We've all heard the old adage "beggars can't be choosers" but have you ever tested it to see if it holds true?
In my experience, the people who cross my path that fit the description of beggars often embody many of the stereotypes. They look unkempt, their eyes are blurry and unfocused, they smell bad. Don't judge a book by its cover, right? Well, that may be, but once one reads a book or at least takes a glance at its contents it seems to me that there are several conclusions one may come to:
-is this persons dangerous?
-does this person do drugs?
-does this person drink alcohol in excess?
-do they appear to be in their right mind?
-do they have a history of family and relational hardships?
-are they simply taking advantage of others' compassion? others' guilt?
-are they good people?
-is their situation a result of outside influences alone, or are they also responsible?
Almost always on the last question i tend to find that both the person and their life circumstances are responsible. Perhaps the loss of a brother or close friend was a bit too much for the person to bear. Perhaps they prefer the freedom of life on the streets to the rules and restrictions of a household. Perhaps they chose their situation. Perhaps they didn't. It could be laziness, it could be lack of a good night's sleep or availability of a hot shower--a few things which could make or break a person during a job interview or just another day on the job. Have you ever considered how easily that person could be you?
Inevitably, whether the story is just in their head or not, homeless people have a sad story to tell. Their mother died. They lost all their relatives. Conspiracy made them lose their job. Their addiction drove them to poverty. "Can you spare some change?" they might ask. If you try to buy them food, they often refuse it, and the obvious assumption is that they want money for booze or drugs. Some are even so bold (or desensitized) as to write, "I won't lie, it's for beer!" on a cardboard sign. Is this supposed to elicit compassion from us?
Recently both my wife and i have spent some time talking with a local homeless man who spends his time outside of the library or on the street across the train tracks. He has a sad story. He lost his job during the Vietnam era and did odd jobs for a while before becoming homeless who knows how many years ago. Apparently he went on welfare and was going to be charged with welfare fraud, but the charges were dropped or didn't go through. Now he is on the Social Security system since he's now a senior citizen. He spends his time out in the cold, rain, mist, heat, whatever. He seems to be a pretty intelligent guy, up to date on current news and rather aware of the geography and history of the world from what we can tell. So how did he end up in the position he's in? My wife says that he's a rich homeless guy, and i think she's right. She said he told her that he doesn't ask people for money, only specific items that he needs, including food. He has money and he buys luggage to store his stuff and clothes to keep him warm. Whatever he needs except a place to stay, i guess. He has money in his pocket and an up-to-date calendar.
Yesterday as we were walking home from the downtown area, we saw him sitting on a concrete bench across the train tracks. My wife thought she'd make him a grilled cheese sandwich and asked if i'd deliver it to him. Of course i would. So i went over there and started up a conversation with him. Asked him his name, how he was doing, and had he eaten lunch yet? No, he says, the place across the street is closed. I offer him the sandwich and he says no, that will make him hungry. What?! Eating food will make you hungry? Interesting. He proceeds to tell me about the great deli sandwiches at Safeway, the ones with turkey and lettuce and tomato and avocado and ranch dressing. It did sound really great. He also told me about how his friend takes him to Fresh Choice, a buffet-style restaurant with a complete salad bar and many hot-plate entrees. He crooned over the merits of meat and bean soup at Safeway, not in the small container, but the large container. He also likes Boston Market and he eats Sun Chips (but not grilled cheese). And his birthday is coming up in a few days. And also could we get him some new, springier bungee cords to hold his stuff together? And the plastic bags from the local bookstore are the best for storing things because they are sturdy.
I sat there talking with him for maybe an hour or so, and he was an interesting guy and certainly a good conversationalist. He talked about how he was trying to get a studio apartment in a nearby city and how he had had difficulties in the past because getting an apartment would have disqualified him from his Social Security check or something like that. A friend of a friend he knows is influential in the low-income housing market. The friend supposedly came to talk to him one day about getting an apartment, but couldn't wake him! The man told me his friend kicked him and tried to wake him up but couldn't. Said he must have been really tired and he had missed his opportunity. He talked about professional sports players and their follies as well as the recent tiger attack at the San Francisco Zoo and its ramifications. Siberian tigers are much bigger than Bengal tigers, right?, 'cause they're up near Russia. He affirmed his own question...
...A week or so ago while we were in Orange County, a man approached us asking if i could spare any change. I told him i didn't have any, sorry, which was true at the moment. We walked down the street a bit more and he continued on that same side of the street after we crossed to get to where we were going. We got to our parked car and in the meantime he had crossed the street a block back and was approaching us again. "Hello again!" i said to him as he started to open his mouth. He looked a little confused and i wondered if he had forgotten our encounter only moments before. "Could you spare a little change?" he asked again. This time my wife, who was now on the phone, signaled to her purse out of which i drew some coins from her change bag. "Trying to catch a bus someplace?" i asked. "That too," he replied. That too? Like, in addition to trying to buy beer? I kept these musings to myself as he walked away. My wife called out, "Merry Christmas!" and he called back, "Merry Christmas to you! And God bless you!" He was very pleasant and cordial anyway. I wondered if we had offered to buy him food or transportation if he would have accepted that in lieu of the money?
I've heard it said that homelessness is not just a problem to be solved, but rather that the homeless are people, a community, people to enter into relationship with. This thought resonates with me, and i'm going to see if i can learn more about what it means in the coming year.
Still, in my most recent adventures in the Land of the Homeless, i have found that beggars can be choosers. And they often are. After all, who's going to tell them what they can and can't do? They're homeless! They can do what they want.
The Parable of the Sheep and Goats
Faith and Deeds
internet monk on panhandlers
31 December 2007
16 November 2007
The Blob is great!
"Beware of the Blob! It creeps, and leaps, and glides and slides across the floor.
Kirsten and i just watched this film with my dad. It was great!
"I don't know!"
"Better get a jumbo jet and drop it in the arctic!"
the blob on imdb
Indescribable... Indestructible! Nothing Can Stop It!
Indescribable... indestructible... insatiable
The indestructible creature! Bloated with the blood of its victims!
It crawls.... It creeps.... It eats you alive!"
Kirsten and i just watched this film with my dad. It was great!
"I don't know!"
"Better get a jumbo jet and drop it in the arctic!"
the blob on imdb
07 November 2007
In the Night Kitchen
Recently i read Maurice Sendak's In the Night Kitchen. You may more easily recognize him as author of Where the Wild Things Are. In the Night Kitchen is a short "children's book", so it's a quick read, and i highly recommend it. It was also a banned book, which is one reason i checked it out from the library to begin with--besides the fact that it just looked awesome. (near banned book week they had a shelf of books that had at some point caused controversy/been banned). AND! The artwork is GREAT!!
06 November 2007
thoughts while staring at a computer screen
it has been a long time since i have done anything really creative, particularly in my musical endeavors.
do i still have creative juices in me?
am i a musician?
am i any good?
will i learn other people's music? this certainly brings me great satisfaction on many levels to be sure, but also seems wanting without proper, positive creativity as a foundation and launching point.
is music just something that people do for fun?
and are the pros still having fun?
will i play again?
will God be glorified?
do i still have creative juices in me?
am i a musician?
am i any good?
will i learn other people's music? this certainly brings me great satisfaction on many levels to be sure, but also seems wanting without proper, positive creativity as a foundation and launching point.
is music just something that people do for fun?
and are the pros still having fun?
will i play again?
will God be glorified?
03 November 2007
26 October 2007
AMHS Little Women
Some of the theatre-goers:
The theatre named for that...artist...
(there are some of his painting inside blown up all huge-like...if you wish, you may ask me my opinion of Mr. T.K., but suffice it to say for the present that one of his best works i've seen lies within this building.)
A creepy dark shot of the trees in the parking lot. As far as i can remember, those trees were just small burgeoning sticks. And wow! A few years go by and there're like huge trees there! Actually i kind of like how the shot turned out with the other trees showing up under the street lamps, the suggestion of a parking lot, and further silhouetted foliage in the distance.
The Broadway musical.
One thing i realized when i walked into my old limelight arena was that my university is just like my high school on steroids. Also, they both managed to open a strikingly similar theatre space (though CU's is for film) precisely the last year of my attendance at each. So i got to enjoy both of them during my time there--barely.
The most intriguing things about the set: a spindle, a skull and an hour glass! Is this in the novel? Is it a reference to something else? It makes me think of Edgar Allan Poe for some reason. "The Telltale Heart" scared the hell out of me when i read it in HS.
The protagonist Jo and her eventual husband Herr Doktor Fritz Bhaer...who look QUITE like my new brother-in-law Jon James! It was hilarious! Jon singing Broadway tunes in a squeaky, awkward high school boy voice and baby face!
All in all i think the kids did a magnificent job as they usually do. The vocals were actually quite impressive considering the age range, though not surprising considering the experience of some and the *upbringing* of others. (runs in the family?) Marmee's vox were particularly swell, and i think she ought to join a rock or jazz group. Though theatre is also a good place for her to shine too, i suppose.
There was also a very excellent scene involving about ten or twelve creepy hooded evil-ies (one with giant halloween-like hands), four trolls, a vilian, a hero, and the rest of the cast. Nobody even saw it comin'!
The same director and music director as when i was a student there are still plodding along. Pleasantly and surprisingly, when i passed one of them he recognized me and called me by name. And liked the beard?
During the play i was trying to place the time period by the attire, antiquated language and cultural references, and was assisted by the fact that there was a war going on throughout--and then one of the young men enlisted in the army. So i asked myself, "which war?"
When he came out in a gray hat with a small black brim and a uniform with all complete with brass buttons, i correctly *whew* surmised that it must be the Civil War*, and thus the mid-1800s.
Another thing i discovered was that period clothing from the 1800s is HOTT!! Wow! Hopefully i can get Kirsten to fashion with a needle AND wear a few poofy long sleeve dresses with laced high collars and wrist decor, a traveling cape with hand holes, a stylish black bonnet, a hoop skirt, and bunchy, ripply, flowy white undergarments.
* "American" Civil War = 1861-1865,
the dates of which also exactly span the presidency of Mr. Abraham Lincoln, deceased April 15, 1965
The theatre named for that...artist...(there are some of his painting inside blown up all huge-like...if you wish, you may ask me my opinion of Mr. T.K., but suffice it to say for the present that one of his best works i've seen lies within this building.)
A creepy dark shot of the trees in the parking lot. As far as i can remember, those trees were just small burgeoning sticks. And wow! A few years go by and there're like huge trees there! Actually i kind of like how the shot turned out with the other trees showing up under the street lamps, the suggestion of a parking lot, and further silhouetted foliage in the distance.
The Broadway musical.
One thing i realized when i walked into my old limelight arena was that my university is just like my high school on steroids. Also, they both managed to open a strikingly similar theatre space (though CU's is for film) precisely the last year of my attendance at each. So i got to enjoy both of them during my time there--barely.
The most intriguing things about the set: a spindle, a skull and an hour glass! Is this in the novel? Is it a reference to something else? It makes me think of Edgar Allan Poe for some reason. "The Telltale Heart" scared the hell out of me when i read it in HS.
The protagonist Jo and her eventual husband Herr Doktor Fritz Bhaer...who look QUITE like my new brother-in-law Jon James! It was hilarious! Jon singing Broadway tunes in a squeaky, awkward high school boy voice and baby face!
All in all i think the kids did a magnificent job as they usually do. The vocals were actually quite impressive considering the age range, though not surprising considering the experience of some and the *upbringing* of others. (runs in the family?) Marmee's vox were particularly swell, and i think she ought to join a rock or jazz group. Though theatre is also a good place for her to shine too, i suppose.There was also a very excellent scene involving about ten or twelve creepy hooded evil-ies (one with giant halloween-like hands), four trolls, a vilian, a hero, and the rest of the cast. Nobody even saw it comin'!
The same director and music director as when i was a student there are still plodding along. Pleasantly and surprisingly, when i passed one of them he recognized me and called me by name. And liked the beard?
During the play i was trying to place the time period by the attire, antiquated language and cultural references, and was assisted by the fact that there was a war going on throughout--and then one of the young men enlisted in the army. So i asked myself, "which war?"
When he came out in a gray hat with a small black brim and a uniform with all complete with brass buttons, i correctly *whew* surmised that it must be the Civil War*, and thus the mid-1800s.
Another thing i discovered was that period clothing from the 1800s is HOTT!! Wow! Hopefully i can get Kirsten to fashion with a needle AND wear a few poofy long sleeve dresses with laced high collars and wrist decor, a traveling cape with hand holes, a stylish black bonnet, a hoop skirt, and bunchy, ripply, flowy white undergarments.
* "American" Civil War = 1861-1865,
the dates of which also exactly span the presidency of Mr. Abraham Lincoln, deceased April 15, 1965
jobhuntjobsearchjobhuntjobsearchjobhuntjobsearch theatre
Today i looked extensively (intensively?) for full time employment.
*Feeling: exasperated, crazy.
Now we are going to the theatre.
The venue is my olde high school.
The production is "Little Women".
Report to follow.
*note: this reminds me of the livejournal "current mood" feature...which i think i detest.
*Feeling: exasperated, crazy.
Now we are going to the theatre.
The venue is my olde high school.
The production is "Little Women".
Report to follow.
*note: this reminds me of the livejournal "current mood" feature...which i think i detest.
23 October 2007
all in a day's work
Apparently when i cut pancakes i automatically and quite accidentally cut them into a PacMan shape. Those dots were also accidental...
Two in a row!
Treehouseslide!
James Lick Observatory can be seen on Mount Hamilton in the the not-so-distant distance.
From the house down to the reservoir.
the boss. (not Springsteen)
Two in a row!
Treehouseslide!
James Lick Observatory can be seen on Mount Hamilton in the the not-so-distant distance.
From the house down to the reservoir.
the boss. (not Springsteen)
19 October 2007
Golfin'
Windshields do not provide protection from golf balls or other flying objects!
My dad: "Such as...meteors?"
...loser's trophy...
18 October 2007
Hikin'
"Elias, go run the dogs down to the water!"
"Don't stick a fork into a fish and then try to eat it!"~Hikers Against Contaminated Sushi In Your Maul
Almaden Quicksilver Park
10 October 2007
Spooks all around!
Get into the holiday "spirit" with this great skin for Firefox!
And for your viewing pleasure, an assortment of pumpkin fun!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH a head!
goldilocks
-------->
<---- flying pumpkin
pumpkin burger!
And for your viewing pleasure, an assortment of pumpkin fun!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH a head!
goldilocks
-------->
<---- flying pumpkin
pumpkin burger!
09 October 2007
Some of you may remember a certain former roommate of mine who had a wicked (read: poofy, huge, excellent, homeless) hairdo.
What you might not know about this fellow, is that the craziness of his hair was not limited to that nest-like cascade coming off his noggin. Yes folks, it's true, he once showed me a hair on his pectoral region THAT WAS AT LEAST 2 and 1/2 INCHES LONG, POSSIBLY AS MANY AS 4 or 5 INCHES! (ok so those last numbers might be hyperbole...) Anyway, this thing was mean, it was grizzly, it was incognito (i think he had just discovered it and feared that it was a sign that he was slowly becoming a wizard).
Unfortunately, dear readers, i am less than pleased to report a travesty that has occurred in the arena of chest hair adventures. In tribute to said roommate, i had allowed--in my left pectoral region--a long, twisted hair to grow in hopes of outdoing my comrade. It was probably about 1 and 1/2 or 2 inches longs, grizzly, and black as ebony. Yesterday i had considered trimming the end to allow it to grow healthily since it had been a while since i noticed a definite increase in length of the hair. About ten minutes ago as i was coolly taking a shower, i looked down to check on my masterpiece of cultivation to discover to my horror:
THE HAIR WAS GONE!!!
FALLEN OUT!
DECEASED!
NO LONGER ATTACHED!
BUCKETS OF WOE!
Here is a photographic simulation of how long the hair would have been if it were still attached to my bodice:
Friend, crop of love, my competitive edge: you will be missed.
What you might not know about this fellow, is that the craziness of his hair was not limited to that nest-like cascade coming off his noggin. Yes folks, it's true, he once showed me a hair on his pectoral region THAT WAS AT LEAST 2 and 1/2 INCHES LONG, POSSIBLY AS MANY AS 4 or 5 INCHES! (ok so those last numbers might be hyperbole...) Anyway, this thing was mean, it was grizzly, it was incognito (i think he had just discovered it and feared that it was a sign that he was slowly becoming a wizard).
Unfortunately, dear readers, i am less than pleased to report a travesty that has occurred in the arena of chest hair adventures. In tribute to said roommate, i had allowed--in my left pectoral region--a long, twisted hair to grow in hopes of outdoing my comrade. It was probably about 1 and 1/2 or 2 inches longs, grizzly, and black as ebony. Yesterday i had considered trimming the end to allow it to grow healthily since it had been a while since i noticed a definite increase in length of the hair. About ten minutes ago as i was coolly taking a shower, i looked down to check on my masterpiece of cultivation to discover to my horror:
THE HAIR WAS GONE!!!
FALLEN OUT!
DECEASED!
NO LONGER ATTACHED!
BUCKETS OF WOE!
Here is a photographic simulation of how long the hair would have been if it were still attached to my bodice:
Friend, crop of love, my competitive edge: you will be missed.
05 October 2007
What Will Aaron Do?
CAST YOUR VOTE NOW!!
Find Scientist Jobs!!
Yesterday an angsty prospective landlord asked me what i did for a living. Being put on the spot and aiming to instill confidence in the would-be money vampire i retorted: "i work with people with disabilities." Which is pretty much true. Except that i don't presently do this. Presently i do nothing. This isn't to say that i'm not busy trying to get busy (because i am, as you know).
Some possible suggestions from both myself, my wife, and others are as follows (PLEASE SUGGEST MORE, BOTH SERIOUS AND NOT-SO!):
-German-English or Spanish-English interpreter or translator
-foreign language (or English language) tour guide in S.F. or some interesting natural or historical site
-park ranger
-scientist
-personal assistant to PWDs
-tutor
-teacher or professor (i would need further schoolin' and accreditation to pursue either of these)
-worship leader
-bouncer
-public relations writer
-appliance removal and installation technician (i have been doing this for my dad's company but don't plan on continuing with it nor calling a career, though i do get great satisfaction out of a job well done. which leads me to my next few possibilities...)
-construction worker
-strawberry harvester
-menial laborer
-janitorial staff member
-journeyman (i don't really know what this means, but i've been seeing it in the classifieds and i like the ring of it.)
-environmental worker
-solar panel installer
-activist
-actor
Of course there's always this last option:
CAST YOUR VOTE NOW!!
Find Scientist Jobs!!
Yesterday an angsty prospective landlord asked me what i did for a living. Being put on the spot and aiming to instill confidence in the would-be money vampire i retorted: "i work with people with disabilities." Which is pretty much true. Except that i don't presently do this. Presently i do nothing. This isn't to say that i'm not busy trying to get busy (because i am, as you know).
Some possible suggestions from both myself, my wife, and others are as follows (PLEASE SUGGEST MORE, BOTH SERIOUS AND NOT-SO!):
-German-English or Spanish-English interpreter or translator
-foreign language (or English language) tour guide in S.F. or some interesting natural or historical site
-park ranger
-scientist
-personal assistant to PWDs
-tutor
-teacher or professor (i would need further schoolin' and accreditation to pursue either of these)
-worship leader
-bouncer
-public relations writer
-appliance removal and installation technician (i have been doing this for my dad's company but don't plan on continuing with it nor calling a career, though i do get great satisfaction out of a job well done. which leads me to my next few possibilities...)
-construction worker
-strawberry harvester
-menial laborer
-janitorial staff member
-journeyman (i don't really know what this means, but i've been seeing it in the classifieds and i like the ring of it.)
-environmental worker
-solar panel installer
-activist
-actor
Of course there's always this last option:
CAST YOUR VOTE NOW!!
11 September 2007
Providence
*POW!*
As soon as we hit the beach, my bike tire exploded. Or rather, the inner tube did, and it sounded like a gunshot. Everyone around made a big hubbub about it, whether "that was awesome!" or "dang!" or whatever. Before we embarked on this journey i had inflated my tires (obviously to a pressure point that was a smidge too high) on my recently-stolen-back-stolen beach cruiser (also a good story, if you haven't heard it).
Beatus and i began riding at about 7:15 am from our departure point in front of Memorial. Earlier i had eaten a small breakfast consisting of one peach, and i offered another one to my Tanzanian friend, which he enjoyed before we really got going.. We cruised up Chapman Avenue, me in the lead and Beatus trailing not too far behind. Our heading: The Santa Ana River Trail.
Beatus was aiming north, but i wanted to ride south, which we soon did after a slight delay. Somehow i still managed to let him choose the wrong side of the river, and after a mile or so we were faced with a dead end and no easy way to get to the other side of the river. We sat on our steeds for a while contemplating what we ought to do, after which i decided we were going to carry our bike across the dry aqueduct and ride on. 'Twas a beautiful morning and great to be out. To my surprise, i didn't even feel tired after a late bedtime the night prior. The morning air, the relative quiet, and the path beneath my tires felt right as rain.
Since Beatus is a locally infamous marathon runner, i actually was slightly concerned that he was going to smoke me on the bike ride and i'd be struggling to catch up even though i be out of energy and also breath. (This i did during the Chapman 5k, which he graciously ran with me on for a stretch, encouraging me and generally being the excellent gent that he is.) Well, all my traversing of trail and town paid off and i was able to keep up really well and even lead a few times. Both of us had things to do later, which was one reason we chose the early departure time--that and we wanted to beat the heat which was sure to flair up later in the day. Perhaps partially because of this and partially because he had never done it before or was unaware that it was very possible, Beatus was skeptical at first of my big plans. We passed a few mile markers, which i declared immediately, trying to subtly show him how far we'd already come and how easy the journey would be. Ever since i found out about this trail i'd wanted to ride all the way down to the beach, and now i thought i wasn't going to be able before the move. After another mile and a half or so, it was clear we'd gone far to turn back now. We were going to the beach!
Along the way we chatted, i found out more about his many siblings in Tanzania, a little more about what he's studying at Chapman, what he plans to do, etc. and shared similarly about myself. Upon learning that Beatus grew up speaking Swahili, i endeavored to share with him the little Swahili that i knew:
Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Yesu mwana wa katonda
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Jesus is the Son of God
We crossed this bridge.
Apparently may song was very similar to the Swahili he grew up with, but not the same. He informed me that it should be "wangu" and indicated the other corrections once i told him what it meant in English. This was a song i had picked up, the tune of which some of my plenteous readers may recognize, and the dialect must be a combination of Swahili and a local Ugandan language. Much like India, i learned, Africa has hundreds, if not thousands of regional dialects, even varying from village to village, though often sharing a common bond with some language of greater influence (Swahili, French, Dutch, Afrikaans, German, English, Arabic, etc.) Beatus then proceeded to inform me that i knew more Swahili than i realized:
"Hakuna Matata is perfect Swahili" he crooned.
"Does it really mean 'No worries'?" i asked.
Yes it does! He added that Rafiki means friend and Simba means lion. Pumbaa means chaff, as in when threshing grain.
We kept riding along, passed some folks and got passed by other folks (the speedy, spandex-clad serious cyclist kind). Overjoyed i spotted a flock of Canadian geese in the sky. The ride was phenomenal! After taking it all in and thinking on it and breathing it deeply, i let out a huge "woooohoooo!"
"Man! I though we were at the beach or something!" my friend offered back to me.
"The cool thing about riding on the trail" i said, "is that there are so many parks and pleasant little hidden places you never would see from the road, and there are no stop signs. Further north there's a lot more water, and so a lot of cranes or herons or whatever end up congregating up there. The water brings a lot more wildlife. Right here it's kind of boring."
There i go being melodramatic again.
12, 11.5, 11, 10.5, 10, 9.5, 9, 8.5, 8, 7.5, 7, 6.5, 6, 5.5, 5, 4.5, 4, 3.5, 3, 2.5, 2, 1.5, 1, .5, 0.0, BEACH!
*POW!*
The joy was already bursting forth from my face from the exhilaration from the ride and i had no inclination whatsoever to be even slightly annoyed. Again, i was overjoyed! As my front tire wobbled awkward from the blast, i laughed and laughed, leaned back in the seat and guided the bike to a stop between smiles and guffaws. Letting the bike slip to the ground i continued to hoot and holler and then looked back at Beatus which just made us both laugh even more.
My first rational thought was "Hey, i've got my wallet and cell phone, so at least i can call someone to pick me up, or maybe find a bike shop close by and get the tire fixed." This information is what i share with Beatus as we head toward the beach to enjoy the fresh air and a little relaxation after our ride and before trying to take care of the tire. A few surfers with fresh sunscreen still white on their faces walk by and say, "Wow, dude, that tire blast sounded like a gunshot!"
"Yeah, it was pretty loud."
"Did you just pump it up or something?"
"Yeah when we started our ride back in Orange."
"You guys came from Orange?!?!" (look of disbelief bordering on shock).
"Yep. Do you guys know if there's a bike shop near here?"
"Yeah, there's one just up PCH on the left at the light, they should be able to fix you up there."
"Sweet, thanks a lot."
We continue and i proceed to lock up our bikes and go over the plan in my head. It vaguely occurs to me that i ought to cover the situation in prayer, though i'm still forming this thought and haven't quite locked up the bikes when a guy in a helmet and biking attire walks up and asks, "Hey, are you the one whose tire just exploded?"
"Yeah, that was me."
"Because I have an extra tube if you want it."
"Well yes!"
"What size is it, do you know?"
"Not sure. Standard size?"
"Alright we'll give it a try."
He inspects the front tire only to find no quickrelease axle. "Oh, I'm not sure if I have a wrench for that. Do you?"
"No, i don't have anything, sorry."
"Alright let's have a look."
Turns out this guy had one wrench in his pouch, which happened to be the exact size we needed to remove my front wheel! Within minutes he had the old tube out, the new tube on, and was vigorously pumping my tire up again with his portable hand pump. His wife, and their son and daughter looked on. "Yeah, this happened to us once. All I ask is that you return the favor to someone else sometime. We used to bike all the time before the kids got too big for the trailer."
"And now it's a family outing!" i happily observe.
"Just a little blessing for you from the Lord this morning," his wife tells me.
Finally locking up the bikes and going to breathe in the fresh ocean air and look out into the crisp morning, i ask Beatus if he believes in God. "Yes, I believe in God." His lack of further response and general body language indicate that he might be uncomfortable about the subject. Instead of press the issue i ask, "Does 'Nala' mean anything in Swahili?"
"No."
"Serabi?"
"No."
"Any of the others?"
"No, they're just names. Like what does 'Michael' mean? They're just names."
"Actually, Michael mean something, but i get your point." (thanks to the internet I find that Michael means "Who is like God?").
He asks me what my name means.
"i'm not sure," i respond, which is true since i'd forgotten. "At home i have a magnet which says what it means, but i forget. It's Hebrew anyway. You know Moses in the Bible?"
"Yeah."
"Well after the burning bush and all that, God appointed Aaron, Moses' brother, to speak for him, since Moses was afraid to speak in public on God's behalf."
He remembered.
"What does 'Beatus' mean?"
"If you read the Gospel of...John? No. Luke, Matthew, and Mark, you read about the beatitudes. It means 'blessed one.' "
"Oh yeah, blessed be..."
On the way home we saw large blue heron perched on a chainlink fence. At nearly every mile or half-mile marker Beatus declares in his Tanzanian accent, partially in jest too, "We are kicking ass!" It was true, at least 26 miles and about 3 hours later we arrived back in Orange. With ample time for me to eat breakfast and get to rehearsal at 11:00.
Yet again i see proof upon proof that God is faithful.
As soon as we hit the beach, my bike tire exploded. Or rather, the inner tube did, and it sounded like a gunshot. Everyone around made a big hubbub about it, whether "that was awesome!" or "dang!" or whatever. Before we embarked on this journey i had inflated my tires (obviously to a pressure point that was a smidge too high) on my recently-stolen-back-stolen beach cruiser (also a good story, if you haven't heard it).
Beatus and i began riding at about 7:15 am from our departure point in front of Memorial. Earlier i had eaten a small breakfast consisting of one peach, and i offered another one to my Tanzanian friend, which he enjoyed before we really got going.. We cruised up Chapman Avenue, me in the lead and Beatus trailing not too far behind. Our heading: The Santa Ana River Trail.
Beatus was aiming north, but i wanted to ride south, which we soon did after a slight delay. Somehow i still managed to let him choose the wrong side of the river, and after a mile or so we were faced with a dead end and no easy way to get to the other side of the river. We sat on our steeds for a while contemplating what we ought to do, after which i decided we were going to carry our bike across the dry aqueduct and ride on. 'Twas a beautiful morning and great to be out. To my surprise, i didn't even feel tired after a late bedtime the night prior. The morning air, the relative quiet, and the path beneath my tires felt right as rain.Since Beatus is a locally infamous marathon runner, i actually was slightly concerned that he was going to smoke me on the bike ride and i'd be struggling to catch up even though i be out of energy and also breath. (This i did during the Chapman 5k, which he graciously ran with me on for a stretch, encouraging me and generally being the excellent gent that he is.) Well, all my traversing of trail and town paid off and i was able to keep up really well and even lead a few times. Both of us had things to do later, which was one reason we chose the early departure time--that and we wanted to beat the heat which was sure to flair up later in the day. Perhaps partially because of this and partially because he had never done it before or was unaware that it was very possible, Beatus was skeptical at first of my big plans. We passed a few mile markers, which i declared immediately, trying to subtly show him how far we'd already come and how easy the journey would be. Ever since i found out about this trail i'd wanted to ride all the way down to the beach, and now i thought i wasn't going to be able before the move. After another mile and a half or so, it was clear we'd gone far to turn back now. We were going to the beach!
Along the way we chatted, i found out more about his many siblings in Tanzania, a little more about what he's studying at Chapman, what he plans to do, etc. and shared similarly about myself. Upon learning that Beatus grew up speaking Swahili, i endeavored to share with him the little Swahili that i knew:
Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Wange, wange, Yesu wange Yesu mwana wa katonda
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Mine, mine, Jesus is mine
Jesus is the Son of God
We crossed this bridge.
Apparently may song was very similar to the Swahili he grew up with, but not the same. He informed me that it should be "wangu" and indicated the other corrections once i told him what it meant in English. This was a song i had picked up, the tune of which some of my plenteous readers may recognize, and the dialect must be a combination of Swahili and a local Ugandan language. Much like India, i learned, Africa has hundreds, if not thousands of regional dialects, even varying from village to village, though often sharing a common bond with some language of greater influence (Swahili, French, Dutch, Afrikaans, German, English, Arabic, etc.) Beatus then proceeded to inform me that i knew more Swahili than i realized:"Hakuna Matata is perfect Swahili" he crooned.
"Does it really mean 'No worries'?" i asked.
Yes it does! He added that Rafiki means friend and Simba means lion. Pumbaa means chaff, as in when threshing grain.
We kept riding along, passed some folks and got passed by other folks (the speedy, spandex-clad serious cyclist kind). Overjoyed i spotted a flock of Canadian geese in the sky. The ride was phenomenal! After taking it all in and thinking on it and breathing it deeply, i let out a huge "woooohoooo!"
"Man! I though we were at the beach or something!" my friend offered back to me.
"The cool thing about riding on the trail" i said, "is that there are so many parks and pleasant little hidden places you never would see from the road, and there are no stop signs. Further north there's a lot more water, and so a lot of cranes or herons or whatever end up congregating up there. The water brings a lot more wildlife. Right here it's kind of boring."
There i go being melodramatic again.
12, 11.5, 11, 10.5, 10, 9.5, 9, 8.5, 8, 7.5, 7, 6.5, 6, 5.5, 5, 4.5, 4, 3.5, 3, 2.5, 2, 1.5, 1, .5, 0.0, BEACH!
*POW!*
The joy was already bursting forth from my face from the exhilaration from the ride and i had no inclination whatsoever to be even slightly annoyed. Again, i was overjoyed! As my front tire wobbled awkward from the blast, i laughed and laughed, leaned back in the seat and guided the bike to a stop between smiles and guffaws. Letting the bike slip to the ground i continued to hoot and holler and then looked back at Beatus which just made us both laugh even more.
My first rational thought was "Hey, i've got my wallet and cell phone, so at least i can call someone to pick me up, or maybe find a bike shop close by and get the tire fixed." This information is what i share with Beatus as we head toward the beach to enjoy the fresh air and a little relaxation after our ride and before trying to take care of the tire. A few surfers with fresh sunscreen still white on their faces walk by and say, "Wow, dude, that tire blast sounded like a gunshot!"
"Yeah, it was pretty loud."
"Did you just pump it up or something?"
"Yeah when we started our ride back in Orange."
"You guys came from Orange?!?!" (look of disbelief bordering on shock).
"Yep. Do you guys know if there's a bike shop near here?"
"Yeah, there's one just up PCH on the left at the light, they should be able to fix you up there."
"Sweet, thanks a lot."
We continue and i proceed to lock up our bikes and go over the plan in my head. It vaguely occurs to me that i ought to cover the situation in prayer, though i'm still forming this thought and haven't quite locked up the bikes when a guy in a helmet and biking attire walks up and asks, "Hey, are you the one whose tire just exploded?""Yeah, that was me."
"Because I have an extra tube if you want it."
"Well yes!"
"What size is it, do you know?"
"Not sure. Standard size?"
"Alright we'll give it a try."
He inspects the front tire only to find no quickrelease axle. "Oh, I'm not sure if I have a wrench for that. Do you?"
"No, i don't have anything, sorry."
"Alright let's have a look."
Turns out this guy had one wrench in his pouch, which happened to be the exact size we needed to remove my front wheel! Within minutes he had the old tube out, the new tube on, and was vigorously pumping my tire up again with his portable hand pump. His wife, and their son and daughter looked on. "Yeah, this happened to us once. All I ask is that you return the favor to someone else sometime. We used to bike all the time before the kids got too big for the trailer."
"And now it's a family outing!" i happily observe.
"Just a little blessing for you from the Lord this morning," his wife tells me.
Finally locking up the bikes and going to breathe in the fresh ocean air and look out into the crisp morning, i ask Beatus if he believes in God. "Yes, I believe in God." His lack of further response and general body language indicate that he might be uncomfortable about the subject. Instead of press the issue i ask, "Does 'Nala' mean anything in Swahili?"
"No."
"Serabi?"
"No."
"Any of the others?"
"No, they're just names. Like what does 'Michael' mean? They're just names."
"Actually, Michael mean something, but i get your point." (thanks to the internet I find that Michael means "Who is like God?").
He asks me what my name means.
"i'm not sure," i respond, which is true since i'd forgotten. "At home i have a magnet which says what it means, but i forget. It's Hebrew anyway. You know Moses in the Bible?"
"Yeah."
"Well after the burning bush and all that, God appointed Aaron, Moses' brother, to speak for him, since Moses was afraid to speak in public on God's behalf."
He remembered.
"What does 'Beatus' mean?"
"If you read the Gospel of...John? No. Luke, Matthew, and Mark, you read about the beatitudes. It means 'blessed one.' "
"Oh yeah, blessed be..."
On the way home we saw large blue heron perched on a chainlink fence. At nearly every mile or half-mile marker Beatus declares in his Tanzanian accent, partially in jest too, "We are kicking ass!" It was true, at least 26 miles and about 3 hours later we arrived back in Orange. With ample time for me to eat breakfast and get to rehearsal at 11:00.
Yet again i see proof upon proof that God is faithful.
Marriage Medley
(with a due nod to Mr. Gary Thomas)
"By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll become happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher."
-Socrates
"Like everything else which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, an marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate."
-W.H. Auden
"[Marriage] is the merciless revealer, the great white searchlight turned on the darkest places of human nature."
-Katherine Anne Porter
"If you treat a man as he is, he will stay as he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become the bigger and better man."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
-Oscar Wilde
"A magnificent marriage begins not with knowing one another but with knowing God."
-Gary and Betsy Ricucci
"Marriage is the greatest test in the world...but now I welcome the test instead of dreading it. It is much more than a test of sweetness off temper, as people sometimes think; it is a test of the whole character and affects every action."
-T.S. Eliot
"Marriage is the operation by which a woman's vanity and a man's egotism are extracted without anesthetic."
-Helen Rowland
"Like all truly mystical things, love is rooted deeply and rightly in this world and this flesh."
-Katherine Anne Porter
"We find God in the contact of our bodies, not just the longing of our souls."
-Evelyn and James Whitehead
"By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll become happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher."
-Socrates
"Like everything else which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, an marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate."
-W.H. Auden
"[Marriage] is the merciless revealer, the great white searchlight turned on the darkest places of human nature."
-Katherine Anne Porter
"If you treat a man as he is, he will stay as he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become the bigger and better man."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
-Oscar Wilde
"A magnificent marriage begins not with knowing one another but with knowing God."
-Gary and Betsy Ricucci
"Marriage is the greatest test in the world...but now I welcome the test instead of dreading it. It is much more than a test of sweetness off temper, as people sometimes think; it is a test of the whole character and affects every action."
-T.S. Eliot
"Marriage is the operation by which a woman's vanity and a man's egotism are extracted without anesthetic."
-Helen Rowland
"Like all truly mystical things, love is rooted deeply and rightly in this world and this flesh."
-Katherine Anne Porter
"We find God in the contact of our bodies, not just the longing of our souls."
-Evelyn and James Whitehead
01 September 2007
"you've been paid a visit by the night owls...
yes, the night owls. they swooped into your closet and stole every last pair of underwear, and one out of each pair of socks". Or something like that. (Sorry about that tangent.)
Ever since i finished my job working at o' dark-early and subsequently biking around in the early mornings or sleeping on a cushioned doctor's bench/massage chair while my boss exercised, i've reverted back to my good ol' normal self, namely, bein' a night owl. Observe:
Which brings me to a story i'd like to relate...
It was a dark, stormy night (ok, so it wasn't stormy) as i drove back from south OC to my abode in Orange by way of Trabuco Canyon. Not far from the light pollution which ramps off the east hills into the whitewashed, star-masked night sky exists "a whole new world" unknown to many Orange Countians, at least of this generation. There was a time in years gone by when this sort of thing would have been completely normal, and photographs and wobblies testify to that. Oak trees sprawled across rolling hills and valleys, a stream bubbling and weaving over river rocks and lush green water plants, the smell of dust and earth, not to mention hay and horses. Country.
"Are you ready for the country? Because it's time to go!"
Some nights its so dark you can't see a thing, but most nights the moon lights everything up so well that one scarce needs a streetlamp for anything, save for driving an automobile, or breaking up conversations in parked cars (if you are a cop or a bro), or any other of a myraid of other nefarious and unnatural nighttime activities which require more light than that naturally reflected off the moon from the sun 'round the other side of the planet. *whew*
It's nights like these when you remember that the earth still turns. This soft kiss of moonlight is what would later prompt me to shut off my headlamps as i whizzed along Santiago Canyon Road before it turns into Chapman Avenue on the road home (at least for now). Praying or hoping that there were no cops on the road to pull me over for driving without headlamps added to the adrenaline. Even at 55 mph and no headlights on except the running lights (i wanted to salvage at least a little bit of safety after all), i could feel every turn in the road as my car silently floated past scene upon scene of Californian Paradise. Along the ridge of the hills to my left i could see the outline of more oaks and probably a few sycamores and pines against the deep night sky. To my left i knew there were quiet, wealthy homes full of sleeping families, lined with quiet stables and peaceful, beautifully landscaped grounds. i wanted each stretch to last forever and i hoped that each subsequent turn would yield no additional cars on the road, blinding me with their bright lights and their mere presence, forcing me to turn mine back on. But this isn't even the main reason i'm telling this story, though it was certainly glorious and intimate to be sure.
Before i even reached Santiago Canyon Road after rounding Cook's Corner, i cruised slowly, quietly through Trabuco Canyon, past O'Neill Regional Park and Kirsten's dentist's office. At this time, as later also, i hoped that no cars would approach, neither from behind nor before, so i might enjoy my journey home in peace.
Since the road here is windy and darker at night than other stretches of the road due to the scraggly, ancient oaks reaching across from either side, The Law found it appropriate to post the speed limit at 35 mph. Occasionally i go that fast, but if no one is around, and especially if it is late, i prefer to go about 20 or so, depending a little on whether i'm climbing a small hill or descending one, and letting the accelerator have a break from all the abuse i give it when i'm in a hurry during the daytime hours. At this rate i can barely hear my car slice through the night air and can even regain much of the electricity used for accelerating on each downhill slope. With the windows open for the breeze and the smell of earth and peace, i can also hear crickets, other nighttime insects, and probably a few frogs. Looking around as much as is safe, i catch small microcosms of awesome which inspire me, surprise me, recall scenes seen in a past life, and call me to come and live, forge hearth and home, foster growth and children and enjoy long hours of passion with my wife. I think to myself, "Someplace like here is where i would love to grow old with you."
It is in this moment with all of these thoughts colliding and my soul reeling, surrounded by feelings, emotions, and whisperings that would not even become fully clear until later when they poured out my fingers, i noticed something swoop down from the trees above. The wings were white and the wingspan was great and i knew instantly, instinctively that this must be a marvelous bird. This photograph isn't the exact one i saw, of course, but it comes close in many ways:
Excited and full of wonder, i braked quickly and pulled into a turnout about thirty yards ahead of me. Fortunately my car engine was already off because i had been driving slowly enough to be running all electric. That's probably why it took the owl so long to start off in the first place since it only heard my approach due to the wind rushing past this sleek, white, strong car. It was now perched in a tree only about 40 feet away and looking right at me. Putting the car in park and shutting my headlights off, i sat there leaning across the passenger seat to get a good look at it. It was beautiful! White, round-eyed, curious, and still, yet slightly squirmy, we both waited for the other to make a move. The night air was refreshing to breathe and the light-buzz-quiet of the forest was pleasant. After a while--which could easily have been a half hour but was probably more like three minutes--the owl again took off, spreading its magnificent wings and sailing off into the night in search of snakes or mice or other small rodents as prey (yes, sadly, probably even bunny rabbits, of which there are many out that way).
"O, what a night!"
Ever since i finished my job working at o' dark-early and subsequently biking around in the early mornings or sleeping on a cushioned doctor's bench/massage chair while my boss exercised, i've reverted back to my good ol' normal self, namely, bein' a night owl. Observe:
Which brings me to a story i'd like to relate...It was a dark, stormy night (ok, so it wasn't stormy) as i drove back from south OC to my abode in Orange by way of Trabuco Canyon. Not far from the light pollution which ramps off the east hills into the whitewashed, star-masked night sky exists "a whole new world" unknown to many Orange Countians, at least of this generation. There was a time in years gone by when this sort of thing would have been completely normal, and photographs and wobblies testify to that. Oak trees sprawled across rolling hills and valleys, a stream bubbling and weaving over river rocks and lush green water plants, the smell of dust and earth, not to mention hay and horses. Country.
"Are you ready for the country? Because it's time to go!"
Some nights its so dark you can't see a thing, but most nights the moon lights everything up so well that one scarce needs a streetlamp for anything, save for driving an automobile, or breaking up conversations in parked cars (if you are a cop or a bro), or any other of a myraid of other nefarious and unnatural nighttime activities which require more light than that naturally reflected off the moon from the sun 'round the other side of the planet. *whew*
It's nights like these when you remember that the earth still turns. This soft kiss of moonlight is what would later prompt me to shut off my headlamps as i whizzed along Santiago Canyon Road before it turns into Chapman Avenue on the road home (at least for now). Praying or hoping that there were no cops on the road to pull me over for driving without headlamps added to the adrenaline. Even at 55 mph and no headlights on except the running lights (i wanted to salvage at least a little bit of safety after all), i could feel every turn in the road as my car silently floated past scene upon scene of Californian Paradise. Along the ridge of the hills to my left i could see the outline of more oaks and probably a few sycamores and pines against the deep night sky. To my left i knew there were quiet, wealthy homes full of sleeping families, lined with quiet stables and peaceful, beautifully landscaped grounds. i wanted each stretch to last forever and i hoped that each subsequent turn would yield no additional cars on the road, blinding me with their bright lights and their mere presence, forcing me to turn mine back on. But this isn't even the main reason i'm telling this story, though it was certainly glorious and intimate to be sure.
Before i even reached Santiago Canyon Road after rounding Cook's Corner, i cruised slowly, quietly through Trabuco Canyon, past O'Neill Regional Park and Kirsten's dentist's office. At this time, as later also, i hoped that no cars would approach, neither from behind nor before, so i might enjoy my journey home in peace.
Since the road here is windy and darker at night than other stretches of the road due to the scraggly, ancient oaks reaching across from either side, The Law found it appropriate to post the speed limit at 35 mph. Occasionally i go that fast, but if no one is around, and especially if it is late, i prefer to go about 20 or so, depending a little on whether i'm climbing a small hill or descending one, and letting the accelerator have a break from all the abuse i give it when i'm in a hurry during the daytime hours. At this rate i can barely hear my car slice through the night air and can even regain much of the electricity used for accelerating on each downhill slope. With the windows open for the breeze and the smell of earth and peace, i can also hear crickets, other nighttime insects, and probably a few frogs. Looking around as much as is safe, i catch small microcosms of awesome which inspire me, surprise me, recall scenes seen in a past life, and call me to come and live, forge hearth and home, foster growth and children and enjoy long hours of passion with my wife. I think to myself, "Someplace like here is where i would love to grow old with you."
It is in this moment with all of these thoughts colliding and my soul reeling, surrounded by feelings, emotions, and whisperings that would not even become fully clear until later when they poured out my fingers, i noticed something swoop down from the trees above. The wings were white and the wingspan was great and i knew instantly, instinctively that this must be a marvelous bird. This photograph isn't the exact one i saw, of course, but it comes close in many ways:
Excited and full of wonder, i braked quickly and pulled into a turnout about thirty yards ahead of me. Fortunately my car engine was already off because i had been driving slowly enough to be running all electric. That's probably why it took the owl so long to start off in the first place since it only heard my approach due to the wind rushing past this sleek, white, strong car. It was now perched in a tree only about 40 feet away and looking right at me. Putting the car in park and shutting my headlights off, i sat there leaning across the passenger seat to get a good look at it. It was beautiful! White, round-eyed, curious, and still, yet slightly squirmy, we both waited for the other to make a move. The night air was refreshing to breathe and the light-buzz-quiet of the forest was pleasant. After a while--which could easily have been a half hour but was probably more like three minutes--the owl again took off, spreading its magnificent wings and sailing off into the night in search of snakes or mice or other small rodents as prey (yes, sadly, probably even bunny rabbits, of which there are many out that way)."O, what a night!"
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