Small, Stupid, and Beautiful Things

Requiem for Inspiron 5150

2009-04-21T20:56:00.001-04:00

I think it's time to say adieu
To find a worthy replacement new
Good Earth tea I went to sip
Sweet, spicy aromic blend to tip
Furiously typing pages of poems
Cutting, pasting, not letting them roam
Stretching my back, my eyes were red
Upon return, I found my laptop DEAD
I counted my blessings that I have saved
"Word Weavers' stuff wasn't lost," I raved
Playing tech geek until someone arrives
To see if I could bring it alive
A scavenger hunt for program disks
Found Eric's set, not an authorized risk
Into closets, under the bed, searching three hours
"Eureka, they're found," I ecstatically hollered!
Pleading a prayer, I dug up my smarts
Hoping for a computer resurrection start
A whirr, some clicks, messages flashing
"Can't find a hard drive," restart, then crashing
Doesn't sound good, trusted old friend
You've seen me through projects I'd penned
Photo shoots, blogging, IM, and email
Web searches, publishing, and bargain hunt sales
You were the link to close the generation gap
Destroying the adage of old dog's bad rap
I'll lay you to rest, recycle you green
Remembering the memories and places we've seen
Your memory has failed but mine is intact
Thankful for jump drives and my CD stack

Contributed by Ann.

Pirate Radio

2009-04-14T18:26:00.005-04:00

Driving home from Easter at my sister's place outside of Virginia, Minnesota, I stumbled upon something incredible. Since I don't own an iPod or a CD player, I fiddle with my car's radio tuner constantly. On Sunday afternoon, just south of Cloquet on Interstate 35, I discovered a pirate radio station blaring European House Techno. I listened for thirty minutes (20 minutes on the road and 10 minutes stopped at an abandoned gas station) and didn't hear a single commercial, station id, or promotion. I lost it just north of Barnum as the trance beats were consumed by Top 40 country. If you ever find yourself between Barnum and Cloquet on a clear Sunday afternoon, turn your dial to 97.7. You'll hear something that shouldn't exist anymore.

The Sharks Always Come

2009-04-07T22:03:00.002-04:00

Thoughtful emails make my day working as a low-level federal bureaucrat. I received the following message from my friend, Chris, a few days ago.

"I was re-reading Old Man and the Sea today and, as he's staring to sail home with his fish lashed to his skiff, I hoped the sharks wouldn't come. I was actually optimistic that the version I was reading would end with the old man returning successfully to port with the fish intact. No sharks. Needless to say, this was not the case."

A Child’s Anthem

2009-03-31T19:17:00.001-04:00

It has been a long two weeks. Things had been very, very busy. I have felt the weight of things on my shoulders. Finally, just today, I was able to spend the entire day alone with my little boy. We played silly games, we painted, we played catch, we did a thousand little things that only exist within the life of a child for a very short time. Towards evening I heard Andrew singing as he wandered through the house. It was a beautifully simple little anthem . . . “La, la, la, la. . . I’m so happy. La, la, la, la. . . I’m so happy. ” Over and over again he sang this precious little hymn and it brought joy to my soul.

Contributed by Sarah

Habit

2009-02-09T23:31:00.004-05:00

Somewhere in the last year I lost the habit of noting small, stupid, and beautiful things. It disappeared like most things of quiet consequence; without any effort on my part. I let one day pass without paying attention and didn't even notice the twelve months it has been since I've tried, at the very least, to let the Almighty know I'm still showing up. I've been truant and have missed much.

The good in this is that the small, stupid, and beautiful things want so desperately to be noticed that they are willing to grant another chance.

Taste of Tea

2009-01-28T09:50:00.000-05:00

I've known my boyfriend, Kelly, for many years now, but sometimes he still surprises me. Somewhere around five years ago, when we both worked at summer camp, we had a tradition. At the end of our ridiculously long work day we would meet in the kitchen and choose the biggest bowls we could find and fill them Golden Grahams, and then we'd heat up a cup of tea to drink on the side. As we ate we would sit on the floor of the kitchen and talk for hours.

Yesterday he tackled the task of cleaning out the kitchen cupboards in our apartment and found some 14 boxes of various teas. As he told me about the tea he said, "So you should drink it, because I hate the taste of tea." I looked at him, bewildered, as we had shared dozens of cups of tea that summer. He smiled and said, "I hated it then, too. I was just trying to impress you."

Contributed by Aryn.

French Roast Guatemalan

2009-01-11T18:20:00.002-05:00

A man came into my coffee shop today and asked for a fill of French Roast Guatemalan in his travel mug. As he began to speak I could tell instantly that he was a person that I would encounter for a very brief time, but will remember until my neurons fail me.

Taking advantage of the moment, he told me a story about his travels to South America. He remembered a seemingly insignificant experience in San Pedro, Guatemala, where he watched a few young boys play soccer in a yard. On the edge of their makeshift field there was a pile of coffee beans drying in the sun. One of the boys kicked the ball out of bounds and the three of them went running barefoot across the coffee beans, completely oblivious to them. At that moment he thought about the fact that those beans would likely wind up in the grinder at a small coffee shop just like ours, with customers consuming their juice with no realization of the journey they'd encountered.

An hour or two later the same man lingered at the counter. As I poured a cup of beans into the grinder I apologized for the loud noise about to curse his ears. He looked at me and said, "You should never apologize. When you say 'I'm sorry,' you're not just saying it to me, but to everyone around you, to the universe. You're giving birth to words that shouldn't exist. If I were concerned about the noise, then I shouldn't have chosen this spot to sit. My friends and I play the pinching game, and every time one of says 'I'm sorry 'we pinch each other as a reminder that not one of us really has anything at all to be sorry for."

Contributed by Aryn.

Let's Hear It For Cell Phones

2008-09-01T14:34:00.003-04:00

I love cell phones! It certainly takes the worry out of all dire thoughts when someone is in the middle of Hurricane Gustuv! Eric's been checking in and he and his AmeriCorps Team evacuated out of New Orleans Sunday to 40 miles North West of New Orleans to Covington, LA to a Red Cross Station. Course, the next best thing is a Kindle that I can send messages to for a dime!

Contributed: Ann

Sunflowers

2008-08-08T15:13:00.003-04:00

In the middle of flat land and sunflower fields, our Tourco tour bus rolled by a towering easel highlighted by cerulean skies. Where else would you find a tribute to local economy and van Gogh's art work but in Kansas!

Contributed by Ann

Bucket Punch

2008-07-09T10:43:00.001-04:00

A recipe for life...

Ingredients:
compassion, humility, acceptance, humor, love, friendship, dreams, joy, faith, service

In one bucket:
Pour in 1 gallon of compassion
1 quart of acceptance
1 cup of humility
1 pint humor
8 ounces of sparkling joy
3 cups friendship-one each from family, friends, community
dash of dreams
pinch of faith in human kind
squirt of love in each serving glass
sprinkle generously with service

Stir with courage
Serve with a smile over the rocks of shared experiences

Serve in:
reflective crystal
topped with lemon slice or cherries
sprig of the inevitable

Serve hot or cold, 365 days for a century
Sip slowly hearing the sounds of laughter and treasuring nature’s tranquility

Contributed by Ann

Citizenship

2008-07-03T08:30:00.002-04:00

My Citizenship Picture (1947)

It reminds me of a number of different emotions. The day of my examination was a day of trepidation. My parents-in-law drove my husband and me to St. Paul. I trembled through the whole trip which took longer then than it does these days, afraid I wouldn’t pass the exam. Marriage for me meant for life so I know I would be in America for the rest of my life so I needed to apply for Citizenship. I took a course by mail at the U of MN and learned all about the workings of the government and what it meant to be a citizen.

I was also asked for my thoughts on different subjects. One in particular shocked me some at the time. It was, “Do you think the standard of education in the South should be on the same level as in the North?” I answered it with my own question, “Why should it be any less?” I am glad I took that route of learning. It was very thorough and I did pass the examination and was pleased to become an American and yet even so, another emotion was making itself felt about the fact I had to give up my British passport and the security it afforded me. But it wasn’t as much about losing the security since my husband had the same values as I did. If we had problems along the way we would work them out but it was like deserting my family, friends, and country, and part of my identity.

But I have been an American now for nearly 62 years and it has been good. I have a good husband and two fine children, five grandchildren, and one great grandson. I look at that picture now and say, “If only you could have seen ahead, you wouldn’t have worried one bit.” I am so glad Great Britain is an ally of the U.S. of A. How could they not be?

Contributed by: Gwynneth Schwanbeck

Hornets

2008-06-23T08:59:00.002-04:00

Emma has immersed herself in zoos, touch and feel labs, and exploration of all kinds of habitats this last month. She even practises the "one finger" touch rule in order to pet without alarming nature's creatures.

During a family reunion, the pavilion had some dripping water that collected and formed a puddle. Emma spotted the hornets skimming over for a water break. She eagerly approached the puddle calling over her shoulder, "Me pet bugs Momma." She turned, held up her hand, "Just one finger," assuring mom she knew the rules.

You've never seen so many adults converge on one small girl and swoop her up out of harm's way. Guess this wasn't the same as the turtle, cockroach, sidewalk ants, or python she'd "petted" before she became a rescue mission.

Contributed by: Ann

Summer Snow

2008-06-19T08:36:00.000-04:00

Mowing my lawn is a relatively recent development for me. I have now been mowing lawns for 2 years and 3 months. Prior to this other people mowed my lawn. My dad, my grandpa, my husband dutifully mowed and mowed and mowed. For the most part I accept this new task semi-grudgingly and do my best to keep things tidy.

Recently, however, the dandelions in my lawn went on a fantastic growing spree. They were everywhere and they were huge. Fortunately, I live in the country and no one goes crazy when my lawn looks bad. I did finally decide to take care of my dandelions though and set to mowing. As I mowed down my gigantic field of dandelions something wonderful happened. All of the fuzz from the thousands of dandelions in my yard started to float up and around me as I mowed. It was thick, white, and fluffy. In the early summer sunshine I had the most beautiful snow of the year.

Contributed by Sarah.

Awareness

2008-06-16T11:19:00.000-04:00

An older man came into the coffee shop today wearing a camouflage jacket and a baseball hat with a moose on it. He came up to the counter with his white five o' clock shadow and asked for an ordinary cup of coffee. I asked him what size he would like, and he replied, "I need awareness, not an epiphany, so small please."

Contributed by Aryn.

List

2008-06-16T09:19:00.004-04:00

I keep a list of things I know better than to say out loud. It makes my life easier when people don't know just how quietly crazy I really am. I feel more like a human being than instructive entertainment.

The list isn't particularly long nor exhaustive. I forget large portions of it so, routinely, something inappropriately vulnerable and beautiful slips out and makes an awkward little mess. I apologize, mop it up with a quick joke, dispose of it an off-the-wall conversational shift, and it never comes up again. Life goes on, as it will, so help me God, whether one likes it or not.

There are a few things I've never managed to say to people and I hope, for the ease and comfort of all involved, I never do.

Things like:

I think you're really Jesus Christ dressed up like somebody I would know.

The reason why I'm so uncomfortable around you and most other people is because I am afraid that if I am not careful, I will start babbling on about how beautiful even complete strangers are.

Just say nonsense, Dr. Seuss words, right now. I don't care. I just want a familiar voice to fill up the Big Empty a little while longer.

Research Associate in the field of Child Development ...

2008-06-07T19:53:00.005-04:00

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is, " explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a ...?"

"Of course I have a job," snapped the woman. "I'm a Mom."

"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it" said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, 'Official Interrogator' or 'Town Registrar.' "What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, In bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask,'" said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) And I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers
And the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than 'just another Mom.

Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door. Does this make grandmothers 'Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations' and great grandmothers Executive Senior Research Associates?' I think so!!! I also think it makes Aunts Associate Research Assistants.

...a friend from Word Weavers' Writing Group passed this along! Enjoy!

Jacqueline

2008-06-01T14:26:00.003-04:00

Last fall, I tried writing a children's book for my niece, Emma. It was about a gorilla named Jacqueline who lives in a zoo and the zookeeper is teaching Jacqueline sign language. One day, the zookeeper teaches Jacqueline the sign for "I love you." Excited Jacqueline signs "I love you" to all the animals around her but none of them understand. Not discouraged, Jacqueline tries to sign "I love you" to all the people visiting the zoo, but they all think the gorilla is just doing funny things with her hands. Jacqueline tries one last time and signs to a little girl walking with her parents eating ice cream. The little girl gets so excited that she drops her ice cream cone and rushes down the stairs toward Jacqueline's cage, signing back to Jacqueline.

I like that ending even though it doesn't go anywhere. I don't want it to go anywhere. I want Jacqueline and the little girl to live in that ending. It's beautiful and who the hell am I to take that away from them even if they aren't real?

Children

2008-05-27T18:29:00.000-04:00

Children keep us in check.

Their laughter prevents our hearts from hardening.
Their dreams ensure we never lose our drive to make ours a better world. They are the greatest disciplinarians known to mankind.
-- Queen Rania of Jordan

Pearly Whites

2008-05-18T18:40:00.003-04:00

As Emma raced to the bathroom to get Gamma's teeth, I scrambled out of the lazy boy in order to be a close second in the race to the sink. Emma is fascinated with my dentures and loves to check them out to see if they'll fit in my mouth. Her mouth opens wide, clinches top and bottom rows of teeth together mirroring me as I slip my pearly whites in my mouth.

It brought back memories of when my sister, Nancy, would pinch my jaw and pop my dentures out as I was getting ready for my date. She'd take off like a rocket and hold them hostage as I awaited my date to pick me up. Of course, she'd be Miss Congeniality getting the door as I was frantically searching for my teeth!
Contributed by: Ann

Life Is Short

2008-05-07T10:57:00.002-04:00

...a friend sent this to me...

They say it takes a minute
to find a special person,
an hour to appreciate them,
a day to love them
but an entire life
to forget them.

Contributed by: Ann

Exotic Blue Ivy

2008-04-30T15:46:00.002-04:00

As our team walked back to our van after spending the morning at an AmeriCorps symposium in Annapolis, somebody pointed out a sprig of poison ivy growing along the sidewalk. This reminded our team leader, Sarah, of a story she wanted to share.

"At the summer camp I worked at, the guy in charge of the grounds decided he was going to mark all the poison ivy so the kids wouldn't get in it. So he sprayed all the poison ivy plants he could find with bright blue spray paint. Only, he didn't tell anybody he did this. So one day, while out on a nature hike, a couple of my kids come running up to me, yelling my name, all excited to show me a bouquet of these exotic blue plants they found. Their parents were not happy." Sarah laughed. "Murphy's Law, right?"

Twinkle, Twinkle

2008-04-28T19:46:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure what caused me to wake up, alert, with ears tuned into the noises of the night at 3:30 am.

A soft, melodic melody was coming from the guest bedroom. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, ..."

I peaked in. Where was Emma? I didn't see her blond head on the pillow but still the song continued. I entered the room and heard the blind rattle. Emma was tucked behind the blind, looking out the window at the stars. She continued singing. I joined in the chorus of Twinkle, Twinkle. "Gamma, dark out. Night time. See the stars."

Millions of stars sparkled in the ebony sky. "Gamma, pretty! Night, night, Gamma." With a kiss and a hug, Emma snuggled down on her Winnie the Pooh pillow nestling with her blue fuzzy blankie, clasping her stuffed elephant from the Shriner's Circus. And me? I closed the door and went back to bed!

Contributed by: Ann

Cool Breeze

2008-04-24T14:29:00.001-04:00

Saturday, April 19th, was my team’s last day working with our sponsor, the Academy of Success, in southwest Baltimore. In the morning, we worked with a score of community members and picked up trash in the blocks surrounding the current site of the Academy. For lunch, our friends at the Academy hosted a celebratory cookout for us.

After everyone had taken a seat, Mr. Eddie, the Director of Youth Services at the Academy, bellowed, “Alright, everybody. Stand up! Now, go sit next to someone you don’t already know.” Mr. Eddie grinned. “There’s gonna’ be a prize for the person who knows the most about their neighbor.”

I moved and sat down next to a wiry man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Academy’s founder, Ben Barnwell. Right away, he went to work trying to win that prize.

“How tall are you, man?” he asked me.

“Five-nine,” I replied.

He tsked. “You’re taller than me. I’m only five-eight.”

What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Sanford Barnwell,” he replied. “And yours?”

“Eric. So you’re Ben’s brother that I haven’t met yet.”

Sanford smiled. “I kept meaning to head out to the site when you all were there, but it never worked out—I do a lot of substance abuse recovery work. I did get up on the roof—I used to do some roof-work myself—and saw what you all did and I ant to let you know that I’m impressed. It looks good.”

“Thank you.”

Sanford forgot me for a moment as he tried to get the attention of one of the young attractive team leaders visiting our site. “Sophie over there is going to be my wife someday.”

Sophie turned her head and started to say something, but I leapt in with, “Congratulations, Sophie. Sanford here is quite a catch.”

Sanford laughed. “Thanks, uh, what was your name again?”

“Eric.”

Sanford smiled. “I don’t mean anything by it. I have short-term memory loss, you see. So, usually, I just give everybody a nickname. Like yours, yours would be ‘Cool Breeze’.”

I laughed. “Why’s that?”

“Because you sit back and observe everything, real cool, calm. It’s refreshing, man, like a cool breeze.”

“Eric,” Sophie yelled from the end of the table. “What’s he telling you?”

“I was just telling Cool Breeze here,” Sanford interjected, “how perfect you and I would be together.”

“I think he’s right,” I said.

Sanford laughed and slapped me on the back. “Yeah, Cool Breeze. Yeah!”

Sharing Spirit

2008-04-20T14:19:00.003-04:00

We were off on a grand adventure Friday to the Minnesota Children's Museum. The Sesame Street Exhibit was in its last week. Emma had been watching her boxed CD set of the early shows when Big Bird had few feathers and Oscar wasn't green. As we were getting out the elevator, a lady pushing a stroller asked if we had to buy tickets. "Certainly," I said. "How else would we get in?"

She waved a laminated book size pass and said, "If you don't mind, walk in with me. My pass is good for six tickets and I couldn't find anyone who was available today."

We buzzed by the school groups and followed closely on her heels as she waved her pass and out spewed five tickets! Talk about meeting new friends in your neighborhood! I walked around with this silly grin on my face all day. Why does it seem more enjoyable to get an unexpected free pass? Our thanks to the generous lady on Sesame Street.

Contributed by:Ann

Circus

2008-04-15T11:44:00.004-04:00

The circus is coming! The anticipation of the weekend trip to Duluth was not to be denied by the mid April snowstorm dumping 34 inches along with another 10 inches within the next couple of days. Miraculously, roads were cleared, tickets in hand, and front row seats were occupied at center ring.

I can visualize the wide eyed wonder flittering across Emma's expressive face as she spotted two BIG elephants lumbering in with trunks swinging and positioned themselves butt end in front of her. She desperately wanted to see elephants! Chortling at the antics of the trick dog leaping onto the horses' back, she was covered in sticky cotton candy. She was dazzled by the trapeze acrobatics and laughed along with the clown. Her chest puffed up as she rode the pony between acts in the sawdust ring.

What images fill her dreams as she slips into an exhausted sleep relplaying the elephants and the treasures of her first circus? She replays it all treating her dollies to a visit to the circus sharing all the fun she had!

Contributed by: Ann

Road Trip

2008-04-08T23:07:00.001-04:00

Thirteen states. 3,500 miles. Spotty weather flittering between rain, sunshine, and gusty winds kept us guessing. Our road trip from Minnesota to Maryland and onto Boston was a once in a lifetime experience. As banker for the toll roads and bridges, I didn’t spot any consistency or pattern in the charges and grew frustrated with our frequent trips to local banks. I just kept doling out the bills, quarters, and coins in varying amounts and wondered if this might become the Minnesota solution to road repair.

Our arrival in Perryville, Maryland found us grateful for the Ramada Inn, open but under going remodeling, with WIFI access allowing us to keep in touch. It became our home away from home. We were amazed at Team Eagle Five’s progress on their renovation project in Baltimore putting in 10 to 12 hour days ripping up tar, patching holes in the roof, and demolition. The personalities and exuberance of the eleven person team was evident. What committeemen and perseverance in hostile weather conditions. A great bunch. America is in good hands with AmeriCorp NCCC!

We did travel on to Boston and enjoyed the historic sights. Using my Charlie subway card to get around, walking the cobblestone Freedom Trail, and pouring over the slate markers in the cemeteries was awesome. We ploughed through the Haymarket seeing fresh fish, fruits, flowers and vegetables offered and bartered. Aching muscles that screamed “100 miles” was actually probably only 3 were soothed in hot soaking baths.

Good food, scenic sights, long visits with relatives, meeting new friends and fascinating people were all a part of our adventure. Thanks Eric!

Contributed by Ann

April Snows!

2008-04-07T19:36:00.002-04:00

For those of you no longer in Minnesota, I just wanted you to know that Virginia, MN on April 6 & 7 had 32 inches of snow! Think that's even taller than Emma who took a sled ride around the block Sunday. Think what you are missing--and smile!

Contributed by Ann

Eyepatch

2008-04-05T14:04:00.002-04:00

This guy that I work with at Brewberry's decided to celebrate National Talk Like a Pirate Day a few weeks ago. When he saw a woman wearing an eye patch he approached her, leaned over, and let out a "Yarrrrr." Her unamused expression revealed that her eyepatch was not being used to celebrate National Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Contributed by Aryn.

St. Paddy's Day

2008-03-23T15:29:00.005-04:00

St. Paddy’s Day 2003: First year of college, threw a ten person party in a two-person room and ended up with five more people when we were all busted for underage alcohol possession. Last notable event before security came in was a 4’9” sophomore girl from Kentucky standing on top of my roommate’s mini-fridge ordering us all around and swearing to beat a sailor.

St. Paddy’s Day 2004: I don’t remember what went down but I heard it was a blast.

St. Paddy’s Day 2005: My sister, a great friend and I went up to Duluth to celebrate our best friend’s birthday. There were Irish car bombs aplenty, singing with all our heart and not a tune, and a little howling at the moon. It was pretty sweet!

St. Paddy’s Day 2006: My two good friends and I went to Bullwinkle’s to celebrate the changes and challenges that graduation from college would bring. Some PBR’s and a few bets, which we left tacked to the ceiling, as well as each other were all we needed for that St. Paddy’s Day.

St. Paddy’s Day 2007: I was in Texas and attending Flight School. I studied and prepped all day for upcoming flights and simulator rides in the week ahead. Not even one Guinness was cracked by me that day.

St. Paddy’s Day 2008: I am in Arkansas now. The majority of my day was spent at my new job. The last few hours of daylight were spent with my year-and-half old son, Boyd. We hiked together to the quarry behind our house, sat along the side with our feet dangling off the rocky face. We threw rocks into the cold grey water in a vain attempt to fill up the football-field size crater. We walked back home, ate some diner, gave Boydie a bath and put the little man to bed.

All in all, not a bad St. Paddy’s Day. It was certainly not as wild as some of the past ones but is nonetheless just as memorable (if not more so than a few others). I talked to my good friend who was with me for more than a few of the above celebrations and he was washing dishes at the time of our talk. He had worked all day and was getting ready for a full week of construction and labor.

When I was finished talking to him, I hung up and pondered life for a minute. A smile came to my face as I thought, “My, have the times changed. What will the next St. Patrick’s Day be like?”

Contributed by Paul.

Running Through Baltimore

2008-03-16T16:20:00.006-04:00

Three AmeriCorps members and I made the trip into Baltimore on Saturday to help Moveable Feast, a not-for-profit that delivers meals to people with HIV/AIDS and breast cancer, pack up and move to their new permanent location across town. We worked through the morning at the old site and, after a two hour delay caused by a malfunctioning hydraulic lift on the back of the rental truck, we were ready to head to their new facility to unload.

Ted, a forty-something employed by Moveable Feast, rode shotgun in our van to make sure we arrived at their new facility without getting lost. Along the way, Ted pointed out a lean older man jogging down the sidewalk.

"You see that guy running over there?" Ted asked me.

"Yeah," I responded from the driver's seat.

"That guy runs everywhere. I've never seen him walk in all the years I've lived in Baltimore. He's run to D.C., to Annapolis, all over Maryland. The papers here have done stories on him."

"What's his back story?" I asked.

Ted thought while I continued to weave through the unpredictable melee of Baltimore City traffic. "I can't recall exactly," Ted said. "If I remember right, he just decided one day to start running. A Forrest Gump kind of thing." Ted laughed and added, "He's almost entirely lean muscle mass."

"I bet."

Potty Frenzy

2008-03-13T19:29:00.004-05:00

I am a survivor of a weekend potty frenzy with my granddaughter. Before her second birthday, Emma was an enthused participant in toilet training but the novelty waned until she was a visitor in her little friend's house next door. Ellie was proudly climbing on her step stool to use the potty and had "big girl panties". The light bulb flickered, and Emma became dedicated to the task.

In case current bibliophiles have scant information on the books available to bring the lesson home, Emma's favorite is Everyone Poops. Course there's one, Potty Book for Girls which has the trainee calling grandma to share the accomplishment. Those potty calls kept me entertained with her squealing, "I went poop grandma, and I got M & Ms", and did brighten my evenings. Course there's also: Too Big for Diapers, Big Girls Use the Potty, Grover Has to Go, and Elmo Goes Potty with buttons giving sound to flushing, hand washing, etc.

The thrones can range from musical chairs that alert the household, a fold-up portable travel seat, or a "On the Go" potty for camping which uses a recycled plastic bag for disposal, to the traditional stool.

Things have changed since my day! Now there are special disposable pull-up imprinted with Dora, Princess characters, Pirates, Cars and Sponge Bob with "triggers" that turn cold to warn the child they're wet.

Hygiene is practiced with a passion with liquid soap pumpers or foaming soap lathered on tiny hands after using Huggies clean team disposable wet toilet tissues. The sticker chart at Day Care honors the amount of times gone along with multitudes of praise, bathroom ditties, and victory dances to commemorate the task.

Another milestone on her life's journey. Where does the time go?

Contributed by Ann.

Filthy Mess

2008-03-07T08:47:00.002-05:00

A few days ago, a guest speaker from the Delaware State Parks' Service came to our NCCC all-Corps community meeting. He said something I found to be very moving.

"There are going to be times guys, when you're going to want to go out to eat after a hard day's work and you're going to walk into a restaurant and all eyes are going to turn on you. And then, you're going to look down at your clothes, your uniform, and you'll realize why people are staring; you are a filthy mess."

"You'll be embarrassed. You'll be tempted to just turn around and walk out. I'm here to tell you, don't. Don't walk out. Hold your head high."

"You've earned each one of those stains. The caulk on your shirt from that house you rebuilt in Louisiana. That dirt on your pants from that trail you built in a State Park. That paint from the community center you remodeled. That sauce-stain from those early mornings working in the kitchen at Camp Hope making meals for hundreds of volunteers. That stain, I don't know what you call it, that dingy stain that shows up on your stomach that comes from the months of carrying things--children, lumber, sheet rock."

"You're going to notice all these stains and you're going to want to walk out of that restaurant, that clean and comfortable place. Don't. They aren't stains. They're your badges of service. Hold your head high and walk in and sit down and enjoy yourself. And if they keep staring, smile back."

You Are Beautiful

2008-03-03T18:10:00.002-05:00

For the last four weeks, I have been living in a dilapidated two-story hovel. The house, along with the others up and down the block with the identical floor-plan, was built near the end of WWI and has been crumbling ever since. The lead paint flakes off in scales the size of armor plates. Nylon cord has replaced knobs on two of the doors. A large grate in the living room, four-foot square, serves as the house's central heating system.

Adding insult to injury, this shoddy residence shelters seven young males, aged 18-24. It's a good week when Monday's dishes are done by Sunday.

Thankfully, there is a glimmer of the sagacious attached to the mirror above the bathroom sink. Someone affixed a metallic sticker to the mirror that reads "You Are Beautiful". I shouldn't say someone. I know full well who put it there and she told me she picked up hundreds of these stickers from an art cooperative in Chicago.

In the morning, as I brush my teeth, I catch myself staring at the sticker as often as at my own reflection, contemplating just how the two of us ended up together.

Two-Face

2008-02-29T13:20:00.002-05:00

Last night, I ran into a Corps member from Minnesota I hadn't seen in a few days. He flew out West over the long weekend to visit his mother who is dying of liver disease.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to finish my year of service," he said. "The doctors say her liver could fail any day and I want to stay in the program, but I also don't want to get a call in the middle of the night, you know?"

I nodded and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You have to do what you feel is right. This program will always be here waiting for you."

"I know." He broke into a sudden grin as we looked at one another. "You notice what I did to my face?"

I studied him carefully and then laughed. "You shaved only half of your face. Why?"

He shrugged. "Just thought I'd do it, you know, and see if anyone says anything."

I grinned. "You look like a comic book character. Like Two-Face or something."

He laughed and we went our separate ways.

The Snails of Irvine

2008-02-25T13:32:00.002-05:00

When I drove through America last fall, I stopped in Irvine, California, to visit my friend, Louise. On the night I arrived, we decided to walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

As we walked, Louise said, "Watch where you step!"

"Why's that?" I asked.

"When it gets dark and damp like this, the snails cover the sidewalk. My heart breaks a little when I hear one crunch beneath my foot when I'm not paying attention."

I stared down at the sidewalk and walked lightly, but didn't spot any of Irvine's snails until Louise and I reached the restaurant. I stopped short and pointed it out to her. Louise knelt down, picked the snail up off the concrete, and gently placed it on a leaf of a decorative shrub going along the sidewalk.

"That's one no one will step on tonight," she said.

Mr. Bill's Aurora

2008-02-21T09:15:00.002-05:00

When I worked as a banquet bartender for a resort in Two Harbors, Minnesota, I knew a man who called himself Mr. Bill. He was my boss, in a way, and an affable former burnout who smoked hand-rolled cigarettes made with top tobacco.

One night, as I walked into the banquet staging area to grab more bottled beer from the cooler, Mr. Bill waved at me from where he stood, the door leading outside propped open with a rok, smoking a cigarette.

"Come out here, man," Mr. Bill said.

I hesitated. "I've got to get this beer to Josh. We're almost out."

"Don't worry about it. Just come out here."

I sighed impatiently, set the beer down on the table, and joined him out back. "What's going on, Mr. Bill?"

Mr. Bill grinned at me. "Look up, man."

I did and saw the Northern Lights for the first time in my life as they danced dimly above. "It's beautiful," I half-whispered.

Mr. Bill nodded as best he could with his neck craned upwards, puffing on a stub of a cigarette.

Reluctantly, I broke our reverent silence and said, "I should probably get that beer to the bar."

Mr. Bill squinted at me through his bifocals. "That can wait man. You and I might not ever see this together again."

I returned to my place beside Mr. Bill and went back to looking up.

Hand-Holding

2008-02-19T13:59:00.003-05:00

I'm spending a week at a camp for people with physical disabilities in California. Today we took a group of people who are blind to a movie theater that offered headphones and gave a play-by-play of everything you see during the movie.

I was seated next to an 88 year old man named Tom who lost his sight at the age of 19. Tom is a brilliant man, successful in business, has several patented inventions, and has been married for almost forty years. About 45 minutes into the movie, Tom leaned over and whispered, "Would you mind if I held your hand for a few minutes?"

I decided, what the hell. So, for the remaining hour of sappy chick-flick, I held the hand of a sweet old man. I'll always wonder whose hand he pictured himself holding, but regardless of what he saw in his mind's eye, I was flattered.

Contributed by Aryn.

From "The Unbearable Lightness of Being"

2008-02-17T11:10:00.002-05:00

"It is a completely selfless love: Tereza did not want anything of Karenin (her St. Bernard); she did not ever ask him to love her back. Nor had she ever asked herself the questions that plague human couples: Does he love me? Does he love anyone more than me? Does he love me more than I love him? Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company."

--from The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera.

Contributed by Aryn.

Since 1981

2008-02-15T17:29:00.003-05:00

I took a trip to Washington, D.C., with some other Corps members last Saturday. We saw the usual sights, the monuments and the museums. We also stopped by the White House.

Across the street from the back entrance to the White House, I met an old man in a black-leather biker jacket camped on the sidewalk. He was manning a protest, against nuclear armaments and wars consisting of him, his beagle, a tryptic of hand-painted wooden signs, a camp-stool, a day old copy of the Washington Post open atop a milk crate in front of him, and a large plastic tarp behind him in case of rain.

"How long has this been going on?" I asked.

"Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, since 1981," the man replied.

I whistled in amazement and went back to reading the slogan painted on the tryptic and shaking my head at the graphic photos of survivors of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

A family of three passed on the sidewalk behind me. I heard the little boy ask, "Daddy, what's he doing?"

"Protesting," the father said, smiling at me.

How Free Being Naked Can Be

2008-02-12T16:56:00.000-05:00

On our ride to the University of Delaware on Thursday morning, some members of my AmeriCorps team got to talking about the things you can do for free if you're naked.

"There's a place in Washington where, if you bungee jump naked, you can do it for free," Seth said.

Tracy, a quiet and tall blone chimed in from the back seat of the van. "A friend of mine, she went skydiving in the southwest, somewhere, and they told her if she jumped naked, they'd only charge her half-price. So she did."

Delaware City

2008-02-10T15:58:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday, my AmericCorps team piled into our twelve passenger government van and headed to Delaware City. Our assignment was to explore this small town on the Delaware River and talk to its residents.

I met an older man as he closed up his antique shop on Main Street. He ducked back inside after I said hello to grab a pamphlet on the history of Delaware City.

"These were printed a few years ago," the old man said, "but they're still good."

I smiled and glanced through the brochure. "History doesn't change much, right?"

The old man smiled back. "No. I guess not."

"How's business?" I asked.

The old man sighed. "Bad. I might close down and try again someplace else. Things around here are getting better, though, but when you get to be my age, you can't wait around forever."

A stray cat jumped from a nearby fence onto the sidewalk and cozied up to the old man's leg. He reached down to pet it.

"Friend of yours?" I asked.

"Sure. This one's Nessa."

I squatted down to try and pet the cat and she shied away.

Don't take it personally," the old man chuckled. "She's a little skittish around strangers. I hardly ever see her in the summertime."

Another cat crept out of the alley and circled the old man.

"Another acquaintance of yours?" I asked.

The old man nodded. "That's Inky."

I smailed. "You seem to know every cat in town."

The old man laughed. "Everyone around here does. The postmaster in town, keeps her cat, Lucky, in the post office. Lucky will just lay up there on the counter all day, everyday, except Federal holidays, then she gets to stay home."

I laughed. "Thanks for the brochure. It was nice talking to you."

"You're welcome," the old man said, shaking my hand. "Come back in the summertime, if you can. That's when they start running the ferry to the Civil War prison. There's more to see then."

"Will you still be here?"

The old man stroked the cat, Nessa, again. "Oh. I imagine so."

A Million Acres

2008-02-04T14:15:00.000-05:00

While stuck in O'Hare International Airport for nine hours last Tuesday, I struck up a conversation with a man from Wyoming. Ten minutes in, he made the following proposition.

"I tell you what, if you're interested, I'm looking to sell off a million acres."

I laughed. "That's a hell of a lot of land."

The man shrugged. "It's not so much. Folks in Wyoming call that a farmette."

"How much for a million acres?" I asked.

The man from Wyoming reclined in his chair across from mine. "A dollar an acre," he announced. "A million dollars."

"I'm going to have to pass," I said.

The man cracked a rueful grin. "Fair enough. It's not good land, anyhow."

Perspective

2008-02-02T19:57:00.000-05:00

A few years ago, I was driving down Hewitt Ave, and trying to make a left turn into one of the all-too-small parking lots on Hamline's campus. I waited patiently as a car came towards me in the opposite lane. The opposing car inched along, barely moving. With each nano second I became more and more frustrated with his pace.

I was running late, knew I would likely not find a parking spot even here, and just wanted to make my damn turn. As the car came nearer, the driver rolled down his window--I was nearly irrate now, ready for whatever he might say to me. He leaned through the open window and shouted, "You're beautiful!"

I've never felt my perspective on an incident change so quickly.

Contributed by Aryn.

This Modern Age

2008-01-28T12:54:00.000-05:00

The poet Derek J. Rhodes called me from a pay-phone in Roswell, New Mexico, last night.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

"I fly out to Maryland bright and early Tuesday morning," I replied.

"Good. It's about time you get to work. You remember our agreement?" Rhodes referred to a pact to do what we could to make people feel less lonely, made at a strip club in Duluth.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll try my best."

Rhodes cursed. "Do or do not. There is no try."

I paused while I tried to figure out where I had heard that adage before. "Yoda from Star Wars said that, didn't he?"

Rhodes laughed. "I guess he did. If there's one thing I've learned from my time here in Roswell, it's that this modern age is desperate for wisdom. We've got to take our sages where ever we can find them."

"Think you'll be heading to the East Coast anytime soon?"

Rhodes hemmed and hawed. "Maybe. I'll let you know if I do."

"Fair enough," I said. "Until then."

"'Till then," Rhodes said and hung up.

Selections from "On Writing"

2008-01-24T15:32:00.001-05:00

Below are selections from a piece I wrote a few months ago called "On Writing."

[...] I am not subtle in my motives. I come to this page with all the finesse of a tractor-trailer barreling through a red light and you, Dear Reader, are the unfortunate soul in the midst of a left-hand turn. I cannot promise to leave you un-dented.

[...]I write because I am a depraved and lonely human being. I crack jokes on paper because I want to smile. I say disconcerting things because I fear my own apathy. I write insufferable characters because I want to better love my fellow human beings. I do this for your entertainment. I am an exhausted vaudevillian looking for companionship in our small conspiracy.

[...]But I do need you, Dear Reader, though you may think I doth protest too much. I need you here, perched on my shoulder, like any self-respecting god or demon, to give shape to my days. I need you to remind me to write people as they are, not as how I wish them to be complete with romantic endings and snappy one-liners. I need you to scold me when I dare to think of dressing up Ideas, Themes, or Motifs in three-piece suites or hip-hugging jeans so they can strut around your imagination, pretending to be People You Know. I would be lost without you.

[...]Let me say something brilliant and I feel like I kissed the Homecoming Queen. Let me write something mediocre and I feel like I went home from the dance all alone, knowing I didn't have it in me to say anything worth saying. I'm at home on pieces of paper. Everywhere else just feels like a stage-set from a made-for-T.V. movie.

[...]I warned you before, Dear Reader, I am a liar of the worst sort. I am willing to say anything to set my soul right.

[...]I tried quitting, once. I tore up a half-dozen notebooks, tossed my pens in the garbage, and bought pencils so I wouldn't have to live with my mistakes. It was miserable. I would make it a week and then find myself hammering out lines on cocktail napkins, linen tablecloths, or bathroom stalls. It was a holy mess. They don't make a writer's patch. I've checked with my local pharmacist.

Silly Poem

2008-01-22T13:33:00.000-05:00

I received another postcard from the poet Derek J. Rhodes recently. The postmark indicates he sent it from a town in Nevada, just twenty miles from California. I've been there and the town doesn't have much going for it except a hole-in-the-wall, called The Horny Toad Saloon, with a grandmother for a bartender who drinks shooters of Tabasco to keep herself regular.

On the reverse side of the photo of a sunset over the Sierra-Nevada Mountain, Rhodes scribbled the following poem:

Oh, witch's broom, take me higher
and burn brightest of all tinder
in the heretic's fire

Perkins off 169 North

2008-01-11T15:19:00.000-05:00

I go to Perkins off 169 North late most nights to write and drink coffee. The staff knows me well enough to always seat me somewhere near the back and are kind enough to never hold me to three dollar minimum purchase and two hour maximum stay.

One night, near the end of her shift, a waitress bustles over to my table to drop off my ticket. She hesitates then says, "Hey, you want a donut? We've got some back in the kitchen."

I smile. "Sure. That'd be great."

A moment later, the waitress appears with a glazed donut on a small plate. I thank her and she says, "Don't mention it. We worry about you, you know. None of us have ever seen you eat. Just coffee and water."

I laugh and assure her I'm not it a bad way, or anything, and that I appreciate how she and the rest of the staff look out for me.

The waitress smiles. "Enjoy the donut. It's good."

Much later, I head up to the register, two dollars in hand for a ticket that always comes to $2.01, and panic when I see the penny dish is empty. I explain my plight to the young hostess, how I don't have the penny I need to settle up.

The young hostess smiles. "Don't worry about it," she says.

"Thanks," I say and, calling upon my best Tennessee Williams drawl, I continue with, "I've always depended on the kindness of strangers."

The young hostess laughs heartily. "You're welcome. Have a good night, now."

Nothing's Fast and Easy

2008-01-10T15:36:00.000-05:00

I know we've all seen the credit card commercials that portray plastic as the fast, easy means of paying for things. The perfectly synchronized fast-food customers succeed one other in a flawlessly flowing line, each swiping their credit card and then getting on with their merry way. Well today I was in Noize Music buying cigarettes and sparked up a conversation with the clerk. He commented on how time-consuming it was for him to run credit cards, saying that one morning he spent half an hour simply selling cigarettes as a constant line snaked to the door, slowed down swiping cards and waiting for receipts to print.

Contributed by Louise.

Holy Ground

2008-01-03T13:55:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite lines in American literature comes near the end of J. D. Salinger's Seymour: An Introduction. The narrator in the story, Buddy Glass, concludes his biographical sketch of his dead older brother, Seymour, by saying:

"Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?"

Induced Labor

2008-01-02T14:19:00.000-05:00

I met up with my friend, Dan, for a dinner of gyros at a small Turkish restaurant off Snelling Avenue. He is a pre-med student at North Michigan University. He gets riled up easily about over-prescribed and possibly unnecessary medical procedures.

"Something like a third of all labor is artificially induced in this country," Dan said. "And, who knows, most of them might be necessary. But odds are, some of them aren't. Like my brother. My mother's doctor induced her early so my brother would be born early enough so my parents could claim his as a tax deduction for the full year." Dan laughed. "I doubt that was necessary."

Joy's Laundromat

2007-12-31T14:07:00.000-05:00

I've been completely out of it lately. I've felt like I'm inside of this bubble where I observe everything around me, but in no way feel the interactions I have with other people. I haven't tasted the food that enters my mouth and I've simply generally felt numb.

But today, for the first time in weeks. I felt genuinely happy, and for no real reason. This intense feeling grew inside me as I drove home after an 11 hour shift at work. And just as I realized the word that inexplicably defines such happiness, "Joy", I simultaneously drove by a sign that said "Joy's Laundromat." It was as if it reaffirmed the fact that I was right. I rediscovered my Joy. My happiness came back.

Contributed by Aryn.

The Arc of History

2007-12-30T22:13:00.000-05:00

I met up with my friend, Kiel, late one night at Perkins off Highway 169. He was reading in a booth near the back. As I approached, Kiel stood and we embraced. I hadn't seen him in nearly three months.

During our rambling conversation that lasted to nearly two in the morning, Kiel told me something from the book he had been reading before my arrival, a chronicle of America during the life of Martin Luther King, Jr.

"The thing about proponents of nonviolence," Kiel said, "like King, like Gandhi, is that they believe nonviolence requires a kind of religious faith. They would consider it irresponsible to let someone participate in a demonstration or something if that person didn't believe in a higher power, something that guarantees human beings are intrinsically good and this good can be awakened within them. In fact, King says that the bare minimum is a belief that the arc of history, though long, bends toward justice." Kiel stirred his coffee and smiled. "I can do that," he said. "I can believe that. I want to."

Zeus and Buddha

2007-12-20T12:53:00.000-05:00

Once, when I was in high school, I took a trip to the Minnesota Institute of Art with my friend, Paul. After wandering around the exhibits for a few hours, we decided to grab a late lunch at the restaurant in the museum.

While Paul and I were eating, an eccentric older woman with dark hair came over to our table and, after making small talk for a while, she reached to touch Paul's long, ferociously curly hair. "You're like an Olympian god," the woman said to Paul, "like Zeus." Then she looked at me. "And you, you look like you have the inner-light of the Buddha." The woman laughed nervously. "Imagine that," she said, mostly to herself. "Zeus and Buddha eating lunch together in an art museum." The woman shook her head in private wonder and walked off.

Corporate America

2007-12-19T12:40:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine works as a lab technician at firm that makes various medical devices. I was talking to her last night about her day at work when she laughs suddenly and says, "Let me tell you why I love Corporate America. I love it because it's so funny."

"How's that?" I asked.

"Well, I found out today that later this week, the company is going to shoot some photos of people working in our lab for some brochure they're putting out."

"So, you're going to be a model?"

She laughed. "That's the thing. The company is bringing in professional models to stand in for actual employees in the lab."

"I bet they'll all be wearing designer safety goggles and the most-slimming lab coats available," I said.

"Who knows?" she replied. "At the very least, it's funny."

Jump, Emma, Jump

2007-12-14T12:42:00.000-05:00

Our two year old granddaughter is visiting us for the week. It never ceases to amaze me what comes of the mouths of babes.

Emma was entertaining us after supper by hopping around her four foot stuffed dog, working up a sweat. As she was making me dizzy, I wondered when this tiny pogo stick would topple. Thinking I could interrupt her motion I asked, "Emma, are you a bunny rabbit?"

Nonchalantly Emma looked me in the eye, continuing to jump. "No Gamma," she replied. "A kangaroo."

Contributed by Ann.

Good Friends Make One Feel Like a Legend in the Making

2007-12-13T14:06:00.001-05:00

I sent my friend Matt a message letting him know I am heading to Duluth to visit him this weekend. Here is his reply:

"Oh I can feel it. The rumble from your tires shakes Duluth's core, streets sprouting veins. Children are crying and dogs are silent on taut chains. As for me, I'm all Chris Columbus/Jackie Chan on the telephone pole outside my house, hand shielding the horizon. Make haste, young lads. There are so many unborn martinis that depend on your arrival."

Last Flowers of the Season

2007-12-07T16:12:00.000-05:00

I went to the post office yesterday to mail off a few letters. While I was there I decided to buy some stamps. It has been snowing a lot and so the bright, beautiful flower stamps just felt right. After rummaging through his drawer the Postmaster says, "Well, it looks like you got the last ones," and takes the beautiful stamps out of the glass case and puts them in my hands.

Contributed by Sarah.

Sleep Soundly

2007-12-04T11:40:00.000-05:00

I received a postcard the poet Derek J. Rhodes sent me from Gruen, Texas, the other day. On the front was a picture of a dilapidated farm shed that purported to be the oldest dance hall in Texas. On the reverse, D. J. Rhodes wrote the following poem:

Someday we shall sleep soundly
Like God's own babies must.

A Dog Named Shelby

2007-12-03T13:05:00.000-05:00

I was eavesdropping in the coffee shop today and I happened to overhear one of the girls behind the counter tell the following story to an older woman who had ordered a medium Americano.

"A girl I used to live with came in here the other day with her fiancé and this beautiful golden retriever pup they'd just bought. My friend holds the puppy up and introduces it, as proud as can be, 'This is our girl, Shelby.' And Mick, the owner of this place, busts up laughing from behind me. 'Honey,' Mick says, 'That's a boy dog.' My friend turns her dog around and, sure enough, the truth of the matter is pointing her straight in the face. I've never seen her turn so red. I haven't heard if they're going to rename it. Something like that just sticks."

Three Hearts

2007-11-29T22:22:00.000-05:00

I co-facilitate a writers' group for senior citizens twice a month. During one of our Tuesday meetings, I read the following piece for them to critique.

I heard it said once that every one has three hearts. The first heart is the one kept in the mouth. This is the heart one shares with all of the strange world. The second heart is found in the chest. This is the heart known only to those one loves and trusts. Then, there is the third heart. This heart is a mystery, hidden outside of one's self or deep within, that one spends their life trying to find. I catch glimpses of this third heart of mine in blank pages of paper. I try and write what I see and this third heart grows more elusive.

"It's good, but it's not finished," one of the women said. "I mean, are you ever going to find your third heart?" I

smiled. "I sure hope so."

Traffic Stop

2007-11-26T11:46:00.000-05:00

I grabbed a drink with an old friend of mine last weekend. He works as a police officer in a nearby county and we got to talking about the excuses people give when they're pulled over for speeding.

"The best one I've ever heard," he said, "was from this young kid I pulled over doing forty-three in a thirty. I had just been in a bad mood all day so I sauntered up to the driver's side and said, 'Son, I've been waiting for you all day.' The kid smiled a little and replied, 'I'm sorry, Officer. I got here as fast as I could.'" My friend, the young police officer, laughed. "The kid made me laugh, made my day, really, so I let him off with a warning."

At Night in Chang Mai

2007-11-25T12:06:00.000-05:00

At night in Chang Mai the streets are flooded with young children selling flowers and palm leaf crickets. They run around to gain a few more cents of income for their impoverished families. As you can imagine, it's quite hard to turn them away. By the end of the night I am always covered in Orchids.

One night a little girl around three years old tottered up to our table and silently lifted her flowers. I smiled at her and asked, "Sabai dee mai?" (How are you?) as Kelly handed her 10 bht. She responded with a huge smile and then proceeded to stick the coin in her mouth as she walked away. She was so excited she forgot to give us the flower.

Contributed by Aryn.

Awakening

2007-11-24T11:09:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning to find the outdoors blanketed in snow. My first reaction was, "Brrrr. Winter is here." Then I saw the beauty of scene and how it covered up the dirt and mess underneath and, like a flash, I was reminded of how Christ's shed blood clothes believers in pure white which covers up all the dirt and mess in our lives. And, thinking of that instead of "Brrrr," a great warmth flowed through me and I felt His immeasurable love.

Contributed by Gwyn.

A Close Encounter of the Best Kind

2007-11-20T20:35:00.000-05:00

Three year old Hope was standing on a chair in her little bare feet coloring in her coloring book at the table as this tired old lady walked into the house.

Her dark eyes broke into sparkles as those smiling eyes looked at me while calling, "Gramma Becky! Gramma Becky!" and both she and I sat down together. Looking at me intently, she asked, "Where you been, Gramma Becky?"

"At my house," I replied.

Those wise eyes looked at me with a knowing look on her face. "Me too," she said.

Contributed by Becky.

Home

2007-11-14T19:12:00.000-05:00

I used to chat up my math professor in Duluth for an hour every day after class in an attempt to charm my way into passing Calculus.

He was telling me one afternoon how stressed he was over planning an RV trip out to Yellowstone for his family flying in from the Czech Republic the following week. He stopped suddenly and pointed to a white board on his wall filled with mathematical equations. "That," he said, "That is home to me, Eric." He sighed. "I am not much good at anything else. I tell you this because you write and you must know what I mean."

I smiled a little. "Yeah, Dalibour. I guess I do."

Breakfast in Bed

2007-11-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

The following is a poem my mother wrote about my niece bringing me breakfast in bed.

Who's Knocking?

Tap, tap, tap at your door.
It's not the Raven squawking "Nevermore!"
Pixie Emma face alight
Offering blueberry braided bread upright.
Illuminating sunshine and morning cheer
Aromatic coffee she offered here.
Beseeching you to awake and visit.
No way could you resist!
Groggily smiling at this tiny vision
Who'd proudly completed her mission-
Breakfast in bed
Nothing more need be said.

Paint-by-Numbers

2007-11-12T11:16:00.000-05:00

I ran into an old friend of mine in Elk River, yesterday. She told me the following story.

"So my aunt called like a week ago. She was in Wal-Mart and she says something like: 'I just had to call you and tell you what I did today. I bought a paint-by-numbers kit. I figured my husband is at work all day and my sons are in high school so they're never home, so I bought a paint-by-numbers kit.'

"So I asked my uncle about it this weekend and he laughed. 'Yeah,' he said, 'I come home and I see her doing this paint-by-numbers thing at the kitchen table and I ask her how long she's been doing that and she says, as casual as can be, five hours. Five hours she'd been painting by numbers.' It's funny."

From the Novel

2007-11-07T22:35:00.000-05:00

For three years now, I have been working none-too-quietly on a novel called Vanity: A Paperweight or Mea Culpa. Below, I am posting something I wrote today.

"I was in love once," The Monk chuckled. "With a yoga instructor in New York City. She taught at the YMCA."

"How'd that work out with your oath of celibacy?" I asked.

The Monk smiled. "I wasn't entirely celibate then."

"You dog! How was she? Limber, I'll bet."

"It never went that far." The smile dwindled from his face. "I took her out for coffee once. I spent all day begging for spare change on the street corner in order to afford
it. She talked about how badly she wanted to know God."

"Did you show her?" I asked.

"I tried. I wasn't able to talk with God like I can now; She had too much going on back then." The Monk rested his head against the lead-lined concrete wall.

"What did you do then?" I stopped pacing and sat on a crate full of rations.

"Strange how I can remember it so clearly. I asked her if she had a compact and if she did, could I see it? She dug around in her bag--it was a big gym bag, we had just come from the Y--and
handed it to me. I opened it up, held the mirror in front of her face, and said, 'You see that? That is God.' She laughed at me. She said she thought God should have a smaller nose." The Monk sighed. "So my love was an unrequited one."

"The easiest kind," I said.

The Monk laughed. It was the first bitter laugh I had heard come out of him. "I hadn't thought of it that way. It felt like hard work at the time."

Torah Tricks

2007-11-05T12:43:00.001-05:00

I met up with a f ormer professor of mine at a joint off Snelling and Larpenteur last week. Over beer, I told him about my vision-quest across America, including my stay in Brownsville, Texas.

"Did I ever tell you about the Rabbi from Brownsville?" Professor S. asked.

"No. I don't think you have."

Professor S. laughed. "Well, I was at this Biblical education conference with a friend of mine, a Baptist minister I used to teach with." I raised an eyebrow. "Don't ask how I know him," he continued, "It's a long story. Anyway, we were talking on the steps of this desolate building on campus, playing hooky from whatever we were supposed to be doing at the conference, and this Rabbi from Brownsville finds us. He was playing hooky, too. He tells us some of his life story. He was this exile from New York, still had the Bronx accent, running what I can only assume is a small synagogue in Brownsville.

"We asked him about the conference and he said, 'Everything they're trying to teach us here is bullshit. If you really want to get the kids to learn Torah, you know what you use? Card tricks.' And he pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket and shows us a couple tricks. It was amazing. This vaudevillian Rabbi in Brownsville explaining, 'You do a couple card tricks, you mix in some Torah here and there, and you got 'em.' "

Professor S. laughed again. "So now you know why I tell so many jokes in class. While you're all laughing--Bam!--I throw in some Torah and you never know what hit you."

Impala

2007-10-30T12:55:00.000-05:00

I used to spend my weekends in the summer working at a K.O.A. campground outside St. Cloud, Minnesota. One summer, my friend and the owners' grandson, Dave, decided he was going to fix up an old Chevy Impala stored out in the ball-field. Since I was Dave's steadfast sidekick, I endeavored to help fix the car.

We spent most of our time dismantling the carburetor and trying to get the Impala to go faster than 25 m.p.h. I don't recall ever being successful. Autumn came and Dave and I parted ways until the next summer when we went to work on the car again.

I think a lot about that old Impala and I'm not sure why. It may have something to do with two small dents in the hood. Somehow, I tie that image in with the idea of being dented by people I've known. People I have crashed into who left me altered, but never totaled.

Christmas

2007-10-28T14:23:00.000-05:00

I credit Christmas for teaching me to read. My parents used to spell out the presents they were going to get me to my sister across the dinner table. After dinner, I would run to my room, grab a notebook from my backpack, and print the letters I remembered my parents saying. The next day, I would take the notebook to school and show my teacher.

"What does this say?" I would ask her.

"Oh that," she would reply, "That looks like it says 'remote control car.' You're missing a couple letters, though."

I did my best to act surprised when my family opened gifts on Christmas Eve.

Surf

2007-10-27T13:26:00.001-04:00

When I was visiting my friend, Kiel, down in Brownsville, Texas, he skipped teaching one day to take me out to South Padre Island.

We sat in the surf, staring out at the ocean. "You know what I love about sitting like this?" I said.

"What's that?" Kiel asked.

"That you can feel the surf eroding the sand beneath you. That if we sit here long enough without moving, we will sink beneath the water."

6,000 Miles

2007-10-24T12:38:00.000-04:00

On my way through Colorado on my way back to Minnesota during my vision quest through America, I was stopped by a cattle herd moving down a mountain highway. As I threaded my way at a crawl through the herd, I rolled down my window and called to one of the ranchers on horseback.

"Sorry for the congestion, sir," he said, "but we gotta move 'em."

I laughed. "No worries, cowboy. This is what I drove 6,000 miles to see. This moment, right now."

He smiled, tipped his hat, and cantered on through the herd.

Eavesdropping

2007-10-23T12:10:00.000-04:00

I am a notorious eavesdropper. Odds are, if you are within ten yards of me, I am hanging on to your every word.

I was eavesdropping on a woman, her young son, and her friend this morning at a coffee shop. The mother asked her son, "Do you want to tell Janette about how you saw Jesus this morning?"

"Did you see Jesus this morning?" Janette asked the boy. He nodded and blushed.

"He saw the sun this morning," his mother explained, " and he said, 'Mommy, look! It's Jesus. Wave to Jesus, Mommy.' So we get into the car and Nicholas is waving away at the sun and says, 'Come on, Mommy, wave.' So I wave and say, 'See you later, Jesus.' "

The women laughed and little Nicholas giggled.

Anthropologist

2007-10-18T12:46:00.000-04:00

This project, Small, Stupid, and Beautiful Things, came out of a game I started playing when I was nineteen.

I used to walk down Snelling Avenue in the Midway late at night, my maroon hoodie pulled up against the dark, and I pretended to be an anthropologist for God.

When I saw someone do something beautiful, I muttered to myself: "Do you see that? That's human beings being beautiful to one another."

If it was exceptionally beautiful, I would ask God, "Are you taking notes?"

I still play this game more often than I should. I try to keep my voice down if there are other people nearby.

Meditation on Honi the Circle-Drawer

2007-10-15T14:14:00.000-04:00

[I have written about Honi the Circle-Drawer before.]

In the time of Jesus of Nazareth, there lived in Israel a man called Honi the Circle-Drawer. We know of Honi the Circle-Drawer because the Jewish tradition considered him and men like him to be favored sons of God.

Honi the Circle-Drawer was famous for performing a particular kind of miracle. He would go to villages throughout Israel experiencing drought and he would promise the people rain. Honi the Circle-Drawer would walk to a spot just outside of the village and pray. Then, he would crouch down, put his finger into the dirt, and draw a circle around himself in the parched earth. When he had closed the circle, Honi the Circle-Drawer would stand and face the East, resolved not to step outside the circle until God made it rain. Honi the Circle-Drawer would not move until Heaven blessed the land.

I think this is what any proclamation of love is; clutching the greater half of one's whole, drawing a circle in the dust, and refusing to budge until the heaven above open up and pour.

Honi the Circle-Drawer knew rain is always coming. Those in love know rain is always on the way and are brave enough to stand together until it rains on each and everyone of us.

Blessed Penguins

2007-10-10T22:32:00.000-04:00

In medieval Europe, there was a myopic priest who mistook a flock of penguins for a group a Christian pilgrims and blessed them. Later, he realized his mistake and informed his bishop. The churchmen who heard the story of the myopic priest's blessing faced a conundrum. Since they were blessed, did the penguins now have souls like men and women? And if so, could they be saved? Would these penguins have a shot at heaven?

The bishop decided to bring the question to St. Theresa. The story goes that she could not help but smile as the bishop grew more and more upset about the thorny problem of the blessed penguins. The bishop asked St. Theresa what should be done.

"Give them souls," St. Theresa replied. "But only little ones."

"Why would I not do this?"

2007-10-06T14:07:00.000-04:00

Everyday I see the small and beautiful things that make people so wonderful and human. I am a nurse assigned to an oncology (cancer) and hospice unit at a hospital.

This is a story about two patients with Leukemia. One is a younger man from the Middle East, devoutly Muslim. He is, understandably, very scared. He is anxious and just stays in his room all day preoccupied with death. I will call him Mr. A. The other is an older women who is Jewish and immigrated from communist Soviet Union in the 70's. She has been receiving chemotherapy since the beginning of June. She is as tough as nails and yet the sweetest woman. I will call her Ms. B.

I encouraged Mr. A and his wife to get out of the room and walk around to keep up his energy, strength, and simply for his sanity. Ms. B, on the other hand, needs no encouragement to walk; you can't keep her in her room because she has so much energy. Later that afternoon Mr. A and his wife were out walking and I saw them meet Ms. B. They talked for a bit and both parties retreated to their rooms.

Later on I heard a knock at a door and it open. I heard a woman yell in a thick eastern European accent, "It is time to get out of bed. Your wife wants you to walk. Let's go!"

I peeked around the corner and saw Ms. B leave Mr. A's room and out came Mr. A and they both went for a walk in their matching IV pumps, gowns, and face masks (to prevent infection).

Later, I asked Ms. B what made her do this. She replied, "I had promised his wife I would watch after him. And he is a man who is loved and who loves, so why would I not do this?" Mr. A was calm and slept for the first time in a week. My hope is Mr. A saw hope for himself and comfort in others around him.

Contributed by Kelly.

Days

2007-10-02T14:28:00.000-04:00

Did you know that there are two days in your life you can't do anything about? That's yesterday and tomorrow. You can live only in today! Live, love, laugh, work, and enjoy it!

Contributed by Ann.

Undies

2007-09-29T12:46:00.000-04:00

My boyfriend, Kelly, came to visit my new locale in Fountain, MN, and met my Grandpa for the first time. That night we went to my cousin's house for a bonfire and returned around 10:15 to find my 87 year old Grandpa sitting on his walker in the living room, watching the baseball game and eating a single serving cup of ice cream in his underwear.

"You caught me in my undies!" was his response and then he stuck around and chatted for another 10 minutes before retreating to his room...in his undies.

Contributed by Aryn.

Book Brigade

2007-09-26T11:31:00.000-04:00

Elk River is looking for about 900 friends of the library to form a "Book Brigade" to symbolically move books from the old library to new quarters about 3 miles away. A "senior citizen" will remove a book from the shelf and pass it along through the human chain until that book reaches the new library where a "youngster" will shelf the book at the new facility. Everyone from 1 to 100 is invited. I hope every family shows up!! What a beautiful community symbol.

Contributed by Ann.

Love After Love

2007-09-21T08:10:00.000-04:00

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

---Derek Walcott

Contributed by Sarah.

Honi the Circle-Drawer

2007-09-19T12:23:00.000-04:00

Coming into South Dakota, I started ranting into my portable voice recorder about a man named Honi the Circle-Drawer. I first heard of Honi the Circle-Drawer in a class at Hamline University. Honi the Circle-Drawer was a Jewish Charismatic who lived in Israel during the same time as Jesus.

Honi was famous for going to villages experiencing severe drought and promising rain. He would go outside the village and draw a circle in the scorched earth. He would pray to God, step inside the circle, and would stay there until God made it rain.

"What a way to live," the professor said. "Drawing your circles in the sand and daring God to make the next move."

Potty Call

2007-09-18T09:34:00.000-04:00

A phone call caught me off guard last week. Our granddaughter wanted to tell me something. "Gamma, potty!" Her mom had finished reading her a "potty book" as part of her night time ritual. At the end of the story, the little girl called her grandma to share the accomplishment.

"Talk Gamma. Potty!" Emma jumped out of her bed running for a phone. Aren't books wonderful? I smile thinking of the tune the "potty" plays when mission is accomplished.

Contributed by Ann.

Hamilton

2007-09-15T20:35:00.000-04:00

My friend, Louise, flew into St. Paul from California a couple weeks ago. We were walking to the State Fair and she was lamenting over the fact that she is no longer a coffee barrista, flush with small bills.

"I used to take all my tips and turn them in for ten dollar bills," Louise told me.

"Why tens?" I asked.

"Because Alexander Hamilton is the most attractive man in American currency," Louise replied. "He's just beautiful."

100 Postings!

2007-09-13T15:21:00.000-04:00

100 "beautiful experience" swatches intertwined in a cross section of Americana tapestry shared in life's scrapbook! Thanks for adding to the collage--and for showing up!

Contributed by Ann.

Mistake

2007-09-11T15:31:00.000-04:00

Loving people is the only mistake I can think of worth making time and time again.

Shooting Stars

2007-09-06T11:37:00.000-04:00

I was talking to my cousin, who recently moved to Florida, the other night. We were both outside watching the stars when suddenly she saw a shooting star. Five seconds later I saw a shooting star.

"Wow," she said. "Maybe it's the same star. We are in different time zones".

At the count of three we started to laugh.

Contributed by Sarah.

Gerrymandering

2007-09-05T20:58:00.000-04:00

My friend Kent and I were discussing politics at a bar in St. Paul.

"I blame gerrymandering," Kent said.

"Who's that?" I asked and looked at him before collapsing on the table laughing. "Did I just say that?"

"You should have just played that off," he told me. "I thought you were just being really clever."

"I wish I would have," I replied. "In my head I saw the word spelled 'Jerry Manderin' and thought there was some obscure man responsible for voter disenfranchisement everywhere."

Coconuts with Life Jackets

2007-08-31T13:55:00.000-04:00

I had coffee with my friend Danielle not too too long ago. She's an art student at the University of Minnesota-Duluth. She explained to me one of her sculptures featured in her senior exhibition coming this Fall.

The sculpture consists of white plaster molds of six coconuts cut in half. These plaster coconuts are floating in a milky-white pool. "But I painted bright orange life-jackets on each of the plaster coconuts," Danielle elaborated.

I smiled. "Why?"

She laughed. "I think I was playing with the idea that real coconuts would float in a pool, but these plaster coconuts wouldn't without life-jackets."

"Right..."

Danielle laughed again. "I don't know, really. I think I just thought it would look neat to have coconuts wearing life-jackets."

"Go with that if someone asks you what the piece means," I suggested. "It's make a lot more sense."

Into Beautiful

2007-08-27T14:18:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine came into town last night so I drove out to his parent's house to visit. I pulled up and his little sister was raking the grass.

"Ask her what she's doing, Eric," my friend's girlfriend told me.

"What are you doing, Emily?" I asked the little girl.

Emily stopped, resting the rake twice her height on her shoulder. She smiled. "I'm turning the grass into beautiful," she said.

I smiled. "Doesn't that make you wish you could write poems?" my friend's girlfriend asked me.

I nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Strip Club

2007-08-24T12:48:00.000-04:00

I met the poet Derek J. Rhodes at a strip club in Duluth not too long ago. He waved me over to a seat at his table near the stage.

"This is the last place I expected to see you," he said.

"I'm trying to broaden my horzons," I said.

"That's a long way of saying you were curious."

I shrugged. He caught me.

He gestured with his drink toward a man wearing headphones offering up a fiver for a lap dance. "It's beautiful in a way. People doing what they can to make one another feel less lonely."

"I guess."

The poet Derek J. Rhodes shook his head. "That's the problem with the great E. G. HOVE. All theory; no lust."

I ignored him and stirred my gin and tonic with a straw. It was some time before one of us spoke.

"I didn't mean to sound so uncharitable before," he offered a smile. "Between the two of us, we'll get the job done."

"And what is that?" I asked.

He tossed a dollar landing on the metal rail in front of me. "Convincing human beings they're beautiful no matter what happens."

"That sounds damn near heretical."

"Oh, make no mistake. We'll probably go to hell for it." He grinned. "But at least you'll have someone to buy your drinks."

Cucumbers

2007-08-21T23:17:00.000-04:00

My friend, JR, asked me what I will miss most when I die. While I tried to think up a witty and humorous answer, she jumped in. "I'll miss a lot of everyday things," she said. "People too. But right now, I think I'd miss home-grown cucumbers the most."

An Apology

2007-08-15T17:09:00.000-04:00

I like to ask people what they would do if they were God. If I was God, I would write an apology on the side of Everest in letters a half-mile high. It would read:

YOU'RE ALL BEAUTIFUL. I'M SORRY YOU FORGET THAT MOST OF THE TIME. MY MISTAKE.

Ralph

2007-08-12T15:09:00.000-04:00

I went to the hospital recently to visit my coworker and friend, Ralph. He has worked 22 years at the Scout camp and managed to make it through most of the season without any medical issues. Ralph tells me often that if he dies at camp, he'll be "mad as hell" if anyone tries to resuscitate him.

During my visit, one of his I.V. bags drained empty and the machine pumping the fluid started beeping incessantly. Ralph searched the wall for the call button. "Ladies, oh ladies, they're playing my song again. You know the tune. It goes: 'Beep! Beep! Beep!'" He laughed and promised he would see me again soon.

Most People

2007-08-10T12:57:00.000-04:00

I was out with my friends Josh and Rachel two nights ago. We were all tired and conversation had languished for some time until Rachel spoke.

"I'm kind of spacey right now," Rachel smiled. "I keep thinking about how I'd like to be a bird so I could sing."

Josh laughed. "Not so you could fly?"

"No," Rachel replied. "I'd just sing."

"Most people would want to fly," I said.

She shrugged. "I guess that makes me crazy."

A Bipartisan Brand

2007-08-03T20:44:00.000-04:00

My friend, K., used to work as an assistant at the State Capitol in St. Paul. Over beers, he told me about a cigarette break he took with one of the state's power-brokers.

"There's this real right-wing state senator, who will remain unnamed, of course," K. smiled.

"Of course," I said.

"Anyway, let's just say she's a leading proponent of the Marriage Amendment, so you know I'm a fan," K. winced. "She comes out on the balcony where all the smokers hang out and she takes out her pack of Parliaments and then gets a good look at me and what I'm smoking and she notices that we're smoking the same brand. She remarks, 'Parliaments? I thought that was the brand of Edina house-wives.'"

K. sipped his beer. "I told her, 'No Senator. You got it all wrong. Parliaments are the brand of college liberals everywhere.'"

"What'd she say to that?" I asked.

"At least we agree on one thing," K. replied. "I think the whole event blew her mind a little bit."

"Tagged"

2007-08-01T15:11:00.001-04:00

I'd asked my son, "What would get the younger set involved in the Arts' Alliance?" He recommended establishing a "Graffito Wall". Little did I guess that our shed might become the location! Can't even tell you when, but we've been tagged!

Contributed by Ann.

Benches

2007-07-28T12:43:00.000-04:00

There are memorial benches all along Duluth's lakewalk. Some are right off the wooden boardwalk while others are tucked in wooded recesses along the cliffs.

I remember telling Josh during one of our walks after breakfast at Uncle Loui's on a summer Sunday afternoon what sort of memorial bench I would want.

"You see that lone rock out there," I pointed. "I'd want it out there so people would have to swim to it."

"But you can't even swim. Why would you want it there?" Josh asked.

"So people can sit someplace they'd know for sure I'd never been."

Latitudinarian

2007-07-26T22:09:00.000-04:00

As I logged onto the internet, my Word for the Day was latitudinarian. It became a point of reflection and soul searching as to whether this adjective applied to me. I think I'll add it to my collection of words I use to describe myself and my life's blueprint. It's a word that rolls off the tongue and peaks interest!

Contributed by Ann.