http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6mS2zPmv_c
Sitting staring at the computer screen…the modern version of the writing pad…completely empty of ideas and motivation.
That doesn’t bode well for an interesting post.
Here’s a video from a guy named Josh Ritter…song called “Idaho”.
When in doubt, I search YouTube for a video to act as a “place marker”…and when I’m really feeling lost and without inspiration, I look for a video with some kind of connection to Idaho.
Really, though, it may be that it’s not so much Idaho as it is someplace “away”.
Then again, it probably is about Idaho…it’s so darn beautiful.
Maybe I just need to calm my nerves and settle down, shake the wanderlust out of my hair, and get back to the business of blooming where I’m planted.
This is just what happens after I take a short trip…it just whets my appetite for a bigger and more constant adventure.
It is such a pleasure to be able to handle the things that consistent employment and geographic stability lets me handle.
I like taking care of my family.
That’s a good thing.
But I love to step out of the car and feel the strange and new air hit my face, smells different from the ones in Western North Carolina, see the plants and the animals and the people who seem different somehow, feel just a little off-balance and confused with all the differences I see and feel.
The geography of fresh experience is a powerful magnet for me.
There’s an Expedia commercial that they’re airing right now where they present people with the option of taking a trip anywhere in the world.
The only catch is that they have to be able to leave immediately.
It’s not surprising that most of the people say something along the lines of, “oh…I couldn’t do that…I couldn’t leave like that on short notice…”
There’s this one guy who packs his yellow suitcase and off he goes to China.
He was ready and willing to jump at opportunity.
I wonder if I’d be willing and able to be that guy given the chance?
I doubt it…too scared and anxious about our “situation” to take that leap of faith.
I’ve said it before….and once again I’ll say it, loudly and as clearly as I can muster….the world is a BIG PLACE…SO DARN BIG AND WIDE OPEN…and I hold tightly to my moorings…afraid to drift off into the wild and blue.
I do love the small reminders of the world’s beautiful bigness that even a short road trip provides.
We went to the beach this past weekend.
It was a dirty beach…I wrote about that part of the experience yesterday…but it was a fun beach.
We had a good time.
On our second and final night at the shore, we walked down the beach to the big ferris wheel.
From our end of the beach, it looked pretty close.
It turned out to be a little farther than we expected.
When we finally got to it, and poked around a little on the boardwalk, we decided to walk back on the road.
The walk back on the road was somehow a little farther than we expected, too.
My youngest son kept stopping at all the green power boxes and studying one of the signs they’d stuck on the side.
These boxes held the underground power equipment….I guess they were junction boxes or something.
When he finally asked me what the picture he’d been studying meant, I told him that it meant that it was dangerous to dig. There were cables underground that you could hit if you were digging around them.
It seemed like every block had one of these power boxes…and he must have stopped and studied every one of them, hands on knees, reading the signs that said that something must be dangerous here…it was just a matter of figuring out what exactly might be the issue.
I realized later that Mommy was carrying his shovel.
He had a strong reason for deciphering what a shovel behind a crossed out circle meant.
It makes for a slow walk…this trying to figure things out as we went…but it’s fun to see the wheels turning.
We went to the beach this weekend.
My youngest son turned 4 and he’s really excited about staying at motels…and he’s really excited about the beach…so we decided to kill two birds and stay at a motel on this trip.
It was beautiful. The weather was perfect. Warm but not overly hot, dry after a wet summer, the crowds had thinned out some after Labor Day…it was great.
You really did have to wonder just how many butts one beach could hold, though.
I’m talking about cigarette butts, of course.
My father told me once about “field stripping”….taking the cigarette down to the bare essentials and basically shredding it so the wind could carry it all away.
You’d strip the paper off the filter and then kind of shred everything and it would be quicker to decompose.
I don’t think anyone at the beach who loved to smoke and stare off into the wild blue beyond the horizon had ever heard of this technique.
It was one huge sandy ash tray.
There’s something pretty gross about having to sift out the butts before you could build a sand castle.
But maybe ecology is only the study of our natural environment…. and sandy beaches with a high proportion of cigarette butts is the new norm?
Maybe “nasty” is the new norm?
I hope not.
If I went to the beach and all I took away from it was how dirty the beach was, it would be pretty sad.
That’s really not what the trip was all about.
It was beautiful in its own way. If you turned the right direction and only saw the ocean and the long strip of sand before it disappeared into the water, you could almost feel kind of “natural”.
You could almost feel the pull of the endless blue…stretching out farther than the eye could see.
Then, if you rotated 180 degrees, you could always ground yourself again and remember that you were smack dab in the middle of touristville.
This particular beach is kind of known for being kind of skeezy…so I shouldn’t be surprised if I see a few cigarette butts.
I was surprised not to see more McDonald’s bags and used ketchup packets, though.
It seems like they’d go hand in hand…but except for all the butts, the beach was fairly clean.
I don’t think that people go to the beach for the beach these days, though.
It seems like they must go for the boardwalk and the 35 dollar seafood buffets…the hot tub and the parasailing, funnel cakes and shopping and riding their hogs up and down the main drag, tattoos and piercing and lots of cigarettes on the beach.
It’s a family beach, too. I’m curious what the beaches are like that aren’t considered family beaches.
I guess the places that are “easy” are sometimes kind of sleazy.
It’s like some of the trails I’ve hiked on…until you get beyond the “wheeze” envelope, they can be pretty nasty. Until you get beyond where it’s easy to waddle out into the woods, you don’t get a chance to avoid the by-products of humanity. You don’t get a chance to miss all the trash until you’re willing to work a little to avoid it.
With the beach, there’s only so far people can go, so what else do they have to do but sit down in the sand and smoke another pack?
I love the beach. We had a fun and fine time. My son had a great birthday.
In spite of all the butts on the beach.
I don’t think our four-year old even noticed all the butts in the sand.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2kAAn7XAxk
There is so much pumped up, fake weirdness in the world these days.
Robot voiced rappers and plastic little wannabes.
Plastic little wannabe millionaires.
But here’s an old concert film of Neil Young…the antithesis of fake.
This is a great example of what music should be.
Looking up Amos Lee videos, came across Sarah Jarosz.
It is great to discover good talent.
It is enlightening to realize once again how many really fine musicians there are in the the world.
If you drop the “g”, everything sounds “hipper” somehow.
I’m still listening to the Bible in the mail Jeep.
I take back what I said earlier about the first 5 books being tough to wade through…there’s some amazing stuff in there. It’s just that when they get on the lineage stuff it get’s kind of hard to focus.
The other day I was listening to the story of Balaam.
Wow.
The part where he’s riding the donkey and an angel appears and because the donkey is the only one who can see the angel, he stops and won’t go any farther.
Balaam starts whipping the donkey, cursing the donkey…but the donkey won’t move.
Finally, after a bunch of whipping, God gives the donkey the ability to speak, and the donkey asks why Balaam keeps wailing on him….and Balaam replies, “BECAUSE YOU’RE MOCKING ME!!! STOP MOCKING ME!!!!”
Then the angel appears to Balaam and tells him that Balaam kind of lucked out…that because the donkey was the only one who could see the angel with his sword, the donkey really saved Balaam’s life by refusing to move.
How about that?!!
The thing that really struck me in this story…in addition to the angel and all the other miraculous things…is how blase Balaam seems to be about that donkey talking.
I’ve seen it in Shrek…but never when I’m riding one.
A talking donkey would be enough to freak me out….never mind an angel.
But if I think about it, I’m riding a donkey a lot of the time.
( I think some people think I’m kind of a jackass sometimes…so maybe just “riding a donkey” is a mild way to describe the situation.)
I suppose I spend a fair amount of time (figuratively) wailing on my donkey, too.
Someday, someone is going to tell me that the thing I was most upset about was the only thing that was really protecting me from something damaging.
Now, from what I remember of the story, Balaam had it coming. He had some issues that needed addressing.
That donkey thing really distracted me from the rest of the story, though. He was the hero of the whole tale in my eyes.
People talk about the patience of Job…but how about that donkey?
It’s tough to make it through this world with a jerk riding your back.
This is what it’s like for me in the morning.
Out here in the country, you’d be surprised how easy it is to get a 5 AM rave and run going.
You just put out the word, and soon a bunch of headlamped and glowsticked people are here to run and party with you.
Just kidding.
It is quiet here in the morning.
I run in a black t-shirt and don’t wear a headlamp.
It’s just me, the bears, the snakes, and the on-coming headlights.
I do have a reflectorized Road ID so the infrequent drivers may still be able to see me.
We do live fairly far out in the country, so the traffic is minimal. I wouldn’t recommend a black t-shirt as being an intelligent choice for night running, though.
Our bodies are sometimes fairly forgiving. I’m a little over 2 weeks into a return to running and it’s hurting a lot less than it did that first day. It’s starting to feel a little more normal to get up every morning for a short run.
Somewhere in the world, they’re having a disco night running party.
It isn’t anywhere close to here…unless you count my party of one.
It used to be that when you were looking for a place to stay at the beach for a couple of nights, you asked friends for recommendations, you made a couple of calls and then you booked a room somewhere and that was that.
Now you can sit at a computer and open window after window, see pictures of all the aspects of a resort or hotel they want you to see, get more information than you probably need, read disgruntled customer reviews, wade through it all to try and figure out if the positive reviews were done by the staff of the hotel…and just, in general, go crazy from the options in front of you.
That’s the way it goes these days.
You either swoop down on something with a complete lack of information and planning…or you have so much information that you don’t really know how to process any of it.
I remember driving down to Myrtle Beach around the 4th of July with no reservations anywhere,two adults and two kids in our ancient Plymouth Valiant, no air conditioning in the ancient Plymouth Valiant….blissfully unaware that you really had to have a room when you drove to the beach.
Did I mention we were driving our ancient Plymouth Valiant?
I think I thought we’d just drive down and it would be easy to find a room anywhere along the beach.
It doesn’t work like that.
It’s funny how sitting in front of a computer screen can approach those same feelings of frantic helplessness….finding places that look good only to get to the next screen and find that it’s unavailable, finding places that are “too ‘spensive” or finding places that are too corporate or too far from the beach, or finding places that are cheap but really pretty scary looking when you look closely at the pictures the motel provided.
And after a couple of hours of “how about this one?”, I think you’re broken down enough to just pick whatever’s available.
It really is the same feelings of helplessness that we experienced on the trip in the Valiant. You’re clicking icons with a mouse, staring at pictures and reading descriptions…but it’s not so different from running into lobby after lobby, checking to see if maybe this motel was going to save us from my naive lack of planning.
We picked a place finally. It’s on the beach. It has a pool.
How hard could it be when those are the only real considerations?
I’m still listening to the Bible in my car.
I’m a captive audience out on the mail route.
Some parts of the Bible are hard to wade through….I didn’t think I’d get through the first five books of the Old Testament.
I think my mind wandered just a little bit.
But then I got into some of the later books and it was easier sailing.
I was listening to the book of Job and was thinking, “Good for you, Job…you hang in there. That’s the way to do it…”.
I think that a part of me was thinking that maybe that would be me…steadfast and true, rising above the torture and seeming abandonment, trusting that the plan for me was kind and just…trusting that I was loved and would be taken care of in the end.
And then,early last night, my youngest son pitched a major fit being carried out of the Wal-Mart toy section, I almost backed into the “other car” that I wasn’t watching for, I couldn’t pick a good place to grab an overdue bite to eat, and in my borderline hypoglycemia just generally turned into a really mean and incomprehensibly angry jerk.
I wasn’t being a good family man.
In the midst of my minor Krakatoa, if I could have backed away from myself for a moment and limited my self-absorption just a little, I would have realized that I might have been jogging perilously close to the “why hast thou forsaken me?” zone.
So much for my ability to identify with the steadfastness of Job.
It doesn’t really take much for me to lose my way.
No leprosy or other unnatural skin issues, no crushing blows…just an almost 4-year-old tantruming in a crowded place…just someone much smaller than me trying to control the situation.
I can’t blame my apparent lapse of faith on a four-year old…but he is powerful.
In the story of Job, God allows Satan to bring trials to the “just and faithful” Job to show that Job is a good man and consistent in his love for God.
Satan asks the question of God….and I paraphrase….that “maybe Job loves you because times are good, but how would he do if it all fell apart? Would he still praise you if things were horrible?” And God says…and again, I paraphrase….”check it out, he’s a good man…you’ll see…”
Now I’m not saying that my 4-year-old is some kind of weird trial that God has sent me to test me. It’s nothing like that. I am blessed and I know it. My little guy is a major part of those blessings….whether we’re trying to get out of the Wal-Mart toy section or not.
What I am thinking, though, is that it amazes me how little it takes for me to fall apart. I am not the fount of patience and light that I sometimes would like to think I am.
I told my wife that I thought I was a pretty laid back person once.
She said, “No, you’re not. You’re not laid back. You think you are…but you aren’t. You aren’t laid back.”
I’ve never felt less laid back that when she told me that.
Maybe she’s right.
I’d like to think that someday, whether things are good or bad, I could learn to just consistently adore and appreciate.
Maybe I need to listen to Job again.