It still amazes me to sit here in my comfy chair in the year 2008 typing words into a tiny computer surrounded by my wonderful family in a nice house in a nice little town with plenty of food, heat, clothes, and far too many toys.
We enjoyed two Thanksgiving dinners. Yes, we're spoiled rotten.
The first one was just down the road a bit, with friends from church. They have kids, we have kids - hey, it was a natural fit. There was lots of great food, lots of great games to play, a movie to watch (Wall*E), and then we adults played cards and yapped. Then we Meyers drove home while listening to a book-on-DVD. A very fulfilling day!
The second dinner was down at Aunt Susan's, which is only a few chapters - er, miles further down the road. We arrived a bit early, which gave Adam time to catch up on some missing sleep and the rest of us time to sit around and chat.
We had to wait a bit for some of the folks to arrive, those who were working down at the shop (Uncle Bob and cousin Mike) or elsewhere (Eric and Cindy), and all the guests (Mike's girlfriend's family, Andrew's girlfriend); but after awhile, everyone was there, so we "fell to" and tried to make a dent in the incredible amount of food.
It was an epic battle.
After a few hours of eating and chatting, we had to drag the kids from their fun (interacting with all the other little second-cousins or whatever you call 'em) and head home. Susan and Bob had hoped we'd spend the night, but unfortunately, my boss gave me a huge pile of homework to do for Thanksgiving, so we had to get back so the weekend could be spent in misery instead of hanging out with relatives.
Oh, well, perhaps we'll get back down there at Christmastime.
In the meantime, I hear the homework calling me...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Thanksgiving on the Way
I still haven't gotten into the habit of updating the blog every time the laptop is powered up. Writing is not a disciplined, habitual exercise for me; this explains why I don't keep a diary. It generally requires a significant event to inspire my thoughts, and a significant amount of free time in which to put those thoughts together into some semblance of rationality.
And, after all, most of the people who visit this blog are not interested in my pontifications; they're just checking to see if anything interesting has happened to the family, if there are any new pictures to look at, in the same way they browse through the news websites during breakfast to catch up on world events. That's not a bad thing; it's just the way things are these days when all the information in the world is at your fingertips. So if we manage to entertain someone for a few minutes with a new picture of the kids or a cute story of our lame attempts at keeping our house in repair, the blog has served its purpose.
There are many blogs out there which are updated far more frequently, have far more entertaining content, and are far more worth your valuable time. Is this medium of communication effective for our purposes, then? Perhaps, considering the alternatives. The telephone has never been my favorite instrument; my hand cramps at the thought of putting pen to paper; and there would be no point to writing this blog for the people with whom I converse on a daily basis face-to-face because they already know what is going on around here.
And truthfully, most of the time there is nothing of compelling mutual interest to share. We go about our quiet lives day to day, adhering to our routine, getting our homework done, trying to keep the house in good order, looking forward to the weekends so that we can have a little time to relax from the daily grind.
When something out-of-the-ordinary occurs, or a remarkably potent thought strikes me -- one worth an hour or two of devoted concentration -- it might inspire me to sit and write about it. Or if I happen to catch a particularly interesting picture of a family member which might be of general interest. But it's not like I'm discussing philosophy or the latest technology or politics or religion or any of the topics which drive the truly interesting websites.
Truthfully, there are many subjects on which I could write a thousand words or more, but they are of little interest to anyone reading this site (unless you really enjoy old geeks talking about "the good old days"). And I don't have time to go to all the forums on all the other websites to become involved in discussions with people who have managed to gather huge numbers of readers.
Every minute spent on this blog is a minute not spent with my family. And if there is one thought that is always lingering in the backwoods of my mind, it is the awareness of the passage of time, the shortness of life, and the rapidity through which my children are passing through this phase of it. They are growing so quickly. Some days I'm afraid to close my eyes because when they reopen, my children will have grown up and moved away.
The funeral down in Indiana only brought this feeling more into focus.
I didn't know Uncle Lee very well. We didn't spend much time in Indiana in my youth, and even if we had, most of my time would've been spent in the company of my cousins rather than my aunts and uncles. Nor was much of my young adulthood spent there, since I chose to move to the west coast right out of the gate (and was promptly sent to the east coast). To the best of my knowledge, though, Uncle Lee was always funny and happy and jolly and content. Certainly his health was never the best, at least during the time I knew him. Yet he was family, one of those icons that aunts and uncles become to their young nieces and nephews, those mysterious adults who sit around the Big Person table at reunions talking about boring adult things that don't make any sense, laughing at jokes that aren't funny, eating things that are yucky and drinking coffee (which was always the Adult Beverage).
Looking around at the people attending the funeral, it wasn't really the death of my Uncle that I mourned so much as it was the aging of all the rest of us; all my cousins grown up with children (and in some cases grandchildren) of their own, some of the faces lined, some of the hair gray, some of the bellies sticking out in a way that revealed far too little playtime and too much sitting. After having lived in the Northwest for nearly twenty years, it was a shock to come back to the Midwest and attend the annual reunion back in 2004. Everyone had changed so much. Many names were forgotten. Many aunts and uncles who had once been in the prime of their lives were now aged and fragile. And that was four years ago. Time marches on. Aging continues to enfeeble us all.
Someone once remarked that youth is the process of looking around to see who's ahead, while old age is the process of looking around to see who's left. We have entered into that phase of our lives where we will start to see more and more of our cherished icons passing through the veil, and the reality of the phrase you can't go home again will be made even more real.
That is, after all, why we go back to visit our relatives and friends again, isn't it? We seek to rekindle those emotions of closeness and friendship which we came to know so many years ago, and we remind one another of our common heritage, our common memories, our shared experiences -- those special times which first bound our hearts together in mutual love and admiration.
Yet we are frustrated time and time again by the fact that we cannot truly go back and relive those days when we had all the time in the world, when afternoons stretched out like eternity before us, when our major concerns were deciding which games to play and which desserts to select, when our parents and grandparents were all out in the other room talking boring adult talk while we were rolling around like idiots on the front lawn. Instead we have those horrid adult thoughts going around in our heads, wondering what our children are up to, checking our internal clock to determine how much time we have left to visit, knowing we'll have to stop soon and pack up our things and get in our cars and head back home, knowing it will be a long time before we are able to get back together again -- and wondering what will have changed by then, wondering who might not be able to attend the next one.
If there is anything that I treasure about Uncle Lee, it is his legacy, his children. They are wonderful, with wonderful families, and they are all blessed with a great sense of humor which is right in line with my own so that we can share and laugh at many of the same outlandish things. Both Jeff and Joyce have always been able to keep me laughing; one of my favorite childhood memories is listening to them recite songs from MAD magazine (which naturally stuck in my head) and laughing so hard my sides ached.
This is the kind of legacy I want to pass down to my own children, the joy of laughter and the willingness to be silly whenever possible. This is why there are lots of silly songs and silly movies in our library; we all have our favorite funny quotes from Monty Python and Bob and Ray and Bill Cosby, our favorite songs from Weird Al, our favorite clips from Bugs Bunny and Buster Keaton. And we have our favorite funny family stories from years gone by, when the kids (or the parents) had done something silly they would never live down, and indeed we bring it out every once in a while and laugh at it all over again.
Which brings me to Brother Kel.
Brother Kel came up with Mom and Dad for the funeral, and then they all decided to come up a little further north to visit for a day with us, and I cannot begin to tell you how pleased we were to have them here, not so much because we enjoyed their company - which we did - but because it gave the children an opportunity to get to know brother Kel a bit more. And brother Kel has been a legend around here for a very long time.
By this, I mean that he has been a name and a face on a website, or a name and a description in a story, but not a real person in the minds of the children. Most of them could not remember the last time they'd seen him. But when they finally did, he was everything they had hoped he would be: funny, silly, happy, playful and very tall. The girls especially took to him almost immediately; they could tell he is someone they could talk to, even at their young age. He treated them with great kindness and respect, willingly went along with their silly games and teasing playfulness, and even let them sit on his lap!
So the legend became reality, and the reality was even better than the legend could ever be; so now they look forward to the next time they get to see him. Of course, they're still intensely curious to see Uncle Craig again, who is another legend around here due to his famous silly videos (which we'd like to see more of). But we might have to wait a bit longer to see him, since we haven't been able to get out to Colorado lately.
Now Thanksgiving is almost upon us again, and we're making plans to spend Thursday with friends from church, and Friday down at Aunt Susan's; and before you know it, Christmas will be upon us, and then the end of one year and the beginning of another.
Where does the time go??
And, after all, most of the people who visit this blog are not interested in my pontifications; they're just checking to see if anything interesting has happened to the family, if there are any new pictures to look at, in the same way they browse through the news websites during breakfast to catch up on world events. That's not a bad thing; it's just the way things are these days when all the information in the world is at your fingertips. So if we manage to entertain someone for a few minutes with a new picture of the kids or a cute story of our lame attempts at keeping our house in repair, the blog has served its purpose.
There are many blogs out there which are updated far more frequently, have far more entertaining content, and are far more worth your valuable time. Is this medium of communication effective for our purposes, then? Perhaps, considering the alternatives. The telephone has never been my favorite instrument; my hand cramps at the thought of putting pen to paper; and there would be no point to writing this blog for the people with whom I converse on a daily basis face-to-face because they already know what is going on around here.
And truthfully, most of the time there is nothing of compelling mutual interest to share. We go about our quiet lives day to day, adhering to our routine, getting our homework done, trying to keep the house in good order, looking forward to the weekends so that we can have a little time to relax from the daily grind.
When something out-of-the-ordinary occurs, or a remarkably potent thought strikes me -- one worth an hour or two of devoted concentration -- it might inspire me to sit and write about it. Or if I happen to catch a particularly interesting picture of a family member which might be of general interest. But it's not like I'm discussing philosophy or the latest technology or politics or religion or any of the topics which drive the truly interesting websites.
Truthfully, there are many subjects on which I could write a thousand words or more, but they are of little interest to anyone reading this site (unless you really enjoy old geeks talking about "the good old days"). And I don't have time to go to all the forums on all the other websites to become involved in discussions with people who have managed to gather huge numbers of readers.
Every minute spent on this blog is a minute not spent with my family. And if there is one thought that is always lingering in the backwoods of my mind, it is the awareness of the passage of time, the shortness of life, and the rapidity through which my children are passing through this phase of it. They are growing so quickly. Some days I'm afraid to close my eyes because when they reopen, my children will have grown up and moved away.
The funeral down in Indiana only brought this feeling more into focus.
I didn't know Uncle Lee very well. We didn't spend much time in Indiana in my youth, and even if we had, most of my time would've been spent in the company of my cousins rather than my aunts and uncles. Nor was much of my young adulthood spent there, since I chose to move to the west coast right out of the gate (and was promptly sent to the east coast). To the best of my knowledge, though, Uncle Lee was always funny and happy and jolly and content. Certainly his health was never the best, at least during the time I knew him. Yet he was family, one of those icons that aunts and uncles become to their young nieces and nephews, those mysterious adults who sit around the Big Person table at reunions talking about boring adult things that don't make any sense, laughing at jokes that aren't funny, eating things that are yucky and drinking coffee (which was always the Adult Beverage).
Looking around at the people attending the funeral, it wasn't really the death of my Uncle that I mourned so much as it was the aging of all the rest of us; all my cousins grown up with children (and in some cases grandchildren) of their own, some of the faces lined, some of the hair gray, some of the bellies sticking out in a way that revealed far too little playtime and too much sitting. After having lived in the Northwest for nearly twenty years, it was a shock to come back to the Midwest and attend the annual reunion back in 2004. Everyone had changed so much. Many names were forgotten. Many aunts and uncles who had once been in the prime of their lives were now aged and fragile. And that was four years ago. Time marches on. Aging continues to enfeeble us all.
Someone once remarked that youth is the process of looking around to see who's ahead, while old age is the process of looking around to see who's left. We have entered into that phase of our lives where we will start to see more and more of our cherished icons passing through the veil, and the reality of the phrase you can't go home again will be made even more real.
That is, after all, why we go back to visit our relatives and friends again, isn't it? We seek to rekindle those emotions of closeness and friendship which we came to know so many years ago, and we remind one another of our common heritage, our common memories, our shared experiences -- those special times which first bound our hearts together in mutual love and admiration.
Yet we are frustrated time and time again by the fact that we cannot truly go back and relive those days when we had all the time in the world, when afternoons stretched out like eternity before us, when our major concerns were deciding which games to play and which desserts to select, when our parents and grandparents were all out in the other room talking boring adult talk while we were rolling around like idiots on the front lawn. Instead we have those horrid adult thoughts going around in our heads, wondering what our children are up to, checking our internal clock to determine how much time we have left to visit, knowing we'll have to stop soon and pack up our things and get in our cars and head back home, knowing it will be a long time before we are able to get back together again -- and wondering what will have changed by then, wondering who might not be able to attend the next one.
If there is anything that I treasure about Uncle Lee, it is his legacy, his children. They are wonderful, with wonderful families, and they are all blessed with a great sense of humor which is right in line with my own so that we can share and laugh at many of the same outlandish things. Both Jeff and Joyce have always been able to keep me laughing; one of my favorite childhood memories is listening to them recite songs from MAD magazine (which naturally stuck in my head) and laughing so hard my sides ached.
This is the kind of legacy I want to pass down to my own children, the joy of laughter and the willingness to be silly whenever possible. This is why there are lots of silly songs and silly movies in our library; we all have our favorite funny quotes from Monty Python and Bob and Ray and Bill Cosby, our favorite songs from Weird Al, our favorite clips from Bugs Bunny and Buster Keaton. And we have our favorite funny family stories from years gone by, when the kids (or the parents) had done something silly they would never live down, and indeed we bring it out every once in a while and laugh at it all over again.
Which brings me to Brother Kel.
Brother Kel came up with Mom and Dad for the funeral, and then they all decided to come up a little further north to visit for a day with us, and I cannot begin to tell you how pleased we were to have them here, not so much because we enjoyed their company - which we did - but because it gave the children an opportunity to get to know brother Kel a bit more. And brother Kel has been a legend around here for a very long time.
By this, I mean that he has been a name and a face on a website, or a name and a description in a story, but not a real person in the minds of the children. Most of them could not remember the last time they'd seen him. But when they finally did, he was everything they had hoped he would be: funny, silly, happy, playful and very tall. The girls especially took to him almost immediately; they could tell he is someone they could talk to, even at their young age. He treated them with great kindness and respect, willingly went along with their silly games and teasing playfulness, and even let them sit on his lap!
So the legend became reality, and the reality was even better than the legend could ever be; so now they look forward to the next time they get to see him. Of course, they're still intensely curious to see Uncle Craig again, who is another legend around here due to his famous silly videos (which we'd like to see more of). But we might have to wait a bit longer to see him, since we haven't been able to get out to Colorado lately.
Now Thanksgiving is almost upon us again, and we're making plans to spend Thursday with friends from church, and Friday down at Aunt Susan's; and before you know it, Christmas will be upon us, and then the end of one year and the beginning of another.
Where does the time go??
Sunday, November 09, 2008
The Long and Winding Road
It's been a rough week in Lake Woebegone.
I don't know why all these things happen all at once, but it seems that the old adage is true: when it rains, it pours.
A couple weeks ago, there was a local news item about a young girl who was out at the gun range with some friends and suddenly turned the gun on herself, committing suicide. We didn't realize it at the time, but the young lady in the news item was the same young girl who had just given her life to Christ in baptism a week or so before. At our church.
Last week, her ex-boyfriend, who had been with her at the gun range, who was also a Christian, stood in the playground at church while counselors tried to talk to him over the phone, and hung himself. He blamed himself for her death because he had broken up with her. Now they are both gone.
Last week, two of the older members of the church died of natural causes. Their loss, while not tragic, was still hard-felt. They were longtime members, very involved in the life of the church.
And again, last week, one of the members was involved in a hit-and-run accident. He hit a pedestrian, and he drove away, and didn't turn himself in until days later. Now he is under arrest, facing prison. He is a former elder, an active member of the church, from one of the core families. He made a very bad decision, and now those consequences have added to the family drama that is unfolding in our midst.
Saturday morning, we got word that Uncle Lee had died. Perhaps the blow was softened by the fact that we were aware of his failing health, and we are all confident of his destination. But it is still adding to the overall gloom of the last few weeks. We will miss him.
Oh, yes, there was also the election. Well, at least all those mud-slinging ads will stop now.
I am so ready for a vacation. Hawaii sounds good.
I don't know why all these things happen all at once, but it seems that the old adage is true: when it rains, it pours.
A couple weeks ago, there was a local news item about a young girl who was out at the gun range with some friends and suddenly turned the gun on herself, committing suicide. We didn't realize it at the time, but the young lady in the news item was the same young girl who had just given her life to Christ in baptism a week or so before. At our church.
Last week, her ex-boyfriend, who had been with her at the gun range, who was also a Christian, stood in the playground at church while counselors tried to talk to him over the phone, and hung himself. He blamed himself for her death because he had broken up with her. Now they are both gone.
Last week, two of the older members of the church died of natural causes. Their loss, while not tragic, was still hard-felt. They were longtime members, very involved in the life of the church.
And again, last week, one of the members was involved in a hit-and-run accident. He hit a pedestrian, and he drove away, and didn't turn himself in until days later. Now he is under arrest, facing prison. He is a former elder, an active member of the church, from one of the core families. He made a very bad decision, and now those consequences have added to the family drama that is unfolding in our midst.
Saturday morning, we got word that Uncle Lee had died. Perhaps the blow was softened by the fact that we were aware of his failing health, and we are all confident of his destination. But it is still adding to the overall gloom of the last few weeks. We will miss him.
Oh, yes, there was also the election. Well, at least all those mud-slinging ads will stop now.
I am so ready for a vacation. Hawaii sounds good.
Fireproof
The book was good, the movie wasn't bad.
The book was loaned to me from a friend at church who has struggled with his second marriage and is trying hard not to mess it up, and his relationship has been very up and down as long as I've known him. It's hard enough to keep a marriage alive when both people are working professionals, but when one is a seasonal worker and doesn't have a college degree and is constantly in and out of jobs, the problems are magnified immensely.
Perhaps that is my main complaint with the book. The two people, Caleb and Catherine Holt, are both professionals working in jobs that they love, and their problems stem from simple selfishness. Other than the wife's invalid mother, there is little else to intrude upon their perfect little world other than what they are willing to allow.
But since the book was taken from the screenplay and not the other way around, it makes sense that it deals with a simplified life, because a movie which included all the myriad distractions of a 'normal' life would be several hours long.
In the earlier years of our marriage, we were surrounded by other young married people without children, for whom this story might have particular appeal. In those marriages, stress was measured by the arguments over who was going to make dinner that night, or where they were going to vacation that year. Inevitably, with few exceptions, by the time year seven rolled around -- the timeline in the story -- children had appeared, and selfishness had either disappeared, or it had already destroyed the relationship.
At this point in our lives, the issues facing the imaginary Holt family mean very little to us. We don't have thousands of dollars saved up in the bank for a boat (or a new computer); we don't have an invalid mother-in-law needing a wheelchair and a bed; we don't live as two strangers residing in the same house. A very nice house. A house filled with very nice things, as yet untouched by childish hands. A house not covered in cat fur.
It would've been nice to read a story about a family facing the same struggles as our own, with whom we could identify. It would be horribly complicated because there are issues and sub-issues and sub-sub-issues, and moods and emotions and temperaments change by the moment, and nothing is every completely resolved to anyone satisfaction (and compromise is a tool to get through the day, not the Happy Ending we all hope for).
Our own story would involve lots of miscommunication and misunderstanding and missed opportunities to connect and lots of sighing and occasional yelling at the children and many dinnertimes ruined by simmering anger and many nights where it's a major accomplishment to say a civil "Good Night".
But it would also involve many nights of camaraderie and laughing and hugging and playing and praying and sharing and falling asleep with a feeling of comfort and contentment.
Probably too much for a movie, or short book.
But it would be nice to read a story about a family like ours, where the problems are not so simple, where the attention must be shared between spouse and children, where the real struggle is simply to find (or make) time to spend with the people in your own house. Where the idea of having a huge stash of money sitting in the bank is a sought-for dream with little hope of ever happening. Where the computer is hated not as a source of pornography but as a ball and chain linking me to the office. Where the spiritual struggle is not to find Jesus, but to give him as much time as he deserves in the face of all the other extremely important people in your life who need time and attention.
Maybe one day I'll write a book like that.
**
Comments about the movie.
The book's Meet-Cute scene between Caleb and Catherine was missing. I was looking forward to seeing it after reading it in the book. It really helps establish them as a couple-of-destiny so that the imminent loss of their marriage is all the more poignant.
Kirk Cameron still looks way too young, even with lines on his face.
Erin Bethea (Catherine Holt) is way too pretty. I have difficulty caring about the problems of people who look like models. Most people don't look like models. I'd prefer someone who looked more "ordinary", who would be more believable responding favorably to another man complimenting her. And for Kirk Cameron to ignore his very pretty wife in favor of pornography, he would have to be a complete idiot, too stupid to know how to clear his history file.
Kirk knows how to act and say his lines in a believable way. Erin wasn't bad. Most everyone else was evidently still working on memorizing the lines when the camera started rolling, so they didn't really "own" the lines, so they came out a bit stilted and artificial.
That house was way too big for just the two of them. And too clean. And fancy. Can you say, "starter home"?
Killing the computer. Destroying it didn't bother me, but had he even considered the problem of glass shards in the yard? Actually, he didn't need to perform an act of physical violence on it. If anything, that would frighten his wife that he had gone off the deep end and become dangerous. Besides which, these days you can't just put the computer in the trash. It's toxic waste, due to lead in the monitor and other chemicals on the motherboard. Instead, he could've just gotten rid of it by donating it to a charity. The lack of a computer on the table would've been just as obvious to Catherine.
Dr. Keller ("Gavin") just didn't work for me. After reading the book, I had a completely different concept of how he would look. And act. And speak his lines. Plus he looked very, very familiar. I think I've met him somewhere before, or his twin brother. Anyway, he was supposed to be a Cary Grant sweep-em-off-their-feet kind of character, and instead he looked like a high school kid playing dress-up. Or someone's big, goofy older brother. Casting problem.
"Are you ready to accept Jesus in your life?" This was a troubling scene because there wasn't enough motivation or background information or insight into Caleb's thought processes to see how he could suddenly change his mind and believe in Jesus (or God, for that matter) so quickly. But that's been my problem with the whole conversion thing in any movie or book. And sometimes in real life. It's been a part of my life for so long that I can't put myself in the shoes of someone who has never believed. So I can't imagine what the thought process is like, how one decides to suddenly believe in Jesus. Do they really decide that quickly? Does the same instant conversion happen in Judaism and Buddhism and Islam? I find that very difficult to accept.
The book was loaned to me from a friend at church who has struggled with his second marriage and is trying hard not to mess it up, and his relationship has been very up and down as long as I've known him. It's hard enough to keep a marriage alive when both people are working professionals, but when one is a seasonal worker and doesn't have a college degree and is constantly in and out of jobs, the problems are magnified immensely.
Perhaps that is my main complaint with the book. The two people, Caleb and Catherine Holt, are both professionals working in jobs that they love, and their problems stem from simple selfishness. Other than the wife's invalid mother, there is little else to intrude upon their perfect little world other than what they are willing to allow.
But since the book was taken from the screenplay and not the other way around, it makes sense that it deals with a simplified life, because a movie which included all the myriad distractions of a 'normal' life would be several hours long.
In the earlier years of our marriage, we were surrounded by other young married people without children, for whom this story might have particular appeal. In those marriages, stress was measured by the arguments over who was going to make dinner that night, or where they were going to vacation that year. Inevitably, with few exceptions, by the time year seven rolled around -- the timeline in the story -- children had appeared, and selfishness had either disappeared, or it had already destroyed the relationship.
At this point in our lives, the issues facing the imaginary Holt family mean very little to us. We don't have thousands of dollars saved up in the bank for a boat (or a new computer); we don't have an invalid mother-in-law needing a wheelchair and a bed; we don't live as two strangers residing in the same house. A very nice house. A house filled with very nice things, as yet untouched by childish hands. A house not covered in cat fur.
It would've been nice to read a story about a family facing the same struggles as our own, with whom we could identify. It would be horribly complicated because there are issues and sub-issues and sub-sub-issues, and moods and emotions and temperaments change by the moment, and nothing is every completely resolved to anyone satisfaction (and compromise is a tool to get through the day, not the Happy Ending we all hope for).
Our own story would involve lots of miscommunication and misunderstanding and missed opportunities to connect and lots of sighing and occasional yelling at the children and many dinnertimes ruined by simmering anger and many nights where it's a major accomplishment to say a civil "Good Night".
But it would also involve many nights of camaraderie and laughing and hugging and playing and praying and sharing and falling asleep with a feeling of comfort and contentment.
Probably too much for a movie, or short book.
But it would be nice to read a story about a family like ours, where the problems are not so simple, where the attention must be shared between spouse and children, where the real struggle is simply to find (or make) time to spend with the people in your own house. Where the idea of having a huge stash of money sitting in the bank is a sought-for dream with little hope of ever happening. Where the computer is hated not as a source of pornography but as a ball and chain linking me to the office. Where the spiritual struggle is not to find Jesus, but to give him as much time as he deserves in the face of all the other extremely important people in your life who need time and attention.
Maybe one day I'll write a book like that.
**
Comments about the movie.
The book's Meet-Cute scene between Caleb and Catherine was missing. I was looking forward to seeing it after reading it in the book. It really helps establish them as a couple-of-destiny so that the imminent loss of their marriage is all the more poignant.
Kirk Cameron still looks way too young, even with lines on his face.
Erin Bethea (Catherine Holt) is way too pretty. I have difficulty caring about the problems of people who look like models. Most people don't look like models. I'd prefer someone who looked more "ordinary", who would be more believable responding favorably to another man complimenting her. And for Kirk Cameron to ignore his very pretty wife in favor of pornography, he would have to be a complete idiot, too stupid to know how to clear his history file.
Kirk knows how to act and say his lines in a believable way. Erin wasn't bad. Most everyone else was evidently still working on memorizing the lines when the camera started rolling, so they didn't really "own" the lines, so they came out a bit stilted and artificial.
That house was way too big for just the two of them. And too clean. And fancy. Can you say, "starter home"?
Killing the computer. Destroying it didn't bother me, but had he even considered the problem of glass shards in the yard? Actually, he didn't need to perform an act of physical violence on it. If anything, that would frighten his wife that he had gone off the deep end and become dangerous. Besides which, these days you can't just put the computer in the trash. It's toxic waste, due to lead in the monitor and other chemicals on the motherboard. Instead, he could've just gotten rid of it by donating it to a charity. The lack of a computer on the table would've been just as obvious to Catherine.
Dr. Keller ("Gavin") just didn't work for me. After reading the book, I had a completely different concept of how he would look. And act. And speak his lines. Plus he looked very, very familiar. I think I've met him somewhere before, or his twin brother. Anyway, he was supposed to be a Cary Grant sweep-em-off-their-feet kind of character, and instead he looked like a high school kid playing dress-up. Or someone's big, goofy older brother. Casting problem.
"Are you ready to accept Jesus in your life?" This was a troubling scene because there wasn't enough motivation or background information or insight into Caleb's thought processes to see how he could suddenly change his mind and believe in Jesus (or God, for that matter) so quickly. But that's been my problem with the whole conversion thing in any movie or book. And sometimes in real life. It's been a part of my life for so long that I can't put myself in the shoes of someone who has never believed. So I can't imagine what the thought process is like, how one decides to suddenly believe in Jesus. Do they really decide that quickly? Does the same instant conversion happen in Judaism and Buddhism and Islam? I find that very difficult to accept.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Lazy Bum
After an especially long day at work, full of sound and fury and meetings signifying nothing, I just couldn't stand the thought of doing even more Work work at home. Instead, it was time to do something really relaxing.
Like building a wall.
There's something therapeutic and transformative about the act of physical creation: taking a pile of ordinary items and putting them together in a novel way to make something that is both useful and attractive. It gives a completely different kind of satisfaction compared to that of creating a story or a software program; it is tangible and substantial; it awakens the muscles not only in the fingers but in the entire body.
The little voice in my brain said it was time for some physical activity, time to feel a tangible result from my efforts; so I took a few 2x3 boards from the pile on the basement floor and laid them out in a rectangular pattern and measured and cut them to the appropriate size, drilled the holes and placed the screws; raised them up into the vertical position and placed them along the pencil lines; secured them to the floor and the ceiling joists with yet more screws; then stood back and took a look at the effect.
It always helps to see how things go together in the three-dimensional world.
James came down at one point and looked at the way things were going - it is, after all, his closet that is being put together - and marvelled at the size of it. It's large enough to put his drawing desk in, so now he's imagining that it will be his own private art studio complete with door and light and silence and security (such that the sisters will not disturb him).
To me, it has the added benefit of fitting into the overall unwritten plan of the downstairs layout. It corrects a recessed wall which was a side-effect of the bizarre foundation design, transforming it into a simpler rectangular wall with a short passageway to the back bedroom.
It was also impromptu, a departure from our original plan which called out for a built-in shelf unit embedded in that recess; but that is why I prefer to prototype my designs rather than merely putting them down on paper. I need to see, to feel, to experience the design before it is acceptable. And standing in James' room, it just didn't feel like he was going to have enough closet space if we walled in a rectangular section of the existing room. It made much more sense to take the available space from the adjoining recess.
It was quite enjoyable to take a break from the computer. When working on these kinds of projects, it occurs to me that it would be much more fun to do work like this, creating things with my hands, making useful things instead of putting together charts and graphs and dealing with personality conflicts in the office. But it is not something I could do professionally. I don't have the skills for really fine work, and I don't have the humility to take instruction from other people who would criticize my work, even thought it might be helpful in the end. I've never been one to take criticism or instruction gracefully; I'd rather learn things the hard way myself. This is another reason for prototyping: if it doesn't work the first time, take it all apart and try again.
The only downside to the whole effort was that, while drilling holes in the joists over my head, a bit of sawdust found its way into my eye. Now my eye feels as though it is full of sandpaper. It's not flushing out with the eye drops, or the shower, so it probably means I'll have to lay off for a while.
But I look forward to continuing, and finishing it up.
Like building a wall.
There's something therapeutic and transformative about the act of physical creation: taking a pile of ordinary items and putting them together in a novel way to make something that is both useful and attractive. It gives a completely different kind of satisfaction compared to that of creating a story or a software program; it is tangible and substantial; it awakens the muscles not only in the fingers but in the entire body.
The little voice in my brain said it was time for some physical activity, time to feel a tangible result from my efforts; so I took a few 2x3 boards from the pile on the basement floor and laid them out in a rectangular pattern and measured and cut them to the appropriate size, drilled the holes and placed the screws; raised them up into the vertical position and placed them along the pencil lines; secured them to the floor and the ceiling joists with yet more screws; then stood back and took a look at the effect.
It always helps to see how things go together in the three-dimensional world.
James came down at one point and looked at the way things were going - it is, after all, his closet that is being put together - and marvelled at the size of it. It's large enough to put his drawing desk in, so now he's imagining that it will be his own private art studio complete with door and light and silence and security (such that the sisters will not disturb him).
To me, it has the added benefit of fitting into the overall unwritten plan of the downstairs layout. It corrects a recessed wall which was a side-effect of the bizarre foundation design, transforming it into a simpler rectangular wall with a short passageway to the back bedroom.
It was also impromptu, a departure from our original plan which called out for a built-in shelf unit embedded in that recess; but that is why I prefer to prototype my designs rather than merely putting them down on paper. I need to see, to feel, to experience the design before it is acceptable. And standing in James' room, it just didn't feel like he was going to have enough closet space if we walled in a rectangular section of the existing room. It made much more sense to take the available space from the adjoining recess.
It was quite enjoyable to take a break from the computer. When working on these kinds of projects, it occurs to me that it would be much more fun to do work like this, creating things with my hands, making useful things instead of putting together charts and graphs and dealing with personality conflicts in the office. But it is not something I could do professionally. I don't have the skills for really fine work, and I don't have the humility to take instruction from other people who would criticize my work, even thought it might be helpful in the end. I've never been one to take criticism or instruction gracefully; I'd rather learn things the hard way myself. This is another reason for prototyping: if it doesn't work the first time, take it all apart and try again.
The only downside to the whole effort was that, while drilling holes in the joists over my head, a bit of sawdust found its way into my eye. Now my eye feels as though it is full of sandpaper. It's not flushing out with the eye drops, or the shower, so it probably means I'll have to lay off for a while.
But I look forward to continuing, and finishing it up.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Election Day 2008
I haven't seen any news to the contrary, so I'll just assume that my candidates have won the election, and now the world will breathe a big sigh of relief and move on with Life.
It was a beautiful, warm day out here in the Midwest, a wonderful day to take a walk with my sweetie through the neighborhood down to the school, stroll into the gymnasium with my voting card in hand, take the proferred ballot and sneak off to a quiet corner of the room and make my little squiggly marks in the little boxes, then stride proudly over to the machine and insert the ballot, stop by the little table with the little old ladies, grab my "I Voted" sticker, and head outside with my sweetie to walk home again.
(We saw Mary on the playground while we were heading in, and then saw Deborah on the playground on the way out, which made it even more fun!)
So we've done our duty, upheld our end of the Constitutional bargain, and will wait and watch through the evening to see the effect. One way or the other, we're extremely blessed to be living in a country where we get to make these choices. I'm especially keen on the local elections, having sat through a lot of local action committee and City/County Council meetings back in Washington (but haven't had much time for it here); and Cheryl is focusing on the national arenas.
It should be an exciting evening!
It was a beautiful, warm day out here in the Midwest, a wonderful day to take a walk with my sweetie through the neighborhood down to the school, stroll into the gymnasium with my voting card in hand, take the proferred ballot and sneak off to a quiet corner of the room and make my little squiggly marks in the little boxes, then stride proudly over to the machine and insert the ballot, stop by the little table with the little old ladies, grab my "I Voted" sticker, and head outside with my sweetie to walk home again.
(We saw Mary on the playground while we were heading in, and then saw Deborah on the playground on the way out, which made it even more fun!)
So we've done our duty, upheld our end of the Constitutional bargain, and will wait and watch through the evening to see the effect. One way or the other, we're extremely blessed to be living in a country where we get to make these choices. I'm especially keen on the local elections, having sat through a lot of local action committee and City/County Council meetings back in Washington (but haven't had much time for it here); and Cheryl is focusing on the national arenas.
It should be an exciting evening!
Monday, November 03, 2008
Election Eve 2008
On the eve of an election, it is customary to launch forth with a lengthy diatribe on the right and duty of all informed citizens to vote for the candidate of their choice, thus ensuring that our representative form of government successfully navigates the shoals of fickle Fate to flourish unto the fourth centennial of our founding Fathers' famous foray into freedom.
Unfortunately, I'm not into custom. So let it suffice to say, Go Vote, and God give you the wisdom to make the right choice, and the courage to face the consequences. Whoever gets elected is going to need all the grace and strength he can get. It's a messy world out there.
Speaking of messy, I'm fat. Fat-ter. Supposed to be around one hundred thirty-five to one hundred forty-eight pounds, sopping wet. The bathroom scale has the audacity to declare that my actual weight is pegging out somewhere around one hundred sixty pounds. The weight itself isn't that big a deal -- it's just a number -- but my insides feel a bit cramped and I'm getting tired of the extra lap for my laptop.
The problem is that there is too much Work work to do and not enough of the kind of work that involves moving muscles other than my fingers. I have nice, skinny, fit'n'trim fingers who love to dance over the keys on the laptop. But due to the amount of work which is done sitting down, and the odd impulse to snack while doing mental calculations, and my pathetic lack of self-control, my midsection is spreading to the four winds.
Would that it were possible to forego all the computational gymnastics and perform a few floor exercises in their stead, that might transform this flabby form into one of fantastic fitfulness! That, however, is unlikely, given the nature of my current position (hierarchical, not physical). Duty calls, and to (mis)quote young Frederick, "Duty before all!" (And he did get the girl in the end, you know, so he must've been doing something right.)
I am the very Model of a Modern Middle Manager.
The only alternative is to cut down on the consumption of complex carbohydrates, such as those yummy cinnamon rolls Cheryl made for breakfast this morning; and the yummy banana bread muffins she's making for tomorrow; and the yummy home-made pizza she makes on Friday nights; and the yummy pasta dishes she makes; and the soothing vanilla milkshakes that are my nightly antidote to the acids inherent in the daily indulgence of Coca-Cola products, which are only imbibed to counter the effects of the daily anthistamines which are taken to dilute the effects of the voluminious amounts of cat dander which are floating around in the ventilation system here at the house.
(No, you're right. It's my own fault if my weight keeps going up. There isn't a self-controlled bone in my entire body!)
I assuage my guilt with the thought that winter is a good time to add a little padding to the old bod, to keep warm when the snow starts falling and the ice piles up on the roads and so much of our time is spent outside. Shovelling.
Unfortunately, I'm not into custom. So let it suffice to say, Go Vote, and God give you the wisdom to make the right choice, and the courage to face the consequences. Whoever gets elected is going to need all the grace and strength he can get. It's a messy world out there.
Speaking of messy, I'm fat. Fat-ter. Supposed to be around one hundred thirty-five to one hundred forty-eight pounds, sopping wet. The bathroom scale has the audacity to declare that my actual weight is pegging out somewhere around one hundred sixty pounds. The weight itself isn't that big a deal -- it's just a number -- but my insides feel a bit cramped and I'm getting tired of the extra lap for my laptop.
The problem is that there is too much Work work to do and not enough of the kind of work that involves moving muscles other than my fingers. I have nice, skinny, fit'n'trim fingers who love to dance over the keys on the laptop. But due to the amount of work which is done sitting down, and the odd impulse to snack while doing mental calculations, and my pathetic lack of self-control, my midsection is spreading to the four winds.
Would that it were possible to forego all the computational gymnastics and perform a few floor exercises in their stead, that might transform this flabby form into one of fantastic fitfulness! That, however, is unlikely, given the nature of my current position (hierarchical, not physical). Duty calls, and to (mis)quote young Frederick, "Duty before all!" (And he did get the girl in the end, you know, so he must've been doing something right.)
I am the very Model of a Modern Middle Manager.
The only alternative is to cut down on the consumption of complex carbohydrates, such as those yummy cinnamon rolls Cheryl made for breakfast this morning; and the yummy banana bread muffins she's making for tomorrow; and the yummy home-made pizza she makes on Friday nights; and the yummy pasta dishes she makes; and the soothing vanilla milkshakes that are my nightly antidote to the acids inherent in the daily indulgence of Coca-Cola products, which are only imbibed to counter the effects of the daily anthistamines which are taken to dilute the effects of the voluminious amounts of cat dander which are floating around in the ventilation system here at the house.
(No, you're right. It's my own fault if my weight keeps going up. There isn't a self-controlled bone in my entire body!)
I assuage my guilt with the thought that winter is a good time to add a little padding to the old bod, to keep warm when the snow starts falling and the ice piles up on the roads and so much of our time is spent outside. Shovelling.
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