These entries will be snippets and observations from the road trip I took with my brother last week. We covered 1600 miles, five states and every subject under the sun. I'll post these as long as I can remember them. Enjoy...
Entry Five
My shampoo was confiscated in Jacksonville. I forgot to pour some in a smaller container and got busted by TSA. As I prepared for bed in the Ramada Limited, I opened my travel Zip-lock bag and discovered my deodorant had exploded (The heat? The lack of humidity? The interesting, hard-to-define odor of our hotel room?). Without either of these items, my “overnight bag” now consisted of a nail file, a partially used mini-lotion from a previous hotel visit and my toothbrush (which now tasted like anti-perspirant, the upside being my teeth did not sweat while I slept).
6/26/2008
Ruminations from The Road
These entries will be snippets and observations from the road trip I took with my brother last week. We covered 1600 miles, five states and every subject under the sun. I'll post these as long as I can remember them. Enjoy...
Entry Four
There was a purpose behind the road trip. My brother, having finished up a Fellowship in Phoenix, was now headed to Missouri and, at long last, gainful employment. He had loaded one car on the moving truck which allowed his wife and daughter to fly to their new home but he needed to drive his new car and bring their dogs—two poodles named Penelope and Einstein. It wasn’t until we pulled off the interstate the first night into a one road town called Holbrook, Arizona that we fully grasped the visual vibe we were giving off on our travels. Two middle-aged men in a brand new red Cadillac (white, leather interior) with two small poodles in tow. After we chose a motel based on outward appearances as well as their willingness to allow pets, I mentioned my concern to my brother about how we might be perceived as traveling partners. I added, “At least we look enough alike that people will surmise we are brothers.” He responded by reminding me that as couples grow old together they tend to start looking alike. And he grinned.
When he returned to the car after checking-in to the hotel, his first words were, “The Ramada Limited is not as nice on the inside as it is the outside.” Then, as a punctuation to our earlier discussion, he told me there was a sign at the front desk that informed all customers there were “No refunds after the first hour.” There is nothing quite like living a sitcom.
Entry Four
There was a purpose behind the road trip. My brother, having finished up a Fellowship in Phoenix, was now headed to Missouri and, at long last, gainful employment. He had loaded one car on the moving truck which allowed his wife and daughter to fly to their new home but he needed to drive his new car and bring their dogs—two poodles named Penelope and Einstein. It wasn’t until we pulled off the interstate the first night into a one road town called Holbrook, Arizona that we fully grasped the visual vibe we were giving off on our travels. Two middle-aged men in a brand new red Cadillac (white, leather interior) with two small poodles in tow. After we chose a motel based on outward appearances as well as their willingness to allow pets, I mentioned my concern to my brother about how we might be perceived as traveling partners. I added, “At least we look enough alike that people will surmise we are brothers.” He responded by reminding me that as couples grow old together they tend to start looking alike. And he grinned.
When he returned to the car after checking-in to the hotel, his first words were, “The Ramada Limited is not as nice on the inside as it is the outside.” Then, as a punctuation to our earlier discussion, he told me there was a sign at the front desk that informed all customers there were “No refunds after the first hour.” There is nothing quite like living a sitcom.
Downtown/all of Holbrook, Arizona.
The winner of The Truth in Advertising Award: Ramada Limited (now with less internet!).
A dinosaur across the street from our hotel, eating breakfast.
The winner of The Truth in Advertising Award: Ramada Limited (now with less internet!).
A dinosaur across the street from our hotel, eating breakfast.6/25/2008
Ruminations from The Road
These entries will be snippets and observations from the road trip I took with my brother last week. We covered 1600 miles, five states and every subject under the sun. I'll post these as long as I can remember them. Enjoy...
Entry Three
As we approached Phoenix by air, the pilot made the announcement that the current temperature at our destination was 110 degrees. It was actually 114 degrees but, honestly, I doubt the measly four ticks on the thermometer made that much difference. As I departed the plane and started the short walk through the tube that leads to the Phoenix terminal I felt like I was in a convection oven and I was deeply concerned that my internal organs were being baked (or convected or... whatever). And all those folks who throw out “but it’s a dry heat” need to come experience it before they rattle off inane comments they picked up on the internet. Getting hit by the 114 degree wind as you cross the street is the equivalent of the first step into a dry steam room. Your breathing gets shallow and it feels like you got a high-voltage blast from a tanning booth. And then you realize that the asphalt you are walking on is sticky because it is in a constant state of melting. And this is the fifth largest city in the United States? Whose idea was it to build a big city in the desert? And why are all these people still here? These were questions that leaked from my mind, never to return, as we started heading north...
Entry Three
As we approached Phoenix by air, the pilot made the announcement that the current temperature at our destination was 110 degrees. It was actually 114 degrees but, honestly, I doubt the measly four ticks on the thermometer made that much difference. As I departed the plane and started the short walk through the tube that leads to the Phoenix terminal I felt like I was in a convection oven and I was deeply concerned that my internal organs were being baked (or convected or... whatever). And all those folks who throw out “but it’s a dry heat” need to come experience it before they rattle off inane comments they picked up on the internet. Getting hit by the 114 degree wind as you cross the street is the equivalent of the first step into a dry steam room. Your breathing gets shallow and it feels like you got a high-voltage blast from a tanning booth. And then you realize that the asphalt you are walking on is sticky because it is in a constant state of melting. And this is the fifth largest city in the United States? Whose idea was it to build a big city in the desert? And why are all these people still here? These were questions that leaked from my mind, never to return, as we started heading north...
There's always that...
Over the years I have made a few attempts to get signed by a literary agent, researching agent listings, setting up spreadsheets to follow progress, massaging and re-massaging query letters to make my writing projects sound brilliant and unstoppable. Alas, there has been no success but yesterday I received a rejection letter in a rare category: it was nice, encouraging and not a form letter. It was still a rejection letter, of course, but I actually felt pretty good after reading it. Either I have been beat down to the point of "a little means a lot" or I can appreciate that a non-form letter is a small sign of encouragement in the brutal world of literary representation and book publishing. Glass half empty? Meet glass half full. When the bell sounds, come out fighting...
6/23/2008
Ruminations from The Road
These entries will be snippets and observations from the road trip I took with my brother last week. We covered 1600 miles, five states and every subject under the sun. I'll post these as long as I can remember them. Enjoy...
Entry Two
The aisle between the seats on an airplane are extremely narrow. They must have a “width of buttocks” maximum for the flight attendants. A person can only be so wide before they are a hazard to the aisle sitters. I know they don’t have that requirement for the people buying the tickets. When our plane landed in Birmingham, Alabama I had no need to get up from my aisle seat since I was staying on the plane as it continued to Phoenix. As soon as the “ding” sounded to release the departing passengers, my personal space was severely violated by a large man who promptly jumped into the aisle and then let people pass him until he could reach his suitcase stored in an overhead bin. As people worked their way around him he began leaning back toward me, poor defenseless aisle sitter, his massive, denim covered derrière filling over half my already cramped space. His actions caused me to have to lean toward hairy-armed man which created an immediate involuntary reaction of my arm reaching up across my body, resting my left hand on my right shoulder. With the crook of my arm near my face, I had a ready made nose shield in case the large man broke wind. I was only mildly frightened and it was all over in a few minutes. I began looking forward to the wide open spaces of the Midwest.
Entry Two
The aisle between the seats on an airplane are extremely narrow. They must have a “width of buttocks” maximum for the flight attendants. A person can only be so wide before they are a hazard to the aisle sitters. I know they don’t have that requirement for the people buying the tickets. When our plane landed in Birmingham, Alabama I had no need to get up from my aisle seat since I was staying on the plane as it continued to Phoenix. As soon as the “ding” sounded to release the departing passengers, my personal space was severely violated by a large man who promptly jumped into the aisle and then let people pass him until he could reach his suitcase stored in an overhead bin. As people worked their way around him he began leaning back toward me, poor defenseless aisle sitter, his massive, denim covered derrière filling over half my already cramped space. His actions caused me to have to lean toward hairy-armed man which created an immediate involuntary reaction of my arm reaching up across my body, resting my left hand on my right shoulder. With the crook of my arm near my face, I had a ready made nose shield in case the large man broke wind. I was only mildly frightened and it was all over in a few minutes. I began looking forward to the wide open spaces of the Midwest.
Ruminations from The Road
These entries will be snippets and observations from the road trip I took with my brother last week. We covered 1600 miles, five states and every subject under the sun. I'll post these as long as I can remember them. Enjoy...
Entry One
The fellow next to me on the flight to Birmingham suffered from “space creep.” Before I sat down he had the arm rest (that serves as a minimal personal space barrier) raised and out of the way. He was working a sudoku puzzle the entire flight and his right arm kept breaking into my non-barricaded area, his arm hairs grabbing the hair on my arms, linking like Velcro and sending small, nauseating ripples up the back of my neck. No matter how far I pulled my arm away from him he filled the gap and he never seemed to notice there was an issue. Apparently I was the only one bothered. It just gives me another reason to hate sudoku puzzles.
Entry One
The fellow next to me on the flight to Birmingham suffered from “space creep.” Before I sat down he had the arm rest (that serves as a minimal personal space barrier) raised and out of the way. He was working a sudoku puzzle the entire flight and his right arm kept breaking into my non-barricaded area, his arm hairs grabbing the hair on my arms, linking like Velcro and sending small, nauseating ripples up the back of my neck. No matter how far I pulled my arm away from him he filled the gap and he never seemed to notice there was an issue. Apparently I was the only one bothered. It just gives me another reason to hate sudoku puzzles.
6/18/2008
A Quick Howdy
I am currently in Phoenix, sitting in my brother's soon-to-be former office at Barrow Neurosurgical Associates, waiting for him to finish his day and his fellowship. The flight was fine. Flying stand-by is always a challenge but all went smoothly from Jacksonville to Birmingham to Phoenix. We plan on heading out tonight in an attempt to get a small jump on our 1600-mile journey.
As expected, I already have some blog fodder. Traveling is inspirational if you pull your head out of your book (or magazine) and unplug your iPod long enough to observe. Some things you may be hearing about in the future:
1. Why people in airplanes think the back of my chair is a handle;
2. Exploring the possibility that there is a "width of rump" requirement for airline personnel;
3. The benefits of a breakfast cigar.
Until we speak again…
As expected, I already have some blog fodder. Traveling is inspirational if you pull your head out of your book (or magazine) and unplug your iPod long enough to observe. Some things you may be hearing about in the future:
1. Why people in airplanes think the back of my chair is a handle;
2. Exploring the possibility that there is a "width of rump" requirement for airline personnel;
3. The benefits of a breakfast cigar.
Until we speak again…
Taking a Break
I will be out of blogging commission for the next few days. I am flying out to Phoenix this morning so that I can drive with my brother to Cape Girardeau, Missouri where he will begin his career as a neurosurgeon. It is roughly 1600 miles so I expect there will be plenty of blog fodder created before the trip is complete. If you think about it, pray for our safety and that I learn to love Penelope and Einstein (our canine traveling companions). Until next week...
6/17/2008
Tuesday Night Thought
The only people who see the whole picture are the ones who step out of the frame.
Salman Rushdie
The Ground Beneath Her Feet
Salman Rushdie
The Ground Beneath Her Feet
6/13/2008
Direction
If looking forward is looking north, then, to round out the metaphor, looking back would be looking south. What does that make looking in the present? Can we actually do that? I’m not sure we are ever in the present long enough to look at it. Within a blink it becomes the past and we have moved incrementally north. On Father’s Day I find myself very sensitive to this moving target. I tend to focus a lot of my time, energy and prayers north, dealing with my three almost-grown children and their slowly forming plans for the future, trying to encourage and help without getting in the way. (Which, by the way, is a ridiculously delicate balancing act.) Some days it is consuming, often to the point that it bothers me that I care and dwell and grind so hard about things that are, in the big picture, pretty much out of my control. (I am betting that the lack of control is the number one cause of the grinding. Just a guess.) Is this natural? Am I too involved? Am I wasting my time on things that are already in place and rocketing toward predetermined destinations? Long ago I made the resolution that my career goal was to release into the world (at the proper time) three humans that were ready to be positive, solid contributors in the world. Three adults who would be focused on others, aware of the mark they could potentially leave in their path and desire to make a difference. And above all, be tuned in to God’s direction in their lives—regardless of where it takes them. Maybe part of my angst is that this chapter is drawing to a close. I can see it and, more importantly, I can feel it. Where does all of this weird mix of love, concern, hope, desperation and pride come from?
Oh yeah. My dad.
It is a rather tired cliché that we become our parents. It is also a tired cliché to wave off a tired cliché as meaningless since the cliché became a cliché because it is grounded in the truth. As I experience the winding down of a pretty remarkable season in my life, I am more aware than ever of my dad. I see him a lot more in the mirror. I hear him more and more as I speak. The kids are labeling my jokes as “Paw Paw Jokes” with alarming regularity. I have gained greater clarity of what he meant when he told me things years ago. And how he reacted to things. And how he responded to things. He makes more sense. He has to, otherwise I would have no way to explain myself (or at least anticipate that one day I will be able to explain my actions of today). I am so thankful that I am dealing with a heritage based on love and empathy instead of the all too common legacy of aloofness and lack of emotion. And for that I thank him from the bottom of my conflicted, loving, sympathetic heart. With more and more frequency the kids are telling me, “Oh my gosh, that sounded just like Paw Paw!” I calmly respond that I could do a lot worse than end up being like my dad. After a thoughtful pause they always say, “You’re right.”
Happy Father’s Day to the north, south, east and west. Pass it on...
Oh yeah. My dad.
It is a rather tired cliché that we become our parents. It is also a tired cliché to wave off a tired cliché as meaningless since the cliché became a cliché because it is grounded in the truth. As I experience the winding down of a pretty remarkable season in my life, I am more aware than ever of my dad. I see him a lot more in the mirror. I hear him more and more as I speak. The kids are labeling my jokes as “Paw Paw Jokes” with alarming regularity. I have gained greater clarity of what he meant when he told me things years ago. And how he reacted to things. And how he responded to things. He makes more sense. He has to, otherwise I would have no way to explain myself (or at least anticipate that one day I will be able to explain my actions of today). I am so thankful that I am dealing with a heritage based on love and empathy instead of the all too common legacy of aloofness and lack of emotion. And for that I thank him from the bottom of my conflicted, loving, sympathetic heart. With more and more frequency the kids are telling me, “Oh my gosh, that sounded just like Paw Paw!” I calmly respond that I could do a lot worse than end up being like my dad. After a thoughtful pause they always say, “You’re right.”
Happy Father’s Day to the north, south, east and west. Pass it on...
Writing Quote for Casual Friday
"We're past the age of heroes and hero kings. If we can't make up stories about ordinary people, who can we make them up about?"
- John Updike
- John Updike
6/12/2008
Don't Rain on My D.N.A.
I finally figured out a fundamental truth. There is a core nugget of humanity inside each of us that makes us who we are. It doesn’t matter if we are an electrician or a musician, we will react and respond to certain situations in certain ways because that is “just how we are.” When we are cut off in traffic, when we witness the birth of our child, when we see a sunset, when we see fireworks--our DNA is woven in such a way that we feel and sense things without much choice.
I hate parades. I can’t imagine a circumstance or profession that would cause me to feel differently when faced with huge, sweaty crowds and grown men on scooters. I don’t think my parents are very huge fans of parades either. I remember attending a few of them growing up but it was never a valued tradition or an event we could never pass up.
Is my deep, emotional response to parades influenced by my upbringing? Did their love/hate of parades taint the way I viewed them? What if I had been born into a family that planned parades for a living? Would I still hate parades? Would I be able to get past that emotion to carry on the family business? Or, because I am who I am, would I have begged off and gone to art school anyway? Would I then have ostracized myself from my parade loving family? Cut myself off from their respect and admiration? Would I then pass on my distaste for parades to my own children who in turn would be influenced by me in their opinions of their grandparents life work? What if one of my children has it in their DNA to love parades? Would they be able to express that in the hostile anti-parade environment I have established in our home? And when they finally “come out” as a parade lover, will that repair the fissures in my fractured relationship with my parents and have everyone talk to me again at the family reunions? And maybe, just maybe, all of this plays out because of who we are at our core.
Okay, I haven’t figured out squat.
I hate parades. I can’t imagine a circumstance or profession that would cause me to feel differently when faced with huge, sweaty crowds and grown men on scooters. I don’t think my parents are very huge fans of parades either. I remember attending a few of them growing up but it was never a valued tradition or an event we could never pass up.
Is my deep, emotional response to parades influenced by my upbringing? Did their love/hate of parades taint the way I viewed them? What if I had been born into a family that planned parades for a living? Would I still hate parades? Would I be able to get past that emotion to carry on the family business? Or, because I am who I am, would I have begged off and gone to art school anyway? Would I then have ostracized myself from my parade loving family? Cut myself off from their respect and admiration? Would I then pass on my distaste for parades to my own children who in turn would be influenced by me in their opinions of their grandparents life work? What if one of my children has it in their DNA to love parades? Would they be able to express that in the hostile anti-parade environment I have established in our home? And when they finally “come out” as a parade lover, will that repair the fissures in my fractured relationship with my parents and have everyone talk to me again at the family reunions? And maybe, just maybe, all of this plays out because of who we are at our core.
Okay, I haven’t figured out squat.
6/09/2008
Speech! Speech!
This time of year always brings a lot of commencement speeches to our attention—both in real life and on the internet. I found this one to be especially well done. Given the person delivering it and the audience she was speaking to, the poignancy is a nice added layer. Plus it has the option of reading or watching it (which is another nice thing about the internet). Enjoy...
6/05/2008
Entry One Hundred Three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-three of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
After his workout, Adam wasn’t ready to leave the gym. The thought of driving straight home after his shower didn’t appeal to him so he decided to explore the school and see what treasures he could discover in its deserted halls. The first corridor off the gym doors held the history classes. He remembered that a lot of the coaches taught history so their proximity to the locker rooms made sense. He started walking east, stopping and looking over classrooms when he had the urge, but mainly staying within the confines of the halls, the contents of the rooms not offering much of interest. He was an alumnus but felt very little nostalgia.
Somewhere near the middle of the school he came across the library. The sign over the door stated it was the “Media Center” but it had always been a library to him. Shelves of books, no matter how many computers were interspersed throughout, was not enough to warrant a name change, at least according to Adam and he was the only one who counted anymore. He walked in and for the first time the silence of the world seemed appropriate. He meandered through the rows of books, scanning titles and occasionally pulling a book down to thumb through. He had never been much of a reader because it had been too time consuming. Now, faced with nothing but time, the books still didn’t appeal to him. “Maybe I just don’t like to read.” And he was okay with that. He suddenly wanted a cigarette so he left the library and lit one in the hall.
Around the corner from the library was the cafeteria. It was the one place in the school that looked and felt the same to him based on his limited memory of high school. It was large, but smaller than he remembered, with high ceilings, all the tables lined up in rows with the chairs upside down on top of them. The maintenance crew had created the sculptures in order to mop the floors the night everything changed. He walked in through the double doors and stood still, finishing his smoke and thinking about how much activity that room would normally have sustained—laughter, flirting, fights, pranks, bullying, hiding, staring. It would never be that way again and it made Adam sad. He reached into his pocket for another cigarette and turned to leave but something on the wall that had been at his back made him stop. It was a large mural of the United States of America. It covered the entire wall and he had to step back deeper into the room to take it all in. It wasn’t drawn very well, almost crude in execution, probably created by the same artist who painted the bulldog in the weight room. Quality aside, the sheer size of it was impressive. Each state displayed its capitol, labeled and denoted by a star, plus a smaller graphic of some item or thing that represented that state. Georgia had a drawing of a peach, Texas an armadillo and Nevada a poker chip. Adam stood and stared, quietly smoking and examining the mural state by state. It wasn’t signed so he’d never know who created it. The only words were the labels for the capitols and the names of the states. The finished mural wasn’t much of a concept but Adam gave it an “A” for ambition and the diligence to get it up on the wall. “The United States of America.” He let that hang in the air. “I pledge allegiance to the mural of the United States of Adam Mahoney.” He saluted, flipped his cigarette butt in a water fountain and started walking back to the gym. He was suddenly ready to go home.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
After his workout, Adam wasn’t ready to leave the gym. The thought of driving straight home after his shower didn’t appeal to him so he decided to explore the school and see what treasures he could discover in its deserted halls. The first corridor off the gym doors held the history classes. He remembered that a lot of the coaches taught history so their proximity to the locker rooms made sense. He started walking east, stopping and looking over classrooms when he had the urge, but mainly staying within the confines of the halls, the contents of the rooms not offering much of interest. He was an alumnus but felt very little nostalgia.
Somewhere near the middle of the school he came across the library. The sign over the door stated it was the “Media Center” but it had always been a library to him. Shelves of books, no matter how many computers were interspersed throughout, was not enough to warrant a name change, at least according to Adam and he was the only one who counted anymore. He walked in and for the first time the silence of the world seemed appropriate. He meandered through the rows of books, scanning titles and occasionally pulling a book down to thumb through. He had never been much of a reader because it had been too time consuming. Now, faced with nothing but time, the books still didn’t appeal to him. “Maybe I just don’t like to read.” And he was okay with that. He suddenly wanted a cigarette so he left the library and lit one in the hall.
Around the corner from the library was the cafeteria. It was the one place in the school that looked and felt the same to him based on his limited memory of high school. It was large, but smaller than he remembered, with high ceilings, all the tables lined up in rows with the chairs upside down on top of them. The maintenance crew had created the sculptures in order to mop the floors the night everything changed. He walked in through the double doors and stood still, finishing his smoke and thinking about how much activity that room would normally have sustained—laughter, flirting, fights, pranks, bullying, hiding, staring. It would never be that way again and it made Adam sad. He reached into his pocket for another cigarette and turned to leave but something on the wall that had been at his back made him stop. It was a large mural of the United States of America. It covered the entire wall and he had to step back deeper into the room to take it all in. It wasn’t drawn very well, almost crude in execution, probably created by the same artist who painted the bulldog in the weight room. Quality aside, the sheer size of it was impressive. Each state displayed its capitol, labeled and denoted by a star, plus a smaller graphic of some item or thing that represented that state. Georgia had a drawing of a peach, Texas an armadillo and Nevada a poker chip. Adam stood and stared, quietly smoking and examining the mural state by state. It wasn’t signed so he’d never know who created it. The only words were the labels for the capitols and the names of the states. The finished mural wasn’t much of a concept but Adam gave it an “A” for ambition and the diligence to get it up on the wall. “The United States of America.” He let that hang in the air. “I pledge allegiance to the mural of the United States of Adam Mahoney.” He saluted, flipped his cigarette butt in a water fountain and started walking back to the gym. He was suddenly ready to go home.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
6/04/2008
Blind(s)
In preparation for my daughter’s triumphal return home from college, my wife created a list of improvements and to-do’s to accomplish before she arrived at the house. One of my jobs was to move the blinds from her room, hang them in the garage (replacing the old, damaged blinds currently hanging there) and then hang a new set of blinds over her bedroom window. This was not a complicated chore since all the brackets and hardware were in place; it was just a small matter of sliding out and sliding in.
I measured (twice) to make sure I bought the correct replacement blind and travelled to Lowe’s for the purchase and subsequent trimming of the width. Back home with my purchase, I began the process by taking down the old blinds in my daughter’s room. I quickly figured out that it would be easier to transport the old blinds if I pulled them up and compressed them as far as I could, making them compact and less wobbly. I pulled the string down, hard, to roll them up and was suddenly falling back on the bed, my head throbbing and vision blurred. Apparently one of the brackets had come loose and the force of my pull had dislodged the blind and it had whacked me in the head. I was initially stunned but then grew scared when I realized I couldn’t see, at least I couldn’t see clearly. My vision was impaired, alternating between blurry and clear but with no ability to focus on anything for more than a second or two. I looked around the room, blinking, trying to regain any sort of visual clarity. “Oh Jesus, I can’t be blind, I can’t be blind. I need my eyes.” I was praying out loud, panicked and not sure what to do. No one else was home and all I could think was my life had changed in an instant.
I stumbled to my daughter’s bathroom, expecting to see a huge gash across my head and was surprised that, through the blur, all I could detect was a small slash of red near my hairline. Now I was confused. Did a glancing blow damage my eyesight that drastically? Is this one of those head shaking moments that no one will be able to explain? Then I started thinking more practically. How was I going to explain this to people? Blinded by the blind? Would people eventually make fun of me after a period of time? Why didn’t I learn to touch type? I pulled my glasses off to rub my eyes and when I reopened them, things were still blurry, but they weren’t as dizzying blurry; there was a consistency to the haze. As I reached to put my glasses back on, my thumb poked through the left side of the frame—right where one of the lenses was supposed to be. Apparently, the blow to my head had dislodged the left lens of my glasses and I had been looking through one lens with my right eye and looking through air with my left. I wasn’t blind after all, just temporarily broken. I was able to locate the missing lens on the floor, replaced it and relished the restoration of vision for a few minutes before I raised my hands in the air and let everyone in the house (which was no one) know, “I’m alright! Everything is fine! Nothing to see here. Move along.”
I see this as a sign that I should get back on those typing lessons.
I measured (twice) to make sure I bought the correct replacement blind and travelled to Lowe’s for the purchase and subsequent trimming of the width. Back home with my purchase, I began the process by taking down the old blinds in my daughter’s room. I quickly figured out that it would be easier to transport the old blinds if I pulled them up and compressed them as far as I could, making them compact and less wobbly. I pulled the string down, hard, to roll them up and was suddenly falling back on the bed, my head throbbing and vision blurred. Apparently one of the brackets had come loose and the force of my pull had dislodged the blind and it had whacked me in the head. I was initially stunned but then grew scared when I realized I couldn’t see, at least I couldn’t see clearly. My vision was impaired, alternating between blurry and clear but with no ability to focus on anything for more than a second or two. I looked around the room, blinking, trying to regain any sort of visual clarity. “Oh Jesus, I can’t be blind, I can’t be blind. I need my eyes.” I was praying out loud, panicked and not sure what to do. No one else was home and all I could think was my life had changed in an instant.
I stumbled to my daughter’s bathroom, expecting to see a huge gash across my head and was surprised that, through the blur, all I could detect was a small slash of red near my hairline. Now I was confused. Did a glancing blow damage my eyesight that drastically? Is this one of those head shaking moments that no one will be able to explain? Then I started thinking more practically. How was I going to explain this to people? Blinded by the blind? Would people eventually make fun of me after a period of time? Why didn’t I learn to touch type? I pulled my glasses off to rub my eyes and when I reopened them, things were still blurry, but they weren’t as dizzying blurry; there was a consistency to the haze. As I reached to put my glasses back on, my thumb poked through the left side of the frame—right where one of the lenses was supposed to be. Apparently, the blow to my head had dislodged the left lens of my glasses and I had been looking through one lens with my right eye and looking through air with my left. I wasn’t blind after all, just temporarily broken. I was able to locate the missing lens on the floor, replaced it and relished the restoration of vision for a few minutes before I raised my hands in the air and let everyone in the house (which was no one) know, “I’m alright! Everything is fine! Nothing to see here. Move along.”
I see this as a sign that I should get back on those typing lessons.
5/29/2008
Mind the Gap
I am the King of Rationalization. Okay, maybe not the King, but I am a Senator or some other high ranking official. And there is no term limit to my reign. I possess the gift (or curse, your call) of being able to analyze any situation from every possible angle and then work overtime to place it in a specific slot in history. This allows me to explain its “whys” and “how comes.” Another term for this particular expertise is “over thinking.” I engage in this exercise because it fills in the life gaps. I hate gaps. Gaps make for a bumpy ride. I want a smooth ride, all the asphalt filled in, all the planks in the boardwalk nailed tight. I guess it is human nature to want to be able to explain why things happen, why they exist the way they do. To be able to trace the “gazzintas*,” the A to B to C formula of life, and see how everything is interconnected and essential in developing the lives we lead. And most of the time I can figure things out—even if I am wrong. It helps that most of my theories are unprovable and I may never know if I am right. Or not. Having an answer of any kind, no matter how flimsy and weak, is better than a gap.
That is the wild card. There always seems to be that one thing (or four) that doesn’t make sense. It eats at you because there is no comfortable slot for it, there is no peaceful resolution—right OR wrong—and it gets forcefully filed under the heading of “God’s Mysterious Ways” (GMW). God gaps. Just based on the largeness and all-knowing attributes of God, they should be easier to deal with but they usually aren’t. I will admit, age has softened my stance on the God gaps and GMW. I used to dislike it, fight it, refuse to bend to it. But there have been enough of them over the years that I am either too tired to gyrate the manipulations or my faith has enlarged to the point of acceptance. It’s probably more of the former but I use the latter as a rationalization to make myself feel better.
And that is what I worry about. Do I use these rationalizations just as a balm? Or do the events really have deeper meanings? Is there anything wrong with just accepting events at face value and moving on? Is that even possible? “Now we see through a glass dimly...” I need to accept that no matter how often I clean my life glasses there will always be a film over the lenses, at least in my current manifestation. One day, the promise is I will see clearly. By then, most of the rationalized stuff probably won’t matter (at least I hope it won’t). Until then, I can’t promise to look away from the tea leaves or not hold my damp finger in the air to test the wind. But I will promise to not hold on too tight to my theories and trust that, however things shake out, there is a plan, a God plan, and it doesn’t matter if I understand it or not. And I will continue to step gingerly over the gaps.
*gazzintas: a term popularized by Jethro Bodine of the Beverly Hillbillies television show. When asked about his 6th grade ed-u-cation, he would explain that he knew his gazzintas: one gazzinta two, two times; two gazzinta four, two times... Simple math made simpler.
That is the wild card. There always seems to be that one thing (or four) that doesn’t make sense. It eats at you because there is no comfortable slot for it, there is no peaceful resolution—right OR wrong—and it gets forcefully filed under the heading of “God’s Mysterious Ways” (GMW). God gaps. Just based on the largeness and all-knowing attributes of God, they should be easier to deal with but they usually aren’t. I will admit, age has softened my stance on the God gaps and GMW. I used to dislike it, fight it, refuse to bend to it. But there have been enough of them over the years that I am either too tired to gyrate the manipulations or my faith has enlarged to the point of acceptance. It’s probably more of the former but I use the latter as a rationalization to make myself feel better.
And that is what I worry about. Do I use these rationalizations just as a balm? Or do the events really have deeper meanings? Is there anything wrong with just accepting events at face value and moving on? Is that even possible? “Now we see through a glass dimly...” I need to accept that no matter how often I clean my life glasses there will always be a film over the lenses, at least in my current manifestation. One day, the promise is I will see clearly. By then, most of the rationalized stuff probably won’t matter (at least I hope it won’t). Until then, I can’t promise to look away from the tea leaves or not hold my damp finger in the air to test the wind. But I will promise to not hold on too tight to my theories and trust that, however things shake out, there is a plan, a God plan, and it doesn’t matter if I understand it or not. And I will continue to step gingerly over the gaps.
*gazzintas: a term popularized by Jethro Bodine of the Beverly Hillbillies television show. When asked about his 6th grade ed-u-cation, he would explain that he knew his gazzintas: one gazzinta two, two times; two gazzinta four, two times... Simple math made simpler.
5/28/2008
Entry One Hundred Four: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-four of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
The day after he finished painting the outside of his house, Adam was driving to the school for his afternoon workout when the Volvo pinged, alerting him it needed some fuel. He was surprised how long he had driven on that one tank although one stretch of time he had been immobile on the sofa watching movies. All the other driving was short bursts around town and he wasn’t burning much gasoline with that schedule. He pulled into Olsen’s food mart again, confident because it was his second visit and he knew the ins and outs of filling his car’s tank. As he pulled his credit card out of his wallet and prepared to faux pay, he noticed a handwritten sign taped to the handle. He was at a different pump, one aisle over from his first visit, and although a similar sign may have been taped to the original pump, he had no recollection of seeing it before. The sign said, “Pre-pay with cash.” Adam smiled and said, “Damn, that makes a whole lot more sense than using my card.” He walked across the parking lot and entered the store, greeted by the acrid smell of black, squishy bananas, one of the few things the Olsen’s sold without preservatives. He pulled his shirt up to right below his eyes, trying to filter the air filling his nostrils, and started looking behind the cash register for the buttons to manipulate the gas payment. He found a box that looked like a separate register but with fewer numbers, all corresponding to the individual gas pumps. He craned his neck to see what the number was of the pump the Volvo was parked next to and then turned and selected number four on the register. Another space lit up and displayed a dollar sign so he punched in “20.00” using the small keypad at the bottom of the interface. When he returned to his car the pump had turned on and the LED readout was instructing him to make a selection and begin fueling. “Nice. No sense going in debt if I don’t have to.” The last man standing on the face of earth owed no one.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
The day after he finished painting the outside of his house, Adam was driving to the school for his afternoon workout when the Volvo pinged, alerting him it needed some fuel. He was surprised how long he had driven on that one tank although one stretch of time he had been immobile on the sofa watching movies. All the other driving was short bursts around town and he wasn’t burning much gasoline with that schedule. He pulled into Olsen’s food mart again, confident because it was his second visit and he knew the ins and outs of filling his car’s tank. As he pulled his credit card out of his wallet and prepared to faux pay, he noticed a handwritten sign taped to the handle. He was at a different pump, one aisle over from his first visit, and although a similar sign may have been taped to the original pump, he had no recollection of seeing it before. The sign said, “Pre-pay with cash.” Adam smiled and said, “Damn, that makes a whole lot more sense than using my card.” He walked across the parking lot and entered the store, greeted by the acrid smell of black, squishy bananas, one of the few things the Olsen’s sold without preservatives. He pulled his shirt up to right below his eyes, trying to filter the air filling his nostrils, and started looking behind the cash register for the buttons to manipulate the gas payment. He found a box that looked like a separate register but with fewer numbers, all corresponding to the individual gas pumps. He craned his neck to see what the number was of the pump the Volvo was parked next to and then turned and selected number four on the register. Another space lit up and displayed a dollar sign so he punched in “20.00” using the small keypad at the bottom of the interface. When he returned to his car the pump had turned on and the LED readout was instructing him to make a selection and begin fueling. “Nice. No sense going in debt if I don’t have to.” The last man standing on the face of earth owed no one.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/26/2008
Day Six: California Trip
This will be a brief write up on a very long day. We were up at 4:45 am (PST) and heading to the airport by six. Thank goodness Kyle and Shannon had to be there at the same time because we would have never gotten all our luggage in the rental car. Instead, we loaded them up with our extra bags and had plenty of time after check-in and rental car returns to relax a few minutes and eat some breakfast with Kyle, Shannon and Tallulah. Today is Shannon's birthday so we serenaded her over California Pizza and McDonalds. The flight home was long. We had some celebrities on the plane with us from San Diego to Atlanta. Some of the members of Third Day were eating breakfast in the same area as us and we surmised correctly that they would be on our flight. Mac Powell (lead singer/guitar), Tai Anderson (bass) and, I think, David Carr (drums) were in first class on our plane. Kind of cool, but not real cool, just a little.
Basically it was a flight day. Long and boring. No delays, no lost luggage, no hassles; boring in a good way. The trip was fantastic and everyone had a great time. And we are all glad to be home. There are a few pictures—mainly of us eating—but no picture of the members of Third Day. it was 7 am and no one needs to be hassled at 7 am in the airport. I hope you enjoyed the updates. Technology is cool...
Basically it was a flight day. Long and boring. No delays, no lost luggage, no hassles; boring in a good way. The trip was fantastic and everyone had a great time. And we are all glad to be home. There are a few pictures—mainly of us eating—but no picture of the members of Third Day. it was 7 am and no one needs to be hassled at 7 am in the airport. I hope you enjoyed the updates. Technology is cool...
Day Five: California Trip
What is a trip to California without a visit to the beach? I'm sure it would be adequate but we decided to make our last full day in the other Sunshine State a trip to Huntington Beach. When we left the hotel the weather was nasty yet again. The dark clouds hovering over our destination did not give us a lot of hope for a nice beach day but we were committed and decided to make the best of what we were dealt. We pulled onto Main Street in Huntington Beach at 11:30 am and proceeded to do the regular tourist schtick—walking the pier, watching the locals, meandering up and down the beach looking for shells. Within an hour the weather had done a 180 and the rest of the day was sunny and cool. Chamber of Commerce weather and a welcome relief to the previous days.
We also sat on some of the stairs set up by the street and watched folks play volleyball, listen to hippies beat on drums, pet large reptiles, cruise through the art exhibits and generally enjoying the day. We ended up eating at Duke's, the seafood restaurant at the base of the Huntington Beach pier and feasted on really good seafood meals, looking out over the beach and preparing to head back home.
Once back at the hotel, we took a little time to pack our suitcases and then all met for one last session in the hot tub. We broke the rules for maximum people allowed in the tub but we deserved it on our last night. We have to leave at 6 am in the morning in order to make it to San Diego in time for our flight back to Florida. Fortunately, Kyle and crew leave at the same time so we will have one last caravan through SoCal together before we fly home. I imagine tomorrow will be a little light on words and photos but I will try to get something up to offer some closure. Check back for that tomorrow.
As usual, lots of pictures here. Home within 24 hours. Can't say I am disappointed to write that. As the saying goes, a great place to visit, but...
We also sat on some of the stairs set up by the street and watched folks play volleyball, listen to hippies beat on drums, pet large reptiles, cruise through the art exhibits and generally enjoying the day. We ended up eating at Duke's, the seafood restaurant at the base of the Huntington Beach pier and feasted on really good seafood meals, looking out over the beach and preparing to head back home.
Once back at the hotel, we took a little time to pack our suitcases and then all met for one last session in the hot tub. We broke the rules for maximum people allowed in the tub but we deserved it on our last night. We have to leave at 6 am in the morning in order to make it to San Diego in time for our flight back to Florida. Fortunately, Kyle and crew leave at the same time so we will have one last caravan through SoCal together before we fly home. I imagine tomorrow will be a little light on words and photos but I will try to get something up to offer some closure. Check back for that tomorrow.
As usual, lots of pictures here. Home within 24 hours. Can't say I am disappointed to write that. As the saying goes, a great place to visit, but...
5/25/2008
Day Four: California Trip
The idea for day four was to stay local and try to avoid a rushed and harried day. We were fairly successful, starting with a leisurely breakfast then showers and finally setting out to explore Old Town Temeculah and then tour the campus of Calvary Chapel Bible College. Tallulah blessed us with wearing the other princess dress we got her for her birthday but this time wore her black hi-top sneakers to round out the outfit. Before we began any of the walking tours we made a pit stop at In-N-Out Burgers for sustenance. The boys convinced Uncle Kyle to order "off the menu" and he ended up with a 4 by 4 (a hamburger with 4 patties and 4 pieces of cheese) and fries "animal style" (fries with cheese, onions and secret sauce on top.) Jordan and William were pleased with their prank but Kyle was brave and attacked the lunch. I'm not sure it was a great way to start the afternoon but he seemed to survive it.
We walked around Old Town Temeculah for a couple of hours and saw an old west shoot out, bought cheese and wine and laughed a lot. A major storm was blowing in so we took off to show the Kyle Colle family around the campus of CCBC before it rained. Of course, it never rained so the tour was completed successfully. Upon return to the hotel we all hit the hot tub for a long soak then gathered in the lobby to have our cheese and wine tasting party. The kids (and some adults) were still hungry afterwards so we got Mexican food take-out and ate it in the dining area of the hotel lobby. Kyle and I eventually burned a cigar out by the pool and then spent some more time in the lobby chatting with the wives and Laura. Tallulah had passed out on the floor right after dinner so we decided to let her sleep and try to plan Sunday. We never did figure out what we are going to do—I think we are going to Huntington Beach for the day—but whatever we do starts at 10 am.
As is the pattern, photos are here. Enjoy...
We walked around Old Town Temeculah for a couple of hours and saw an old west shoot out, bought cheese and wine and laughed a lot. A major storm was blowing in so we took off to show the Kyle Colle family around the campus of CCBC before it rained. Of course, it never rained so the tour was completed successfully. Upon return to the hotel we all hit the hot tub for a long soak then gathered in the lobby to have our cheese and wine tasting party. The kids (and some adults) were still hungry afterwards so we got Mexican food take-out and ate it in the dining area of the hotel lobby. Kyle and I eventually burned a cigar out by the pool and then spent some more time in the lobby chatting with the wives and Laura. Tallulah had passed out on the floor right after dinner so we decided to let her sleep and try to plan Sunday. We never did figure out what we are going to do—I think we are going to Huntington Beach for the day—but whatever we do starts at 10 am.
As is the pattern, photos are here. Enjoy...
5/24/2008
Day Three: California Trip
It is late and it has been a long but fun day. We started the morning by having breakfast with my brother and his family in the hotel lobby. We gave Tallulah her birthday presents that we had not sent her back in January on her real birthday. We gave her some dress up clothes and they were a hit because she immediately put on one of the dresses and the fancy shoes and did not take them off the rest of the day. The plan for the day was to head south and take the tour of the Taylor Guitar Factory in El Cajon near San Diego. The weather is still nasty—rainy and windy and cold— so it was a good day to be inside. We arrived in plenty of time and really enjoyed watching how they make the guitars from hunks of wood to finished pieces of art. William, Jordan and I were very disappointed that they did not give us a free guitar for being so attentive (or good looking or for having pleasant breath) but we consoled ourselves by purchasing some t-shirts.
From there we grabbed a bite to eat at Panda Express and then found a mall to wander around for a couple of hours. Mainly we watched Kyle and Shannon buy stuff which was cathartic and relaxing in a strange way. Maybe that was just me...
We then made our way to Extraordinary Desserts which had been recommended to me by several people who have visited San Diego. This place was decadent in all the right ways. We indulged in Kona coffee, red wine, cheese boards, panini sandwiches and ridiculously large desserts. I am not a good enough writer to describe them but fortunately for you, we have pictures. Along with the regular pictures of our day, I have added a set of artsy shots that Laura took today when I let her take over the camera during the Taylor Guitar tour (and a few she snapped at Extraordinary Desserts). She did a nice job and I wanted to give a set of her own to show off her skills. Come back again tomorrow for more fun and merriment with the Colles in California.
From there we grabbed a bite to eat at Panda Express and then found a mall to wander around for a couple of hours. Mainly we watched Kyle and Shannon buy stuff which was cathartic and relaxing in a strange way. Maybe that was just me...
We then made our way to Extraordinary Desserts which had been recommended to me by several people who have visited San Diego. This place was decadent in all the right ways. We indulged in Kona coffee, red wine, cheese boards, panini sandwiches and ridiculously large desserts. I am not a good enough writer to describe them but fortunately for you, we have pictures. Along with the regular pictures of our day, I have added a set of artsy shots that Laura took today when I let her take over the camera during the Taylor Guitar tour (and a few she snapped at Extraordinary Desserts). She did a nice job and I wanted to give a set of her own to show off her skills. Come back again tomorrow for more fun and merriment with the Colles in California.
5/22/2008
Day Two: California Trip
Graduation Day. After a rather odd and restless night of sleep (and waking up at 7 am which was 10 am EST which was a tad bit disorienting), we crawled out of bed and began the day. Laura called and let us know that she was bringing two friends to the hotel to get ready for graduation—showers, curling irons and blow dryers. They were all checked out of their dorms and didn't have a place to prep. Once they arrived the rest of us decided to give them their space and we left to run some errands. Target, haircuts for the boys and then we found a beautiful park to walk around and enjoy the weather. We eventually ate lunch at Chipotle and took Laura a salad back to the hotel. Graduation was at two in the afternoon so we had to be there a little early to ensure decent seats (i.e: a good enough view to use the video camera). The weather turned nasty at noon—rain, windy, cold— but it cleared right before the ceremony so apparently God was pleased. The ceremony was nice (and brief) and photos and video were obtained. Dad was pleased.
After the graduation ceremony they have a reception with food and lots of mingling, hugging, squealing and a few tears. William and Laura met with and said goodbye to all their friends which was pretty final since neither will be back to California in the foreseeable future. We were back at the hotel by five and as Laura took a nap the rest of us hit the hotel hot tub. It was a nice way to relax and wait on my brother and his family to arrive. Unfortunately, bad weather in Phoenix is delaying their departure so we are going to have to go eat without them. I will update before bed if there is anything to update.
Pictures are up for day two at the Flikr site. Check them out for a visual representation of the day.
UPDATE: My brother and his wife and daughter were delayed to the point that we decided to go get dinner without them. At one point, I received a text from Shannon that said: "Just slowed departures. We are #15. Tallulah is screaming from the depths of her throat. Buy wine." I'm guessing they are having a wonderful trip so far...
After the graduation ceremony they have a reception with food and lots of mingling, hugging, squealing and a few tears. William and Laura met with and said goodbye to all their friends which was pretty final since neither will be back to California in the foreseeable future. We were back at the hotel by five and as Laura took a nap the rest of us hit the hotel hot tub. It was a nice way to relax and wait on my brother and his family to arrive. Unfortunately, bad weather in Phoenix is delaying their departure so we are going to have to go eat without them. I will update before bed if there is anything to update.
Pictures are up for day two at the Flikr site. Check them out for a visual representation of the day.
UPDATE: My brother and his wife and daughter were delayed to the point that we decided to go get dinner without them. At one point, I received a text from Shannon that said: "Just slowed departures. We are #15. Tallulah is screaming from the depths of her throat. Buy wine." I'm guessing they are having a wonderful trip so far...
Day One: California Trip
It goes without saying that when you travel across the country it is a long day. So I guess I don't have to say that today was a long day. (Did I just say it was a long day? Sorry...) We left Tallahassee at noon and survived a 3.5 hour layover in Atlanta. We ate at South of the Border (which Jordan referred to as "microwave Mexican food") in the airport and discovered that sometimes a Shirley Temple is made with real Coke and cherry syrup. Yum! We flew out of the ATL at 4:30 (EST) and arrived in San Diego at 6:20 (Pacific), secured the rental car and headed north to meet up with Laura on campus. The homecoming was great and the weather was fantastic—windy and cool. We met a few of her friends and then whisked her away for dinner. I grossed everyone out by ordering liver and onions at supper but other than that it was fairly uneventful. We finally checked into our hotel at 10:00 pm (1:00 am EST) and everyone but myself are dead out in bed. I wanted to get an update in before I retire and to also point you to my Flikr site to view daily picture uploads. I will admit that today's batch is fairly lame but it gave me a chance to set up the page. They will get better as the week/weekend progresses forward. Hopefully, the updates will get better as well.
Tomorrow is the graduation ceremony and Kyle, Shannon and Miss Tallulah arrive in the evening. Then things will get hopping. 'Til tomorrow...
Tomorrow is the graduation ceremony and Kyle, Shannon and Miss Tallulah arrive in the evening. Then things will get hopping. 'Til tomorrow...
5/20/2008
Our Own Little Worlds
Right now is a very busy, interesting, potentially stressful time in the life of my family. Along with the constant day-to-day requirements of work, providing and accountability to bosses, friends and each other, all of us have something big and consuming we are dealing with. It may be temporary and it may be a positive thing but whatever category it falls under it has the potential to preoccupy and take most of our focus. My wife’s mother is seriously ill and in need of constant care. My daughter is graduating from college this week and planning on moving to Italy for a year in the fall. My oldest son and his girlfriend are engulfed in wedding plans for her sister as well as juggling work, school and ministry. My youngest son is preparing for finals in high school and becoming a senior and all it involves. I am maneuvering through some unexpectedly treacherous waters on the career front. My parents are planning their 50th wedding anniversary later this summer. My brother is preparing to move to another state in June to settle down and start a career. My sister is in the middle of the failing health of in-laws as well as her first born preparing to graduate high school and go off to college. There is a lot going on (not even bringing up earthquakes and other natural disasters all over the world) and, surprisingly, it is easy to lose sight of that. At least where it concerns everybody else.
What I worry about on a personal level is getting so wrapped up in my situation that I forget that other folks in my circle are dealing with their own circumstances. Or worse, I expect others to be as consumed with my issues as I am, regardless of what they may be dealing with. Both scenarios can play out and breed resentment and pouting. (I assume this would be one of the definitions of “selfish” but that puts such a harsh spin on it that I would rather not try and label it.) We are so wired to be self serving that, sadly, it takes effort to be concerned about someone else. And when we do make the effort it isn’t always repaid. Should that matter? Does it make it any less “right” if others are not “playing along?” Before you answer, remember that thinking of others is a command straight from the mouth of Jesus. This is how our pastor succinctly describes the Christ centered life: Love God. Love folks. Those are the essentials. At times like these—and aren’t they always “times like these”?—it is good to be reminded.
What I worry about on a personal level is getting so wrapped up in my situation that I forget that other folks in my circle are dealing with their own circumstances. Or worse, I expect others to be as consumed with my issues as I am, regardless of what they may be dealing with. Both scenarios can play out and breed resentment and pouting. (I assume this would be one of the definitions of “selfish” but that puts such a harsh spin on it that I would rather not try and label it.) We are so wired to be self serving that, sadly, it takes effort to be concerned about someone else. And when we do make the effort it isn’t always repaid. Should that matter? Does it make it any less “right” if others are not “playing along?” Before you answer, remember that thinking of others is a command straight from the mouth of Jesus. This is how our pastor succinctly describes the Christ centered life: Love God. Love folks. Those are the essentials. At times like these—and aren’t they always “times like these”?—it is good to be reminded.
5/17/2008
Death by Dietary Supplement
I recently received some information from my brother about taking a new dietary supplement. He had read some research and was impressed with the results so he wanted to pass it along. The pill is something called CLA and it is supposed to help deal with weight gain, specifically in the belly area. At my age, any type of voodoo treatment to slow down the expansion of my girth is, at the minimum, worth checking out. He told me that the main ingredient in the pills is something that humans used to ingest regularly through our beef when cows were allowed to graze on grass. I suppose this means it is a natural ingredient and therefore safe to ingest. (Then again, there are 60 mg of Ox bile extract in the digestive enzymes I down after meals so “natural” is not always pretty.) Cows are mostly grain fed these days so they can get fat and to the market faster and the farmers can make their money quicker and the circle of manufactured life can chug along seamlessly. What we are supposed to infer from all of this information is that grain-fed cows have made human meat eaters fatter because we aren’t getting enough safflower seeds in our beef. Whatever. My brother is a doctor and he can read medical journals and follow along without nodding off so I tend to trust his information. (Although I notice he does sleep a lot...)
My wife and I decided to buy some CLA at our local Vitamin Shoppe and watch the pounds begin to melt away. Apparently, this CLA racket is big business because there were seven different manufacturers of this particular supplement lining the shelves which complicated the decision making process. I refused to buy the one with the label that had a hand drawn dragon on it so that was an immediate help. Two others were more expensive than the rest of the options so they were quickly crossed of the list even though there was a chance that the cheaper pills saved money in manufacturing costs because they employed illegal immigrant children to harvest the safflower fields for a dime a day. Then I noticed that the Vitamin Shoppe brand CLA was two-for-one and the fact that I could save even more money caused me to quickly forget the Safflower Kids. It is interesting how being shallow and on a budget go hand in hand. We had just had lunch so my wife cracked open a jar of CLA in the car so we could start the process immediately. The pills were a deep reddish brown color and gigantic. I made her read the directions carefully to make sure they were not suppositories. The saving factor was that we had inadvertently grabbed the gel cap versions of the pills which gave us a fighting chance at swallowing them. I cannot think of a worse fate than to be known as the guy who choked to death on a dietary supplement. Irony does not begin to describe that scenario.
We have been taking the pills for two weeks—one with each meal—and the results are mixed. It is too early to give specifics but stay tuned and I will continue to share our progress.
My wife and I decided to buy some CLA at our local Vitamin Shoppe and watch the pounds begin to melt away. Apparently, this CLA racket is big business because there were seven different manufacturers of this particular supplement lining the shelves which complicated the decision making process. I refused to buy the one with the label that had a hand drawn dragon on it so that was an immediate help. Two others were more expensive than the rest of the options so they were quickly crossed of the list even though there was a chance that the cheaper pills saved money in manufacturing costs because they employed illegal immigrant children to harvest the safflower fields for a dime a day. Then I noticed that the Vitamin Shoppe brand CLA was two-for-one and the fact that I could save even more money caused me to quickly forget the Safflower Kids. It is interesting how being shallow and on a budget go hand in hand. We had just had lunch so my wife cracked open a jar of CLA in the car so we could start the process immediately. The pills were a deep reddish brown color and gigantic. I made her read the directions carefully to make sure they were not suppositories. The saving factor was that we had inadvertently grabbed the gel cap versions of the pills which gave us a fighting chance at swallowing them. I cannot think of a worse fate than to be known as the guy who choked to death on a dietary supplement. Irony does not begin to describe that scenario.
We have been taking the pills for two weeks—one with each meal—and the results are mixed. It is too early to give specifics but stay tuned and I will continue to share our progress.
5/14/2008
Dreams, Realized
I found out yesterday that my middle child, my only daughter, has been accepted as the intern to the Dean of Women at the new Calvary Chapel Bible College extension campus in Northern Italy. She will depart late August and work both semesters until next May. She graduates next week and this was the next post-college step she wanted to take. She is very excited and rightfully so; she wants nothing more than to be an available, pliable container for God to use and he led her through this door. She is running through it with enthusiasm.
I am thrilled that God paved the way for her to follow through on her first option. Any of us crusty veterans of prayer and The Journey can testify that is not always the case. I’m also proud that she is growing into the type of woman that a startup extension campus wants to have on staff to minister to their students. Her application (which she let me edit--I’m still allowed in that circle and I am thankful) was a deep, well thought-out verbal breakdown of her heart. After reading it I would have hired her and I am pleased that someone else had the sense and foresight to see the same thing.
Occasionally, in the midst of all the gushing and excitement, a small taste of loss jumps up and taps the back of my throat. It’s natural; the bond between us is strong. I will miss her but I can’t begin to kid myself that I didn’t see this coming. She was destined for this, her heart wide open, begging to please, ready and willing for anything—as long as it was God-directed—and it has been a privilege to watch her grow into this phase. For now, I will enjoy the summer with her home and make sure her mom and I get our passports up to date. God may direct us to a European vacation next spring (I’ll have my daughter pray for us...)
I am thrilled that God paved the way for her to follow through on her first option. Any of us crusty veterans of prayer and The Journey can testify that is not always the case. I’m also proud that she is growing into the type of woman that a startup extension campus wants to have on staff to minister to their students. Her application (which she let me edit--I’m still allowed in that circle and I am thankful) was a deep, well thought-out verbal breakdown of her heart. After reading it I would have hired her and I am pleased that someone else had the sense and foresight to see the same thing.
Occasionally, in the midst of all the gushing and excitement, a small taste of loss jumps up and taps the back of my throat. It’s natural; the bond between us is strong. I will miss her but I can’t begin to kid myself that I didn’t see this coming. She was destined for this, her heart wide open, begging to please, ready and willing for anything—as long as it was God-directed—and it has been a privilege to watch her grow into this phase. For now, I will enjoy the summer with her home and make sure her mom and I get our passports up to date. God may direct us to a European vacation next spring (I’ll have my daughter pray for us...)
5/12/2008
Entry One Hundred Three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-three of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Thirteen
Adam returned to the school gym every day, eventually increasing the intensity of his workouts to a respectable level although there was no one to gain respect from but himself and that would just have to do. In between he started several projects around the house and eventually got all six neighborhood yards mowed and edged. He finally made a trip to Phelps Hardware and after several rounds with the paint mixer, was able to create the right shade of robin’s egg blue for the exterior of his house. That project alone kept him occupied for several days although the task was made easier by all the ladders and high-end painting equipment he was able to procure from the hardware store.
He also had to make another trip to the IGA but knew it would be his last unless he took the time to shovel out all the rotting “fresh food.” The stench was overwhelming and the flies were multiplying to Biblical plague numbers. To delay having to clean the place out he doubled up on canned goods and made sure he had enough frozen dinners to fill his freezer. It finally crossed his mind that there shouldn’t be any flies if, as the Squatters had promised, all life—including animals—had been wiped off the earth. Then he spotted the Dove Bars in the freezer and forgot all about that annoying contradiction.
Adam had established a new rhythm, a healthier pace, and his outlook slowly improved. His decisions were safe, not adventurous at all, but his mind was beginning the healing process and, even though the chasm was still prevalent, the workouts and the active chores at home helped him ignore the gnawing emptiness, solid and unmoving, still echoing inside him. He had answered the question “What can I do?” at least temporarily, with trying to maintain normalcy, going about his life much as he would have at any other time, only now he was by himself. It wasn’t perfect but, considering the situation, he was starting to assume it was as good as it was going to get.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Thirteen
Adam returned to the school gym every day, eventually increasing the intensity of his workouts to a respectable level although there was no one to gain respect from but himself and that would just have to do. In between he started several projects around the house and eventually got all six neighborhood yards mowed and edged. He finally made a trip to Phelps Hardware and after several rounds with the paint mixer, was able to create the right shade of robin’s egg blue for the exterior of his house. That project alone kept him occupied for several days although the task was made easier by all the ladders and high-end painting equipment he was able to procure from the hardware store.
He also had to make another trip to the IGA but knew it would be his last unless he took the time to shovel out all the rotting “fresh food.” The stench was overwhelming and the flies were multiplying to Biblical plague numbers. To delay having to clean the place out he doubled up on canned goods and made sure he had enough frozen dinners to fill his freezer. It finally crossed his mind that there shouldn’t be any flies if, as the Squatters had promised, all life—including animals—had been wiped off the earth. Then he spotted the Dove Bars in the freezer and forgot all about that annoying contradiction.
Adam had established a new rhythm, a healthier pace, and his outlook slowly improved. His decisions were safe, not adventurous at all, but his mind was beginning the healing process and, even though the chasm was still prevalent, the workouts and the active chores at home helped him ignore the gnawing emptiness, solid and unmoving, still echoing inside him. He had answered the question “What can I do?” at least temporarily, with trying to maintain normalcy, going about his life much as he would have at any other time, only now he was by himself. It wasn’t perfect but, considering the situation, he was starting to assume it was as good as it was going to get.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/11/2008
Mother's Day
Right now, my wife, the mother of my children, is sleeping in her favorite chair in the family room. It has been a hectic morning which started at the early service at church (which we required the boys to attend much to their chagrin) and was followed by lunch at Carraba's then a visit with her mother. (We supplied the lunch for her mom and her friends which was chicken pot pies and sweet potato's from Boston Market). With all the requirements out of the way, we are home and relaxing, spending Sunday afternoon as God planned it--me listening to a baseball game on the radio and her napping. This is Mother's Day, her day, and what makes my wife the greatest mother in the world (after my mom) is that she has requested we go see Iron Man this afternoon as the capper to her day. Is she cool or what?
Speaking of cool, my very own mother--69 years young--completed the 2008 Danskin® Women's Triathlon this morning at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. She is a cancer survivor (over 25 years) and was joined by my sister in the event. I am very proud of her and wanted to give her some digital love and congratulations. The women in my life are amazing...
Speaking of cool, my very own mother--69 years young--completed the 2008 Danskin® Women's Triathlon this morning at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. She is a cancer survivor (over 25 years) and was joined by my sister in the event. I am very proud of her and wanted to give her some digital love and congratulations. The women in my life are amazing...
5/09/2008
Casual Friday Humor Post
P.J. O'Rourke has an article in the LA Times which is the speech he would give at a commencement ceremony—if only someone had asked him. Very, very funny and worth a read. I especially liked this section:
The Bible is very clear about one thing: Using politics to create fairness is a sin. Observe the Tenth Commandment. The first nine commandments concern theological principles and social law: Thou shalt not make graven images, steal, kill, et cetera. Fair enough. But then there's the tenth: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's."
Here are God's basic rules about how we should live, a brief list of sacred obligations and solemn moral precepts. And, right at the end of it we read, "Don't envy your buddy because he has an ox or a donkey." Why did that make the top 10? Why would God, with just 10 things to tell Moses, include jealousy about livestock?
Well, think about how important this commandment is to a community, to a nation, to a democracy. If you want a mule, if you want a pot roast, if you want a cleaning lady, don't whine about what the people across the street have. Get rich and get your own.
Have a great weekend...
The Bible is very clear about one thing: Using politics to create fairness is a sin. Observe the Tenth Commandment. The first nine commandments concern theological principles and social law: Thou shalt not make graven images, steal, kill, et cetera. Fair enough. But then there's the tenth: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's."
Here are God's basic rules about how we should live, a brief list of sacred obligations and solemn moral precepts. And, right at the end of it we read, "Don't envy your buddy because he has an ox or a donkey." Why did that make the top 10? Why would God, with just 10 things to tell Moses, include jealousy about livestock?
Well, think about how important this commandment is to a community, to a nation, to a democracy. If you want a mule, if you want a pot roast, if you want a cleaning lady, don't whine about what the people across the street have. Get rich and get your own.
Have a great weekend...
5/08/2008
Random Thought
I check a regular list of blogs each day, usually in the morning before I get fully cranked up with the necessities of the day. The odd thing is I always check them in the same order even though that means jumping around in my list of bookmarks. What is up with that?
5/07/2008
Entry One Hundred Two: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-two of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam sat on one of the wood benches between the lockers, bent at the waist, head between his legs, trying to catch enough air in his lungs to get past his dizziness. He knew he had overdone his workout, but in a perverse and nauseating way, it felt good to be physical again. Once he started, he had trouble stopping, even though his body had clocked out ten minutes before his mind had agreed. He had walked for fifteen minutes on the treadmill, keeping the pace very slow, and then had worked the weight circuit twice on the universal weight machines. He had used very little weight but the resistance was adequate for his torpid constitution. He then spent another fifteen minutes on the treadmill and that is when he physically shut down. He was able to muster enough clarity to turn off the machine and stagger to the locker room where he now waited for some relief.
When he felt strong enough to stand he lit a cigarette and made his way to the coaches office, not sure what he would find, but hoping to find some towels. The office was open but there weren’t any supplies, as least in plain sight. As he was walking out he noticed a wooden dowel with a loop of wire extending out of one end, hanging on a nail in the door jamb, a key, secured by the wire, dangling to one side. He picked it up and the word “laundry” was written on it in marker. He turned left out of the office, looking for a locked door, and found it around the corner. The key worked and when he turned on the light he faced several wooden shelves stocked with white towels, rolls of white tape and plastic tubs of orange analgesic rub. The room smelled like a spearmint greenhouse, much more pleasant than the room he had just vacated. He grabbed two towels off a shelf and walked back to the lockers. He hadn’t brought any shampoo or soap but assumed he could find something in one of the lockers. After ten minutes of searching he turned up nothing and came to the conclusion that the males of Lincoln High School had been pigs. “I’ll bet the girls used soap,” he said, and he walked out the locker room door, back into the gym and pushed through the doors leading into the girl’s locker room.
The first thing he felt as he entered was the strong sense that he shouldn’t have invaded that sacred space. It was empty, of course, and it looked very similar to the boy’s locker room. The lockers were blue, the benches were made of wood and it too smelled like feet, but the aura of estrogen was still strong and even without a host body to work through, its ability to make him uncomfortable and to feel he was in forbidden territory was creepy. Adam lowered his head and marched toward the first row of lockers, opening the first one he came across without a lock. His faith in women was vindicated when he found shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap on the small shelf at the top of the locker. He grabbed all three and turned to leave but then hesitated. “What the hell; I dreamed about this in high school so I might as well take advantage of it now.” He turned around, walked toward the back, stripped off his clothes, placed them in a pile at the entrance of the girl’s shower, stepped in and turned on one of the shower heads. Although he was still uncomfortable he knew he didn’t have to be and that was a small but noteworthy perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Adam sat on one of the wood benches between the lockers, bent at the waist, head between his legs, trying to catch enough air in his lungs to get past his dizziness. He knew he had overdone his workout, but in a perverse and nauseating way, it felt good to be physical again. Once he started, he had trouble stopping, even though his body had clocked out ten minutes before his mind had agreed. He had walked for fifteen minutes on the treadmill, keeping the pace very slow, and then had worked the weight circuit twice on the universal weight machines. He had used very little weight but the resistance was adequate for his torpid constitution. He then spent another fifteen minutes on the treadmill and that is when he physically shut down. He was able to muster enough clarity to turn off the machine and stagger to the locker room where he now waited for some relief.
When he felt strong enough to stand he lit a cigarette and made his way to the coaches office, not sure what he would find, but hoping to find some towels. The office was open but there weren’t any supplies, as least in plain sight. As he was walking out he noticed a wooden dowel with a loop of wire extending out of one end, hanging on a nail in the door jamb, a key, secured by the wire, dangling to one side. He picked it up and the word “laundry” was written on it in marker. He turned left out of the office, looking for a locked door, and found it around the corner. The key worked and when he turned on the light he faced several wooden shelves stocked with white towels, rolls of white tape and plastic tubs of orange analgesic rub. The room smelled like a spearmint greenhouse, much more pleasant than the room he had just vacated. He grabbed two towels off a shelf and walked back to the lockers. He hadn’t brought any shampoo or soap but assumed he could find something in one of the lockers. After ten minutes of searching he turned up nothing and came to the conclusion that the males of Lincoln High School had been pigs. “I’ll bet the girls used soap,” he said, and he walked out the locker room door, back into the gym and pushed through the doors leading into the girl’s locker room.
The first thing he felt as he entered was the strong sense that he shouldn’t have invaded that sacred space. It was empty, of course, and it looked very similar to the boy’s locker room. The lockers were blue, the benches were made of wood and it too smelled like feet, but the aura of estrogen was still strong and even without a host body to work through, its ability to make him uncomfortable and to feel he was in forbidden territory was creepy. Adam lowered his head and marched toward the first row of lockers, opening the first one he came across without a lock. His faith in women was vindicated when he found shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap on the small shelf at the top of the locker. He grabbed all three and turned to leave but then hesitated. “What the hell; I dreamed about this in high school so I might as well take advantage of it now.” He turned around, walked toward the back, stripped off his clothes, placed them in a pile at the entrance of the girl’s shower, stepped in and turned on one of the shower heads. Although he was still uncomfortable he knew he didn’t have to be and that was a small but noteworthy perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/06/2008
About Mr. Mahoney
It has been brought to my attention that the snippets of my current story that I share occasionally on this blog can be annoying if you are joining it in the middle and have no idea what the heck is going on. To allay those frustrations, I present a brief primer on "Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!"
Adam Mahoney awakes one morning to discover that he is the last man standing on the face of the earth. Overnight, a small group of aliens (they prefer to be referred to as Squatters) have wiped out every living creature on earth except for Mr. Mahoney. They inform him that he is on his own (though they have disposed of the bodies) and they will be watching him to see how he responds--mainly for entertainment value but they also have a wager between them as to the results. So begins Adam's new life, trying to figure out what to do to survive, initially, in a small town in Georgia and eventually in the world at large.
The excerpts start here. Reading them in this format can be extremely frustrating because you are reading "up" the page instead of down but Blogger is free and it is what it is. If you are really interested in the story let me know and we can work something out. Enjoy...
Adam Mahoney awakes one morning to discover that he is the last man standing on the face of the earth. Overnight, a small group of aliens (they prefer to be referred to as Squatters) have wiped out every living creature on earth except for Mr. Mahoney. They inform him that he is on his own (though they have disposed of the bodies) and they will be watching him to see how he responds--mainly for entertainment value but they also have a wager between them as to the results. So begins Adam's new life, trying to figure out what to do to survive, initially, in a small town in Georgia and eventually in the world at large.
The excerpts start here. Reading them in this format can be extremely frustrating because you are reading "up" the page instead of down but Blogger is free and it is what it is. If you are really interested in the story let me know and we can work something out. Enjoy...
5/05/2008
Entry One Hundred One: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-one of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Even after several weeks void of human activity, the locker room still had the funky scent of sweat, balm and feet. Adam stopped at the entrance and looked around, smiling at the immediate memories that flooded him. High school gym class was never his favorite but the familiarity of a room that looked exactly as it had 14 years earlier was enough to make him smile. In the midst of everything that had changed—his life, the world--the recognizable blue, metal lockers and wooden benches dissecting the aisles between them gave him a secure feeling. He moved slowly between the rows of lockers, running his fingers along the outside of the closed doors. Some had locks on them, most did not. He remembered sharing a locker with two friends and the ghastly stench that was generated by damp clothes and towels, ignored in the bottom of the chamber for weeks. He followed the maze to the far side of the room and pushed through two swinging doors, entering the weight room. The equipment was new, as was the graphic painted on the wall of a bulldog, the school mascot, snarling and growling at some unseen opponent. The artwork itself was amateurish, probably commissioned to one of the social outcasts toiling in an art class. “The Squatters spared them a life of frustration and disappointment, if the mural represents the best they could do.” He walked over to a treadmill in the corner of the small room and he turned it on. It immediately started humming, its sound building as the walking surface broke through its lethargy and began a consistent spin. He found the control for the speed and dialed it down to the pace of “leisurely stroll” and straddled the moving base, holding on to the safety rails with his hands. When he felt he had good timing on the speed, he lifted one leg and gingerly placed it on the spinning belt and smoothly dropped into a walk. He swung his arms, emulating a natural walking motion and continued for several minutes. Satisfied he could handle it, he stopped the treadmill and stepped off as it slowed to a stop. “Let’s do it,” he said, and he made his way back to the locker room to change clothes.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Even after several weeks void of human activity, the locker room still had the funky scent of sweat, balm and feet. Adam stopped at the entrance and looked around, smiling at the immediate memories that flooded him. High school gym class was never his favorite but the familiarity of a room that looked exactly as it had 14 years earlier was enough to make him smile. In the midst of everything that had changed—his life, the world--the recognizable blue, metal lockers and wooden benches dissecting the aisles between them gave him a secure feeling. He moved slowly between the rows of lockers, running his fingers along the outside of the closed doors. Some had locks on them, most did not. He remembered sharing a locker with two friends and the ghastly stench that was generated by damp clothes and towels, ignored in the bottom of the chamber for weeks. He followed the maze to the far side of the room and pushed through two swinging doors, entering the weight room. The equipment was new, as was the graphic painted on the wall of a bulldog, the school mascot, snarling and growling at some unseen opponent. The artwork itself was amateurish, probably commissioned to one of the social outcasts toiling in an art class. “The Squatters spared them a life of frustration and disappointment, if the mural represents the best they could do.” He walked over to a treadmill in the corner of the small room and he turned it on. It immediately started humming, its sound building as the walking surface broke through its lethargy and began a consistent spin. He found the control for the speed and dialed it down to the pace of “leisurely stroll” and straddled the moving base, holding on to the safety rails with his hands. When he felt he had good timing on the speed, he lifted one leg and gingerly placed it on the spinning belt and smoothly dropped into a walk. He swung his arms, emulating a natural walking motion and continued for several minutes. Satisfied he could handle it, he stopped the treadmill and stepped off as it slowed to a stop. “Let’s do it,” he said, and he made his way back to the locker room to change clothes.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/03/2008
Take A Moment
A few weeks ago, my 16-year-old son, my youngest child, quit running track. On the surface it seems pretty innocuous, just another decision in an active life. Sure, track was a long shot, an attempt to scratch an athletic itch after a promising baseball “career” was abruptly ended because of three elbow surgeries. And his decision to walk away from running and concentrate on his music was mature and absolutely right. Regardless of all the sane logic attached, I had a surprisingly concrete, physical reaction when the decision was made. Maybe it was a sense of loss—after more than twenty years of sports activities with my kids, it was no more. Combine that with the complicated ache of unsatisfied athletic potential in my youngest child, and “loss” doesn’t feel like a stretch.
He is such a good athlete and he faced so many obstacles, almost as if athletic success was working against him. He fought a good fight—we all did—but the reality is he’s done. The loss (or sadness or whatever it should be labelled) is just another moment to deal with. Life is crammed with them, wall-to-wall. Some are big—not too many, I hope—but most are small. I would categorize this one as medium. String all those moments together and you have your life. This might be a right-brained characteristic, but I am conscious of the moments. I can’t be certain but I don’t think everyone senses the small moments; they only see the medium or bigger. They may notice the gaps created by the small moments, the empty spots on the string between the noticeable ones, but what causes those gaps escapes them. I don’t see gaps. I feel most of the moments, if not all. The way a book feels in my hand or the power of a quality pen dragging across paper. The first sizzle and smell as the bleu cheese burger hits the grill. The first sip of wine and the unexpected chord in a song. Lots of little, small moments.
I’ll get over this particular moment, this sports moment, because my son has plenty more to provide. But I won’t rush the recovery. The ache is a reminder of an eventful, memorable past as well as that another corner has been turned. Besides, even the painful moments are worth remembering.
He is such a good athlete and he faced so many obstacles, almost as if athletic success was working against him. He fought a good fight—we all did—but the reality is he’s done. The loss (or sadness or whatever it should be labelled) is just another moment to deal with. Life is crammed with them, wall-to-wall. Some are big—not too many, I hope—but most are small. I would categorize this one as medium. String all those moments together and you have your life. This might be a right-brained characteristic, but I am conscious of the moments. I can’t be certain but I don’t think everyone senses the small moments; they only see the medium or bigger. They may notice the gaps created by the small moments, the empty spots on the string between the noticeable ones, but what causes those gaps escapes them. I don’t see gaps. I feel most of the moments, if not all. The way a book feels in my hand or the power of a quality pen dragging across paper. The first sizzle and smell as the bleu cheese burger hits the grill. The first sip of wine and the unexpected chord in a song. Lots of little, small moments.
I’ll get over this particular moment, this sports moment, because my son has plenty more to provide. But I won’t rush the recovery. The ache is a reminder of an eventful, memorable past as well as that another corner has been turned. Besides, even the painful moments are worth remembering.
5/02/2008
Thought to Ponder on Casual Friday
Character is like a tree and reputation like its shadow.
The shadow is what we think of it;
the tree is the real thing.
- Abraham Lincoln
The shadow is what we think of it;
the tree is the real thing.
- Abraham Lincoln
Entry One Hundred: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Twelve
Adam pulled into the parking lot of Lincoln High School, his alma mater, and veered to the left, looking for the sports wing of the school. He hadn’t been to the campus in years but it didn’t appear to be radically different from his days roaming its halls so he was confidant a building as prominent as the gym would be easy to locate. And it was. He parked along the outside of the large, metal building, grabbed his bag of new clothes and the shoes for cross training and walked to where the gym and the school building connected. If his memory served him correctly, he thought he could climb through a window near that intersection and gain entry into the gym through the double doors inside. The windows were slats of glass, the kind that rolled out by cranking a handle, so most of them were loose and it didn’t take him long to find one that was easy to dismantle. Once inside, he was happy to find everything unlocked and accessible.
He pushed the handle on one of the double doors leading into the gym and the loud clank of its release echoed throughout the large, empty space. Light was filtering through the windows lining the top of the walls but it was not enough to brighten the floor. He scanned for the big gray box that held the light switches and thought he saw it on the far end of the gym. His shoes squeaked with each step on the varnished parquet floor and the absence of any other sounds amplified his noisy soles. When he reached the light box, he pulled open the cover, the sound of the metal latch releasing giving off a loud popping sound that bounced off the walls, and he pushed the three handles up to turn on the lights. They did not come on immediately but there was an instant buzz, like a large electric razor had been switched on, and the overhead lamps slowly warmed to a slight glow and held, the same routine they’d followed for years. Adam stood and stared at the lights, all of them covered with wire cages to protect them from wayward throws and bounces, waiting for them to kick in to full illumination. As the lights slowly grew brighter and his eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, he saw a wheeled, metal frame that held several basketballs under one of the basketball goals. He walked toward it, shoes still screeching even though he tried to walk on his toes, and pulled one the balls off the top of the wheeled rack. He bounced it once, caught it and the thud reverberated against all four walls, flying all around him and surprising him with how long the noise sustained above the drone of the lights. He bounced it again, this time pushing it down with his hand twice, two dribbles, and then grabbed it, letting the echoes fade before repeating the exercise a few more times. The noise of the bouncing ball off the floor, singular and unaccompanied by anything else, sounded lonely to Adam. It reminded him of his situation and he knew he couldn’t deal with it, at least not that moment. Combined with the squeak of his shoes, the gloomy duet was too much and he placed the ball back in the rack, bent down, untied and took off his sneakers and started walking toward the locker rooms in his stocking feet. He veered right, choosing to enter the boy’s locker room, “because that’s what I am.” At least that hadn’t changed.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Twelve
Adam pulled into the parking lot of Lincoln High School, his alma mater, and veered to the left, looking for the sports wing of the school. He hadn’t been to the campus in years but it didn’t appear to be radically different from his days roaming its halls so he was confidant a building as prominent as the gym would be easy to locate. And it was. He parked along the outside of the large, metal building, grabbed his bag of new clothes and the shoes for cross training and walked to where the gym and the school building connected. If his memory served him correctly, he thought he could climb through a window near that intersection and gain entry into the gym through the double doors inside. The windows were slats of glass, the kind that rolled out by cranking a handle, so most of them were loose and it didn’t take him long to find one that was easy to dismantle. Once inside, he was happy to find everything unlocked and accessible.
He pushed the handle on one of the double doors leading into the gym and the loud clank of its release echoed throughout the large, empty space. Light was filtering through the windows lining the top of the walls but it was not enough to brighten the floor. He scanned for the big gray box that held the light switches and thought he saw it on the far end of the gym. His shoes squeaked with each step on the varnished parquet floor and the absence of any other sounds amplified his noisy soles. When he reached the light box, he pulled open the cover, the sound of the metal latch releasing giving off a loud popping sound that bounced off the walls, and he pushed the three handles up to turn on the lights. They did not come on immediately but there was an instant buzz, like a large electric razor had been switched on, and the overhead lamps slowly warmed to a slight glow and held, the same routine they’d followed for years. Adam stood and stared at the lights, all of them covered with wire cages to protect them from wayward throws and bounces, waiting for them to kick in to full illumination. As the lights slowly grew brighter and his eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, he saw a wheeled, metal frame that held several basketballs under one of the basketball goals. He walked toward it, shoes still screeching even though he tried to walk on his toes, and pulled one the balls off the top of the wheeled rack. He bounced it once, caught it and the thud reverberated against all four walls, flying all around him and surprising him with how long the noise sustained above the drone of the lights. He bounced it again, this time pushing it down with his hand twice, two dribbles, and then grabbed it, letting the echoes fade before repeating the exercise a few more times. The noise of the bouncing ball off the floor, singular and unaccompanied by anything else, sounded lonely to Adam. It reminded him of his situation and he knew he couldn’t deal with it, at least not that moment. Combined with the squeak of his shoes, the gloomy duet was too much and he placed the ball back in the rack, bent down, untied and took off his sneakers and started walking toward the locker rooms in his stocking feet. He veered right, choosing to enter the boy’s locker room, “because that’s what I am.” At least that hadn’t changed.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/01/2008
Write, Right, Rite
One of the dangers of trying to be a writer is that it is sometimes easier to study writing than it is to actually sit down and write. No, that is wrong. It is much easier to read and talk about writing than to commit to the “butt in chair” time that is required to produce something. Having said that, I want to share some thoughts from Flannery O’Connor. She is one of the patron saints of writing deeply spiritual stories that don’t appear as such on the surface. She died fairly young but she left us a trove of thought-provoking stories and thoughts on writing. The following blurbs are from her book “Mystery and Manners.” It is a collection of articles, speeches and essays and the majority have to do with being a writer in general and, in some of the most interesting pages, a writer of faith. Time for me to shut up and hand the reigns to Miss O’Connor...
Any discipline can help your writing: logic, mathematics, theology, and of course and particularly drawing. Anything that helps you to see, anything that makes you look. The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn’t require his attention.
The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. If you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot. The writer’s business is to contemplate experience, not to be merged in it.
In fact, so many people can now write competent stories that the short story as a medium is in danger of dying of competence. We want competence, but competence by itself is deadly. What is needed is the vision to go with it, and you do not get this from a writing class.
Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.
Enjoy your day. Start reading a new book.
Any discipline can help your writing: logic, mathematics, theology, and of course and particularly drawing. Anything that helps you to see, anything that makes you look. The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn’t require his attention.
...
The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. If you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot. The writer’s business is to contemplate experience, not to be merged in it.
...
In fact, so many people can now write competent stories that the short story as a medium is in danger of dying of competence. We want competence, but competence by itself is deadly. What is needed is the vision to go with it, and you do not get this from a writing class.
...
And one of my favorites...Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.
Enjoy your day. Start reading a new book.
4/30/2008
A Prayer for Everyone
Some days we just need to be encouraged. I'll get out of the way and turn it over to Paul...
...I couldn’t stop thanking God for you—every time I prayed, I’d think of you and give thanks. But I do more than thank. I ask—ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of Glory—to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing Him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is He is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life He has for Christians, oh the utter extravagance of His work in us who trust Him—endless energy, boundless strength.
Ephesians 1:16-19
(The Message)
...I couldn’t stop thanking God for you—every time I prayed, I’d think of you and give thanks. But I do more than thank. I ask—ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of Glory—to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing Him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is He is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life He has for Christians, oh the utter extravagance of His work in us who trust Him—endless energy, boundless strength.
Ephesians 1:16-19
(The Message)
4/28/2008
Entry Ninety-nine: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-nine of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
The first thing he wanted to find were shoes, so he walked to the wall displaying all the different styles and brands and began to browse, for once in his life not limited by price or budget. His first inclination was to get running shoes only but, after finding a style he liked, he realized he might need more variety to accommodate different kinds of workouts. He was, after all, serious about getting into shape. He found a pair for cross training as well as a pair specifically for basketball, assuming, along with the running shoes, those three would cover the workout options he was apt to explore. He took the three sample shoes and started searching for the matching twins in boxes in the storage room at the back of the store. It was confusing at first because he was not familiar with the store’s system and there didn’t seem to be any logic to how the boxes were sorted. Once he found one match, it made more sense and he was able to find all three of his choices in his size.
He stacked the shoe boxes on the counter by the register and turned his attention to clothes. He needed shorts and shirts, and maybe some socks, so he started thumbing through the stacks of options randomly scattered all over the store. He found a pair of shorts he liked but was unsure of what size would fit his new doughy frame. He picked up a pair of large as well as a pair of extra-large and turned toward the dressing room. What stopped him he couldn’t say, but something in him pointed out how ridiculous it was to hide while he tried on clothes. He laid the shorts over the rack next to him and undid his pants, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them as he began to try on the first pair of shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the full-length mirrors along the store wall and started laughing. The weirdness of the situation--standing in his underwear in the middle of a retail business, casually trying on clothes like he was at home—was amusing. If he had tried to do that one month ago he would have been asked to leave. “Time has a way of changing the rules, doesn’t it Mr. Mahoney?” His reflection didn’t respond but it looked like it understood.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
The first thing he wanted to find were shoes, so he walked to the wall displaying all the different styles and brands and began to browse, for once in his life not limited by price or budget. His first inclination was to get running shoes only but, after finding a style he liked, he realized he might need more variety to accommodate different kinds of workouts. He was, after all, serious about getting into shape. He found a pair for cross training as well as a pair specifically for basketball, assuming, along with the running shoes, those three would cover the workout options he was apt to explore. He took the three sample shoes and started searching for the matching twins in boxes in the storage room at the back of the store. It was confusing at first because he was not familiar with the store’s system and there didn’t seem to be any logic to how the boxes were sorted. Once he found one match, it made more sense and he was able to find all three of his choices in his size.
He stacked the shoe boxes on the counter by the register and turned his attention to clothes. He needed shorts and shirts, and maybe some socks, so he started thumbing through the stacks of options randomly scattered all over the store. He found a pair of shorts he liked but was unsure of what size would fit his new doughy frame. He picked up a pair of large as well as a pair of extra-large and turned toward the dressing room. What stopped him he couldn’t say, but something in him pointed out how ridiculous it was to hide while he tried on clothes. He laid the shorts over the rack next to him and undid his pants, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them as he began to try on the first pair of shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the full-length mirrors along the store wall and started laughing. The weirdness of the situation--standing in his underwear in the middle of a retail business, casually trying on clothes like he was at home—was amusing. If he had tried to do that one month ago he would have been asked to leave. “Time has a way of changing the rules, doesn’t it Mr. Mahoney?” His reflection didn’t respond but it looked like it understood.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
4/27/2008
Paying Attention
Displayed on the first page of my current journal is this proverb:
Four things come not back:
1. The spoken word
2. The spent arrow
3. The past
4. The neglected opportunity
When I first read those words they were credited as an “Arab Proverb.” I don’t know if that is where it comes from or not—I don't always trust such a general acknowledgment—but the power behind it is universal. There is much there to dissect but I am drawn to number four. The first thing that comes to my mind is Ephesians 5: 15, 16: Be very careful, then, how you live–not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. (NIV). I have always been challenged by those two verses, wondering how many times I was too wrapped up in some petty, narcissistic challenge that I missed a chance to share, help, smile, encourage, show empathy, laugh, pray, hug, listen or just be emotionally present for someone else.
And the people are out there. The situations are in front of us every day. But we need “eyes to see.” I can sit on a park bench and read or eat my lunch and notice how nice and quiet it is, not much going on. But if I put my book down and stare down at the ground and wait, within seconds I begin to notice the ants moving back and forth across the ground. And I see another bug working its way through the grass. And then another. The ground beneath my feet is busy, full of activity and bustling. But I would never see that unless I stopped, adjusted my eyesight, and attempted to see a step deeper than what I am trained to see in a superficial, customary way. I want to see those things around me that can only be seen when I pay attention—and then have the courage to act. I want to make the most of every opportunity. Does it mean having to slow down to notice? Not always but I don’t think it hurts.
Four things come not back:
1. The spoken word
2. The spent arrow
3. The past
4. The neglected opportunity
When I first read those words they were credited as an “Arab Proverb.” I don’t know if that is where it comes from or not—I don't always trust such a general acknowledgment—but the power behind it is universal. There is much there to dissect but I am drawn to number four. The first thing that comes to my mind is Ephesians 5: 15, 16: Be very careful, then, how you live–not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. (NIV). I have always been challenged by those two verses, wondering how many times I was too wrapped up in some petty, narcissistic challenge that I missed a chance to share, help, smile, encourage, show empathy, laugh, pray, hug, listen or just be emotionally present for someone else.
And the people are out there. The situations are in front of us every day. But we need “eyes to see.” I can sit on a park bench and read or eat my lunch and notice how nice and quiet it is, not much going on. But if I put my book down and stare down at the ground and wait, within seconds I begin to notice the ants moving back and forth across the ground. And I see another bug working its way through the grass. And then another. The ground beneath my feet is busy, full of activity and bustling. But I would never see that unless I stopped, adjusted my eyesight, and attempted to see a step deeper than what I am trained to see in a superficial, customary way. I want to see those things around me that can only be seen when I pay attention—and then have the courage to act. I want to make the most of every opportunity. Does it mean having to slow down to notice? Not always but I don’t think it hurts.
4/25/2008
Entry Ninety-eight: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-eight of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam stood in front of the sporting goods store, tire iron gripped tightly in his right hand, determined to get in and abscond some new workout clothes but unsure how. He had made his way to The Mall, a local misnomer for what amounted to two strips of store fronts facing each other, divided by a double sidewalk. It was as fancy as they had been able to generate in Grayson. It wasn’t large enough to crush the downtown businesses but it contained all of the stores usually found in fancier malls in bigger cities, so the business community was relatively happy with the arrangement.
Adam had hoped the back door to the store would be accessible, much like the grocery store, but when he checked it he realized it was solid and secured by deadbolts. He wasn’t going to penetrate that with a tire iron. Now, standing in front of the store, he was confronted with walls of glass and his only option was to shatter something and force his way in. He didn’t like the idea of destroying property but the displays of clothes and shoes through the window were motivating him to proceed. He swung the tire iron back over his head and brought it forward against the glass door with minimal force, hoping to do enough damage to gain entrance but not make a mess. The instant the metal bar hit the reinforced door it bounced back with surprising speed, barely missing his face on the rebound. He tried again using a little more energy but the result was the same; the door was intact and the clothes were safe. He took a deep breath, grabbed the tire iron with both hands, assumed the stance of a clean-up hitter and brought the metal bat across his body with full thrust and power, swinging so hard he lifted himself off the ground. The moment of impact was a glorious display of glass shards arcing through the air, showering Adam as he struggled to gain his balance and not fall into the ragged door frame. The combustion was accompanied by its own song, a musical escort, as the store alarm started screaming an awful combination of deep honks and staccato, piercing shrieks which caused Adam to panic. He quickly knocked out the large, remaining chunks of glass in the door frame and pushed his way into the store, frantically looking for the box on the wall that controlled the alarm. He ran to the rear of the store, assuming it would be in the back where the owner would daily enter and exit and he spotted a small, blinking box on the wall by the door. He started pushing buttons randomly, hoping some lucky sequence would stop the cacophony, but nothing worked. The noise was deafening and he was having trouble concentrating, his hands shaking as he tried to miraculously punch in the right combination. Frustrated, he hit the box with the flat of his hand which gave him an idea. He stepped back and swung down hard with the tire iron, smashing the box into several pieces, exposing wires and controls, all dangling from the wall. Yet the alarm was still alive and screaming. He continued to pound on the wall, creating holes all around the target until, finally, one swing met the mark, the metal rod snagging the wires and ripping them from their source. The alarm immediately stopped, the silence of the store pronounced and a relief. Adam sagged to the floor, dropping the tire iron that suddenly felt like it weighed 200 pounds. His hearing was muffled allowing his heart beat to pound clearly in his head, throbbing yet slowing, as he remained still, leaning against the store’s wall. “Damn, that was ridiculous,” he said as he struggled to pull a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket. The cigarette helped to calm him and after a second one, for good measure, he stood up and began to shop.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Adam stood in front of the sporting goods store, tire iron gripped tightly in his right hand, determined to get in and abscond some new workout clothes but unsure how. He had made his way to The Mall, a local misnomer for what amounted to two strips of store fronts facing each other, divided by a double sidewalk. It was as fancy as they had been able to generate in Grayson. It wasn’t large enough to crush the downtown businesses but it contained all of the stores usually found in fancier malls in bigger cities, so the business community was relatively happy with the arrangement.
Adam had hoped the back door to the store would be accessible, much like the grocery store, but when he checked it he realized it was solid and secured by deadbolts. He wasn’t going to penetrate that with a tire iron. Now, standing in front of the store, he was confronted with walls of glass and his only option was to shatter something and force his way in. He didn’t like the idea of destroying property but the displays of clothes and shoes through the window were motivating him to proceed. He swung the tire iron back over his head and brought it forward against the glass door with minimal force, hoping to do enough damage to gain entrance but not make a mess. The instant the metal bar hit the reinforced door it bounced back with surprising speed, barely missing his face on the rebound. He tried again using a little more energy but the result was the same; the door was intact and the clothes were safe. He took a deep breath, grabbed the tire iron with both hands, assumed the stance of a clean-up hitter and brought the metal bat across his body with full thrust and power, swinging so hard he lifted himself off the ground. The moment of impact was a glorious display of glass shards arcing through the air, showering Adam as he struggled to gain his balance and not fall into the ragged door frame. The combustion was accompanied by its own song, a musical escort, as the store alarm started screaming an awful combination of deep honks and staccato, piercing shrieks which caused Adam to panic. He quickly knocked out the large, remaining chunks of glass in the door frame and pushed his way into the store, frantically looking for the box on the wall that controlled the alarm. He ran to the rear of the store, assuming it would be in the back where the owner would daily enter and exit and he spotted a small, blinking box on the wall by the door. He started pushing buttons randomly, hoping some lucky sequence would stop the cacophony, but nothing worked. The noise was deafening and he was having trouble concentrating, his hands shaking as he tried to miraculously punch in the right combination. Frustrated, he hit the box with the flat of his hand which gave him an idea. He stepped back and swung down hard with the tire iron, smashing the box into several pieces, exposing wires and controls, all dangling from the wall. Yet the alarm was still alive and screaming. He continued to pound on the wall, creating holes all around the target until, finally, one swing met the mark, the metal rod snagging the wires and ripping them from their source. The alarm immediately stopped, the silence of the store pronounced and a relief. Adam sagged to the floor, dropping the tire iron that suddenly felt like it weighed 200 pounds. His hearing was muffled allowing his heart beat to pound clearly in his head, throbbing yet slowing, as he remained still, leaning against the store’s wall. “Damn, that was ridiculous,” he said as he struggled to pull a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket. The cigarette helped to calm him and after a second one, for good measure, he stood up and began to shop.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Food for Thought on Casual Friday
In re-reading The Screwtape Letters, this passage gave me pause:
(Screwtape is teaching Wormwood about “Nothing”) It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.
C.S. Lewis
The Screwtape Letters
It is a reminder to me to be diligent, to not get bogged down in dodging the big sins to the point of missing the slow layering of the little ones. Chew gently and thoughtfully as you work this around your molars.
(Screwtape is teaching Wormwood about “Nothing”) It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.
C.S. Lewis
The Screwtape Letters
It is a reminder to me to be diligent, to not get bogged down in dodging the big sins to the point of missing the slow layering of the little ones. Chew gently and thoughtfully as you work this around your molars.
4/23/2008
Entry Ninety-seven: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-seven of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Eleven
Adam Mahoney was on his hands and knees, crawling in his closet, trying to locate an old pair of running shoes in the explosion of clothes and life leftovers that covered the floor. He was determined to begin his quest towards physical fitness immediately but finding the proper equipment was proving a detriment. “Maybe they’re in the garage,” he said and he pushed himself off the ground and started making his way across the house to resume his search. As he passed the living room he noticed the sofa and the disaster that was a visual reminder of his recent setback. He had not cleaned any of it and had successfully ignored the scene every time he passed it going to and from his bedroom. He sighed, the kind of resigned reaction when the obvious thing to do is the exact opposite thing in which you want to engage. As he moved toward the mess, he stepped on an empty DVD cover and thought about Blockbuster. He picked up an empty, plastic, liter bottle that had contained orange soda in earlier times and he thought about the fly-infested IGA. He glanced out the back window, saw the shed and thought about Phelps Hardware. He stood up straight and said, “Why the hell am I looking for my old running shoes when I can go to the store and get a brand new, top-of-the line pair for free?” He abandoned his cleaning task and looked for his keys.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Eleven
Adam Mahoney was on his hands and knees, crawling in his closet, trying to locate an old pair of running shoes in the explosion of clothes and life leftovers that covered the floor. He was determined to begin his quest towards physical fitness immediately but finding the proper equipment was proving a detriment. “Maybe they’re in the garage,” he said and he pushed himself off the ground and started making his way across the house to resume his search. As he passed the living room he noticed the sofa and the disaster that was a visual reminder of his recent setback. He had not cleaned any of it and had successfully ignored the scene every time he passed it going to and from his bedroom. He sighed, the kind of resigned reaction when the obvious thing to do is the exact opposite thing in which you want to engage. As he moved toward the mess, he stepped on an empty DVD cover and thought about Blockbuster. He picked up an empty, plastic, liter bottle that had contained orange soda in earlier times and he thought about the fly-infested IGA. He glanced out the back window, saw the shed and thought about Phelps Hardware. He stood up straight and said, “Why the hell am I looking for my old running shoes when I can go to the store and get a brand new, top-of-the line pair for free?” He abandoned his cleaning task and looked for his keys.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Jayservation: 005/2008
I am currently reading a really interesting (and very good) book by Pete Gall entitled “My Beautiful Idol.” It’s a memoir of sorts and the thing that jumps off the page is the honesty. It feels like he made the decision to write everything exactly as he thought it— no gloss, no PC editing, no adjusting to make himself sound like a better person. And I am surprised how many times I catch myself muttering in agreement or in raw recognition of what I am reading. Here is an example that jumped out at me just this evening:
I know that in the same night I can experience the failure of lurid fantasies concerning a married woman and also the immediate reality of a God whose love for me is greater than my ability to remain still and experience it. It is an exquisite torture, the evidence of heaven and hell mingled and foaming as ravenous fighting dogs within me. I can’t tell for sure which fighting dog I’m rooting for, and I couldn’t even begin to muster the courage to shoot the other.
Buy the book. There is more where that came from.
I know that in the same night I can experience the failure of lurid fantasies concerning a married woman and also the immediate reality of a God whose love for me is greater than my ability to remain still and experience it. It is an exquisite torture, the evidence of heaven and hell mingled and foaming as ravenous fighting dogs within me. I can’t tell for sure which fighting dog I’m rooting for, and I couldn’t even begin to muster the courage to shoot the other.
Buy the book. There is more where that came from.
4/22/2008
Jayservation: 004/2008
There is a lot going through my head right now and I really wish it wasn’t. I try to keep the valve barely open for fear that if I twisted the knob all the way to the left I would release a free form rant that would be scary and not make a lick of sense. So let’s keep it to one thing shall we? How about waiting? I realize that Tom Petty may not be officially recognized as one of our modern day prophets--at least in the Christian tradition--but he pretty much nailed it with the line “the waiting is the hardest part.” Right now I am in limbo about several areas in my life (i.e. waiting) and I told my wife that I am truly not concerned about the outcome of any of the situations. I am okay with whichever direction God deems to lead. What I am struggling with is this time of letting it play out (i.e waiting for the direction to reveal itself). All the platitudes, Bible verses and empty quotes from pillars of faith do nothing to temper my imagination from careening between every possible solution, constantly playing out all the “what ifs” and “just maybes.” Oh how I long to be content in the waiting. To rest in the unknown and let it play out in its proper time without the teeth grinding and churning stomach. To have the relaxed smile on my face generate from a real place and not be a plastered facade. I’ve been here before, eerily so, and you would think it gets easier. And if I am honest with my self analysis, I can admit I have gotten better over time. The angst is not as bitter, the fear not as crippling. And on that I will hang my hat. Progress, regardless how slight, is progress. At this rate, my prayer is that I will be a calm old man for my grandkids...
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
--”Tom” Earl Petty
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
--”Tom” Earl Petty
4/20/2008
Jayservation: 003/2008
I was watching Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN tonight and the announcers were discussing Jose Reyes, shortstop for the New York Mets. He is the latest model of “Mr. Excitement” in professional baseball and they were commenting on how much fun he has playing the game (which is not too difficult when you make over $4 million to play a game but I will try to back off the cynicism for a brief moment). Then they told the story about how he was ten years old when he started playing baseball in the Dominican Republic and he used “an egg crate for a glove and an orange for a baseball.” My initial, obnoxious American response was to question the authenticity of the story, wondering if it was some Latin version of a Monty Python skit. All I could picture was a little boy asking to get in the latest pick-up game at the dusty, litter-strewn field only to be rebuffed by the other boys because his “glove” was too small—it was a 12 crate and not an 18. “You can’t catch a tangerine with that glove, Jose, much less an orange!” Oops, I forgot I said I would back off the cynicism. I suck.
Jayservation: 002/2008
Recently our pastor was leading us through John 11 which is the section where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. It wasn’t the usual high powered miracle that caught my eye this particular night (nor was it the famous “shortest verse in the Bible”) but something earlier in the passage. As you start your work week, remember this practical advice from Jesus of Nazareth.
“Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun. Walking at night, he might very well stumble because he can’t see where he is going.” (John 11: 9,10 The Message)
Ain’t that the truth. May you have fewer bruised shins and stubbed toes as you move through the coming days.
“Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun. Walking at night, he might very well stumble because he can’t see where he is going.” (John 11: 9,10 The Message)
Ain’t that the truth. May you have fewer bruised shins and stubbed toes as you move through the coming days.
4/18/2008
Jayservation: 001/2008
I read a column (if that is what it is referred to online--or am I still holding on to old terminology in a new digital world?) yesterday by Dick Staub. He is a fellow who is constantly trying to draw people into a conversation about the intersection of faith and art. Obviously, that is something I am interested in so I try to follow what he has to say. (He also has a lot of interesting podcasts at one of his other sites called The Kindlings Muse. Give those a listen if you are so inclined. They are available directly from the site or through iTunes.) The column he posted yesterday listed a number of quotes from famous (or not) people who were discussing how the arts help people see God. Several were good, a couple were great but the one that hit me the hardest was by Julian of Norwich. She is considered to be one of the greatest English mystics and lived in the 1300's. Her quote was: "O God, please give me three wounds; the wound of contrition and the wound of compassion and the wound of longing after God. This I ask without condition."
Without condition. That is a tough prayer. To get beyond myself to the point that I can honestly leave it all in God's hands is a goal, but I cannot say with any conviction that I have achieved that. And why not? Who better to make those decisions for me? Who better can I trust than my Creator? Why is it so hard? Do we not truly believe? It makes it easier to understand Mark 9:24 when the father of the possessed child tells Jesus, "I do believe; help my unbelief." But we are stubborn. Instead of,"Lord, what is Your plan" we are prone to pray, "Lord, bless my plans." Selfish, male and so very American (forgive my redundancy). I pray that I can get to that place for everything. To trust completely and "be anxious for nothing," following the one entity in my life that loves me more than I love myself.
Without condition. That is a tough prayer. To get beyond myself to the point that I can honestly leave it all in God's hands is a goal, but I cannot say with any conviction that I have achieved that. And why not? Who better to make those decisions for me? Who better can I trust than my Creator? Why is it so hard? Do we not truly believe? It makes it easier to understand Mark 9:24 when the father of the possessed child tells Jesus, "I do believe; help my unbelief." But we are stubborn. Instead of,"Lord, what is Your plan" we are prone to pray, "Lord, bless my plans." Selfish, male and so very American (forgive my redundancy). I pray that I can get to that place for everything. To trust completely and "be anxious for nothing," following the one entity in my life that loves me more than I love myself.
97 Posts, last published on Oct 17, 2007
It has obviously been a long time since I wrote on this blog. I will dispense with all the apologies and mea culpa’s (mainly because not writing here was a conscious decision so I’m really not sorry). But I think I am ready to dive back in. I realize all three of you that used to read this may not care anymore but I will proceed for myself. We’ll see how long it lasts.
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
10/17/2007
Entry Ninety-six: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-six of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
He filled the mower’s tank with gasoline and pushed it to his driveway. Before cranking the engine he surveyed his small, bedraggled kingdom, trying to formulate a plan. “I may as well start across the street and work my way around. It shouldn’t take me too long to cut six yards.” Satisfied, he pulled the starter rope and prepared to get lost in his new lawn maintenance career.
Fifteen minutes later he stopped. He was out of breath, dizzy and had to sit down. He dropped on to the steps leading up to his neighbor’s porch and tried to regain his composure but the air was not filling his lungs fast enough and his heartbeat was throbbing in his ears. His struggles lasted for several minutes before some normalcy returned and he was able to start a regular breathing pattern and gain enough control to walk across the street to his home for some water. As he sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, he wondered what was happening to him. He had never been in great shape but this was beyond any physical struggle he had ever encountered; he’d never had to take a break from cutting the front yard before. Had his recent movie phase sucked that much out of him? He wasn’t sure how long he had camped on the sofa but apparently it was long enough to alter his constitution and aerobic capacity. “This is ridiculous.” He wanted another glass of water but he wanted to get up and fix it even less. As he stared at the empty glass, wishing his autonomy had come with super powers so he could make the glass fill on its own, a massive realization struck him. It wasn’t massive in that the idea it generated was brilliant, but it was massive in that, like a lot of things, the small idea led him to move, to take a baby step, to begin an activity that would eventually evolve into a turning point in his existence as the last person standing on the face of the earth. “I need to get in shape,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
He filled the mower’s tank with gasoline and pushed it to his driveway. Before cranking the engine he surveyed his small, bedraggled kingdom, trying to formulate a plan. “I may as well start across the street and work my way around. It shouldn’t take me too long to cut six yards.” Satisfied, he pulled the starter rope and prepared to get lost in his new lawn maintenance career.
Fifteen minutes later he stopped. He was out of breath, dizzy and had to sit down. He dropped on to the steps leading up to his neighbor’s porch and tried to regain his composure but the air was not filling his lungs fast enough and his heartbeat was throbbing in his ears. His struggles lasted for several minutes before some normalcy returned and he was able to start a regular breathing pattern and gain enough control to walk across the street to his home for some water. As he sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, he wondered what was happening to him. He had never been in great shape but this was beyond any physical struggle he had ever encountered; he’d never had to take a break from cutting the front yard before. Had his recent movie phase sucked that much out of him? He wasn’t sure how long he had camped on the sofa but apparently it was long enough to alter his constitution and aerobic capacity. “This is ridiculous.” He wanted another glass of water but he wanted to get up and fix it even less. As he stared at the empty glass, wishing his autonomy had come with super powers so he could make the glass fill on its own, a massive realization struck him. It wasn’t massive in that the idea it generated was brilliant, but it was massive in that, like a lot of things, the small idea led him to move, to take a baby step, to begin an activity that would eventually evolve into a turning point in his existence as the last person standing on the face of the earth. “I need to get in shape,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
10/10/2007
Entry Ninety-five: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-five of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Ten
Adam stood dead center in the doorway that provided a portal between his bedroom and the rest of the house. With a clearer head, post hot shower, the site of his recent habitat depressed him further. What had he been thinking to allow himself to fall into that circle of hell? What was causing his random dives into apathy and indifference? “Besides the fact that I’m the very last person standing on the face of the earth? And there’s no manual?” The ridiculousness of that reality made him smile, slightly, and he moved into the living room to begin another round of clean up. He glanced out the window framing the front door on his way to the kitchen to grab a garbage can and what he saw stopped him in mid step. The Broughton’s house across the street was surrounded by a jungle of overgrown yard and plants. The sight of their normally manicured lawn so overgrown and in disarray jarred him and he slowly walked to the front door and stepped out on the front porch to get a closer look. He scanned the houses on either side of the Broughton’s and they revealed a similar state of disorder. The three yards were indistinguishable, no lines of demarcation, no way to know what belonged to whom, just one big, messy field with three houses plopped in the center for show. His own yard was in need of a cut but, since he had mowed his recently, his stood out as a showcase for maintenance. The yards on either side of his house were in the same sorry shape as the ones across the street. And all of the shagginess bothered him. With a sudden sense of urgency, Adam turned and walked through the house, out the back door and headed straight for the shed. “I’ll mow, that’s what I’ll do.” He felt like a recovering addict, fully engaging in the creed of “one day at a time,” only altering it for his own unique situation to “one activity at a time.” He gained energy and warmth when he had a task at hand. It was the time in-between tasks that were killing him.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Ten
Adam stood dead center in the doorway that provided a portal between his bedroom and the rest of the house. With a clearer head, post hot shower, the site of his recent habitat depressed him further. What had he been thinking to allow himself to fall into that circle of hell? What was causing his random dives into apathy and indifference? “Besides the fact that I’m the very last person standing on the face of the earth? And there’s no manual?” The ridiculousness of that reality made him smile, slightly, and he moved into the living room to begin another round of clean up. He glanced out the window framing the front door on his way to the kitchen to grab a garbage can and what he saw stopped him in mid step. The Broughton’s house across the street was surrounded by a jungle of overgrown yard and plants. The sight of their normally manicured lawn so overgrown and in disarray jarred him and he slowly walked to the front door and stepped out on the front porch to get a closer look. He scanned the houses on either side of the Broughton’s and they revealed a similar state of disorder. The three yards were indistinguishable, no lines of demarcation, no way to know what belonged to whom, just one big, messy field with three houses plopped in the center for show. His own yard was in need of a cut but, since he had mowed his recently, his stood out as a showcase for maintenance. The yards on either side of his house were in the same sorry shape as the ones across the street. And all of the shagginess bothered him. With a sudden sense of urgency, Adam turned and walked through the house, out the back door and headed straight for the shed. “I’ll mow, that’s what I’ll do.” He felt like a recovering addict, fully engaging in the creed of “one day at a time,” only altering it for his own unique situation to “one activity at a time.” He gained energy and warmth when he had a task at hand. It was the time in-between tasks that were killing him.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
10/03/2007
Entry Ninety-four: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-four of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Armed with fresh supplies, Adam bivouacked on the sofa and returned to his previously established rhythm; movies, food and bathroom breaks. He wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that particular lifestyle but he was far from concerned about it and pushed it aside when it floated to the forefront of his mind. Ignoring them wasn’t an arduous task, the thoughts weren’t there very often, maybe forming as he switched out the movies or as he sat on the toilet, but never fully developed. They were easy to dismiss. His near fanatical desire to watch movies proved stronger than any other thoughts he could conjure and he saw no reason to fight that urge. The cadence he had created was mesmerizing and numbing, both welcome states that masked his situation and helped him ignore the obvious. Besides, he was king, emperor and sovereign ruler over all as the last man standing on the face of the earth and if he wanted to lie around and watch movies all day and night he could; there was no one to stop him. And the “no one” part of the equation was what made being numb and mesmerized so appealing.
He had no idea how long he remained in that reclusive condition, lost in the repetitive tempo he had created and perfected. The movies were blurring together, none making sense any more, relegated to serving as a sedative, far removed from entertaining him as he camped out on the sofa. His food and movie supplies dwindled to dregs at approximately the same time and by then he had no idea if it was morning or night much less what day of the year it was. He was sluggish and had just woken up on the sofa, music playing in his head. As he lay there, adjusting to post REM consciousness, trying to gain a toehold on where he was and who he was, his thoughts turned to other things. Maybe it was the music which he now identified as coming from the television, the background accompaniment to an ignored DVD menu repeating a dissonant loop of violins and cellos, which was familiar, but not by much, just enough to stir something deep inside him. The cavern, the bottomless chasm, still echoed, yet to be filled. Maybe the latest phase, the catatonic videophile stage, had run its course. If he had hoped it would fill a need he had been wrong. He was suddenly aware that he needed to try something else, anything to pull out of the funk he had snuggled into. But what? Something familiar would be good, something that would require little thought. He sat up and his body protested. He was stiff and even the pedestrian attempt to lift off the sofa was harder than he had anticipated. As he scanned the living room he observed the arc of nastiness he had created over the last few days—weeks?—which was limited to a three foot radius around the sofa. The rest of the house appeared tidy but he had to kick wrappers and discarded plates out of his way to clear a path to his bathroom. He avoided his reflection, sure it would be alarming, and he turned on the water in the shower. He was vaguely aware that he had come full circle but he was not sure what he could do about it.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Armed with fresh supplies, Adam bivouacked on the sofa and returned to his previously established rhythm; movies, food and bathroom breaks. He wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that particular lifestyle but he was far from concerned about it and pushed it aside when it floated to the forefront of his mind. Ignoring them wasn’t an arduous task, the thoughts weren’t there very often, maybe forming as he switched out the movies or as he sat on the toilet, but never fully developed. They were easy to dismiss. His near fanatical desire to watch movies proved stronger than any other thoughts he could conjure and he saw no reason to fight that urge. The cadence he had created was mesmerizing and numbing, both welcome states that masked his situation and helped him ignore the obvious. Besides, he was king, emperor and sovereign ruler over all as the last man standing on the face of the earth and if he wanted to lie around and watch movies all day and night he could; there was no one to stop him. And the “no one” part of the equation was what made being numb and mesmerized so appealing.
He had no idea how long he remained in that reclusive condition, lost in the repetitive tempo he had created and perfected. The movies were blurring together, none making sense any more, relegated to serving as a sedative, far removed from entertaining him as he camped out on the sofa. His food and movie supplies dwindled to dregs at approximately the same time and by then he had no idea if it was morning or night much less what day of the year it was. He was sluggish and had just woken up on the sofa, music playing in his head. As he lay there, adjusting to post REM consciousness, trying to gain a toehold on where he was and who he was, his thoughts turned to other things. Maybe it was the music which he now identified as coming from the television, the background accompaniment to an ignored DVD menu repeating a dissonant loop of violins and cellos, which was familiar, but not by much, just enough to stir something deep inside him. The cavern, the bottomless chasm, still echoed, yet to be filled. Maybe the latest phase, the catatonic videophile stage, had run its course. If he had hoped it would fill a need he had been wrong. He was suddenly aware that he needed to try something else, anything to pull out of the funk he had snuggled into. But what? Something familiar would be good, something that would require little thought. He sat up and his body protested. He was stiff and even the pedestrian attempt to lift off the sofa was harder than he had anticipated. As he scanned the living room he observed the arc of nastiness he had created over the last few days—weeks?—which was limited to a three foot radius around the sofa. The rest of the house appeared tidy but he had to kick wrappers and discarded plates out of his way to clear a path to his bathroom. He avoided his reflection, sure it would be alarming, and he turned on the water in the shower. He was vaguely aware that he had come full circle but he was not sure what he could do about it.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
9/29/2007
Entry Ninety-three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-three of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
He ran out of food before he ran out of movies. He knew he had to return to the grocery store and restock his refrigerator and pantry but it was almost as hard to leave this time as it had been his initial voyage outside the house. Before he left he had the sense to put a couple of bags of garbage in his trunk with the intention of using the dumpster behind the grocery store as his personal waste management facility. The second trip to the grocery store was quick, aided by the ease of entry and the near overpowering stench filling the inside of the store. The fruits and vegetables were now beyond eating and were breaking down in festering piles in the far corner of the store. The air conditioning had not discouraged the flies from descending and they were in abundance, hassling Adam as he tried to make it through the store in short order but not so fast as to forget something. Fortunately the freezers were all in working order so he made the majority of his selections from their crowded shelves as well as stocking up on canned food. Based on the amount of cans on the shelves he assumed he would have tuna and ravioli for as long as he could stomach it. The bread was becoming another casualty of time so he took a few minutes to dig through what was stocked and found several loaves of white bread that were still mold-free, dropped two into his cart and placed the rest in one of the freezers to try and prolong it’s shelf life. After half an hour he felt he had gathered enough food to get him through another week, at least, plus the stench and the flies were winning the war on his patience and he wanted to get outside. He had started out the automatic door–which opened flawlessly--when he remembered his annoyance from his last trip there and he stopped, jogged to a checkout station and started searching under the counter for some bags. “Plastic will be fine, thank you.” He threw a box of them into his cart and quickly left the store.
As he moved his groceries from the cart to the Volvo, he placed everything in the bags, piling everything into the trunk. When he steered the car out of the parking lot he didn’t hesitate, not because he was getting used to being the last man standing on the face of the earth but because he was distracted by the lure of the idea of stopping by the video store for more movies, even though the store was not conveniently on his way home. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, figure out why he wanted more DVD’s because he had not watched even half of the ones he had at the house. As he passed his street and continued toward Blockbuster he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Anything beats mowing the yard.”
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
He ran out of food before he ran out of movies. He knew he had to return to the grocery store and restock his refrigerator and pantry but it was almost as hard to leave this time as it had been his initial voyage outside the house. Before he left he had the sense to put a couple of bags of garbage in his trunk with the intention of using the dumpster behind the grocery store as his personal waste management facility. The second trip to the grocery store was quick, aided by the ease of entry and the near overpowering stench filling the inside of the store. The fruits and vegetables were now beyond eating and were breaking down in festering piles in the far corner of the store. The air conditioning had not discouraged the flies from descending and they were in abundance, hassling Adam as he tried to make it through the store in short order but not so fast as to forget something. Fortunately the freezers were all in working order so he made the majority of his selections from their crowded shelves as well as stocking up on canned food. Based on the amount of cans on the shelves he assumed he would have tuna and ravioli for as long as he could stomach it. The bread was becoming another casualty of time so he took a few minutes to dig through what was stocked and found several loaves of white bread that were still mold-free, dropped two into his cart and placed the rest in one of the freezers to try and prolong it’s shelf life. After half an hour he felt he had gathered enough food to get him through another week, at least, plus the stench and the flies were winning the war on his patience and he wanted to get outside. He had started out the automatic door–which opened flawlessly--when he remembered his annoyance from his last trip there and he stopped, jogged to a checkout station and started searching under the counter for some bags. “Plastic will be fine, thank you.” He threw a box of them into his cart and quickly left the store.
As he moved his groceries from the cart to the Volvo, he placed everything in the bags, piling everything into the trunk. When he steered the car out of the parking lot he didn’t hesitate, not because he was getting used to being the last man standing on the face of the earth but because he was distracted by the lure of the idea of stopping by the video store for more movies, even though the store was not conveniently on his way home. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, figure out why he wanted more DVD’s because he had not watched even half of the ones he had at the house. As he passed his street and continued toward Blockbuster he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Anything beats mowing the yard.”
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
1/24/2007
3/10/2006
Entry Ninety-two: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-two of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Nine
The long night turned into a long several days. Once Adam had watched a couple of movies he started establishing a rhythm, alternating between bathroom breaks and restocking his food supply on the coffee table that was strategically placed at arms length from the sofa. Once he made it through the first five or six DVD's that he had prioritized as essential viewing, he found he was, initially, less patient with the movies that followed. He would fast forward through some and bailed out of one altogether when its content proved to be boring and impossible to watch.
As movie number eleven began playing through his television, Adam noticed a settling over his spirit, a euphoric wash that, if pushed to describe it, he would have said was a feeling of peace. He felt himself relax and he began to think less about the quality of the movies and chose to lose himself in the experience, regardless of storyline or cinematography. He had no place to go, nothing else to do, so he shifted to a comfortable spot in the sofa and began watching every movie lined up on his floor, back to back, never stopping them or fast forwarding them until the credits rolled at the end. If a DVD included extra material--commentary or “behind the scenes” documentaries--he sat through those sections as well, giving them as much attention as he did the actual film it described. If he fell asleep on the sofa during a movie, he would start it from the beginning when he woke up, continuing his obsessive new hobby, rarely finding a reason to get off the coach outside of using the bathroom or emptying the ashtray. His brief foray into being a respectable citizen had lasted for two days. Adam Mahoney had returned to being a disaster.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Nine
The long night turned into a long several days. Once Adam had watched a couple of movies he started establishing a rhythm, alternating between bathroom breaks and restocking his food supply on the coffee table that was strategically placed at arms length from the sofa. Once he made it through the first five or six DVD's that he had prioritized as essential viewing, he found he was, initially, less patient with the movies that followed. He would fast forward through some and bailed out of one altogether when its content proved to be boring and impossible to watch.
As movie number eleven began playing through his television, Adam noticed a settling over his spirit, a euphoric wash that, if pushed to describe it, he would have said was a feeling of peace. He felt himself relax and he began to think less about the quality of the movies and chose to lose himself in the experience, regardless of storyline or cinematography. He had no place to go, nothing else to do, so he shifted to a comfortable spot in the sofa and began watching every movie lined up on his floor, back to back, never stopping them or fast forwarding them until the credits rolled at the end. If a DVD included extra material--commentary or “behind the scenes” documentaries--he sat through those sections as well, giving them as much attention as he did the actual film it described. If he fell asleep on the sofa during a movie, he would start it from the beginning when he woke up, continuing his obsessive new hobby, rarely finding a reason to get off the coach outside of using the bathroom or emptying the ashtray. His brief foray into being a respectable citizen had lasted for two days. Adam Mahoney had returned to being a disaster.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
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