"One Little Thing Can Revive A Guy..."

On "A Prairie Home Companion," Bee-Bop-a-Ree-Bop Rhubarb Pies always sponsors a segment in which Garrison Keillor weaves a tale of heartache and tears, with trouble mounting on top of trouble, building to what would seem like an insurmountable climax. Then suddenly he stops and says, "Wouldn't now be a good time for some rhubarb pie?"

"Yes one little thing can revive a guy
and that is a piece of rhubarb pie..."

In Texas, rhubarb in a non-entity. I have never seen it growing wild. I have never heard of a southerner talking of eating it. It is a bitter vegetable/fruit consumed only by northerners, seemingly. So it had been on my radar to hunt some down while in Ohio. I was fairly obsessed with the notion. It came to pass, and it was a simple and utter let-down.

It was delicious, mind you. I made two pies: rhubarb and strawberry-rhubarb. Both tasted incredible. But the simple taste could not make all the hassle and mess go away. For days now I've been running here and there, seeing this person, talking to that person, trying to please and appease all. Night after night I lay my head on my pillow far after my self-appointed "point-of-no-return." Morning after morning I pop up in bed, unable to really sleep in. Afternoons pass in a blur of frivolous activity, with nary a nap to be seen. Vacations should be crammed FULL of naps!! The basketball is fun, but is a sobering reminder of my mortality--specifically that I am dreadfully out of shape, am no longer 18 and cannot do the things I used to be able to do, and in addition, I may be approaching senility as many of the things I thought I could once do on the court--like being a great shooter--may indeed have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination. An unstructured time seems as though it would be free from obligation and would afford occasions to read, journal, pray, reflect, plan art lessons, draw, lounge, camp, and stroll through nature, but none of those things are happening. In fact, such things have diminished or worsened so that they are worse than they would have been had I stayed home and taught summer school from dawn to dusk and then plotting on how to repair or purchase a car late into the night, as I had been doing prior to this trip. And yes, family is great, but they are also family, and as the movies are wont to point out, they have a knack for frustrating us and pushing our buttons and causing mild annoyance at times. I speak not only in terms of THEM bugging ME, but much more so in regard to my two wild-monkey children, my 300 lbs. rampaging canine, and my egomaniacal, moody, irreverent, abrasive, embarrassing self harassing the life out of everything around me.

No. A piece of pie was not able to make that all disappear. It did not fix it. Did not fix me. It didn't really even refresh or revive me. But I suppose staying up until nearly 2 am will not do much for me either. At least it's only 1 am central time!

"Only in his hometown is a prophet without honor."

Coming home is often a very reassuring event. Things are still the same (mostly). It's good to see old friends and forge new memories with family.

But coming home is also a very disconcerting event. It is the one time when I get to hear what a jerk I am.

Now, keep in mind that no one calls me a jerk. And no one is really mean in any conversation. It's just that my flaws are well known, having been experienced for decades, and flatly stated. I am actually thankful for this. I like it when people tell me how it is. I just hate remembering that I'm not really all that nice of a guy.

Things I have been reminded of this week:
1) I am moody.
2) I am taxing.
3) I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.
4) I could love Jesus better.

Allow me to make things a bit more clear.
1) When I am tired, I am evil. When I am fresh on the scene, I am exuberant. When I am frustrated, I am quiet and sullen. I could make a long list, but it's funnier for my readership if I give some examples of these horrible traits.
I came home last night from a very cool time hanging out with my family, getting to see some behind-the-scenes locales of the OSU marching band, for which Alex is the equipment manager. We arrived home late. We have been arriving "home" late for the better part of two weeks. God bless my sweet, gigantic beast of a dog, Lulu, but she chewed on some items and threw some garbage around my parents house. That is a minor frustration, and easily remedied. But then she had the audacity to run around the house like a maniac (after ONLY being trapped inside for the better part of the day). She would not listen to reason when I politely asked her to calm down (okay...that did not happen), so I had to body slam her. On the kitchen floor. Literally. I might have killed her if my incredible wife had not saved her (and really everyone else in the house, because once I had the taste for it, I might have been unable to stop). I am moody.
If switching from "fun evening with family" to "death to dog" didn't clue me in to moodiness, the fact that members of my family have said (somewhere close to a billion times), "You are sooooo moody" was a good indicator.

2) I LOVE my family. Ridiculously. I would do anything for my parents. I love to hang out with my siblings. I very truly idolize my big brother. When that kind of thing starts at, say, 10 months old it is very hard to shake. When I am with him, we have a good time...until I let myself go to far. It is a huge downfall of mine. I pick at Eric. I mess with him: poking him, bear-hugging him, punching him, etc. I want to be close to him and show him I love him. These cruel tactics may not seem the best way to do so, but it's what I do. I don't know why. Even now I can't analyze it and come up with a reason. But I don't stop there. I joke. It is one of my roles in the family. We all have them, consciously or unconsciously. Roles include the star, the scapegoat, the example...and the court jester. I am the joker. I keep everyone laughing to ease tension, gloss over issues, and generally make the mood light. But I'm mean, at times. I'm sarcastic. I push buttons. I hit sore spots. And when I cross the line, I can see it on my big brother's face. The smile fades. He looks away. He groans. He rolls his eyes. There are many little clues, but I always see them. The approval I long for from him is gone, and I can tell that the last thing I said was a bit off, maybe even hurtful. Like my physical poking, he never lashes back (a response my wife is trying to get him to change: she wants him to really hit me hard in return), just shows that I've let him down. I see it in my mind like the look I imagine is on my face when my kids drain my energy and I feel disappointed. I've drained him. I am often too harsh in my joking. I am taxing.

3) I pushed my brother in the back while playing basketball. He was only posting up, and I pushed him...in the back. Of course, I once kneed a guy in the crotch while fighting through a pick (because he was talking smack and being too physical), so it could have been worse. I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.

4) A friend reminded me that my most important occupation right now should be to decide what I want my boys to look like when they become men, and then live like that. Honestly, I am feeling like I don't serve Jesus well, don't love him well, don't act like him well, don't know him well. How, then, can my children grow up to be like him? I could love Jesus better.

The Irish say, "The best mirror is a friend's eye." Coming home is like walking into a carnival's hall of mirrors. The mirrors are all a bit tarnished, looking well-worn and old, and their shapes are familiar. The figures reflected in those glasses, however, looks hideous and deformed.