Every once in a while, a news story distinguishes itself as particularly moving, tragic, or enlightening. I'd like to add another category for exceptional news: catastrophically stupid. I want to make very sure the reader understands this early on - I'm incensed. Angry to the boiling point and spilling over the edge. The news story in question is but flint and tinder to a bonfire that has been built over years of listening, reading, and otherwise observing. Here's the story: "Florida pastor plans 'International Burn a Koran Day.'" And at the very mention of it, I've divided any potential readers. Some are offended that a relatively inconsequent man could cause such a stir by the mere mention of such a heinous display of religious intolerance. Others might have been cheering that man on, relieved that someone finally had the guts to take a stand against a radical and violent creed. Still others might be disgusted at the media onslaught and de facto validation of this jerk that looks like he walked out of a Mark Twain look-alike contest minutes before appearing on national TV. I, readers, am all 3 and yet none. And that is why I described this the way I did - catastrophically stupid. In no particular order of stupidity, let me explain.
1) Terry Jones is stupid because he's a jerk who wanted to antagonize a billion or so people, but actually believed that he was doing the right thing! That's right - Terry Jones thought it was a GOOD idea to burn a book that fanatics the world over place more value in than their own lives (or yours!). That is a recipe for a family-size portion of fanatical and murderous hatred. Terry Jones is also stupid for trying to leverage his sudden fame/infamy and make himself out to be someone much more important than he is. It's as simple and childish as my daughter trying to leverage the fact that I want to give her a hug in to being chased and tickled a little more.
2) Those fanatics the world over? Stupid. They are stupid for placing more value in words on paper than human life. Do I really need to state it in a different way? But what constitutes fanaticism and how many murderous, hateful Muslims are there out in the wide world? Here's a quick litmus test that you can do at home: Consider how different this news story would have been if it were bibles, talmuds, or books of mormon on tap for the burn pile. Or, next time one of those ubiquitous Jehovah's Witnesses knocks on your door, tell them you'll gladly take their Watchtower magazine and use it to get a fire started in your wood stove. Might they be offended? Yes, but would you fear for your life? Then ask yourself if you'd say the same thing if it were the Koran and a Muslim on your doorstep. Ding! We have some pretty conclusive, if not scientific results, do we not? Is this based on ignorance, as the media would have you believe? Perhaps, but if the old adage is an adage for any reason at all, actions still speak louder than words, and Muslims are the current world leaders in religiously motivated violence. Sorry, peaceful Muslims, too many bad apples have people avoiding the produce aisle altogether, and I can't really say that I blame them. And here is where it gets even more stupid...
3) The media, the politicians, and every other talking head that made this a huge story is stupid because the attention given to this news item only proves that Islam is to be feared. The president saying that Islam is a peaceful religion AND that pastor Jones ought to seriously reconsider his plan to burn their holy book does NOT imply to me that the president really believes a word he's saying about Islam. It implies that he believes there will be decidedly violent consequences for burning the book of a supposedly peaceful religion. Every talking head and politician who vehemently rebuked pastor Jones gives lie to the peacful nature of Islam. I live in America. People here insult and get insulted every day. Wander online to play a game, as I some times do, and you will learn some of the more colorful ways that people get dissed on a daily basis. We take pride in our freedom to speak out, consider it a matter of identity as Americans that we can say anything to anybody at any time, more or less without fear of repercussion. It's actually a bit disgusting in it's own right that we feel so empowered, but that's another story for another day. So here we are in pastor Jones' back yard again, hearing a man speak his mind, his intention to insult a bunch of people - you know, being as American as they come - and what does the world do? It sucks in it's collective breath and utters what amounts to a "Holy $#@&, people are gonna get murdered over this!" DOESN'T THAT TELL YOU ANYTHING?
But I've digressed a little - my intention is not to convince anyone that Islam is either violent or non-violent as a whole. I mean to say that an awful lot of people are afraid of insulting Islam because there are enough examples in even just recent history to demonstrate that Muslims don't just get mad when insulted, they murder your face off. Know a peaceful Muslim? Great - I've run in to more than a few myself! Does that knowledge make the wackos any less real? No. In fact, the existence of peaceful Muslims over against face-murdering Muslims, or by the same token, peaceful Christians and vigilante abortion-doctor-murdering Christians, is not puzzling at all. It's quite simple, really. Peaceful people are peaceful by and large because they are peaceful. Ditto for violent psychopaths (you peaceful psychopaths get a pass here). I'll grant that there are many people who have found their way from violence to peace through various religious tenets, but you cannot tell me that there aren't just as many people going in the opposite direction for the same reasons. And that leads me to stupidity number four.
4) It is so absolutely futile (and stupid) to play the numbers game like I see so many people doing - Muslims have killed this many people and Christians this many, atheists this many, and so on, ad nauseum. What better way to cheapen the value of life than by comparing religiously motivated body counts (nonreligiously, I suppose, in the case of atheists)? And what better way to artificially up the stakes than by postulating which group will burn forever in hell and which will enjoy eternal bliss? Nutjobs who claim to have been to the "other side" and back notwithstanding, not one human has any firsthand knowledge of what happens after death, so why are we so obsessed with this idea of posthumous judgment? Well there, at least, is a worthy question. We reasoning beings have a corporate sense of justice and yet are faced with a tremendous amount of injustice in the days we live. It is not unreasonable to hope that, somehow, all of that injustice will be dealt with in a satisfactory manner, but as life goes on and we see more and more injustice go unanswered, the hope for that great leveling gets pushed to the realm of the supernatural where it resides, unassailable by the pesky dictates of reality. Grossly oversimplified, maybe, but generally true, as far as I can tell. Let's face it, just about everyone secretly gets a little pleasure out of imagining Hitler and Stalin suffering endlessly for their particularly epic crimes. It's certainly more appealing than imagining that they're just dead and that's it...isn't it? Just like it's much easier to imagine a loved one is lounging with angels on clouds after succumbing to cancer than it is to think of them as just dead and breaking down to their component elements. So let me bring another digression back around to the point at hand by asking why this hope for heaven and fear of hell has driven so many people to kill or be killed over the centuries? As much as I hate to leave a question hanging, I have no good answer for this one. Admitting that pains me but makes it no less true. Why, indeed, is so much of the world's violence rooted firmly in sacred texts and fomented in churches, mosques, and other places of religious assembly? I do not deny that peace is preached from pulpits as well, or sung from minarets, but again I ask, does this make the violence less real? Does it mitigate the grief of the widowed and orphaned survivors of a war between a sovereign nation retaliating and a religiously motivated group of terrorists? Tell the families of the 3000+ killed on September 11th, 2001 that, really, Islam is a peaceful religion and see if their eyes light up with relief. Tell the children whose parents have been killed accidentally by America's ongoing counter-strike that we are a peace-loving, Christian nation and see if they embrace you, the bearer of such wondrous news.
I understand that violence is a fact of life for all animals and obviously not least for us human animals, but we have that most special of abilities in the animal kingdom - the ability to think and reason at a comparitively high level, and we ought to use that gift to reason our way to maybe a little less violence and the incitement thereto. In other words, don't be stupid!
Bit of an oddity here, but I thought it would be neat to post what I was thinking on 9-09-09. I occasionally do this - write down short little thoughts or reflections, really more for myself than anyone else, but this time I'll share. This is unedited, too, so it doesn't have a lot of, shall we say, narrative strength.
Things hidden are discovered as a matter of course. Hide away and store up integrity, honesty, and compassion so that, when you are exposed, there is nothing to be ashamed of. How many friendships and marriages could have been saved but for a few careless words kept secret? How many people have traded temporary discomfort for enduring grief by refusing to come clean?
A parent's wisdom: Since approval and love are two separate things, it is perfectly reasonable to set conditions on one and not the other.
Life is good on Jackson street. Of course, life was good before, but now it is good with the added bonus of being relatively mold-free. Since my last update here, there has been the metaphorical whirlwind of activity. As it turns out, we decided to move in the middle of the worst heat wave on record for the Portland area. We literally sweated our way through the first few nights in our new home, taking cool showers at night not only to wash away the grime and dust from a hundred boxes, but simply to be able to sleep. In seeking to provide at least some relief from the heat, I thought to install our small air-conditioner in the room that was to be our office, only to discover that almost all of the outlets in our new home are not grounded (two prongs instead of three). This presents a problem that a simple adapter won't solve for an air-conditioner. Namely, the risk of death by electrocution should there be a ground fault in the outlet while said appliance is running. Some googling, head-scratching, and a trip to Home Depot later, I installed a new GFCI outlet in the office. It's not as good as having the outlet actually grounded, but it will prevent someone from lighting up like a Christmas tree should something go wrong.
The day after I triumphantly flipped the switch on my grand heat-relief master plan, it cooled off considerably and it really hasn't been hot since. Somewhere, Murphy is laughing...
But we had other problems, too. The second morning we were here, I woke up and padded in to the office to check a few things online before getting ready for Sunday services...to find the computer off and stubbornly refusing to be turned back on. Later that day, I began work on what has been a computer problem of biblical proportions, right down to the weeping and gnashing of teeth. I'll spare you all the gory details and techno-jargon, and just say that, for now, it is fixed. One of our hard drives is still not cooperating and there are some files I'd like to get from it, but all of the really important stuff like our pictures and videos are safely backed up. In fact, it's those two hard drives that are the only parts remaining from the original computer. Through the generosity of a friend - a friend whose cup runneth over with spare computer parts, mind you - and a couple of well-placed buys of my own, everything else has been replaced. And that's all I really want to say about it. Computer problems suck - just thinking about them can get a guy grumpy! :)
And all the while, we've been chipping away at the clutter, finding homes for the various odds and ends that the boxes belch out at us, looking for one important thing or another and not being able to find it, and feeling just a touch like fish out of water. Though with a month gone by now and all the bedrooms more or less in order, that feeling has ebbed considerably. I'm especially fond (if biased) of how the office turned out. We were originally going to have a TV in here, but it didn't work out (literally, the TV didn't work), and that has turned out to be the best thing that could've happened to this room. Well, that and my previously undiscovered talent for interior decorating. HA! That was a joke - I surprised myself, and I think a few others as well, when it failed to look like a train wreck. "Hey - it actually looks nice in here," they've said, in the same tone that Jim Carrey's character in Dumb and Dumber uses after receiving some help from an elderly woman: "Ya know it's true? Old people, while slow and dangerous behind the wheel, CAN still serve a purpose!" You're welcome to come by and visit if you're in the area, but in case you can't make it and are just dying to see what I mean, I took the liberty (and a few steps to my right) of snapping a quick photo.
What you won't see in the photo is the 200-ft. ethernet cable running from the router next to the computer, around the room, in to the closet, up through the attic, across the house, and in to the new Man Cave, or Man Cave 3.0, if you will. There it connects to the Xbox which sits, as ever, on top of the enormous TV. This time, though, the beast doesn't look all that out of place. The room, a converted and carpeted garage, is much more suited for it, and by "suited" I mean "we no longer have to sit five feet away from a five foot screen." Our landlord has graciously allowed us to use not only the room, but the couch and coffee table therein, as well. I love it. It's pretty close to exactly what I wanted it to be, which is a place that is not just for me, but for others to enjoy and be comfortable in, too. The young men from the youth group that came and helped us get all the furniture and heavy stuff moved had trouble suppressing grins when they caught sight of the TV, so I let them know that they'd have to come over and try it out when I got things all hooked up again. So before they could scamper off to college again, I had them and a couple other youth guys over for a couple of game nights. At 3am the second night/morning when the last of them walked out the side door, I had a couple of thoughts. 1) I can no longer keep up with a teenager on Mt. Dew and video games, and 2) It was more fun to watch those guys having fun than it usually is for me to just sit out there by myself. Subsequently, it's been fun to host movie nights with the Johnsons (if you don't know, Steve is the associate pastor for our church family. He and his wife lead the youth group as well) and basically anyone else that wants to show up. If you read my wife's blog, you'll know how much fun we've been having with our next-door neighbors in general. In the short time we've been here, we've managed not just the several movie nights together, but quite a few shared dinners/lunches, blackberry picking in their back yard which led (naturally) to the girls baking pies together, a trip to the zoo, complete with a picnic on the amphitheater lawn during a bird show, and a cook/campout in the Johnson's front yard, which was Evelyn's first successful all-nighter in a tent. Surprisingly (or not), it was the grown up girls that were having a hard time getting to sleep. Since it was a Saturday night, Steve and I opted for our own beds after we'd had our barbecue chicken - cooked in Jacquie's dutch oven on the front porch - and smores over the fire pit. We chatted for a while as the fire died down to dull, glowing embers, but the giggles were still bubbling out of the tent when I retired to our side of the fence. Evelyn, for her part, was sound asleep in between two women who'd apparently rediscovered their long lost love of slumber parties. You can see a picture from the big event over on Brigetta's blog. Being able to share life like this with our neighbors has, I think more than anything else, helped quickly turn this house in to a home. Of course, just being comfortable inviting someone in to our home is a change for us. We're delighted to not worry about whether or not our house is making us, or anyone that visits us, sick!
And on that note, I'm nearly current. It's football season again already, so Brigetta and I, being rabid Duck fans, are doing our part to encourage Evelyn along the path to rabid fanhood. I may or may not have (hint: the former), on an impulse, purchased Evelyn a hooded Oregon sweatshirt that matches my own in anticipation of the season opener tomorrow (September 3rd). If I did, it's definitely the cutest five year old clothing you've ever seen on a three year old. I'll try to get a picture up soon. In lieu of that, here's a pic or two from our first month on Jackson street:
Today is the penultimate day of our tenancy in the swamp house. My wife, a post-grad educated woman of no mean intelligence or wit, has these funny slips where she'll forget a word but try to get something out anyway. A few days ago, in anticipation of today, she said something like this: "Hey, we're comin' up on that - what do you call it.....pentecostal?
Yes, love - hallelujah, the Spirit is moving and so are we! Despite the best of our intentions, the house still looks a little too cluttered for a penultimate (or a pentecostal!) day. Anyone who's moved can sympathize with the realization that sets in at about this time: all of this has to be moved...tomorrow! There is still junk to be sorted through, part of the kitchen to pack, things to be cleaned, and the regular routine to keep up at the same time. So I repeat to myself what's become a bit of a mantra around here - "Don't worry, it'll all get done...because it has to get done." Of course, the previous three days of punishing heat haven't helped the process much. According to the nearest weather tracking station to us, the mercury rose to just over 109 degrees here yesterday. 109! In a low-lying river valley! Officially, or so I read, Portland topped out at 106 yesterday, one degree shy of the all-time record high. Portland, however, is officially tracked at the airport, which sits right on the Columbia river and is prone to be a little more breezy than here. I'm tellin' my grandkids it was 109.
Here's the good news, though - it's supposed to cool off to a refreshing 99 degrees today! Despite the cheekiness I'm sure you detect, that actually does sound refreshing right now. The back room where Evelyn and I are once again holed up for now is holding steady at around 72, but the air-conditioner has been running around the clock for three days straight. I'm excited (not really) to see the electricity bill next month!
So this is a kind of sign-off from the East Avenue house and from the Man Cave 2.0. It's been a good man cave, despite two floods and a skunk attack. There has been no shortage of look-back-and-laugh-about-it moments in the four years we've lived here, starting from the first or second night we stayed here when we noticed a large slug on the ceiling directly above our bed, and straight on through to the aforementioned skunk attack and everything in between. I'm sure the laughs will be easy and carefree down the road, but right now the laughs are a little more...vengeful. We made a list last night of things the landlords may want to address before trying to rent this little gem out again. This is something I offered to actually do for them, since they haven't hardly set foot on the property in this month after we gave notice. Some of the things we wrote on our list last night won't make the final cut, but we had a good laugh about them, anyway. Brigetta wanted to do the writing because she thought it would be therapeutic, so I dictated all the things I could think of that were legitimate issues. Brigetta filled in a few of her own that brought me to tears with laughter when I read them later. Foremost among them, somewhere between "ANTS everywhere" and "Idiot neighbor dog barks incessantly" was this item about a squatter that lives in a trailer on the north end of the property: "Richard dumps large milk jugs of brown urine on your property." Pardon me while I wipe away another tear or two. You see, it's funny because it's true. The guy doesn't have any indoor plumbing and I can hardly blame him for not wanting to walk to Safeway every time nature calls, but there really isn't anything quite like looking out your window and seeing a rather large man pouring out a gallon milk container full of his own waste about 30 feet from your fence. Gross? Yeah. Priceless? I think so. A great memory to leave you with before we get out of dodge? Definitely. So long from the swamp, folks!
The title...well, I'm sorry but it has really nothing to do with what I'm going to post - it just sounded like a good title. I am, however, resting my left foot on a freshly laundered bathmat that has yet to be placed back in it's native bathroom. Regrettably, it is neither bold or new. It is blue and quite worn. It...could be replaced when we move...by something both bold AND new, which provides a terrific segue to my actual post. Whew! I knew I could do it.
Apologies. There's a heat wave on and our poor little North Korean air-conditioner is struggling to keep up with the 3rd (or is it 4th now?) consecutive day of 90+ degree temperatures. My native Oregonian brain is melting. In a week that has started out busy with the pesky details of moving - like packing, etc. - oppressive heat and humidity, the latter thanks mostly to our yard's ever-present and now expanding mudbog, are two very unwelcome distractions. Yesterday, Brigetta had her Mom over for a packing party that stripped most of the little homey touches from the walls and shelves, replacing them with a neat stack of boxes in one corner of the living room. More empty boxes litter the rest of the space, with just enough room to get where you're going in the house. Towards the late afternoon, Gramma Claire whisked Evelyn away for an overnighter from which she has just now (lunch time) returned. This morning, with the extra peace and quiet, I made the phone calls that had to be made - electricity, garbage, water and sewer, etc. all needed to be transferred or started at the new address. The truck is reserved at U-Haul. The water is on to boil, both literally and figuratively, as Evelyn has requested mac 'n' cheese for lunch, the heat is on outside, and we're feeling the pressure (and the excitement) of the move getting closer. That's all for now - stay cool, everybody!
Just a small entry today. On Tuesday, Evelyn suffered a near tragic consequence for not listening to her Daddy - no trip to the mall. Cruel, I know - but don't go calling child services just yet. We're headed to that most treasured of Daddy Day destinations not long after this gets posted. I just had to declare publicly how much I love being this little girl's dad.
One of her favorite ways to play lately has been to pretend to go and get all kinds of different food and bring them back to me. "You stay right here," she'll say, "I close the door so Scout can't get in here." There'll be a few fading footsteps, about 2 seconds pause, then rapidly approaching footsteps as she returns with her imaginary food. We must have had gallons of pretend lemonade together over the life of this game, not to mention quite a bit of tea, and let's not neglect choc-o-late (spoken reverently around here) - we've had lots of that, too. But Evelyn came up with a new one the other night. "I'm gonna go get s'more of my favorites," she announced, disappearing behind a door jamb. A second later, her head popped back in to view. "What are you going to get?" I asked. A very serious, somewhat conspiratorial look settled on her face as she thoughtfully replied, "Ariel. Jerky. Butterfly treats." I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Wow, Evelyn, that sounds...exotic." "Yeah, dad - they have candy in 'em...and grape juice...and [unintelligible]...and grape juice...and they're just soooo delicious." And off she went to fetch Ariel jerky butterfly treats for the both of us. I have to say, they were every bit as delicious as she made them out to be. For our next course, Evelyn announced - and here I should explain that I was laying on the bed, where I had been reading before this little game started, so Evelyn was standing at eye level with me - that we would be having CHOC-O-LATE next. Only she leaned in as she drew the word out, to approximately half an inch from my right eyeball. Close enough to count taste buds had I not closed my eyes reflexively. Even imaginary chocolate is something to get excited about as far as she's concerned.
There are, of course, events in the course of being dad to a 3-year old that cause me to go from zero to destructive rage in less than a second (as opposed to constructive rage...I guess), but even the moments that frustrate are part of a whole experience that I wouldn't give up for anything. Before we head out the door on our date, let me tell what a few of my favorite things are - and I promise they don't involve whiskers on kittens or brown paper packages (though those are kind of neat).
I love that Evelyn rushes up to the stage on Sunday during the greeting time at church, carefully climbs the first two steps, then runs at me with her arms out and a big shout of "Daddy!"
I love hearing her say "You came back!" when I've just been away for a few minutes at the store.
I love her eagerness to have books read to her, especially when she hands me a book, climbs up next to me, then leans on me while I read it.
I love helping her to get over a disappointment, even when that disappointment is discipline related.
I love holding her hand while she gallops through the mall, or the park, or any other place we go.
I love getting buckled in to the car and reaching back before we leave the driveway for a "slap 'n' tap" (low five followed by a fist bump).
I love to hear her prayers at bedtime (but I do NOT love butterfly kisses therafter, thank you very much, Bob Carlisle).
I love to hear her tell me how silly I am.
I love whispering to her what fun the next day holds when it's time to sleep.
I love my job.
A brief update on our first attempt at taking Evelyn to see the dentist:
For the better part of a year we have been preparing Evelyn to make this visit. We read her a book about going to the dentist on a regular basis, we always talk about it as a fun place - a place where they give you a new toothbrush, and we set her up to be excited to go in every other way that we can. Last night, as we talked excitedly about getting to go to the dentist today, she responded with her usual smiley, sing-song "But not today!" It's a bit of a running joke, but what it really means is this: Evelyn is TERRIFIED of going to the dentist. I'm baffled at how the idea made it's way in to her little head, but she clearly knew that she feared the dentist as much as she fears any other doctor. I tried again to excite her this morning and got the same result as last night - "But not today!"
"Yeah," I said. "Today."
Instant devastation. It took me fully half an hour to get her calmed down to the point that she was only sobbing reflexively. You know - those great, shuddering inhales? At any rate, skipping over the intervening time, I ended up making up a Boris-went-to-the-dentist story on the way to the actual visit that briefly gave me hope that she would make it through. She laughed and asked to hear it again and again, so I asked her if she'd like to have a visit just like Boris' visit. She enthusiastically agreed, and so we marched triumphantly in to the office and checked in. Evelyn busied herself playing with some of the toys laying around while I did paperwork and all was on the right track. Until they called her name and I uttered the fateful words "OK, let's go."
Instant devastation. Also instant attention of the entire office. We tried in vain to just sit in the room where we'd be, but she was just too loud to keep around all the other people that were suffering in relative silence. Finally, realizing that she'd get her wish of just going home granted, she made a 180-degree turnaround, thanking me for taking her to the dentist and gabbing the poor receptionist's ear off while she tried to figure out how to refund our copayment. She even agreed to come back another time to "have her teeth counted," but the real prize was that Daddy had promised to take her to play at McDonald's after the dentist visit was over. I gave her what encouragement I could for being brave and trying, then headed off for the golden arches with a talkative, but clearly worn out 3-year old. We made it home just before 2pm and snuggled in for a Curious George story and a nap. We're up now, but I feel like I could've slept for two more hours...
So round one to Evelyn. There aren't any issues that really need addressing in her little mouth, but we'll keep working on it so that she doesn't need to be as familiar with her dentist as, say, her Daddy. :)