Be God’s

Part of going to Cornerstone is bittersweet each year. It’s fun to reacquaint with those from years past, to see what new stuff old bands are doing and outrageous stuff new bands are doing. But I’m always haunted by who will not be there. The list of Cornerstone fixtures who are no longer with us is growing each year. This past year a favorite among those who attend the Cornerstone “U” tents that hash over theology, apologetics, and new world religions (preferred term to “cults,” which is seen as pejorative by many who study these groups) will not be there. Bob died of a heart attack, leaving a wife (and co-speaker), some children, and many appreciative “fans” who always found him approachable and accepting.

He joins the ranks of such names as Mark Heard, Gene Eugene, and Rich Mullins. They are some of the more memorable ones who have “beat us home.” Many have heard my story about meeting Rich at C-stone. I was with my wife and kids at the main stage listening to Sarah Masen, a quirky, very-literate, singer-song-writer with “a funny voice and funny looks.” My son Luke was not as impressed, so he and my wife headed over the side where they sell personal pan pizzas. On the way they saw a guy with long-hair, tattered jeans, and stubbled face in the crowd, half-ways listening to the singer, half-ways talking to friends. That looks like Rich they thought, as well as a whole slough of other attendees. They came back to where I was standing and told me to hurry on over and see Rich. It was him.

As is the case often when I meet someone new, I go into inane, small-talk mode. Millions of questions for Rich have rushed through my head before and since, but at that time I steered the conversation toward the current singer and what thoughtful lyrics she has. That and the obligatory “oh we love your music, our daughter sings ‘Awesome God’ all the time.” But I never got to ask him things I’ve wondered about like the death of his brother and the obscure reference in one of his songs to a man named “Dysart.” (It was years later that a more computer savvy friend Doug was able to scan the internet and find the correct reference which the song mentioned, putting my mind at ease.) But Rich seemed fine with our intrusion. He didn’t play the part of a snooty musician or aloof “star.” He was happy to talk with our young daughter Christina, make that listen to, and give her an autograph. It was drizzling though and everything was wet. And no one had a pen or paper. So we searched and searched. It became our mission to find something dry enough to take a smearing marker, so that his words would be legible. On a scrap piece of cardboard he scrawled: Christina, Be God’s. Rich. We thanked him and were on our way, leaving him to chat with his fellow ragamuffins, never imagining that we would never see him again (on this earthly home at least.)

A few months later we heard the devastating news that Rich was killed in a car crash not too far from Cornerstone on Interstate 39 in central Illinois, a road we traveled yet a few months later as we headed south to Suzi’s parents for Christmas.

I’ve always wondered about (and even arrogantly snickered at) people who cry over the deaths of celebrities—presidents, Princess Di, movie stars, and the like. I understand loved ones, family members and close friends. But with Rich it was different. He was able to strike a chord in me that made his death difficult to deal with—like a family member. He wrote in a way that I could easily internalize and make his words my own. I could pray his songs, because they conveyed so well what I thought and felt.

So Rich beat us home. He wrote so often about his home. And the last months of his life here on earth are almost eerie in their premonition of his final trip. In some of his last recordings he redid a song from his first album entitled “Elijah” where he prays to go out like Elijah in a chariot of fire. And the very last song on his last “unfinished by him” album he sings about Jesus’ promise that where He goes, we may also be. The song starts with a paraphrase from John’s gospel:
"In my Father's house there are many, many rooms
In my Father's house there are many, many rooms
And I'm going up there now to prepare a place for you
That where I am, there you may also be.

He’s there now and he’s left a legacy which thanks to the w.w.w.w.w.w……… we can read lots and lots of.

But in conclusion (I hear those scores of applause, he’s almost done), Rich’s legacy is best summed up in the way he learned to live life from his parents, and the tribute he gave to them in the song “First Family,” a wonderful song-title in itself, trumping the importance of the family in Washington D.C. In one of my all time favorite metaphors he sings of how his folks “worked to give faith hands and feet and somehow gave it wings.”

"My folks they were always the first family to arrive
With seven people jammed into a car that seated five
There was one bathroom to bathe and shave in
Six of us stood in line
And hot water for only three
But we all did just fine

Talk about your miracles
Talk about your faith
My dad he could make things grow
Out of Indiana clay
Mom could make a gourmet meal
Out of just cornbread and beans
And they worked to give faith hands and feet
And somehow gave it wings

I can still hear my dad cussin'
He's working late out in the barn
The spring planting is coming
And the tractors just won't run
Mom she's done the laundry
I can see it waving on the line
Now they've stayed together
Through the pain and the strain of those times

Talk about your miracles
Talk about your faith
My dad he could make things grow
Out of Indiana clay
Mom could make a gourmet meal
Out of just cornbread and beans
And they worked to give faith hands and feet
And somehow gave it wings

And now they've raised five children
One winter they lost a son
But the pain didn't leave them crippled
And the scars have made them strong
Never picture perfect
Just a plain man and his wife
Who somehow knew the value
Of hard work good love and real life

Talk about your miracles
Talk about your faith
My dad he could make things grow
Out of Indiana clay
Mom could make a gourmet meal
Out of just cornbread and beans
And they worked to give faith hands and feet
And somehow gave it wings"

hand-crafted pillow from Thailand 

Change for a story, please?

I was back in the rut of working on Saturdays this morning, driving south on the freeway when an old friend called on my cell phone. This friend has followed a similar career path and over the past two years we’ve worked together on a few remodeling projects. He called to see if I could squeeze in a small job in the next week, but with Cornerstone on the horizon I had to decline.

He then asked if he needed to update me on his truck situation. I responded that I hadn’t heard anything about his truck, but he proceeded anyways to tell me about his last week and a half and the missing truck. To make a long story short, and because of my friend’s ability to give all the sorted details and fully flush out a story, I need to drastically edit the content of his adventurous week. My friend has employed a gentleman for a short time and found him to be a good worker. He came upon hard times and needed an advance on his pay. Employer friend lent him $300; I believe to repair his vehicle. Employer friend also allowed employee to borrow his truck with its $1,500 worth of tools in the back, so that employee could finish a job over the weekend.

Employee (E) disappears. Employer Friend (EF) calls house to look into whereabouts of E. Girl friend answers, says she has not seen him because he is probably out drinking for the weekend. EF frets over what to do next. Should he call police? Is the vehicle technically stolen because he gave him the keys for him to use? Sunday arrives. EF is responsible for a big day at church, working with the kid’s programming. Should he spend the day hunting down his truck and tools or should he fulfill his obligations at church? He decides on the latter.

Sunday morning is fantastic. He and his wife are able to connect with kids that morning in a special way. After church in the parking lot, EF and wife are getting kids buckled in the car and praying about what do next. In the lot fellow congregants approach them, and through their conversations they find out that those with whom they are speaking know of E’s whereabouts. EF is then able to contact E and ask what happened.

E apologizes, but tells EF more bad news. E claims that the tools from the back of the truck were stolen. EF confronts E not primarily about the money and truck and tools, but about E’s need to turn his life around. After a lengthy heart to heart, the two pray, and E asks God to turn his life around. EF tells E that a good place to start fresh would be with a 7:00 AM phone call to EF Monday morning, to ask for a ride which EF would provide.

Monday morning arrives. 7 AM, no call. What happened to E? EF leaves for work. 7:30 cell phone rings. It’s E. You’re too late says EF. Let’s try again tomorrow. Tuesday 7 AM, E calls. “Can you pick me up?” EF complies.

Everyday through the rest of the week, even this morning (Saturday) E has called before or at 7 and held up his end of the bargain. EF is praying for and seeing evidence of a changed man.

So why do I relay this morning’s conversation with EF? I guess for a number of reasons. Number one, I admire EF for his diligence in reaching out to those who are living on the margins. I admire his willingness to take a chance with people who others avoid. I admire his willingness to look for the good in people, even though he often “gets stung.”

But second, I myself wonder where is the proper place to draw the line between being naïve and being one who cares for those needing extra attention. I even joke with him sometimes about his good-heartedness and where it leads him. It sure makes life interesting, but I ask myself if I need the extra “headaches” that such choices bring. Besides, I’ve got teen-agers.

Third, I know that Christ calls us to love others as we have been loved by Him. And love is more than just warm feelings; it requires action, a response on our part. Who am I to love? Love God, love you neighbor. Can these two primary commandments be separated? Is my love for the Almighty real if I despise my neighbor? Or even if I ignore him? My love for God needs to take a physical form.

So what will happen to E? I don’t know. My skeptical side (often labeled realism) questions whether change will be lasting. However, I know that it’s possible. God does transform lives. But He’s got His work cut out for Himself, for He works with some pretty stubborn, selfish, slow-to-learn characters. My self included.

A fourth reason I wanted to tell the above story is that Cornerstone is coming; and to me C-stone is stories. I’ve got so many to tell from the ten years we’ve attended. C-stone has a surplus of people who make for great stories. It is a creative place that breeds stories of interest by virtue of the motley crowds that show up each year.

A Salute to Microsoft

I hereby present my first joke ever on this blog. I “sampled” this from Dr. Chadwick’s church website:
There are three engineers in a car: an electrical engineer, a chemical engineer and a Microsoft engineer. Suddenly the car engine shuts off, leaving the three engineers stranded by the side of the road. All three engineers look at each other wondering what could be wrong. The electrical engineer suggests stripping down the electronics of the car and trying to trace where a fault might have occurred. The chemical engineer, not knowing much about cars, suggests that maybe the fuel is becoming emulsified and getting blocked somewhere. Then, the Microsoft engineer, not knowing much about anything, comes up with a suggestion, "Why don’t we close all the windows, get out, get back in, open the windows again, and maybe it’ll work.

What More Can i Say?

what more can i say?

Sushi, sushi, and more sushi 

See ya in 6 days, eh? 

Coming Changes to Blobjects?

Another missed opportunity to blog about Cornerstone.

Blogs can be fun. Adding stuff to blogs can be even funner. And getting feedback can be funner than fun. Blogspot allows a blogger to add all kinds of neat stuff. One such add-on is site meter. This doohickey gives feedback as to the origin of readers. Although it DOES NOT identify actual readers of a blog, it does categorize them by time zone and domain name, such as AT&T or AOL or COMCAST, etc. I added site meter at the beginning, because the Warden told me I should. And since she has the keys, I complied.

One thing I’ve noticed during the past few weeks is that the percentage of readers from the US Central time zone is shrinking. They are probably getting wise to this nonsense. However, the readership percentage from the Far East is on the rise. In depth analysis has revealed that insiders from the high echelons of “Blobjects” have leaked the information that this blog will soon be published in Japanese. Anticipation is mounting. (This change should be taking place as soon as the timman learns a little more Japanese. He knows a few Japanese characters [and strange characters they are], but fears they might not be enough.)

Other research shows that real Canadians might be reading this blog. So in my effort to promote peace and solidarity with the lost souls to the North, I promise to type a little slower, eh? Like I really want to communicate effectively to everyone, eh? So take off eh and bring me some back bacon when we meet up at Cornerstone. (I did it! I worked in a word about C-stone, only 6 more days. And I will scan the horizon and see literally hundreds of the red & white Maple Leafs flapping in the breeze.) I guess I do miss the Canucks and their renditions of Oh Canada being drowned out by MXPX or Living Sacrifice.

So until Cornerstone, and until I master Japanese, and until I learn when “enough is enough,” and learn when to call it quits, I will continue to provide adequate words for the clueless. And laugh in the face of all those English teachers who told me I needed an outline, or a thesis, or even an idea before I started writing.

forever on our living room wall 

Another Fat Student?

Should be blogging about Cornerstone. Should be packing for Cornerstone. But the kids haven’t left yet. With the exception of Inga, most of the AFS kids are still here for at least a few more days. This time of year we say good-bye, but we also remember. They have played a big part in our lives, and we think of them often. AFS stands for American Field Service. It is the oldest international exchange program in the world, started by ambulance drivers shortly after the end of WWII. Tired of seeing injured and dead bodies, they sought for another way to bring people from different cultures and nations together. Their dream has survived for more than fifty years and we’ve been privileged to be a small part of it. And as is the case with similar ventures, the rewards far exceed the costs. Bye guys. Remember, you are only a double-click away.

The Review

You’ve probably heard about the review, yeah that one. Front page. Bold, brash, and thought by many to be out-of-character. For the NY Times is his biggest fan we thought.

I actually have not listened to much “talk radio” these past few days, so I don’t know how the pundits are spinning the story. Working with my teen-age boys brings about the compromise of alternative music on the radio, no talking heads.

But I finally read the review this morning in the Minneapolis Star Tribune. They carried the Sunday review on page one of the VARIETY section in Tuesday’s paper. To quote from NY Times’ Michiko Kakutani:
The Bill Clinton book, My Life which weighs in at more than 950 pages, is sloppy, self-indulgent and often eye-crossingly dull -- the sound of one man prattling away, not for the reader, but for himself and some distant recording angel of history. In many ways, the book is a mirror of Clinton's presidency: lack of discipline leading to squandered opportunities; high expectations, undermined by self-indulgence and scattered concentration.

What jumped out at me and what stuck with me throughout the day was the phrase “self-indulgent.” This label seems to get applied a fair amount to those of us baby-boomers. And I don’t deny that we deserve it more often than not. Because of the natural spot light placed on the president, this tendency, or any other for that matter, gets magnified and is easily seen.

I know that we boomers, who have lived well off the fat of the land, tend to navel gaze to a degree that is not healthy for others or us. We tend to be a very self-centered lot. And in some senses Clinton is our guide. I don’t mean to rail against number 42 (or whatever number prez he is,) it’s just that I feel uncomfortable about myself sometimes when I look at him. Am I like that? (How’s that for self-absorbed narcissism.)

Even as I blog on daily, I sometimes feel uncomfortable with the high number of first-person references. The person writing knows that a blog by its very nature is journal-like personal reflection, but must that person continue on with a spotlight so inwardly focused? Is said person so much a product of his environment (or should he say generation) that even the current sentence places him at the center?

God rescue us (ME) from our (MY) continual absorption in ourselves. (Cause that would make us really happy. Just kidding, God.) And forgive me for that last snide remark.

It’s getting late, and said blogger needs to get horizontal before he writes something he would regret. And thank you Bill for helping make things clear.

Cure for Insomnia

If my blog doesn’t do it, this one will.

PART TWO
This is an addendum to the first part, which the Warden claimed was not enough. She wants to read more. How dull is that???? But actually the linked blog in question has as its most recent post a discussion on walls and you know that's right up my alley. So read, enjoy, and have pleasant dreams.

Encased vase from Thailand resting on hutch hand-crafted by Tim's great-grandfather 

a good lookin' Swedish-Norweigan-American 

Happy Father’s Day Dad

Father’s Day (and Mother’s Day for that matter) is a lot easier to remember than someone’s birthday. For one who flaunts with cluelessness, it’s nice to have the constant media reminders for weeks on end. I think my dad’s birthday is May 8th, but I know that today is Father’s Day. Having just perused the thick Sunday paper, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I cashed in on all the sales advertised within, I could probably retire by sundown.

My dad certainly qualifies to be included with the multitude of other fathers getting recognized this fine day, but in another sense he is one of a kind. He never displayed the need to play a role of some American male ideal. He was who he was and is who he is. I never got the feeling that he had anything to prove to anyone. He was comfortable being himself.

He has his hobbies—always a big fan of cars, with a canny ability to distinguish between make and model and degree of originality. And he has his occupation—hobby 2—playing in the mud, making dry walls smooth and straight. Having passed 65 some years ago, people often ask me if my dad is retired. I usually tell them that he’s having too much fun and his job is easier than the many jobs my mom would have for him at home. I speak in jest, but with a lot of truth thrown in.

But most of all, my dad was mine. He was always there, always available to come to the rescue. If I was in a pinch, I knew whom to call.

He is generally a very quiet guy and seldom gave me unsolicited advice. But when asked, he was usually ready with the right words for the situation. Never afraid to say “I don’t know,” but when pressed, he always seemed able to figure stuff out.

Sociologists like to make links between belief in the divine and childhood experiences. I’m sure their studies have some validity. But on a personal note, I often think that the words, actions, and presence of my own father have made it very easy for me to live in faith, developing a relationship with a heavenly Father that cares, cherishes, and goes to bat for me whether I notice it or not.

So with eternal gratitude, I offer an on-time, on-line happy father’s day. Now I better run so I can find a card before the day is gone. (I need something in print, since computers are not his thing.)

artwork in our home from Japan 

Top this David Letterman

Happy birthday Inga.

The Warden and I had a wonderful lunch at Byerly’s restaurant this afternoon. After work we both had errands to run so we did them together and decided to catch a meal in between. Our discussion actually turned a little “deeper” than usual, discussing items of substance rather than what have our kids “gotten into now.” The challenge from the Swanster, jot down a few things of substance. So Tim, always up for a dare decided to answer the call. My response to the challenge: I’ll make a list, maybe with ten items. Here goes.

1. Breakfast is a very important meal. It’s essential that everyone partake. Besides what better excuse can you find to use lots and lots of syrup?
2. Coffee is good. And we should probably substitute more superlative adjectives to that statement. Soda or pop or soft drinks or Coke (not wanting to exclude Southerners), with sugar or fake sugar is bad.
3. Brush your teeth. Dentists are expensive and their rates will only go up. Plus I’ve been gifted (or cursed) with a great nose (for smelling that is, but thanks for the complements about how well it looks on my face.)
4. There is no way in hell—well maybe in hell—but there is no way on earth that I can look around at anything and not see a wonderful, very creative design behind this world in which we live. Whether I stare at a tree or animal or read about the complexities innate in living things, I am amazed. Those who have faith enough to attribute the world around us to chance confuse me. How does one come to that conclusion?
5. Although blue is my favorite color, green is also great. Both hues are so calming. For those of us who spend so much of the year covered in white, we can appreciate them more than most.
6. Abortion is mean. And I’m almost tempted to add a “very” to that statement.
7. Starbucks is expensive. It might be worth it, but I haven’t come to that place in my life where I can visit said establishment more than quarterly. An OK substitute is Taster’s Choice instant. Plus with its lower caffeine count you can indulge with more cups per day.
8. Top ten lists are usually boring.
9. Blogging can be a good exercise in discipline. Bad habits and good habits are hard to develop and hard to break some times. You will have to decide which is which.
10. God is in love with people. Rich Mullins once complained that people are always talking about wanting to be used by God. Whereas, Rich wanted to be wanted by God. I think he was.

A light mist in downtown Minneapolis 

Good-bye Inga

It’s always tough to say good-bye. Tonight was the fifth time we’ve sent an exchange “child” away back home. It never gets easier. The last four times, the good-bye was incorporated with our annual Cornerstone Festival week. But Inga came to the US through a different international exchange program, so her departure date was earlier than most. So she’ll miss our yearly trek. She leaves early Friday morning, the 18th of June, and will spend about 24 hours on an airplane as she turns 18 years old on the 19th. On this very special birthday she will be trapped in a small seat staring out the tiny airplane window reminiscing. I’m sure she’ll be excited about going home, while at the same time sad about leaving.

We’ll be thinking about you and praying for you as you face this difficult transition. We hope to see you soon. And we send you off believing that the odds are pretty good that you’ll be able to visit again when your visa permits. That fills us with comfort and anticipation. Safe travels. Auf wiedersehen. Chao. Dosvedonia. Au revoir. And whatever they say in Romanian. Goodbye.

Mighty Ducks

I was all jazzed to write about my weekend in the Dells, but reality set in and I had to punt. Yesterday quickly filled itself with mud (drywall, that is) and paper (the endless piles of bills, invoices, and estimates upon my desk.) And then the resident teen-agers stirred things up a bit. Maybe the Swanster will fill us in on her daughter’s evening.

Needless to say, my thoughts about the previous weekend lay strewn across the basement carpeting. I had looked forward to playing “sociologist” for the day, writing about the rapid changes that I’ve seen from year to year in the water-park mecca. The “ducks” of today are much different from the ones that first put Wisconsin Dells on the map. But that will have to wait for another day, a time when I have the energy.

A quick sidebar: this past weekend I loaded myself down with a briefcase full of books, about 10 that I am in the middle of reading, my two cameras, and my laptop computer. With three full days of vacation, I would get so much done. Sitting next to the pool I would catch up on e-mail correspondence, finish books that have sat unopened for too long, and jot down some thoughts. Instead it became three days of running and climbing and racing and sliding. I kept up with the teen-agers, but I paid a price in blisters, sunburn, and unfinished projects. Enough said.

I just finished this little evaluation that I found circling in cyberspace. I forget how I ended up there, but the sight is SelectSmart.com. They claim to have over 10,000 visitor created selector questionnaires, helping people decide everything from what kind of dog to buy to what TV show to watch. The one that caught my eye was called “Christian Denomination Selector.” I had to bite. I gave into temptation and answered the 25 or so questions. And what do you suppose I found.

SelectSmart had recommended for me the Anglican Church! Wowsers. I must have forgotten to check the box that says I let my country club membership lapse. There’s no way I have enough three-piece suits to become a regular attendee with the Episcopalians. And that’s even before we talk theology.

The second and third choices were a little more comfortable—Methodist and Presbyterian, respectively. (At least Wiccan and Jehovah’s Witness were way down the list.) I ranked pretty high with the Lutherans too. I don’t know who put together the questions or how they weighted them, but I think they gave considerable influence to one’s view on baptism.

I found the test difficult, because it was all yes or no answers. Most of the questions I wanted to qualify to some degree. It’s tough to get pigeonholed into one camp or the other on some issues.

It was fun anyways. Although I would encourage its creator to broaden the list of denominations quite a bit and open up the questioning for a wider variety of answers, multiple choice maybe, it is not a bad start. And it could be a great catalyst for further investigation of the 2,000 plus denominations in the U.S. (my guess on the number, but turn to the Holy Observer for and up-to-the-minute count)

So where do I fit? Time will tell. But I have to confess that this last Sunday I stood out in the rain, wishing I were a duck, as I readied our camper for its long trip home. In awe of how green and alive my surroundings were with the ample nourishment that we take for granted and sometimes even curse. Water is good: whether used for keeping vegetation fresh, providing cool and exciting entertainment, or sealing a covenant between us and our Maker.

Quack, quack. And you can quote me on that.

Putting plumbers out of business one plunge at a time

Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging?
Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging? Blogging? Plunging?

Plunging wins. And I win, I guess. It worked. Actually a new gizmo worked. A black cylindrical attachment to the end of my garden hose plugs the pipe and forces jets of water to attack the clog. Cheaper than a snake, less messy or smelly than chemicals, and it takes up less storage space. Oh, oh, I hope I don’t loose this thing.

Warning: Duck Crossing Ahead

We’re back from the Dells, Wisconsin’s answer to Branson mocks Las Vegas. When my blisters heal and my sunburn subsides, I hope to blog from a 15 year veteran’s perspective of tourist exploitation. But for now all I can leave on this page is my desire to relax and go fishing. I Doug Fur Worms, hopin ta Catch sum Trout en Walleye from da Lake. Was I caught?

I'm not B-A-L-D 

A balding head’s no cause for dread

One of the wall hangings in our home that has endured these last 15 years or so contains the title, “A balding head’s no cause for dread.” It has hung proudly in our main bathroom, outlasting many paint jobs. It looks good with almond, white, pink, or blue walls. I finally moved it a few weeks ago, from the north wall of the bathroom to the east. Now you can stare at it as you do your business (in the seated position.) The potion advertised on this plaque guarantees hair growth in record time. It has offered hope these many years. But to no avail.

However, good news arrived today by way of e-mail. A wise friend who is ever-current on cultural trends made me aware of the State of Montana’s bold, ground-breaking stance. This state has offered to its citizens the right, yea even the choice, to proudly proclaim chrome dome on fishing and driving licenses. No longer do the Jesse Ventura’s of the world need to lift their arms high to answer the question at the DMV regarding hair color. We can only hope that a visionary legislator from the great State of MN will put forth similar legislation here. Or, I would even accept a ruling from some activist judge trying to make his mark upon our heads.

We head south soon for our first camping trip of the season. Our outing has reminded me of a relatively new blog by Doug Pagitt titled: “Camping Mocks the Homeless.” It’s worth a look. One of the early responses to this site has stuck with me. A North Carolinian commented that “blogging mocks the illiterate.” In pondering this insight, I’ve wondered if my blog mocks the clueless.

The Community Grows

In the immortal words of Weird Al Yankovic: “Another one rides the bus.” Another one rides the bus. Oh yeah, and another one, another one rides the bus.

I was surfing a few days ago, linking to the guy who started Suzi blogging. He is an Uberblogger. He’s into it big time. He has written programs so that he can track who links to whom, and chart the various “blog trees.” He’s a neat guy. Tekkie and poetic. I was hoping to see him at Cornerstone this year, but he has other obligations. Ah, there’s probably enough Canadians at Cornerstone anyways. Or should I have said “eh?” Good day? Speaking of which (I apologize for the complete lack of a segway or any meaningful stream of thought), Second City TV is now out on DVD. I read that in today’s newspaper. Smile. Kulukukukukukuku.

But anyways, my point was, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was amazed at how many links this Dave King guy has, and how many thousands of bloggers are out there.

But we welcome one more. She will have to sit at the back of the bus though. Oh no, scratch that, she is the White Muse. A welcome addition to the growing community of mass transit using, diesel burning, traffic snarling riders, who have some thoughts to share.

A personal note to the White Muse: sorry I haven’t found a picture yet.

a tea for you, a tea for me--tea for two 

The Warden

The parties are behind us, the summer is before us. Scratch that. Summer is here and with a vengeance. It is 93 and humid as we speak—no make that as I type. Who knows what it is where you read. Let me know.

It’s been a short while now since I first referred to my better half as “the Warden.” It was a passing remark about how she wanted me to paint a bathroom before visitors arrived. It was made in jest, because it is not her normal manner to hound me to get stuff done around the house. As far as being the tyrant of a honey-do list, that is not her. But it’s fun to play the victim, so I gave her the needle about having to slave away painting.

She, of course, retaliated by pretending to be hurt. But then she wrote, “Warden, is it? Is it because I have the key to your heart that you call me that???????

I liked that imagery. She should hold the keys to my heart, and come to think of it, she does. At least in a temporal sense, she does. I guess the Almighty ultimately has the “master key.” The One who created me should really get first dibs. And He has put the Warden in charge here on earth. But being a slave/servant/prisoner to Him and her is about as good as it could get. That’s where my heart should be, and I pray that it is. If it strays elsewhere, it’s to my detriment.

So let me be enslaved to the One who loves my soul and the one who loves my . . . ah . . . body? Or should I say mind or manner or money?

Happy Anniversary, one month late. Should I mention to blog readers that I took you out for an anniversary meal, but my parents foiled my gift by making it their gift? They were gracious in giving us a gift certificate to the very place we were eating. And I never recovered to come back with another anniversary gift. So I take my time for important things, right? Maybe it will come soon. But please accept this 253 month anniversary down payment gift.

Working the Room

We survived Luke’s graduation party yesterday. It was fun to see so many familiar faces. My biggest regret is that they all “came at once”--within the 7 hour span that is. Scheduled from 4 – 8, the hours were closer to 3:45 to 10:45. But with that many people, it was good to have them more spread out.

I felt a little like a billiard ball bouncing around from room to room at least saying ‘hi’ to each person. It’s exhausting. One of my friends showed up midway through the party and immediately, in true political style, went from one end of room to the other shaking each hand as if he wanted us to vote for him. I told him the babies were in the basement ready to be kissed. I think he took it well. In short, I wish I had his energy.

My uncle Bill and his wife Char were able to attend. He is only one year my senior, so growing up he was more like a cousin than an uncle. As we’ve aged, we’ve hit it off better, and it’s amazing some times how similar we think. We have both recently purchased new camcorders. And with the hundreds of different brands and models available, we both ended up with the same model (different serial numbers.) I guess I have to credit it to the good sense of German logic.

I could tell a hundred stories, but you’ve probably all heard them before. Luke, Suzi, and I all had a great time at the free-for-all that seemed like a cross between the old “Big Fat GERMAN weddings” of my childhood and a church potluck around the smorgasbord.

Anonymous student is the the background. Squinting helps. 

Just barely a Graduate

No time to write today. The party approaches quickly. The Warden has me confined to the back porch. Not a bad sentence though; the weather has been wonderful, the variety of greens are phenomenal with all the liquid sunshine we’ve received of late.

I’ve quickly snuck into the dungeon here to jot down a few thoughts on the one I forced to graduate. It was a few years back and I will keep the identity anonymous. We were again providing shelter and grub for a student from abroad. The end of school was near, and the student was told he/she would not graduate. Spring was intoxicating by then and all the student could think about were friends and partying. The student did not care that a paper was due in order to graduate. The assignment was dumb. The Warden tried everything to convince the student that this was serious. “You will not be able to walk down the aisle with your friends,” she said. But the student did not care. I was called upon for encouragement or better yet more coercive, forceful action.

I also tried everything. Finally the night before the last day of school and no term paper. Sitting down with said student, I read the instructions and plotted a strategy. Upon reading the assignment requirements, I could somewhat relate to the student. This was dumb. This science teacher somehow made it through college without any training in writing or thinking. I hate to be critical, and I tried to give the teacher the benefit of a doubt. But the assignment she handed out was Dave Barryesque in its humor quotient. I thought it was a joke. The student always told me it was a dumb class and a dumb assignment, but I thought that was only an excuse to avoid doing the paper. As I sat with the student in amazement, I planned our method of attack. We would choose one of the listed topics and write the paper together. I would give almost anything to have that original assignment sheet. With more typos, sentence fragments, run-ons, hanging participles and lapses in logic than even I can squeeze into a normal blog, all I remember is something like—how will we save our planet from almost certain doom, caused by certain factions within the United States government. It brought me more laughs than a “Simpson” episode.

I tried to get the student’s ideas on paper. “Which item would you like the write about,” I asked. Long story short, as I tried everything to receive input, and as the hour approached bedtime (for me at least), I grabbed my laptop and started writing the stupid thing myself. If this paper was not turned in within 10 hours, there would be no graduation.

I started writing on the fly with no notes, no input from student, no knowledge of the class, all the while trying to write as though I were the student—in said student’s voice. Overcome by the advancing hour, a little too much coffee, and continual glances back at the instructions from the teacher, I wrote in record time. In under a half hour (maybe less) I presented the student with something that could be turned in.

Graduation happens.

I sit here debating whether I should download that paper onto my blog. I’ve driveled on here long enough, but it might be fun for me to read it again. Let’s see where is it? I’m looking under this pile. No. Could it be here? No. Alright, who’s been in my office? Oh, never mind, here it is.

CAUTION: reader beware. Paper was written to sound like a failing high school senior, as well as on the same level as the instruction sheet given to the student.

??????????????
Astronomy

A Bleak Future?


It seems like only yesterday that we could enjoy a ride through the woods on our Polaris snowmobile. Winters back then were a lot more fun. The snow would be everywhere, covering trees, power lines, and even the ground. It was beautiful. Even the lakes would freeze earlier in the year, allowing us to bring our icehouses out onto the lake early enough in the season, so that we could have fish fries by Christmas. The deer were a lot easier to follow back then too. Not only would they leave good tracks in the snow, but they would be slowed down considerably by the white fluffy stuff. It was relatively easy to bag a decent sized buck and mount it up on top of your four- wheeler. It made you feel good about your accomplishment and the fact that it was winter and it was cold and it gave you a good excuse to stay especially close to that someone special in your life.
Time does pass quickly though. A billion years (give or take 100 million) used to take a lot longer to happen. But time really does fly. As do people, flying past each other by airplane, car, SUV, boat, and all sorts of all-terrain vehicles, whatever their transportation of choice. People moving at ever increasing rates of speed whiz by each other oblivious to their fellow man. But time marches on.
School is almost out in this special year of A.D. 1300002001, and the school buildings have been running their air-conditioners at extra high for almost the entire year. The students can barely wait to get out of classes, run to Walgreens for their sunscreen, and hit the beach. But the beaches too aren’t what they used to be. And without decent beaches, where is a high school guy supposed to hang out to check out the chicas.
That is why the governments of the world have put their heads together and decided that without decent snow trails and decent beaches, it’s time to split. For good, that is. Fellow Martians here we come. All of the world’s governments have decided that it’s time for mankind to leave. It will be more than one small step for man, and even more than a giant leap. It will be a grand parade, a wonderful drive. All humans have been ordered to take the bridge to Mars, which was started way back during the Clinton years as the bridge to the twenty-first century. After people were ushered into the 21st century, people decided to keep working on the bridge, making it the largest public works project to this date. The bridge was finally completed when it touched down next to a beautiful crater on the surface of Mars. It was figured that in time this crater could be flooded to make one awesome beach.
USA Today was at the entrance of the bridge interviewing people about their outward trip. It was reported that 93 percent of the people felt no remorse over leaving planet Earth. What with no snow and no good beaches, what gives. But whereas, they felt no sadness as they left, they were bringing plenty of stuff with them as they departed. Most were towing at least a boat or good-sized trailer, with either motorcycles or snowmobiles inside. On top of most of the vehicles were Yakima racks with skis or luggage bags. Animals were abundant. Most of the dogs were riding in the back seats with their heads hanging out and most of the cats were hiding under the seats, ticked off that they didn’t get to sit on the driver’s lap. USA Today noticed quite a few seat belt violations when it came to animals. It has been quite a few millennia since animals of all species were required to be buckled in, so this came as a bit of a surprise.
The earthlings were hoping to carry on their culture by bringing as many CDs with them as possible. They didn’t expect much in the way of nightlife or live concerts when they arrived on Mars, so they needed to be prepared.
After all the Earthlings finally depart the planet, it is expected that this third rock from the Sun will make an amazing comeback. The citizens of Planet Earth took most, if not all, of the flatulent cows with them to Mars and left most of the sea creatures and wild animals in their primitive state. A renaissance is expected on Planet Earth in the next billion years or so. It is hoped that the future stages of evolution will smile more kindly on Mother Earth. So maybe her best days are yet to come.

I’m in trouble now. I’ve been away from my current assignment too long. Pray for me.

Inga without her cap and gown 

Chip’s Challenge

Congratulations also go out to Inga, who shared the stage with Luke and about 800 others last night at Cooper High School. I didn’t want to slight her in yesterday’s blog, but I wanted Luke to receive a special individual blessing from me. (Inga’s graduation here in the states will count for high school credit back home, so she will be able to start college in the fall.) Suzi and I are also proud of you Inga. So now I charge both of you to go forth and . . .

Remember playing a computer game called Chip’s Challenge a few years back. I think it was packaged along with other Microsoft games, but I forget now. It was basically a series of mazes, levels one to who knows how many. Each time you conquered a level, you moved on to the next, slightly more difficult level. Chip was a computer chip who had to find other computer chips within the allotted time limit. Each new level brought more obstacles and fresh new situations. I don’t remember if the game came with directions. I think it did, but they didn’t come close to spelling out all the different scenarios Chip would face. You had to remember what worked from previous levels and use these as clues to what you were facing in the higher levels.

This game reminds me a lot of life. Each new day brings us something different, 90 percent or more of what we face each day is familiar and we know how to handle it just fine. But there’s always a little bit new: challenging, adventurous, confusing, disheartening—things that are beyond us. We need to look for advice from others. Each new level makes us realize that we probably can’t do this on our own. At least I found that to be the case.

I would leave you with advice from Barbra Streisand (people who need people are the luckiest people in the world), but I’m not a big fan of hers and I think I can find something more poignant from a much better source—a fellow Minnesotan to boot—Bob Dylan. I’m not original in leaving this with high school graduates. A former teacher of the year from Brainerd, MN Guy Dowd would actually sing this to his graduating seniors. If you want to hear me sing this, you’llbe waiting an awfully long time, but here goes.

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

Copyright © 1973 Ram's Horn Music
Columbia Records, Bob Dylan

And now, Luke and Inga, I leave you with a final word (my two chips worth) to put the above in perspective. A local pastor continually reminds his people that “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” I heartily agree and encourage you two to live your lives with that in mind. So Luke and Inga, as you pursue the desires of your heart, always abide in Him, remembering that true contentment and true joy will result from a life thus lived. And that will bring glory to God.

L.T.N. 

The Graduate -- Luke 8:16

We are very proud of you Luke. You exemplify the responsible first-born child. We count on you often, and you always come through. You are a good example for your younger siblings.

Tonight you get to toss your tassel from left to right or right to left—whatever is correct. And you get to wear your white cord over the orange and blue. You’ve done well and you deserve to be honored this evening.

A lot has happened these past four years. You’ve made lots of friends and driven many miles back and forth to Cooper for classes and extra-curricular stuff, usually stuffing four other people into your small Toyota pickup as you bounced down County Road 9 and Winnetka Avenue. You’ve eased the transition for our foreign exchange students by showing them the ropes. You started out as the little host brother and finished up as the older host brother.

Music seemed to be your life at Cooper. You played a big part in band, qualifying for symphonic band as a junior. You left home extra early on Friday mornings to be a part of the number one Jazz Band playing a mean bass. My favorite event, however, was your involvement in the school’s musical Godspell. As a sophomore you were chosen to play all the guitar parts, both electric and acoustic. And you played wonderfully. It was the drama teacher’s last year directing and the entire cast and band rose to the occasion and presented weeks of unforgettable plays. I can still feel the emotion and power of the presentation. I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the house during the last performance, saying good-bye to Herm and relating to the story. All the students could feel that they too were disciples saying good-bye. You also endured the heat and humidity of marching band practice, the challenge of playing for a mediocre football team (trying to raise crowd enthusiasm), and the music awards nights on beautiful spring evenings.

I also hear that you read a book or two, took an occasional test, stayed awake during lectures, ate school food, dealt with silly school rules, and made some new friends. I hope and pray that you look back on these years with joy, laughter, gratefulness, and pride. We are proud of you, Luke!

Go let your light shine brightly.

Ice Age Endeth

We finally received a pleasant day in the Twin Cities after what seems like weeks of SADD-producing weather. The blues skies caused my mind to wander as I wondered what that yellow thing is. Taking advantage of the inclement weather this weekend, my brother took his family to see the movie, “The Day After Tomorrow.” I hear the special effects are incredible. I was wondering though, do the people who find such a scenario plausible (ultra-rapid climate change) also believe that the world’s climate stayed constant enough (within fairly narrow temperature parameters) to sustain life on this planet for billions of years? Just wondering.

And then I heard on the news yesterday that a judge ruled that the law banning partial-birth abortion was unconstitutional. I was wondering if this is unfair, at least if the aborted was female. By aborting females, are we not taking away their right to choose? What if the aborted would have wanted to have an abortion someday? We would be taking away that right. Right?

And then as a regular reader of the Minneapolis Star Tribune, I’m constantly kept abreast of the latest within Gay, Lesbian, Transsexual, Transgender communities. With the huge push toward same sex marriage of late, I wonder what their greatest motivating factor is. Do the unconventional couples really want their relationship made official? Are they not failing to look far enough ahead? When this nation implements Islamic law, do they want that proof against them? They might loose their heads (or other body parts) over such a stand. Call me curious.

I’ll probably regret touching on touchy subjects, but I won’t know unless I go ahead and submit this blog. Call me stupid.

one of the cool treehouses featured in the Strib article Joel Koyama
Star Tribune

Published June 1, 2004
© Copyright 2004 Star Tribune. All rights reserved.
 

For the Birds

The Warden and I share an affinity for tree houses. The Minneapolis Star Tribune (or Strib as we affectionately call it) accommodated us by presenting an interesting and colorful article about people who have built tree house to live or work in. Click on the title "For the Birds" and you should be able to see the article. I hope you can access their site without signing up. I have signed up with the paper in the past, so they let me on, no questions asked. Once on the site, you can look at the galleries and find dozens of great pictures.

Our love for a bird’s eye view goes back to our childhoods. Suzi had a neighborhood tree which as a child she loved to climb for times of thinking and praying. Later on in life she used the tree to fall out of. Isn’t that right David?

I, on the other hand, had a wonderful fort-type tree house that my Grandpa Koehnen built for me. All the neighborhood kids and I used it constantly for years. It was a wonderful place from which to throw things upon those below. You could easily be king of the hill when you climbed up those treacherous stairs and placed yourself upon the small platform 15 feet above the ground. Thinking about it now, I really doubt that any city or a home owner’s insurance company would allow such a structure on a policy holder’s lot. It was very dangerous, but oh so much fun. I received slivers at least weekly. And on one occasion, I pushed a friend out because he couldn’t get the courage up to jump out. He fell out head first, and I still amazed to this day that he landed alive. I’ve never seen anyone that mad before or since. He chased me into my house, up the stairs and to the bathroom door which I had locked shut. He pounded and pounded for what seemed to be hours. I stayed in there until I knew that he was gone. I learned never to push people out of high places. It still scares me.

Remember These 

The Joys of Blogging

I’m into my second month of blogging now. I actually have more than one entry in the archive section. I have given people a choice: paper or plastic, coffee or tea, May or June. Some day I might even be legit. Not that I know what it takes to be legit, but I think the Warden is legitimate by now, with her you can choose 2003 or 2004.

I think I’m enjoying this. It’s a lot less stressful than writing term papers. No grades, no deadlines, no topic, no grammar. I guess it’s like Outback Steakhouse, no rules, just right. Or should that be WRITE?

While cleaning this past weekend I came across a small piece of chalky paper with a bunch of small type-written letters on it. Those under 30 probably wouldn’t know what it is. It was used as a white out for typos. Backspace, insert chalky pad (white side in), retype mistaken letter, backspace, retype correct letter. Oops, that’s not even a word. Man, when are they going to invent computers so I can tuype oein hundreid wurds a minnut and hav sum program correct everything for mee.

Yea, so I’m jealous of current college students. Term paper rewrites in 10 minutes flat. But they probably envy us dinosaurs who have had endless chances to build character into our lives as we filled up our wastebaskets with imperfect reams of paper.

I had a little surprise last night related to blogging. I had noticed that some joker, who uses the same blogspot site that I do, had started an Andy Kaufman Returns blog. He basically wrote as if he were the late comedian coming back after 20 years of death, or faking death. It was a clever idea, but he didn’t execute (no pun intended) it that well. Some blogs were funny and he was able to get a lot of people responding, but it got old after a while. Anyways, I sent this info along to fellow fan of Andy Kaufman. Not only had he heard about this, but he pointed me to a website which deals with internet hoaxes and urban myths. They even had a full page response denying the rumor that this blog’s claims were true.

YIKES. People actually read these things. Kind of makes you wonder. Is television these days really that bad? Why would people inflict this drivel upon themselves? I’ll leave that for the shrinks to figure out.