Pew Conversation

For Mother's Day this year we went with my mother to a baby dedication at a church in Salem.  Mom & Pop are the Godparents to the kid, so it seemed like the thing to do at the time.  As I looked around I became quite sure there were others there for the same reason we were: to show their moms love through action.  The pastor and his wife took advantage of this situation, each giving a sermon on this most holy of days when we're supposed to talk about how awesome mom's are.  I'm pretty sure the pastor actually gave two sermons, one before his wife spoke & one after.

Stuck in a pew--well it was actually a chair cuz this particular church is "progressive"-- my wife and I did the only reasonable thing; we started writing notes on a giving envelope.  It's not long, but there are a couple good thoughts here:

Kisha: "If Jesus is not allowed to have fear and go through the real struggle of human death, what does that mean for me/us who are having fear and struggling with what life has brought?  This thought hurts those for whom life is furiously full of pain... The beauty of Jesus is that he really did experience what it is to be human.  And in the garden experience his will, desire, emotion not wanting to die, not wanting what the Father wanted.  Yet in submission came freedom to all.  How we must submit for freedom... not to humans, but to God."

Me: "YES!  How unbelievably difficult it would have been to choose the cross when Christ knew what it was like to be intangible and self-sufficient.  But we have a God that can identify with us because He/She went through the entire cross fiasco.  I believe this to be one very important part of theology people outside the church don't get to hear because  of the political power struggle."

Kisha: "Yes.  I was thinking about the song we just sang that said Jesus shed no tears for himself but sweat blood for us... what a crazy interpretation."

Me: "Yep, there is a great deal of self-illusion that disallows the sub-culture to experience this comfort themselves.  It's sad."

Art

"The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."

~Pablo Picasso

Dust happens.  It happens to the best of us, and the worst of us.  It happens to people who really really care about dust (and keeping it off of everything) and to people who could care less (and simply don't clean it off of anything).  Some people seem to have a permanant layer of dust, while others look as if they've never seen a speck in thier lives. 

I've got a VanGogh in my living room.  Obviously, it's not an original.  That's kind of an understatement, because it's just a poster in a plastic frame, but I really like it.  It's called Cafe Billiard, and I like the way the colors go together, how things don't quite match up as if the whole thing were a dream sequence, and how unclear brushstrokes still manage to convey an idea.  I could hang out at Cafe Billiard.  I really could.  The lights bouncing off the green ceiling... The patrons slumpped in their chairs... It would be my kind of hang out.

My wife Kisha is a bit of an artist.  She does photography, and is genuinely moved by the other art she sees: photos, paintings, sculptures, nature, etc.  You should see her pintrest page for photography.  I give her a hard time for being a "lookey lou", but secretly I like that she sees the things I might walk past.  It provides me with an opportunity to take in things I wouldn't normally observe.

If we're not careful, our souls truly can get dusty.  Daily life, the grind, the rut, the groove; no matter how your description, life has a way of providing dust, whether or not we're moving around and doing a lot of activity.  Art helps us engage with our emotions, and sometimes to employ emotions we won't usually use.  If we stop to look at a piece of art--really consider what we're looking at or hearing--we're wiping away the collection of stale emotnionlessness that we encour just by living.  I think Picasso may have been on to something.

Illicit Firecrackers & the Burning Bush

A few years ago... no wait... a very long time ago, I happened across some fireworks right around the time of Independence Day.  Now these weren't your ordinary, garden variety of  fireworks that can be purchased legally in the state of Oregon.  These were some certified, you-can't-buy-these-in-Oregon-cuz-they-fly-in-th-air fireworks.  It was jubilation in a little winged aircraft. 

The only thing about these were they didn't stand alone on the ground very well.  They were kind of rounded, so one would need to place it in a cup or some such thing so they would fly up in the air.  In my brilliant adolecent mind, the best possible place to keep these fireworks was in my trunk, so they could be used at any time during the independence festivities. 

The opportunitiy presented itself in the parking lot of Washington Square Mall.  I just got off the bus from downtown Portland, where I had watched the waterfront fireworks display.  It seemed like as good a time as any, because there was nobody in the parking lot, and no cars parked there, either.  What I did find was a McDonald's cup that was the perfect size for launching my illicit showers of sparks.  I could light those suckers, set it in the Mickey D's cup, and watch the showers of sparks as they few about the sky above the parking lot. 

There are a couple of things I didn't consider.  Call it youth, call it overall stupidity, but it never really occured to me that the mall might have security.  Second, it hadn't rained in about a month, which is rare in Oregon.  What that means in practical terms, is that all the vegitation turns brown and flakey.  Both of these conditions seem perfectly obvious now, but I'm 10-15 years wiser and more mature these days, and in those days the very idea of burning, lighting, and exploding things was enough to get me out of bed early, scrape and save cash, and make poor decisions in general.  When I blew things up I felt alive!

I set the newfound cup up just so, and began setting off these little beauties.  They took off straight into the air, emitting showers of sparks, and giving a satisfactory pop at the end, before the casing cascaded to the ground.  It was both exhilarating and awe-inspiring.  As I was getting toward the end of my batch, I lit one, set it in the cup, and walked backwards.  To my horror, the cup fell over, and wouldn't you know that little firework went straight to the nearest bush, which was quite dead due to the weather conditions that year.  All off a sudden, the bush is on fire and I swear I can hear it calling me Moses and telling me to take off my shoes.

I did not, at this time, take my shoes off.  I ran over and stamped the flames out, raced back to my car, and sped away through the night.  They say all's well that end's well, and I suppose they're right.  I can tell you what I learned that night; McDonald's cups not only burn you with scalding hot coffee, they sometimes throw burning objects into flammable situations, and are not to be trusted!

Generalizations

"All generalizations are false, including this one."
~Mark Twain

I get in all kinds of trouble for making generalizations.  There have been long-winded, 200+ post conversations on my Facebook page due to my generalized assumptions, comments, and base premises.  It's a wonder Bryan even wants to hang o9ut with me most of the time because he's a much more specific person, and I overgeneralize on a regular. 

When I was doing master's work for teaching, we learned that some folks are individual thinkers, while others are universal thinkers.  Individual thinkers like specific examples, concrete evidence, and can spend a lot of time talking over the details.  Universal thinkers, on the other hand, will have a tendency to think in broad stokes, look at the big picture, and not know exactly how to make things happen.  Individual thinkers will sometimes have a hard time seeing the big picture because they're engrossed in one situation, while universal thinkers tend not to step beyond overarching themes because they don't really need the specifics to know what they know. 

I will most likely always be a universal thinker, but I hope that as I get older, I'll get progressively better at avoiding hasty generalizations while looking at the big picture.  However, I suspect I'll have to keep folks like Bryan close to help balance me out.

Aurelia's Bakery

As I've gotten older, I've taken less and less to sugary dessert stuff.  My gripe, if you care to hear it, is that it's just too sweet, too much sugar, and it makes my tumbly rumbly (if you don't care to hear the gripe... well then tough, cuz I already said it!).  Kisha and I have been reading up on sugar, where sugar is in our diets, and how it effects the body, and our conclusion is that we should be taking in less sugar. 

Of course for my birthday, all bets were off.  Birthdays are a lousy time to try to cut back on sugar stuff, or reduce bad-for-you-stuff in general.  This year I managed to remember that my neighbor has a small business from home, a dessert making business of some super tasty, traditional Romanian desserts that just knock your socks off.  If you're looking for exotic desserts, look no further than AGN Bakery!

The other day I was working in the back yard, and I heard a bunch of voices.  It was a family coming to pick up a large order with a great deal of variety.  Introduced myself to one gentlemen, who knew Aurelia from the old country.  He told me that she used to own a bakery cafe in Bucharest, and it had the reputation of being the best in the whole city!  While this shouldn't really surprise me because I've been eating her desserts for years, I have to say that I was impressed.  She had a thriving business before she came to the United States. 

For my birthday this year I ordered dobos (the photos for this article are dobos pictures).  This is a tasty cake with 13 layers of goodness, frosted in a semi-sweet chocolate, and has a more than subtle coffee accent, and a delightful texture due to the smooshy stuff between the solid layers.  If you like chocolate, and you don't want something excessively rich, this cake is for you.  The usual price is $55, and it's worth every penny!  We served it to 20-30 people, and had a ton of leftovers.

Other things that Aurelia will prepare are:

• Wedding cakes
• Amandine
• Cremsnit
• Choux a la creme
• Eclairs
• Ness coffee cake
• Chocoate cake
• Fruit cakes
• European appetizers (a variety of savory, rather than sweet)

If you looking for something totally different at your next party, you should consider giving Aurelia a call!

AGN Bakery
Aurelia F.
503.333.5206
Located in south Beaverton

Thesaurus

"What's another word for Thesaurus?"
~Steven Wright

I'm constantly amazed at the limited vocabulary we use in the United States.  If we pay attention, we'll find that even our own vocabularies lack the overall depth that one might expect from a group of people as "highly educated" as Americans are supposed to be.  It's kind of sad, because there is a great deal of beauty in the complexity of language.  It's like we have a nuclear arsenal, but we limit ourselves to fighting with broadswords.

I am the worst of sinners in this regard.  Though I have a master's degree, the vocabulary I use in day-to-day interactions is relatively low.  A good friend recently showed me a dialect map of the US, and it turns out I have A LOT in common with the south, which isn't known for its higher usage of the English language.  I don't swim in the crick with the wooves, but I just feel like it would be better if I was in league with some upper society folks.

Thing is, I don't actually know any upper society folks.  I come from a very different background, as do most of the people I'm close to.  We're all blessed in a great many ways, but we're not gonna be in the upper 3% anytime soon.  The closest I get to knowing a word snob is Rick Shelton, and he resides in Illinois. 

My Cuban friend Julio has a wider vocabulary than I do.  I'll use the same words over and over, but this guy pulls out new words for the same thing all the time.  I usually know these words, because the more educated end of Spanish is close to the more educated end of English.  Granted, Julio was a manager of a 4-star hotel...

I shall have to redouble my vocabulary acquisition!

Generosity

The official celebrations are over, so it must be time to reflect.  I turned 34 on Thursday, had breakfast with the family, and had a big party at my place last night.  It's been great to have a little space so we can invite people over, especially when the weather is good and the back yard is an option.  Having the event provided me with the motivation to do some stuff that I've been meaning to get around to, and so the yard and house are looking better than ever.

Sometimes I'm struck by the generosity of people.  I think it has to do with my minimalist tendencies because I will spend relatively little money in my daily life (for an american).  But this week my boss brought me a gourmet bagel for which she had to have made a special trip, my folks let me borrow tables, chairs and yard tools, my neighbor gave me a 25% discount on a fantastic cake (she probably wouldn't have let me pay for it if she had known the occasion) and people bought plenty of tasty adult beverages to make the party great.

Far and above all the rest is my brother Gosall.  He is quite possibly the most generous person I know.  He will help anyone he can, especially the people he knows and feels close to.  He is helpful to his own detriment sometimes, but if you needed a good visual for the Good Samaritan, memorize this picture of a 5'7" Cambodian dude.

He smiles as he serves!  For this party he bought drinks, purchased & prepared delicious short ribs, made 2 or 3 extra runs for things we needed last minute, and helped clean the house in preparation.  He smiled, hosted, and manned the grill to free Kisha and I up to work the crowd.  This weekend's celebration went as well as it did because Gosall did stuff he doesn't really like to do.  I could learn from his generosity in the year to come, as I round up on 35!





In a similar line of thinking, Kisha was spectacular this week.  Even though she was feeling under the weather she helped me plan, invite, re-invite, double check details, buy food, try to return food, took photos, and was an extremely gracious hostess.  It's so nice to have a partner that can help people feel welcome, hang out with the kids, and keep smiling at us even when it's past midnight and we're still outside playing dominoes.  That's my sweetie!

Tito Puente- Música Fantástica!

Este mañana, me sumergí en mi iPod y saqué la música de Tito Puente.  Que buena su música!  La cosa mas impressiva es tan prolífica este tipo era.  El tiene cien discos o mas a su crédito, algunos salsa normal de Puerto Rico o New York, y otro proyectos como África: canta y respuesta.  Es un renglón impressivo, y mi colección de tres discos solamente arañar la superficie.  Que puedo colecta los todos!

El disco esta mañana se llama Top Percussion (Percusión Mejor), una colaboración proyecto con cantantes africanos.  Muchos sólido tambores de África, canta y respuesta, y la energía que ayuda en la preparacion del día largo de trabajo.  Sólo tenía que asegurarse de que no canta porque el canto es tan rico y atractivo.  Me gustaría saber qué está diciendo, pero no es ni Inglés ni Español, no hablo Swahili o otro lenguaje tribal de África.  Recomiendo este disco!

This morning on the bus I dipped into my iPod and came up with some Tito Puente.  Such good music!  What floors me is how prolific this dude was.  He has over 100 albums to his credit, some straight forward Puerto Rican salsa, and other projects that are call and response African percussion.  It is an impressive lineup, and my meager three disc collection only scratches the surface.  Oh, to collect them all!

This morning's album is called Top Percussion, a collaboration project complete with African singers.  Lots of solid, African style drumming, call & response, and the kind of energy that can help one prepare for a long day at work.  I just had to make sure I didn't sing along because the singing is so rich and inviting.  I wish I knew what the heck they are saying, but it's neither English nor Spanish, and at this point I don't speak Swahili or any tribal African languages.  It's suggestable, to the suggestable listener.

Grateful

"When you are grateful fear disappears and abundance appears." 
~Anthony Robbins

Fear seems visual.  If we are afraid of something, it has a way of conusming all of our proverbeal vision.  Our mind, our time, and our energy becomes overwhelemed by that which we fear.  I remember when I first started motorcyling.  My lovely wife decided it would be a very good idea if I were to do the training with Team Oregon, buy myself a motorcycle, and continue on my trajectory of being awesome.  While that last bit was inevitable, I decided a motorcycle couldn't hurt.

Team Oregon is a highly suggestable motorcyle training course that provides both theoretical and practical experience about motorcycleing in the state of Oregon.  They arm you with useful statistics, techniques, and hands on training, as well as a practice on lightweight bikes.  It's one of the finer ways to get into biking.  On day one they tell me that you should never, ever look at anything you fear.  The reason for that is when you are riding you have a tendency to go where you look.  The best way to avoid an accident is to look to the safe spot. 

This is easier said than done.  Shortly after I took the class I had saved up enough cash to buy a starter bike.  I practically lived on Craigslist until I found something in my price range, arranged a time to look at the bike, and showed up to test ride.  Mind you, I'd never actually ridden on a street, and I was about to ride a motorcycle that was bigger than anything I'd ever ridden before. 

Four or five blocks from the guys house, I was coming up on an intersection, and there was a large SUV that was menacingly approaching the same intersection.  I admit here and now, I was scared of this SUV.  I was afraid of the soccer mom, and whether or not she was paying attention to me or her cell phone.  I had already signaled to turn left, away from the overbearing, slowly creeping vehicle that was the object of my fear, and I know that I wasn't supposed to look at the SUV.  I knew I was supposed to look at the clear street to the left, but my eyes were glued.  I couldn't see anything except that Ford Expedition. 

As you might of guessed, I set the bike down on its side, and the setting down was somewhat less than graceful.  Fortunately it was a light enough bike that I was able to lift it back up quickly, and ride it back to the guys house.  I promptly bought the motorcycle, and the guy was kind enough to put it on his truck and drop it off at my place for me. 

My fear blocked my vision and made my life somewhat more complicated than it should have been.  I hope never to have these sorts of things happen to me in other places of my life; I want to focus on being grateful, rather than focus on things that I'm scared of.  I'm often reminded of how many times God/Jesus says "Fear Not" and I think that can't be a coincidence.  It's like God knows how we are and what we struggle with. 

Father's Day

Ever since I can remember  my father has taken the time to write my two brothers and I notes.  It was a common thing as an adolescent to find an envelope on a dresser or bed, and these notes came with a myriad of things behind them.  Some would convey how proud he was about something we did, others would tell us how disappointed he was.  All would remind us that he loves us and truly wants the best for us.  I was always glad to get one of these notes, even if it meant we were having conflict, because it meant honest interaction with my dad, and not all of my friends had that sort of thing.

I'm turning 34 this month, and the quantity  of personal notes that I get from Pop is dramatically lower than when I was 14.  I like to think it's because I have less shaping and refinement that needs to take place, and Pop has moved on to writing other things, publishing books and articles.  But a couple weeks ago I received another envelope with my name on it.  It reminded me of how proud I am to have a father who can communicate and interact with me, and how amazing it is that he was able to break the cycle of rough-tongued, emotionally distant fatherhood that was shown to him.  My father isn't mean and angry.  My father and I had more father-son talks than I can count.  I'm proud of my father and his ability to love us.  Pop has been, is, and will be there for me whenever & wherever he can.

All that, plus he took me camping, to football games, and Dairy Queen.  He told me and showed me Jesus, how to treat a woman, how to be a good friend, how to love the marginalized, and the finer points of survival cooking.  I hope that if I ever get the chance to be a father that I'm half as good as Pop has been for his three boys; Kyle, Gosall & Myself.

Are your freinds from Cuba?

I picked a job that would allow me to speak Spanish on a regular basis.  I used to have a theory that Spanish speakers here in Portland/Beaverton are not as prodominantly Mexican as most people say.  Now that I've been working in one of the more popular hospitals on the west side, I know that I wasn't as spot on as I usually am with my generalizations.  As it turns out, a vast majority of the Spanish speakers that I check in are from Mexico.  I'm willing to help anyone, and with my overall desire to maintain rather than lose my language skills I'm double-willing to help someone if they offer some Spanish practice.  But there's a funny thing that has happened more than once.

I introduce myself and ask a few basic questions, and everyone can tell that I speak more Spanish than the average gringo.  But the longer I talk, the more little smiles and sideways glances I start to see.  I speak Spanish, but it obviously doesn't sound like the Spanish they're used to.

The first assumption is that I leaned the language in college, so when they start to ask if that's where I learned, it's my turn to smile.  I tell them that I never really studied the lanugage, because I don't count the few months that SCS made me show up to a Spanish class as good, hardcore study.  I didn't really learn anything in that class, cuz it was geared to people who were a level or two lower than me. 

So I say that I didn't lean in a university, but in the house of friends.  While this gains me instant street cred (there are a lot of univeristy gringos out there, but few homies that learned in living rooms ad dinner tables), it also leads to another question: Are your friends from Cuba?

Until recently I've just smiled and explained that I lived in the Dominican Repbulic for a year, and my accent is a combination of a lot of different places.  The patient smiles, nods, and then we move on with the business part of what we do at the hospital.  I just realized that the real answer to that question is that I do have friends from Cuba, thank you very much.  Kisha and I met a couple of Cuban guys at the language exchange and we've been kicking it on the side, helping with resumes, etc.

To add fancy to fun, we recently celebrated Memorial Day in the US, which is to commemorate the US Military, wave the flag, and in general promote all things American.  My father's generation tends to celebrate this holiday for what it really is, going to services and making sure they hang the flag in front of their house if it doesn't hang there all year 'round, but my generation usually just enjoys the day off with a couple friends over for lunch or dinner.  Since we had the time off we invited our Cuban friends of for a Caribbean/American fusion meal. 

Yeah, you heard that right.  We celebreated an inherently American holiday eating foreign food with a couple of Communists.  Viva la Revolucion!!!

Quick Reminder

I quit blogging.  I felt like I had absolutely nothing to say, and I didn't wanna bore anyone with posts about relatively nothing to say.  Just now I realized that the title of my blog should be a dead give away that this blog is about... well... it's mostly a bunch of gas.