A new W in Dallas

They say our current president and family are moving to the 'mountainous' Dallas area. (we're not Kansas but we do our skiing in Colorado for a reason) I attended the installation service of Bishop W. Earl Bledsoe to the North Texas Annual Conference. I know nothing about him other than the bios that can easily be googled. I did however like his presence at worship this afternoon. I have to admit, I mostly went because I love worship. I love to see how people address pomp and circumstance. What is being done to connect an African American man born in 1950 with the population of Dallas and a denomination on the edge of division, loosing members and at a dire lack of young adults. Other than the college choir that was performing and the Bishop's children I don't know that I saw another person in their 20's in the room. I'm sure there were a handful spread among the room, but that's all. I wonder why? Why is the church not popular to our twenty-somethings? I know it is a historical issue and not just our generation, but why? The music was wonderful, the sermon kept my attention, there was an effort to incorporate children and dance. Where are the other church addicts? Where are my friends from seminary who created more opportunity for worship b/c Sunday Church and Tuesday chapel wasn't enough? So, Bishop W. Earl Bledsoe, I heard you and I do believe that in some way I hear what you hear. But, do you hear what I hear? A screaming silence in the absence of people like me.

home

Violent squirrels

I would like to know where they passivist squirrels are hiding out and how to get them to move into my neighborhood. I'm not home much, but when I do pull in I'm welcomed by a bombing of pecan shells from above. I don't believe they are simply falling, but coming down at such a force that something (like a feisty squirrel) must have propelled them. First, I am thrilled that a Pecan tree is going to drop its lovely bearings on my front steps and cannot wait for them to be ripe. However, getting from my truck to my front door has become a bit dangerous. I have wondered if they drop all the time and I'm imaging little vengeful squirrels stock piling shells all day then barraging me with them as I dash up the steps. There is a definite Disney Chip n' Dale episode that has given me the fuel to imagine scheming squirrels firing down rains of pecans on innocent me (or Donald Duck). So, today I'm home. I sit on my couch, typing away at the computer and looking out my window to the Pecan Tree and firing area in question. I am not hearing the patter of shells hitting the deck and vehicles below. Why are these squirrels so angry? What have I done? They have plenty of food in the boughs of the great pecan tree. TCU had squirrels like these too. I wonder if they're just equipped with a good shell pitching arm or if they train?

breaking the unbreakable

It is the end of an era. A slightly short toss off the roof missed the dirt by inches and slammed into the sidewalk. At which point the bottom fell into pieces. Nalgene's come and Nalgene's go, but purple Thump and I have been together for some years now. These bottles are apparently giving me cancer anyhow, but nothing beats them even if they aren't truly indestructible. The first week I had this particular bottle I dropped it off a short cliff while climbing and busted the lid strap, which the store gladly handed me a replacement for. The irreplaceable is the memories that come with the bottle. The years that Cam and I had the same. The addition of Thump at an ROTC. Grad school. Enchanted Rock at New Year's. The lingering question is: Do I put the Thump sticker I found while unpacking on the new Nalgene or is that like cloning my dog and thinking its still the same dog?

more potty talk

I began pondering the port-a-potty a few months ago. I was at a Cowboy fast draw event that had two port-a-potties. One was pink, one the traditional blue. Upon closer examination each unit had the respective gendered restroom sign of cultural understanding. The pink woman's room also had a small mirror on the inside of the door, a feature apparently not included on the men's. Is it really necessary to have a separate men's and women's port-a-potty??
My port-a-potty-ponderings have returned in the last couple weeks as I've become a regular of such establishments. This is the restroom of the construction site (all blue w/ no gender specific signs). My curiosity is that the toilet seat has a spring. Not just the lid but the seat. It is in essence the reverse of the "don't leave the seat up" argument. There is no way to leave the seat down. Thus, there really is no squatting if one intends to use the seat b/c the rear must be used to keep the seat down. I have yet to decide the usefulness of this spring feature (on all the potties I've thus far used on sites). Each unit also has a 'urinal'. It does make me wonder why all those folks who keep ragging on others to put the seat down, don't just install the reverse. Install a spring that forces the seat back down. I don't know if one can pee standing up while holding the seat back as one is able to hold it down with the rear end...

when ike grazed dallas

I was building a house. We were loading and raising trusses (the triangles that sit on top of the walls to form the roof) to be exact. I was mentally prepared for some pretty intense wind and rain, so what we did get really didn't seem so bad. Don't get me wrong, its was gusty standing on the wet framed walls holding up trusses and nailing them in. I think it is good for people to get out in a little inclement weather. In some ways I even prefer today to a hot and sunny summer scorcher. A lot of mud and water and I didn't even melt..mom has some explaining to do. I also kept thinking how ironic it was that I spent eight hours building a house in the midst of a storm that was simultaneously destroying so many.

light between darkness

When I left this morning the sun had yet to rise, it was dark. When I arrived back home moments ago the sun had long been set, it was dark. I was tired this morning and I'm a whole new form of tired now. But, in those many hours between the light was great. Not just the Texas sun beating down on me creating a nice set of raccoon eyes and a farmers tan to boot, but the light of people. Arriving on site today (the first big Saturday workday of this AmeriCorps year) there was a mere slab of concrete and a pile of framed walls in the back. Just after four we rode away from a fully framed (plumb and squared) house. Working side by side with Cynthia, the future home-owner, her mom and one of three sons, we began what will by Christmas be a home for one really fine family. Cynthia's 3yr old grandson stole the day when, prompted to do what he does for the ladies, dropped to the dirt ground and starting pounding out all out push-ups. A couple of great and patient volunteers, Walker Texas Framer, Wayne and Dave took extra time to teach the 'newbie' AmeriCorps kids, the sponsors pulled out a fine lunch spread and sent us packing w/ leftover chips and cookies. After a long day of serious work the Tipperary Inn served up a fine finish with cold drinks, new friends and some fancy fiddlin'. If anyone were to say to me today, This world is going to hell in a handbasket, I'd simply have to disagree. If it is, this handbasket is filled with some mighty fine folks.

eidetic

Some moments from today:
For about 24 hours my current AmeriCorps experience was completely unlike my previous year of service. That was until today when we piled into the glorious 12 passenger van. The memories of traveling in vans during youth have been taken over by the many many miles of 10 folks and all our stuff in a 12 passenger AmeriCorps van all over the northeast.
I was schooled by a spry little pregnant woman teaching a step aerobics class tonight. I had flash backs to high school volleyball tryouts as she made us scurry across the floor in squat position. But, as the only 'white' person in the gym I felt a whole lot more at home and comfortable than in a room full of other middle class white woman who I have a lot less in common with. I was again reminded of my first tour with AmeriCorps when we lived in Over-the-Rhine Cincinnati and I attended an African American church and couldn't have been happier, drawn to worship and embraced in community.
This is not just a dear diary moment, but a contemplation on memory and flashbacks. I love a good movie flashback. I love a good life flashback even more. I'm curious today about sense memory. There are so many things I have forgotten, names, places I've been, stories I've told, etc. There are moments I haven't thought of since they occurred. But one duck into a large van and a year of memories came flooding back. It was all I could do to not become the 'my first time in AmeriCorps..." barrage of stories girl today. And through my drenching sweat and aching muscles I rolled through step aerobic moves that I haven't done in at least four years. Muscles remember. Its fascinating. How horrible are we to our bodies (not to mention our minds wasting away in front of computers and TVs) and yet there is so much information stored in them.

aesthete

I made the ugliest looking deviled eggs yesterday for a church party. Against all my wants to hide them in my fridge and take something else to the potluck or turn them into egg salad, I didn't. I finished them even though I had to reboil the eggs and still barely got the shells off. I couldn't count how many times I've boiled and deviled eggs in my life, I don't know what happened. It seemed like such a fail-safe. I want the food I take to social events to be perfect, what self-respecting Food Network addict wouldn't. I took them, the nineteen or twenty remaining halves of the original dozen eggs in all their misshapen, nicked and a little brighter yellow center than normal glory. I even left two whites empty in honor of my brother, though I don't think anyone ate them. In the end, people ate them and enjoyed them. No one shunned me for my less than perfect looking eggs. I don't think anyone even noticed. I brought home 3 halves, but that is only because they were victim of being that one dish that gets forgotten in the fridge till the serving is half over. I guess I taught myself a lesson in its not looks but what's inside.