Moose Musings

a front passes through

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 07:19:00 GMT

and the temps drop into the 30's for the first time in...I don't know how long. It's been a long, hot year, very dry until recently. I've taken to wearing my hiking socks with the drop in temps though, cause my feet approach the temperature of liquid nitrogen when it's cooler than about 50.

My brother is now married. I hope that puts an end to what has been a trying 15 years for him. A month after I was married, he was broadsided in a pickup truck, shattered his left leg and broke his jaw. He's been through a lot of other things including cancer in the intervening time and somewhere along the way the smile I remember disappeared. Seeing him dancing with his new bride on Saturday brought tears to my eyes, and to my mom's, who I stood and held hands with as we watched. The infectious grin was back, and with it the cancer and life scars he bears seemed to vanish for a while, leaving a young man absolutely smitten by the woman in his arms. After 15 years of my own marriage I know better than to think it'll all be better now. Life has a way of digging out everything that could possibly be an issue and parading it around in full light of day, in spite of the flowery words and heartfelt promises; marriage, wonderful as it is, still requires a lot of work. But God Almighty, for one day, it was SO wonderful to see him in bliss, joyful and contented. I pray there will be many more like it in the days to come.

Six months since I joined the ranks of the unemployed. I'm tired of the questions, tired of wondering where and when the next job will come from. I'm still grateful, though, for the continued miracle of our existence, the fact that the bills are still up to date and we have plenty of food. Grateful too for my friends who have shown, time and again, that their love and care has feet and arms to back up the words.

I've read and listened to a lot of stuff lately. I don't think anything in quite some time has hit me like the vid someone linked me of a Slovenian ensemble by the name of Perpetuum Jazzile singing their arrangement of Toto's "Africa," fully a capella. I dug through some websites and found links to everything I can, and what I see is a group that is fantastically talented, musically diverse, and without the slightest bit of pretentiousness. Helps that I liked the song anyway and that I've always adored music without accompaniment, having grown up on (amongst other things) barber shop quartets. That song is by far the worst earworm I've run across in the last ten years. I spent a week getting it out of my brain. The only other things that have really did that to me were the first time I heard Greig's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" and two songs by Handel: "Hallelujah Chorus" and "Sing Unto God".

Youth ministry stuff still going ok. The group remains small, but I might be picking up a new member shortly. I'm having the guys over for a marathon Lord of the Rings plus burgers on the grill in a couple of weeks. Did a lot of back-checking on the assembly of the Bible and various archaeological finds concerning Biblical historicity to prepare for teaching through Genesis. Found some interesting things along the way, passed it along to my kids. I'm really concerned that they know what they believe and why, so I ask a lot of hard questions that people in general don't like to think about. The pastor and parents of the few I have are aware of this and my reasons for doing so and have approved, and the kids seem to respond well. It may be that the most attractive thing to them about the way I do it is that they get treated like they are adults for all intents and purposes, which is a rare thing for a teen.

I've never really liked the way big issues get handled by adults, teachers and churchgoers alike. The kneejerk reaction of almost everyone I know or have run across is to sweep inconvenient and/or uncomfortable stuff under the rug, or foist it off on someone else. I'm also not fond of the Easter bunny, Santa Claus, the tooth fairy or any of the other lies we feed our kids as they are growing up. It feels like betrayal when you first learn they aren't real. I say that because I remember it. Kids, most of the time, can handle the truth, and whether they are mature enough to understand all the consequences of the things that go on or not, and I can't think of many times when lying is preferable to just telling the kid what is really going on. This is compounded by the fact that my wife and I are trying to raise an autistic child, who might very well still believe in all those things as a teenager regardless of what we do, and is liable to freak out really badly when he learns they are not real. Of course, he may surprise me. He's far more perceptive than I realize most of the time. My dad's dad and my mom's mom died nearly the exact same day, a couple of years apart; two weeks ago (coincided with their respective funerals) he suddenly brings up to his mother and I that he misses Papa and GG. *sighs* I was both proud and sad when I heard that. I hate that he recalls the pain, but he -knew- that was when it happened, remembered what those days were like, and he handled it so well, hugged me and Brynn both.

Life goes on.

more continuation from 8/28 and 7/28

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 07:26:45 GMT

and a few comments aforehand

Elias is a random character I came up with out of the recesses of my brain that also produce nightmares about trying to swim away from sharks in an underground lake, wonder why giraffes are, and generally comes up with random weirdness to fill in the blank spots. He's becoming more and more important somehow, like he's on his way to being a Gandalf type. Well, that's not exactly right. He's the sage, the guy who knows what the hero needs to know in order to do what needs doing. The one who knows why stars fall and why there is a rift in a sea and where the fallen empire of Tirimar fled to and whether there is more to the world, more people and lands and magic and history, than what is seen. Every bit I try to write for the world somehow finds him in it. In some way, he's also the storyteller who keeps the old tales alive when they are no longer well known or popular, lest what must be known instead passes away. Come a long way for a bit player.

====================

The state of the buildings intrigued him. In any human village (or any elven treeholt for that matter) which took the sort of damage he saw, the damaged buildings were destroyed and then remade to erase or reverse the wounds taken, as it were. Nowhere could he see any place where the dwarves had done this.

"Truly, Draenosha, I mean no offense, but would you explain something for me?" His guide eyed him steadily, then nodded once, with exaggerated slowness. "Why do you not repair the damage?" Elias pointed to a particular tower, massive even amid its ruinous fall. "After all the years, why does the great Tower of Council lay in ruin, only used by a few destitute wanderers like myself?"

The dwarf twisted at his forefinger ring as he considered this. "Tell me this, Wanderer, and I will answer you. When you tell stories to children, do you tell the good, the bad, or both?"

Elias thought a brief moment and nodded. "I tell them both, Draenosha. They need to hear the good to know and hope that what is right will win in the end. But we learn more from the bad stories, the tragedies, than we do from the happily ever afters."

A smile graced Elias, the first he had seen this day. "You understand already then."

Elias blinked in response, confusion written on his features, so the guide explained. "When Kiroen and his traitorous brother fought, Kiroen saved us by taking the stroke meant to break us. The land, though, rose in anger at the touch of the blood of its creator; it raged and heaved in fury and so struck down the Nameless when all of the other creations hid, and so he was chained within the world until the decreed time. Thus Kodarra died, old Kombacher Dray was broken and split from Swaedur to Karkos and the world took on its new shape. Should we not honor the blood of Kiroen and his sacrifice?" The guide gestured at the broken tower before them. "The fall of our greatest building of the time cannot be made as if it did not happen, and if we tried, we would lessen our memory of Kiroen's wounds. We honor his wounds and we remember that the land itself and all within it lives and breathes because of it; we remember the fury of the land that fought for its maker when we could not."

Elias nodded as he considered. The dwarves, with their long lives and longer memories, recalled well the great day of disaster. For humans and for elves, generation upon generation had lived and passed since the change, but for the dwarves only two generations had been born and it was possible to talk to the sons and daughters of some who lived on that day and had heard the stories from the mouths of those who lived it.

Leaving aside the Oraenic mysticism that surrounded their stories and legends, the physical truth of the matter was shattering in its own right; that in a day of earthquake and storm, the old world, globed, made of one continent and one ocean, cracked and broke, scattering its lands as far as the morning and the evening, the ocean rushing in to fill the new gaps creating many seas from one great water. Elias had seen two maps purported to date from an era before the cataclysm, where one could sail east until he returned to his start point; Kodarra had been a vast greensward, a dale of living and growing along the banks of the Kodarra river - the cradle of dwarven life in the heart of Kombacher Dray, the Father Gardenhome - yet was itself only a small fraction of the great continent itself.

In all the history of the Oraen, they had been a good folk, guardians, hard workers. Elias wondered if even they knew why and how Dwarfendark let them awry. The shock of that still reverberated through the known world, and even the poorest landsmen on Draven Island felt it.

Sunbeams amid the clouds

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 22:46:14 GMT

Separated shoulder last night, again. Sworn off basketball for good this time; at least until I have a job and can see a specialist about surgery to fix my shoulder so it won't do that anymore and maybe not even then. A friend took me to a nearby clinic, where I was informed that clinics, due to a change in the law, cannot administer anything that could be classified as an anesthetic. Then she proceeded to gently try to get my arm back in place so I wouldn't have to incur $1000+ (which I don't have) from the hospital, plus a 2-3 hour wait due to the non-threatening nature of my injury. She pulled very gently down, slowly increasing the pressure while I attempted to relax while holding onto the bed/table with my good hand. I felt it roll some, but when she probed at it and moved my arm it wasn't right yet and I was starting to shiver from shock, so a nurse put a heavy blanket on me and I attempted to relax and warm up while the doctor let me be for a bit.

I prayed my brains out. I can't remember what all I said and thought. Then I sat up to grab a drink from a cup they had brought me and realized that, with no further pain or movement I could sense, my arm was back in socket and could move more or less freely again. I drove myself home once my friend returned me to my vehicle. This cost me $99 I don't have, but I feel I got off really lucky. 30 days to pay before I incur any sort of charge, and probably will be able to work out a 5-10 per month plan with the clinic.

While I was bemoaning the total lack of monetary relief in sight, my injury, the fact we are almost out of gas, almost out of perishable foods, almost out of my wife's medications and completely unable to fund any further therapy for my son, not to mention the normal bills, it came to me that somehow, in spite of 4 months of no income, the bills have gotten paid and food bought and gas procured, etc, etc. If we can hold out another couple of weeks, we'll have a bit more cash to catch up on a few things and stock up, probably take care of us through the end of the year to possibly first quarter next year depending on how things go, if I continue to have issues finding a new job.

Heard two of my favorite choir songs on the way to church today - back to back on the radio. I'd never heard either on the radio before. By the time I got there, I was in a better mood than I've been in for some time. Topped it off by getting back to Manchaca in time to hear Brynn sing a solo I'd helped her pick out.

Life's pretty good. Now if I can just get some sleep.

Continuation

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 06:41:08 GMT

of what was written moosefinder.livejournal.com/9105.html. still not done though))

The Stricken Cities. On the Wall of Descent were carved the names of all the greatfathers of the Oraen, the cities they had founded and ruled and every place in which the Oraen made a home, from Temporaei Hy at its founding, lost far in the antiquity of time, to the latest Chapelmine delved in the Kaltyk Spikes not two years ago, and done to so exacting a standard that a human onlooker would swear each name had been carved by the same dwarf. No settlement, no matter how insignificant was overlooked. Those settlements lost over time were noted by addition of a single black shimmerpearl to the first letter. There were, however, several places where the stone had been chipped out so entirely that no part of the name there could be guessed, unless you knew what name had been there before. Perhaps one third of all the living cities had been Stricken, removed from the rolls of Oraenic honor, and a striking contrast to the refusal to cleanse the great palace, lest they forget their shame. "Or perhaps not." he thought. "Every dwarf here knows the names of the cities by heart, and perhaps any dwarf from the Stricken Cities arriving would be shamed by the absence of their home."

Elias traced one such blank; when he had been a child, the name Zakh Certhan had been there. A deep delve of respectable age and influence on the middle continent, a "normal" Oraenic dwelling as such things went, until Dwarfendark rose to power there. And now it not only did not foreswear his actions, it sought a return to his ways and power. Ellond and Tirim stood ruined to this day, the realm of Tirimar little more than a memory, the greatest part of its people having departed over the ocean and disappearing into the mists of time. Or so it was thought by the world at large. Elias knew better, being a Tirimarian survivor himself, but that secret was held more tightly than the Oraen hid the name of Dwarfendark's son.

His guide snorted in disapproval at his pause over the stricken name, though he likely thought it a coincidence. Elias had not informed anyone of his previous visit and in truth he did not remember a great amount. The name had stuck in his head, because as a child he had been there; the dwarf realm had been close enough to the ports his father sometimes visited to do business that he had traveled there on one occasion. In truth, most of what he knew of Delta City came from books he had read while studying at the Cathedral in Snowmist and he'd needed a guide to get him through. The city map he had so carefully committed to memory had been invalidated by the cataclysm that drove Kodarra beneath the sea and turned many of the greatest ways of the city into rivers and for each tower that had withstood the onslaught, another three had cracked and fallen and a fourth had leaned against its neighbor. Sometimes that brought the destruction of both and sometimes it ground to a halt against its brother, looking for all the world as if the twain had been built that way. The dwarves had taken and converted each tower and its remnants into some new function, with only the barest and most necessary of cosmetic modifications.

Potluck

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 08:10:43 GMT

This was the third consecutive Sunday I've had potluck lunch. First was at the tiny church I serve as a youth minister; they do that on the first Sunday of each month. The last two have been at my former church, which Brynn and Josiah still attend. GOOOOOOD food. nomnomnomnom

I wonder how much good I do sometimes with the youth. I mean, you never really know the impact you have on anyone save those you are closest to, but I do wonder sometimes. The two, sometimes three, I have at my new church are good kids to be sure, but no more likely to read or pray or put into practice what we talk about in church or Sunday school than anyone else I've ever taught. Most kids just laugh it off and concentrate on what they want, which is having fun. I understand and respect that. I still feel the same most days. All I really hope to do is instill a good habit or two and try to love them best I can.

Today, the mother of one of the kids in my last class before I left for my current church came up to me and told me what her son had been talking about. It was all stuff I had taught, stories I had recalled, things I had said, while I was with them. He's thinking about it. It's important to him. I was blown away. Always had a high opinion of him anyway, he's one of the few who goes out of his way to greet Josiah and takes him seriously no matter how goofy he seems. She said she just wanted me to know. Almost brought tears to my eyes; I've been longing for some indication I was doing the right thing, especially in light of being almost 3 months out of work.

Somehow, the bills keep getting paid and we are keeping food on the table. It's all grace and love and kindness and generosity that's doing it.

Writing comes in fits and starts. Right now, it's avoiding me. I want to write, but when I sit down, nothing comes. Mostly, I see disjointed pictures in my head that don't fit together. My most recent venture came from a single vision in my head that I wove into a partial story based on what I know of that part of the world, but I've lost the thread of it and can't get it back. /grumbles, then chuckles

I guess if it were easy, everyone would do it.

Got rain this week. Need more. Was nice to finally have a sub-100 degree day or two, though, as a result.

If my cat gets anymore pitiful, she'll melt into a puddle of pity that would make Mr. T say awwwww instead of pitying the fool. :)

Need mountains. I'm severely lacking in my mountainous quotient right now. WTB Colorado trip, pst. :D

Trying to relax

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 04:50:46 GMT

Stress is building again, and finding ways to bleed it off is getting harder. About the only thing that's working is immersing myself in stories that inspire me. Hoops don't work, WoW doesn't work, piano playing doesn't work, prayer feels like it bounces off the ceiling. I've been buried in some of my favorite Tom Clancy, Dick Francis, etc., books or watching LotR or other stuff. Sleep doesn't come easy and when it does it lasts too long or nowhere near long enough, I wake up more tired than I was when I dropped off.

The trip to Dallas has been a relief in some respects and the opposite in others.

Just something that's been on my mind

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 08:57:38 GMT

[[Not complete yet. But here is what I have so far.]]

There was no place in the world like it.

To be fair, every city in every nation makes this claim, but for Delta City, it was pure, unvarnished truth. The only above ground city ever built by the Dwarves in their long history, that tradition held had even survived the Day of Disaster, it grew out of the great grassy sward bordering the river of the Dark Continent, mountains of marble, limestone and granite seemingly carved where they stood, rather than built. The only things that had changed were its name and locale...Temporaei Hy, the shining city of the Kodaran plains no longer, but a simple descriptor of its present location at the mouth of the river now flowing amongst its byways into the ocean that had overtaken old Kodara, drowning its majesty in briny forgetfulness.

Once, it had been the seat of power for all Dwarfendom, that place where the highest priests worshipped and studied, where the greatest creators of that kind displayed there works, where the best and brightest of each new generation came forth to seek their place. And so it remained even through the change of place and name, until the shame of the nation came to pass and took up residence in the heart of the Orae, of the Dwarven people.

Elias stood still as he drank in the view, nodding absently in time with the words, but not really hearing his guide.

You really shouldn't be able to SEE evil in this way, he thought to himself, but there it was. The blackened blood hue of the stone palace at the heart of Delta City, so starkly at odds with the shimmering whites, yellows, pinks and greys of the city, drove home the point without the need of any Dwarf to elaborate. You knew, just by looking. This was it.

Dolen Oraenacus had ruled here. Dwarfendark, the world he had terrorized had dubbed him, a leader as callous as he was charismatic, demagogue extraordinaire, who had united the Oraen as no other ever had, and nearly destroyed all other nations with the power he wielded from the throne he had handcarved and set up in this most holy place. The stone of the ruling temple had darkened in protest and disgrace, the more poetically minded declared, weeping for the use its creators had been put to.

His Oraen guide trailed off and sighed as he realized his charge no longer paid him any mind, tracing a sign of guilt in the air in front of him once more. As he turned to continue the tour, Elias surprised him with the first words he had spoken that day.

"Why do you not cleanse the great palace?"

The Dwarf stiffened, insult plainly taken from the question, yet Elias heeded it not. "The shame, it can never be forgotten." Jerking a hand at the palace, he continued with a voice of jagged flint. "We remind ourselves daily of our guilt. The name of each city that did not repent of Dolen's crime, it is carved on our gate. The face of each ruler who opposed Dolen is chipped out of the walls of our high seat. As the Oraen live and breathe, it will never happen again, not while stone still stands upon stone, not while one Oraen draws breath and calls this place home, Sefallendrae." He spoke that last with gritted teeth. Elias winced. The term literally meant a mason with no stone to cut and lay, but its meaning in truth was clear as the Snowmist Sea even to one who didn't speak Oraenic.

"Forgive my words; I spoke poorly, Draenosha," he replied, using the term for a Finderpriest of ore and rock, a word which sounded to the untrained much like the words for Respected Father, Drayn Oshar; he hoped the intended pun indicated both respect for the person and station of his guide and his knowledge of their tongue. The Dwarf bowed with his left hand touching his beard, and the stiffness evaporated from both body and the air around them. "If you will forgive another question, why does the city stand so empty?" Delta City could easily hold twice the number of dwarves that now inhabited it, with room for many more than that making the Jah Drayn, the Journey of Honor, that every Oraen who lived would make at least 3 times barring death or calamity.

His guide gazed at him long, craggy brow knotted in mixed annoyance and anguish. "It has been a mere 100 years since the Era of Terror, as your people put it. Half our people fell in it and many others departed for good or ill. By the Blood of the world, may their stone be strong and their spirits mighty as the arms of Kiroen 'till our hammers cross paths once more."

"You speak of kin you miss and respect, no doubt, my good Oraen." A faint smile flickered and fell. "Where did they depart to?"

The face before him gaped a moment. "Some to Kiroen's halls, some to the Stricken Cities, some to exile of self, and some to find and build a new home."

I wonder while I wander

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 04:26:30 GMT

I sometimes think my life is a parable for those I meet. If that sounds arrogant or weird or anything of the sort, it's not intended to, but I seem to spend my life learning the lessons I try to teach those around me, experiencing the things that I try to live out before each person I come across.

The lesson today I taught was on trust. Bible passage was in Daniel, regarding three young men thrown into a furnace for refusing to bow before a statue. The king, full of his power and sense of self, said that if they would not, he would throw them in, "and then what god can save you from my hand?" Their answer was one that makes me shiver even now. In so many words, they said our God is bigger than you and can save us no matter what you do, and even if he doesn't, up yours, o king. How do you get to the point where you trust in God in that fashion? That's the question I put to my kids, then I stopped to look at my own life in retrospect.

I've had over 10 years of living from God's hand directly. I look at what we've earned in that time period, against what we had to spend and what we've experienced along the way, and there is no way it should add up the way it has. Consider:

We've had no insurance for almost 10 years for Brynn or Josiah. They both have pre-existent conditions that guarantee rejection from any company we approach individually (yes I've tried), and we've never been able to afford the cost of the benefits that came with the jobs I have worked since Josiah was born. We spend tons in medical bills each month, while I, the one who is pretty much completely healthy and carried full coverage until I lost my job in May, have needed almost no care in that time period. They have each had surgery in that time period as well.

We have two cars with no car payment.

Our debt is mostly our house note.

We have never gone hungry. In fact, my pantry right now is so full I had to put a box of cans out in the garage.

We have plenty of clothes. I don't have enough hangers for all of it.

We have replaced the siding, the AC unit, all the floors, both toilets, + 35 gallons of paint, a bunch of appliances, etc. in our house over that time period.

On top of this, I've taken a mission trip to China, we as a family have gone to Colorado 5 times, Switzerland once, and Glacier in Montana once in that time period. We have also rebuilt our computer twice, replaced the television, the dvd and vhs players and come into possession of a PS2 and other electronic stuffs.

And until this year, I was never on schedule to make more than 40,000 in one year at any point.

I look at my life, and I just shake my head in wonder. Even now, when I wonder (worry) from day to day where the money I need to pay the next bill will come from, things continue to work out, sometimes without my asking for help. God has measured out blessing to me and mine, and hasn't been stingy with the measuring cup he uses.

At what point, then, do I finally give over worrying and just enjoy the ride? I'd save myself a lot of stomach trouble if I did. Peace is fleeting right now, hard as I try to grasp it. I guess I just enjoy worrying sometimes. I never did like not being in control, but as I look over my life, I can't really see any point in time that I was; only times that it looked like it.

I told my pastor I have a hard time not thinking the light I see coming toward me is a train. Truth be told, though, when I really get down deep into what I think and feel and believe, the light is a golden sunrise. When I get there and look back, it will have been worth the journey. And then I'll have a new story to praise God with, and a new hope to share with those walking the path I have already trod. I already know how the story ends anyway.

(fades into the distance while singing)

Bring me joy, bring me peace,
Bring the chance to be free,
Bring me anything that brings you glory

And I know, there'll be days
When this life brings me pain,
But if that's what it takes to praise you,
Jesus bring the rain.

Holy, Holy, Holy
Holy, Holy, Holy
Is the Lord God Almighty
Is the Lord God Almighty
I'll forever sing...(repeats ad infinitum)

Another year passing by

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 06:46:10 GMT

I turn 35 Saturday. Still don't feel it most of the time. That's not a complaint, just a comment. I get sore a bit more easily, but I never had the heavy weight gain I've been warned I would have since I was 18; in fact, I'm too skinny right now. Starting to gain back weight I'd lost over the last few months of my job before I got let go, so I guess that's good. Losing 25 pounds when you're like I am is not a good thing.

Mostly, I just notice that time goes ever, ever on, and at an ever increasing pace. 15th anniversary passed by last month, in 6 months Josiah will be 10, we've owned this house for 8 years now, etc., etc. Just can't credit how quickly things move on.

My first couple of weeks as the (volunteer) youth minister at the small mission church southeast of here have gone well. I've got a rough outline for curriculum for the rest of the year in place along with some ideas about activities. I have two junior-going-on-senior class guys, plus the younger brother of one of the two, so one of the things we're seeking to do is solidify belief structure: what is it that you believe and why. I didn't honestly know why (other than because my parents believed it) until I got to college. I had to walk a rather rocky path of learning the hard way the answers to a lot of those questions, in the process nearly losing faith entirely before I made my way back. The idea is, against the backdrop of Scripture, to delve into what Christianity is about, what Christians should be doing, why we believe what we believe, along with side trips into extra-Biblical sources that lend credence to the Bible's historicity, and along the way to explore any of the hard questions they have. I don't believe in dodging the "why" questions. I don't know the answers to all of them, but I'm not afraid to delve into them either. Almost every youth I've ever taught wants to be treated more like an adult. I prefer that, truth be told. It means they are ready (or think they are ready) to deal with the hard questions and not flinch from the answers.

Wish I had something to say about the job situation. All I can say is that God provides what we need. The only thing I've actually asked people for help with was a car repair a couple of weeks ago. Everything else, all other payments, food, etc., have been the result of people calling up and arranging to do something on our behalf. It's really amazing. So, on the one hand, I'm worried sick cause I'm at the end of my rope. We're out of money and have no prospect of regular income. On the other, we haven't gone hungry yet and the house note was paid again. Still have lots of bills to pay, but somehow, someway, we'll get through.

God bless you all, in the measure with which he has blessed me, or even greater.

Time flies

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 22:38:04 GMT

and flies. and flies. Never really slows down.

Surgery for my son and the post-surgery cast time came and went. Outside of a four hour stretch post operation, he's done almost spectacularly well. Grumpiness still weaves in and out of his days, but his strength is returning and he's starting to try to run and jump again. Scottish Rite Hospital in Dallas was a miracle. I'd never wish the combination of lack of money and a child with needed treatment on anyone, but if you find yourself in that situation, it is an incredible place to have that need met. The nurses were fantastic, as were the doctors and physical therapists, and I can't think of a single thing I would complain about. They love kids and it shows.

Probably gonna have to get a new job. I don't fit this one and my work product ain't good. We'll see what comes.

Just surviving day to day right now, and hoping for the best. Cheers folks.

Happy New Year

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:56:37 GMT

Already off to the races, too.

Did the normal all nighter with the youth on New Year's, was loads of fun, saw National Treasure II in the bargain which worked out well for me. Just a TON of kids this year though. Only got one shot at the laser tag maze this time around, usually get 4-6. I wound up guarding the purses/bags/pillows/etc for a while and just chatting. Bowling is always fun. What was really cool was having a kid in our lane who had never bowled before go from making an 8 in his first game to scoring 72 in his last. He was having a blast and it showed.

Computer died Sunday night. Well, really just the hard drive, but it in effect killed the computer. My 6 year old system doesn't want to accommodate a newer drive (spent 6 hours trying Saturday cause I knew the drive was going) so we are building a new one. A techie I know from work offered me a box and power supply, I'd bought the new hard drive already, plus I have a newish vid card, so really all I need are mobo, processor and memory. The disk and CD drives from the old box are still functional and I have a modem card as well, so I think we'll be good. Gave the money I have for it plus all the parts to another tech friend of mine who is shopping around to get me a decent system put together. Hopefully will have it by the end of this week. I'm in withdrawal without a comp right now.

Played basketball for the first time since I separated my shoulder last night. It was...different. I didn't play well at all, which in some ways is to be expected. Played the last game guarding the guy I got tangled up with to cause the separation. I'm fairly instinctual when I play, and stopping to think and trying to make sure I didn't make any trouble for myself threw off what little rhythm I had left and in the end I left frustrated. Took it out on Lego Star Wars when I got home. I've screw up my body several times, but this is the first time I've ever been reticent about playing afterwards. I don't like that feeling.

Looks like we get free Chipotle this Sunday. Hooray!

Cheers, folks.

Post Christmas blues/blahs/greys

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 23:30:47 GMT

It's almost always a relief to me to get Christmas behind me.

People who know my background religiously tend to blink when I say that, but it's true. The whole "season" wears me out, in part because it has so little to do with the reason for the season anymore, and I'm not just speaking about rampant commercialism.

Of late, the dislike between me and my father in law has intensified immeasurably. Any holiday brings with it the possibility of having to deal with another rant from him. We got through it this time without, by flatly refusing to set foot in his house on Christmas day. My mom (and myself for that matter) still didn't want him to spend the day all alone, so he was welcomed to my folks' house along with Brynn's mom, whom I love. I found out afterwards my mom threatened him preemptively with police action if he caused any trouble. I wish she hadn't, but it kept him quiet and out of trouble. His emotional abuse, which came dangerously close to physical abuse this last time, of Brynn is something we will no longer tolerate. Given his "apology" to my son, which made no mention of me, I'd he still thinks he is white as snow, and that I was in the wrong for trying to make him let go. Her wrist was swollen four days afterward.

We've not liked each other since we met, but until Thanksgiving we'd largely managed to avoid major confrontation. Not any more. The thought of the man infuriates me in a way I cannot describe, and if he lays hands on Brynn one more time, I'm likely to punch him dead in the face, and I'm a retiring non-confrontationalist by nature in person. My dad, if he knew the full extent of what happened, likely would knock him out cold. Dad, in addition to being larger than me by 50 pounds and 3 inches, is one of the strongest men I've ever met in terms of sheer untrained strength and he's like a grizzly if he perceives that anyone in his family is under attack. His opinion of the father-in-law is, if possible, even lower than mine. I don't think he'll ever fully appreciate what it meant to me that he intercepted the other dad and kept him busy with inane conversation away from me for most of Christmas day.

Got some good news regarding Josiah. He has been referred to Scottish Rite in Dallas for his surgical procedure. Since we do not have insurance (and I've yet to come across insurance that would cover any of his autism related expenses anyway), we have to pay full price, but at Scottish Rite all procedures are paid for, and they are one of the best hospitals in the country. The evaluation is to occur on January 28 (also will serve as a second opinion) with the procedure to be set soon after, as I understand it.

Josiah will be 9 on Sunday. Seems hard to believe, but there it is. God I love him. Can't imagine life without him. Never understood love at first sight until I saw him for the first time as he was born.

Had an interesting discussion in the youth group on Sunday. We had been talking about Simeon, an old man at the time of Christ's birth, and somehow it wandered off into how you know what to do in life. One of my seventh graders, a girl, said something along the lines about how she hears all these stories about how people hear God saying things, or see him working miracles, and she doesn't. Struck home to me, because I'm the same way.

So I told her how I wound up in the youth group teaching. I liked hanging out with the kids, but I preferred the older kids. I started out teaching 11th grade. A couple of years later I wound up teaching 7-8th grade, not because I wanted to, but because they needed the help. That was the group I least wanted to teach, the group I most could not stand when I was growing up. I still get a lot of parents and other adults telling me that, especially when they find out how long I've been at it. 3 months into that school year, the primary teacher (I was sort of an aide and bouncer if you will; 7-8th grade boys kinda need someone to yank them up short on occasion when they get crazy, and also to talk video games and stuff with them) passed away, aneurysm if I recall right. His youngest son was in that class. It fell to me to take over. What I knew then was that those kids, and that young man in particular, needed someone to love them and I was the person in that place at that time. And when the next year rolled around, I no longer wanted to leave.

I took a two year break, but outside of that I've been doing this for...12 years I think. I wonder sometimes if I'm really doing any good, if I really belong there anymore. And then one or two in the youth group will give me an unsolicited big hug and try to get me to talk, cause they really care and can tell something is up. One is an eighth grader who calls me her second dad. The other is a junior I play on the basketball court, he's four inches taller than me now and still growing. I get from that a "keep going, you're where you need to be right now." No signs in the sky or anything, just a coincidence or two that got me where I am, loving the kids I love. I guess those who really need those signs get them, and those who don't, don't. Me, I know what I believe and why. I know my job is to care for those I'm around as best I can, be they 2 or 12 or 72. I miss my kids terribly when they aren't there, or when I'm not there. I'm SO looking forward to Wednesday night. All nighter, pizza, music, bowling, laser tag and movies. We'll see if any of them can keep up with me this year. /chuckle

That, really, is the core of the problem between me and my father in law. I know I'll never be rich, and I'm at peace with that. I don't know where I'm headed as a person, or we as a family, and though I wrestle with that, in the end I'm cool with it. I know the command is to love God and to love people so that when I reach the end and get my chance at rest, people will know Him, if by no other reason, by how I lived. I'm content, even though we struggle. My success is determined by loving people, not by a bottom line. Every good thing we have is a gift and not earned, both figuratively and literally, and the life we live is blessed because of that, rather than in spite of it. If, as I suspect will happen at some point before I die, I and my family get called to work with the poor of the world in a foreign country, it will infuriate him to no end. The jerk on my heart when I consider it is similar to the feelings I experienced when I wondered whether I should marry Brynn, and when I wondered whether I should go to China. Both of those turned out for the best.

What to do when WoW is broke

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 16:49:27 GMT

1) Play Lego Indiana Jones
2) Read a book
3) AIM with lots of folks
4) Sift through screenies and find a couple that really look epic
5) Randomize brain variables for encouragement of a new paradigm (ok I made that up. Sounds Dilbert doesn't it?)
6) /snooze

So if you play Warcraft you're aware the whole system was borked yesterday, until after bedtime for most, myself included. The only thing that really annoys me about it is that it doesn't bode too well for a new release in just over a day (at that time) to get your system that fouled up. My only plans were to fish and chat, which go together rather well, and I still got to do the chat part.

If you haven't played Lego Indiana Jones or Lego Star Wars, and you like video games at all, you NEED TO PLAY THESE. They are freaking hilarious, nothing terribly difficult mind you, but loads of fun to manipulate the whole Lego universe to the music of John Williams and explode the bad guys into mini lego stud oblivion. My son loves 'em and we play them together sometimes on our PS2.

Been concurrently reading a collection of Dante stuff (just started),Case for Christ, Zits...and I'm forgetting something. Dante is taking me a bit to get into. Gotta overcome my reflexive boredom and distaste for anything generally acclaimed as a "classic." I unfortunately developed that in high school and college, where I was forced to read a lot of boring stuff and the regurgitate the teacher/professor's point of view on all these supposed high works of art, so opening one is kinda like the start of a sermon for a lot of folks I know, instant snooze. Case for Christ I've read before, but I tend to re-read most of the stuff I've read before each year, so it's about time; plus reading his journey is in some respect like mine, though I didn't have the means to do as he did. Yes that means I re-read a lot of stuff over the course of the year. Zits is just for fun, makes me laugh, sort of a teenage setting for Calvin and Hobbes, with all the high school cliches that are so true they hurt, but still so funny. And...I'll remember you, fourth book! /shakes fist

AIM primarily with 3 folks. Screenies, I don't have a lot any more after I uninstalled the game last year for a while, but I found a couple of keepers. One is from an Onyxia kill I went to with Gori leading. Was the first day I specced Mulk for boomkin, and darned if I didn't get myself murdered for aggro. That's a hard spec to control sometimes. Gori wound up tanking her post fear right on top of my dead body and I swiveled the camera angle a bit and hit the button, then forgot all about it until yesterday. It caught him in mid animation with Thunderfury, so he has a swirl of lightning about him in front of this massive dragon. The other is one I took when Rahzu and I duo'd Auchenai Crypts. We accidentally aggroed a group of mobs and he got MC'ed, just murdered the freaking heck out of me. When I released, I still had him targeted and there was a skull where his level should have been, making him a boss level mob. No lie. I've fought warglaive rogues in pvp that didn't hit as hard as he did.

Shoulder is doing ok, not 100% but a lot better. Haven't thought about Papa a lot since I got home from the funeral, not decided if that's good or bad or a little of both. Digging out of a financial hole we found ourselves in in September, can see the light as it were, if things continue as they are. In closing, last night, my son was doing his homework then came out and gave my wife a note he had written. It said:

"Mom, I was going to write sentences, but I couldn't because the teacher made some mistakes. Maybe next time. Josiah"

I cracked up a bit when I heard about it. The heck of it was, he was right. The instructions made no sense at all. We'll see what comes of that today in school I guess. He usually gets really worked up when things don't go according to plan; freaks him out a bit. This time he blew it off and went on with life, which is cool. Kids. /chuckles

ramblings

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 08:35:57 GMT

Herro again.

Some days enjoying athletics is a drawback. Separated my shoulder rather effectively. Freak thing, got my arm tangled up with a taller person going for a rebound and landed before him, wrenching my shoulder out over the top of his. One in a million, kinda like when I dislocated my foot close to ten years ago. So everyone has this urge to say something funny or to comment on how someone my age can't expect to soar with the eagles or some such. I'm 34, not 54. I jump better than everyone I play with, which is to say if I was as tall as some of those I play with I could dunk easily. As it is, at a shade under 6 feet tall, I can get 4 inches above the rim. I run faster than most of them, I cause a match up problem cause I play like a guard and can guard people taller than me in the post; there is no one on the court whose shot I can't block, or who I can't get my shot off over. I'm not freaking over the hill! sheesh. If it sounds like bragging, it is a bit. I'm hardly the best player out there, but I can make them all work, even the ones who play competitively.

I appreciate the concern, but lay off already! When the pain of playing is greater than the joy, I will stop. I'm stubborn but not stupid (I think). I'm also of the opinion that athletic ability, once you are past 30 or so, is a use it or lose it thing and I intend to use it. Oh well, had to vent. Can't play until well after the first of the year anyway to make sure it heals ok. Another dr. appointment soon, probably some physical therapy (on the light side) to help regain strength and flexibility.

We get a new music minister now, which is cool. He's a regular Joe who just loves Jesus; not an outstanding singer, though he is plenty gifted, don't misunderstand, but where he really excelled in the short time he has already spent with us is in getting us to go where he is in worship, both in practice and in the service. He throws himself into practice as though it's a recital before the Lord and the angels. I love it cause that's the way I tend to be, and because we ought, really, to do everything, even practice, as though we are doing it for God. Nice that it took less than a year to find the replacement. The pastor and staff did something really cool for our interim leader, who is also our accompanist - they bought her tickets to be used for any opera that comes to town in the next year, in addition to a gift certificate and flowers. I hate to bring up race usually, as I believe many times people make too much of it, but she is black, in a white baptist church, she has done a fantastic job leading music for us and running the choir, which she had never done before anywhere, and stretched the boundaries of where we as a church have gone musically, and she has been embraced for it. Lord, it is so nice when the people of God act like the people of God.

Papa died a week ago Friday; still not sure what happened other than he started bleeding a ton and bled out on my aunt's driveway, in her arms, before EMS could get there (took them max 4 minutes; he went fast). His 9 living siblings all made the trip, along with all of my grandmother's siblings...4 I think? I see them all so rarely I get people mixed up sometimes. Well over 100 family, and lots of friends to boot, at the church. My brother and I, as the two oldest grandchildren (by 14 years or so) and only ones really fit to carry a casket (the rest are mostly too young for such duty), were pallbearers along with a selection of friends. The three hardest things to watch in that - 1) his brother Ray, oldest of the 12 children, weeping on someone's shoulder, saying Troy (Papa) should be attending his funeral not the other way around. Ray is probably the most humble and caring of the 12, and a man who has seen tragedy strike many times and this hurt him almost as badly as his son dying in a plane crash; 2) Gina dealing with all the family coming in while trying to fend off her own grief and guilt over his death, even though she knows it was not her fault. She had not the time for her own tears, though I know she needed it; 3) Seeing Lee, a tough as nails real life cowboy who worked with Papa for 20 years or more on the ranch, losing his composure and crying; men like him aren't moved to tears often, and Papa's death hurt him badly. I found out after the services concluded that my son toward the end of the service wanted to go up and give Papa a hug goodbye and I nearly broke down all over again.

A couple of my cousins didn't want to come; 2 did not make the trip and 1 skipped the visitation the night before the service. Those are the three oldest beside my brother and I. The three youngest, however, did want to, and while they cried, I was amazed at how well they took it. It's the first time any of them have really witnessed death at an age when they were old enough to understand it. One, named Emily, smiled through the tears and said "I imagine he's having a party right now." I think she's right and I was really proud of her for getting that and trying to help folks move on, cause the last thing Papa would have wanted was us moaning and feeling sorry for ourselves, as natural as that is. Josiah (my son) and two of my cousins who are his age or close to it were screaming and giggling outside playing tag that evening, and it occurred to more than one of us that this was wholly appropriate under the circumstance. Papa would likely have been outside with them egging them on.

What I feel in these things is a mixed bag to be sure. I know where he went, and in some ways I'm jealous. I get tired of life on this broken world sometimes, enough to long for what lies ahead. I also miss him badly. I've a load of memories of going out to work the cows as it were, though this mostly involved riding in his truck or tractor and watching him go as we weren't strong enough to do much of what he did until after we got too big to ride in the tractor with him. He laughed a lot, smiled a lot, had a lot of rough edges, worked as hard as he played and a lot longer. There is a hole at the table belonging to the man with the hat. I hate that feeling, of him missing, the hole in my heart, the pain it causes me and those I love...

But I'm also of the opinion that if such partings, temporary though they may be, do not hurt, then you didn't really value the one you lost, and something is wrong inside your heart. There is no commandment to not weep in these times, it's a necessary and natural part of death. I certainly cried my share. Ever since I was a small child, good bye was the thing I hated most in the world and it still holds true today.

/sighs and moves along

Of all the friends I have made in my time playing warcraft, I think the one I cherish the most is Sruna. So many hours spent chatting back then, getting to know her as she struggled with a lot of life stuff, doing what I could to help ease her many frustrations from afar and venting in my turn. She's like the sister I don't have.

Sruna, so you know, when I pray, I mention you and Pleroma. I have a good feeling about you and this situation for no reason I can enumerate. Be at peace. You've got many friends, most closer than I, but if you have the need I'm still about

This is Swiftcurrent Peak, as viewed from along the road just below the lake of the same name, pic taken this past June and posted here for therapeutic value for mountainholics such as myself. :)

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 21:51:55 GMT

Another birthday came and went last week. I still don't know what I'm supposed to make of my birthday. I think the last time I had a party I was 12, the last time it meant anything to me at all I was 16. That was 18 years ago. I get asked what I want for my birthday or Christmas or whatever and I don't know how to answer. I have what I need and part of what I really want. Those things I would love most to have are beyond the scope of anyone but God to give. So I try to be content. Really, I guess all I need to know on that day is that people remember and that they care. A simple card or phone call is perfect.

Work stress is high right now. One of my co-workers left on the last day I worked before vacation back in June, the first replacement we hired didn't work out. So I'm stuck doing a job I really don't want to do, but for people who have really taken care of me as an employee. I have to call someone and give them bad news in a few minutes and I badly hate the thought of doing that. It's not the first, nor will it be the last. My very soul hurts, as I've been where some of these folks are.

One of my best friends wrote something about me that made me blush on my birthday. Maybe it's cause I so easily see all my faults in the mirror. But I honestly don't get why I'm held in so high regard by people. Especially people who know I'm Christian, know what that belief entails and disagree with it (sometimes vehemently), but still hold me in esteem. It feels good, to be sure, but sometimes I look at the well and there's nothing left in it; I'm totally dry, incapable of being who I want to be and people still say stuff like he said. Or at church, those who think of me as a role model. I don't get it. Yeah I show up, yeah I sing, yeah I teach Sunday School, blah blah blah. I'm not exactly the greatest at any of those, I'm a horrible procrastinator, and most of the time I'd rather be playing hoops or on the computer than reading the Bible and praying. I worry tons even when I -know- there is nothing to worry about. I do stuff I know I shouldn't do. I desire things I know are not only wrong, but against everything I've said I stand for.

/grumbles

One of my worst traits has always been self critique.

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:59:28 GMT

Boy I feel old this morning. At 33 I just don't recover from a night of hoops like I used to. *chuckles* My back is so stiff, I think oak bends better. Ah well. As long as the guys I play against keep failing to box out I'll have a heyday in the middle even though I'm not a prototypical post man and rebounder. The only two who do, one isn't there often and the other is moving to Corpus. If a stiff back is the price, so be it. It's a lot of fun, and good bonding time between me and the other adults with the youth who come out to play, one of whom is a real load at 6'4" and able to dunk. Glad I can still make him work even though I am twice his age.

Finally got the taxes done two days before; getting a decent return out of it that will help fund our trip. I was getting worried about the finances. Still am a bit, as gas will cost almost as much as the hotels if the prices keep going like they are. But, barring any major repairs to the vehicle or house or something similar, we should be good. Which is good. I've never been to Glacier National Park before and I'm really chomping at the bit to go. Closest I've been is Red Lodge, Montana, on my last trip to Yellowstone in 1991.

Our son will need surgery on his achilles tendons in the next year or so. It's related to his toe-walking (think ballerina, except he walks like that all the time) and has shortened the tendons to the point that they need to be relaxed before he really starts to grow and gets his feet and ankles and calves completely out of whack. Not looking forward to that. I got weepy the times my wife has been knocked out for surgery, and with a kid who tends to freak at the least little out of the ordinary thing I'm really uneasy with how he will take being put under.

I recall very clearly when I found out just crying over my lunch break and wondering why it can't be me. I'm the only insured in my family (we make too much, somehow, to qualify for any assistance with insurance and insurance for two people with preexistent conditions almost requires you to be independently wealthy to afford it) and I'm the only one who has no ongoing medical needs. As badly as I hated my one trip to the hospital, I'd take that and much more to keep my son out of that, at least for a while longer. There's something about having your kid need medical care that just makes you feel like a failure, regardless how wrongheaded that feeling is. We find out more in July. Hopefully we can get a referral to Scottish Rite up in Dallas; procedures there are paid for, or so I understand, and the hospital is very good. A friend with a child suffering from Muscular Dystrophy gave me a good recommendation and some contact info.

Good news is the procedure is fairly common for kids like him and low on the complications possibilities; it's even a day-surgery thing now and he'd probably be up and around fairly quickly afterwards.

Random pic of the wife and kid:

Given that it's a June trip to Glacier there might still be enough snow in easy to reach places to take another pic like that. Have I mentioned I'm looking forward to the trip? :)

Sailing towards home

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 07:15:10 GMT

Alternating stripes of gold and deep purple danced across the sky, the setting sun poking holes in the low clouds in a vain attempt to prolong the day as the rain dissipated. The watchman gazed into the coming nightfall, nodding with satisfaction as stars twinkled into view one at a time, dancing in and out of the cloud cover.

"Twill be a clear un t'night Cap'n."

The captain moved not from his place near the tiller, the words either not worth a response at this time or else lost in rapt contemplation of what was fast becoming a glorious sunset. You couldn't always tell.

Silence grew. Even the groaning and creaking of the ship seemed to subside as the crew awaited his pleasure. Two knees and an ankle popped as the captain stood and stretched, slight winces accompanying each before he nodded once. "Clear enough to approach the Keel with no worries, Valstun."

A faint shiver ran over the watchman's body, echoed unwillingly by the rest of the crew. A grin as faint as the shivers graced the captain's face. "What's the matter, men? I thought you were past ready to be home. If all goes well we make port in Valanorn tomorrow. The Day of Feasting begins at sunset, and you'll have not only the feasting but months afterward to spend with your families." The slight smile grew until he fairly glowed with joy.

"Aye, we's wantin dat Cap'n..." began Valstun, but he tailed off as the first mate stepped forward. "It's that none of us like crossing the Keel, Captain. Even in the day it's bad enough." The burly man swallowed, his throat bobbing almost comically. "Night time, it's a horror we don't want to face..."

"After all we've been through you're worried about the whirlpool and the cliffs, eh?" Captain knuckled his thin beard, then held up a single finger. "Corsi, where did we just come from?"

His first mate glowered. "Tiderace."

"Right. We dared it at high tide and came away with nary a scratch." Captain raised a second finger. "Valstun, what was before that?"

"Cap'n dat be de greatly reef off ol' Tirimar what rips de..."

"Yes yes, rips the backbones right off the ships and men alike and woe to ye what sail there, I know." Captain eyed him critically. "You're awfully talkative and mobile for a dead man. Perhaps we should go back...?"

An unwilling guffaw shuffled through the assembled crew then fell flat. Captain raised a third finger. "Seaman Hornsby. What was before that?"

A belch and a strange, piglike grunt emitted from the indicated crewman. "Wuzzut be Catpin? uh, Cattin....Catkin...CAPTAIN." A few more sniggers and grins peppered the crew. "Wuz win we kill de ogremathingy...or win we be ettin at de beastie feastie o' ...odie cack blassle!" he shouted triumphantly before tripping and falling on his face. Another belch. Outright laughter followed.

"Still in the grog, there, Hornsby? You've forgotten at least two things. The Great Storm Straight and being chased by a fleet of three-masters flying the Dark Harbor Guild of Terror flag." Two more fingers rose and Captain chuckled for a moment. "Ogremathingy and cack blassles indeed! Our own ballistae team extraordinaire put a bolt through the head of the great water serpent...ogremathingy..." Captain laughed loudly a moment. "And we were feted by the lords of the BLACK CASTLE of the Ten Cities for two days for that feat." Here he nodded in approval to two crewmen with ballista pins on their vests. "After which it was a wonder we could walk, let alone sail. Anyone else have a hunger for the roasted boar they served?" A groan of agreement. The ship's fresh meat and fruit stores had perished, leaving the crew to subsist mostly on various kinds of jerky, hardtack bread and water along with what fish they caught while off duty.

"Against all that, a few trips around the whirlpool is as difficult as captaining a wooden duck in a child's tub, melads." Several nods. Captain winked and twirled his staff in one hand as he pointed with the other. "There be the Counterweight Star. Below it and to the right, just past morning, lies the Keel, and beyond that, fair Cristhorn upon the high mountains, the hidden country! Are ye ready, men?"

"AYE!"

"Good! You two help Hornsby to his cot. He'll be dining at the cack blassle a while yet." He paused and grinned at the crew as they laughed again. "See if you can find his grog stash while you're at it. We need him sober enough to handle an oar in a few hours and that will never happen if he finds his grog again."

"Night Crew, as you were!"

"Aye, Captain!"

prologue of sorts

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 11:32:25 GMT

been tugging at this for a few weeks. Still don't like it, but here it is

Whence the Storyteller Came

"...and so the Dwarven War finally ended in peace."

The children all took a deep breath as the old man took in a breath, then chugged his mug in one go. Silence reigned, broken only by the crackling fire in the great hearth and the patter of rain against the windows. The spell held a moment, then each of the young ones broke out in questions simultaneously.

"How did Finn..."

"What happened to Lady Damriel after...?"

"Was Michale's sword magical like...?"

"Where did the dwarves...?"

The storyteller held up a hand and all queries ceased, cut off as though he had covered each mouth with his hand. "You flatter an old man with your attentions," he chuckled, his brown eyes reflecting the leaping flames. "But one story is enough for now. The rest will come in time. You might even learn some of it in your schooling."

At this their faces fell; he could scarcely have gotten a worse reaction if he'd proclaimed the substitution of broccoli for cookies for dessert. "But school is BORING," sighed one young lad. "They make me learn history and math and..."

A merry laugh burst from the old one's mouth, and shamefaced grins peppered his young audience. "If you can't count, young man, how will you know whether your army can take on your enemy and have a chance at winning? Or how will you know how much you need to pack for a long trip? Or are such things beneath one of your age and wisdom? Hm?"

The boy blushed at being singled out, whereupon the storyteller smiled at him kindly. "Don't take it hard lad. You're not the first to think more of the adventure than of the needs you have to meet along the way."

"As for history, what is a story like mine, anyway, but history handed down and retold so that we don't forget? You don't think I made up such a tale?"

Unsure glances bounced around the room, each boy and girl making a face, before one bold one spoke up. "But surely they are all just stories, right? I mean...giant armies of dwarves...and a waterfall surrounding a land...flying lizards...a whole other world at the bottom of the world..." she trailed off as he eyed her, eyes twinkling again. "It doesn't seem possible." She concluded quietly, her gaze dropping as she blushed faintly..

"You're so wise for one so young, to know what is and is not possible." He grinned to take the sting from the words, then went on. "It's good to be practical, my young lady, but what I have told you is true, every word of it. Mi souvain a coronos de Shulanar." At this he stood and saluted oddly, his left hand to his brow and his right held shoulder high, palm to the sky. Then he seemed to return out of memory and shook his head. "Sorry, it is a promise of truth, spoken by one of the tribes that inhabits the southern wastes. 'I stand true before the nothingness beyond Shulanar.' "

Curiosity spread quickly from face to face and questioning looks sprouted. He laughed and waved them off. "Another time I will tell you of the great southern and northern cliffs and the people that live near them."

Loud groans erupted and immediately three of the more vocal children began campaigning for another tale. "After all, Gramps, it's still raining, we can't go outside and play, and if you don't start another story we'll heckle you until you do." An impish grin followed this pronouncement. "Besides, if you start now, knowing you, you'll keep going until dinner time and you won't have to tell any more stories today."

"Ungrateful scamp." An attempt at a stern gaze failed utterly and the twinkling grin returned. "You remind me of me. Very well. One more story, if that is your wish. But I shall need another drink. And a snack. AND" here he paused and rearranged himself in his chair. "a topic. What shall it be? More dragons and dwarves for our young warriors in waiting? Or a tale of failed romance for the lassies?" The cacophony that followed was deafening and he let it continue unabated for some time before raising a hand and pointing to the one child who wasn't yelling; he was in fact covering his ears. "As you are the only one not yelling at me, I think you shall have the choice."

The youngster's face reddened in shock and he tried to wave it off. Kind eyes and smile encouraged him in silence, though, until at last he spoke, barely above a whisper. "Teh us uh stowy 'bout you pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" The adults around the Inn looked at their drinks as the storyteller rocked back; for a moment he seemed ancient beyond myth, even. "Son, I never tell stories about my past. It's enough that I know the shipbuilding trade and can aid in some small way in the fine works your parents construct. Besides, what can old Gramps really have done anyway?" Tears shimmered in the boy's face and the flush rose again. Gramps glanced around and took in the interest that was flowering in every face. "I sowwy mistuh Gramps. I..." the dam holding the unshed tears broke and the boy turned to leave.

Gramps stood and swept the child up, then returned to his chair and bounced him on his knee. The light grew dim about them. Only they two existed at this moment. Their gazes locked for a long moment before Gramps looked away. "You really want to know, don't you?" A timid nod answered. "Promise you'll believe me? If you found my other stories hard to believe when they were pulled straight from the books and from the memories of those who lived them, you'll never believe this..." Another nod and a look of pure hope. "Very well."

Light popped back into existence and the child was seated where he had been before, though no movement had occurred. Gramps smiled at him and held one finger to his mouth.

"A long time ago, in a town that you will not find on any map in this far country, there was born a young lad named Danwynn after his father. He grew up in the usual way, but as he came to adulthood he grew weary of comparison with his father, who was unlike him in stature, thought and manner. He left his home to seek adventure and purpose, taking another name as his own. His middle name, given by the mother he adored in honor of founder of Tirimar." Gasps peppered the room as a few realized who he would claim to be. Fingers gripped the chair like claws and the dark brown eyes that twinkled so often in laughter flared with intensity. "Elias"

grrrrr

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 05:28:10 GMT

Had the unmistakable nagging feeling that I'm forgetting things. As someone who treasures memory so highly, this both annoys and angers, and sometimes frightens.

I was reading the other day about how the mind and the brain are two separate entities. The mind is conscious. The brain is not. I won't go into the details of why or how this can be ascertained, as it's not really germane, but for a moment, it was like a door unlocked and I understood something of what real dreams are (the kind that have meaning in the waking world) and why they occur, and maybe something about why normal dreams happen. The thread of that thought is completely gone today, beyond a foggy remembrance of the dimensionality we inhabit.

Today, I was reading "Thief of Time" by Terry Pratchett. It sparked a thought in my mind. For the longest time I've had trouble writing for my world, and the biggest component in that trouble is the inability to find a purpose that hasn't already been overdone. As I read the story about the perfect clock, it occurred to me that I have a world in which time is unbalanced; this is a piece of why the sun behaves as it does there. Is the idea I've been looking for related to time's wobbly being in this broken, flattened imaginary landscape? I don't know. For a moment, my way was clear, and now, 20 minutes later, it's gone and I can't recall the shapes, only a vague recollection of color and sound, sight and song, that belongs on no map I know. Not even the one I wrote.

I don't dream often at all. When I do, I at least have the sense that a dream occurred even if I don't recall it. It's sort of odd, I go long periods with no dreams, then I spend an entire night dreaming this vivid, full-color epics that wear me out. To this day, though, I only recall two dreams. One, a recurring nightmare I had for long years that I've long been free of. The other, though, was a dream I had some years back that might, possibly, have been true. The true one, all I really recall are colors that cannot be described satisfactorily; standing in the presence of the Crystal Throne of God and seeing that white is really infused with brilliance like a beam shone through a diamond, full of living fire. It makes our "white" seem dingy, grey, by comparison. Man I wish my memory hadn't faded...

Ah well. Had to share my angst, as it were. Wish I had a more efficient brain. :D

just a random bit

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:06:56 GMT

A tale of a man trying to discover the nature of his world...and in the process telling you a little bit more about my made up world.

The sun arose in the west that day.

Well, he thought, the sun sure keeps you guessing on the Rim.

The sun had set there last night, scarcely 2 hours previous. While it had some undeniable patterns, the randomness of the rest made for interesting times for someone trying to ascertain order. He sighed, a long dismal exhalation, and rubbed the grit from his eyes before he flipped back through scrolls and books of information he had collected over the previous three years.

The sun wanders further north in the winter, further south in the summer. Length of day didn't seem to vary according to where it rose or set, though it did shorten or lengthen according to the season. It preferred to travel directly east or west, depending on where it rose, though there were some variances to this, where the sun traveled in a southwesterly direction across the sky. He scratched at his beard absently.

The effect of the sun rising where it set seemed to have no pronounced effect on the world at large, though it was an inconvenience to those living closest to the Rim. Ancient texts spoke of a great globe spinning its way through space, the sun fixed in its place, regular as the Stone Clock of Cristobar, but this was clearly a falsehood now. The endless thunder of Karkos, the great Western Fall, was audible even at this distance. He'd seen it, once, almost three years ago, and had narrowly avoided being sucked over the edge by the hungry, raging currents that fed the unceasing falls. Also once, he'd seen their eastern counterparts, the great rushing, rising tide that roared away from the eastern Rim, dubbed the Sunrise Swell, doubtless from days when the sun still rode in the sky as the old books said it once had.

The northern and southern edges were landlocked, more or less. Apparently it was a rite of passage into adulthood for some of the nomadic tribes inhabiting the Shulanari Wastes of the deep south and of the Colafoss Razors of the northern highlands to descend as far as they might over the cliffs at the Rim and then return, having looked into the nothingness as one tribe called it. A poor translation, that. The word meant something like the forbidding shimmer of a great salt waste at midday during a long drought. Who knew what lay across so wide an expanse?

He had more questions now than he had had at the start. Back then, he'd only wondered about the track of the sun, why it did what it did. And so he'd talked his commanding officer into letting him research it. Now...

Where does all the water go? Is the Swell somehow the end of the Karkos? But that didn't make any sense, because of all the ships that had rode over that great fall, none had ever returned. If one had a near infinite amount of rope and foolhardiness, where would you end up if you went all the way down the cliffs of the northern or southern edges? Why are the days regular but the sun not? Why did ALL of the ancient manuscripts agree that the world was a globe spinning amid a giant cosmos and describe star movements the likes of which could not be witnessed today? The only mention of a flat world was in a text that went on to disprove that as a possibility. There was only one moon then, apparently, too...

He shook his head, silent wry laughter convulsing his being. The native islander whose hut he shared eyed him askance yet again, an odd look of resignation on his face. For him, these things simply existed. But for Elias the Wanderer, they were the mysteries he lived to unlock. He no longer thought about why the Knighthood paid him to jaunt about the wide world in search of answers that apparently only he considered. And he no longer cared. As frustrating as the search was, it was in some way what he was made to do. With his luck, the answer was probably in a book two shelves up from the ones fueling his current studies...

Ode to Steak

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 15:34:02 GMT

Well, not exactly, I'm not a poet. But you get the point... :D

Was talking with the wombat yesterday before I got off work and we were discussing steak. Specifically, the best we've had, and the fact that it's been too long since we've had one.

Now, I'm a Texan whose family, until my dad, were ranchers and farmers. My grandfather is still a rancher, though probably not much longer. I know good meat. I've had a LOT of it in my life. There are these little cattle town restaurants that noone except the locals have heard of. They get the cuts fresh, straight from the ranch, before the cattle lots are sold to the various corporations that supply all the restaurants that sell steak in the "known" world. Then they'll do things like slow smoke for 24-36 hours before serving, which you just can't do for a city-sized demand. That's what one place in Dekalb does with babyback ribs. They actually give you the whole side of ribs too, not just the 6-8 you usually get at a Chile's or whatever. It's cross-hatched on a giant platter and hangs off the edges. It's a meal to share or to take home as leftovers.

Best I've had, in no particular order

1) L'entrecote, Zurich, Switzerland - Run by a Frenchman, across the street from the main train station. It's an intimate dining area, and the steak is the only thing on the menu, prepared with a sauce of something like 20 herbs and spices, cooked to one level less than you ordered it (Medium Rare if you order Medium for example) and brought to you simmering, thin-sliced and placed over candles on your table to cook to completion. It's a huge temptation to lick the plate. I managed to resist, but it was -hard- not to. We ate there Christmas Day, 2006, with the owner dancing attendance on us as we were one of two occupied tables in the place.

2) Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, Austin, Texas - I've been to a couple of highly rated chains before and came away unimpressed. Ruth's Chris, however, was much more the standard you'd expect from some place that charges what they do for a steak. I ordered a thick-cut filet, and it was cooked wonderfully, carmelized but not burnt (happens WAY too often with thick cuts) and almost tender enough to cut with a fork. The sides were wonderful too.

3) Cattle Exchange, Canadian, Texas - built in one of the historic buildings of this small community in the Panhandle. People drive 60 miles to eat there with regularity, which is a rarity. It's small, friendly, with a varied menu (Tex-Mex and BBQ in addition to steaks). All of the food is good, washed down with sweet tea and homemade desserts as a follow up. The steak I'm thinking of is a tenderloin cut, crusted with pepper and a few other seasonings. It's a special, and not on the menu every day; at least it wasn't the last time I went. I had it every time I had the chance (going there was a staple of visits to my grandmother's when she was still alive) and it was always good, but the first time I had it was probably the best steak I ever had. Juicy as heck, light pressure with the fork would cut it, marbled beautifully and an explosion of taste in the mouth...it was steak nirvana.

4) Front Street Junction, Dekalb, Texas - this is the place with the babyback ribs I mentioned earlier. The steaks are also wonderful, and huge. It's not much to look at, just another cowtown place that seems like it's trying to look like a chain on the outside, but I've had many great meals here.

After pondering such things last night, I went home and had to have a steak. I prepared a couple of small filets, pressed pepper and montreal steak seasoning into both sides and sprinkled with worcestershire sauce on both sides, then broiled them as slowly as I could. They came out wonderfully and worth the extra couple of hours of wait time.

mmmmm, /steak

of writing and education

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 22:13:13 GMT

Was having a discussion with a friend over AIM a few days ago and it got me thinking.

She's an English major and commented that she'd thought I was good writer and communicator. My response to that, as usual, was the e-equivalent of a blank look. I've never thought of myself as such. I had two A's in any English or writing related class for the duration of my pre-college studies, and none at all in college. I write when the mood takes me, mostly cause I can't keep it out of my thoughts if I don't; I become almost unable to think about anything else until the work, however long or short, is accomplished. By contrast, I don't write well at all in my judgment in response to requests most of the time; in fact, I almost invariably delete "requested" writing a dozen times or more, and am still unsatisfied with the finished product.

When I said as much, we got onto the topic of what good writing is, and what education is. I've almost without exception had teachers I couldn't stand in these subjects. I hate being told what to think and why. I had two exceptions - one being a teacher I had for one semester in my freshman English class in high school, and the other a creative writing teacher my senior year at the same school. Looking back, I'm not sure why I took that last course; I needed one more elective to fill out my schedule and that for some reason caught my eye. I'm glad I took it. It's the only time growing up that I was encouraged by someone not related to me in my writing. There were few rules other than the sheer number of different papers we had to write. Topics were far more widely scattered than any I've seen before or since, and I wrote reporter-style, fiction of historical, present-day and fantastic, plus some non-fiction.

The point of the class was to, basically, get you to write something you were good at, see what worked there and why and investigate how to apply it to other things that you wrote, and along the way increase your enjoyment in writing. And it -worked-. Most every other class I've had was spent writing pre-ordained topics from notes taken in class and books, of a specified length, and generally had to accommodate the teacher's opinion in its conclusion. In other words, don't think, just regurgitate. This philosophy of "learning" permeates the entire U.S. educational system (in fact, the U.S. as a whole, not just the education), and is partly to blame for the mediocrity of U.S. students in general. Standardized tests, along with most other tests for that matter, requires the regurgitation of facts, which is not really the same as the demonstration of knowledge. We know more than ever before, and do less with it than ever before. It's a real shame.

I'm not really sure how you change that. A portion of the problem is the low income for teachers, which won't change in the near future as this country seems to think that the ability to fake a persona or play a sport is infinitely more valuable than raising kids. Another portion of the problem is lack of parental involvement or bad parental involvement, the tendency to blame teachers for students' lack of work ethic. And, while it seems a bit off topic at first glance, another would be the American tendency to value the appearance of wealth over contentment with what you have. There is nearly no appreciation whatsoever in this nation for the indisputable, undeniable fact that just to be born in America makes you one of the top 10% wealthiest people in the world. And, I think, that's really the base issue that underlies everything else that is or seems to be wrong. We feel entitled, both as a nation and as individuals.

Almost feel I should apologize for this, but it's been weighing on me a bit. Hard to tell those kids at church I love so much to stick with it in school when school has become irrelevant, at least in terms of teaching life skills.

Best teacher I ever had was a guy named Nick Derado, for Government and Economics. Wasn't even an honors course, but he taught me and my classmates more about the workload and level of competency that would be required in college than all my other classes combined. Walked in the door the first day and received a handout of 7 projects we would have to complete in the first 2 weeks of class. Stuff like read the relevant book and defend or attack the Federalist and anti-Federalist points of view from the constitutional convention that wrote the US Constitution. Debate it. Two separate papers on other topics related to the time. Etc. We had to know 50 landmark supreme court cases and every amendment to the US Constitution by name and date and what the significance was. The whole class was littered with why questions. From him, not us. Think. Analyze. Form an opinion and defend it, but be prepared for holes to be knocked in your arguments. We argued with him and with each other for the duration of the school year, and not just about standard government and eco topics, but everything going on around us. Iraq (First Gulf War happened while I was in high school). Abortion. Racism. Drugs. Firearms. Religion. On occasion he suspended his planned lesson so we could talk over things important to us. I learned more from that class than I can ever begin to recount, and I count myself lucky I had him for a teacher. Wish I knew where he'd gotten to. And wish I could have had a hundred more teachers like him. May my son be so lucky as he grows up.

Thanksgiving week

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 15:50:42 GMT

Kinda snuck up on me this year. Even now I can't believe it's only a few days off.

One of the challenging aspects of raising an autistic child is the near constant repetition of things. Now, every child does this to some extent, but an autistic person is almost incapable of letting something go for a good long while. This past week, he has, of all things, been stuck on being thankful. Other things too, but he keeps coming back to that. Asking his mom and I what we are thankful for, who we are thankful for, followed by his repetition of people (same list every time, me and the wife have it memorized) he is thankful for. I actually started to get annoyed with this after the third or fourth time on the trip to church Sunday. It's a 15 minute drive. Later I wondered why on earth I was irritated; giving thanks is a great habit to be in. So, I think I'll try to be thankful as often as my kiddo. Being thankful allows me to set my eyes on the mountains ahead and not worry so much about all the valleys and rough roads that I'm in right now; it even allows me to appreciate the hard times for the good that comes out of them.

Church was different this week. We had our Thanksgiving there this week, given so many will be traveling next week. It's the first time we've tried to sit through the regular church service with our son. He made it to the offering time before we had to pull him out. Just doesn't handle changes to his normal schedule well at all, but he did pretty well all told. As there was a huge potluck being set up, I took him with me so I could carve up the roast I brought and help with set up of tables, food, drinks and all. He set his stuff down and just started carrying food to wherever the adults said. He trips over his own feet so often, but he never has trouble with that when he's helping for some reason. I was so proud of him I just about burst, because I hadn't asked or prodded him to help, he just did it. Of course, then I had to play defense when we were done setting up...he thought it was time to eat but church wasn't over yet. *chuckles*

I had to eschew the yearly swine match (the youth and adults play flag football against each other for a trophy with a pig on top, it's hilarious) for a memorial service. Ethel Beers, mother to a lady I used to teach piano to, passed away at age 91. She was one of those people we really looked forward to seeing each week, just loved to hug her and her daughter. Her grandson told us yesterday just how much it meant to her that we did that, every time she was there; he was all choked up in tears, as were Brynn and I, because I had no idea. I can truthfully say I did nothing for her in this life save to pray for her and to hug her neck when I saw her, not much at all, but the impact it had was so much greater than I thought. It's always the small kindnesses that seem to go the farthest. Carlos (think George Beverly Shea and you get an idea what his voice sounds like) sang a couple of favorite hymns, we heard some stories from the family that made us laugh and know her a bit better, then we bid her and her family farewell. I think I'll have to sit Grandma Beers down in heaven when I get there. There's a wealth of stuff there that I want to hear from her own mouth.

Ah well, time to work...

well....I'm back.

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 22:03:58 GMT

Closed the door on WoW last night. At least for a while. Came to me as I sat in church a few weeks ago that I wasn't free to entertain friends on a whim anymore, and that the only reason I played was for social interaction. That I'd been neglecting my RL friends in the process. Rp didn't interest me much anymore, nor did the daily grind, and the only aspect of the game I found challenging isn't geared for people who would rather have a real life. I met some great folks, some of whom I hope will remain friends throughout life, but it was past time to be moving on.

The Tears gave me a sendoff that had me in tears, literally. El Wombaticus hid the preparations from me pretty well, too, cause I had no idea it was coming. Wife and I were both crying. Then we hit up Zul'Aman, downed the first boss for the first time and had some fun learning up to the second boss. Then it was off to Bloodhoof for one last RP session before clearing out the character banks and hitting /logout for the last time.

What will I do now? For one, get used to an earlier bed time. For another, read to my wife at said bedtime more often. And another, have people over more frequently. Do more reading and piano playing in general, watch a few more movies, cook out more (I'm looking at you Mox) etc. I suspect I'll start working on my world stuff again soon. Check that, I know I will, I'm already thinking it through again. My wife needs an out for her writing creativity and I pushed my world forward as a possibility. Maybe pick up the Hebrew study I was doing earlier this year when I was unemployed. Read some more. Pray some more. Think some more. Listen some more. Maybe write some. Plan a trip to Glacier NP in Montana. And who knows what else.

like, I post things!

Thu, 02 Nov 2006 20:33:06 GMT

Been entirely too long since I even looked at this page. *chuckles quietly*

Just returned yesterday from the wedding of pleroma and sruna. I had a blast meeting others I had only known by game handles, but what I found the most wonderful was the look of unabashed love on the faces of the happy couple. Every wedding I have attended reminds me of my own, for that very reason, and it was wonderful to see it once more. Have fun on the honeymoon!

note: Atlanta is BEAUTIFUL in fall. We don't have fall where I live. Fall here is when the leaves turn brown and die due to excessive heat, sunlight and lack of rain, which coincidentally (or not) occurs at about the proper time for "fall." Actually, fall is the correct term. *laughs* Autumn is what we don't have.

The youth minister asked me to consider coordinating things for the 7th-8th grade group; the group that moved up from 6th to 7th made my class almost as large as the rest of the youth group, and kinda needing it's own separate activities and person to oversee. I'm nervous and happy about it. I love those kids so much. :)

I really need to get back to doing this regulary. I miss it.