A Chasing After the Wind

When you get older...

That's how I wanted to begin, but I feel it's necessary to stop there and let that statement speak for itself.  

I am getting older.  

Now that the depressing facts have been acknowledged, allow me to proceed.  

When you get older your body begins to fail you.  I'm a firm believer in the "use it or lose it" philosophy that encourages activity and continued use of all your faculties, but I'm starting to see that even if you don't let yourself go completely to pot, nevertheless your body will betray you.  I consider myself an active, healthy 33-year-old, but I'm not 18 anymore.  My body doesn't bounce back.  

Part of being active involves me being there for my sons.  I love to play basketball with them, wrestle, and toss them around at the lake or the pool.  Two weekends ago I did too much of that, it seems.  After a day at the lake followed by a day at the pool, with the second day filled with launch after launch from a perch above the water level, the anterior portion of my shoulder began to hurt.  It made sense.  After throwing kids above my head for hours I would expect my shoulder to be sore.  But then the fun began.  The pain also started in my forearm.  And for all the non-Anatomy majors out there, the muscle that originates in the shoulder and inserts in the forearm is the bicep.  So despite a year of heavy working out, I was not prepared for a day of throwing children.  My body couldn't cope.  My bicep tore (the assessment seems to be that I have strained the tendons of my bicep).  And after a couple weeks of moderate usage (I haven't lifted for quite a long time), it has not gotten better.  Now I'm wearing it in a sling, just to remind myself not to use it.  Being left-handed isn't al that fun, but it's not the worst thing.  

No, the worst thing is realizing the futility of lifting.  What is the point of all this "body building" over the course of the last year?  I have tracked my progress (you can hear about it here and here) and hit some goals, but ultimately what was gained?  In the picture above you can see my "progress" from 160 lbs, post-surgery skeleton, to 195 lbs weight lifter, to 185 lbs regular guy.  But in all actuality, how much difference is there?  It's all so futile.  And the futility is exaggerated by this injury.  Even if I had maintained my eating regimen and continued working out hard the whole summer, I would have come to this point and been unable to work out and I would have lost a great deal of any gains I might have made.  When you get right down to it, this body is breaking down and starting it's decline to ultimate decay.  This skin is not eternal.  I knew this all along, of course, but it gives me greater pause to recall it as I'm reminded of my own mortality.

Will I stop lifting?  Probably not.  It has been a part of my life for the better part of fifteen years.  Plus, I do believe that if I stop "using it" I will only decline and "lose it" that much more quickly.  Perhaps I will simply return to living a more balanced life, with a healthy acknowledgement of the physical aspect, but a greater emphasis on the spiritual.

When Auto-Correct Just Won't Help You

It is now customary for me to peruse Facebook and see what friends and family are up to.  It is also common to receive countless text messages each day.  With all the typing that goes on these days, and with the help of auto-correct when texting or uploading via mobile, one would think that messages would be transmitted perfectly.  However, I have begun to notice several grammatical errors that are quite common and have become particularly irksome to me.
1) Your
For example, "Your lucky that you didn't get hurt more seriously in that accident."  What the author means is "you're".  Your is possessive, and should be used when describing the object of another person...not when talking to the other person himself.  The solution is simple (and I always employ this trick, perhaps just because I'm obsessive about such things): when typing you must speak your (correct usage!) thoughts, and if your (INCORRECT!!) wanting to talk about another person, speak to them (for me I almost mispronounce "you're" when I'm typing, making it sound in my head like "yew-er", so that it stresses the "you" to whom I am speaking) while at the same time typing the contraction "you're."  Maybe it doesn't work for everyone.  I'm not sure I can explain it well, but it works for me.
2) To
A preposition.  Not an intensifier, which is how it is commonly misused, as in "I like that band to!"  Here's another little trick: if you mean you enjoy it just like I do, then there are two (ah...to, too, and two) of us who enjoy it.  So then there should be two "o's" in the "too" you use.  So when "to" should mean "also", there should also be a second "o."  Again, that's a convoluted way to remember it, perhaps, but it is my little trick.
3) Word substitution
If you type "quite" when you mean "quiet" then the computer/mobile device you are using won't tell you that an error has been made because "quite" is a real word.  There's no trick for this one; you simply have to be less lazy and take the time to proof-read before you click "Send" or "Post."

There's still a little bit of the fourth grade English teacher in me, it seems.

Summer in Texas

It is currently 105 degrees outside.  In the past I have complained about Texas weather, and while it does present certain challenges I have realized that I need to embrace what will likely be my "home" climate for the foreseeable future.  So although I am inside now, I will be going swimming in a little bit.  And while the Texas sun, which beats mercilessly upon us, is unbearably hot, it IS good for some things.  

Namely, bleaching bones.  The boys and I found a groundhog skull while we were in Ohio.  I have just now gotten around the cleaning it up, and so while the house "airs out" (I boiled the skull on the stove in the kitchen.  Not a great idea smell-wise.  And since it is super hot outside, I can't really open the windows...I just have to wait for the noxious smell to dissipate.) the skull is being bleached on the roof.  

 On the art front, I just completed a painting I started last summer.  Also while we were in Ohio, Aydan remembered that I was working on this painting and, when the opportunity presented itself while riding the Mansfield Carousel, he posed for his version of my version of David's painting.

It isn't a perfect painting--far from good enough to be a forgery--but I'm glad that at least it is done.  

Finally, I feel like I must address something I have observed while watching the Olympics.  I must give this disclaimer: I have a wedding ring tattoo and I am no longer married.  That alone should be enough of a statement on the folly of tattoos, but I feel like I need to comment on what I view to be a particularly ludicrous decision on the part of Olympic athletes.  

Why, dear athletes, WHY do you insist on having the Olympic rings emblazoned upon your bodies?  Please do not take this as a critique of the athletes themselves.  Their feats of athletic prowess are beyond remarkable, and by and large they do a great job of representing our nation.  Nor am I demeaning the Olympics themselves.  In fact, I love the logo itself for it's depiction of the unity of the continents and mankind during the time of the Olympics.  I won't even comment on the aesthetics of the majority of the tattoos.  No, my beef is with the notion itself: "I am an Olympic athlete, therefore I will tattoo the Olympic rings on my body."  This is, in short, stupid. 

It's not just Olympians who do this.  Basketball players do it as well.  In their case it is often MUCH more hideous to look at, and therefore is doubly wrong.

I get that these athletes are proud of what they do and proud of their accomplishment.  They are elite.  They are an extremely small minority of excellence.  Good.  Be proud of that.  But don't print it on your body.  THAT is dumb.

For further support, I call upon the scene from "City Slickers."  As the guests are just arriving at the dude ranch, Mitch (Billy Crystal) teases Ed (Bruno Kirby) about his jacket.
"Are you really wearing this?"
"Why?"
"It's hideous.  It has your name AND your face on it."
"Hey, I'm proud of what I do."
(Phil, played by Daniel Stern, inserts) "So's the president, but he doesn't put his face on a suit."

And that's really it, right there.  As I teacher, I'm very proud of what I do.  I also value being able to call myself an "artist."  However, you don't see me getting all tatted up about it, do you?  You know what...nevermind...

For Those Keeping Score at Home

In case you care, the squirrel skull was utterly smashed.  Despite the fact that the squirrel looked completely whole, it was in fact badly damaged internally.

Experience has been a good teacher in this regard.  In fact, experience is often the best teacher.  Particularly failures and mistakes.  Billy Joel, in his song, "Second Wind", writes, "You're not the only one who's made mistakes but they're the only things you can truly call your own."  Had I not scooped up a coyote off the side of the road...and a fox...and a...you get the point.  Sometimes, a successful habit becomes ingrained by hours of successful practice; but equally valuable are the few, brief, extremely profound and yet equally painful mistakes that lead to improvement (or at least the effort to avoid the same pain again in the future).

I've worked on light fixtures without turning the power off before...once.  All I needed was the buzz that shot up my arm and the accompanying thought, "That could have killed me",  to make me a whole-hearted believer in always shutting off the breaker before you mess with electricity.  How many other mistakes/learning experiences could I point to in my life?

Today I was talking about making an "Encyclopedia of Life" for my sons--part memoir, part how-to book; a guide for navigating all the crazy challenges one faces in life.  I would still really like to do it.  But nothing will be so great a teacher as the mistakes they will one day make.

Back in the Saddle Again

There are nice things that come with having the boys gone for a week: the house stays quiet and clean, I can paint all day every day from sunrise to sunset, it's easy to run errands and check items off the to-do list.  

...but I sure do miss them.  

That's why every(-other) Sunday is such a treat for me.  It's all hugs and smiles when I first see them again.  And then, before too long, wackiness is bound to ensue.  

Today on the ride over from Heather's house they spotted a dead squirrel lying in the middle of the road.  It has been some time since we worked on a skull together (butterflies have kind of taken over our "let's mess with dead animals" time), but they convinced me (despite my protests) that the skull will be intact and that we should take the squirrel home.  I will say he is in remarkably good condition (as you can see from the picture), but the odds are good that auto-related head trauma is what caused his demise, so I'm not getting too excited that it will turn out perfectly.  The good news, however, is that with it being as hot as it is, his little body should be stripped clean away by the bugs in a matter of a few days.  Should we come out of the ordeal with a whole, clean squirrel skull you, faithful reader, will be the first to know.  

"Chumbawumba...soundtrack for my LIFE!!"

I hate to water my yard.  It makes the grass grow, which means I have to mow more frequently.  It wastes a valuable natural resource and costs money.  But it seems that in Texas it is a necessary evil.  I have a known foundation issue that I need to repair, but I noticed some new cracks in the wall and I have to admit that not watering seems to be making the problem worse.  So this morning I gave in.

As I was dumping water into the ground, I saw the other sprinklers up and down the street and a little voice inside accused me, "You've become just like them."

If you know me at all, you no doubt can anticipate the revulsion that statement brought to my soul.  The artist in me screams, "'ME' is not like 'THEM' at all.  I will never be 'WE' with them."  But the disgusting voice of the Pharisee also calmly intones the same message.  Am I an individual, unique and special?  Do I need to go to great lengths to visibly demonstrate that it is so?

Why am I so self-righteous, when I'm the "chief of sinners"?  If one of my favorite quotes is true ("Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.") then why don't I care about those who are suffering and those who are lost?

I fear that I know the answer, but I don't like to articulate it: the divorce wrecked my world.  Here I am not referring to the emotional loss or the pain I once felt.  That ground has been amply walked, and the well worn paths are becoming a parking lot, flat and calm with little room for new growths of weeds that bring sharp, stinging pain.  No, I'm referring to the change in my relationship with God.  I met with a pastor from our church last week, and he mentioned that after divorce, many people need to relearn that God is good, that he is trustworthy.  I had never put words to that thought before, but I instantly recognized it as true.  I did the studies during the separation: Malachi tells us that God hates divorce.  It stands to reason then, that God's will would be for a marriage to endure.  Psalm 37 tells us to delight in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.  Therefore, if God hates divorce, and if I'm yielding to him and praying in line with his will, he should answer that prayer, correct?  Experience did not prove that for me.  I prayed earnestly that my marriage would be restored, but God did not answer that prayer.

So where do I go from here?  I have been asking myself that for some time now.  My friend Josh and I were lamenting the other day and both agreed that the biggest fault of Christian music is its stubborn refusal to engage with real life.  Where are the songs of grief and anger and loss?  One reason I love Rich Mullins is because all of his music is intensely honest.  At a concert he once said, "I don't know why God is like that.  Sometimes it makes me mad.  But it don't do to fight with God because he always wins.  He bloodies your nose and then gives you a ride home on his bicycle."

I've been angry with God.  I've been stubborn.  I have lived out that old sermon illustration, where the saint says to Jesus, "If this is how you treat your friends it is no wonder you have so few."  I've tried to pick up my ball and go home, tired of playing the game that is faith in Christ...but after I take several steps I realize that it is a tetherball, and I'm still anchored to the pole.  He has me in his hands and he will not let go.  I guess I will slowly try to give up my demand to have it my way (I want to write a poem called--with apologies to Christina Aguilera--"Geenie in the Bible") and remember that God is faithful and true, he is trustworthy, he is good.

For Eric, Wherever I May Find Him

When my brother left for Amsterdam, I gave him a CD entitled, "Going Dutch."  I've been keeping up with him via his blog for all these years, and as he is moving back to the United States there have been times of anticipation and times of sadness for what will be left behind.  What, then, would be a fitting playlist for someone who is "going home" and "leaving home" at the same time?  I've really been into word-related playlists recently, so the themes of "home" and "America" will feature prominently, but I also want to somehow capture the sense of leaving something behind...something you've grown to love.

So Eric, I hope you get this before you get back Stateside.  I hope it helps in the closure/grieving/new beginnings process.

Sara Groves--"Going Home"

Sara Groves--"Painting Pictures of Egypt"
(Though this song speaks more to maturing in faith and the temptation of sin, it also speaks of the paradox of wanting to go/wanting to stay.)

Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes--"Home"
(Just a great video, and an awesome song.  Like the next video, it is a good reminder that home is less where you are, and more who is there with you.)

Billy Joel--"You're My Home"

Foo Fighters--"Next Year"
(This song will be forever linked in my mind to the opening credits of the NBC sitcom, "Ed", in which a big-city boy returns home to his small-town Ohio roots.  Very apropos if you asked me.)

Simon and Garfunkel--"Homeward Bound"

The Muppets--"Saying Goodbye"
(Because, "Peoples is peoples"...and saying goodbye is never easy.)

The Muppets--"I'm Going to Go Back There Someday"
(I absolutely love this song.  For some reason, it has always spoken to me of heaven, a place that I seem to know in my heart, but have never been...and yet somehow long to return to.  But the former places in our lives, if they are God-ordained, are always places to which we can return.)

The Avett Brothers--"The Weight of Lies"
(Of all the many things for which I envy and admire my brother, it is his sound, Spirit-led decision-making that I long for the most.  Although I feel I've had to flee several places in my life, and therefore this song speaks harshly to me, I hope it will be a confirmation of the decision made, since he is "(running) to something and not away from because lies don't need an aeroplane to chase you anywhere.")

Neil Diamond--"America"
(Ha! Neil Diamond...)

Simon and Garfunkel--"America"
(This was a great opening for the angst-filled Cameron Crowe film, 'Almost Famous', when the daughter hands 'Bookends' to her mom and says, "Listen to this and you'll understand why I'm leaving."  I think it is the perfect conclusion to the playlist because it speaks of traveling and trying to find America, while at the same time feeling like you're looking for yourself or something you lost.  "'Kathy I'm lost' I said, though I knew she was sleeping. 'I'm empty and aching and I don't know why' may be one of my favorite lines in lyrical history.)


I wanted to do this long ago and give you time to listen to it before you left (sorry!), but I hope you enjoy it, brother, and I'm excited to have you back (relatively) close.  I love you!