Disenchanted

Out of habit I continue to tune my television to sports channels on a regular basis - actually much of the time the television is on now that I live alone again. The last few months have had me questioning why because I have found none of the pleasure I normally gain from watching sports. I

am usually pretty easy to please as long as it is a sport in which I have some interest, but lately I just get frustrated at much of what I see in the games.

Football in particular has been almost unbearable to watch. My favorite teams performance has been lackluster to say the least. They are good, but not quite winning good. The one winning team only does so because most of the teams they have played sucked worse than they do. This season has not offered much to see on the field.

When the Kansas City Chiefs are 9-0 (equaling the number of games won in the lasts 2 seasons combined), you know there is something wrong in the NFL.

The indecipherable and unplayable new rules in the NFL for “player safety” fit perfectly with the ineptitude some teams (like the Chiefs) have shown in the past years. Stung by lawsuits lost for ignoring the extent head injuries have harmed current and former players, the league instituted rules to minimize the risk of head injury to the players coming up with a version of big-boy flag football. The truth is that when 300lb bodies slam into one another at full force, even without head-to-head contact, brain injuries occur. The new rules have caused so many players reticence about making typical moves that the game is not nearly as entertaining.

Coupled with the watered down game is a watered down roster of players. No player at the college or professional level has captured my interest. I can barely name a player on any team outside of Texas - not even on the suddenly glorious Kansas City Chiefs. Never before have I felt so apathetic about all the major teams and players.

My curmudgeonly spirit dominates this season. Maybe next season my fan spirit will return.

Nicked

As much as I wanted to call this post chopped I equally wanted to avoid a second Cooking Channel show reference within a week despite the topic being all about related to cooking. Upon reflection, the event leading to my whine did not live up to the billing of being “chopped.”

After picking nearly a peck of unpickled fresh peppers from my garden on Saturday, I set about chopping some for the dishes I was making - chicken soup and Mexican rice. I am much the same way with peppers as the rest of the world is with bacon - everything’s better with peppers (Yes, even chocolate cake and fruit cobblers.) I can be a bit of a heat freak, but mostly, I enjoy the flavor of peppers. When you get past the idea of “oh, it burns!” the flavors in pepper make the dishes as distinct as they are.

Typical for my time cooking, I had a sports show on in the living room television that I watch from my prep station (kitchen counter). I quickly looked up to watch a purported “spectacular highlight” and I swiftly brought the knife down across the end of my fingertip, cleanly removing a chunk of nail and flesh.

I love sharp knives; the cut itself did not hurt. But in the days since, EVERYTHING that makes contact with the exposed nailless tip of my finger reminds me just how vulnerable we are when our defenses are down. Even typing - maybe especially typing - proves painful because it is my middle finger with the most popular letter on the left hand its responsibility (at least 21 poundings in this last sentence alone).

I know from experience that one must pay close attention when dealing with sharp or hot objects in the kitchen. I earned every scar on my hands and arms. Now that the surface has mostly healed and can possibly survive the flood of capsaicin from the fresh hot peppers, I need to finish preparing them for a vacuum seal that will allow me to continue using them throughout the winter months when my peppers slow production

This time I am thankful that I was only nicked as I chopped the peppers.  

And I never found the nail or the finger tip so you may want to avoid this batch of Mexican rice.

Sleeping Early

For years I have functioned on very little sleep compared to the amount most people I know get. Going sleepless started in college with long nights of study and then continued as I moved into teaching with late nights grading. As my interests have grown, the late nights and early

mornings provide the best time for me to do my non-work related activities.

Lately, though, I have been waking up far earlier than I conditioned myself to do over the years. Instead of waking up between four and five, for the last few weeks I have been waking up at three - wide awake, brain in drive. When I wake up that fully, I get up. Sleep will not return, so I might as well make use of the time and get up.

The brain often uses dreams to resolve problems that have been unsolved in the day. I have had experiences since high school when I have awakened at the end of a dream and recalled the dream as it answered some question from the day. My 3:00 AM wake-ups have followed the pattern. When I wake up, I have answers to questions I pondered over the last few days. As long as I am waking up with good answers I do not really mind having the extra hours added to my day.

What I do mind about the extra hours in the day is the exhaustion that hits me mid-afternoon. From the time I first learned of the siesta, I have always wanted to live somewhere that took a siesta daily. A good friend of mine does research into circadian rhythms, the natural cycles that govern our body’s waking and sleeping periods. I do not need research. Let me take a nap about 1:30 in the afternoon and I am fine until midnight.

Work schedules do not work that way. We do not have nap time at high school and I am not about to nap while the kids are up and about. Over the years I have learned to manage my way through the afternoon doldrums, but I do avoid as much detail work during the early afternoon hours as possible.

Eventually though, I am going to find my siesta-loving job.

The Sting

Sunday night while doing my normal things around the house - finishing making my lunches for the week, putting the last laundry away, watching football, having a few drinks - I experienced one of the most bizarre yet hilarious events of my life.

I took a swig from my bottle of apple cider and felt something odd brush my tongue, so rather than swallow it down, I swished it about my mouth a bit to get a better feel with my tongue and determined that there was definitely something solid and pointy in my drink. Most ungracefully, I spewed my drink in a classic spit-take move across the living room floor. (It is carpet: I own a steam cleaner).

There in the middle of my spit-stream was a dark object that upon closer observation turned out to be a bee.

My roommate was sitting aghast the entire time because he had no idea what was going on and I had not said a word. Finally I looked up to him and pointed at the saturated bug, “It’s a bee! There was a bee in my drink!!!” He seemed a bit skeptical until he looked for himself. We both wondered where it had come from, the realized that due to the beautiful fall weather, the doors to the house had remained open all day.

The poor bee - it was only seeking the best sugar source before the desolation (well - desolation may be an exaggeration in central Texas) diminished pollen production of winter set in.

Just as I was feeling sorry for the poor bee, I noticed a throbbing in the roof of my mouth that suddenly grew more intense by the moment. I felt a little knob with my tongue, reached in with my finger and scraped it out to discover the stinger of the bee with the venom sack attached.

I stomped the already doomed bee.

Then I sent a tweet asking for the treatment of a bee sting on the roof of one’s mouth.

To my astonishment, a surprising number of my friends on Twitter replied. The consensus was to take a Benadryl. I did and I survived.

I learned two things from this event: 1) cover my drink whenever I have the house open on the six days a year it is possible, & 2) Twitter cures.

Alone Again, Happily

My most recent roommate moved out this week. He was the best roommate I have ever had. I could not be happier that he moved.

No breakup was involved, but the line, “It’s not you, it’s me,” fits the situation perfectly. As an introvert, I need time alone, completely alone, to recharge from work. People surround me from the time I arrive at work until I kick the last person out of the building so I can go home. Each day drains my energy.

Coming home to silence with only myself to please brings the degree of joy to me as it brings terror to an extrovert.

Being the introvert that I am, one might think that I would hate my job since it requires me to interact with people all the time. I love my job and have confessed before that it is my calling in life. People who have heard me talk about my job know just how passionately I speak about the work I do. I look forward to work each day.

I just need the chance to recharge.

For the time being, home is again my battery.

Top Chef

Every year I have a regular rant about how much I hate Halloween while all my friends are busy posting their creative and clever costumes and raving about the amazing parties they attend.

Bah humbug! Who needs the empty calories? Why waste money on a throw away outfit that seasonally enriches Goodwill?

This year, I relented and promised to attend an annual costume party thrown by a life-long friend of mine. I am invited every year and up to this point I have found some lame excuse not to go. I could not find one this year, so invited a friend to go with me as moral support and began searching for the right not-store-bought-cliche costume.

I considered professions.

I considered hobbies.

I considered passions.

Bam!

Well, not exactly, bam as in Emeril, “BAM!” but close. Pretty darn close.

Profession. Hobby. Passion. I would go as a “Top Chef.”

White shirt. Black pants. Apron. Top hat.

Whimsical and a good belly laugh for anyone who knows me. Everyone knows I am a bottom*/versatile** chef.

The afternoon before the party I decided I needed to take a nap so I could stay awake for a trip to San Antonio (where the party was located) and for the party. I woke up the next morning with the lamest (but most honest) excuse for not attending the party ever: “I slept through it.”

It did allow me to continue my, “I hate Halloween” meme and gave me a good excuse to hide out in a Mexican restaurant that night until all the invading horde left my neighborhood.

*If you are lost, see Urban Dictionary

** Likewise, Urban Dictionary

Dia de los Muertos

Repost from http://potensverbum.blogspot.com

Today’s Scriptures: Lectionary selections from the Revised Common Lectionary Year C Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18 Ephesians 1:11-23 Luke 6:20-31

Today’s Reflection: Anyone who has lost a loved one knows the pain, real pain, grief brings. Today, a day we set aside to remember those who have , passed away could easily rival Good Friday as the most depressing day on the Christian calendar. In English we call it “All Saints Day,” elevating our dead to a revered status, but in Spanish, “Dia de los Muertos” translates to “Day of the Dead!” We avoid “dead” and “died” in English as much as possible. No matter how we euphemise the end of our physical life we associate it with sadness. Regardless of what we would imagine the day to be it is actually a joyous celebration that rivals Easter. Today’s scriptures use words like forever, glorious inheritance, blessed! Today we replace tears with smiles. Over the years I have observed that when the grief of loss has subsided, almost every memory we recall of your loved ones brings a smile or outright laughter. Those memories give us comfort and a keep us connected to those who have passed. While we celebrate their lives here, we rejoice that they have moved toward Heaven. Each of the Scriptures for today points us to that heavenly eternity with those who believe. It is something for us to constantly seek while in this life. And on days like today, it assures us in our remembrances of those who came before us.

Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright © 2005 Consultation on Common Texts. www.commontexts.org

 

Birthday Cake Alone

My birthday cake this year was a Mrs. Field’s Chocolate Chip Cookie that I ate alone in my hotel room.

Cry me a river. Boo hoo!

ABSOLUTELY NOT!! That chocolate chip cookie, alone in my hotel room, capped the best birthday I have ever had.

(Disclaimer - I was attending a conference that day and the leadership and attendees recognized my birthday and had a small party for me and one of the organization’s leaders celebrating a birthday on the same day that included cake and cupcakes. I never ate any because I was too busy visiting. The recognition is much appreciated - sugar rush or not.)

I am not someone who enjoys getting much attention on his birthday. Well-wishes and greetings are welcome, but anything that draws much attention is not. For many years, I would invite some friends to dinner and treat them without ever letting them know it was my birthday. Their company was the gift I sought.

This year, I attended a pastor/seminarian workshop and enjoyed a worship service in The First Baptist Church of the United States (and when they say first - they mean it!). I do not qualify in either category, but the idea of spending a day in spiritual discussion attracted me. It also happened to be sponsored by an organization I have supported since discovering - AWAB: The Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists. The topics and ideas that stuck with me have provided ample food for thought for the next few months. I went into the day, knowing that I valued and respected the opinions of the people present.

I exited the day valuing and respecting the opinions of the people present even more than I expected.

As enjoyable as the educated thought and discourse was, the disconnect from technology and the interaction with individuals in a small enough setting to connect with them, enhanced the spiritual renewal of the day. Many of the deep and sincere discussions connected to questions I had been pondering while seeking to reconcile my personal feelings with my social-justice theology. None of the conversations resolved any of the theological questions, but they provided fodder for my meditation and writing for some time.

The location for the event set the mood for contemplation nicely. Spending a day in a building 199 years old and worshipping in a building 238 years old (for a congregation celebrating 375 years years together) forces you to consider a broader span than we normally contemplate. Holy places draw us in, safely, opening us to more than we could get elsewhere. Even the grounds around the sanctuary for the buildings presented a holy feel.

Following the worship service, I arrived back at my hotel, bounding with energy. As I sat at the desk reading the email, Twitter, and Facebook birthday well-wishes, I indulged in the cookie and rejoiced at the day I had.

Teching Down

In March I took a plunge with a Chromebook after reading and researching them for some time. I had converted a useless netbook into a Chromebook and found it useful. The move in March was an all-or-nothing stunt for me as I purchased it the day before going out of town to a conference - and it was the only piece of technology I took with me on the trip.

My initial trepidation evaporated. The more I used it, the more I realized I only needed a traditional computer from time to time when I reached the point that some documents were ready for their final layouts in a program with more features than Google Docs. In the months that followed, I began using the Chromebook almost exclusively for all the work I did.

I even made my staff activate their Google Drive so they could access documents I sent them and my calendar. Every document they receive from me goes through the drive. They were thrilled that I did not pass out stacks of paper, but they were nervous about everything being placed online.

I admit that I sometimes worry about everything being stored in the magical “cloud.” Then again, I put nothing online that would violate any privacy laws if it was lost or hacked or NSAed.

Six months after purchasing my first Chromebook, I upgraded from one with an 11” screen to one with a 14” screen. As fast, functional, and useful as the first one was, my aging eyes struggled to read the screen for long periods of time. Minutes into using the new Chromebook I am thrilled with the larger screen. My eyes are working much less hard than they did on the other one.

I do not mean to sound like a fawning Google fan. My skepticism kicks in every time something becomes centered around a single source ( Google, Microsoft, Apple). I purchased my first computer, a TRS 80 in 1984. I am a gadget geek and spend hours each day with my technology. But after the dozens of devices, I have never worked with a more efficient set of tools than the Google Drive paired with a Chromebook. It simply works and that sells me.

For generations of computers, the next generation surpassed the previous with bells and whistles. On a Chromebook, there is nothing you do not use on a regular basis. Instead of something new, the computer comes with everything necessary. Cleanliness replaces clutter and proves remarkably refreshing. I have everything I need at my fingertips without volumes of extraneous programs to sort through. Even as one who is fairly savvy with technology, I find the minimalism a time saver. For the first time in my many gadget purchased, I have chosen to “tech-down” and I could not be happier about it.

Getting Ahead

Every day I have a goal of reading some and writing some just for me. Reading and writing for work do not count since I have to do it every single day. The vast majority of what I write goes no farther that the notepad or draft file in my documents folder. Writing going no farther is fine with me - it is for me and serves to help me clarify my thoughts.

However, each year during November, I make it a goal to publish one piece of writing to my blog every single day as a part of National Blog Posting Month (there will be an icon each day). The event began in November and upon becoming corporate, spread to every month with a given theme. I continue to do November because of the origins and because it has become habit for me. Because 95% (some would argue 100%) of my writing is so unrefined, I feel the need to get an advance start on composing 30 posts. I began this week to come up with a list of topics to which I feel I can dedicate a couple hundred words. It is just a blog after all, not the New Yorker.

If I were writing New Yorker articles, I would be paid and you could pay to read my rambling there.

I managed to get a solid list of subjects on which I feel passionately enough about that I can compose four or five posts for each one. After coming up with my working list, I reviewed the scheduled posts for the last three years - some topics returned for the third year (spirituality, food, sports) and some new ones emerged. I even came up with some working titles based on documents I have in my draft file or recipes I have been experimenting with. (It pays to keep even the most inane former thoughts in reach - they may mature into something not-so-inane).

When it comes to rules, I tend to be a literalist and want to follow them as intended. By preparing over five weeks before the 30 days of posting begins, I sometimes wonder if I am cheating. I have gone over the rules (well, what I can find that constitutes rules) and all they call for is a post each day. Nothing says the post has to be composed that day. As much as I feel guilty about preparing ahead, I do not feel so guilty I am putting any of my preparation aside.

I continue to have my goal of reading and writing some each day regardless of whether it leads to a product I am willing to share. November is the condensed time when I take all those loose ideas and edit them into daily content. That is what I celebrate over those 30 days - even if it takes my 70 days to accomplish it.