overwriting


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.


12
Aug 11

Back at home

Caught a two more sessions, had lunch with a friend, listened to my adviser give some tips on a panel and then we rushed to the airport.

And these are my parting thoughts about St. Louis. The cynical consensus seemed to be that people would have preferred a different conference location, but that could be that folks found little to do downtown, diagnosed the WiFi as lousy and had already experienced a 6 a.m. fire alarm.

I’ve only been there twice, and the first visit to St. Louis was on a long layover that let us discover the cross-town trip on the MetroLink to the arch, an eye-opener for many in our little group, and a few minutes at the arch. I’m no expert. There might not be a lot to do, as some people claimed, after you’ve seen the arch and the Cardinals and gone to either Six Flags or Budweiser, or for the hearty, both. But we didn’t come to do those things. St. Louis has seen some hard times, like most everyone else along the Mississippi, even when it wasn’t the Big Muddy that brought those times downstream. But the people we met this trip have all been friendly and kind. If you so much as walk around with a curious look on your face people were willing to stop and offer directions, even if you didn’t need it. People were chatting with strangers in the “We’re all in this together” sense, even if you didn’t know what you were in.

We’re long on hospitality where I’m from, but they have no shortage of it in St. Louis, either.

I did not get to try the barbecue steak sandwich, but maybe next time.

Our hotel was nice. We crashed with a friend, and the pullout sofa could have been much worse.

The airport, is another tragic matter. It took 52 minutes to join the security line and make it through the other side of the metal detectors. A careless TSA guy almost crushed The Yankee with a tall stack of those ubiquitous gray tubs. He did not notice or care. The people working there know they are in a bad spot, the passengers let them hear it, and there’s not much they can do.

They have five detector screening stations. Three were opened. And this was not, we’re told, an unusual crush at the checkpoint. “We don’t have enough people” muttered the second ID checking person. Really? There’s only 20 percent of the country unemployed or underemployed, and most of them would look good in blue. St. Louis County was at an unadjusted 8.8 percent earlier this summer, and everyone is convinced these numbers have been depressed. It doesn’t get much more shovel-ready than a small government job, and yet here we are.

This isn’t about jobs in St. Louis, though, that nightmare is about staffing. This is being two waiters short on Valentine’s Day, only Valentine’s Day is every day.

So we’d arrived at the airport with just over an hour to spare and barely made it to the plane in time. That was nice, but at least my shoes and toiletries are safe. Oh, and the people in line, the poor regulars that fly through this airport frequently, they secretly loathe the place. I’m sure the feeling is mutual. This is what air travel has become.

Oh, and this:

Home, after an inordinate pause to get a jetway in Atlanta. That narrowed and closed our window for barbecue in Newnan, where we learned about the town’s two Medal of Honor winners, Col. Joe M. Jackson and Maj. Steven W. Pless. They received their medals on the same day, and the legend goes that LBJ said something like “There must be something in the water down in Newnan.”

Read the details about what those two great men did and you’ll realize: he was right.

Dinner in town, pizza at Mellow Mushroom, marveling at the suddenly full streets. Everyone is back in town, marking the almost-end of summer.

It could go on a bit longer; I wouldn’t mind.