I was supposed to have been done blogging by 9:00 P.M. and been asleep by
this time.
Undoubtedly it will be 11 by the time I go to bed, if not later (and that's
assuming that I decide not to finish this blog tonight) and as a result I will
likely wake up later than I had originally planned tomorrow, still exhausted,
and likely be late for Sabbath School as well.
This is my life. Forever behind, forever rushing to catch up and forever
failing to do so. I live in a perpetual state of tardiness. Whether it's work
or leisure, bedtime or time to get up, paying the bills, getting to the bank,
making a flight, arriving at the movies, or finishing chores, I am late.
I do not enjoy this. In fact, I can't stand it. Yet no matter what I try to
do, I can't seem to beat it. One late arrival invariably leads to a string of
further tardy appearances that can literally stretch on for days.
Perhaps part of the problem is that I haven't been bored since 1994. My life
is full to overflowing. Which is a blessing, I know. But most of the time,
there is so much to do that I can't keep up. Against my better judgment I
constantly double and triple book myself, foolishly hoping that I'll finally be
able to get it all done. I also tend to believe that I can do more than I can
in a certain space of time, despite all evidence to the contrary (for example,
believing that I could compose and post not one but three new entries in the
space of an hour to hour and a half). Another issue is that I rarely have
leisure time, and so will often take it when I shouldn't, just because I can't
bear the thought of going straight from 16 hours of work to eight hours of sleep.
Something needs to change. I don't know what. I'm not sure how to go about
it. I'd reflect on it more now, but as it stands, I've got to run. Yep, you
guessed it. . .
I'm late. I began this post two weeks ago.
I added a lengthy example last weekend of how five minutes late here and ten
minutes late there can snowball into an avalanche of lateness that can alter
the trajectory not just an entire day, but an entire week.I apparently never saved that addition
because when I opened up the file this evening all I had was the material from
two weeks ago.I just don’t have the
energy to rewrite that rather disheartening vignette.And besides to do so, would send me to bed
late yet again and I really am trying to break the cycle of tardiness in my
life.
This week past week has been better, though not yet ideal.I actually made it to work on time for the
past two days running.I’ve been rising
earlier (though not necessarily going to bed as early as I’d like).I’m learning a few keys to moving from
running late to being right on time.I’ve
determined not to do any work after 8:00 P.M. in the evening, even if it means
leaving crucial things undone.This
reduces the likelihood of me staying up late just to be able to feel like I
unwound before bedtime.I’m also making
it a point to never get up later than 6:00 A.M., regardless of how late I go to
bed.This decision is helping with another
key to timeliness—seeking God first.I’ve
been able to have more regular devotions this week and having begun with my day
with God gives me an added sense of peace throughout the day.As part of the devotional time I’m making a
practice of asking God to “order my day” and help me do the things that really
matter, and not stress over the rest.
I’m not there yet, but in the struggle to get a handle on this hectic life
here in America, I know I’ll get there, sooner or. . .later.
"Teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom" --Psalm 90:12
Mat Kearney and his band rock the house at Bogarts in Cincinnati, Ohio, Saturday night, September 24, 2011. Sadly, this was my best photo of the night. I really need a better camera.
Ah, how I would have loved to change the title of this post by one word. How I would have liked to have one decent photo from the Mat Kearney concert Babs and I attended in Cincinnati last weekend--perhaps even a picture of the star of the show. It would have made a nice bookend to our last Mat Kearney show in the summer of 2010.
But to paraphrase that famous line from Top Gun: "I had the shot, there was no danger, so I. . .let it pass."
Babs and I had a fantastic time Saturday night, September 24, 2011 at the Mat Kearney show at Bogarts in Babs' hometown. We ate at Honey, a great new restuarant in Cincinnati's Northside neighborhood, enjoyed some great conversation that didn't involve being interrupted by our Little Feller while waiting for the show to start, and were treated to an outstanding performance by our favorite artist. Nonetheless, the evening came to be defined--at least for me--by a great opportuinity that I let slip away: the chance to say hi to the muse behind Mat's most recent work--his wife Annie.
Mat Kearney's latest album entitled Young Love is a triumph of pop songwriting both in terms of its sound--infectious hooks, memorable melodies, and lots of catchy beats--and it's lyrical content. Mat brings his gift for thoughtful, spiritually influenced songwriting to bear on pop music's most popular subject matter--romantic love. His lyrics provide fresh perspective and a surprising amount of depth to the thrill we've all felt when love is brand new. The sentiments have been expressed in a millions songs: "you can count on me", "I'm gonna win your heart", "I love you" but Mat makes those often trite ideas new and exciting again in just the way that a new love can feel like the first and only love there ever was in the world.
As with most songwriters one can never be sure how much of song is inspired by real events and how much is poetic license. Still I get the sense that Mat is exuberantly telling his own stories in these songs. For those of us who have been longtime fans, we feel like we've been on the journey with him. We were there when the songs were more brooding and introspective--a single man out in the world with Nothing Left to Lose. We got hints that someone serious was in his life in songs like "New York to California" and "Annie" on his second major label release City of Black and White, and then joined him in euphoric joy as he reflected on the meeting and ultimate marrying of the woman of his dreams in Young Love. As a result Annie looms larger than life in his recent work. We hear details of how they first met in the album's bouncy first single "Hey Mama", get snippets of further early encounters as Mat makes it his mission to win her over in "She Got the Honey", and a wedding photo of Mat in his brown bow tie and Annie in her gypsy necklace in "Young, Dumb, and in Love." Lest we forget that young love has its challenges as it matures, we also get "Ships in the Night", a song that deals with those fights that come up between young newlyweds as the honeymoon is wearing off.
With a setlist heavy on the Young Love material, that Saturday night in Cincinnati you could hear Mat's wife everywhere even though she was nowhere to be seen. Here's my review of the concert and a list of the songs from the Bogart's show with links to videos on youtube when available.
The Review
The evening opened with Leagues, a new band that played a generous eight songs in the opening set. Eight is a lot for an opening band, but fortunately Leagues earned the goodwill of the audience with catchy pop rock tunes (the early songs especiaqlly were quite good) a tight band, and a lead singer with a decent pipes, an appropriately self-depracating manner and the disarming physique of a thirty-something teddy bear. Thad Cockerell's unself-conscious performance and obvious love for the music made for a great start to the night.
Mat opens the show with "Count on Me." This video was from another show on this tour at the Music Farm in Charleston, South Carolina.
Mat's show couldn't have been more different from the one we saw last summer (Read my review of that concert here). Last summer the show was quiet and intimate--just Mat, his right-hand man Tyler Burkum, a couple of guitars, and a keyboard. This time the show was loud--more rock n' roll than folksinger--with Mat backed by a full band. Tyler was still there, though I didn't recognize him (it seemed like he had a different haircut and may have lost some weight?). Last summer's show at the Alban Mat was virtually unknown to his audience, this year the joint was packed with fans who sang along to every song, new and old, fervently. It reminded me a lot of the Mumford and Sons' show I saw last year with Mat and the band similiarly awed by the enthusiastic feedback from the crowd. Highlights from the night included Mat's performance of "Chicago", an old favorite containing some Cincinnati references that got a big response from the crowd. Another big moment was when Mat climbed up on the barrier between the audience on the stage during "Runaway Car", and then impulsively decided to jump down among us and take a little walkabout among the fans while he sang. The crowd was quite enthused about this bit of daredeviltry, and we caught a couple of glimpses of him as he came within a few feet us, lit up by camera lights and being grasped at by hundreds of hands. I honestly was a little worried for his safety at the hands of overwraught fans but I figured as long as he was still singing, he must be okay. Eventually he emerged from the crowd and climbed back on stage to finish the song, declaring at the end that the experience was both awesome and frightening.
The impromptu rhyming in "Undeniable" was a crowd pleaser as well, and during the encore the opening band Leagues, joined Mat onstage for a cover of Foster the People's"Pumped Up Kicks." Mat closed the show with the lead single from Young Love, "Hey Mama" and left the crowd shouting for "one more song" even after the house lights had gone up.
Here's a video that I picked up from the web by one of the other concertgoers at the Bogart's performance, Saturday night, September 24, 2011. My videos were again plagued by sound issues that make them completely unlistenable. This is "Hey Mama" the first single of Mat's new album and the final song of the evening.
It was a fantastic evening. My only quibble, a very minor one, was not getting to hear my favorite song from the new album, "Learning to Love Again." Along with "Rochester" it was one of only two songs from the new record that didn't get played. And given the up-tempo mood of this show, and the quiet, acoustic tenor of those two songs, I understand the omission. I can't wait to see the show again in Chicago in November with my best friend who was responsible for introducing me to Mat's music. It will be his first Mat Kearney show and I know he won't be disappointed.
When the show ended, we headed for the door, looking for the merchandise table where I could do my part to keep the Kearney show on the road and in the recording studio. We somehow missed it and suddenly found ourselves out on the street. We asked a security person nearby where the merch table was and she told us that it was inside, but regrettfully she could not let us back in.
I was ready to give up and head for home, but Babs insisted that we should go back to where we entered and see if those security guys would let us in. She finally talked me into it, and sure enough they let us right back in.
So we're waiting by the merchandise table while they went in the back to get a t-shirt in my size, when Barbara grabs me by the arm and nods towards a petite dark-haired woman with a vaguely bohemian air and one of those backstage VIP badges around her neck. She was standing apart from the crowd, alone, as if maybe waiting for someone. "Isn't that Mat Kearney's wife?" my wife whispered. I looked hard, while at the same time trying to avoid appearing to stare. "I don't know. . ." I replied. The only pictures I'd seen of Annie were photos of her and Mat's wedding that I come across on the web, and I just wasn't sure. "Maybe. . ."
"You should ask her," Babs prodded. But I was hesitant. I'm the kind of person who never wants to be a bother. I won't ask the waiter to fix my dish if they bring it out wrong, I rarely ask to "speak to the manager." And I feel rude and intrusive approaching famous people (or almost-famous people and most certainly the spouses of famous people). I worried about feeling embarrassed if she wasn't who we thought she was. I worried about looking "uncool" and vaguely creepy if she was. I worried, and dithered and vacilated while my wife continued to give me whispred updates as to where she was in our vicinity. At one point she was standing right next to us, and I finally decided, "Fine, I'm gonna do it. Worst case she tells us to leave her alone, best case we get to meet Mat's muse and maybe even get a picture. How cool would that be? A picture with Mat at the first concert, a picture with his wife at the next. . .yeah, I'm gonna do it. Right. . . now." But when I turned to ask, "Excuse me are you Mat Kearney's wife?" she was walking purposefully away towards the stage area. The moment had passed, the opportunity had been missed.
Babs, as perceptive as ever saw the whole thing in my face. "You were about to ask her, weren't you? I can't believe she walked away right when you were about to say something!" Later that night back at her parents house in Dayton, we googled up those wedding pictures and confirmed Barbara's hunch. The woman we had seen was indeed Annie Kearney.
Babs didn't seemed too bothered by it, but it bothered me for awhile. I wasn't disappointed so much by the missed opportunity itself, but by my own hesitation. In a way, it made me decide that I've spent too much of my life holding back, being hesitant when it wouldn't hurt to be bold. For someone who likes to talk as much as I do and who is as opinionated as I am, I have been, on occasion, surprisingly shy to speak up. There was no moral imperative here, obviously, but I felt that I let a unique little opportunity slide by and I realized that perhaps I've done that a lot with things that matter more in my life. They say you should sieze the day, but instead I've often been one to let the day go by, worried about what someone might think.
The missed opportunity to meet the muse behind Mat's music made me decide that in the future, I will be more fearless, that I will hesitate less, that I will take more risks, and worry less about how I look to others or what they might think.
Publicity photo for Committed, the vocal group that won NBC's The Sing Off last year and whose new record is in stores now. My students made a lot of noise for them when we saw them at mini-concert recently--that noise is the subject of this entry
Stereotypes are funny things (or, sometimes not).
We tend to think of them as patently false, but honestly a lot of time that's not the case. Many times there is an elment of truth that creates the stereotype and gives it staying power.
We tend to reject negative stereotypes about our gender, ethncity, culture and so on. But more often than not we're only too happy to welcome postive stereotypes.
Stereotypes are tricky. What makes them so is that even when they have an elment of truth, they never apply universally to the group in question. There are always exceptions. And this is what makes stereotypes dangerous--they lead us to make judgements about people before we know them; they lead us to think we know a woman or a man, a black, white or Asian person, gay or straight, when we really don't.
But this blog is not about exceptions to stereotypes. This blog is about one particular stereotype that happened to hold true on one particular morning in the auditorium of a wealthy, predominantly white high school in New Albany, Ohio.
The stereotype is this: Black people are loud. We talk loud, sing loud, laugh loud (occasionally accompanied by falling out of our chairs in hilarity), shout loud, pray loud. Black folks at the dinner table, in a group coming down the street, at the movie theater, at church (thank the Lord, at least when you've got a toddler who's plenty loud himself--must be his dad's side. . .), and in this case the aforementioned auditorium. If black folks are around, prepare yourself. It might get loud.
Here's the story: On Friday, September 16 grades 5-8 at Columbus Adventist Academy had the unique opportunity to see a mini-concert and Q&A session by Committed a hot new vocal group that won The Sing-Off, an American Idolesque talent competiton that aired on NBC this past December. Our school felt a special tie to the group. Committed's members have Seventh-day Adventist roots. They met in high school at Forest Lake Academy, the same school I graduated from, and all attended Oakwood University, the Adventist church's Historically Black college in North America. Several of my colleagues have personal connections to the group as well, so while we didn't know them personally, we felt a personal connection. That sense of connection may have actually had as much to do with what happened that morning as anything else.
A somewhat blurry photo that I took of Committed performing at the McCoy Community Arts Center in New Albany, OH
Committed had done a full concert the night before in downtown Columbus, but had put aside a little time before their next gig to meet with students at the McCoy Community Arts Center on the campus of New Albany High School (just around the corner from where we live, incidentally). The auditorium was at capacity and we felt lucky to be one of the schools able to get a seat for this special event. We arrived just before the program began, and I noted almost unconsciously that we were the only predominantly black school in attendance; a fact that surprised me given that Committed are black.
Here's Committed performing on NBC's The Sing-Off
Though we were small, we defnitely made ourselves known. My kids were enthused, grooving joyfully to each tune by the group, and cheering enthusiastically at the end of each number. When Committed called on us to cheer, we cheered. When they asked for an "Oh Yeah!" we gave one back with vigor! The rest of the audience was quite sedate by comparison, clapping politely after each number and sitting virtually stock still through the group's rhythmic virtuosity. CAA alone, and a trio of my girls in particular, stood out in their loud approval of Committed's outstanding show. There were a few a moments when I wondered if I should tell them to tone it down a little--after all, when in Rome, do as the Romans right? But to tell the truth, I didn't have an issue with anything they were doing. They weren't being rude or disruptive. They weren't shouting out song lyrics, they weren't standing up, blocking the view of others, just swaying in their seats. They cheered when it was time to cheer and were quiet when it was time to be quiet. The only "wrong" thing they were doing was doing what the rest of the audience was doing--only a lot more enthusiastically. And a lot louder.
(Full disclosure: when they name-checked Orlando and Forest Lake Academy I gave a lone whoop myself, and when they gave a shout-out to us their Adventist brothers and sisters at CAA at the end, we all went a little crazy for about 20 seconds)
In truth, I was kind of glad my kids were showing some enthusiasm. As a performer myself I know what it is to try to rouse a "dead" audience. It's no fun performing for an audience that seems to be made of stone. And as I watched the members of Committed trying pump up the audience and not getting much of a response (except from us), I felt bad for them and I was actually grateful someone was making some noise. I felt that it wasn't the ebullient CAA kids that were "wrong", but everyone else.
But not everyone agreed. As the students filed out at the end of the program one of the high-schoolers called out "Go back to your own school." One of the trio of especially energetic girls reported that she'd received nasty stares and had been told by another student to "shut the f*** up."
When we got back to school, we talked about what happened at the program during our weekly "Tribal Council" (I'm doing a Survivor theme in my class this year). We weighed the appropriateness of our actions, talked about when is the time to fit in, and when is the time to stand out. We talked about race and about stereotypes. Most of my students declared themselves black, loud and proud. But I pointed out that not every black person is loud (indeed, when I polled the other two teachers with us on the trip, one felt like me that the students weren't out of line, and the other felt that they'd over done it--"but then, I'm not a loud person myself" she explained. And she is not. Though she is black). I reminded the students to consider the line between being enthusiastic and being obnoxious. We pondered that as Christians, we need to consider those around us and not just our own preferences. But on the whole, I remained convinced that we had been considerate--of the performers, who I hope appreciated our support, even if that bothered some people around us.
I'm still not a 100% sure, but at least for now, I'm okay with how my students behaved. And I'm 100% certain that I'm proud of how they responded when people acted ugly towards them. Rather than fulfilling another much less pleasant stereotype--cursing back, jumping over a chair and going after the one who insulted them--they let it go. When they might have gotten loud, and felt justified in doing so, they ignored the insults and went merrily on their way. When things might have gotten nasty, their actions spoke louder than their voices.
Erwin Capilitan and I at the finish line of the Emerald City Half Marathon in Dublin, Ohio, on Sunday, September 4, 2011. There is a great official photo of us high-fiving one another as we cross the finish line, which would have been perfect for this blog, but at $30 for the digital copy, I decided to pass.
For most of my races, the rule has been train together, run alone.
In the earliest days, one of the great attractions to running while I learned to love the run itself, was the fellowship of Vince, Monica, Tin Tin, and sometimes JohnMo. But when it came time to run our first 10K, Vince was far ahead, and I was on my own.
I shared a tight bond of friendship with the FourRunners--a bond forged on the road, on early morning runs around the short loop and the long one--but when it came time to challenge Suicide Cliff or do the Thanksgiving morning Turkey Trot, we spread out and made the journey alone.
Ken Pierson and I trained for months together, and got to know each other much better on those arduous training runs for the San Francisco Marathon. But when it came time to churn out those 26.2 miles Ken started in one wave, and I started in another. I went through that crucible of pain alone, and only saw Ken at the finish line.
And more recently, Erwin Capilitan and I continued the same pattern at the Panerathon last August and the Buckeye Classic 10K too--train together, run alone.
My first glimpse of a different way to run came with the Disney Princess Half Marathon that I ran with my cousin Yvette and her friend Carrie Oetman. For the first time I completed an entire race running in step with others. It was a nice feeling. Of course, we hadn't trained together, and I essentially dialed back my own pace considerably to match theirs, but I found I enjoyed the camraderie of running the race together. I began to realize that perhaps I'd missed out on something in my solitary running endeavors of the past. My runs had always been a bit self-centered with a notable competitive streak. In some cases I'd been physically outmatched by my training partner, at other times, I was the stronger runner. In the former situation, I'd been unable to keep pace in the actual run, and in the latter, I'd been unwilling. My unspoken attitude was, don't let me hold you back, but I won't be waiting around for you either. But after the Disney run, I decided to try a different approach. I determined that in my next race, I'd run with my partner the whole way through.
So Erwin and I trained through the summer for the Emerald City Half-Marathon scheduled for Sunday, September 4, 2011 in the Columbus suburb of Dublin, Ohio. Our training was spotty; both of us traveled quite a bit, and missed a good many of our runs especially the crucial long runs. Three weeks out from race day, we had done one serious long run--seven miles a few weeks prior--and the most recent run had been a mere four miles. That Sunday morning we completed 8 miles. The following weekend, we ran seperately as I was out of town, and I did six miles while Erwin banged out a remarkable 12 miles. The weekend prior to the race, we ran 12 miles together at Blacklick Park and at that point we were ready as were ever going to be.
The Sunday morning of Labor Day weekend dawned cool and rainy. There had been thunderstorms throughout the night, and the possiblity of more threatened to postpone the start time. But the storm cells skirted Dublin and we began our race on time at 7:00 A.M. beneath glowering clouds spitting rain.
It turned out to be the perfect day for a run. The rain stayed at bay, but the partial cloud cover throughout the morning kept things cool and comfortable. Erwin and I started out on our goal pace of 11 minutes a mile (a goal that had been modified a number of times; our inconsistent training made our original goal of finishing in under two hours unrealistic). We dropped below it briefly around mile two or three and then something strange started happening. We started increasing our pace. I kept warning Erwin that we'd need to slow it down or we'd run out of steam at the end, but for some reason, as each mile passed we only kept running faster. Throughout the race we'd been using a system of running for ten or so minutes, walking for one minute, then running again for another ten. With this system, we'd been just behind the 2:20 pace group--almost catching them on the runs and then falling farther behind when we walked. But around the seventh mile, we caught up with the pace group, passed them and never saw them again, even when we walked.
I felt really good throughout the run, and though I think the run was harder on Erwin, he gave no hint of it during the race. He did some strong work that morning, and it felt really good to be able to encourage him to keep giving it his all. The encouragement went both ways too--a big part of the reason the race was easier for me was his companionship. Having someone to talk to, trade jokes with, helped the miles fly by. In many ways, this 13.1 miles felt like one of the shortest races I've run.
By the time we entered the home stretch, we were well ahead of our projected pace and had destroyed our previous times. In the final half mile, I faced the old temptation once again. A pair of runners--an older man and a younger woman--a father and daughter perhaps---that we'd been trading leads with for much of the race caught up with us. We'd passed them quite some time ago, and as our pace continued to increase, I was pretty sure that we wouldn't see them again. But apparently, they'd been holding back for a big push at the end. They cruised past us, not looking like they were trying too hard, yet eating up the distance anyway. The old competitive streak arose--I knew if we burned it out, we could catch them and pass them for sure. "You want to pick it up," I asked Erwin nonchalantly, not revealing my real motivations for a final big push. "No, it's okay. You can go ahead," Erwin replied, gracious as always. "No," I replied, determined, as I watched the pair of runners shrink in the distance, "We ran the race together, we'll finish together."
And so we did. 2 hours and 16 minutes, a pace of under ten and a half minutes per mile. We had run the distance faster than we ever had before, and we had done it together.
I think there is a place for running alone, competing against yourself, and pushing yourself to your personal best. I'm sure there will be future races were I once again do that. But I have also found that there is great joy and remarkable success in challenging and encouraging a friend, pushing one another to the best we can do together. Shoot, these days I'm beginning to think I might even consider running another marathon--as long as I'm not doing it alone!
"Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up."
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
Philippians 23: 3,4
As I was jotting down some notes in my pen-and-paper journal in preparation for the fifth annual Inspirations List, I noticed this passage of scripture printed in the margins of my journal and I realized that it described the five women on my list perfectly.
My slate of heroes this year all share in common an unselfish humility, and they made their mark on my life through their remarkable attention to the needs and concerns of others. I'm sure they have their selfish moments like anyone, but I saw them at their finest--giving and caring when it didn't come easy.
One hero, Keisha Paez, has the distinction of becoming only the second person to have made this list twice. Another, Faith Grant is notable as the first person to make the list whose heroic act did not take place in the last year. Bunnie is a colleague, "The Rose" a former student, and Carrie, I only met once. All have inspired me by doing good when it could not have been easy.
The List:
Bunnie James-Mason "The Rose" Keisha Paez Carrie Oetman Faith Grant
Bunnie James-Mason
I’m inspired by her sacrificial service
Bunnie makes us all look
good.She works tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure that everything at CAA runs smoothly, and in the process she makes us all shine a little brighter.I’m able to teach an exciting social studies lesson because of the prep time I had during lunch while Bunnie was watching my kids in the cafeteria.Mrs. Arthurs, the principal, is able to attend an important meeting that results in more funding for our school because Bunnie was covering bus supervision.The 8th grade students were able to boast record profits for their class due to her quiet and faithful help and support.It’s not just that Bunnie works hard.It’s not that she works long hours.It’s not even that what she does is often taken for granted by us teachers¸ so wrapped up are we in our classrooms.It’s that she does all this—endless round of duties, the full workweek and often Sundays too, the thankless tasks like lunchroom supervision—for others.We teachers are the vehicle that carries our students forward, and if the principal is the driver, the board and education superintendent the navigator, then Bunnie is the engine.Though her work often goes unseen, without her none of us would get very far.
Bunnie, you’ve always held the spotlight for us.Allow me to shine a little of that light back on you.Thank you for all you do.
"The Rose"
I’m inspired by her compassionate helpfulness
She’s one of those young women who always takes care of her business.This past year, her last at CAA, she often talked more than she should, but always managed to stay out of serious trouble.She wasn’t always “on-task” but her work was always done on time. "The Rose" did not suffer fools gladly nor tolerate foolishness from her peers.Yes, "The Rose" was careful never to make a show of it, but she always made sure shedid what needed to be done.And yet, "The Rose" didn’t look out only for her own interests, but also for the interests of others.Many times over the course of the year I watched her pull up a chair next to a struggling classmate to help him or her through some tough math problems.I saw her volunteer to partner up with a peer she knew would need extra help.For all her no-nonsense demeanor I saw "The Rose" demonstrate real compassion to those around her without expectation of recognition or reward.Indeed I think the last thing she wanted was reward (and I’m hoping she’ll at least tolerate the recognition I’m giving her!)You see "The Rose" was simply taking care of her business—it just happened that she made it her business to help those in need.
Keisha Paez I’m inspired by her courageous honesty
Not many people have the courage to recognize that it’s more important to tell the truth than to look honest.But then Keisha has never been like many people. Keisha has graced this list before—she was one of my first heroes in my inaugural Inspirations list five years ago, and she’s back demonstrating that her remarkable courage has a moral as well as physical dimension.During the final weeks of her Officer Training School for the United States Marine Corps, Keisha got caught up in an incident that placed her in tough position.She could tell the truth and risk her reputation and possibly her place in the Corps, or she could lie and slide by looking honorable.Keisha chose to tell the truth, and faced the consequences—the end of her dream of being one of the few and the proud.It took guts and honor to make a decision like that—just the characteristics any good Marine should have.Perhaps that’s why the Corp considered her appeal of the decision and allowed her to re-enlist and go through training all over again.As I write this, Keisha is finishing up her officer training for the second time and if you ask me she’ll make an outstanding Marine.After all, Keisha personifies the Marine Corps’ motto: Semper Fi—Always Faithful.
Carrie Oetman I'm inspired by her selflessness
It's easy to lend a hand from a positon of strength. When our wallets are full, our health good, when we're in a good mood, when we've had a decent night's sleep, it doesn't take much to be magnanimous and pass on the overflow of our good humor to those around us. But it takes a rare person to give to other when you're already giving what feels like 100% just to put one foot in front of the other. Carrie Oetman is one of those rare people, and I was privileged to witness her selfless spirit during the 2011 Disney Princess Half Marathon this past Februrary.
I met Carrie through my cousin Yvette, and I ran with both women the entire length of the half-marathon. Throughout the run I was awestruck by the many little ways that Carrie looked outside herself even while pushing herself farther physically than she'd ever thought possible. She did not allow her personal struggle to eclipse the needs of those around her, and instead put her pain on hold to a lend a hand. What made her completion of the race that day heroic was not merely what she overcame, but what she offered to those along the way. The next time I'm tempted to grow weary in well-doing, I'll think of Carrie, and well, carry on!
Faith Grant I'm inspired by her generous spirit
How much does it cost to change the course of someone's life? In the case of my high school chum Faith it cost her $400 and her expenditure changed the course of my entire life. It's been more than 15 years since she drummed up those funds to donate towards my effort to raise money to go as a student missionary. Faith, though she was only a high school student at the time, was the single largest donor to my campaign and without her gift I would have not raised enough money to go teach fifth grade for a year on the little island of Chuuk. If I had not gone to Chuuk, I would never have met my wife. I would not have become a teacher. I would never have visited or likely even heard of Saipan. Without that watershed year my life, my very self would be completely unrecognizable. To this day, I have no idea how Faith did it--whether she passed the hat around, tapped a rich relative, or simply emptied her savings account. I was perhaps more amazed by her willingness to give as I was by her ability.
I've always given credit to God for leading me that life-changing year in Chuuk, and this is right. But I've come to recognize that He--as He often does--used one of His beloved children to get me there. In light of that, there's no question that Faith should have been on my original list of the 65 Influential People in My Life, but I'm happy to remedy that now.
It's been years since I've spoken to Faith. I see her on Facebook and every now and again we exchange messages. I remember during the Haiti earthquake she was working to raise funds to get the daughter of a friend out of Haiti. I donated of course--how could I not? I was touched to see that Faith is still changing lives one dollar--or four hundred--at a time.
I'm finally shutting down my Maycock Media Mix blog. I haven't used it in years and to be honest, I don't think I'll ever get back to it. This entry marks the first of occasional entries that would have previously gone in that blog.
One of the highlights of the summer is being able to do a little more leisure reading. Most years I have had pretty good luck and discovered a really great slate of books. This year though, my luck ran out. Normally, I just scan the display shelves at the library and pick up a few titles that sound interesting based on the blurb on the book jacket. I used the same mehtod this summer, and found the results lackluster.
I read This Vacant Paradise by Victoria Patterson which was ho-hum and Model Home by Eric Puchner which was well-written but rather dispiriting. Gone, Tomorrow by P.F. Kluge was better, though I found the ending unsatisfying. Perhaps I was expecting a major twist that never really came. I then started in on Sing Them Home by Stephanie Kallos and gave up after one chapter. It wasn't uninteresting, but one of the conceits of the book was that the dead hang out at the cemetery, do arcane experiments, observe the living and perhaps other things that I didn't discover before I gave up on the book. Theology wasn't the issue--I don't believe in spirits of the dead and such but I'm more than willing to suspend disbelief as I did for the excellent The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. For me the device of these quirky spirits of the dead felt overly cute. Even the living characters struck me as a tad too eccentric to be really relatable. Worse than that, the book failed to grab my interest early on. I didn't have the patience to stick with it.
I scanned a few of the pages of C.J. Sansom's Winter in Madrid and abandoned it as well.
I've decided that as busy I am--even in the summer--I can't afford a trial and error approach to my leisure reading. I need to be reasonably certain that the book I'm going to read is going to be very good before I start reading. A book that was 'alright' just isn't good enough anymore.
What I've found is that I'll come across a book review in TIME magazine that sounds good or
someone will recommend a title to me, but then when it comes time to find a book to read, I've forgotten those titles. So what I'm going to do is start a public list here on this blog of the books I'd like to read. Once I've read the book, I'll link back to this post and edit it to include a short review.
I'd like to invite my readers to suggest great books that they've read--fiction or non-fiction--that they think I'd enjoy. Just make your recommendations in the comments section and I'll consider adding it to my list. Also feel free to comment on the books I add to my list whether to warn me away from a title or to encourage my interest. Books to Read
The Help by Kathryn Stockett State of Wonder by Ann Patchett War & Peace by Leo Tolstoy (I'm about 2/3 finished. I'm determined to finish) Breaking the Skin by Lee Martin The Autobiography of Tom Thumb: A Novel by Melanie Benjamin
Sabbath was about pictures. Late in the afternoon, we headed out to a small lakeside park in the tony neighborhood of Winter Park, FL to take our annual family photos. Dawn, the designated family photographer, decreed the year's color scheme, chose the location, and set up the shots. Some of the photos (and candids) from that session are posted here.
But my favorite pictures of the day, were the ones I painted in my imagination earlier that afternoon as I listened to the stories of my family. Uncle Roland and Aunt Colleen came over for lunch and during the meal and in the lazy hours after they regaled us with tales of adventures scuba diving, sailing, and traveling in Europe. We compared notes on island living and they recounted funny stories of their time in places as diverse as St. Croix and Oregon, Trinidad and Ohio.
One of life's great joys is to hear the stories of your family--to see the past through their eyes, to walk in their shoes, to have vague childhood memories fleshed out into rich, colorful detail, to see the things from years before you were born. And it's up to the younger members of the family to seek out these stories; most older family members may reticient to share if we don't ask, perhaps unsure of our interest. So, whenever I get the chance, I'm asking. Family photos are valuable, but there are photo albums that can only be seen with a listening heart, and these are priceless.
The Men
Muscles
My Generation
Mom and her brood.
Mom and Dawn
Corny + Classy
Check out more pictures of the family here. Also, look for the Florida Family Vacation at Disney on the Feller's blog. I realized that the trip really was all about him, so it would be more appropriate to post it there. It should be up in a few days.
It doesn't get any better than this. Anna Maria Island, Florida. July 21, 2011
I confess I've had very low expectations for the beach in America. I pictured the endless rows of high rises running along the Atlantic coast, people driving up and down the gray sands of Daytona and New Symrna Beach, the water nondescript in appearance and always too cold. I associated the east coast Florida beaches of my youth with the inchoate melancholy of that period--trips to the shore that were never as fun as I pretended with people that often weren't such great friends as I wished.
I'd spent much less time on the Gulf coast. We stopped by the beach a few times during high school trips to Tampa. J, Chris, Greg, and I were impressed with the Emerald Coast up on Florida's Panhandle during a road trip in my college years. When Babs and I were newly dating we spent a day with the Chris and Carissa Cotta at a beach in Clearwater. Those experiences were all quite nice, but compared to the fresher memories of the Marianas, I was sure they didn't measure up.
It was my son who corrected me, as we drove over the low bridge on to Anna Maria Island on Thursday, July 21, 2011:
"Daddy, this looks like Saipan!" he cried.
The view from our balcony at Anna Maria Island Inn
And indeed it did. For just about 24 marvelous hours our family soaked up the beach life at Anna Maria Island on Florida's Gulf Coast. Annual summer sojourns to Anna Maria were one of the family traditions Babs and I had missed out on while overseas. We returned to the States just as the tradition was falling into disrepair. Mom and Dawn had been determined to revive the Anna Maria beach week this summer, but they started planning too late and all the places that met their highly specific criteria were either already booked or out of their price range. By the time we arrived, the beach week plan had been reduced to a day trip. Indeed we didn't decide to spend the night until Wednesday, the day before we left, when Jim pointed out that a five hour round trip drive just to spend a few hours at the beach wouldn't be as much fun. Why not just find a cheap place--forget all the criteria--and spend one night, and then come back the next day. Mom, Dawn, and I got on the web and started looking.
Looking out from the front entrance to our unit. One of the great things about Anna Maria Island is the laid-back island feel. It's all two lane roads, locally-owned shops catering to vacationers, low-slung beach bungalows, vacation rentals, and unassuming luxury condos (my understanding is that they don't allow any high-rises on the island).
What we found was far more than we expected on such notice. We found a wonderful little beachside place with lots of character and a reasonable price. Anna Maria Island Inn had exactly two nights open, and both were on the days we could make the trip. What a blessing!
Looking back at the Anna Maria Island Inn from the water. Our unit is on the left on the seconf floor.
It was the perfect day at the beach. The pace was languid, the mood relaxed. I completely enjoyed playing in the ocean with my son, sharing in his wonder at the waves, his fascination with the sand, and his curiosity about the "blue sea" as he described it--the areas too deep even for me to wade with him in my arms. "Let's go to the blue sea!" he'd ask, pointing to the darker depths. After a couple of hours on the beach we were ready for a tasty lunch of sub sandwhiches and nice afternoon nap.
Mom, Dawn and "Baby J" frolic in the waves. See more photos of the kids at the beach at Elijah's blog.
While the Feller slept, I indulged in nice lazy afternoon like I hadn't had all summer--reading for a couple of hours out on the balcony-- migrating inside to the comfy living room couch when it got too hot.
The kitchen and dining area of our two bedroom apartment at the Anna Maria Island Inn. We found the Inn clean, comfortable, and quite attractive with modern and tasteful decor. It might have felt a bit cramped for a week-long stay for the seven of us (five adults and two toddlers), but for one night it was more than sufficient.
In the late afternoon, we hit the surf again, this time joined by Uncle Robert and my cousin, who I will call "T", and Jim and my nephew. It was a great father-son time, building rudimentary sandcastles, discovering the sealife-starfish, shells, and sand fleas--and playing with the floaties in the shallows. Again there was no rush--we played as long as we liked--and finally left the water when the sun was dipping towards the horizon.
Jim shows the kids a starfish he found in the shallows
Heading out towards the blue sea
As the sun set the Thomson, Maycock, and Brothers families gathered around a delicious haystack supper, feasting on the food and the fellowship.
Sunset on the Gulf
Dawn clowns around
Uncle Robert, Jim, and me dig in.
Cousin "T" and Mom enjoying dinner on the balcony
We all slept well that night and awoke early for one more visit to the beach, before packing up and heading back to Orlando.
Walking on the beach, Friday morning, July 22, 2011
We weren't ready to leave at all, and we knew that we were committed to a proper beach week at Anna Maria next summer. The family tradition is being revived and this time we'll get to be a part of it. Mom and Dawn have already begun researching vacation rentals that will accomodate us all comfortably next summer, and we'll get our reservation in early. What a surprise, I experienced the perfect beach vacation not in the tropical island paradises of Saipan or Hawaii, but right here in America on Anna Maria Island, Florida.
This past week, from July 19 to July 27, our family had one of the best vacations we've ever experienced in quite a long time. It was an ideal mix of quiet, relaxed downtime and fun experiences made perfect because all were marked by precious quality time with family. Because of the variety of activities over the course the trip, the vacation felt much longer than seven days, yet because it was such a joyful time it seemed to end far too soon.
I had this silly notion that I would get all this work done during our visit, and at first I felt guilty over all I wasn't doing as our vacation unfolded. But then, I wised up and realized that this time of relaxed play with my son, long chats with my mom, dates with my wife, and conversation with my family was invaluable time that I dared not waste on work.
The Feller and his uncle Jim relaxing at mom's house. July 26, 2011
We began and ended our trip with unscheduled days. We ate delicious breakfasts at mom's house, played ping-pong in the sunroom, read and watched TV, napped, and socialized. On both days I hung out with my old high school friend Greg for a couple of hours as well. On Tuesday, July 26, our last full day in Florida, the extended family--Uncle Roland and Aunt Colleen, Uncle Robert & Aunt Diana and thier son, my youngest cousin, and my cousin Yvette came over for dinner. It was a great way to spend the first and last day of our visit--unhurried, relaxed, and restful--giving us time to rejuvante from and prepare for our travels.
Anna Maria Island, July 21, 2011
On Thursday, July 21, we packed up the car and drove down to Anna Maria island on Florida's gorgeous Gulf coast for some beach time. We spend the night at a wonderful little beachfront inn and returned to Orlando Friday morning. An upcoming entry entitled Florida Family Vacation at the Beach will detail this idyllic time.
The three most important women in my life: My wife, Babs; my mom, Rosalind; my sister, Dawn
On Sabbath, July 23, we went to church, and then had Uncle Roland and Aunt Colleen over for lunch. In the late afternoon, we dressed up and headed over to Azaela Park in Winter Park to take some family photos. I'll develop this story more and share some more of those pictures in Florida Family Vacation Photos.
Playing in the pool. Sunday, July 24, 2011
On Sunday, July 24, we celebrated my nephew's first birthday! His actual birthday was on the day we arrived in Florida, July 19, but Dawn and Jim planned a poolside bash at their townhome for the weekend. Later in the afternoon, Babs and I took the opportunity to go on a date, just the two of us. We went to see Larry Crowne, the Tom Hanks/Julia Roberts romcom which was enjoyable enough despite it's rather vague plot. After the movie we dined at Seasons 52, enjoying a four course meal that left us satisfied but not stuffed in the way that only Seasons 52 can.
The Little Feller and the Big Mouse
Monday, July 25, we made the first of what I'm sure will be several pilgrimages to Disney World. It was a hot day, but a fun one, especially for the kids. More on this in my entry Florida Family Vacation at Disney World.
It really was a special week and all three of us were sad to leave when it was over. It reminded me of those visits with family when we lived in Saipan--when the visits were never long enough and a year seemed too long to wait to see each other again. I left determined that now that we're closer, we need to plan to visit more than once a year.
It was nice to be on vacation from work and at-home responsibilities; Florida was wonderful, but it was the family that made our time a true treasure.
