Other Stuff I've Been Reading

One of these is dated, but here are some books I've read in the last year.

Dickson, Gordon R. Wolfling. 1985 (original copyright 1968). Baen. New York.

The High-born ruled a thousand worlds. A hundred years in our future, the first expedition from Earth reaches Alpha Centauri only to discover a vast human empire, long-established and sternly ruled by the aristocratic High-born. In a stroke Earth becomes merely another primitive outpost, its people dubbed "wolflings" by the rulers of the Throne World.
Painstakingly chosen and meticulously trained, Jim Keil was sent merely to observe conditions on the Throne World. The High-born would consider him no more than a diversion ... until Keil cast away his orders from Earth and proved a Wolfling indeed.

Colbert, Curt. Sayonaraville. 2003. UglyTown. Los Angeles.

Welcome to Seattle. Who chopped off insurance agent Henry Jamison's head with a samurai sword? While trying to figure this out, Seattle private eye Jake Rossiter also has to deal with his recently promoted junior partner -- Miss Jenkins -- who is about to take on the Hashimoto family as clients for her first official case. As the clues and danger mount, Rossiter and Miss Jenkins take more twists and turns than a coaster at Playland! Welcome to Sayonaraville.

Vinge, Vernor. A Fire Upon the Deep. 1992. Tor. New York.

"Fleeing a menace of galactic proportions, a spaceship crashes on an unfamiliar world, leaving the survivors--a pair of children--to the not-so-tender mercies of a medieval, lupine race. Responding to the crippled ship's distress signal, a rescue mission races against time to retrieve the children and recover the weapon they need to prevent the universe from being forever changed. Against a background depicting a space-time continuum stratified into 'zones of thought,' the author has created a rarity--a unique blend of hard science, high drama, and superb story-telling." -- Library Journal

Card, Orson Scott. Enchantment. 1999. DelRay. New York.

The moment young Ivan stumbled upon a clearing in the dense Carpathian forest, his life was forever changed. Atop a pedestal encircled by fallen leaves, the beautiful princess Katerina lay as still as death--while a malevolent presence stirred in the hidden depths below.

Now, years later, Ivan is compelled to return. He finds the clearing just as he left it. This time he does not run...

This is a story to which I continually return and enjoy immensely with each reading.

Recent Readings

I find that I've had my nose in several books over the past few months. Even the most frivolous of them seem to have some nugget of truth and crunchy goodness, so I figure it's all good. Here they are in no particular order.

Bishop, Anne. The Invisible Ring. 2000. ROC. New York.

I really enjoyed this book. I was surprised when I read comments online and they were less favorable about this book than Bishop's Black Jewels trilogy. Good for me! I'll like them even more.

Vischer, Phil. Me, Myself, and Bob: A True Story About God, Dreams, and Talking Vegetables. 2007. Thomas Nelson. Nashville.

The back story behind what makes Mr. Visher tick and the birth of Veggie Tales is fascinating. The most powerful part of the story is the lessons learned that he shares afterward. If you're comfortable with your worldview and would rather avoid a jolt, you may want to stop before the lessons learned part.

Harrison, Harry. The Adventures of the Stainless Steel Rat.Me, Myself, and Bob: A True Story About God, Dreams, and Talking Vegetables. 1987. Ace. New York.

There always seems to be room in this world for a likable rascal. And for his sociopathic bride.

Lackey, Mercedes, Mark Shepherd, Holly Lisle. The Otherworld. 2000. Baen. Riverdale, New York.

Elves. Humans. Good and evil. Hang on.

Lackey, Mercedes, Rosemary Edghill. Bedlam's Edge. 2005. Baen. Riverdale, New York.

A collection of short stories with an elven theme written by some of the best new writers in the fantasy genre.

Hammarskjold, Dag. Leif Sjoberg & W.H. Auden, translators. Markings. 1981. Alfred A. Knopf. New York.

Hammarsjold is a former Secretary-General of the United Nations. I first picked this up soon after the 1981 printing. Markings was written in 1961. As the flyleaf says, "the notes made during the 1940s and 1950s reflect a period of constant spiritual growth, self-questioning, and resolution..." For anybody going through a similar journey, here is company and occasionally encouragement. I find something new every time I pick it up.

Calder, Richard. The Twist. 2003. Four Walls Eight Windows. New York.

"The Matrix meets A Fistful of Dollars" says the back cover. Odd little book. Interesting and sometimes compelling, but odd.

Eddings, David. The Belgariad: Pawn of Prophecy; Queen of Sorcery; Magician's Gambit; Castle of Wizardry; Enchanter's End Game. 1982-1984. Del Ray. New York.

I was given this series by my colleagues as I was leaving for new employment. It has sentimental value and really is kind of fun. With five books in the series, it is loooongish, but still a good time.

L'Amour, Louis. Tucker. 1995. Bantam. New York.

I go back to L'Amour's stories again and again. They emphasize strong, positive values and a drive to overcome obstacles. I was raised reading Zane Grey stories, which were more overtly about good versus evil and the hero gets the girl. L'Amour is a step toward reality. He has some beautiful descriptions of nature, nuggets of historical fact for context, and can generally be read in an evening. Ah, quiet and relaxation. I have a box full of L'Amour's westerns waiting on the sun porch whenever I want to revisit old friends.

Here are the books I am currently reading...

Tanner, Robert G. Stonewall in the Valley: Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson's Shenandoah Valley Campaign, Spring 1862. 1992. Stackpole Books. Mechanicsburg, PA.

In October, 2007, I got away for a vacation with my wife. We went to a resort near Harrisonburg, Virginia and were met there by my parents. My father is widely read in Civil War history, and the Shenandoah Valley is filled with just that. I bought this book as soon as we arrived and began reading. I'm still reading. It's 483 pages of 10-point type. Fascinating stuff, though. And it's supported by another 100+ pages of appendices and author's notes. I'm looking forward to reading about the entire campaign.

Walton, Evangeline. The Mabinogion Tetralogy. 2004. Overlook. New York.

"Evangeline Walton's Mabinogion Tetralogy is one of the remarkable achievements of twentieth-century fantasy literature: a powerful work of the imagination, ranking with Tolkien's Lord of the Rings novels and T.H. White's The Once and Future King." Celtic mythology fleshed out into several wonderful stories.

D'Annunzio, Steve. The Prosperity Paradigm: new beliefs that can help you make a greater living by making a greater difference. 2006. White Light Press. Hewlett, NY.

Remember God. Choose Love. Create Value. Live by that credo for a few weeks, then keep coming back to this book. It's powerful.

Frost, Michael, Alan Hirsch. The Shaping of Things to Come: innovation and mission for the 21st-century church. 2003. Hendrickson. Peabody, MA.

To have the greatest affect on the world, Frost and Hirsch challenge worshiping bodies to be missional and incarnational -- taking the message of Christ in a very tangible, loving way to people rather than being attractional -- building a better building, service, program, etc. and expecting the people in need to seek out those worshiping bodies. This book makes me look at the way my church and I have been interacting with our community and ask if we need to change. And how. There is a lot of yellow highlighting going on here.

Where did the time go?

Only a little of the work I intended to do has been done at the new house. At least by me. The interior of the main level has been completely repainted, so any interior flaws I intended to fix have been repaired or covered. Either is just fine by me right now. Our old home has been a steady drain of finances and physical resources as we emptied it, repainted it, repaired some areas, carpeted the basement, reset the flagstone walkway, and cleaned out the garage. A couple of things still could be done, but the realtors come in Monday to create the virtual tour and by Friday it will officially be on the market.

Tomorrow, my friend's brother is going out to the house with me to do some drywall patching, so there may be a little painting to be done, but for all intents work will be complete and the vast parade of humanity looking for a slice of heaven in western Howard county can begin visiting our humble, empty, dwelling. Whew. And about time, as far as I'm concerned. Now we can begin feathering the nest we are living in rather than the one we've been preparing for the next owners.

A Tale of Two Houses

Despite the several photos taken and logged of things to do in the house where we are living, there are even more things to be done in the house we moved from. I imagine we look much like a person dancing on hot rocks as we glance first at one task, then at the other, and accomplish none of the things on our list. The garage door is still neglected. In our defense, we've packed up several bags of clothing that we've admitted we either will not wear or we can do without. That includes some lovely coats that belonged to my wife's mother. When we were packing them away for charity I breathed in deeply and it was almost as if I was hugging her again.

We have several outstanding offers for assistance. To all our friends: WARNING---we just may be ready to enlist you as we attack these necessary chores. Wednesday, my wife meets with a realtor at our old house and we learn what may be our best course of action. I'd love to sell that property and be debt-free for even just a little bit. Severing the ties to that place would be difficult, but being able to focus here would be a godsend.

Happy M.L. King, Jr's. birthday!

Where I Been

The most recent post listed here at Brain Candy is February, 2006. Considering that February 2007 is pretty darn close, I suppose I should explain myself. I'm the shy type, but not usually this quiet. Frankly, I've had little to say and much time in which to say it. Since last posting I've send my family to Eastern Europe and Eastern Ohio, I've accompanied them to Florida, I've continued to hold the same job (that's no big whoop unless you know me), I've changed domiciles, lost a mother-in-law and had a father-in-law move into assisted living. There's probably more, but it doesn't immediately come to mind.

That's history, here is the present. I'm surrounded by opportunities to improve the new place. Let's start with some exterior work I'm anticipating:

My immediate future holds painting and powerwashing.

Painting
The garage door here is the old-style two-panel door that folds in the center. When I'm inside the garage, I pull the door and the whole thing comes toward me, then folds on itself and rises to the ceiling. Oh, there are springs and whatnot involved, but that's the gist of it.

There was plastic film attached to the inside of the window panes in the door. I've scraped those. Now it's time to attack the surfaces of the garage door and sill. They look like this:


Garage door

The prep time will be the worst part of this task. There will be much scraping and sanding before we can apply a clean coat of exterior paint.

Cleaning
Because of trees that shade much of the front of the house, there is quite a bit of algae growing on wall and walkway surfaces. A day with a power washer should take care of much of this and go far toward improving the appearance of the home.


Front wall beside the garage door.

A trip to the landfill to dispose of the scrap metal will also neaten the appearance. In time, the stark becomes irrelevant and is relegated to the subconscious. We’ve been entering and leaving this home for years. In part of that time the steps to the right of this wall were new. They are clearly darkened and stained today. As for the wall beside the steps, what might have generously been called a patina at one time now is irrefutably crud. It too will be given a thorough power washing.

There is much to do inside as well, but that will have to wait. Someday soon somebody is certain to discover we're not having winter. That will be rectified and I'll have several months to attend to indoor needs.

Bead

A little help here, please. I just found this in my notes. I'd begun it a while back and left it. Obviously because I couldn't tell where it was going. Any suggestions are appreciated.

I don't know jack about HTML, so do me a favor. Read every odd line together and every even line together.


The nucleus of family is the whole,

The center of a bead is the hole,

the enveloping arms of love that offer support

a curious void created as the artisan

during the intense flames of maturing.

wraps molten glass around the mandrel.

Our parents patiently try to shape us

Each bead begins with a vision.

But they are still surprised by the twists

The materials are selected, the glass rods fired,

And turns their efforts take as this most

And the molten mass is slowly spun and shaped

Important of projects moves toward completion.

Until the bead of the imagination becomes real.

We are products of family. When we are born, we are welcomed by parents who have invested many days in patient preparation and waiting. They plan for us, they dream for us, and they invest years of their lives in shaping us to function within and contribute to society.

A bead maker works on a smaller scale, so the units of time are accordingly compacted. Imagination and glass are combined to form the seed of a new creation. With fire, steel, and careful attention, a patient shaping begins. But the process is not so different from parenting.

In both endeavors, watchfulness prevails. Constant attention is lavished to effect a positive outcome. Pressure is applied where needed. But the variables are not entirely within our control. Artists and parents are simply the tools used by a higher creator.

The One That Nearly Got Away

I keyed in this passage--with explanation--over a week ago, then promptly lost the whole thing switching from entry view to draft view and back. I've been in a snit about the blogger interface since then, and have boycotted the joint. I guess I showed them, didn't I? Yeah. I'm feeling much better now.

While I was on a men's retreat recently, the group was given free time at the end of the first evening. I spent that time with a friend smoking pipes and catching up. We used to spend more time together, but life had intervened and we'd both been too busy to connect. The free time presented an opportunity too good to disregard.

The retreat center occupies the peak of a hill generously called South Mountain. I know. It probably ain't. There are undoubtedly higher prominences further south than the mid-Atlantic region. There are certainly mountains worthy of the title elsewhere. But if you're standing at the base and craning your neck to see the top or if you're either pulling or pushing something heavy--say, perhaps a wagon carrying your worldly goods hitched to an obstinate, long-eared animal that refuses to climb but is content to switch its tail at gnats and horseflies while you sweat and swear--it could certainly seem to be a mountain. All that is supposition, of course. I'm just saying I wasn't there when it was named and I'm willing to dispense grace to whoever was. The point I want to establish is that I was at the top looking down.

This retreat took place in February. It was a cold, clear night. Looking out over the valley, we could see a grid of lights from the town below. The ordered pattern gradually dispersed as the lit streets gave way to winding roads and the occasional farmstead. While we may have been distant, we clearly were not alone.

The next day, we were again given free time, with the stipulation that we spend it alone with God. My hardier friends communed amid the elements. I, being older, frailer, and perhaps wiser, took shelter in my truck, the scene of the previous evening's reunion. Here is what I wrote:

The lights of last night are extinguished. There is little confirmation of life beyond this place. A veil of snow flurries makes the valley below indistinct. All that is before me is an open field, a fringe of trees denuded of foliage for the winter, a small house, and the hint of what lies beyond. Lord, that works for me.

I have the open field--those things that are so close that I can say with certainty they exist: family, friends, community, my workplace.

I have the fringe of trees that defines the borders of my reality. I have doubts and fears. They are colored by my persistent optimism that fresh growth will soon transform a bleak, spare border into a lush, beautiful boundary teeming with life. But I am curious about the future, about aging, relationships, health, personal growth, and about the futures of those whom I hold dear.

The small house is a comfortable, cozy sanctuary. A place of warmth and security. A place where I entertain friends and invite them to come in for shelter, care, and community. It is my church.

That only leaves the beyond, doesn't it Lord? That vista that alternately seems so clear, then so hazy. What can you tell me about that? How much of it could I even grasp?

Ephesians 4:10 mentions your ascension to fill the universe with yourself. That's a comfort. When I travel beyond the immediate, you're already there. If you hold this place where I am in your hand, as I believe you do, that place is in your grip as well. What is the view like from there? In this analogy, I'm looking into a valley. But are the hills beyond that my destination? Is the town that lies below us just a stop on the journey you have planned?

It's all exciting, but maybe I shouldn't be setting the itinerary here. You are a much more competent guide. My friend Terry says she has the spiritual gift of showing up. It that what you want? I'll show up and I'll try to be prepared for what you have in store. I'll trust you to remind me what to bring and to supply what I forget or what I couldn't procure. But I'll show up. I'll be there.

10 Hours, But No Buzz

Beginning Thursday, I worked with a couple of friends to try to make our little corner of the world a little nicer place to be. We established several things beyond any refutation:

1) I am not a sound engineer

2) I am not a photographer

3) I really cannot operate a vacuum cleaner well either

Nothing really new there. However, if there are any gracious doubters out there, I have proof.

This is where we began.



This is the stage area of our church. Our mission was to find an annoying hum that had take up residence with us and refused to leave. A very gracious gift made it possible for us to replace the sound board and cables. After work on Thursday, three of us met and began working on the stage. The most noticeable thing is the clutter. In addition to amplifiers, you see music stands, instrument stands, stools, instrument cases, and bright orange power cables. We could live with that. In fact, we have. But the things we had become comfortable with are really potential distractions to somebody who might be visiting, so while we looked for the buzzes and hums, we decided to straighten up a bit.

This wider shot shows the drum riser and a couple of aesthetic issues. Everything is unbalanced. To the left of the riser is a broken drummer's throne that, if used, will send the drummer to either a chiropracter or a proctologist. There are also two keyboard amplifiers. Nice units, but we don't have a keyboard in either band. These belong to a congregation that meets after ours. So it's all good stuff, just not all necessary stuff.

If we pan left you'll see that there is also a lectern on the stage. Both of our pastors would sooner wear a suit and tie than stand behind a lectern to share a message. So this too is superfluous.






If you must know, I was working with at least two of the finest elbows in the business. Actually, this is Dan and Mark hooking the amplifiers to the new 100-foot 16-channel snake we installed. It replaces two 50-foot snakes, creating a single run from the sound board to the onstage amplifiers.

In the next picture, you'll see the area where the drum riser was earlier. We moved each of the risers, picked up the trash that somehow accumulated there, and vacuumed the floor. This all went well enough for a while. Then I vacuumed over an area where the stage carpeting was fraying and the ravelling piece got caught in the beater bar and wrapped around the brushes like thick spaghetti on a fork. And we're talking no sauce here, folks. Nothing to ease the attempt of this brave machine to swallow whole the dry, dusty morsel. The next thing I heard was a mewling whimper. The next thing I saw was a steady tendril of white smoke curling out of the engine compartment. It was accompanied by an acrid electrical stench that confirmed for me that I'd just witnessed the spirit of this heavy duty vacuum cleaner ascending to wherever it is that appliance spirits ascend. I wish I had taken a picture. It would satisfy the prurient interests of the closet voyeur in each of us. It would also remind me why the Trustee Committee is asking that I contribute to the replacement of said vacuum cleaner. Alas, in the interest of good taste (and abetted by the fact that I didn't take the picture), we'll all have to use our imaginations.

I'd love to share more, but it's time to leave for practice before church begins. I think I'll hum some of this morning's music to myself. I'll have to. Thankfully, that's the only hum in the sanctuary any more.