Bragdon Wood

fear (day 5)

2010-08-05T23:58:00.000-07:00

"Keep your fears to yourself, but share your inspiration with others." - Robert Louis Stevenson

Day 5.

I'll tell you another time. But... trust me, I did it.

inspiration.

fear (day 4)

2010-08-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

Never let the fear of striking out get in your way. -- Babe Ruth

Day 4. Soccer.

Not just soccer; park night soccer, with and against guys who are way better and more aggressive than I am.
Talked about it. Worried that I would get hurt; wondered if I would get busted up enough that I couldn’t run. Scared? Yeah.
So I went for it.
First thing I did was inadvertently bounce the ball off my hand. I was able to steal the ball a couple times, probably because I don’t (look like I) know what was going on. Took a bounce off the head, and kept going. Got a goal-speed-kicked ball into my jaw and neck. Kept playing. Wincing, but still in.
My face still hurts, and my toes feel like they’ve got rugburn, but it was fun, and I’m ready for something else. Something a bit more cerebral, though.

fear (day 3)

2010-08-03T23:50:00.000-07:00

Peter Parker: You don't trust anyone, that's your problem.
J. Jonah Jameson: I trust my barber.

Day 3. change / haircut.

Despite the (eventual) baldness I’ve inherited, I’ve kind of been picky about my hair. Never wanted a comb-over, but I liked having some length. I’ve gotten the same haircut for almost 10 years. (number 5 on the sides, and about an inch off the top, no line in the back... ).
So, I went to Supercuts, and the haircutter lady asked me what I wanted. I asked what she thought I should get. She suggested a number 5 all over, and then a little shorter (4?) on the sides. She showed me the length my hair would be, and I felt the fight-or-flight tingle. And I said “go for it.”
It doesn’t look too bad. It’s surprised me a couple times in the mirror, but I think I could get used to taking suggestions that scare me.

fear (day 2)

2010-08-02T23:49:00.000-07:00

I tend to scare myself. — Stephen King

Day 2. Heights.
Acrophobia.

Just to clarify, I’m not afraid of heights per se; the existence of tall buildings causes me no worry. Nor am I afraid of seeing others high off the ground, or falling, or getting hurt. I am scared of heights when faced with ‘em. I start to panic and (historically) quit when I realize that I will have to come back from whatever height I reach. Ever gotten scared by looking down from a ladder? That’s kinda what I get when I descend. It’s the instability; the dirt under my feet, the fatigue in my knees. Irrational panic. A speed bump that makes my mental Lamborghini bottom out.
So I decided to climb up the hardest path behind Brand library in Glendale. I’ve chickened out on this path a few times over the years. There are two other paths up to the lookout point; I’ve done the easy one a couple times, and the medium one once when a fellow hiker walked it in front of me.
Today, there was a family hiking up in front of me. I kept amusing myself by saying “HEY, a kid’s doing it!”... and slapping myself with “hey, a KID’s doing it”.
It was a great hike, and a breezy, beautiful day in L.A., but I kept my tunnel-vision against the path and the mountain. The fear danced in my periphery like Carlton Banks, daring me to look. I dared. More than once. It cranked the sweat valves up, and got my heart pounding like a “new message” icon.
The family stopped. They needed a breather. They told me I could pass ‘em, and I told them that I was fighting through a fear of heights. Offered them my back-pocket bottle of water. Then it dawned on me... most of my fears are assuaged when I talk about them. Maybe that’s why I need to write about it.
I went on ahead, and after a lot of heartbeats, I made it to the lookout spot. Very pretty, but... I needed to go higher. Further up. I kept hiking up the bare ridge that ascends to the antennas up on the highest hill. I got further than ever before. Anxiety high, knees shaking, forehead dripping, I reached a good turnaround spot, and then descended. Not easy; I HAD to crab walk down one part so as to not panic... even though I saw a barefoot guy do it ten minutes before.
I took the long, easy path back, and spent some quality time with my thoughts. I’m so glad I went the way I did because I got to see and hear an amazing event when the sun sank behind the closest hill.
I seriously thought some kids were throwing dirt clods or shooting airsoft guns at the plants, but after pausing, I saw what it was. The seed pods on some of the little valley bushes were exploding with the change in temperature. It was a great, clicking crackle popping noise. One blew up right near my face and hit my cheek! So amazing to witness.

fear (day 1)

2010-08-01T23:45:00.000-07:00

A man who says he has never been scared is either lying or else he's never been any place or done anything. - Louis L'Amour

So, day 1.
In honor of shark week, and because I didn't want to try it again... today I took on sushi.
When asked, I was afraid to admit that I'm not a fan. I bet there's something you're scared to eat as well. The first time I ate at Chipotle I got a steak fajita burrito, and I was almost crying from the heat... I couldn't finish it. Now my order is chicken soft tacos (just sour cream, cheese, guac), and it's tied for my favorite meal.

Well, I went to Kabuki in Burbank, and after reading over the menu, I went inside. I immediately felt that rush of adrenaline you get when you realize that you've just been buckled into a rollercoaster. A slight eye twitch, a glance at the nearest exit, and then I knew I was in the right place.

I ordered a sampler. No sense taking the easy way out by only getting veggie or California rolls.

There was:
albacore (good)
regular tuna (thought I was biting my own tongue)
white fish (good)
yellowtail (too fishy, confused with white fish?)
salmon (slippery)
*krab (fake, I think...)
*sea eel (great, yet there were more bones in it than in my hand)
*shrimp (good)
*California rolls (avocado + eating a day at the beach)
(* = cooked)

I liked some, others gave me the shivers.
I think I'll need to keep trying; keep trying to find my order.

Oh, and I can still kinda taste it... is that normal?

fear (intro)

2010-08-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Fear is the new black.

I'm going to live this quote out

and write about it every day in the month of August.

España 6/03/2010

2010-06-03T22:50:00.000-07:00

--
La Gente de Espana-

David Robles: The pastor of the church in Leon. A TMS graduate, and our contact for coordinating the STM. The Timothy to Henry Tolopilo's Paul. Married to Loida, with two kids, 3 and 5.

Manuel: Our host at El Campamento. Loida's dad. He's been running the camp facility for many years. He speaks some English, and is a pastor (associate?) at the church. Married to Pili.

Pepin: El Jefe. He's neighbors with Manuel, and quite a handyman. He gave us nearly all our marching orders while we worked. Great sense of humor, very little English, and married to Blanca.
--

David got to witness to two people on the plane. A girl named "Mima" was local to L.A., and said she'd like to go to Foundation! Very cool.

La cocina tiene una perra, se llama "Nesca". En un otra idioma de Espana (Basque?), "Nesca" es mas o menos la palabra "chica". Es una perra buena y ahora, es mi amiga. Ella tiene siete anos, y se gusta cuando tiro la pelota. Hablo con Arturo en Ingles y Espanol. Arturo tiene mucho legendas de brujas y magicas en Mexico.

"Es mi dia primero!"
First work day. Painting. We moved a bunch of furniture, rugs, and awesome artwork to the downstairs back room of the house on Calle Mejor, and threw dropcloth everywhere.

Definition: La Casa de Calle Mejor. It was owned by a rich guy, and it is a huge mansion. Not a Mr. Burns or Daddy Warbucks kind of place, though. This place looked like old California. Spanish Califorina. Zorro California. The owner was NOT a believer, and in fact didn't like Pepin or the church. However, when the economy took a dive, he lost a lot, and wanted to sell off the place mas rapido. I can't remember the price, but it was probably half what the place was worth. It needed fixing up, but it is / is becoming Efeso, the bible institute that David Robles has been running. There's an excellently redone room upstairs that looks like one of the nicer classrooms at CSUN. Best I could figure it, Efeso works like the D.Min program at TMS; personal work and study + occasional weekends at the school. There are a lot of rooms upstairs that have been converted to be little motel-style rooms (bed, dresser, tiny bathroom / shower). That's where we come in.We're gonna paint all the rooms that Senior Pepin wants done. Ceilings, bathrooms, halls, stairways. Are we going to get dripped on? Splattered by paint? Muscles taxed? Bring it on.

Arturo did all the ceilings, and the rest of us are doing the walls and the touch-up. Worked a lot with Cathy today. I will forestall all the praise I want to heap on her... for now.
Cathy's Top Five (in no particular order):
Earth, Wind, and Fire
Third Day
MercyMe
Journey
60's Rock & classic Jazz
I hope to create something that when packaged bears the words "Strike Anywhere".

So, amongst the art we moved there was a great painting of the Queen (by marriage) of Belgium. She was / is Spanish, and according to Manuel, her husband set aside his kingship for 24 hours in the 1970s when abortion issues were being decided, so as to not hurt his conscience, seeing as he is / was Catholic. Interesting story, but weak-sauce morality for a king. Glad my King's always righteous.

As I write, it is so hard not to try to write in Spanish. Espanol esta en todo al mundo. My brain only wants to think of things I can express in both languages. It's hard to explain, and if you haven't felt it, I dare you to go on a missions trip and find it. Dare ya.

Oh, and for every meal there's excellent bread served. It's made fresh in town en la panaderia. (as I type this down, I still miss it). The coffee is the bomb. It's smoother and less acidic than what I'm used to from Starbucks, and whenever they have coffee, they also include a kettle of hot milk to add. I mix it half and half and add a spoon full of sugar. Bring it on, coffee purists; me gusto café con leche y azugar. Muy bien. Vale.
And their Coke has real sugar in it. Not corn syrup. It's in 330ml cans; they look a little smaller than in the States. The States... wow, look who's gone European.
The cereal served en el encampamento todo el group se gustamos. It's like corn flakes, cocoa krispies, sugary fritos, chocolate honey smacks and kix mixed together. I had it with every breakfast while we were in Toral.
Today we found out that David's mom had to go to the hospital. Stopping and praying for her as a group was awesome. I don't remember doing that in Malawi.
David Robles came this afternoon with Henry Tolopilo. Pastor Tolopilo may have eaten too much local prosciutto ham. So cool to see and talk to him in a different country. He's very quick and clever.

We worked all afternoon painting and Vera hummed hymns. Nothing against humming, but [Note to self: next time bring an iPod or something]. Arturo scared us all with his gung-ho scaffolding ideas.
We went for a walk late at night, and saw a castle that had been converted into a museum and bar with stork nests on top of its peaks.
We had amazing chicken and rice and potatoes for lunch, and quiche, snap peas, y flan con Pina por la cena.
Translating is a blast -- great kid, don't get cocky.
Oh, and I fell asleep tonight while reading and hit myself in the face with "Mere Christianity". Bonk.

España 6/02/10 (part 4)

2010-06-02T20:08:00.000-07:00

6/2 12:00pm
Left my first pen on the last plane. So it goes. Flying to Madrid from Frankfurt now.
The pat of German butter on my lunch tray says "82% Fett". Boba?
The water bottle that came with my meal speaks nine languages. I might speak two. They've got leather seats in this plane; it's like being in my car, but thousands of feet up, and thousands of miles away. Sleepy. Coffee in a tiny cup is my friend.

6/2 3:36pm
Starting a four hour bus ride to Leon. Cute little Spanish girl (maybe two and a half) saw a sign for the airport shuttle bus and said "chu-chu" to her mom. She was so happy, despite being tired. Vera jumped right in and helped out the girl's mom with her stroller and diaper bag. She's a great grandma.
It's hot here in Madrid; summer camp heat. All the Arrowhead campers know what I'm talking about. David Robles is cool already; a taller Ruben Videra. He's stickin' back in the city to pick up Henry Tolopilo for a conference some time in the coming week. We're riding in a huge van or a small tour bus; we each have our own double-seat bench. "Vogue" by Madonna was playing when we got in. Right now it's Bedingfield's "Unwritten". They drive on the right like in the States, and there are VWs and Sprinters everywhere. I think I’m gonna fit in.

6/2 4:36pm
An hour later. I must like writing, or at least "hearing" my own voice. Everyone but the driver is asleep. I keep wanting to text someone, anyone. Maybe Ed, maybe not. To share this awesomeness. To joke, to poke, provoke, invoke.
The rocks on the side of the road are jagged here; square, wrinked and kinked. Wind-powered generators on the hills and my shirt. Highway quiet and straight ahead. On my way. Speed limit changes every few thousand feet. What do I miss? Parallel lines, perpendicular ones, complex tangential ones?

6/2 8:08 pm
This place is great. This is the Europe that I thought only existed in romantic tales of Tolkien and... Melville? Hemmingway? The paint in my room (my OWN room? Are you kidding me?) is seafoam green; the doors across the street are faded blue. There are short railings around all the second story doors and BIRDS! Not rats with wings, but dive-bombing little swallows. A WWII motorcycle just passed. If I saw Jason Bourne run up the marble steps past me, I would think "this is how it's supposed to be".
There's a warm bleach smell to everything, like Hurricane Harbor, the scent of swimsuits, parties, and summer.
Maybe I'm lonely and lying to myself about what I should do. Can't believe I'm here. Both in life and body. I can't NOT hope. It's raining now; endless semi-vertical ellipses down the window. Slashes of splashes on glass.
I'm reading the third book in the "Hitchhikers" trilogy, "Life, the Universe, and Everything". It includes a scene where the main character(s) look up from the planet into a starless sky. I turned the light off, and tried to stare into the darkness of my room, only to discover that the ceiling was covered with glow-in-the-dark stars. It was magical, the kind of magic that you want to share. Exactly what I needed. I love this.

España 6/02/10 (part 3)

2010-06-02T09:47:00.000-07:00

Fruit cup with my in-flight meal. Best. Pineapple. Ever. "Substitute" by The Who, and "The Mighty Quinn" by Manfred Mann on Station #14. Hahaha, I’m remembering an old SNL sketch where Bill Murray’s a frequent flyer in first class who keeps sharing with people what they ought to do on an airplane. He starts yelling to the plane "Bill Cosby on #5, the chicken-heart... it's classic!"

"Valentine’s Day" is playing for the whole plane to see. Sorry, Garry Marshall, I don’t feel like watching cute couples being cute or whatever the plot of this mess is. Maybe I’d be less cynical if I could see more than 50% of the screen from my seat. Heh heh. I think I'm getting punchy.

Last year I at least had a name, a thought, a direction I was casting my gaze. Not so much this time. Such different thoughts. I’d love to declare a major, wear team colors, sign the lease. Again, Joel Barish, ladies and gentlemen.
Top 5 lists are immature, right?

In that case, I'll postpone it... trust my King with everything.

España 6/02/10 (part 2)

2010-06-02T02:55:00.000-07:00

In-flight entertainment included "Uncle Donald’s Ants" and that Pluto cartoon where the father and son coyote try to steal sheep ("Pluto, Sheep Dog"). I love that 1940s view of the southwest. The thought of sleeping outdoors in the wide open desert with only a Navajo blanket sounds a lot more breathable than a window seat next to two humid Pakistani businessmen. Not complaining, though. This is fun.

Now I'm writing sloppy... just flecked my pillow with pen ink. Sorry Luftwaffe, err... Lufthansa.

So, blast from the past, they just played an episode of "Goof Troop". I kid you not, I remember the episode, too. So many old memories leak out of me now; memories without reason or rhyme. Chip & Dale: Rescue Rangers (I was Dale, Ed was Chip). Darkwing Duck. TaleSpin.
I think Peg Pete might have come from the same neighborhood as the Boggs in "Edward Scissorhands". She was always too nice for Pete Sr.; what did she see in him? Goofy was a better guy, a stand-up dude -- just like Barney Rubble, Ed Norton, Al Borland, and any number of second-bananas from sitcom history. And how come Fred and Betty’s eyes, and Wilma and Barney’s eyes matched, huh? That always bothered me as a kid. Oh, and the answer is Betty.

España 6/02/10 (part 1)

2010-06-02T00:49:00.000-07:00

(all the times will be Spain time; 9 hrs ahead)

Wow. I feel like I haven’t written anything in forever. Chalk it up to business, the murder mystery, and a few cranks on the ol’ cardiac tourniquet.
Just flew over Disneyland. It looks like it would be a good day to be there. Last time I was there I was texting “knock knock” jokes. Quite unique. Yes, I did just write a sentence fragment featuring two ‘q’ words. Hmm. I could sure go for some warm Mission tortillas, too.

One of our flight attendants (initials K.M.) was crying next to the ticket counter right before we checked our bags. She’d lost her bag of personal stuff and was many thousands of miles from home without it. She's a totally German blonde with a pleasant demeanor; looks somewhere between my friend Laura S. and Amy Poehler. Her face looked taut and worriless, and the wrinkling and folding of the her face when she stared to cry seemed like it was hurting her even worse. Poor girl. I’m glad she had a fellow flight attendant with her, otherwise I would have had to give her some airport chocolate and a bear hug. (p.s. another employee found her stuff before takeoff; very cool)
This is such a different team from last year. Half girls, not a bunch of tough blue collar cops and construction workers. I miss those guys. I should look 'em up.
This window seat is great; I hope I don’t have to crawl out, though.

Every word I write runs through my head sounding like Joel Barish. Can he be the one to read my audio book? As I try to remember / doodle a painting of Clementine, I really wish I were better at drawing. Maybe after the half-marathon, yeah?

on being not fat

2010-03-22T23:46:00.000-07:00

OK, so I’ve lost weight in the last few years... there’re a few weird things I’ve noticed about and as a result from the change... let’s hope there’s some motivation to be found in my awkwardness.

▪I actually have an Adam’s apple.
▪Good: I can cross my knees while sitting. Bad: I do.
▪It is now harder to catch spilling liquids in my hands. The spaces between my fingers are now wider than they used to be, so if I make a cup with my palm, it doesn’t hold water.
▪Jean shorts falling down on an escalator is only funny if it’s not happening to you.
▪The pool and the ocean are so much better without an oversized shirt on.
▪I can fit through spaces in crowds I couldn’t before.
▪I can’t sit just anywhere now; not carrying a natural, umm... posterior cushion with me makes hard surfaces hurt.
▪Increased metabolism means more stomach growling. Stomach growling when sitting next to a girl is never cool. Ne-ver.
▪Waiters and waitresses now phrase the dessert question in the negative. “No dessert tonight?” instead of the optimistic “We’ve got a triple chocolate ____”
▪I went down a half shoe size -- I think my feet are more properly arched now. Still wide, though -- how do you people wear Vans?!?
▪Despite how much the first movie means to me, I really don’t identify with Shrek anymore. I sadly remember trying to slim down to fit into my Shrek pants for Halloween a few years ago.
▪As my girth shrank, the available room for putting stuff in my back pockets increased... sadly, as waist size went down, the pants pockets got smaller. I used to be able to fit a CD player back there; now, I have to choose paperbacks to carry with me based on their size.
▪The sweating -- I can wear one shirt with minimal pit-stain worry.
▪Not mistaken for a fanboy, gamer or a nerd as much.
▪Sharing food is easier -- also, I’m not expected to eat people’s leftovers
▪No longer Mario to Ed’s Luigi...
▪When playing “which character from ‘The Office’ are you?”, I no longer fear being labeled as Kevin. And for the record -- Andy or Creed.
▪Restaurant tables -- I can fit behind them.
▪When yelling at myself, I don’t include the phrase “fat-boy” anymore.
▪I don’t have to go to Outback to touch ribs. And fortunately, my ribs rarely have BBQ sauce on them.
▪I size up little kids and figure if they weight more or less than I lost
▪Shaving is different -- more angles to the ol’ Mount Rushmore. Lots more nicks. Sometimes I have to puff out my cheeks to get the job done.
▪Spill on my shirt, and I look like a klutz, not a pig.
▪Getting dressed doesn’t include inhaling.
▪I don’t quote Porkins (Red 6) anymore.
▪A lot of people knew me (secretly) as the fat twin... that made it easy to tell us apart. But now, even with his beard, a lot of people confuse me and Ed. It’s funny to give context to our differences. At least they believe I could be dating.
▪I actually get cold now -- machismo is all that keeps me from putting a jacket on.
▪I am not skinny -- Ursula Ditkovitch; that’s skinny. As it is, I am about five pounds away from being technically overweight.
▪Kids are more fun to play with when you aren’t out of shape.
▪Losing weight might have changed my taste in music... indie rock appeals to me as only hard rock used to.
▪That being said, I won’t fit into (or wear) skinny jeans.
▪I can button the collar on my dress shirts. Fitted dress shirts.
▪Less self-conscious = easier to start conversations with new people.
▪My normal singing voice changed. I’m a little less bass, a little more tenor now.
▪Less mouth-breathing means less snoring.
▪The clearance racks don’t seem to have my size anymore... I miss the cheapness.
▪Hawaiian shirts aren’t necessary to cover the bulges...
▪Now I’m picked last for sports teams because I have no skill, not because I’m out of shape.
▪I don’t have to check if I’m the fattest guy in the room. And yes, I would.
▪Exercise is fun... seriously!

(thanks to God, H.R., J.J., M.P., D.C., J.M., B.D., and all those who have motivated and encouraged me!)

dear honesty

2010-01-01T22:38:00.000-08:00

Dear honesty,
I don't think I know you.
Oh, I've thought I did, but
seriously?
I mistake you for others, like a bigot
a rascist
maybe I should shake your hand
tell you why I say kind words to strangers
and choke my mind when I'm with friends
force my hope
through a colander
of half-wit
and
selfish modesty

nothing profound,
I've all but forgotten
how to open up without saying too much
how to pour without spilling.

as I write right now, I fight the metaphorical
the romantic, the vague
I remember decade-old advice from a TV show
"it doesn't have to be something meaningful, just something honest"

honesty, are you the truth?
am I being dishonest when I don't say what I want?
is it less true if I say it, than if I keep it away?
dye is deeper, darker when unused

is that what I'm trying to say?
that I think I'm weakening something to talk about it?
from where does that come?

childhood, no doubt; being told that my drawings weren't good enough
that I couldn't whistle on-key
that the lyrics I wrote shouldn't be shared
jaded by peer pressure
desires swallowed to appease an ally
graduation day

honesty, if I don't get to know you
how can you be my friend?
How can I invite you to dinner with her?

Whipple's Triad

2009-11-15T00:49:00.000-08:00

The sweat-chills come right before you cramp up, Cailin Whipple preached to herself. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and felt for more bruises. Her sore hands searched, found the cool skin of her ankles, and they embraced. She’d told Barbara that practice would end at four o’clock today. It had to be almost five, and she still wasn’t here. Big surprise, she sneered, step-moms don’t remember jack.

Do better next time. Coach didn’t look too happy about her play today, but he could go take a long walk off a short pier. She replayed the last five minutes of the practice game in her head for the forty-second time since walking off the field. She came up with scenarios where she could have snagged that last bullet pass. Just a reach, a cradle, maybe juke and play it off a fumble. Even Chet Haskell could have done it, and he can’t even touch his toes. Her mind always had the same answer, though: my hands aren’t tough enough. She felt the dull heat of her palms, and rubbed them on the curb. First just palms, then she ran her fingers across. Back and forth, up and down, faster, more pressure. The friction ate at her skin, quickly wearing the first layer off, and soon over-stimulating her nerves. She hissed, and brought her hands back to her naked calves.

A gust of late November wind pushed through her sweat-stringy hair, and she set her jaw against it. The curb in front of Cobb High was cold and cruel; like sitting on Ebenezer Scrooge’s lap, Cailin smirked. Her stomach tightened and shrank. It gurgled an unladylike sound. She kept ignoring its pleas. She could take it. Lunch was a long time ago, and consisted of a bun-less hotdog and over-steamed zucchini. Wet, slippery, and melting apart zucchini, a boiled, bland pickle, pale paste in tepid water. Cailin opened her mouth to retch, but caught her breath. In through the nose, out with the mouth. In, out, in, out. Swallow slowly. Eyes watered, and she shivered.

Dinner, she thought, as her mouth formed the word. She played harder on an empty stomach anyway, and since starting that crazy diet to shut up her step-mom, she didn’t even get her afternoon candy bar.

“You like games with rules, right, Cai?” her step-mom had started, “This can be a game. You have to get so many meat things a day, and dodge the breads and sugars. No sodas, no Snickers, no sweets. A system like this would help a girl like you”, Barbara smiled.

“What kind of girl is that, Barb?” Cailin had snapped back.

“You will call her ‘Mom’ at this dinner table” Dad said, and that was that.

But Barbara was right. That pixie woman Dad had gotten all crazy over knew something. Cailin had lost a lot in this last month, and had to tighten all her straps down more. But she missed the Frappuccinos, the chocolate and the sugar. Oh, not getting sweets was the worst! Cailin ground her molars and imagined being different. What it was like for other girls? Girls not like her, skinny and petite enough to shop at Miss Thing. Heck, just to be small enough to walk in there, look at the sparse tables of tees and shorty-shorts, and then laugh at how uncool this shop, this whole scene was. Just once. Just once.

Cailin looked both ways and dragged her runny nose on the shoulder of her shirt, leaving a thin dark streak on the polyester. She sniffed, and laughed to herself. She still wore her practice uniform, and tried to think of anyone, someone to blame for having forgotten her change of clothes. The track pants weren’t too thin, but the football jersey was ridiculous. She was swimming inside it without shoulder pads at the beginning of the season, and now it had just gotten looser and bigger. She pulled her legs under the shirt-hem, and thought for a moment about the Fun Dip in her bag.

She could have taken a shower, and gotten dressed like normal, if she hadn’t been so forgetful this morning, and left her clothes in Barbara’s car. This week had been bad for remembering stuff. She forgot to wear kneepads on Monday, and almost forgot about a math quiz today. Good thing she’d told Wendy about it last week. Wendy called last night and asked if she was studied up for today. Cailin had lied and said she was finishing the practice test, even though she hadn’t touched it. She made sure she studied when she hung up. The quiz wasn’t too bad, but would have tackled her if not for that reminder.

They all didn’t get it, but it had to be football. Coach said at tryouts that she was built for basketball, but Cailin had just shrugged. Sometimes people, she thought, classify you like M&Ms. There are a lot of different M&Ms out there. Plain, Peanut, Peanut Butter, Almond, and she’d even heard Jamie talk about Coconut ones. Well, if you saw all of them in front of you in a big trick-or-treat heap, you’d think that it was all just a mixture of colors. If you wanted to put them in piles, you’d put the reds over here, the greens over there, and keep going like that. When you see the melts-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand shells, you think you know how to sort them. Cailin knew she was an M&Ms Football, no matter what her candy coating made you think.

Another Ford truck lumbered past Cobb High, rolling cautiously past the “Slow Down During School Hours” zone. Another hour, and the kids would be back to racing down Mackinaw St, whipping around the law-abiding fuddy-duddies. Cailin still hoped her dad would get her that car he’d been promising since Mom. Her dad managed the only Burgie’s in town, and business wasn’t good this year. When the McDonalds opened up down the block, the burger-and-fries, milkshake-drinking teens in town migrated to it. No business meant no bonuses from Headquarters, and no car for Cailin. Barbara loved that; more control over her “little girl”.

She shook her head, trying to clear the feeling of cinder blocks scraping. She really didn’t hate-hate Barbara. Ugh. This headache had been bugging her all afternoon. Rubbing her temples wasn’t helping anymore, and the hunger wasn’t helping. She drew the rogue hairs from her face back behind her ears, and sighed. She stomped her feet against the cold, and crunched a few leaves in the gutter. The pieces of leaves looked like fish food flakes, and swirled in a small dust-devil.

When she was in second grade, Cailin had a fish. She called him “Blink” because he couldn’t. It took her dad a week to convince her that fish breathed water, and ate the baked fish-meal cereal he or Mommy sprinkled into the water. Cailin tried the fish food, and even though it didn’t taste like the cereal she ate, she still served Blink a breakfast of champions. She felt rotten inside when her Dad said her fish was dead. Gone? When does he come back? Dead from eating too much? Why didn’t he stop? Do fish get fat, or do they die first?

Mom was gone, too. It wasn’t from eating, but it was just as permanent. Cailin poked at the bloody patch on her elbow. It was sticky, and it still wasn’t scabbing. She’d stumbled on the ‘hike’, collided with one of her own team’s defenders, and took a hard spill onto the 40 yard line. “Use BOTH your feet, Whipple!” Coach yelled. “Use both my feet... to kick your face!” she now thought, and shook her head. She couldn’t think of anything good to say when he was shouting at them, and really she hadn’t thought of anything good now, but at least it was a retort. It was something.

She squinted against the streetlights, too bright for her eyes. The longer she sat, the more her resolve to wait grew. It wasn’t patience, but an exercise in endurance. When Barbara finally got here, then she’d be sorry. Cailin’s cold hands were fists, and she didn’t want to relax them. No apology would be good enough for making me wait without bus-fare or a candy bar.

There was the Fun Dip though. No, she thought, I can’t.

They started appearing weeks ago. It started during a history test. The first one was on her desk when she came back from the drinking fountain. She looked around the room, but no-one was looking back. So many faces, but no eyes and no suspects. The history teacher loudly cleared her throat, and Cailin sat down, holding the candy like Police evidence. She snuck it into her backpack, and forgot about it until she got home. The diet said no sweets, so she didn’t want it, simple as that; it’s against the rules. It didn’t taste so great, but she felt better after eating it.

I have one still in my... she rolled her eyes toward her backpack, and caught herself. No sugar. Meats, proteins, vegetables. Dinner.

Her blood had chilled. It was maybe a week after the history test. She was stooped in front of her locker, exhaling, watching her breath turn to fog. Through the cold smokescreen she saw there was more Fun Dip. In her locker? Was this a joke? She took another breath, and as she remembered it, the air didn’t steam up.

They showed up again, almost for every practice, and Cailin didn’t want to eat them, or throw them out. In her backpack they went, and she’d end up tearing into them later when Barbara wasn’t around, and wouldn’t see her tie-dyed tongue. Enjoying the magically-appearing candy felt weird, but it was just a little sugar, right?

Now, as she sat waiting, something different surged inside her, warm like black pepper, and it chased those chills away. Today was different. She was late to warm-ups, and not thinking about the game. The “C” on her history test made her stay after the bell to talk to the teacher about it. The teacher almost added a ‘minus’ to the grade when she saw another stupid mistake Cailin had made. Late already and anxious, Cailin just grabbed her paper and left, running down the halls.

Moving fast changed her. Speed made her feel real. Her hair was built for momentum. She hit her stride; nostrils drew silent breath into her warming lungs. She was flesh and blood, but underneath, a bone machine ran. She moved through the hallway like she was already on the field. There’s the fifty yard line, a drinking fountain. A band kid and the janitor’s mop bucket: the forty, the thirty. Around the corner, and towards the girls’ locker room with the flair of a ballerina, she stuck her turn. Right at the entrance to the girls’ lockers Cailin almost collided with someone. This guy she almost hit said a startled “Hi!”, and as she passed him, Cailin waved at him, but she still ran into the locker room.

The room was empty, and almost quiet. As she slid up to her locker, she realized that guy had walked out of the girls’ lockers. She laughed at the idea as she spun her combo lock back and forth. Wasn’t he in one of my classes? Poor kid, he must have made a wrong turn; why else would he be walking out of...

The locker door let out the tiniest squeak as it swung open. There was another package of Fun Dip inside.

-------------------------------

The school clock tolled the half-hour. 5:30. Dark outside. Sidewalk, wind, sweaty. Headache throbbed. Mad at Barbara. Hate size 12 shoes. Confused.

Cailin pulled the Fun Dip envelope out of her backpack, and tore out one of the candy stix. The Fun Dips were sweet, and kind of nice to have. She dipped into the first pouch. Grape. Grape was plain, and mild. Not like eating real grapes, but... OK. She tasted the second. Cherry. It was better, warming, sweeter than most cherry candy. Third, RazzApple. Color-changing, tangy, distinct. That’s the one to keep for last.

The headache was melting. Maybe today’s practice wasn’t so bad. A make-up test in history. Not-so-magical Fun Dips appearing. She looked down with a smile, and wondered about what she’d say to him. She pulled the candy stick out of her mouth, and dipped again. This’ll take more sugar.

don't quit, bacon bit

2009-06-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

...that phrase got stuck in my head on the way out to Palm Springs. I searched, and I can't find anyone that's said that before; I didn't pick it up somewheres.
I like giving out nicknames, even if I'm the only one who uses them. Doesn't have to match, or make sense... when do I, anyway?
But I want to say it, don't you? To people that are in pain, bummed out, over-tired, and under pressure. Those right at hand or left behind... up to something, and down-to-earth.

Smile, and try it out.

The Malawi Blog

2009-05-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

Hey, fans and friends...
The Malawi blog is up... start here:
http://bragdonwood.blogspot.com/2009/04/42409.html
That way, you get it all in order...

5/11/09

2009-05-11T01:01:00.000-07:00

Carnivore was the bomb! Woo hoo! Roasted chicken and ostrich meatballs rocked! Great sauces, and the tropical soda was great too! No stomach aches either... at least for me and Rick. The atmosphere was crazy -- there were monkeys in the trees behind us, and tree frogs creaking and shrieking so loud that we had to yell sometimes! Also, there music system seemed to be all late 60s and 70s tunes. Yes, I danced to ABBA as they carved meat off of swords... they played “Fernando”and “Dancing Queen”.

Also a bunch of Motown / soul stuff that was familiar, but I don’t remember them now. Sorry Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Our taxi broke down with a flat on the way to the restaurant with a flat tire.

Sad times, but because of being broken down, we saw the Kenyan President’s motorcade roar through the city. Pretty cool, actually. Kenya is first world -- it’s surprising to see black people that aren’t thinner than me around. :- )
Greg and Simon lost their hippo teeth souvenirs to customs... shoulda checked ‘em... too bad; they were nice ones. I can’t wait to get home... it hit me in the middle of a Kenyan gas station how surreal it was to be in a city that wasn’t American. Seriously, that was the first time I got that “I feel like I was photoshopped here” vibe. Hearing Audioslave’s “Cochise”, and Oasis’s “Cigarettes & Alcohol” on the in-flight radio station made the middle seat bearable. The girl next to me is snoring. I actually think that’s cute. Then again, I met a girl (a friend of a friend) a few months ago who had pretty bad breath... and I thought that was cute, too. Endearing, unique... you know what I mean...

Before getting on this flight I talked to a couple from London who were exactly one of those couples that Nick Park interviewed for “Creature Comforts” -- I almost didn’t believe that they were real accents, since they were so spot-on British. They couldn’t believe the poverty in Kenya... I told them what I’d been doing in Malawi, and it surprised them. They’re very sheltered... said the pot to the kettle...

Anyway... I thank you all for your prayers, your support, and your friendship... if I missed anything, please ask me about it!

5/10/09

2009-05-10T15:00:00.000-07:00

Left Malawi, and pretty much all I packed behind. This morning, a few of us went to church in the village. It was good to see those guys one last, time, give ‘em hugs, and worship with them. So many smiling kids, too. I wonder when I’ll be called “azungu” again...

At IBF, a new set of locks meant the staff were locked out of the sound room... so we had an acoustic morning. ( -:
Brian preached on Annias and Sapphira, and the proper way to give, and how to do it with the right motives. It’s not the amount that matters, it’s the heart of the giver.
We all got out of there quick, and a few of us rode with the Dinerts to the airport. The flight took off on time, and we’re now drinking our last Malawian Fantas in tiny airline cans. Chris is the man. He sits the same on a plane as he does on a boat, in a car, or at dinner. There’s something Pauline about that, I think.
We’re going to Carnivore for dinner, so I gave Chris my entrée, and he gave me his dessert... mmm... canned strawberry shortcake... I’m tired and my pants are too loose.

(a running gag from Braveheart)
Servant: An excellent idea, sire...
King Edward (Longshanks): IS IT?!

5/09/09

2009-05-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

It rained during the night, hard enough to wash away footprints, and give me and Ruben license to sing “Africa” by Toto again. I haven’t made many appeals, but seriously, you need to feel an African rain. It felt so much more... correct than in the US, with buildings and roads that don’t erode or lead to water. I was supposed to get wet; I was getting in the way of those droplets, who wanted to soak the soil they were aimed at.
We did a short little jaunt in the morning before breakfast. Dan and I were in one car, and most of the others were in the... other. I’d barely talked to Dan the whole trip, unless I was asking for a task, or trying to defend, dodge, or distract from being teased. It was cool hearing how he’d shifted from member to leader of an STM. Wow, I’m just thinking of all the conversations that I haven’t mentioned now. So much learning taking place... at least for me.
On the way out of the park, I didn’t have a seat belt, and... uh.... I slammed my head good and hard on the top of the car. Painful, but tonight it’s become a lump with a bruise. Nice. Rick gave me a Hershey bar to treat the pain. Spoonful of sugar, right?

On the way back “home”, we stopped at Dedza, the city / plant where all Brian’s flooring tiles were made, and where almost all Malawian pottery starts. We saw the ovens, and all the beautiful plant life scattered around. There were pretty sculptures and nicely painted fired clay pottery. I bought something else to ease the teasing -- a pretty goblet with an orange sunset and savannah trees, and some Malawian coffee for the peeps in the IT office. It smelled fantastic. The coffee, I mean.
As we drove back, some guys in a fast government car kept throwing blue papers out of their car -- they were pro-Bingu in the upcoming elections, and dozens of kids were running out into the street to get them. So dangerous, and it was just photocopied posters. Very effective though; the word was spread.

We stopped by and visited Kwacha’s family -- his sisters, their kids (so stinkin’ cute!) and Kondi and Patricia. We had a Malawian cake for a snack, and a round of Cokes and Fantas.
When we got home, I stuffed all my souvenirs into my backpack, and I put all my extra clothes, supplies, and stuff into the giveaway bins. No extra clothes, only the stuff I’d wear on the way back. I gave away a lot. I wish I had more. Tim took my empty bags; no more checked luggage... only my backpack. I helped Ruben fix the dryer... even though it kept breaking. Bummer on that. The desserts were epic again -- three different ones, plus ice cream! Molva pudding is a SA dish... like a syrup-soaked cake, warm and sticky, but wet enough that it keeps you salivating.

5/08/09 pt. 2

2009-05-08T20:49:00.000-07:00

(continued...)

We got back to shore, and after a few tasty chocolate chip cookies, we headed into the game park. We stretched our legs in an unlit round room with pictures of all the creatures we could expect to see inside. It was a little odd. I’m (Carl wiggles his fingers) thinking like a writer, but this is a Jurassic Park moment -- there’s an electric fence around the place to keep big things from getting out... but it doesn’t stop little things from sneaking in. I think of Dinner the goat, tied to a rope again. Ah, Lex... as if you really knew Unix.
We dropped our stuff off in our “cabins” -- military tents on raised “decks” with thatched roofs for extra covering. The deck of Brian and my tent was freshly treated to prevent termites... i.e. used motor oil was smeared all over it, like a Kevin McCallister trap. With my shaggy beard and scruffy hair, I feel like Marv as I ice-skate in sneakers...

The trip through the backwoods of Liwonde was so cool! The car, clockwise from the driver’s seat was Rick, Tim, Ruben, Ron, me, and Greg. We saw impala, wildebeests, waterbucks, baboons(!), wild boars, and eventually, elephants!

We started off, trying to drive to the rhino enclosure, well to the north of the tents and the lodge. Rick and Greg scoped it out, but soon, we realized that it had been a while since anyone had been down this path. I try not to think of Frost, and instead enjoy the ride. Soon, we arrive at a disabled vehicle, and a tractor. The bridge is out, or never was.
We get out, and walk across, with Rick splashing and 4x4ing behind us. I didn’t even think of the possibility of crocs in the water to the left and right. Later, the guys offer me money to run across the backs of any crocs we come across -- $5 to go from one side to the other; there and back again. Easy money.

After driving on what Rick and Greg called “a game trail” for a bumpy long time, we had to get out and go over a dry river bed. There were a number of clean, fresh clam shells here. Greg guessed that baboons had a picnic lunch here, having brought them from the water, 300+ yards away. It was kinda suspicious, you know? An empty house, with dirty dishes still on the table. I still think it would have been cool if the monkeys had gotten into the car while we were distracted.

We drove past many more amazing trees, deer, and rustling brush before truly finding our dead end point. There was no bridge that a car could take -- maybe Erin’s Bumblebee, but not this rental car.
We cracked out the Cokes and Fantas we’d packed, and listened to the silence. It was amazing. I don’t have the words for the feeling -- this was the furthest from anyone else I’ve ever been. Yeah, the rest of the guys were there, but no-one else. Animals that didn’t know the hand of man were literally just beyond the next tree. Rick, Ron, and I got out on the wooden supports for a (former) bridge. It was cool, high above the water, sipping a Fanta.

We went back, over hill and over dale (we missed Chip), and back to the path beyond the river... Ron got chased over the river by Rick in the car... I’m glad he didn’t fall in. We were close to camp again when Ron spotted two elephants off to the left. We watched and photographed them, and I even (on a dare) tried to tag either of them with a rock. Fortunately, I’m not a good thrower...

Man, next we saw a grip of elephants crash through the trees in front of us, and a ways behind us. It was sweet -- we heard one or two of them trumpeting. I wasn’t scared... don’t know why. Seriously -- I would have thought that would rile me, but it was just cool; cool like an airplane taking off, or seeing an 18-wheeler parallel park.
So, once we got back to the lodge, it was dark, but lit by candles and kerosene.
Ruben, Greg, and I sat, drinking our bottled sodas, feeling like we were 19th century Brits on safari. So we started talking like it. Greg told us of the ‘chaps’ that he’d known who had been gored or trampled, and Ruben spoke of trying to rescue friends from quicksand... and losing them. I had such a hard time keeping a straight face -- I now know where Shannon gets it. Just such a perfect charade, as I swirl my Fanta like brandy, and lean back in my comfy chair.
I gotta admit, the meal was a bit dodgy -- I wasn’t sure what had been washed or prepared with “tap water”. I stuck to the beef and the soup -- if it boiled, or if it burned, I should be good... right?

After dinner, we went to the sitting room again, and had our official “debrief” time. I wish I could share some of the thoughts, memories, or things the guys were thankful for, but I’ll let those things stay in our group. It was a total blessing to serve with these guys. To BE served by them.
Oh, I somehow mentioned Muppets, and Tim asked me if I was a Muppet fan. I proudly said I was, and I think Greg or Dan asked if I could sing any Muppet songs. I started singing “The Rainbow Connection”, with occasional harmonic help by Ruben (doing a Kermit voice)... I don’t know how weird that made me look, but it felt like massaging a pulled muscle. The Muppets are a touchstone in my life. Comfort food and a security blanket. Muse and jester.

Tonight, I went back to my tent rather than doing a 10pm drive into the jungle with Dan and the rest. I’m tired, and wanting to lie still. Brian and I talked about dating, being a kid (and the misbehaving we’d done), and the mission field. Such a different life from mine, even so different from his life in SA.

5/08/09 pt. 1

2009-05-08T20:30:00.000-07:00

Today, we left ABC for the Liwonde game park. A-mi-nals!!!
We got out early, and saw amazing scenery and towns on the way. I kid you not, I seriously saw the landscapes as something Tolkien would have brought the 9 through. And it dawns on me that our group has been reduced to that. I see the plains of Rohan, and the huts and hills of Hobbiton. The Shire. Longbottom leaf, and second breakfasts.
We travel in an Apex rent-a-car -- you’ll see its etched windows all over our pictures, I’m sure. Miles of teasing and talking. Some idle, some poignant. We packed drinks and sandwiches, but they are in the other car. We have muffins. I eat the top off one, and later the stump. It’s a long drive, and I’m sure I fell asleep.
We ended up at a touristy-looking resort, the “Hippo View Lodge”. It was bright and clean, and very well landscaped. We looked around, Brian put his head in a hippo statue’s mouth, and then we got on our river boat. It’s cool -- I dug the openness and the 80’s-ish look-and-feel to it. Plus, the boat is named “Shire Queen” -- OK, technically, it’s pronounced “sheer-ay”, but I suspiciously believe it’s another LOTR reference. Maybe Dan Brown needs to get his quack-ness down to Africa and connect some random historical dots about Tolkien...
Oh, the boat ride was so cool! I mean, I wasn’t giddy, but it was epically cool to be on a real-life Jungle Cruise.

We saw bare-chested fishermen in canoes then hippos swimming and yawning -- yes, they blow bubbles AND wiggle their ears!

We pulled up close in the marsh to two elephants, and one had a bird on his back! Simon and Rick got some good pictures of us with the oliphaunts in the background. Man, that was surreal.
We saw a croc on the way back, and the same hiphopopotamuses, swimming and waiting. Chris and Dan talked about wearing crocs. Chris undid a tangled shred of rope / cloth that was under Dan’s chair, and wore it like a bracelet. It was such a surfer moment -- he was the only person there that could have pulled that move off.
Somehow Tim fell asleep in his deck chair. I think I would’ve fallen out, but then again, I move when I sleep.

5/07/09

2009-05-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

Tired. Done. Busy. Paint. Drying. Tacky. Lifting. Nailing. Cutting. Sorting. Singing. Laughing. Joking. Kidding. Secret. Unsure. Hidden. Smirking. Teasing. Hoping. Defensive. Honest. Hopeful. Eating. Cleaning. Talking. Bonding. Happy. Sore. Patience. Packing. Leaving. Giving. Sharing. Jealous. Distracted. Sinning. Wrong. Repenting. Humbled. Humbled. Learning. Smiling. Pressure. Future. Responsibility. Timing. Leading. Elders. Teachers. Workers. Blessed.

5/05/09

2009-05-05T20:30:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday I killed a wireless router... brain surgery + power failure = lost patient. Some geek I am...
And sometimes Texas Hold ‘Em is too hard after a day of work... but playing with dirty tambala coins was fun. 50 tambala coins are heptagonal -- pretty cool!
Today was painting and emailing. Oh, and while I was in the shower, Chris told me I was leading devotions in 3 minutes. Nice. :- )
My fingers are dry and my fingerprints are deepening... AND EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE TURPENTINE!

[FYI, the picture is of a toy I had (...still have) that I thought looked like a bottle, and the most dangerous bottled thing I could think of that started with "t" was turpentine...]
Ruben’s stacking nails, trying to beat Lukas’ record. Simon killed a goat for dinner... You heard me. Ruben named him "Dinner", so it would be less traumatic. I still didn't watch.

Lukas is teaching Tim and Brian how to better use their cameras. Speaking of apertures... my ocular apertures are getting tired.

Chris is on the phone with Jessica. Pretty much if the phone rang after 6pm, we knew it was her. Pretty cool.

Dan’s talking shop to Rick, and Greg’s dictating a letter for me to write to someone.
"Life is good, eternal life is better"... "and he walked the length of his days under African skies"...
"That girl is like a sunburn"...
Haha, Ruben was singing every Neil Diamond song today, ticking Chris off... but it was very funny that every few minutes, I’d hear Ruben burst out with a “on the boats and on the planes, they’re comin’ to America!” Chris would eventually come out of the office, shaking his head with a laugh -- "you see what I gotta put up with, Carl?"
Lukas leaves tomorrow, and we on Sunday Afternoon. Such a good day, even though I really didn’t get a lot of drying time for the shelves and doors...

5/03/09 pt. 2

2009-05-03T22:50:00.000-07:00

(continued)

We went to lunch at the Sunbird Hotel in Lilongewe. It was a buffet with an Asian cuisine kind-of-menu. It was good beef, and tasty soup. Just a great mix of Fanta, fellowship, and fun. I love hearing Chris and Rick’s tales of extreme surfing and shenanigans... ooh, Newt getting rocked on a ramp, and Chris getting pummeled by pipelines crashing. It’s like hearing Jake and Jim talk about skiing -- no personal experience, but I can imagine it pretty well.
From there, we headed to a wandering walk through the back alley shops of the city. We parked at the post office, and were immediately beset by sellers, trying to get us to check out their shops. A rasta-looking guy introduced himself to me as Jack Sparrow. I checked his arm -- no bird tattoo. Nice try, though. Thanks for playing.
We walked down through town, past a place that’ll be opening next year that Anita’s psyched about -- it’s a SA version of Target... wow; getting big capital city -- a chain department store :- )
So, we passed through a ton of lean-to shops and booths -- I mean booths; it’s divided like a convention hall. All merchants are surrounded with food, raw and open; an organic cornucopia, complete with flies and flaws. Little tables or blankets with dozens of sunglasses, bottles of skin care cream, shampoo, trial size soaps... everything. Brian described it like the stores in Aladdin -- a good mental picture, but imagine a wetter climate, and far more South African trade goods. All the dirt is compressed with bottle caps from Carlsburg beer and Coca-Cola. It’s almost paved in places. We gingerly avoid water here, running or still. Chris is in sandals, and I wonder how close to pee-water we’re getting.
The clothes they have for sale are shipped there from the US, SA, or even the Middle East. Thrift store escapees, special buys from Marshalls and Ross, and last-chance bargains end up here; packed on pallets, cargo bins, and delivered to a less discriminatin’ country.
All the booths seem specialized -- a shop with only blue jeans, another with many jackets (including a spiffy army coat from a possibly defunct country -- what else do you do with the loser’s uniforms?). There’s one with only Hawaiian shirts (no, I didn’t get one), and a booth packed with nothing but bras. Brian bought some kind of grilled lemon slices from a guy who was cooking ‘em up. It was a market; something that America’s distilled into department stores.
We crossed the river on a cool, rickety toll bridge. Real rickety, not some manufactured creaky thing, but rope with boards slung across it. An Indiana Jones bridge at least 3 stories over the river.
We keep walking up to the more Indian part of town -- we walk through a different market that’s almost all auto parts and fish market. Again, I think of that Mad Max / native American mentality; if you have something, use it, don’t throw it away. Rick’s naming every kind of part and piece he sees, and there’s piles of brake, axel, and engine pieces. Some of them are so huge, I can’t imagine how a buyer would get it out -- pieces that weigh a ton (easily) are nestled in this secret metal boneyard.
After making the circuit, we cross the river again, this time by the regular road -- it’s a good stone arch, with cars driving over, and people doing laundry in the river underneath.
We check out the golf course (Brian says it’s good, and he’s got a couple sets of clubs) and a couple guys split off to see the police station which was nearby. If you don’t already know, the Malawi police are numerous, yet they don’t have cars, or really any vehicles at all. So weird!
So, walking back to the cars, we pass the merchants again. I tell the guys that I’m looking for something small, and that I don’t know what I want, but I’ll know it when I see it. That gets a lot of competitive aggro going, and the guys are really trying to get my business. I continue to wear my backpack in front, and I keep both hands in my pockets. No sense gettin’ jacked if I can avoid it. Finally, I found a beaded elephant. It’s shiny, with some orange (beads + copper) and kinda cute -- I hope I get to see some elephants, ‘cause that’ll make it a better gift. Same with the rhino bookends.
We headed back, and stopped at the only fast food place I saw in Malawi. It’s a SA place called “Steers” -- it looked like a Burger King, maybe... very purple, though. We got soft serve, which was a little sharp in taste, but hit the spot. I got to buy a round (i.e. a carton) or Cokes for the guys from the store.
If you don’t know this about me, then let me share... I love giving stuff to people, and not giving the same stuff to myself. It’s totally born from of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption getting the beers for the inmates who’re tarring the roof -- it makes a man feel like he’s done a good day’s work. Then when Andy’s offered one of the bottles by a fellow worker, he waves it off, telling the guy that he stopped drinking years ago. The guy gets confused, smiles, and goes back. Then Andy smiles. That feeling -- that smile -- is so unique. I dare you to try it... it might be an acquired taste, but I love it, and now I can’t go long without it.
And does the name Mildred Hideaway mean anything to you?

5/03/09 pt. 1

2009-05-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

So, 2 churches this morning; #23 at the school in the village, and IBF at ABC.
Kwatcha’s friend and ex-roomie Kondwani (Kondi) is the pastor of a church in the village -- not the only church, mind you, but the only one that exegetes a passage in the bible. With our 10 guys, we doubled the turnout for that church. Kinda awkward, but
The music at Kondi’s church was all acapella, with Richard leading. Man, that guy had some complex rhythms going -- we couldn’t keep up. Some of the melodies were familiar, but they sang in Chichewa, and at the end, Kondi explained the gist of it. The kids of the village keep coming in to see us -- it’s a big deal. Felix and Richard had to keep the kids quiet, or out of the church. Man, I hate disrupting stuff.
Next, we piled into the car, inside and out, and went to the job site, and saw all the work Rick, Richard, and the workers had done. Wow! A full slab, with a septic hole, and fittings for plumbing built in. Rick designed it to have a tank above for the women of the village to fill their water supply for washing, showering, and flushing. Somehow, I’m thinking of the way Rachel was found in Genesis.
So, we pile back into / onto our ride, and head to IBF; it’s at the Chapel in ABC. We load Kondi on as well, and I got to talk to him a bit as we “hung” together. He pointed out a Christian-looking church inside the village that actually practices something like voodoo or a derivation of fear-based paganism. He explained how much Malawi was still superstitious... people in the village will try to get a curse put on you if you bring too much weath, or weirdness from the outside. A metal roof, or a fistful of dollars could get you hexed. Conversely, you can try to combat illness and poverty by following rituals and paying these shaman / priests. Haha, now I’m hearing Josh Crooch lambasting WOW characters. "C’MON! You’re killin’ me!" :- )
Kondi also told me that while he was going to school in SA, he was blown away that there were poor white people there... he actually gave a guy 5 rand just so he could tell people in Malawi that he gave to a white beggar. As I rub my beard now, and look at my paint-stained shoes, and ill-fitting clothes, I realize that I look like an LA homeless guy, yet here, I’m ... well, I’m rich. Still, kind of a freak.
We drove back to the house, and Greg and I walked down to church. We talked about early man, and the idea of having a perfect mind. Adam was created perfect... entropy and death weren’t part of the equation for him... so he would have had perfect visual, olfactory, tactile, and auditory memory. He could name all the animals and remember them. He could hear an animal sound, and now exactly which one it came from. And Greg postulated (and I agree) that even after the fall, the decay of Man hadn’t reached its current state -- lives were longer, and I bet that their skills were stronger. Imagine being able to see an object built, and be able to do it, just after seeing it once. Being able to judge distances as if you had a tape, binoculars, and a level. Not having to write measurements down, because you wouldn’t forget so quickly. It’s a cool thing to think about... especially from a craftsman’s point of view.
So, we get to IBF, and Kondi’s passing out bulletins -- man, he’s everywhere. Brian’s there too, meetin’ the folks as they arrive. I think of the last time I saw a pastor greeting people at the door... I don’t think I’ve seen it this decade.
There’s a ton of international-looking peeps here -- it’s a small world, after all, inside His Church, and under this octagonal dome. I sit with some of the crew, and look through the hymnals... one is simply printed, and has some Chechewan hymns in it. I wonder if those were some of the songs we sang... or rather clapped along with/?
I wish I recorded the morning better, but the music was great to sing along with -- a drummer, or to the side of the stage kept time, and we sang Crossroads / bible study like songs -- upbeat, and encouraging. Nothing against the more traditional hymns, but this crowd didn’t seem too formal. The Kingdom brothers (of whom we’d heard a few on Thursday night) were up as special music, and they sang a catchy tune they wrote called “Welcome”, that “sampled” The Lion Sleeps Tonight -- Ruben loved it... they had major skills, both with volume, and with timing. They sang a hymn as well, and then Brian preached from the end of Acts 4... Barnabus the servant, helper, encourager, and saint. I think I kept my notes... somewhere.
We hung around for a while after, as Brian mingled, and at least I (like any geek) idled poorly. Have you ever seen me idle bad? Nothing to help out with, no clean-up projects, or things to pass out... you can hear my belts whine, and the pistons churn in an oilless cacophony that drowns out chit-chat and social graces. Grrr... then compare that the NO2 boost when I give stuff to people; just as much of a car(l) problem, but the cloud of me escaping thank yous and eye contact works like a smokescreen... a buffer... OK, enough justifying of my quirks...

5/02/09

2009-05-02T23:30:00.000-07:00

So, today, while I'm at the computer, Brian witnessed to a unity-seeking guy named Rue -- “Roo-ee” -- who came to the house to get Brian interested in a lady who was coming to town to share some newly revealed truth from God. Yikes. This lady’s pic was on the propaganda novel he was handing out to people. Spracken ze LaRouche? OK, so he claimed you could follow this path correctly: Jesus = Salvation; Jesus = God; God = love; therefore, Salvation = love. So, love is all you need. Not the bible, truth, or the Holy Spirit. This dude was soft on knowledge, and didn’t recognize that Brian WAY out-comprehended him. Still, Brian kept up his patience, and calmly walked him through the Gospel, and the sufficiency of Christ’s sacrifice. I sat there in front of the computer, praying that Brian had the right words, and thankful that of all the people to talk to him, a Seminary-trained missionary was available. God is good.

And somehow, Ron, Ruben, and I started quoting Brian Regan... I wish I remembered what started it; probably something about the “Me Monster”. Brian opened his DVD cabinet, and put on Regan’s “I Walked On the Moon” special. We sat and watched, laughing and quoting it to the guys who hadn’t seen it yet. That and Facebook are such a cool slice of home... woo hoo!

5/01/09

2009-05-01T20:34:00.000-07:00

Stomach ache this AM... probably from the fish and pop, or the gift-horse chocolate cake last night. I could crunch the grains of sugar in it. Not Stevie’s cooking. By the way, Stevie is a native Malawian, and one of Brian’s employees... he’s been trained by Anita to cook and clean in Western (or ZA) style -- he follows recipes from the classic Betty Crocker cookbook very well. It’s amazing to have huge meals that I’ve heard of for every meal. So cool. We all love Stevie.
Oh, and (mainly) Lukas and I hung the rest of Brian’s pictures. I helped out with some financial stuff -- inputting receipts, etc. I installed and imported stuff for Anita’s laptop, and ran the STM donation push remotely from Malawi. Oh, yeah -- RDP from a different continent, baby! Geek on!
I’m totally the Josh Wade of this year’s trip. It’s actually comfortable.
As I said to a few of the guys: “It is a good thing to have citizenship in the imagi_nation_”
Brian’s implied challenge to us: is your effect the same as a finger in water? Remove the finger, and the water just closes in.
Dan’s a cool guy; I love hearing cop stories. I bet Danny and Justin could do a PSA just as easy as doing an infomercial, or a sitcom.

[Carl proceeds to write an end-line rhyme poem that’s too... corny to share]
Oh my weerrd. Why, Carl, why?

4/30/09

2009-04-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

Ha, ha, ha... a good day at Lake Malawi.
It was a long drive, and I got to hear Ruben, Greg, Simon, Brian, and Lukas’ testimonies. Wow, Ruben the bad teen; Greg the philosopher; Simon, the kid saved from walking away; Brian, the born missionary; and Lukas, the saved ex-caffeine kid.
And now there’s a joke going around. At my expense... heh heh. Greg knows, and he’s encouraging.

The lake was so cool -- like a beach, but with faster and smaller waves. Chris and Rick went swimming... I was a little freaked by Brian’s “snail parasites that’ll kill your liver” speech, so I hung back. We ate at the Sunbird Livingstonia Beach, named after the missionary, of course.
We stopped at the wood / curio shops on the way back. They’re along the road to the lake -- at least 25 tent-like structures full of similarly-carved wooden things; keyholders, ashtrays, figures, bowls, toys, trinkets, and jewelry. But some are unique; the wood and the size, the detail or the shape. Such were the rhino bookends and the croaking toad. For the toad, you run the little club that fits in his mouth along his back, and it produces a hollow “glomp”ish sound. Yes, I saw toads here. They’re behind Brian’s house, hiding with the skinks in the run-off / woodpile near the electric fence. The noise is quite accurate at the right rate. I need to get Ed and Silvana something, too.
I don’t want to jinx it with mountaintop excitement... and this dern beard is itchy...
I love this crew, and I’d love to keep going.
Mosquitoes are punks, though. *slap* *slap* Come back you little creep!
We had steak fajitas for dinner, chambe (battered, with pop) for lunch, and French toast for breakfast!
I’m tired and happy and excited and I can’t hardly wait! So sleepy... YAWN!

4/29/09

2009-04-29T22:30:00.000-07:00

Origami + Malawian kids = fun!
I went with Rick to the construction site in the village, and after some shoveling and brick-sorting, I made a crane from part of a cement bag. I taught them the word “share”... they all had to pass the bird on, or it fell apart, back into a piece of paper. I would flap the wings, and make a “grok, grok” sound, which they laughed at, then tried to duplicate. Teaching them vs. learning their words; wow!
“Baa-lamm” --> bird or crow
“Se-ca” --> paper
“tee-oh-na-na” (“mau-wa”) --> see you later (tomorrow)
Oh, and washing “mud” off with minimal water, outdoors, at night isn’t as fun as several hundred other things I’ve done. Grr...
But Fanta and a couple conversations -- one with Lukas, one with Greg -- hit the spot. Lukas and I were putting up pictures and photos, but Greg hit the nail on the head. Gah!
The phrase “Finnegan's Wake” jumped into my head and stuck today. Why?

4/28/09

2009-04-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

Lukas went to the village today with Rick to get more pictures... I guess he got swamped, and led them around the streets, looking like a parade. I did data entry, file transferring, and helped with painting and scraping the walls. I’ve decided that since I haven’t had any caffeine since LAX, then I won’t have any until I get back. That might be hard to handle on the plane...
Tonight, all Brian’s senior students came to the house, had dessert, and he gave them each a different Macarthur NT commentary. Afterwards, they sang a couple songs, all a cappella. It was totally cool, and unique. They danced and moved while singing worship songs -- and they modulated their volume or speed as a group without a conductor! I talked to a guy from Mzuzu (a different town in Malawi) named “Z”, who works at the ABC radio station, and is a communications major. (he's the one looking at the camera...)

4/27/09

2009-04-27T22:34:00.000-07:00

Just played “Wizard” with Ruben, Rick, Ron, Dan, Simon, and Greg. Dan CLEANED UP -- it’s like hearts mixed with Crazy 8’s. It was a great first day. Dan and I painted 2 rooms, Chris and Ruben (with Lukas and Malawian Willie) did both ceilings, Simon wired stuff, and Rick started building the dorms in the village. Haha... Lukas and Chris both snore, but I bet I do too. :- )
Ruben + Chris = karaoke; it was so fun to join them singing “Sing” from Sesame Street and “I Love You Just the Way You Are”, and hearing Dan lay down “Ice, Ice, Baby” on cue. Heh heh... I haven’t shaved yet, maybe I can be Logan when I come back home. You know, just shave the muzzle area...
I hope to give away all this stuff I have. No obvious mosquito bites... yet. With the paint color on my hands, it looks like I’ve been makin’ waffles!
I really wish I had more skills, in the same way I wish I was a better man. I hope I can learn more about construction... and yes, I know I’ve started the last three thoughts with “I”... stink.
The food rocks! Biscuits and gravy, pizza, and spaghetti and meatballs + salad + chocolate cake today! I hope and pray tomorrow I can shine with His light brighter. Word of the day: hope.

4/26/09 pt. 2

2009-04-26T19:45:00.000-07:00

I sang “Africa” as we flew over Mt. Kilimanjaro (Kill-uh-man-jer-o? Kill-a-muhn-jar-o?). Saw a cute little Indian girl with squeaky shoes wander around the airport. I’ve forgotten at least half of the last 24 hours... and that’s kinda sad. The Nairobi airport was pretty odd -- it felt like sticks to Heathrow’s house of bricks. We watched a soldier patrol out the window with a machine gun and a red beret. I think someone made a musical Sgt. Barry reference. Maybe it was me.
So, we’re in Africa, in Malawi, in Brian’s house, and I’m sitting in the squishiest chair he has. Deet already scarred my cheapy watch. It looks acid-washed, or Alien-sprayed. Hahaha! We’re not supposed to drink tap water, or offer to give money or stuff to the Malawians (at least not without Brian’s say-so). Dinner was Shepherd’s Pie -- a-maz-ing! It was like a milder version of my Grandma’s Enchilada Pie... hmmm... maybe that’s where that name came from.

Chris and I got to ride on the outside of the Combi through Msilisa (mm-sil-EE-sa), a village right across the street from African Bible College. Every kid under 8 (and some over) yelled “azungu” (aah-ZOONG-goo!) at us, and ran up waving. Azungu means “white person”; not anything like an insult, just a skin-tone derived identification. More often than not, having an azungu in your village means money’s not far behind. A sad truth for Malawi -- all whiteys are gonna have money to burn.
Rick’s going to start building a residence for interns or potential grad students to stay at during their time at Kondi’s church, or at IBF. Right now, it’s just a maize field with a property line marker on it.
I just pulled off my socks that I’d been wearing since Friday morning. Right now at Grace, I’m hoping Jim, Mike, and Jake are taking the offering for Crossroads.
Silvana’s topic of conversation on Friday is still throwin’ me off... I think I know why she has and was holding her position. I can’t be fatalistic about it. Maybe when I get back I’ll do something about it. Someday I suppose.

4/26/09 pt. 1

2009-04-26T01:26:00.000-07:00

Eyes are red like I’ve been crying, and Kenya Airways “RA09” is playing “Hunger Strike”. Maybe it’s arrogant, but I bet only 12 people worldwide really know what this song is about. Maybe I don’t know hunger, but I know the strike part.
I can’t believe I was able to fall asleep, and that I can’t now. Shoes are off, and feel better now.

I love the pigeons in Bolt; “are you kiddin’? This is the bes’ day of my LIFE”...

4/25/09

2009-04-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

Saw some CRAZY chips at a Heathrow gift store... Cajun Squirrel? Prawn Cocktail?

I couldn’t place the ethnicity of the girl behind the counter... how apropos in an international airport. She spoke idly to her coworker about the clothes she wore last night – an off-the-shoulder orangey-pink French thing, with nylons (of course) and Gladiator boots. As I imagine the schizophrenic party that she’d be able to attend dressed like that, the whole of the Heathrow airport scene feels wrong. “Duty-free” becomes an obscenity, and I wish I knew why they walk and drive on the right side. My backpack and Anita’s laptop feel heavier with each euro or pound sign I see.
I walk past the HMV shop; it looks like FYE, but smaller. They’re playing Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues”, and I lock eyes with the stock girl, who’s dressed like Mad Stan. She doesn’t know about Bob tossing signs around, but I do. Further down the hallway, the Starbucks doesn’t have BTLs, but they’re blasting the Sugarcubes. Maybe it's better than I thought... maybe it’s the 3 hours of sleep, but I start laughing (to myself, of course; who’d listen?) and try to figure out what I want...
To eat, I join most of the crew at a party-looking place called Garfunkel’s. It’s kinda expensive, but I got some good tasty ice cream & a toffee waffle. And a huge glass of water.

4/24/09

2009-04-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

So, I’m on an airplane, sipping what’s left of my Venti BTL (I didn’t think they’d let me on with an outside drink)
I have trail mix from Mrs. Peters and my little red moleskine. Headphones and an interesting selection of in-flight music. I laughed through Fou De Fa Fa, and now I’m listening to Johnny Cash’s At Folsom Prison album... and it’s speaking to me – maybe it’s the worry, or that I’m locked into an inescapable dark place, thinking about the people and places of home.
The conversation on the way to the airport with Ed and Silvana was odd and a little tense... I hope being guarded and a smart aleck wasn’t too brusque.
Chris is a cool guy – I’m glad I’m tethered to him for this round. Takeoff was fine -- it’s a lot like Star Tours... :- )
OK, now Johnny’s singin’ about cocaine and murder... maybe not so much like me.

Take

2009-03-02T23:58:00.000-08:00

(an attempt at channeling Lisa Loeb)

calligraphy names around the circle tables,
My eyes trace the plates and spoons
wedding rings, crystal sings
no music in my flute of champagne

do you take this woman,
do you take this man?

Brides have made me their bridesmaid
Do I look good in this shade of maize?
Not a great cut, or what I would want
but this isn't my wedding day.

he can have your hand
do you take this man
with his new name even though
I like it the way it is

do you take this woman
the day everyone calls her beautiful?
And they say it's not for you.
I guess it's not for me, too.

I hold the arm of a friend of the groom,
his wife is the one with the stroller,
do I take this tissue to his
runny-nosed mother and daughter?

do you take this man,
do you take this woman?
dancing like shivering jello
spilled on the rubber-smudged floor.

limousine car's left,
dripping rosewater mixing with
daffodils, satin and taffeta
do I take this centerpiece home?

do I take this man,
will he take this woman?

tortilla soup

2009-01-16T01:24:00.000-08:00

moon hangs in the sky;
her presence can help me decide:
half empty or full, a frown or a smile?

porcelain glistens, wet and smooth,
she clunks her arrival at the table, and I pull her to me;
self-conscious, aware of my need to thank God
for all the providence and provision that allowed this meal to happen.
silver spoon sings on takeoff,
and I dive into the Chef's recipe.

crunchy and colorful top layer,
that's what I expect with tortilla soup.
warm and bold,
but she'll get cold after too long, sitting on the patio.
peppered, tongue stings slightly
one alarm, maybe two.

time slips by as she fills me
with hints of cream
soured, chunks of avocado green.
she's cheesy, corny --
not saying that's a bad thing --
and like me, a little chicken inside.

4 things

2008-09-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

a quote:

"We cannot tell the exact moment a friendship is formed; as in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses, there is at last one that makes the heart run over."

a thought.

a walk

a decision.

u-turn

2008-08-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

(rule: must use 'u')

you concluded thusly:
you could pull through, you wouldn't suffer consequences --
counting upon your guts, your muscle, your thoughts.
until you found out you're bound, cursed.
sinful soul, shrouded under crumbling humanity.
but Jesus
fought our nature unblemished
ultimately crucified upon rough lumber
fully creature, fully universal Ruler,
unique suffering saviour,
murdered, buried, but un-ending,
returned triumphant, survived execution
rescued us through undergoing undue punishment.

you must trust Jesus.
put your burden upon our Saviour --
surrender, humble yourself.
you requested rescue, but understand your situation:
you're purchased undeservedly because our Ruler treasured us.
through Jesus conquer lust, covetousness, drunkenness, frustration
pursue purity.

Finally, I've figured out...

2008-08-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

(from All for You by Sister Hazel)
There's been time...
(I'm so confused)
All my roads, they lead to you --
I just can't turn and walk away...

My walk...
(plus a bunch into the hills above Brand Library -- I got to see the sun set!)

walkabout...

2008-07-19T23:08:00.000-07:00

where I walked today...

a to z

2008-06-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

OK, I just started going with this, and since it’s free-association and stream-of-consciousness, I’m sharing its (and my) weirdness.

If you start to think about it, I know you'll agree
God made your heart the way it's supposed to be,
it's not some mass-stamped starch candy
in a cellophane mosh-pit, reduced to debris.
Mine’s a cornucopia you cannot empty
a restaurant where all the food’s free
...yet an open net, without a goalie;
I could block shots, but then never be happy --
rather let a few get by, than stand idly.
red heart emblem on my team jersey
with a lock around it, try your key
if the teeth fit, it’ll turn, most likely
give me a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, not an implied ‘maybe’
I’ll try to shoulder it nobly
though I’ve blown some good opportunities
...like jay-walking through the French Grand Prix
you have to move quickly
or you get caught up in the final rally
searching for that overlooked blue coupe named Sally
...as I pine like a tree,
things get sappy, unfortunately.
But I know Who’s shared His ultimate victory,
and I trust Him to make my ‘I’ into a ‘we’ --
I’ll be right on time, ‘xactly.
we’ll praise Him daily, monthly, yearly
for bringing us from a to z

B+

2008-06-30T21:46:00.000-07:00

Cardiac tourniquet.
I can’t stop the bleeding.
Pressure works for a while, but it doesn’t last.
Maybe it’s the blood loss, but I don’t remember how long it’s been.
Won’t clot, just hemorrhage.
it gets old,
spilling my arterial rivers.
the serum of living turns to rust.

Gotta do something, not just
wait ‘til platelets arrive;
liquid flesh of my flesh.
I catch what I can -- pint after pint.
Hasn’t run out, and for that I give thanks.

I ain’t no perfect donor,
though I can be oh so negative.
maybe not a match,
but a transfusion might be
just what you need to get through
your “too busy” emergency.

so...

2008-06-18T21:59:00.000-07:00

...should I keep posting poems, or just keep them to myself?

Highway 14, 2 AM

2008-06-06T02:14:00.000-07:00

coming down
Mohave high.
There’re more stars than I’ve believed.
thought I was alone, but they wink at me,
show me pictures of their grandkids --
he has _your_ glow, and _your_ satellites.
it’s a mirror, you know -- The atmosphere?
That’s why the sky
is blue, and
starshine makes you smile.

The dolphins don’t echo the clouds,
and you don’t see yachts and reefs in the air,
but you see the sea’s hue above.
just the same, the night sky makes us reflect, though all we see
is our souls.

Top o' the Morning to Ya

2008-03-17T09:30:00.000-07:00

http://littlegreenleprechauns.blogspot.com

I kissed anonymity goodbye

2008-02-14T15:20:00.000-08:00

http://candyhearts2008.blogspot.com

http://blueberrybear.blogspot.com

This Christmas

2007-12-25T20:34:00.000-08:00

2 Corinthians 9:7

30 - JB - Lego Advent calendar *
1 - Acct - Starbucks chocolate Advent calendar
2 - KW - "Bearito" --> Chipotle gift cards rolled in foil around a beanie baby (bb) bear named "Snacks"
3 - GBI - Pontiki (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pontiki) x 6
4 - HS - Charlie Brown Christmas tree & DVD + felt blanket wrap *
5 - JJ - Stocking of candy + snacks + coal gum
6 - JM - Snowman serving tray + sno-cups snack cakes + Hersheys Candy Canes
7 - JW - bb gingerbread men + build-your-own gingerbread house
8 - LE - bb snowman + snowdrift with "O Tannenbaum" snowglobe
9 - JK - snowdrift of Hershey bars & tootsie rolls & reese's trail mix
10 - MM - Treasure map to find "Daring Girls" book
11 - EB - 8 matchbox, 8 hot wheels + road playmat
12 - TB - Betta fish + Christmas lights + box of candy canes + garland + door bells
13 - ATD - Stuffed bear named 'Bearfeld' + pet cat + Coldstone gift card
14 - KM - Cotton candy snowballs + bb dog + dog songs Christmas CD *
15 - SS - big Snowman on chair wrapped in a bag + mint Kisses
16 - MH - yellow crayon full of art supplies
17 - KS - Who-ville-looking stuff + light & sound smiling Grinch
18 - RH - See's Scotchmallows + truffles + assorted chocolates
19 - Comm - Stocking full of wind-up toys + insta-grow capsules + sno-caps + candy canes
20 - TG - Chris'mice', reindeer corn + a Santa sack _full_ of bows
21 - CM - Snowdrift of tea + tealight
22 - MH - Raymond Briggs' "Snowman" book & toy + Christmas candy
23 - RV - peppermint box / beanie baby + 'light' Christmas snacks
24 - SK - Sharky's burrito cards + shark stickers + hostess sno-balls + Christmas candy

orange

2007-10-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

I totally get this poem... and I smile.

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you - Nobody - Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!
How public - like a Frog -
To tell one's name - the livelong June -
To an admiring Bog!

-Emily Dickinson

stitch

2007-09-30T22:03:00.000-07:00

Clotho's thread pulls tight,
binding separate pieces.
Divine tapestry.

w.i.t.

2007-09-30T21:33:00.000-07:00

truth takes many forms-
sometimes it smiles, makes you laugh
until your sides hurt.

signs

2007-09-28T23:06:00.000-07:00

Steel and glass mingle
work of industrial art
and make it so clear

mutton

2007-09-02T23:43:00.000-07:00

This is my attempt at an English sonnet... let me know if I have two left feet.

you look and see a lost and found beige ram,
his grazing diff'rent since the day he strayed,
led back by He who died a man, a lamb,
Whose fold is true, and staff, relief prepaid.

I speak with sheep and yes, we bleat today.
we'll lie with lions, just you wait and see
last night I tried to shear it all away.
forgot how big a golden fleece can be.

the dreams don't show from all the counting tried.
the wool I pull still veils my hazel view
I love the flock, try not to stand and hide.
a meadow, fences disappear - and ewe.

do you remember just what Mary had--
advice given Bo Peep when she was sad?

wise eyes

2007-08-18T18:09:00.000-07:00

This is a one-syllable villanelle... not great, but not easy either.

wise,
fair
eyes.
cries
there,
wise
guys
stare.
eyes
prize
where
wise
skies
flare.
eyes
rise.
pray'r-
wise
eyes.

Dive

2007-07-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

it's back open again.
Lifeguard gave the 'all clear'.
pool-boy hadn't seen
a kid in cutoffs horsing around.

summer sun saturates skin.
I like to float, but forgot how to swim.

looks good, I'm aware;
pulsing solution, alive,
splashing the toes waiting
out on the tiles.

does the chlorine sting?
a few rub their eyes,
yet nostrils aren't singed.

Someone filled this void with water,
though I'm sure some of it is made of
tears and sweat.
Rules are clear, and yet
it's here to enjoy.

trunks are on, and chest is bare.
I walk up to the edge, and ask
a question I am not first to pose:
slip in quietly and adapt,
or grab knees and cannonball?

Teal

2007-07-10T23:24:00.000-07:00

wet pupils narrow,
heart winces, swallowed again.
I cannot do it.

Charites

2007-06-09T01:02:00.000-07:00

This is a sestina poem. Check wikipedia for a definition.

I know many, still only three
stay in my mind. They know Grace
like few others. If beauty
is truth, then their work is mirth,
and it always brings good cheer.
They lend their gifts to serve.

And I know who they serve-
the Lord Who's one in three.
Hosanna! I hear them proudly cheer.
Co-heirs of boundless grace,
I'm driven to their mirth;
smiles that sing Creation's beauty.

first we meet beauty
as she fixes food she won't eat, yet will serve,
and coyly engages in sarcastic mirth.
she works until three,
then passes unbelief into future grace.
tired, but brings the same side-smile cheer.

In a blur you'll see good cheer
set up by another style of beauty.
We'd all be better off if we knew the grace
it takes to silently serve.
She could be the leader of the three,
if selflessness did not multiply her mirth.

Finally you might miss mirth,
since she's always out there sharing cheer.
She plays every position of the three.
Big heart, she laughs, un-ambitious beauty-
that's the kind of spirits they serve;
what else would you expect from Grace?

There are no demands from grace,
the only thing with no strings, gives mirth
to the lips of one receiving a gift. They serve
not because they seek, but because their cheer
is tied to the One who formed beauty
through death, and fulfilled it by day three.

The Three Graces-
Aglaea: Beauty, Euphrosyne: Mirth,
Thalia: good cheer, and humbly they serve.

You're good woman, I'm good man

2007-06-08T00:14:00.000-07:00

OK, only, like, a month late. I just saw Spiderman 3.
I wrote this about a character from Spiderman 2 right when it came out, and (hooray!) she showed up in the third!
Enjoy.

Ursula

She's thin like a rose stem
and me, bare-handed, pulling weeds
I feel her slide sharp under my skin.
That gold-green stare,
as she turns her blondeness from the oven,
knows more heat than the stove's redhead flames.

She offers her simple passion on a plate:
Chocolate cake made for me,
and a silent, tall glass of milk
thankful to be emptied.
Her Chanel skin glows
into my breath.

If promises were crackers, she would be fat.
Lanky and awkward as any femme fatale,
Ursula Ditkovich lives in some
old New York low-rent high-rise,
therefore, she doesn't matter.

Despite the everyday regrets of heart,
these thorns are not painful.
Spidey decides
that for once he cannot wemble.
That copper-curled girl is forgotten
as he holds his true heroine.

blink

2007-05-23T23:25:00.000-07:00

both aquamarine
I felt like I was alone
in seeing them shine.

10 or 15

2007-04-18T00:39:00.000-07:00

Translucent
I'm watching raindrops,
each a prizim, spherical,
fortune teller's tool.

Natural
Last night I was strong.
I think that a leaf falling
might envy the seeds.

Signs
Warning: curves ahead;
one way, caution, slow, yield, stop.
thru traffic merge left.

Mr. Dash

2007-03-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

What's in Carl's head, kids?
That's right, worries about unrequited love!
Let's flip him upside down, shake him, and see what falls out...

Boom
condensation ice
fudgsicle skin cracks, melts warm.
does it come in blue?

smirk
childhood favorite
spread thickly across white bread.
But something's missing.

6 weeks

2007-02-02T20:50:00.000-08:00

http://www.groundhog.org/prediction/

anniadversary
Spring is here again,
since sometimes calendars lie.
Cookies speak more truth.

camp
I like In-N-Out.
cheese, fries, and a choc'late shake.
Better when you share.

passenger
lucid mind mocks me
live those 5 point 2 seconds,
or see ev'rything?

Thetis rectifies

2007-01-22T23:54:00.000-08:00

Ties
and rails, parallel only to themselves, and one who runs.
crunching gravel under pressure. Bare feet knock on
pressed Southern Pacific wood. Faster, stronger.
head down, eyes useless. feel the iron horse
snort miles. The line straight, no deceit.
two slats at a time, pistons hammer
their argument to unkind ballast.
Steam is the only perspiration.
Now the yards become feet,
which leave hard friction
and touch steel pilot
machine breach
engine yields
kinetic hate
breaks.

Four-finger fist

2007-01-17T23:42:00.000-08:00

Yeah.
Uh huh.
Of course.
Jaws clench.
So, guess what?
I've forgotten how.
It doesn't matter what
it is I've forgot. It's gone.
Mind plays tricks. 52 pickup.
Sick like a smile. Maybe the flu.
Could be regret. Not sure about that.
I swallow. It's empty. My tongue is gone.
maybe carpet the narrow path with my dreams.
Gotta be good for something. You shuffle your feet.
And while walking, you reach for someone else's hand.
Zap.

Ulmo + Nienna

2007-01-13T23:00:00.000-08:00

OK, yeah.
I wrote this, like, 3 years ago now. Why am I posting it? I'm sure if you've been reading, you'll catch my drift.

Pacific

The concrete path melts...
And there is only
grass, coast, ocean.

Shoes bite into the juicy sand
like a bitter apple.
Undertow fills the cavities,
leaving foamy circles behind
like dead jellies.

High tides try to drown the shore,
intentions like water, clear.

"Look at the waves," gulls wail,
"teal and sequined,
pristine" their beaks laugh.

The 'glamorous' ocean,
so hollow,
empty like a puppet.

I prefer the rocks.

The skipping stones and gravel
scrape-clunk aloha
as they drift on the shore.
Dull gems better
than De Beers understands.

Some pebbles just shrink
away into the murk,
glad to leave the seaside.
You can't really tell where they go;
in the ocean, I've heard
rocks roll below.

Carved, depleted,
they might return to the
saline breeze,
to rest, finally dry.

Mocked by the sea,
teased by shells,
this sand was once a
boulder.

Now, ground to grains,
scattered and swept,
drifts of snowflakes
that never melt.
The beach swims in from the water,
sun-blonde and tan
like a surfer girl.

I take some home in my shoes,
some inside.

red fire engine versus green flames

2006-11-17T01:00:00.000-08:00

So, yeah.

Alright, so I listened to every song I have by the Pretenders at least 10 times today. Never heard of them? OK, just try "Mystery Achievement", medium-rare. If you savor the flavor, take a sip of "Message of Love". Season it all with the salt and vinegar of "Louie, Louie" and "Back on the Chain Gang". Wow, I'm either hungry or lucid. Maybe both.

There was something unclear to me last week. Not vague, like Vaseline on the lens, but more like being colorblind at a traffic light. You want to say "I can't tell what color the light is", even though you know that the light on the bottom is the green "go", and the top is the red "stop". I wanted to stomp the accelerator, or at least ease off the brake. Glad I didn't. Through a lot of prayer, mainly on Sunday, the Holy Spirit gave me a clearer, more grounded thought process. I feel like Marty McFly after not racing Needles.
Funny how my deepest hopes and fears can be summed up with some punk-y rock songs and a glib reference to a time-travel movie.
Now, I ask for prayer and strength. I was spared this week, but what's next? My weakness ain't being called "chicken", but it's just as hard to stare down.
(My conscience starts talking to me) "The Lord is your Shepherd, lamb-boy -- trust Him. Being a Christian isn't easy, but He lives within your heart for that reason."
He's right you know. Wish I could come up with stuff like that.

Copper attracts lightning

2006-11-05T01:21:00.000-08:00

Hey all you faithful readers out there.
I love watching my 'views' count go up, and yet, no comments. It's like seeing an empty "take a penny, leave a penny" tray.
Well, here's my two cents worth. Toss 'em into the well, make a wish.
(BTW, I wrote this following Jim Simmerman's "20 Little Poetry Projects" idea, which is why there are numbers. Ask me if you want the guide list...)

Pop Song
Trust is a bubble	1
blown from the inside.	12
Snowflake on the tongue,
tastes like music that won't stop.	4, 3
Confidence is
the last stop of limerence	11, 8
Bubbles burst because I exist.	9
But you can't see what never were.	3, 10
You don't have a lap when you stand.	17, 7
Even James Randi can't sniff out that trick.	3, 5
Feel the glossy sphere that you made,	3
a net, or possibly a screen.
When you pay attention,	2
caveat emptor.	2, 18
You can always hear	3
bubbles being filled for free.
Bubbles are not yours--	6
right now, eager solution in a bottle,	16
an unopened can with dreams.	19
the effervescent kind, doesn't go flat.	13
And it will be filled with the same breath	15
that made nothing-man from dust	14
when He knows you're ready.
Don't worry, just listen.	20

Not without incident

2006-10-28T23:53:00.000-07:00

Yeah... I love haikus.
Poetry's the best way to
speak without talking.

My two eyes are not
the only ones in my head.
Now what do I do?

Haiku

2006-08-03T02:14:00.000-07:00

Fire bad

Grab the frying pan -
No pain just for reaching out.
Still, use the handle.

Bacon

To be or not to
be yourself when around her;
that is the question.

Farside

I like vanilla,
And I think you do as well.
Of course you exist.

Asperger's and jellybeans

2006-03-28T00:01:00.000-08:00

I lift my head, and looked into those eyes. I'm starting to notice something. It's familiar, and blessedly kind to me. I have to keep praying about it. But these are some of my past thoughts around this time o' year. When did I stop looking for it?

(actual journal entry from 3/28/94 8:55 pm)
today we played with David G.I. Joes on the porch, Wish Jeremy still lived in Park. I like my G.I. Joe's.

OK, I was still pretty much a little kid. Maybe the next year's entry. Oh wait, I have one in January '95, then June '95 (BTW, between those two dates is when I started noticing girls as attractive). Let's jump to the next year.

(actual journal entry from 4/05/96 10:28 pm)
V-B team didn't work out. went to Disneyland on 4/1/96 and LOVED it. If ever I get a girl-friend, I would take her there, 'cuz it's a great, magical, fantastic place. Iguess I'm too shy `r sumpthin', but I don't have guts to talk to anyone in H.S. If X could only know how much I like her, maybe She would like me back.

Well, I never told X how much I liked her. Will I ever tell some girl my true feelings? Probably, but I bet she won't like me back. (clutching my chest) Ow! My cynicism's acting up again!

(actual journal entry from 3/27/97 10:36 pm)
The EdgeOnLine is soo cool! There are alot of H.S. students and staff on the 50 list! I really wish I was cooler, or more muscular, or sumpthin'. Talked to Krista an' Patrick some, and Clyde alot. K. an' P. don't have e-mail!
I really want to have some girl like me... Sometimes I just feel like I'm not accepted or welcome, and I hate that. There are alot of people I know, and don't know in H.S. I gotta meet more people.

Sound familiar? I am back there in spirit, this very hour. I apologize to God for it. I must not embrace my human, sinful desires to socialize and be popular. I have to learn how to make friends without trying to be special.
Maybe all that matters is see who comes into view, in my periphery. Like Rick Holland's classic line about dating, "run full speed towards God, and then... look around and see who's running full speed too".
(Eph. 6:15) Time to lace 'em up.

Catharsis is addictive

2006-03-23T23:49:00.000-08:00

All right, second day in a row with my weak thinking.

chewing glass
for more than an hour
hurts,
and I'm pretty sure that I'm biting down
on some of my teeth
along with the shards.
the hard part is
not swallowing those pieces along with
all the blood and saliva.
fluids critical to proper oral hygiene
mingle, earthy and humid.
So, as you watch me drool foamy red,
and wince with every bite,
don't tell me to stop;
chewing is all that I have.
Just get me a pack of Juicy Fruit
and some Listerine.