here's life

The earlier part of this week work was depressing.  I spent hours on end searching for part numbers that, were the world I work in designed differently, would have taken moments.  I was rather annoyed by the system.  I realized that the people I work with were not weird because they were engineers, but because it is a coping mechanism that allows them to continue to function in the environment.  Each has their own way, I found myself on the cusp of turning. I could either chose a way to vent my insanity, or I could just continue, let come what may. I talked to some family that evening after work, and chose a third path.

Today I went to the church I normally go to, but haven't been to for a month or so.

Music
Sometimes I wish that people would sing more time-tested music, and sometimes they do. Today we sang "Blessed Assurance" which is a good one. I tried to sing the bass and tenor parts to it, but pretty much couldn't. I am not sure if it is because I can't follow parts without a good solid piano playing them, or if the small variations from the traditional melody threw me off enough that I couldn't extrapolate what the harmonizing structure would be. I could follow the basic bass line---easy, just copy the bass guitar--but couldn't snap onto the other parts. So, like most people, I just sang melody and it was cool. Do parts somehow worship God better?

We also sang a newer compilation: "Here is our King". When they started singing it, I was like, "I've heard a song like this before." It took until after the chorus to realize that the style was reminiscent of DCfC's "Title and Registration"---the stacato words running across phrases, the simple, clean melody, and reduced musical backup matched "So I'm purposing a swift orderly change/'cause behind it's door/there's nothing to keep my fingers warm". A difference was that it's sytacticly challenged verses set up for the chorus which mentioned God. So, "the music you love--on the topics you profess!"

And now I am going to go play Ultimate---a game I like, but doesn't really have any Christian spin to it.

I am thinking that if I am going to be spending time outside (a noble quest) I should invest in some sunscreen. Today I went to a Design, Build, Fly Competition. The main object of the game was to carry stuff. The flights consisted of a take-off and flight past the upwind flag, then a 180 turn to downwind, with a 360 the other way on the downwind leg, and then going beyond the downwind flag, another 180 and land. The first event had a ten minute time limit, and they had to carry 96 tennis balls aloft for 2 minutes. All the teams I saw did this in two loads. Many teams were not able to complete the second load because of time or batteries. There were several crashes of course---one plane stalled way downwind and spiraled into the ground over the rise. Another team did the same thing nearby---plummeted into the ground, and a spray of chartreuse balls rebounded and scattered. There were some of your common nose-overs as planes came in to land. One from Mississippi did a good tumble as it landed on it's nose and wingtip, but it must have been pretty sturdy because it only got chipped up a little. There was a flying wing that performed pretty well, and some unconventional two-boom planes. The wind really made it interesting, as it ramped up from about 15 knots in the morning to over twenty in the afternoon. One plane lost a wheel on take-off, but their pilot just continued the flight, and coasted into an impressive no-roll landing. I think he may have been one of the hired pilots, a practice which was looked down upon by teams who actually flew the plane themselves---sort of like slapping a Hate Box on your helicopter to make it autonimous.
The planes with big wings had a hard time flying up wind, but they didn't have trouble with the 100ft takeoff roll maximum like one team. One of the big-winged planes was doing the next event---carry 48 tennis balls, then two 2-liters, then a chunk of 4x4 board---and they were on their last downwind,,,and the batteries gave out. The plane made a sweeping arc into the ground, shattering into pieces. They weren't the best at the loading and unloading of the varied payloads, but they were pretty good and so they would have made some points---the score was inversely related to how long it took your loading team to add and remove the cargo. Some teams really had it down---the tennis balls were the real trick to get from the bucket into the plane. Especially if you were doing the whole swap in about 20 seconds
The Isreali team had an interesting plane; while not a blended wing design, the fusilage did seem to be shaped to help lift the load. They spoke to each other in some language I didn't understand (i.e. not English) I heard that one of the Turkey teams crashed on takeoff, but I saw the other one complete an event quite well. I wish I had picked up more Turkish from my sister.
There were over twenty teams and I didn't see them all fly--an interesting one had three fusilages, each with an engine. Maybe if I go over before church in the morning I'll see it fly.

This trip started with me leaving late from work early. Drove north (half hour on the interstate) and got in a car with my first cousin and second cousin and two cousins that were what? fourth or fifth? And we drove home to MO.
Got there late at night, and my parents were sitting outside, watching for us and enjoying the evening. We ate and drank even later into the night.
Friday we went canoeing on the Current River---CedarGrove to Aker's Ferry. We daily-doilied laundry whey, and so it took us all afternoon, paddling, looking at turtles and springs and flowers and swimming in the water and climbing on the rocks.
Saturday we got up late and made hammocks and food and icecream and jumped on the trampoline and then went dancing. It was fun. Some of the dances were pretty clever the way all the people turned this way and walked that way and then you end up right again, but progressed. Unless, as often happened, I lose my way and end up running to somewhere and hoping it is back where I need to be. That evening we stayed up late, even by college standards and Mom and Dad talked about life and stuff and I made a big, strechy hammock, that, like the one in the Phoenix Lab is pretty useless, so it is a good thing it springs out of the way. (it is hanging in the woods, and Isaac and Zion have to jump to reach it, but then it almost touches the ground.)
Sunday was Resurrection Morning, so we got up late (I can't think of a meaningful, allogorical reason) and ate again. And since Dad and Mom's homechurch meets only 3 out of 4 weeks, we went for a walk and enjoyed the Sun and wind and trees and plants that would have no reason or existance except that the Risen Son created them. When we got back with our scratched and cow bones and ticks, we took showers (it didn't get the pine tar out of my hair, but it got most of it off my arms) and then after eating somemore, Mom packed up some food and we headed north 2 hours to my sister's place to have supper. My parents are amazing. They have a pretty good sized house now, and so when ever they get a chance they love to have as many people over as possible--which is usually limited by people, not room. (they can easily bed 14 people) But it isn't just room. They are happy and able to just pour their time into making it a great time. And food. Mom can whip up enough food for any size group---and we have had some big ones. And what do they want in return? If you play the piano some, they are happy.

I really like Missouri (a Kiswahili homonym for "good")---it is especially pleasant this time of year, with everything greening up. And I like hanging out with my parents, they are intentional about making people feel needed and loved, having been through life for so long, having hard times and healing times and they are ready to learn about other's experiences.

So, if you are going through the middle of Missouri, and want to spend a few days, or hours, in a wonderful place, bring yourself and bring your friends, and make it a party.

Jesus came and died to fix this world--an amazing redemption but it doesn't stop there, that is the begining. We broke our world, missing one plan, but God had another plan, one that suprisingly was the Creator walking on this earth and then suffering the death we had made here.

"Love me my brothers, for I am infinitely superfluous, and your love shall be like His, born neither of your need nor of my deserving, but a plain bounty. Blessed be He!"

Giving as it is given to us, each improving the gift with our own love and labour. The givers are not greater than the receiver for whom it was given because all is gift.

If we turn from what God has for us to what we want, our desires will turn to rubbish and we can't fix it.
Our world and minds are so corrupted by this fallenness. That is not an excuse or cause for despair or reason not to make every thought a God-given thought, but shows that we need the mind of Christ. Even though we can't do it in our own strength, stand up, and let God's strength pour through you. We live in a fallen world so often is the deadening to any reach for perfectly thinking and acting how God would want us to.

So, I went to Texas. The flight was short and I saw that there was alot of surface water in OK and wondered why it didn't sink into the ground---you see small and insignificant surface features such as valleys and hills are, when you are looking down from +30k.

Friday we pulled up tiles on Bubble's floor---he had peel-and-stick tiles, so we peeled them up, and then stuck to the floor, gave a new meaning to gum-soled shoes. Friday evening Aduma got 41 sloppy joes from Bodacious, and we went into SAGA and started eating them and passing them out. It was fun, and helped to reinforce the rich-graduate image, which I guess could have the good effect of helping to encourage our friends to graduate, so they can be rich too. Oh, and help people have a good time.

We went to Hootenanny Live, the 41st annual school talent/variety show. It was pretty cool. Several people I knew or recognized were a part of it---like third-place winner, Grey, who acted in "A LeTourneau Love Story" in which some friends' misunderstanding gives a humorous twist to a study session. [later I found the script under the stage---now I can catch all the words I missed] But that wasn't what he won third for. It was his portrayal of a frustrated student's discussion with God about why things don't work out the way he thought God was leading him. I saw a parallel between "Foundation" and Job, who is asking "Why is all this bad stuff happening too me?" and what Job gets ins't an answer, but a revelation of God's power and might. In the same way, the answer the student receives isn't a "because ____" but just a realization that God is in control, and has set everything up---including James 1:2ff and the song, "How Firm a Foundation," written so that now, they could be a comfort to him, as he sang and discussed the significance of each of the verses. One of the more meaningful skits, "Foundation" was performed authentically---not too long before, Grey applied for floor chaplainship, but didn't get it.
Another skit that showcased someone's unknown-to-me singing talent was the second-place winner, "Heart and Soul" performed by Karen (Slope's fiance`). I knew she could play keyboard, but her expressive singing was a surprise, as she performed the melody with life, variety and feeling---and a well-developed range. It was enlightening to realize that there are more words than the first line to the common piano tune---next I expect I will discover that there are more words to "Chopsticks" than "dantdantdantdant...."
First Place went to some people I didn't know, (but I am sure are friends to many). It was three couples performing an expertly-practiced swing routine. When I was in school, social dancing was carefully viewed with suspicion. Shows how long I have been an alumnus.

There aren't alot of people that I know still on campus, so it makes the few more cool. We were standing and talking with some people that I have gotten to know since I was a student, and one guy was saying "I'm a little abu!" and kneeling on his sandals, pulled his arms into his shirt sleeves to mimic smallness. I like to think that people think I am cool, and I suspect that they think I am more amazing than I actually am---like as the sun sets into darkness, it casts long shadows from small object, so as I disappear into memory, that memory grows greater that I ever was. And maybe they will go on to better things than I did, after all, they can use my memory however they like---I'm flattered that I am even noticed when I return to a place that now belongs to others.

After the show, Aduma and I dropped by the bustin'-out Society Block-Party bonanza and ate a few chips. I was disappointed by the lack of fervor and anything else that I could look disapprovingly upon, unlike the last, umm, "party". Then we went to IHOP with close to the same crew of alumni as last year (or sometime) and had some food and talk. Some of the alumnuses that I hadn't seen in a while were hardly recognizable.

Saturday morning found us back in Belcher Gym, disassembling the stage for the last time carefully---next year it won't be stacked neatly in the back of Facilities Services, since the 42nd Hootenanny will be the last on this stage and in this gym. It was put together differently than I usually see---mostly more orderly and stable. Platforms had been marked so that they could be bolted together next year the same way, and cables held the rotating wall from wobbling. Someone probably said something, or told us not to unhook them yet, but I knew what I was doing---what was this, the sixth time I had done this? Well, it was the first time the cables also held up the sliding-door valence by their tension, instead of screws. So as I finished unhooking the second one, I heard a grinding noise, and felt a painless shock, and leaped off the stage, my mouth assuring those around me that I was ok. I was shaky, so I drank some water. It wasn't very bad, but I like to take care of my head, since it has served me pretty good in the past. I took things a little more careful after that. So much for being invincible----or is it?
We got the circular stage pie-pieces apart, stacking them in the trailer as Smee removed the wheels, after the crew of three unbolted them in record time--about 41 minutes. It is a pain to put together and haul around, but that rotating stage is pretty nice, maybe we can find a use for it. Maybe I should use the computers at work to design a better stage for the new Belcher Chapel and Performing Arts Center---that massive edifice mushrooming out of the front of campus---that place that you will be fired upon and expelled if you visit while its under construction. I used to wander around that place at night...but then they cut down the trees and dug a big hole,,,

Sunday we went to church, just like old time, sitting on the bean bags eating donuts and discussing random spiritual concepts with Baker. And the Graffs are cool. By the way, Dr. Graff's stereotype was mimicked in a skit at Hootenanny. They made fun of him, but in a way that he does himself so it was more of celebrating how cool he is. I can't say the same for how they portrayed Dr. Shaffer, but Didlake was typecast as himself, and showed his carefree and appreciative personality. But, church was cool, and many people stayed behind and talked, which I would like to think is a trend that I helped start.

After working at Bubbles's for a bit, I drove the Chrysler OF DEATH to dfw, stopping on the way to get gas, where I was accosted by a pan-handler, who had a pretty well practiced skit he went through to get me to give him some money. I only parted with a few bucks, and didn't give him any advice on his performance but left as soon as I got as much gas as I could--without checking if the pump gave me a receipt, showing that it had read my card correctly (it took a couple tries) so I may have driven-off without paying and will soon lose my license. In other news, it is bed time, and I miss my friends and maybe tomorrow I will have time to catch up on sleep---tonight was small group. Sleep, work, sleep, work. aaaahhhh! It's ok, I'm just tired, but I wonder if the itching I feel on my neck that started after getting hit on the head is actually not brain damage but just cellulose embedded in my skin from lying on the floor unbolting platforms...

It will be a bit before I get the rest of the story out, but untill then, here are some pictures to look at and a sneak preview of the end of the story:

As I drove home the day burned to death in the west and off to the left dead grass flamed red through the glowing smoke as the Flint Hills were torched in preparation for another year of grazing---the largest area of natural grass in North America.

Wednesday after work I jumped in my car and within minutes I was on
the turnpike on my way to Iowa. (I was in a class all day, learning
about a new computer drawing system that I may use some day---It was
awesomely better than what I currently use)
.
.
Eight hours later I was ringing Aduma's apartment doorbell so he would
push the button to let me into the building. He didn't hear it because
he had already come down to open the door.
Thursday morning found us drinking some chocolate milk and heading for
O'Hare. We made good time, and got there well before our flight left,
even though we didn't find the exit we wanted and had to wander around
southern Chicago looking for roads that showed up on our maps. The
flight over the mountains took 3 hours, but half of that was spend
watching the sun set as we sped after the circling ball of fire.
Sometimes we could see the peaks through the clouds. Sometimes there
were tiny lights in the barren landscape. As the sun set, the tops of
the clouds were dusted with pink. We raced toward receding tongues of
red, painted by the sun as it retreated into the west at half-speed.
We reached the edge of the Great Salt Lake, and turned south toward
the city. As we sailed over the water, the moon sailed with us.
Small mountain ranges jutted out of the sunset-reflecting water, and
clouds blurred the distinction between sky and mirror below it. The
moon was only a finger-nail sliver, and the un-lit portion was visible
against the sky. When it's reflection was over open water, the waves
blurred it into a smear, but as it jumped from pool to pool in the
water broken by protruding rocks, the clear reflection could be
seen--even the dark side of the moon. We approached land as the plane
made it's approach, but the airport seems to be built on a marsh--if
it could be called that, since it is more rocks and brine than soggy
peat.

After a short dinner of leftover lunch, we boarded another plane,
headed for Anchorage. This flight was darker, and over more desolate
areas, as we made our way to near Vancouver and then arcing north to
Alaska. They played a movie for us, but we didn't spring for the
earphones so we were left to guess what they were saying and what
sounds went along with the bazaar special effects as the story
meandered from a soap opera to meaningless, but potentially deadly
games that disintegrated into more important combat. And it was
entertaining, even without the sound to recognize themes and scene
criped directly from other, more creative works: "That was totally a
Neo rip-off" "That guy is basically Gandalf?" "And there is the
mirror scene--where's Galadriel?" But, as expected the "good" guys
win, and we learn once again, "When in doubt, side with the
protagonist" as in the other movies in the series (but it seems the
actors have grown faster than the characters would have liked).

Then, we landed in Anchorage, passing the airport and then turning
back, to hit the runway we saw earlier, outlined against the edge of
the city. We took our time finding our way through the small
airport---Bubbles and Fjord were coming, unbeknownst to Igloo, and we
needed to stall for them to arrive from Phoenix. The airport was
filled with various fish and animals. "Daddy, Daddy, why isn't he
moving?" asked a little girl, as she stared at a huge polar bear
towering over her. Her father explained that he was stuffed. Turned
out another LU guy was coming on the same flight as Bubbles and Fjord,
so once Igloo and crew found us, we waited for Randy, and got to
experience Igloo's shock as he saw the two 41'ers come down the
escalator. Then Randy arrived, and we all headed over to Igloo's
house there in town.

We found places on the floor to sleep, and passed out for several
hours. Soon after awakening, Igloo treated us to breakfast of
blueberry pancakes and bacon cooked hot enough to kill trichinosis.
Then we headed off to Igloo's childhood home. "We" being the 41'ers
and Randy, Antares, Igloo's dad. Driving through the open SouthFork
valley, we wound our way up snow-patched roads until we reached the
house that Igloo grew up in. We didn't want to scare the tenants, so
we viewed it from a safe distance. It was on the side of the hill
with a mountain behind it. One of the peaks was 5001 ASL and Igloo
and Antares talked about how they used to go up it all the time--"Past
the last house, see that ridge that is bare? You follow that up to the
top. Used to go up of an afternoon." We continued on, parking in a
little trail head occupied by a moose, who wandered off at our
approach. "Here, we'll leave the door open so you can dive back in,
and you can go take a picture of it.." This time it was Bubbles who
was being prodded toward death---we hadn't yet realized what a good
test subject Randy was.
The Alaskans had warned us flatlanders that jeans weren't the best
thing for hiking in snow--they get heavy and cold when soaked with ice
and water---but we hadn't really packed many synthetic outfits. But
as we started out, things seemed fine because if you stayed on the
trail, you didn't get much snow in the tops of your sneakers. The snow
off the trail was almost strong enough to walk on gingerly, but
invariably I would fall through, filling up my boot tops and pant
cuffs. We were on the side of a sparsely bushed "mountain" that sloped
smoothly up to the clouds. Antares had a shotgun and Igloo had a 45
pistol, just in case we met some bears. Randy carried a camera. Igloo
and Antares told us about the fun we would have doing "dive-rolls", a
sport of their invention, due to their lack of funds for skiing or
snowboarding. On the way back we stopped at some nice slopes and the
two demonstrated. They jumped head first down the hill, landing on
their backs and leaping with their feet every rotation, doing flying
somersaults to the bottom of the snow. It was hilariously foolish
looking, so of course, I had to try it. A simple leap and I was off
to a good start, but I didn't really have the leap down, and so I was
just rolling head over heels, my face covered with snow when I
stopped. I was standing there, shaking snow out of my clothes, and
laughing at the absurdity, and then clambering up to try again. We
found a slope that seemed to drop off at the end, so I rolled down it.
After each run, I would dig the snow out of my shoes so it didn't
melt too much.

We wandered back to the "minivan" (a large, white Ford Excursion)
stopping to look at some moose on the way. They told us that they
were slow in the snow, but that we were too, so we didn't venture too
close, but Bubbles and I climbed a tree and jumped out into the
snow--landing is different in the snow.

After eating some Taco Bell, we headed for a place near Palmer that we
could shoot stuff with guns---we had picked up some ammo, earplugs and
Shane, the best man, at Walmart. The drive was up the Matanuska
valley, along a river of sand bars and ice and a little water. We
glimpsed the glacier at the top. Finally we found the place. The
Excursion was parked at the bottom of the snow-covered side road, but
Shane drove his Subaru up until it got stuck, and then we shanked it
the rest of the way, loaded with firearms and ammo. Finding a ravine,
we walked up into it and picked some target on the other side. Papa
Igloo gave us a short set of rules for safe shooting: A gun is always
loaded, muzzle control, finger off the trigger, be sure of your
target. Then we loaded up and fired away. A 12 gauge doesn't kick as
much as I remembered from 10 years ago, and a 22 is like a BB gun in
comparison. The .44 magnum single action was a pretty solid piece to
fire one handed. I didn't shoot the Something Special that Shane and
Antares each carried. We picked up the shotgun shells, and headed back
to the car. We had to push Shane's car out, and then headed for the
rehearsal--we were late, of course.

The rehearsal went well, we had to move some chairs around, and set
some stuff up. The dinner was fun---it had turned into a family
reunion, since a passel of cousins had shown up. Igloo's sisters are
crazy, methinks.

We watched Igloo and Danae open their gifts from Antares--one was
wrapped to look like a rifle with a bipod, and I was expecting candy,
or something equally incongruous, but it was a shotgun--the bipod was
wrapping. And there was a box of shells for Danae "Open in case of
husband insanity"---as well as some silverware.

Back in Anchorage, we went to bed while Igloo packed, and woke in the
morning. We dressed and headed for Palmer. There wasn't much to do
other than fill up some balloons and tape some candles to small cups.
Aduma, Bubbles and Fjord were ushers and were given lighters, which
they handled with utmost respect and purpose. Bubbles ironed they
guys clothes while we stood and watched. And my mind is running out,
so I will go to bed and pick up with the wedding next time. This has
already taken two evenings and way too much of your patient reading.

(emphasis mine)