Becoming Shaggy

No, the title does not refer to the fact that my hair is getting longer or that I need to shave (that is never news). In fact, it refers to the infamous Scooby Doo character.

My wife pointed out yesterday, after seeing me stroll across a room, that I look like Shaggy when I stand or walk. Hunched over, lazily sauntering.

It occurs to me that my posture has drastically deteriorated since last summer. Early in the season, Heather and I went out with my brother-in-law and his wife and another couple from the gym. We took a ride on this couple's boat in Lake Grapevine. After a fun-filled, albeit chilly, day, we came back to the dock. Mike jumped out to tie up the boat and Leah was assisting him from inside the vessel. As he was tying off the line, the boat began to drift and Mike's legs began to spread apart in the splits. Knowing how uncomfortable this is for any man (other than Jean Claude Van Dam) I jumped out of my seat and went to his rescue. Standing on the edge of the boat, I surveyed the ever-widening distance between the boat and the dock, glanced back and forth nervously several times, and then leapt. I did not count on the force of my jump propelling the boat further away from the dock, and what would have been a successful jump from stable footing became a watery crash. I splashed into the water with my legs, and into the dock with my sternum. There was much thrashing around to climb out, quite a few scrapes on my chest from the rough wood, and a pain in my rib cage that would linger for weeks and months to come. To top it off, Mike calmly said to me, "Jay, we could have just pulled around and tried again."

For the remainder of the summer, it hurt to stand straight up or breath in deeply. Did I crack a bone in my chest? I will never know, because, being uninsured, I never had it checked out. Being hunched over during my healing period turned into being hunched over permanentaly, apparently.

So now I look like a cartoon character. At least I know what I'll be for Halloween.

The One-Upper

I once had a "friend" who was a one-upper. That was the name my chiropractor and I gave him. Every funny story you told, the one-upper would have to describe a more lavish, more hilarious story. It was kinda a buzz kill.

I have another friend who has had such a life experience that it really should be in books and film. Things I can't even imagine actually occured. The result is a biting wit and a hilarious perspective and word choice.

Well, far be it from me to be a one-upper. There are others with better stories. But since some people check this spot for updates on my life, I will share what I have.

1) I made monster cookies tonight. No reason...I just felt like them. The only problem was that I put four sticks of butter in the mix. Let me say that again: FOUR STICKS OF BUTTER!! I was laughing at my foolishness, because instead of half-ing this monster recipe (no pun intended) I actually doubled it. The menu for all three meals tomorrow: monster cookies.

2) Little kids are funny. They stick their fingers in their mouths. They stare idly at things while I'm desperately trying to get them to do something else. I can't be too frustrated...my oldest son is a king observer. He'll stand and stare regardless of what is going on around him. This can be particularly odd/amusing during school programs.

3) Speaking of looking around, I had an idle thought while pumping gas today. There was a young girl, not unattractive, but by no means gorgeous, who was pumping gas next to me. Quite by accident, I found myself gazing past her in a flitting gaze several times. I was embarrassed. Quickly I looked around for something else at which to stare. QT. Road. Pizza joint. Shopping complex. Medical complex. Road. Shopping strip. No wonder men have a problem looking at women: there's nothing else to look at! Now I'm only speculating here, but back in the wild west, when a man pulled his chuck wagon up to the old saloon, he didn't stare at the waitress, because just behind the saloon was a towering butte, full of granduer. We're taken away all the nature, and there's nothing else to gawk and marvel at.
Sure, it doesn't really get at the heart of it or explain anything....but it's interesting, isn't it?

4) Sometimes I feel like a bad father. Like tonight, I took my boys swimming and we had a great time. Then I read about a man teaching his son to read...at a much earlier age than my oldest. Being good at/loving reading early is huge to learning. I dropped the ball on that one. On one hand, things look good, on the other hand--where things might be slightly more significant--things don't appear that great.

Did Job feel tired?

I can't tell if it's the fact that I'm waking up so much earlier every day now, or if it's the fact that I've seen 350 faces in the past week (I'll be seeing the remaining 75 or so next week) and spewed the same schpeel (is that actually how you spell that word?) dozens of times. My return to teaching has been brutal.

Oh, and if ever you think to yourself, "I could probably handle a room full of 5 year olds," do yourself a favor and go rent that Arnold Schwartzeneger gem, "Kindergarten Cop," and put some sense back into your head.

So on top of being exhausted, I have nagging thoughts that tell me I should be doing other things:
1) Working on my drawing (it's received about 1 hour of my time in the last month)
2) The boys' mural (incomplete, and leaving their room in a state of chaos)
3) Lesson plans and a host of other school-related jobs.
And while those are the big three, there are easily 10 more.

Now let's think of Job. Here was a guy with a lot of kids and thousands upon thousands of animals to take care of. He had a bunch of irons in the fire. Then it all goes to pot. Do you think he was tired from running everything and then just fell apart inside with all the bad news? I know he stays faithful, but don't you just want to believe that his initial response was some type of explative?

I'm no doubt reading into the text; performing eisegesis (spelling is hard when you're tired) by putting my deal onto the narrative. But that's what happens when I'm tired--life seems terrible, and every bit of bad news is utterly depressing. For instance, after just recently spending gross sums of money to put a new engine in our Isuzu Trooper, Heather called me from a gas station to say that after filling up, the car would not start. I'm assuming this will cost me even more ridiculous amounts of money which I don't have. Words fail me.

Here is where I really respect Job. He praised God in the struggle. I feel cursed by God. I love grace and talk about it a lot; but I find it easy to think of all the dumb stuff I've done and feel like God is out to sock it to me. I mean, come on, Father, 2 break downs in one summer...with the same car?! I don't think financial blessing and wellness are the only and greatest gifts of God; but neither do I think that debt and poverty are all that great either.

In Jay's economy, tired=depressed. Not always...sometimes it equals sleep. But if anything is going south, "Woe is me" and "God make it stop" flow freely. So let me attempt to say, with all the sincerity I can muster, that I will choose to trust. Please, Jesus, help me trust.

"The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Art Teachers Unite

Leaving the building today, I thought to myself, "So this is when I earn my paycheck." I had gotten so used to the glory that is summer that I had forgotten the sometimes long, harrowing hours of instruction. It will definitely take some getting used to (again).

Meanwhile, I'm loving the collective art population I'm hanging out with. I have a teacher friend with whom I discuss the coming renovation of the Church and the role of the artist therein. I had breakfast with 3 very cool ladies, all with very diverse and sometimes painful pasts, and actually prayed with them at the end of our conversation. That's cool in a sense, but I felt kinda like a cop out because afterwards, it felt like a unitarian hippy prayer, so I robbed the situation of the chance to bring in the power of Jesus. Also it was brought on by a cool hippy lady who said she only holds on through her connection to the Divine. Hopefully it is a foreshadowing of things to come. I'm at least glad they understand there is divinity, and in some sense they are searching for Him.

And now, at 7:30, I am contemplating bed. Goodnight all...and a very pleasant school year to you all.

I felt like posting, but had no single train of thought, so here, instead, are a series of random musings

"Life is full of greetings and partings. That is the way of things." So spoke Kermit the Frog in "Muppet Christmas Carol." That's sad though, because he was talking about the death of Tiny Tim. Less traumatic, but still no less mourned, are the dying days of my summmer. I go back to work on Monday. It has made me realize that beginnings are for excitement and joy and wonder...experiencing the newness of life. Endings are for remembering and longing; particularly longing for moments lost and time ill-spent. The secret to the well-lived life is to grasp a bit of beginning and ending in every moment.

Are we becoming dumber? Go rent "V for Vendetta" and watch the opening sequence where V meets Evey. 1) See if you can grasp the meaning of the speech (and part of the problem is the speed at which the soliloquey is spoken) V speaks as he introduces himself. 2) Understand it? Now go back and look up all the words to which you still don't know the definitions.
But beyond that, Hollywood is working hard to complete the dumbing down of America. The movie, which I really enjoyed on various levels, is tauted on trailers as an action film. Can't we be trusted to want to see quality, thought provoking films without the lure of guts, mayhem, thrills, chills, spills...Will Smith? Sorry dumb question. When was the last time you saw a trailer for a documentary?

Kids are awesome and resilient and patient. Far more than we give them credit for. My children love me, and that is a blessing. To look at them, and tremble with the realization that I am shaping who they are, is too much. But to look at them, and smile, and touch them, and tell them I love them...that is more than I could ask for.
Children also have a beautiful knack for dropping things. This talent really ticks me off. Honestly...fills me with rage. A phone falls. Milk is spilled. My temperature rises. I have to believe this is a common occurance in other parents. They made a saying for it, for crying out loud. There really is no use in crying over spilt milk. And it's dumb to get mad. Kids lack a lot of manual dexterity we adults take for granted. Plus, I had some batteries squarely in my grip last night and they inexplicably tumbled to the ground. Nobody's perfect. "They look like good, strong hands...." {Reply and give me the name of the film containing the aforementioned quote and you'll be my hero.}

Read "Young Goodman Brown" lately? I just did. Very thought provoking. Check it out.

I must retire. You stay classy.