THIS IS...ART CLASS!!!

Having a beard at Halloween for the second year in a row led to another beard-inspired costume: Leonidas from "300" (Gerard Butler's character, the king of the Spartans). Everything is homemade, including the airbrushed t-shirt made to look like my chest. It was awesome seeing students come down the hall and do a double-take: from the distance it really did look like I had my shirt off.

The costume-making fun continued with the boys costumes. Heather has some pictures on her Facebook page so I'll refrain from double-posting them here, but feel free to check them out. They both looked hilariously awesome. It was the first truly great Texas Halloween: nearly a full moon, cool enough that we had to wear long sleeves and pants (and still started feeling cold at the end of the night), we walked our own neighborhood with our neighbor friends, and houses were handing out good candy. When we got home we watched Disney's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" to cap off a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

A Little Humor For You

So I was eating out with some friends recently and Taylor told me that a video of the CHS prom fashion show from last year is posted on YouTube. I just remembered it today and showed Heather and the boys. I now share it with you, faithful readers, for your viewing pleasure.

(As a side note, if you have not seen the "Evolution of Dance" video on Youtube, you should check that out as well. Funny stuff...and I entirely ripped off the idea from him.)

Enjoy the video!

"Life is Too Much Like a Pathless Wood"

"So was I once myself a swinger of birches,

and so I dream of going back to be...

One could do worse than to be a swinger of birches."

I wish I had my own words to describe what it was like walking the autumnal roads of New Hampshire. But it feels to me like Robert Frost took all the good ones. I saw a line of bowing birches, glowing white against a firey backdrop of red and orange leaves, and could only think of his poem "Birches." And then of course, many roads diverged and I always tried to take the one less traveled...but let's not get cliche.

I also wish I had my own motivations for going into the woods, but Thoreau has already spoken them. To live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life, and not, when I had come to die, find that I had not truly lived. I did go into the woods to be intentional, and to experience the fullness of life that only Jesus can afford. I set off to go "camping with Jesus" (as I came to call it in the weeks leading up to the trip).

Still I mention these men because my appreciation of their writing has produced in me an intense desire to see New England in the fall. So I was very blessed to be given an opportunity to fulfill this dream a couple weeks ago. It was beautiful and, well...Fall-like, for lack of a better term...and that alone should have been enough for a northerner stranded in Texas. I walked New England just a stone's throw away from Frost's birthplace in Salem and Thoreau's Walden Pond. I flew into Manchester and hiked out to spend some spiritual time with God.

But as my wife wittily and succinctly put it, the weekend turned out to be "more about commuting than communing."

I fear I might not be taken seriously if I do not post some screen captures associated with the trip, so I include here some information taken from Mapquest and Weather Underground.

This map is the closest I could get to the route that I took. Points A and F represent the Manchester airport. With a 25 pack on my back I hiked out of the airport, north of Manchester, over Massabesic Lake...and then realized that I SERIOUSLY underestimated the toll that walking for hours on end with a backpack would have on my body. The plus side was that I avoided being sprayed by a skunk I nearly walked into . I ended my four hour trek on Friday by passing out in a pathetically constructed bivouac in a wooded area between two houses. It was then that my goal of reaching Bear Brook State Park in four hours (at least taking the route I chose) seemed very silly and...well, impossible.

I know it's hard to believe, but this majestic this chupa did not keep me entirely dry through the rainy night. As the weather chart shows, it was warm enough to not be a huge deal, but it was great preparation for the following evening.

(As a point of comparison, here's Keller's weather--about as great as Texas fall weather can be.)

I woke up the next morning (wet enough and cold enough to abondon sleeping) and started hiking again at 5 am. It turned out, by around 7 am (whilst darkness still covered the land) that I had walked far off my intended course and would spend most of the day doubling back to get to the state park. Once again, by day's end I was exhausted and sore, but I had made it to the most south-westerly corner of the state park. Concentration on prayer, reading, meditation...yeah, it was nearly impossible. I set up a slightly better shelter in preparation for what I was anticipating to be a gold night. It was better, but I still woke up every few hours to rewarm myself. On one early waking, I poked my head out to see two wild turkeys running by.

The following morning I actually enjoyed the first few hours of hiking. It was clear, cold and beautiful. I was able to focus a bit more, and enjoyed worshipping on the banks of a steaming pond. However, as the map shows, there was a long way to go to reach the airport. I walked for hours, made it by mid-afternoon and started my trip home (I did get stuck in St. Louis and slept in the airport overnight).

The trip analysis shows it should have taken just over an hour driving, but the walk took nearly 15 hours total. A conservative estimate puts the total distance at 43 miles.

As the account no doubt shows, the trip, while fantastic was quite taxing and not exactly what I intended. Still, I'm glad I did it. I have additional pictures, but as this evening is continuing on I'm becoming increasingly tired. So I'll wrap it up, perhaps without satisfactorily complete my account of the trip. Apparently, that's the story of my life.

One Should Always Worry When One Starts Keeping One's Own Press Clippings

On October 1st, an art show opened at the Keller Town Hall featuring local artists. I put in two pieces, and at the Opening a week later my amazing sons turned a reporters attention to me. The result is this fun little article in our local paper. It comes on the heels of being interviewed for the school paper as one of the new girl's basketball coaches. I'm not the most humble guy ever, but even for me it seems a little egotistical to be saving all these newspaper clippings.

Regardless, the show was enjoyable and I had several friends come out to show their support, which was great. I'm not sure if I won the people's choice award mentioned in the article (probably a good sign that I didn't) and I haven't sold either painting, but it is still a positive experience.

In other news, I was blessed to have been able to go to New Hampshire for the fall foliage last weekend. I'll try to post pictures and reflections on that over the weekend.

Tears

Although it did bring up haunting memories of ridicule received long ago, I did not cry because of painful graduation memories, but because this video is hilarious.

Try to keep in mind this simple question (written above the video when I found it) and it will be even funnier: "Why won't that woman's friends help her?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzaoNEG6P4U&feature=player_embedded

(Sorry--for whatever reason, I couldn't get the video to embed.)

Alone-ness

There are other things happening in my life right now that didn't really fit into the previous post. I've been reminded again about the soul's need for silence, solitude, and stillness. I recently finished reading, "The Signature of Jesus" by Brennan Manning, and it sparked afresh my desire to know Jesus. Not know about him. Not possess some derivative, second-hand knowledge of him. To know and to experience him.

With that hope, I've taken new approaches to prayer. I've committed with my mentor to take a silence and solitude retreat in the fall. And then today I read this poem, and I loved it and thought I'd pass it on.

"When I'm alone--" the words tripped off his tongue
as though to be alone were nothing strange
"When I was young," he said; "When I was young..."

I thought of age, and loneliness, and change
I thought how strange we grow when we're alone,
and how unlike the selves that meet and talk,
and blow the candles out, and say goodnight.

Alone...the word is life endured and known,
It is the stillness where our spirits walk
and all but inmost faith is overthrown.

(Siegfried Sasson)

Seattle, TX

I love the rain. That may be a bit unusual, but that is probably part of the reason why I appreciate it so. The "rain walk" is one of my most cherished events of the year. Often, it will rain when we are occupied in some other task: at work, driving, going to the store, etc. But every once in a while, it will rain steadily, continuously; and when this happens, I like to grab the dog, put on some clothes that I don't mind getting wet, and head out into the rain. It has been raining for three days straight here in Texas, and so this weekend I was able to take two rains walks, much to the well-being of my soul.

These walks started back when I was in junior high, at least. I remember wandering in the woods surrounding the Black Fork River, just behind our house in Shelby. The rain hushes things--lets you forget all the other thoughts and worries, and just appreciate wooded stillness and the "quiet" of drumming rainfall. That is a special gift for a kid trying to deal with growing up, and I remember with fondness those days.
Then there was a time in college, when Mickie Krish, Katie Fowler, Leah (man...I've forgotten her last name) and I all went running around Chicago in the rain. I can still picture the sight from atop the bridge spanning the Chicago River, next to the Wrigley Building. With all the lights pointed up at the ediface, you could see the rain streaking down from the sky.
Later, in Minnesota, while Aydan slept in his crib, my young bride and I went splashing through the puddles on the lawn of our apartment complex. We soaked in the water and the joy of being together.
Just a few years ago, the boys and I thrilled at the rising level of Bear Creek, and we laid down in the trenches of water that filled low spots on the grassy hills of the park. We wandered wherever flowing water would take us. We laughed and explored, and dried out with hot chocolate in the end.
There have been less happy rain walks. Times of sorrow and lament. Times of questioning and fear. Even these, however, remain fondly in my memory. They are ghosts of what could have been, but never were. They are heartache endured...and overcome.

So when the rain held on through Friday evening, through all my errands on Saturday, and showed no signs of slowing last night, Lulu and I crossed to the park and began another rain walk. When it continued to rain this morning, the boys, the dog and I set off again. They found a turtle lounging in a puddle on the lawn next to the pond, and had a great time holding it, and then watching it get away. We crossed raging waters and jumped in puddles. It was another good walk.

Surrounding this experience, I have watched movies and trailers who remind me that it is a very special thing to raise boys. How can I help them stay wild and free and live their childhood with even moment of raucous, care-free fun possible? How can I teach them wisdom, self-control and respect, so that when the day comes for them to be men they are ready? How can I be patient with them, say "yes" to their harmless (and even potentially harmful) requests, affirm them and give them room to experience, to try (and to fail)? How can I tell them "no" and help them understand that certain loads are too much for their young bodies and souls to carry?

I've enjoyed watching "Second Hand Lions" and look forward to seeing "The Boys are Back" and "Where the Wild Things Are." But moreso, I've enjoyed spending time with my sons. I only hope that a good rain walk sticks in their mind, like I know it has done in mine, and that as they grow it will prove to be one piece in answering all those very difficult and sobering questions. I hope that I am equal to the task of helping them to become men. Seeing that become a reality is what I look forward to most of all.

Dad Always Said, "Day Three is the Hardest"

For some reason, I seem to remember my dad telling me that the third day of any new season is hardest. You're tired. You're sore. You're run down. It's only the beginning, and you have so far to go.

Well I haven't had a conference period for the past three days, instead spending time with the varsity team in the mornings. I also showed up to my Electronic Media class yesterday to find more students than computers, and no software loaded on the computers for students to use. So there have been challenges, but I am still enjoying this new school year. I think I'll type this, though, and then head to bed.

There have been bright spots. My art history kids seem pretty sharp and with it. We've already started using VoiceThread and I really like it. It gives immediate feedback on what kids are thinking and learning. Some of you have such brilliant minds that I'd really like it if you would comment on our class threads. If you're interested, send a comment and I'll include you on the email distribution for each time a new thread is begun.

I know it's a short update, but it will have to do. I still need to get up tomorrow morning to make sure we're ready to go in Art History, and I need to plan an alternate assignment for Electronic Media, because I just know things will not be up and running by tomorrow. Keep checking back, though. I'll try to keep posting.