I have a plan

Make a big, controversial announcement in the days following Christmas when everyone is out returning gifts and not watching the news. That way it'll become part of the public consciousness but everyone will be too busy to care.

Hmm...

In today's AP wire:

Ushering in either a brave new world or a spectacular hoax, a company linked to a religious sect that believes in space aliens announced Friday that it has produced the world's first cloned baby. more >>

One of my favorite authors gets into the mix with a quote, though.

"The very attempt to clone a human being is evil," said Stanley M. Hauerwas, a professor of theological ethics at Duke University. "That the allegedly cloned child is to be called Eve confirms the god-like stature these people so desperately seek."

You are all my keepers, you know...

I'm reviewing some of these lengthy posts tonight and I've fixed half a dozen or so grammar errors, typos, and incoherant sentences.

Someone, I am sure, has noticed them earlier and not told me.

For shame...

White Christmas

We've been blessed with nine or so inches of the fluffy white stuff. I am, of course, overjoyed. It did make the trip last night from Indianapolis to Muncie a little treacherous (note: just because you cannot see the lines doesn't mean you should drive down the middle of a two-lane interstate).

(I will not allow myself to become grumpy this Christmas)

It continued snowing into the early morning. When we all finally get up my dad, my brother and I trudge outside to dig out.

"Throw your back into it, boys!"

My brother has a penchant for pushing the edges. This is how he puts cars in ditches, enlists in the Navy without telling anyone first, etc.

That's all well and good until he got to shoveling around my car. The plan was to dig out the curb, move Scott's truck into the street, then clear the spot where he was previously parked. Then we'd continue moving cars into the cleared spots to shovel the other parts of the driveway. Whew. You'd think it was rocket science.

But Scott was shoveling right up against and underneath my car.

"Scott, back off. You don't have to get that close to my car. We'll get that stuff next after we move it..."

No more than about three minutes later I hear "clunk."

That would be metal shovel meeting metal car door. Dent. There is a two-inch scratch, through the paint into the metal.

(I will not allow myself to become grumpy this Christmas)

It's just a car.

So I took pictures of our snow covered house, and my brother and dad shoveling.

I have no idea when we've had this much snow before. It's been years, certainly. And I stood in the street watching my family, wondering how goofy my brother and looked twenty years ago trying to perform this same task. Space and time and memory form a funny combination. I stand in those spots and recall the past and it feels as if I'm there. I am there, I suppose, in my mind. I remember the crimson trickle of blood running down my brother's face and dripping into the snow after our neighbor whacked Scott's temple with a shovel (my brother and shovels...sheesh, must be bad karma or something). I remember dad driving around snowpacked streets dragging me on the sled behind his truck. We'd tie a rope to the sled, loop it around the hitch, and hold the other end. Ski goggles were required equipment. Forgotten railroad tie landscaping in neighbors' yards led to bruises and scrapes (especially when zipping around corners). The injuries were to my brother, more often than not. It's those edges, remember?

Ah, I can just about breathe the memories. Scott and I stand in the bedroom that we shared for many years (bunkbeds!) and we look at each other. I have no idea what he's thinking, but I'm wondering if those kids would recognize us now as adults? And I don't know. We're changed so much, and yet there seems to be this essence of individuality. I don't know that I can really see it in myself, but I can see that "essence" of Scott through the years.

The book is back in Ohio, but I'm reminded of the story A River Runs Through It. Norman MacLean writes in this warm tone and thinks back over the history of his brothers and describes them with color and passion that is remarkable. When I allow myself to see it I realize that my family history can take on that same patina. We've had moments of brilliance, of laughter and love, and pain and tears.

So after shoveling we come in and sit around imagining what we'll do if dad wins the $280M Powerball jackpot. If we win I'm predicting right now that my brother wrecks more exotic cars than I'll ever buy in my lifetime. But I will move out of Middletown. That I know.

I believe that this year marks the latest I've gone before truly getting into the Christmas spirit. I didn't really succumb until last Saturday. But now that feeling is back. I love snow, I love Christmas, I love my family (even my #?!@*% clumsy brother...). I especially love three days off of work.

Now, to Grandmother's house we go...

Apparently, all teenagers want for Christmas is sex

According to CNN, "teens with romantic partners are nearly three times more likely to make their sexual debut in December" >> more

All these kids snogging under the Christmas tree and I can't even find a date...

My basketball team remains undefeated

Contrary to popular belief my favorite basketball team didn't actually break their unbeaten streak this past weekend.

Muncie Central High School has climbed to 5-0 with an average margin of victory 16.2 points.

A Christmas eGreeting

Merry Christmas, everybody. My slacker nature kicked in and my Christmas cards never went out. But here is the heart of what I planned to insert:

Snow
Keith Patman

Was it a cold awakening Christmas morning
In a wooden trough,
In spite of straw and swaddling clothes and angel songs?
That was not to be the last time
You’d be laid upon the wood
(there were Herods, Judases from the start
Among the stars and shepherds).
And did they smile, those simple folk,
And kiss your tiny hands and weep delight?
They’d touch those hands again someday,
Believing you through cracks and scars.

    Then oh! the million Christmas mornings
When you’d lie, a babe again,
Beneath a million million trees
And hear the countless tongues chanting your name.

    And oh! The white snow on black shingles
Where icy crystals capture windows
And fires glow and mistletoe is wreathed and strung.

    But ah…will they remember crimson
Dripping from the iron nails
And will they pray, and will they know
A whiter white than
    Snow?

~~~

I pray that during this season you will not only commemorate and experience Christ's incarnation but His redemption. For Christmas means nothing without Easter. Just as the imagery of a newborn baby leads us to the renewal of spring, I hope your life continues to be transformed by the reality of Immanual, God with us--even today.

One more note on Copenhagen

The Ensemble Theatre of Cincinnati will be producting Copenhagen early in 2003, running from Jan 22 - Feb 9.

Copenhagen

My friend said I must see the play Copenhagen. I don't have many gifts or callings, but this one I have. When I'm told to read, see, listen-to, experience something I try very hard to do so.

And so, I planted myself into the chairs at IRT for a Sunday matinee (drowning out the voices of ticket scalpers offering me bargain basement prices for the Colts / Giants game which had just kicked off as I walked in).

The play is about two physicists, Bohr and Heisenberg, the first a Dane and the second a German, and Bohr's wife (who was his secretary and life-long assistant). Bohr and Heisenberg worked closely together through the 20's and 30's and then were separated by the war. But they had one mysterious meeting in the middle of the war, in Copenhagen during the autumn of 1943.

This play takes place is the nether-world after they have all passed on and meet again to review their stories, the context that led up to their meeting and all of the ramifications of their discussion.

Three big issues were raised that I want to discuss: 1) the interplay between our memory, our own notion of self-identify, and "history," 2) how discoveries in physics contributed to the rise in humanism and 3) the possible historical ramification of sabotaging an atomic program.

You can demonstrate the existence and position of a particle not by observing the particle itself, but by observing phenomenon that can only be attributed to the particle's existence. You can't see the particle but you can see the light emitted when the particle collides with something else. When you see the light you know that the particle must have existed at that point because of the reaction.

And the play contends that is how we know ourselves. We know ourselves based on how people respond to ourselves. In fact, the playwright (Michael Frayn) flirts with the notion that we cannot see ourselves at all and the only way we can know ourselves is to judge the reactions of others.

That notion is intermixed with the idea that an observation of an object affects that object's behavior.

I think that in a way it is that way with people.

If you set out to get to know me you could make some headway by watching me, interviewing me, studying my life. But I suspect you would glean much more information by evaluating the relationships around me. By studying my impact on others (my friends, my family, my coworkers) I imagine that you'd get a much more accurate and much more complete picture of who I really am. There seems to be something nearly poetic about that, observing my life like a particle--bouncing off of all of these people and events that I collide with, giving off heat and light at every intersection.

Towards the end of the play the characters were discussing how all of those new discoveries placed man back where he belonged, in the center of the universe. And then one asked a pointed question: "if man is the center of the universe and man creates a machine capable of destroying all of mankind and then indeed does so, what is left?"

And the logical answer was profoundly simple. If humanity is the chief end of the universe and humankind is destroyed we are left with nothing. Darkness.

Clearly I wouldn't place man at the center of the universe. But I wonder, does this conclusion even allow us to suggest that we do so? Can something central to the existence and meaning of the universe be capable of destroying itself and rendering the rest of history (such that it would be) meaningless?

(Tangent: Could God willfully destroy himself?)

Finally, the playwright asserts that Heisenberg subconsciously and yet nearly deliberately short-circuited Germany's development of atomic weapons by never questioning some underlying assumptions that he took to be unsolvable. The implication is that had he not done so Germany would have developed the atom bomb and used it somewhere in Western Europe: London, or Paris, or Copenhagen. And the words placed in Heisenberg are clearly accusatory as he wonders about the reality that Germany didn't think an atomic bomb could be built, but the Allies built one and used it.

Within the dialogue of the play this reality is continually and tacitly mentioned as if the lives lost in Nagasaki and Hiroshima were totally unnecessary. I'm just not so sure about some of those logical extensions. I'm no fan of nuclear weapons (or war in general), but it is impossible to say how many lives would have been lost had the Allies not ended the war in the Pacific when they did. And in the play Heisenberg is allowed to continue to pontificate about that fact without ever truly being held accountable for being part of a German nation that allowed millions to be exterminated.

And this is where the human economies of war begin to make me tremble and ache. How do we compare the approximately 200,000 atomic victims in Japan to the millions of genocide victims in Germany? And we'll never know how many more would have died had the war continued or the had the outcome been different.

I truly wish we hadn't have used those weapons. But I think we are all naive to believe that any outcome would have been "better" in terms of lives lost had we not. And someone somewhere would have been the first to use an atomic or nuclear weapon in battle. What if it had been Nazi Germany? Or China? Or North Korea?

I wish these beasts weren't part of our reality, but I personally am not willing to look back and ignorantly judge those who used them as if our reality now would be radically better had they decided differently.

Here are some links I've come across as I wrote this:
Background info on the play Copenhagen from the Seattle University Department of Physics
The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki - About.com
Holocaust overview from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

Thinking about worship

I treasure my friends who ask good questions and then tolerate (enjoy?) listening to me think out loud. When two of us start talking we always seem to end up with more substantial thoughts than I ever would independently.

Over chess last night, late last night, and after listening to a sermon from a mutual friend of ours my friend asked me in response "How do you define 'authentic worship'?"

And so we started talking.

I initially started talking around notions of worship in spirit and in truth. Worship is an experience that communicates the reality of God's nature and identify and the status of our relationship to Him. But additionally I think it needs to be an experience that translates that truth into a spirit of reality, in a visceral way. Worship should bring worshipers to a place where God's transcendent glory is communicated and his immanent presence is felt.

Clearly this can be accomplished many ways. Yes, singing is good (and ubiquitous). There is a place for corporate, responsive reading, worship through action (the partaking of the Lord's Supper and sharing the service of foot washing immediately come to mind), worship through dance and art and countless other experiences.

Earlier this fall I heard Ben Pasley speak at a conference. At some time He was asked to summarize the gospel as concisely as possible. Here was his answer:

I am broken
God is near
There must be a way for me


I think that little outline provides a simple and profound foundation for jumpstarting thoughts about worship content and direction.

We live in a broken world and it does us good to acknowledge that fact. Songs and stories of lament must be shared. In fact, I would argue that simply stating the emotional and physical ramifications of the brokenness in this world would communicate an empathy to nonbelievers that is sorely lacking in many churches today. We need to cry out to God about our broken families, our dying dreams, our longing for even a drop of His water.

But as so many of the Psalms illustrate, there is a terribly critical little word in play. Yet... I am indeed broken and yet, God is still near. God is here today, in the midst of this dirty, grimy world of ours. Stating and worshiping this fact does not need to mean that we always feel that way. But we claim in faith the reality of God's presence not in spite of our feelings and reality of brokenness but alongside that reality of brokenness.

And yes, God's story is a story of redemption. There must be, and in fact is, a way for us. That triumphant realization does not and cannot be made to read that all of our troubles today will magically disappear. But there is a way and a future in God's plans that release us from this broken world. The promise of heaven is beautiful and weighty and we should not short sell it.

In the end, in my life my most profound moments of worship are those that lead me to a place of reverence and humility. These invariably end up as quiet times of mumbled prayer in the midst of what is assuredly a much noisier worship environment. And yet in my life I have had glimpses of true worship break through everyday life. Oftentimes this occurs when I break out of my concrete life and notice the abundant nature around me: walking through the woods of my college campus in the autumn, suddenly admiring anew the bright, crystalline mountains in the middle of a ski run, or simply being undone by the infinite shades of red, yellow and brown in the pile of leaves that I am raking in my front yard.

These are everyday moments of reverence and humility. And I'm not sure that they could ever be programmed through song selection.

I do wonder how individual personality and nature factor into the worship equation. I am introverted by nature and when I experience God I naturally turn inward. But I am not convinced that it is fair to expect everyone to experience that same reality. So I think some space and freedom needs to be given to people who are more outward in nature. How does emotional experience affect worship? How does giftedness come into play in regards to what people have to offer in worship (if a worship experience is to be participatory then a person's proclivities become particularly important).

Once those questions are raised I think it becomes an issue of allowing your context and your community guide your worship plans. In particular I think about my little house church. We are good at sharing teaching, and prayer, and fellowship. But I'd like to see my little group try to incorporate more focused worship experiences into our time together.

But when I look at this circle of people around me I don't think that having someone play the guitar while we sing Amazing Grace or Kumbuyah is really going to connect (namely because I don't think anyone in our group plays guitar). So hopefully in the coming year we can experiment. I wonder what it would be like to focus some of our time not so much on discussing scripture but simply reading it aloud while the rest of us meditate on that? I wonder how we'd respond to responsive reading, or more liturgical types of experiences? I can't say how successful that would be but hopefully we can glean some ideas and feedback, experiment and play and find some things that work.

How will we know if it works? Well, I go back to my initial assertion. Do we feel that the reality of God's Truth was communicated? And did we experience the Spirit and presence of that reality? Not everyone will have the same reaction to the same methods. That's OK. I expect that. But hopefully we can identify some things that work more or less consistently in the midst of our little family.

I'll keep you posted.

It must be pure genius

I heard this being discussed on the radio the other morning in between beating my alarm-clock into snooze submission. I'm never that coherant in the morning, but I think I got the details in this case.

Handel wrote Messiah in three weeks (24 days, actually).

There are approximately a quarter of a million (250,000) notes in Messiah.

So let's see....Twenty-four days equate to 576 hours which means there were 2304 fifteen-minute periods. He scored at a clip of 104 notes per quarter hour...7 notes a minute. And that is assuming he worked around the clock for three weeks!

I cannot imagine that kind of output. He must've had it all worked out in his head and simply had to transcribe it. But still, even then...

My mind is boggled.

Planning ahead...

One year from today I'll be braving the likely crappy weather at Kill Devil Hill, North Carolina to watch the recreation of the Wright brothers first flight. I'm excited already. My goal, years ago, was to fly myself into the festivities. I'm not so sure that's going to happen, but it'll be fun to be there with my family nonetheless.

I can't add any historical perspective that hasn't already been typed. It makes me think of my grandfather, though. Living from 1898 - 1984, sometimes I just ponder the new things he saw in his lifetime. Airplanes, space trips, plastic, fast food, the atom bomb, the rise and fall of drive-in theaters, caffeine-free coffee and sugarless gum.

Truly amazing...

Corporate American gives up its sweet secrets

My friend Liesel lamented the loss of Jell-o pudding pops to the marketing muckety-mucks at Kraft. Here were her thoughts:

> To my utter and complete horror I went grocery
> shopping this weekend and was
> unable to find
> jell-o pudding pops. word on the internet is that
> they are no longer made.
> why, why, why?
> would you stop making such a fabulous and fantastic
> product? may the guilt
> of the degradation
> of childhood lay on the soulless shoulders of
> whichever executive pulled the
> plug for such a
> travesty against all children young and old.

Shockingly (to me, anyway) she got a polite response from the good folks at Kraft. See?

> Thanks for visiting our Web-site!
>
> We're so glad to hear you're interested in our
> Jell-O Pudding Pops. As you
> may know, these
> were discontinued some time ago. Sometimes it
> happens that a product is
> discontinued despite
> the fact that many people enjoy it. There are a lot
> of factors involved in
> this decision. Either
> way, we want you to know that your comments will be
> forwarded to the
> Marketing people at Jell-
> O.
>
> What we can do is provide you a recipe you may find
> to be a great
> substitute. We're going to
> include it here. Hopefully, you'll find this has
> the same great taste as
> our Pudding Pops.
>
> JELL-O Creamy Chocolate Pudding Pops:
>
> Ingredients:
>
> 2 cups cold milk
>
> 1 pkg. (4-serving size) JELL-O Chocolate Flavor
> Instant Pudding & Pie
> Filling
>
> 1 cup thawed COOL WHIP Whipped Topping
>
> Preparation:
>
> POUR cold milk into medium bowl. Add pudding mix.
> Beat with wire whisk 1
> minute. Gently
> stir in whipped topping.
>
> SPOON into 5-oz. paper cups. Insert pop stick into
> each cup for handle.
>
> FREEZE 4 hours or overnight until firm. To remove
> pops from cups, place
> bottoms of cups under
> warm running water for 15 seconds. Press firmly on
> bottoms of cups to
> release pops. (Do not
> twist or pull pop sticks.) Store leftover pops in
> freezer.
>
> Thanks for visiting our Web-site and please visit us
> again soon!

So there you go. Go forth and make pudding pops.

I love my friends

This weekend in a nutshell: a friend driving hours through snow and sleet to come to my Christmas party. An unexpected gift of Christmas cheer in the mail. Messages of love unknowingly graffitied on my mirror in grease-pencil during my party. Conversations late into the night, breaking out old college yearbooks putting pieces of interconnectedness together.

These are my people. People who have shared my life and allowed me to share in theirs. People I've had tearful conversations with, left multiple marathon voice-mail messages for, people that I imagine will be part of my life in some way through it all.

Life is full when you're loved.

It has been so easy for me, in my past, to not allow that. By nature I've hidden inside my own reserved nature, never really allowing anyone in, never really allowing myself in others' lives.

But the past few years have seen a lot of that reservation melt away. I have more friends locally and globally who know me better than I was ever known in high-school or college. But it's a daily, conscious choice. I allow myself to be known and, in that, allow myself to be loved for who I truly am. That's the critical difference. I've always been surrounded by and loved by "friends." But they didn't know the real me and therefore couldn't love the real me. Recently I've brought those worlds closer and closer together.

Bigger is better, right?

I have found myself in the middle of several conversations that seem interconnected. With one friend I'm discussing this huge church that he visited, our dreams for our own little church, and how size impacts a faith community. With another friend I'm talking about the limited inertia of a denomination and how they keep doing what they've always done, even in the midst of pursuing "vision." Then Chad points me to this interview discussing "younger evangelicals."

The mitigating factor that I see in the midst of all of these issues is size. When we're involved in large organizations there is a political nature and a staid momentum that is very difficult to manage. I can't fathom affecting change in a denomination. I've seen large churches (1000+) struggle when their leadership struggles.

The world of the big implies influence and success. The world recognizes size.

But I don't want to be "of the world." I'd rather exert change in the world of the small. My family. My house church.

It isn't easy to exert change in any group setting. But I think in the context of the "small" I can at least explain my heart and my desires. Any "conflict" that arises can be discussed. And then we'll order pizza.

I do think there is a place for network; it makes sense to gather in a larger context than a house church of ten or so. But I'm not sure that I envision my own church's growth in terms of a mass of people, a big building, a larger staff. I'd rather see a network of small churches around the city, with occasional mass reunions and a focus on the small.

I can see limitations everywhere. But I've watched people exist as strangers in the midst of a big church.

And I've read comments like this: The pragmatic churches have become institutionalized - with some exceptions...The younger evangelicals will not have a voice in the pragmatic, fixed mentality. Stay there and your spirit will die ...The handwriting is on the wall. Leave. Robert Webber

No size context is given to those comments. But I remember the church of 1000+ that I grew up in and can see exactly how that clash can exist. I'm not convinced, though, that those differences would be so entrenched in a church of 50-100, or a house church of 10.

And I believe that there is a lot in the gospel about tearing down institutions and hierarchy. I believe that was Jesus' intent and should be ours as well. The world is a place of structure. Jesus went to great lengths to bridge demographic barriers. I think we should be that way as well.

I've been reading a lot of fiction lately, and recently read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. There is a lot of good stuff in there, but included in that is a whole subplot about the influence exerted over the masses through professional organizations, the media, the like. In my opinion that part isn't fiction.

I want to buck that trend. As my church continues to grow I hope we have the courage to turn that growth into new, small structures and avoid the "bigger is better" mentality. I, for one, don't want any part of dreams of buildings, large staffs and big programs. But I get excited by imagining house churches across the community, a network of like minded church of god leadership brainstorming in the background, and a family reunion when our house churches gather together en masse. Hopefully those micro-churches, with their own struggles and foci and identity, can reach and welcome people that would never show up at a big, cinder-block church auditorium.

I keep thinking these days about big organizations: companies, churches, political parties, denominations.

I don't think I like them.

But all I have right now are questions. And a few ideas. Fewer "opinions."

In memoriam

I've been rewriting my voicemail message in my mind. It should change before the end of the day today. But I like my old message. It served me well for nearly two years. So I wanted to capture it for posterity (and give due credit to my friend 'lissa for the original idea).


beeep....

Hi, you've reached the Schermerhorn residence. Nobody's here to take your call right now. If you'd like someone to call you back, please say something interesting.

Farewell...

Perusing my site stats

Someone got thrown to my site from an AOL search for rollerskating waitresses.

See? (click here...)

I think that's kinda funny. I wonder if he (or she) found what he was looking for...

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas:

Talking to actual real people

I was standing in Kroger last night trying to figure out which line to pick. Some individuals are blessed, upon their birth, with the "gift of choosing the right line." I was not. If I pick the shortest line then the credit card machine will have broken. If I pick the cashier who is working most quickly then he'll leave for a break. If I pick the cutest customer to stand behind she'll be wearing a wedding ring.

I just cannot win.

But, I have a new plan.

Pick the most talktive cashier.

This way, in this world of drive-through Starbucks and pay at the pump gas stations, on the rare occasions that I buy groceries (bananas, milk, cereal, frozen pizza) I'll get a solid ten seconds of actual human interaction.

It's my little gift to this world and this world's little gift to me.

A link for you all

(all three of you, i know...)

Is it possible to fall in love with someone based on chickenscratch drawings and pithy comments?

Trying to keep my promises

The description of my own blog caught my eye. Why, when I set it up, did I say "maybe a recipe?"

I thought it was funny. Since a bowl of frosted flakes or grilled cheese sandwiches constitute "cooking" in my household it's quite a disjointed idea to think I'll be throwing out recipes like I'm Julia Childs or someone.

But, since I'm feeling festive and in the holiday spirit:

Peppermint Ice Cream

Ingredients:

2 cups of whipping cream (and they conveniently come in half-pint containers, and half a pint equals one cup if you don't know your equivalencies :-)
2 cups of half-and-half
1 cup of sugar
1 tablespoon of vanilla extract
½ cup of crushed peppermint candies (like Brach's Star Brites)

Combine all ingredients except the peppermint candy into your ice cream cannister. Freeze according to your ice cream maker's directions. In mine it takes about thirty minutes. When the ice cream reaches a consistency where it pulls off the sides as the paddle turns sprinkle in the crushed candy. Once the candy is turned through the ice cream then move the ice cream into another container for freezing (a Tupperware or Rubbermaid covered bowl works well). Let freeze in your freezer overnight.

This will freeze up to just under half a gallon of ice cream. Call it 6-7 cups.

There you go. A recipe by Brian.

(Oh, yeah....one more thing. Drizzle it w/ chocolate syrup when you eat it. You'll thank me.)

A Monday Comic Strip

Traditions of (this) man

I love "traditions." I don't mean big fancy cathedral-type traditions (not that I'm opposed to those, though). Things like going to Wisconsin with my family for summer vacation and eating at Ardy & Ed's, an old-fashioned drive-in with rollerskating waitresses. Walking Anderson University's campus homecoming weekend admiring all of the luminarias. Singing "Back Home Again In Indiana" before the Indianapolis 500.

This weekend found me at one of my newest favored traditions, the seemingly annual December Over the Rhine concert at the Taft. I'm not truly fanatical about many things. But I'm close in regards to their music (and Indiana University basketball, but that's for another day). I love this band and their music and their stories. I've said before that my favorite concert is always the last one that I've been to. That's mostly true. But last night was fantastic. It makes me feel so warm to walk through the Skywalk in Cincinnati (my adopted home) with my friends and walk into this beautiful theatre. The past experiences (last night was the fourth year in a row for me) add to my anticipation. And I enjoy it even more expecting that I'll be back next year.

This weekend holds another tradition of sorts for me. I'm not a big party hoster by nature but last year I threw a little Christmas shindig and this year I am again. Some people go through extensive spring cleaning, but for me it's now early-December cleaning. Scrubbing any more than what is minimally required always seems so pointless to me. It's like (not) making my bed. Why bother, it'll just need it again so soon? But when there is something worth cleaning for it is a different story. So today and tomorrow I'm scrubbing. Thoroughly. I mean, I'm even mopping under my kitchen rug. I do this joyfully in anticipation of my house being full of my friends next Friday night.

And I'm already visualizing the December 2003 calendar trying to determine where my gathering will best fit in everyone's schedules.

Words for the visual

I'm a visual learner. Most people laugh when I say that, like it's no big deal. But it's true. I like pictures (and words on a page count, they're images in my brain after all).

Given that as background this site is very cool. You must check it out. It's a visual thesaurus.

It breaks on me a lot, but it's worth the frustration. Happy clicking...

BMOC

It's official. I registered last night for my first college classes since 1996.

Greenspan and Keynes and all the other economic weenies better look out because I'm starting with ECO 201. Hopefully I'll get to learn fun phrases like "trickle-down" (hee-hee) economics, "supply-side" economics, "Reagan-omics" and wax poetically about the Gross Domestic Product.

The process is a marathon. I'm expecting the part-time MBA program to take me just under five years (my Computer Science and Bible & Religion undergrad work doesn't really provide a good business background, ya' know?). But I'm looking forward to it right now.

Make sure and ask me about that in April, though, when I'm looking at two finals in one week :-)

The Miracle of Family

Ah, holidays.

Sometimes they feel so peculiar.

I spent the weekend with my family. It was normal, more or less. We ate, and ate, and ate. We played table tennis. We exchanged names for our Christmas gifts. We laid around and watched football.

But there is this agonizing ache, among my immediate family in particular.

It's so easy to relate in time of trouble. Death, divorce, major health problems...these things draw a family out of its shell and force them to open up in front of each other. It's awkward and painful in its own right, but it's real. After some time goes by we're left with this horrid feeling of semi-familiarity. We had all the normal conversations. "How's work?" "When are you going to retire?" "When is your Christmas break from school?" "How is the car running?" "Where are you travelling next?"

But these topics aren't real. They aren't the conversations I have with my friends, at least I don't share the answers that reveal anything true about me. My parents understand my software consulting job about as much as I understand what it's like to work in the same factory for thirty-plus years.

In the midst of a cluttered house that's too big for it's two remaining occupants I watch my family: my dad with his poor fashion choices, my mom and her crafts, my brother and his dreams of hand-made hotrods. How am I so normal when they're all so weird?

Oh, yeah. I'm the one curled in the corner, with my nose buried in a book, brooding like I'm in high-school all over again.

I finally get alone with my brother and we're drinking beer and watching football. Quintessential male bonding.

Our complaints are the same. We know our parents, and yet we don't. They know us, and yet they don't. They never ask, or press, or inquire as to what is really going on in our lives. And we both admit that if they did we would awkwardly dodge the question.

The chasm is palpable and we don't know how to bridge it. And our discussion turns to the future. We know we'll regret these days. We can almost taste, my brother and I, the tears from the unasked questions when it's too late to ask.

I love my family.

But how am I supposed to buy Christmas presents for people I know too well and yet hardly at all?

Variations on a Theme

We drink our fill and still we thirst for more
Asking, "if there's no heaven, what is this hunger for?"

I got a shipment of new CDs in the mail about a week ago (after my last post). Just tonight this lyric, by Emmylou Harris, grabbed me as I was driving home.

I'm not the only one longing for more.

Of course, that's obvious. But it's nice to be reminded once in a while.