il pleut

Thunder roars overhead at the time of this writing.  Peering out my window at the storm clouds this morning, I was struck by how unfamiliar they seemed.  We have passed through many weeks of extreme heat, skies swept perpetually clear of obtrusive clouds.  This morning brings change, a reprieve.  I am thankful.

Students are returning to classes, and August is about to pass away.  This has caused many to lament the passing of summer.  Summer will remain a little while yet, but its days are numbered.  I will wait patiently, and bid it adieu at the proper time.

And, when finally released from summer's grip, which held us like a prison inside our homes and offices allowing only for sweet moments by the pool, I will beckon to all to witness fall's entrance.  We will camp and hike, stand out in the rain and let the cool drops kiss our foreheads.

It is a wonderful thought.  I wonder if I'm alone in this feeling.  The shift of seasons holds the portent of deeper change.  It is a feeling surrounded by celebration and ritual preceding recorded human history.  Yet, in this modern world, is this something that still touches the conscious mind?  It touches mine.  Perhaps it is the bequest of a thousand years of ancestral expectation, but I await change.

deferred

So many interesting things going on. I wish I was writing more about them. Time slips so easily away from me. A moment comes, is used, then wanders quietly away.

This will be a busy week. September is coming, and I hope with it cooler days.

tumult

My mind is split into seventeen hundred pieces right now.  I want to change an aspect of my life, but really have no sense about how to execute that change.  My mind is spinning off questions at an accelerated rate, and many of them cannot be satisfactorily answered by my limited experience, especially in areas in which I am not confident in my intuition.  This necessitates a third party, which is always a good idea when concepts are too personal to be considered objectively.  But to whom should these questions be posed?  With whom have I established trust that might also have authority, wisdom, and discernment?

I am weary of attempting discussion through the vagaries of abstract thought.  The freedom of expression through concrete details and clear concept is something I greatly desire.  Over the course of my life, I've attributed value to expressing personal information through a series of logical gates.  A thought transferred through this process arrives stripped of personally identifiable information.  My hope is that it retains sufficient information to be of analytical value in the outside world.  It is not only that I don't want to expend effort in this instance, but much more so that it would destroy even the purpose for expression.

It is not lost on me that most would read this and say, "Out with it, man!  Life is too short for such silliness."  It is a stance against which I have increasingly little defense.  Regardless, I seek a clear mind.  Before my arrival in the harbor of restive thought, however, I must devise a course across an unknown sea.  It is my hope that I will soon receive guidance not in the creation of this course, but for the method by which such can be developed.

hot water after all

I got in the shower Thursday morning, but the water never warmed up.  It was refreshing, but slightly uncomfortable at the beginning.  It has been oppressively hot of late, and I enjoy anything that is the opposite of that.  Rather than thinking there was something wrong with the water heater, I simply assumed it was an inability on my part to correctly set the temperature at the faucet.  I think the hot/cold indicator is inverted or is simply counter-intuitive.  Either way, it is difficult (especially in the morning) to remember which way it should be set.

I switched to my other shower Friday morning, and was treated to a similar scenario.  Warm water never flowed from the faucet.  The valve was cranked all the way to the left, and turning it right only released colder water.  Chilled, I continued and became resigned to the fact maintenance was required.

I was going to call this morning, and hope that the situation would be resolved before hot water was needed again.  Before showering this morning, I turned on the sink faucet, almost on a whim as I didn't really expect the situation could correct itself.  However, I was nearly scalded (as if by molten water) when I tested with my fingers.

It would seem I took cold showers over four days for no good reason, but I am thankful that I did not immediately make a maintenance request, as I would have appeared somewhat foolish.  Another tick for the procrastination column.

trust me

When relaxing in Luckenbach with good friends, it's understandable that one's brain might misfire during intellectual recall.  In Luckenbach, anything referred to as intellectual is generally met with a blank stare and a head quickly turned back to the guitar pickers.

Between duels of the melodion and washtub bass players, what can only be described as a cowboy poet took the floor.  He entertained the crowd with stories of the West, work, and life experience set to verse.  I quipped to a nearby friend that since the crowd so adored his poetic stylings, I should take the stage and recite a few lines of Donne.  It was a fateful note of sarcasm.  My friend did not know the name.  I assured her she did and threw out a familiar line: "Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."  The shadows of confusion were washed from her face by the sweeping light of understanding, and she confirmed recognition.  In that instant, recognition burned in my mind like a thousand suns and I cringed before its brilliance.  My dear reader will feel a measure of this humiliation, for you surely understand my error.  John Donne never wrote that line.

In fact, the line is "And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee."  It's a beautiful poem discussing the interconnectedness of life, how one man's actions can affect another man.  This verse opens and serves as inspiration for Hemingway's classic For Whom the Bell Tolls, an amazing work with the Spanish Civil War as a backdrop.

I immediately attempted a correction, but believe it fell on deaf ears.  It sounds similar anyway, right?  Except it's not right, and I'm troubled by it.  Admittedly, I am troubled less by perpetuating the corruption of Donne's line than I am about how the error reflects on others' perception of my intelligence.  What if my friend, or another within earshot, has opportunity someday to recite this line to another?  If this future audience recognizes the error and scoffs or in turn recites it again, I am responsible.  I am reminded of a Biblical exhortation: "Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly." James 3:1

This reminds me of another incident, similar in nature.  While dining with a group of friends, someone was describing a situation from high school and looking for a particular word to portray an individual's vituperative nature.  I offered 'mollify', which was in a race to the vocal chords with 'vilify', the more appropriate term.  I knew I was wrong then, but not quite so immediately as with this more recent incident, and I never made a correction.  The great fear that at times awakens me in the middle of the night is that this individual continues to use the term 'mollify' in a completely inappropriate manner.

*sigh*

tea epiphany

I just made a pot of hot water for tea. What an excellent idea! I probably won't have one this good for a few days.

Water by itself is not enough to calm a scratchy throat; once the sip is gone, any relief subsides. Hot tea does wonders. It soothes not only physical woes but also calms your mind. I feel much better.

Here's a volleyball email I sent in April 2004 that talks about tea:

Friends:

Most of you know that, ordinarily, I am a coffee-drinker; some might even say connoisseur. I expend much effort in preparing coffee when its purpose is more than to warm and invigorate: fresh and darkly roasted beans home ground to just the right grain and carefully measured; pure water; a dash of love. Yet, when I'm feeling ill or the day is dreary and cold, it is to a steaming cup of tea I turn. Specifically, the most soothing to me is Earl Grey with a little honey. Tea drinkers are special, you see, for they possess millennia old wisdom, and are aware that tea is more than a simple beverage. Many teas are imbued with properties, some esoteric and others known, that smooth the crashing waters of a stressed mind into a still clear pool of deep and productive thought and restore to the body its sense of purpose.

I'm sure most of you are thinking how like Volleyball tea is. It was my thought as well. At 7 tonight, we will drink deeply of this powerful elixir called Volleyball. Join us at Greystone, won't you? Bring a friend! Directions follow.

under the weather

Interesting phrase, isn't it?  It can describe so many things; sickness, depression, injuries, on up to finding oneself under an actual cloud.  What I especially love about phrases like this is that it inherently indicates that there are times when one isn't under the weather.  When clouds crowd the sky and rain is pouring down (even metaphorically), we consider this 'weather'.  Skies absent clouds filled with halcyon brilliance is not weather.  It's a fallacy not necessarily of logic, but certainly of our collective idiom.

Regardless, I am sick.  I'm not bedridden or in severe discomfort.  It is really just mild discomfort manifested as a scratchy throat and the impending threat of sinus congestion.  I haven't been ill in a while, but this round reminds me of how annoying it is.  I can still go through my day and take care of standard activities, but there's a constant reminder that something isn't quite right.  Fatigue settles in a little too easily and my patience erodes more quickly.

It's also hot; a phenomenon unusually common throughout the country this season.  I don't like heat.  I like to be cool, dry and comfortable.  Cool, wet and comfortable are also okay, if you're in a pool or something.  Heat tends to aggravate me, and exacerbates not feeling well.

That's enough complaining for now, I guess.  I hope everyone is having a great day.

the entertainer

I've noticed a trend here.  Granted the representative sample is relatively small, but I think it presents an interesting story.

It seems there is a inverse relationship with the length of an individual post to the number of comments made concerning it.  This is neither a request for additional input nor an indication that I write expecting feedback.  It is mostly an observation.

My ability at oratorical storytelling is not what I would like.  At times I entertain myself with the fantasy that I'm one of those people around whom others gather with intense interest, expecting to be enthralled by tales of piquant humor and endure moments of deadly suspense.  Sadly, in real life, I offer at best only a pale shade of those things.  I leave out important detail, meander back and forth through chronological sequence, and draw from a somewhat shallow well of experience.

Yet, once upon a time, I was paid for my services as a storyteller.  Ghost stories.  For a Halloween party.  Entertaining a group of ten-year-olds for two hours is a feather in my narrative cap I wear quite proudly.  It should make no difference that I manufactured not one story, and merely studied a few ghost story books I found in the library.

You should never give up on your fantasies, as it might in an unexpected way enter reality, if only briefly.