poignant as we faced many of those same feelings. In the middle of the song I leaned back, my arm around the shoulder of one who was like a little sister to me, one who was leaving, I glanced up into the sky, and what should fly over at that moment but the Space Shuttle/Mir Space Station combination, high in orbit overhead. It was. . .magical.
7 years ago (0r so) Karina, Olivia, and I had gone up after Christmas to visit the Gibbs' cabin, high in the Sierra. We'd visited the Big Trees, we'd played in the snow, we'd had a fun time together. We left late one evening, heading down through a snowstorm, driving the Jeep along treacherous, icy roads as the coming storm began to dump thick snow upon us. And I have this one moment locked in my mind - of driving through town, watching the snowfall illuminated by overhead street lights, just at the moment Sixpence were singing "Like a Million Parachutes," a song all about snow falling onto the cold ground. Again, it was nothing short of magical.
Man on the Moon - R.E.M.
Margaret Ann Robertson - Lewis and Clark Original Soundtrack
Martyrs and Thieves - Jennifer Knapp
Matthew - John Denver
Maybe You'll Be There - Diana Krall
Me and My Uncle - John Denver
Medley: Leaving on a Jet Plane/Goodbye Again - John Denver
Melody of You - Sixpence None the Richer
Mexico - James Taylor
Michelangelo - Emmylou Harris
A Mighty Fortress is our God - St. Olaf Choir
A Million Parachutes - Sixpence None the Richer
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Ready for some Global Warming
I was up at 6:00. It was still dark outside. Took my shower, made the coffee, ironed my shirt. Stepped outside to grab a couple logs for the wood stove, just to warm up the house for my honey.
"What's that stuff on the firewood," I asked myself. Looked closer. Snow. Looked up. Snow falling. Big, thick, heavy flakes, falling from the dark sky. Looked across the yard. Already 1/2 inch and collecting. What?
Woke up Olivia, had some breakfast. Now the sun is rising and the sky is growing lighter. I can see across the bay into the far trees. Snow is falling hard.
Phone call to the worship leader, to see if he can make it in. I drive Olivia and myself up to the church in the Jeep. We wait around, and wait around, and the phone starts to ring with people saying they can't make it in.
Eventually, we have a good inch+, the trees are coated in white, the parking lot is deep in slush, and about 1/2 our normal attendance has shown up.
By the time our worship celebration is over, the snow has turned to rain. Heavy, thick, pouring rain. And the wind is blowing. Everybody heads home to hunker down for the afternoon. We remain at the church with another couple, cleaning and closing things up. Then the lights go out.
Lock the doors, head down the hill to our house. The power is out there, as well. So it's off to town to get lunch and some coffee, plus some wifi so I can watch the afternoon shuttle launch.
I hear the power is back on, so we'll be heading home soon. But. . .snow, wind, rain, power outages. Aren't those a couple of the scrolls the unrolled in Revelation? I think the end of the world is upon us.
"What's that stuff on the firewood," I asked myself. Looked closer. Snow. Looked up. Snow falling. Big, thick, heavy flakes, falling from the dark sky. Looked across the yard. Already 1/2 inch and collecting. What?
Woke up Olivia, had some breakfast. Now the sun is rising and the sky is growing lighter. I can see across the bay into the far trees. Snow is falling hard.
Phone call to the worship leader, to see if he can make it in. I drive Olivia and myself up to the church in the Jeep. We wait around, and wait around, and the phone starts to ring with people saying they can't make it in.
Eventually, we have a good inch+, the trees are coated in white, the parking lot is deep in slush, and about 1/2 our normal attendance has shown up.
By the time our worship celebration is over, the snow has turned to rain. Heavy, thick, pouring rain. And the wind is blowing. Everybody heads home to hunker down for the afternoon. We remain at the church with another couple, cleaning and closing things up. Then the lights go out.
Lock the doors, head down the hill to our house. The power is out there, as well. So it's off to town to get lunch and some coffee, plus some wifi so I can watch the afternoon shuttle launch.
I hear the power is back on, so we'll be heading home soon. But. . .snow, wind, rain, power outages. Aren't those a couple of the scrolls the unrolled in Revelation? I think the end of the world is upon us.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Maybe I'm in the wrong camp
Yesterday on a lark I took the belief-o-matic test over at beliefnet.com. Answer 20 questions, and they tell you what religion/denominational stream best fits your beliefs.
Truthfully, I found I could only answer about 1/4 of the questions with any certainty. In other words, none of their definitions matched my definitions, so a lot of my answers were along the lines of "I suppose, of the 5 options presented, this one is closest to my belief, even though it's still not quite exact. . ."
With that being said, I scored 100% as an Orthodox Quaker.
At least I only got 23% Mormon.
Truthfully, I found I could only answer about 1/4 of the questions with any certainty. In other words, none of their definitions matched my definitions, so a lot of my answers were along the lines of "I suppose, of the 5 options presented, this one is closest to my belief, even though it's still not quite exact. . ."
With that being said, I scored 100% as an Orthodox Quaker.
At least I only got 23% Mormon.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Updates on music and electricity
We finally got the power restored to the back 1/2 of the house this morning, thanks to Chuck's detective work. Turns out there was a wire burned off inside an outlet we never use. But all is better now.
___
Last night we of the Gig Harbor Peninsula Symphony Orchestra read through the music for our May concert. Of the three we read, there are finally some significant trumpet parts in two of them - the Haydn 104 (London) and the Schubert Overture in D in the Italian style. Still mostly punch chords and brief fanfares, but a whole lot more than the 25 notes we played in the last concert.
Maestro Labayen recently informed us we'll be doing a combined concert with the Peninsula High School band in May as well, performing, among other things, Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, and "Nimrod" from the Enigma Variations. It appears the year will conclude with a much larger bang than it started, at least so far as my playing is concerned.
___
Last night we of the Gig Harbor Peninsula Symphony Orchestra read through the music for our May concert. Of the three we read, there are finally some significant trumpet parts in two of them - the Haydn 104 (London) and the Schubert Overture in D in the Italian style. Still mostly punch chords and brief fanfares, but a whole lot more than the 25 notes we played in the last concert.
Maestro Labayen recently informed us we'll be doing a combined concert with the Peninsula High School band in May as well, performing, among other things, Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, and "Nimrod" from the Enigma Variations. It appears the year will conclude with a much larger bang than it started, at least so far as my playing is concerned.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Household Items
A couple days ago we lost power to the back part of the house. That would include our bedroom. Chuck, a dear saint and handyman to everybody on the Peninsula, came over on Friday and we switched out a circuit breaker. At first, that didn't solve the problem. But ten minutes later, saints be praised, power reappeared and the problem appeared to be gone.
Oh, except that other thing. Our fridge went out at the same time. Seems the freon is gone. So Chuck and I took the fridge apart to get it out the door, then took apart the fridge that was in the garage, and pulled it inside the house. Out with the church's fridge, in with our own fridge that we bought at Youngdales in Turlock. It was a pain - all that taking things apart, switching food back and forth, putting things back together, and the necessity of mopping up the floor and cleaning up the fridge that had been in the garage, but at least now we have a working fridge again.
Oh, except that it seems something got into the inner workings and died when it was still outside, as now there is the distinct odor of dead rotting flesh permeating our kitchen. I don't mind the scent of dead flesh so long as it's sizzling on the skillet, but this is something different. Thanks be to candles and cinnamon water boiling on the stove for getting us through this time.
But then, Friday night the power went back out again, so we're still in the dark back there, except for a Coleman lantern that we use when we crawl between the sheets. The worst of it is the lack of a clock alarm, but thankfully cell phones now come equipped with those sorts of things.
I think Chuck's coming by again tomorrow to switch out an electrical plug. I'm praying that works. Otherwise, we're on to the "crawl up into the crawlspace and see if a mouse chewed through the wires" phase.
Oh, except that other thing. Our fridge went out at the same time. Seems the freon is gone. So Chuck and I took the fridge apart to get it out the door, then took apart the fridge that was in the garage, and pulled it inside the house. Out with the church's fridge, in with our own fridge that we bought at Youngdales in Turlock. It was a pain - all that taking things apart, switching food back and forth, putting things back together, and the necessity of mopping up the floor and cleaning up the fridge that had been in the garage, but at least now we have a working fridge again.
Oh, except that it seems something got into the inner workings and died when it was still outside, as now there is the distinct odor of dead rotting flesh permeating our kitchen. I don't mind the scent of dead flesh so long as it's sizzling on the skillet, but this is something different. Thanks be to candles and cinnamon water boiling on the stove for getting us through this time.
But then, Friday night the power went back out again, so we're still in the dark back there, except for a Coleman lantern that we use when we crawl between the sheets. The worst of it is the lack of a clock alarm, but thankfully cell phones now come equipped with those sorts of things.
I think Chuck's coming by again tomorrow to switch out an electrical plug. I'm praying that works. Otherwise, we're on to the "crawl up into the crawlspace and see if a mouse chewed through the wires" phase.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
(It Started Out As) The Best Valentine's Day Ever
Mostly because it was unscripted and thus non-pressure filled. Breakfast at a hipster coffee shop in Wedgewood. A walk all the way around Green Lake, where we enjoyed sightings of a turtle and a great blue heron, plus hundreds of other people and their dogs. Then up to Shoreline to visit their new YMCA, and further on up to Edmonds for Thai food, finally over to Kenmore and the Tully's there. And all the time, 'just the two of us.' The kids were at grandma and grandpa's.
On the way home we all stopped at Burgermaster for a Burgermaster burger and fries. Mmm. What a wonderful way to finish Valentine's Day - red meat in the family sedan.
Then, on the way home, the phone rang not once, but twice, and suddenly emergencies in the extended family sent us crashing to the floor. And thus, it was a somber drive home.
Don't worry - nobody died. But some friends and family are extremely ill and troubled, and that is weighing heavily on our hearts. Making it tough to celebrate, when others are in pits of despair. Making it tough to sleep, tough to get out of bed and up to church and ready to teach confirmation to middle schoolers and then stand in front of the gathered Body of Christ and deliver the Gospel.
Thankfully, God is bigger than I am. Yesterday was filled with his blessings, and I daresay he showed up this morning and did what I couldn't do. The prayers of a few close friends helped immensely.
Still, I rejoice in a day well spent with my bride; I rejoice that my children had a fun day with their grandparents; I rejoice that I made it all the way around Green Lake without any trouble. I hope your day was as good.
On the way home we all stopped at Burgermaster for a Burgermaster burger and fries. Mmm. What a wonderful way to finish Valentine's Day - red meat in the family sedan.
Then, on the way home, the phone rang not once, but twice, and suddenly emergencies in the extended family sent us crashing to the floor. And thus, it was a somber drive home.
Don't worry - nobody died. But some friends and family are extremely ill and troubled, and that is weighing heavily on our hearts. Making it tough to celebrate, when others are in pits of despair. Making it tough to sleep, tough to get out of bed and up to church and ready to teach confirmation to middle schoolers and then stand in front of the gathered Body of Christ and deliver the Gospel.
Thankfully, God is bigger than I am. Yesterday was filled with his blessings, and I daresay he showed up this morning and did what I couldn't do. The prayers of a few close friends helped immensely.
Still, I rejoice in a day well spent with my bride; I rejoice that my children had a fun day with their grandparents; I rejoice that I made it all the way around Green Lake without any trouble. I hope your day was as good.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Quick Tuesday Updates
Woke to a gentle snow today. Not enough to worry about, but nice. Drove to Tacoma for another post-op visit with my eye surgeon. He said the eye "looks very good." He also took another couple stitches out. 6 down, 18 to go. The best news is he told me I'm at the point where I can finally be fitted for a contact lens in that eye. It's been 4 months that I've essentially been one-eyed; it will be nice to finally have depth perception again.
Following the appointment I went and had lunch with Bill and Ethel Peterson. A lovely lunch and good fellowship. Until Karina called and said "you'd better get home. The snow is getting deep out here." She was right. What was a gentle snowfall in Tacoma was a heavy snowstorm by the time I reached Lakebay. So we're now hunkered in for the night, with a fire in the woodstove and hot water in the kettle. Might be a good night for popcorn and a movie.
Following the appointment I went and had lunch with Bill and Ethel Peterson. A lovely lunch and good fellowship. Until Karina called and said "you'd better get home. The snow is getting deep out here." She was right. What was a gentle snowfall in Tacoma was a heavy snowstorm by the time I reached Lakebay. So we're now hunkered in for the night, with a fire in the woodstove and hot water in the kettle. Might be a good night for popcorn and a movie.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I'm with the band
Went swing dancing last night. Fundraiser for the local youth center. Started with a pasta dinner, then lessons, then dancing the night away. Lots of friends there, as well. Left our kids (and our friends' kids) with a sitter, drove out and enjoyed the evening with those friends and others. Had almost forgotten what that was like.
However, as to the swing dancing. . .I was reminded why it was always better for me to stay in the band and off the dance floor. Somehow that incredible sense of musical rhythm which I possess doesn't manifest itself in any way once I begin to attempt smooth movement on the dance floor.
Although, I still can't believe that you're supposed to dance a 3-beat step over the top of a 4-beat rhythm. Only white people could come up with that.
All was finally made well when they played a little Lionel Richie, and Karina and I got to slow dance while singing "Stuck On You." No better moment that slow-dancing to Lionel, I always say.
However, as to the swing dancing. . .I was reminded why it was always better for me to stay in the band and off the dance floor. Somehow that incredible sense of musical rhythm which I possess doesn't manifest itself in any way once I begin to attempt smooth movement on the dance floor.
Although, I still can't believe that you're supposed to dance a 3-beat step over the top of a 4-beat rhythm. Only white people could come up with that.
All was finally made well when they played a little Lionel Richie, and Karina and I got to slow dance while singing "Stuck On You." No better moment that slow-dancing to Lionel, I always say.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Where Were You When?
In years to come, when people reminisce about this most historic of days, and the question inevitably turns to "where were you when?" what will your answer be?
For us, it started with NPR over breakfast, as the parade of dignitaries came onto the capitol steps. Then in the car on the way to school, as Aretha massacred "My Country 'Tis of Thee," (or at least that's how it sounded over the radio - maybe she did better wherever you were?), and on the way back home as Williams' "Air and Simple Gifts" was played (complete with interruption by the commentators to note that noon had passed, and thus Obama was officially the President of the United States of America), then back home and watching it live via the internet for the swearing-in, The Speech, the Poem, the Song, and the Benediction (my favorite part of the whole affair).
Oddly, I only remember two other inaugarations with any clarity. I remember watching Ronald Reagan's ascension to office, which I watched in a school classroom. Although, in truth, it's not the ceremony I remember so much, as the reporter (aid?) running up to him shortly after, shouting "Mr. President! Mr. President! The hostages have been freed!" And I remember Bill Cinton's inaugaration; mostly, because I was homeless at the time, living in an airstream trailer in the backyard of a family from our church, and for that morning I sat inside the warmth of a living room, sipping a cup of hot coffee, glad to feel momentarily lifted outside of my world into something so much larger.
I already feel like I handled this one wrong. I think if I had it to do over again, I would have kept Olivia home an extra hour, and watched it together as a family. Whatever the future holds, this is truly a historic moment. And the days ahead promise to be interesting.
For us, it started with NPR over breakfast, as the parade of dignitaries came onto the capitol steps. Then in the car on the way to school, as Aretha massacred "My Country 'Tis of Thee," (or at least that's how it sounded over the radio - maybe she did better wherever you were?), and on the way back home as Williams' "Air and Simple Gifts" was played (complete with interruption by the commentators to note that noon had passed, and thus Obama was officially the President of the United States of America), then back home and watching it live via the internet for the swearing-in, The Speech, the Poem, the Song, and the Benediction (my favorite part of the whole affair).
Oddly, I only remember two other inaugarations with any clarity. I remember watching Ronald Reagan's ascension to office, which I watched in a school classroom. Although, in truth, it's not the ceremony I remember so much, as the reporter (aid?) running up to him shortly after, shouting "Mr. President! Mr. President! The hostages have been freed!" And I remember Bill Cinton's inaugaration; mostly, because I was homeless at the time, living in an airstream trailer in the backyard of a family from our church, and for that morning I sat inside the warmth of a living room, sipping a cup of hot coffee, glad to feel momentarily lifted outside of my world into something so much larger.
I already feel like I handled this one wrong. I think if I had it to do over again, I would have kept Olivia home an extra hour, and watched it together as a family. Whatever the future holds, this is truly a historic moment. And the days ahead promise to be interesting.
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