overwriting


28
Feb 12

Bo Bikes Bama

Bo Jackson, that Bo Jackson, will ride across Alabama in April, east to west, as a fund raiser for tornado relief.

The man is intense even in promotional videos. I want to ride along. At least for a little bit, if not an entire leg. (I’d prefer the Bessemer to Tuscaloosa day obviously, since we both grew up there.)

You can ride with him.

If I were able to ride with him the only problem would be figuring out to get ahead of him several times so he can pass me and I can describe the sound. So I can write things like this:

Bo riding a bike is an angry mashing of steel gears. Gritting carbon fiber against melting alumnium. He flings acidic drops of sweat behind him, furious that he has to stop and replace his pedals every 45 minutes or so. He’s riding a Trek because it is built like a tank, but he still grinds them into dust. I bet he could ride the 300 miles in the better part of an afternoon if he catches the red lights right. But since he has to wait so often for wheel rebuilds it stretches this thing out over a week. I bet the turbulence behind him helps clean up the tornado debris on some of those central Alabama roadsides.

And not one man will sneer at him when he coasts into Tuscaloosa, because they know.

I told a friend that I was trying to explain Bo to my lovely bride, who was busy being a little girl in another part of the country during Bo’s prime while we were busy agog at what the man could do. A few years later and superlatives can ring hollow. He suggested the uninitiated watch this:

If I rode with Bo I would not act like a fanboy, but I would ask him about coming home to raise money. And I would ask him about his VOX2 Max. And I’d playfully suggest we sprint to the next road sign, just so I could say I’ve been beaten by the best.


25
Dec 11

Peace on earth

MerryChristmas

Not to be Santa-centric, but this particular Santa’s helper is family. I hope your Christmas has been a blessing of family and friends and peace and joy very kind.

We had the chance last night, in a dimly lit church, to sing Silent Night with a fine and internationally renowned baritone. It was about as moving a musical experience as you can ask for. I hope for you that your holidays provide moving moments and lasting memories.

I hope to remember the man I met this week who thought he had cancer in his kidney. A checkup sent him to an oncologist, which meant tests and then an operation. It was not cancer, but he was bleeding internally. Still lucky — timing is everything and he could have bled to death — they removed half a kidney. It is, he said, “the best Christmas in 15 years.”

I hope to remember the Jamaican immigrant, who’d already worked two jobs on Friday when we met and will work two jobs on Christmas day. He’s been here for six years, he said. “And this is the number one country, the best country in the world.”

There are hundreds, thousands, of little stories like that which don’t involve any of the lovely presents we’ve purchased or received. I hope you remember to count them in your blessings, too.

And for no reason whatsoever, remember that Christmas when the world felt very small, and all of creation seemed so much more immense. Our reaching outward, seeking a goal, stretching for some larger discovery and achievement, meant an especially poignant look inward:

“(G)ood night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you — all of you on the good Earth.”


11
Nov 11

Veteran’s Day

Two years ago, we returned from a conference in Canada later than we’d expected. It had flurried on us in Canada, because we had the good fortune to be in Ottawa in November. We got stuck in Chicago for four hours, weathering two broken planes and all manner of other very minor absurdities.

When we arrived in Birmingham it was just before 9 p.m. and our plans to be home and make dinner and all of that were ruined. Also, it had snowed in Birmingham in November. And a tiny little bit of it had stuck to the ground. In Birmingham in November.

So we went to the wonderful DeVinci’s Pizza, possibly for some sort of pasta. And at the end of the evening Mr. Day was standing at the counter, standing over a portrait of his confident, determined son. He thanked me for wearing the poppy on my lapel that I’d picked up in Canada because he’d lost his boy in the service.

And so I think of him, and my uncle who lost a leg in Vietnam, and my great-grandfather who saved mens lives as a medic in the ETO in World War II, and the two ladies of my generation who shipped off for Iraq and people known to me and unknown. They’ve all done far braver things and endured far more than most of us can conceive, because they have a sense of duty, a love of place, an understanding of comradeship that insisted they stand by the people next to them, standing in front of the rest of us, for the rest of us.

Perhaps the highest honors we can give someone willing to do that are gratitude and peace. They deserve both in short order and in abundant supply.


13
Oct 11

Math and rain, and also traffic

storm

I drove through that this morning. As it was later described, by several people, as “Suddenly here” and “hurricane-like.”

That last description came from a writer, so we’ll excuse the hyperbole. Even still, it was an imposing wall of active weather.

And I drove through two of them. The second was less impressive, but no less guilty of fraying the nerves of other drivers. Apparently it has been a while since it rained here — checking the drought monitor, why, yes, severe and extreme drought — because no one remembers how to drive in this stuff.

“I seem to recall something about hazard lights and … what was that other thing? Oh, BRAKES!”

Usually, applying a little less pressure to the accelerator and coasting to a speed slightly more comfortable allows one to press on, but not these good drivers. No sir. Today was a 45-mile-per-hour rain, which is to say that’s the speed I could safely maintain on the interstate in the heart of the storm.

Old timers remember a time of a 10-mile-per-hour rain, but their grandchildren, at Thanksgiving, just sigh and roll their eyes. “Not the monsoon story again, grandpa … ”

I recall stopping more with my grandparents in the rain than I’ve done myself, and my grandfather was a truck driver. He’d know from road weather. I have stopped for rain exactly twice in my driving career. Once it was raining so hard I mildly feared for my life. The other time it was merely difficult to see. And I believe it was late in the day and all the crazies were on the road.

No problems in the storms today, though, happily. The pine tree frontier was uneventful. Made it back to civilization just as the roads dried and the traffic thinned. I was able to stop by an engraving shop and ordered gifts for this year’s inductees to the Samford JMC Wall of Fame. Two gentlemen, alumni, success stories, are going on the great wall. They also need plaques.

Visited one of my banks, where I filled out paperwork. I will not be surprised at all to receive a phone call in three weeks informing me that the paperwork was incorrectly done and will need further attention. The helpful young teller was new and she knew as much about this particular procedure as I did. And I’m sure this will cost me $6. Processing fees, you understand.

On campus I received marching orders. I marched to and fro, doing things that were asked of me. I discovered, just before class, that I’d almost duplicated a colleague’s plan, almost to the letter. This required a last minute change of plans for my afternoon lecture.

I discussed math for journalists. Everyone wins.

Here I wrote some other things, my browser crashed and the WordPress draft sequence didn’t kick in. This is frustrating, but you’re not missing much. There was a story about bumper-to-bumper traffic and how, for the first time in the history of overcrowded interstates and freeway construction, it was beneficial. There was also a whimsical anecdote about the moon, which was lovely tonight.

I made this, though, so enjoy. I’ve put a few of these up here in the past, but not for some time. Thought I’d do this one, since I shot it from the hip today and remembered how much I like raindrops on glass. Something about the focus of the droplets and the blurring of the world beyond. I want to write about rain, there’s some great meaning behind it all, but precipitation isn’t my strongest subject matter, it seems. Best leave it to the experts:

rain

Rain more. We need it.


22
Sep 11

Driving is a good thing

After a long day holed up in the office and a perfectly acceptable afternoon in the classroom, this was my first view of the evening.

sunset

That gave way to a little storm, which turned into the lightning cloud that managed to stay just off in the distance. As dusk turned to night the electrons lit up the clouds into eerily serene spectres of yellow. And when all of the light was gone from the sky the lightning stood out in pale white sheets in the far off clouds.

It was a terrific show, a starkly beautiful piece of nature that felt like it lasted forever.

When I finally stopped admiring it and decided I should try to capture this somehow, it was too late. I set up the camera to do a little video, but what I captured was a cloud that had all but exhausted its energy. So there’s not much to see, beyond the dying gasps of a ferocious energy.

So I won’t show it to you. The video isn’t very good, even though I want it to be.

Now I just have to find the right mixture of conditions. A storm off in the distance that I’m continually chasing. Lightning. The proper lighting conditions at just the right time of day. Who knows? All of these things may never happen with me behind them. And there’s the eternal question: will I have the wherewithal to record it if I am there?

Truly it was beautiful. Sometimes, there are things about your commute that are worth remembering.