Regular Life

(Note: New banner for April 2008 today. You might have to force a refresh in your browser. It’s a bush eating a fence.)

After a somewhat difficult day at work Monday, it was great to talk on the phone with my wife for nearly 30 minutes. Her dad’s in town visiting — mostly while I’m on a work trip. I finished up at the customer’s site too late to talk to Benjamin, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Sure, I missed him, but talking with Shannon one-on-one was what made me fall in love with her.

It was, in the words of the mighty Rick Ocasek, just what I needed.

After that, I got a call from my dad asking for computer support.

We laughed while we talked through his problem related to Yahoo! Sitebuilder. Then it dawned on me. My father, who years ago took his sweet time kicking and screaming from DOS to Windows, built his own Web site and just added his first PDF file, generated from an Excel file created mostly if not completely by my mother.

I was glad I was already sitting down. Next thing I know, he’ll be hammering out PHP-Nuke modules.

Those two phone calls did wonders for my mood, much better than any e-mail ever could. The written word, while nice for its own purpose, replaces human speech too often.

Pick up the phone and call somebody today instead of e-mailing. You’ll both be glad you did.

I’ve always heard that there are two things you should never talk about with friends and family: politics and religion. It’s interesting to me, because I grew up and still live in the United States of America, where separation of church (religion) and state (politics) are founding principles.

Okay, fine, so the government is not supposed to tell people what religion they can or cannot practice/observe/join/give their hard-earned money. I like that and I support it whole-heartedly.

What arena does that leave us regarding these two subjects? Friends and family. But there’s that pesky policy of leaving them out of it, so we’re stuck.

For a moment, let’s step back and assume that co-workers are merely acquaintances, not friends. Does that mean that work is the best place to talk about religion and politics? Seems like a risky prospect to me.

So, considering that and following the understood “rule” I stated in the opening paragraph, that leaves an audience of one — yourself.

One option is to engage perfect strangers in political and/or religious discussion. The Internet has become a popular place to do this.

Let’s ask ourselves this: would we rather discuss such important topics — the kind that can have a profound impact on our lives and our after-lives (if you’re so inclined) — with complete strangers who may or may not be portraying themselves accurately, or with people we have known and (I hope) trusted all our lives?

Another possibility is to trust the media and form opinions based on the comments of those accustomed to and interested in staying in the spotlight. This, too, seems risky.

At family events on either side, politics very rarely comes up, and religion not at all. Any partisan comment is left to hang in the air until it eventually dissipates into the ether, like an accidental belch. Besides a 30-second expression of “thanks” before major holiday meals, talk on religion is limited to “are you staying for church on Sunday?”

In my family and my wife’s, there are lots of very smart, respectable people. Overall, they have done an excellent job of providing for and loving their families while living within the system the USA’s founding fathers established more than 230 years ago. They cover a wide range of socioeconomic groups, and their political and religious leanings by no means are identical. Same goes for our friends.

Yet, for some reason, we’re discouraged from using them as a forum for healthy debate on serious issues. What better audience could we possibly find?

Lately, I’ve tried to buck this trend with a more personal approach. I speak to these invaluable resources individually, rather than in a group. I did this all the time in letters to my late grandfather. Perhaps the understood rule means “friends and family in a group.” That, I can get behind. Because nobody wants a heated argument when a forkful of sweet potatoes is in the opponent’s arsenal.

With whom do you talk about politics and/or religion? With whom do you not?

On Saturday morning (still Easter weekend), Dad and I managed to sneak away to one of my favorite spots — Bridal Veil Falls. The name isn’t original, but ever since Tim Ernst used “Fuzzy Butt Falls” for a site featured in his Arkansas Waterfalls Guidebook, I’m beginning to think that re-using a title isn’t so bad.

We didn’t get started as early as I had hoped, but the surrounding hills kept the sun at bay late enough for me to get a few long exposures. While I set up my tripod for my first shot, Dad walked around the fall’s pool picking up trash washed down by the recent heavy rains and flash flooding. What a dad.

At one point, however, he had his eye on an aluminum can resting on a slick, steep hillside adjacent to the falls, and only a few feet from the edge. When he lit out that direction, I said, “Hey, I can Photoshop that can.” Yes, I used it as a verb. Regardless of the photo software used, that particular product’s name has become interchangeable with the much less succinct, “fix it later.”

Disappointed that the redbud tree I love to use as foreground was not in bloom (Easter arrived way too early this year), I looked down. Anna (see my blogroll) likes to look up, and that’s great for some situations. That day, however, I was glad I looked down, because I saw something neither Dad nor I ever had.

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The real question is, “What did we not do during Easter weekend?”

As I mentioned already, the boys hit it off early at my parents’ house. This allowed us to shed a layer of worry and enjoy unfettered access to our extended family.

And Sugarloaf Mountain.

As if the name “Sugarloaf” weren’t derivative enough, the area boasts two mountains bearing that name. One is on land; one is an island in the nearby lake. Almost invariably, the latter is referred to as, “Lake Sugarloaf,” or “Sugarloaf on the Lake.” Although more like the original in proximity to water, it pales in outward appearance.

Our first plan was to rent a party barge and boat out to the island version. I was excited because the last time I went there, I was too young to remember it. I had visions of the whole family riding the gentle waves to the mountain’s wooded shore, and then enjoying the peak’s unique views of the large lake nestled in the Ozark foothills.

Mother Nature had other ideas. Heavy rains in southern Missouri and northern Arkansas made for high lake levels and excess floating debris, and nobody renting boats wanted to risk adding flotsam.

There’s nothing like a great backup plan.

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Boys do eventually grow out of some of their annoying tendencies. I’m sure girls do, too, but I’ve never brought one up — heck, never even had a niece — and so I claim no expertise in the female arena.

Yeah, so what’s new, right?

On Easter weekend, Benjamin and his cousin, LC, got along great from the minute they saw each other and said something highly emotional but completely unintelligible. This is a marked improvement over previous gatherings, wherein they take a day or two to adjust, and start getting along great about three hours before we have to head home.

Despite their improved relations, there remain patent differences in the boys’ personalities. Benjamin’s attitude seems to be, “Let’s run around in the yard,” while LC is more likely to say, “Let’s see who can run faster.” They both enjoy each type of activity, but their proclivities are undeniable. In that respect, they are almost exactly like my brother and me.

Sure, they hit a few bumps during the three-day weekend, but nothing that lasted long.

This allowed us to repeatedly “set it and forget it,” which with boys means open the door and hear their joyous shrieks as they leap off the front porch or bound down the back deck stairs. My parents live out in the country, so there’s never a shortage of things for the kids to do.

Sure, we were outside with them a little, and kept a collective eye on them while we weren’t. But, just the idea of having your son go out and play without constantly tucking his head back through the door saying, “Will you play with me?” can be bliss. Throw in the added benefit of huge yards on all sides and a virtually car-free street? Jackpot.

The best part, by far, was the boys’ increased skill at getting along right from the start.

Next: We go where Bernie and Kenneth went.

Click the “play” button and then click the thumbnail for a larger image to go along with the sound.

Easter post forthcoming.

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Herein lie (or sit, as it were) the guy who was my closest friend growing up, the guy who was my closest friend in college, and the guy who is my closest friend now (not in that order). I’m still in occasional touch with the first two (sitting), and I live in the same town as the last.

I took this picture the night we arrived in Nicholasville, Kentucky. We slept on a hard church floor in anticipation of Ichthus — two days of unadulterated Christian rock. Held in a farmer’s field in Wilmore, Kentucky, it began in 1970 as a Christian answer to Woodstock.

Those who read here often might remember the name “Alvis.” That’s him prostrate on the sidewalk. The guy in the blue bag is the one who visited us here in Texas a while back, and the one looking at you won the bridge-building contest I wrote about earlier. In no particula order, one now works in IT, the other in insurance, and one recently managed Isaac Hayes’ tour.

Indeed, we Arkansas boys have ended up on divergent paths.

The four of us were religious in our own ways in college (where I met two of them), and have our own varied views now. But that’s not the point of this piece.

In fact, I’m not sure it has a point, except as I write this I sit in the house that saw me grow from two years old to 18, and has caught fleeting glimpses of me ever since. Maybe that’s made me nostalgic.

Nah, I think it’s just that I was glad to find something to use as Pic of the Week.

My son’s outside with my mother and his cousin feeding horses, and I still sit on the couch, covered by a quilt made by my great-grandmother. Called “the Dutch boy quilt,” (because it has little Dutch boys all over it), it no doubt will follow our family until it’s in tatters.

So, this post is about the past, the present, and the future. Kind of like those three guys up there. Here’s to all three.

If you don’t watch this until the end, then you aren’t getting the full rock star experience. What else do you have to do for 22 seconds? (As usual, give it a few seconds to start after clicking the “play” button)

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Click to enlarge and sharpen (sorry, no slideshow option now, but I’m working on it — but please don’t suggest a free photo hosting site, because I refuse to use one that my work Internet filters block).

(NOTE: If the text doesn’t wrap around the thumbnail pics, then please force a refresh in your browser.)

How many sports encourage fan participation? I don’t mean doing the wave or catching a foul ball. I mean breaking up a play.

I attended such a game a couple weeks ago, and it has earned a spot in my ongoing “Firsts” series. And, not unlike at least one of its predecessors, this post features more than one “first.”

In fact, it’s a trifecta.

It all started when I had lunch at a local barbecue joint.

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