January 12, 2008
Tonight Buddy and I roamed the streets of our town. He is an Airedale terrier and loves to be vigilant. Unfortunately his eyesight is not keen and he will often mistake something like a fire hydrant for a possible attacker.
Along our route were many discarded Christmas trees abandoned at curbside. Perceiving them as critters, Buddy would pitch forward on the leash at each sighting. It made these sad encounters refreshingly comical.
I could not help but reflect on all the resources we put into these trees: the time, land, labor, fertilizer, pesticide, herbicide, shipping, selling, buying, decorating, stripping, tossing, and disposing. Over 100 million of these trees are harvested worldwide each year. It seems a waste.
November 19, 2007
I am often didactic. I know it can be a turn-off. I am sorry. I can’t help myself.
I believe our human problems are solvable. I believe there is wisdom at our disposal. Yet our consciousness is busy with busy work. We are all busy keeping once-useful now-archaic notions alive.
Ideas such as privilege or eternal damnation seem axiomatic to most. They legitimize division and dismissal. Yet my faith and observation is that God shares everything and never gives up on anyone.
I sense urgency in the air and within myself. Each day brings more sad news. But the tragic has become entertainment rather than a call to action. The very things we ought to be alarmed about become our anesthesia.
People are innately philosophical. If they are given the opportunity (including the freedom and encouragement to think independently) they will find a way to get along.
I need to be a part of that process in several different ways.
February 21, 2007
I am one of those people who love to sweat. Whether running full stride on a warm evening or playing pick-up basketball in the steamy sun, it all seems very cleansing to me.
When I was young, I remember playing with friends, cousins, and siblings long after dark. We would play hide and seek, flashlight tag, and spy. Dirt rings formed around our necks and became badges of festive accomplishment – Doctor of Fun. We went indoors only when enticed by ice cream or threatened with the loss of privilege.
Upon entering the house, a ghostly light in the living room would reveal a gaggle of younger children already lying on the floor facing the television. Their bowls of ice cream sat protected in front of each of them. Quickly we’d run into the kitchen for our share and then peck our way onto the rug which had now become a beach.
As my body cooled, salt formed on the skin. I could lick my forearm like a big pretzel. It seemed a shame to take a bath and wash it all off.