Seeing the forest among the trees of writing

I developed this blog four years ago to rekindle a writing life. Writing is something innate to me. Though I don't consider myself an entrepreneur, constructing my own newspaper as a second grader came naturally to my existence, a fire fed for most of my life. The name of that newspaper was The Madhouse Gazette (sounds like a name created by second grader, right?).

The second plant of The Madhouse Gazette served two purposes. First, it provided me a place to sort out ideas not spoken from a pulpit or written in a newsletter. Occasionally I whittled an idea from a rough thought eventually carved into a sermon, but the blog turned into a place among the trees for me to rebuild a love for writing.

The second purpose sprouted after a vocational shift involving a move from pastoral work to parenting. I found myself missing the frequent theological wranglings among the work of diapers, naps, tight grocery budgets, and other topics for a home economist. The blog became my theological discourse in addition to my reflections of living as (mostly) stay at home Dad. The New Calvinists are shuddering somewhere...

My life has changed once again, and I now serve in a congregation that values my writing and me as a person. I live more as my true self in this congregation than any other I have known. Writing and ministry have an oak-like quality. Rooted, solid, branching out in interesting patterns and directions. Madhouse Gazette served a good purpose for four years, but the time has come for the blog to lay dormant--not to merely think about it, but write it down. Madhouse Gazette is going into hibernation, in a wooded cave. Maybe the dormancy will last a few weeks, months or years. I don't know.

I do not share my identity on this blog. Not that anyone cares, and not that it's too hard to figure out. It was a way to share my thoughts. If you want a more public side of my life and more regular writing, you can check me out at my other blog, your average pastor. The writing is more theologically oriented, without prominent references to pop culture or my children. I miss writing about those things, but this became more challenging in my crazy commute. I spend around 8-16 hours in the car per week--and my time in front of my desk top computers is limited. Regularly blogging on Madhouse Gazette is one aspect of my life that is pruned.

Something may grow stronger in the months ahead, especially if I can lay my hands on an iPad without going into debt.

Carbonated Beverage Tax

Returning to the Pacific Northwest brings a daily joy during the spring and summer months. While productively keeping my household in order, I listen to my favorite sports team, the Seattle Mariners Baseball Club (Ichiro led off the game with a ground-rule double and came around to score as I write).

After 30 minutes of the broadcast, a commercial decries the proposed carbonated beverage tax in Washington State, three times during that span. The merits of the tax are debatable. Seth Godin makes an interesting argument about these types of beverage taxes. What I appreciate about Godin is his creative approach to looking at issues, ideas and concepts. I have to think about the merits of the tax, but the commercial adds nothing to the debate.

I realize the goal of almost any political ad is to create an emotional response. The ad depicts a couple going over their budget. Their budget is busted by taxes on carbonated beverages (Even seltzer water! Even club soda!). I find it amusing that the ad attempts to establish that carbonated beverages are an essential grocery item. Regardless of carbonated beverages value to a diet if carbonated beverages are busting your budget, then you don't know how to live with a budget.

The website (linked above) goes even further, by making carbonated beverage bottlers the victim, that the tax will "depress (nice word choice, eh?)" sales. Carbonated beverage bottlers and companies are far from the ranks of victims.

I am not against the right of free speech for the ad, and I'm not making a statement about the merits of taxes. I am such a victim that the joy of listening to the Mariners game by a terrible ad has been compromised. Woe is me.

Political advertisements with poor emotional baits that do not benefit public discourse on state government revenue? Put it on the Lame List!

I miss Almost Live.

Please. No.

I know more pressing world issues deserve more attention. But I deal with issues of the nature and paths of the cosmos on a day to day basis. What produces the most visceral reaction in my mind? NCAA Basketball.

What jerks my chain? Not that my beloved Jayhawks were knocked out early, or that the family favorite Washington Huskies underachieved, then overachieved, then underachieved again--being knocked out of the Sweet 16. Expanding the field from 65 to 96 teams will dilute a good product. I used to take off work with some of my good friends to watch the first Thursday/Friday of the tournament, and now it will be garbage--infiltrated with mediocre teams. My visceral reaction is to say I won't watch the damn tournament--at least in the early rounds--but I'm sure I'll come crawling back because I won't be able to stand spring training baseball.

Rather than worry about a lame boycott, maybe I'll take up an activity of my own and build my own presence in the field of athletic mediocrity. Curling, training for my next half-marathon, bicycling, etc. To the people at the NCAA, please stop this movement to mediocrity by expanding the basketball field. I feel hope and despair on this topic, as the NCAA isn't interested in doing something that makes sense. However, they are a bit unpredictable as well--maybe the foolishness stops and the insiders will look like fools.

Valentine Spider Attacks!

Above you will find a picture of the rare Pacific Northwest Valentine Spider. Only to be found near the southern waters of the Salish Sea, this spider can camouflage itself by hiding in blond-haired little girls. They must be removed by knife or scissor.

I don't think it matters that I never enrolled in one of those "Daddy learning daughter hair care" classes--there wasn't much that could have been done about this little trick. I can't seem to get hair care right for my daughters. I hope they're able to at least work with their mother. They're particularly strong willed about their hair. They'll probably end up doing something I find strange--but I guess it's their hair. Daughter #2 liked this PNW Valentine Spider in her hair. Her mother eventually removed it with a scissor.

Smells of the Pacific Northwest and other memorable geographic smells

My brother hooked me up with some music in college by The Young Fresh Fellows "Sounds of the Northwest." The introduction sounded like something from a filmstrip or an old tourist film--with tracks of seagulls, crashing waves and a ferry horn. I loved listening to this while in my Midwest exile, as it reminded me of home.

Today I was reminded of the smells of the Pacific Northwest as my olfactory nerves drifted me toward memories from the years of traversing the lands of the South Puget Sound. The landscaping material known as "beauty bark" sits in huge mounds in my rental complex waiting to be laid out. I smelled the stuff long before I saw it on a walk this morning. I thought of all the smells that I smelled here, different from all the odors of South Dakota and other places in the Midwest.

+ Tacoma Aroma (a distinct and pungent odor, maybe something like "Sex Panther" cologne)
+ A faint smell of the various evergreen trees combined with the dampness after a rain.
+ The air of the Salish Sea, a bountiful combination of sea life and brine--yet not quite as strong as the ocean.
+ The powerful spring blossoms of April and May.
+ Fresh scones from the Puyallup Fair.
+ Fish and clam chowder cooking at Ivar's.
+ The thin coolness of the Alpine air in the Cascades.
+ The powerful smell of hops coming from the many local breweries over the years. In my youth, it was Olympia and Rainier. Now it's Red Hook.

I could live without Tacoma Aroma (it's not as bad as it used to be in the 70's and 80's), but the bark, dampness and evergreen scent takes me to a better place.

I am also reminded of the smells of my Midwest exile:

+ The smell of hog processing at the John Morrell plant in Sioux Falls (aka "The Morrell Smell).
+ The smell of heat, corn and humidity all over East River South Dakota.
+ The smells of harvest time--processing hay, corn, soybeans, wheat and other grains--it almost inspired me to think of whole grain breads and a stew full of vegetables. That smell helped me find joy, exhilaration and relief for finally feeling a chill in the air after 6 months of heat.
+ Manure
+ The overwhelming smell of grasses that go absolutely crazy in the spring after laying dormant all winter.
+ The almost complete lack of odors (outside of manure) during a harsh winter.

The only time I enjoyed the smells of the Midwest was during the harvest time--about an 8-week period where I watched the hard work of people who help provide our food. People worried, celebrated and toiled with passion. I disliked the smells for the most part, and the harvest time almost made up for it. I appreciated those smells, but the smells of the Northwest can never be replaced.

A New Old Citizenship

When I attended McKnight Middle School in Renton back in the early 1980's, my report card gave other grades besides performance. One of those other grades was "citizenship." I wasn't exactly sure what that meant and how one teacher who saw me for a few hours per week (and worked hard to keep me occupied and learning) could observe my life as a citizen, let alone give me a grade. I think even the most self-aware of my classmates could attach this grade to behavior rather than performance. After leaving McKnight, I never saw this grade for citizenship again.

I once had very high and positive expectations for President Obama--though I wouldn't go so far as to call it "hope." Though I've always had interest and passion about politics, I never held an illusion that politics and politicians were a place to invest the energy of hope. For me, party politics has sunk to a new low. I've haven't taken well to the two-party system in the United States since my college days, and the actions of Democrats and Republicans in my adult life have not inspired me to draw any closer to political life outside of being an educated voter. It's hard to advocate for misguided or power hungry leadership.

However, I am still a citizen of the State of Washington and the United States. I am not required to support a political party to be a citizen. To be a good citizen, I can participate in public life, independent of decisions of Republicans and Democrats--to make lives better for my family and other people. Ideology does not come in to play. Democrats or Republicans will not prevent me from volunteering at my daughter's school. I volunteered at my daughter's elementary school last Friday for the first time, and I had an awakening to the meaning of citizenship. I realized that my energy toward Republicans and Democrats was misplaced for all of these years. My energy will be placed toward being a good citizen.

More on this topic later--but today I had to make a proclamation of a personal investment in a new old citizenship.

Three year old travels through airport resembling old Hertz commercials

SAN FRANCISCO-

An eventful 12th day of Christmas it was. Twelve drummers drumming, Bing Crosby or the McKenzie Brothers weren't present to mark the occasion--but the travel shall be remembered.

Travel duties over the holiday season were divided between my dear wife and I by a complex formula involving preaching schedules, vacation usage, school calendars, mileage expenditures, and airfare purchases. This equation kept daughter #2 and I in Minnesota until today, with an early departure from Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport. My dear wife and Daughter #1 returned to the Seattle Metro January 2 for the school schedule, primarily. Traveling today for me saved about $400.

The problem with this kind of travel arrangement is early morning flights and layovers. This time we landed in San Francisco, an airport I hadn't seen in over 10 years. Turns out I still wouldn't see much of it. Arriving early at MSP in anticipation of security, we were well prepared for contingencies. Or so we thought.

A three year old in an airport always presents extra challenges. Timing of bathroom stops, snacks, drinks, activities and exercise while in a high security and frenzied pace setting keeps my head on a swivel, establishing some sense of order and direction. I knew this planning and administration registered with my daughter, because she offered advice to other adults, "you have to wait your turn."

We cannot control some variables in the trip, like sitting on the plane for an extra 45 minutes or so waiting for a gate while the plane was a bit late in the first place, dealing with important substances like wing de-icer. This delay put our connection in peril. Fellow passengers graciously let us out of the plane ahead of them expediently, and we waited at the gate for the stroller that help small legs manage a long walk to the next gate.

But the stroller did not come. After five minutes, my plane was boarding, and I didn't have time to chase down United Airlines officials to locate the stroller. I made an executive decision (that's why they pay me the big bucks)--we had to go. This was a risky venture with an unpredictable three year old. I told her to run. She ran. I had our semi-bulky and awkward carry-on bag, two insanely heavy coats for the West Coast (but important for Minnesota in January), and her little carry-on. I wanted her to focus on her keeping balance and her eyes on the path before us, which included maneuvering through three moving sidewalks.

As I watched her move, encouraging her to run, pay attention, watch out for others, stay with me, etc., all that came to mind was an unfortunate comparison--O.J. Simpson cruising through a busy airport as a spokesperson for Hertz car rentals. She dodged, she spun, she bobbed and swayed, but she never fell--and she stuck with me as well as a three year old can in a sprint through an airport terminal. We ran, jogged, and walked quickly for about a half-mile.

With about 100 yards to go, she started crying. She looked like a marathon runner who had hit the proverbial "wall." There's only so much a little girl can take. She was up at 4am, yet to have a successful trip to the potty. No lunch, and had run the most in one stretch she had ever run. So I held up her Nemo stuffed toy as a makeshift motivational speaker and said, "Do you want to carry Nemo??? Run to Nemo!!!" She ran to Nemo, grabbed her toy, and continued sprinting to the gate. I stopped when I got there, and she kept going toward the plane, only to be stopped by laughing TSA officials. It almost had the same feel to it as Forrest Gump running a football for the University of Alabama. I wasn't going to stop her, but it would be a trio of laughing TSA officials doing a "Stop Forrest, Stop!" to my daughter.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, we slowed down and made it to our seats. All the while, she proclaimed orders to random seat holders, "you have to wait your turn."

We're still waiting for the stroller. We had to make a claim to get it returned from United Airlines. The employees at baggage service noted how cute my little girl is. What I didn't tell them is that she pulled off a small athletic miracle.

Desperate Housewives--Usually Enjoyable, Occasionally Inspirational

The television tides have turned. Years ago in our more struggling days, my dear wife and I would enjoy a few days at her parents house because they had a slew of cable television so that we could meet the visual equivalent of Cheetos to the human diet. Feels good going down, but contributes little if anything to my overall health. These days, we have cable in our household, and my in-laws have removed many choice in worship attendance at the cathode cathedral. Because of Chuck Klosterman, I have lowered some of my disdain for television and recognize that I don't need to be a culture snob about it--and recognize it for its contribution. I can remember all the while that moderation is more important for my television diet and recognize its artistic value rather than attempting to set myself above culture for my own gratification. I come to my in-laws during this Christmas decompression time and know I don't have to watch television for it's own sake.

I don't watch Desperate Housewives because it's a great show. I watch it because it is the only show that suits my dear wife and I after a long Sunday at work. We enjoy the characters (even if they are caricatures) and the twists, though the stories on the whole seem weak.

Tonight's episode presented a storyline for which I was surprised (in a good way) and not by a sharp plot twist. Lynette is faced with the possibility of one of her unborn children living with a disability. Whereas the other dreams highlighted in the episode often reinforce the caricatures in the show, Lynette's character is given more complex situations. How do you raise a child with a disability to raise their lives to the best situation possible? I wonder that almost every day with my child and her autism spectrum disorder. We will have to work hard for the rest of our lives to provide opportunities for daughter #1 to thrive. Some days we miserably fail. Other days, we merely wonder. Other days we peer into the future to see what is possible. Daughter #1 is amazingly artistic--she wrote and drew some books for her sister and grandparents. She invented a board game and played with her mother and grandparents. I continue to dream that she will bring great joy to others and herself with her artistic pursuits. I don't ever expect Desperate Housewives to inspire this kind of pondering, but I'm happy when it does. I look forward to getting back home to the Pacific Northwest and talk with my wife about what we saw on tonight's episode.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year

People tend to believe that the Advent/Christmas season is the most difficult for pastors. This pastor creates most of his own grief this time of year, heaping on expectations I cannot possibly meet. Even though I gave myself some space to not work as much, I still tried to do too much. This week I have paid a price. I think I have been sick in the month of December at least 80 percent of the time since 1995. I think I need to learn something about how I care for myself and what I expect from myself. I hope that with age, comes wisdom, but I keep doing the same thing. With old and new surroundings in the Pacific Northwest can come better life practices.

At least when I exhale upon arrival in Minnesota on December 28th, I won't have to do much. I can't do any home projects, or do much financial planning--all I can do is read and write, talk with family, run in the snow and ice, and play with my kids. I look forward to giving you more posts to Madhousegazette, or at least figure out the direction with this blog. One thing I won't do is let it sit with "Merry Christmas & Happy New Year" with a 2009 date until July of next year.

May your holidays be full of peace, joy and a connection with what is holy.

Football, music, and my evolving relationship with coffee (part 8)

I recently accounted for Daughter #2's assertive calls for particular songs. Stephen Colbert is probably the favorite now. The other night we had some good friends over to our home for a little surf and turf. We thanked them for being on our team of hospice respite caregivers for our late dog, Hunter. While playing some music to enhance the festivities, Daughter #2 had to chime in for her own requests. It was easier to heed those requests. Once we made it through most of her own personal play list, she made another request, a bit far afield from the usual songs. I didn't understand what she was saying, until I discovered she wasn't asking for a song at all. She asked for the "College Football Podcast." I wonder who taught her to listen to that?

Also from the "where did she get that?" file, we were shopping at Fred Meyer yesterday, and Daughter #2 had the privilege of riding in a shopping cart/toy bus. She extends her neck out of the bus window and shouts, "I NEED and iced mocha!" I had a hard time containing my laughter thinking of her observing me trying to keep my energy up while taking on my new work life. I've had way more coffee than I'd ever imagined I would drink, and at least enough for Daughter #2 to engage in her own brand of mockery. The folks in Fred Meyer weren't exactly sure what she was saying, but someone told me she's getting early training as a Pacific Northwesterner with coffee acumen.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 2)

I couldn't write anymore about Hunter today. The grief is exhausting. In place of writing a longer entry of The Hunter Chronicles, I sent a donation to the place where we adopted Hunter in Waukesha, Wisconsin. I sent the accompanying note with the donation (I also sent the above pictures):

Hunter was a 2-year old (almost 3) chocolate lab my wife and I adopted at HAWS in April 2000 (29th? 30th?). He was about the best birthday present I ever received. I had never had a dog in my home. He was the best dog I could ever imagine--great with everyone in our growing family. He loved rides in the car, walks, chasing a ball and cuddling. We had two daughters while we had Hunter--he loved them and tolerated them (very necessary).

We were his third owners, and my wife told him we would be his "forever family." All he ever wanted was to be with us. His health declined over the last 2 years, he lost about 30 pounds, and we put him down on Veterans Day (Nov. 11) after 12 1/2 years of life. We had a good day together to say goodbye. We took Hunter on some of his favorite nature walks, gave him some of his favorite treats, a trip to the beach on the Puget Sound, and a bath. He wasn't alone his last 72 hours of life. We have holes in our lives and hearts because he is gone.

I've dedicated a song to Hunter's memory in my own daily living, "What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong--I think of him all the time. If I knew what Hunter was thinking, the song seems to match his thoughts. I wanted to share a little bit of Hunter's story and offer a small donation because of the great experience we had at HAWS, and thank you for holding on to Hunter for us before he became part of our family. We are thankful for what you do.

Adding insult to injury

While traversing the Kitsap Peninsula for work this weekend, I wanted to catch a little bit of the Washington-UCLA game. Having them on television is still a novelty to me after 20 years in the Midwest. When the Huskies were good during that stretch--I might be able to get a nationally televised game, but for many years I was stuck with mediocre Big Ten football, and once in awhile I could occasionally watch the Jayhawks, but would usually get stuck with Nebraska or Iowa State. Yawn.

I finally found the Applebee's in Silverdale and caught most of the fourth quarter. I found myself hopeful, even after a big missed field goal. UCLA was not playing the role of a juggernaut, and Washington had the best player on the field in Jake Locker. Having seen in person "The Drive" against USC, I thought good things were possible and the Huskies would mature and pick up a needed road win.

Interesting crowd at Applebee's at 3pm on a Saturday afternoon--not the Dawg-watching hotspot I was hoping for, more like the elderly early-dinner crowd. My cheers for the Huskies were somewhat muted, but I could at least watch the game. I wanted a beverage, but not a pop--I was already strung out on caffeine for the day. I still needed to work and drive, so I opted for an O'Doul's. Even the taste of beer and football sounded good. I was about halfway through that near-beer when Locker threw the interception and the game was essentially over. Throwing the bottle through the television would not be an appropriate response.

I reconsidered the beer throwing position when I got the bill. $4.60??!?!?!? For a 12-ounce O'Doul's???? I am not a bar patron often enough to know what the going rate for a beer is, but that price was brutal. Go ahead and kick a Husky fan when he's down, Applebee's.

Action-packed week

Closing on a house, attended a conference, leading a stewardship campaign, preparing to lead a retreat. I think family laundry needs to get done at some point. Mercifully, someone else is preaching this Sunday. I didn't deal with too many deadlines outside of getting my daughter off to school in the morning and picking her up after school. I don't mind the deadlines--I am only recognizing the big mental shift. I am thankful for the peaceful moment this morning staring at the Pacific Ocean waves and listening for the sound of the surf as I walked in between each conference activity. I am a West Coast guy.

My relationship with the National Football League

After 11 years of ordained ministry, with much of my weekend energy devoted to be ready for Sunday worship services, and fatigue taking most of my energy from Sunday afternoons, I have realized that the NFL and I are drifting apart.

To the NFL: it's nothing personal. It's not you. It's me. Listening to constant breakdown of a Seahawks game that I either don't have the energy to watch, or I completely miss, only emphasizes that we don't have much of a relationship. Our relationship really started to fade when the officials became the game during the Seahawks-Steelers Super Bowl. I'm sure you didn't plan things to happen that way. But I look at that and see that event as the beginning of the end.

Sure, you, the NFL, have more popularity than ever before. You are the best run professional sports entity in the world. Good marketing, good executive leadership, good product on the field. I don't have time anymore to follow you. My relationships have been better cultivated with the Edmonton Oilers, Kansas Jayhawks basketball and football, the Seattle Mariners, anything with the University of Washington (especially football). I will smile when I see Huskies and Jayhawks play in your league and I will pull for their success. I will occasionally peek and listen to bits about the league. I know I'm missing out on one of the biggest leisure activities in the world. I no longer have the time. It doesn't mean I won't watch a portion of a game or even a whole game if time allows, the calendar aligns, and the Seahawks are interesting. But I cannot carve out any time for us to have a relationship anymore. We will be acquaintances with memories from our past.

Maybe after my children move out of the house and I am retired from ministry, maybe you and I can get together a little more often and even be friends again. I might even jump on a bandwagon briefly if the Seahawks surge back into relevancy (I have no shame in that--we at least have a history together). I realized that we weren't really friends anymore when I turn the radio station or turn on my iPod whenever the talking heads start talking Seahawk intricacies.

I wish you well, NFL and Seattle Seahawks. I am thankful for what we had, and hopeful for what you can be, but I cannot give you my passion or energy any longer. God speed.

Favorite Autumn Drives and the Fall Soundtrack

I have driven copious miles recently. Some open road driving with my family (about 3500 miles) and the most frenzied set of back and forth, traffic-weaving, kid-toting, commuting I've ever done. What keeps me more than sane in that environment is my favorite time of year--the fall color display. I will plan my life around seeing some fall colors. Sometimes I take pictures, sometimes I soak in the cool atmosphere with those I love. I could easily say the Northeast US has the best fall colors (always great, but somewhat impractical for me), but I also have other favorites:

+ Northern Minnesota around Bemidji
+ The Minnesota River Valley between Mankato and New Ulm
+ The Cumberland region in Middle to East Tennessee
+ Virginia, especially around the Blue Ridge Mountains
+ Heading toward Northern Wisconsin from the Milwaukee metro toward Ripon and Green Lake.

I forgot how great the fall colors could be in the Puget Sound region. WA-16 on the Kitsap Peninsula has quite a display of fiery orange and red fall maples with a nice contrast to the evergreens. This display reminded me of how much I did take for granted--Mt. Rainier with the Puget Sound, color burst maples, evergreens and the Olympics--all mysteriously cottoned with fog, as if Bob Ross and God worked together to burn the images in my brain. My photography can't do this justice. I need to stop and at least try.

Some songs play better for me during the autumn months. I like bluegrass this time of year and almost anything with steel guitar. I don't know why. There's a few other songs that seem to register as well. My Fall Soundtrack:

Let Me Touch You For Awhile--Alison Krauss
Gravity--Alison Krauss
Jessica--Allman Brothers
Ramblin' Man--Allman Brothers
September--Earth, Wind and Fire
Avenues--Whiskeytown
Best of Luck--Nickel Creek
Lonesome Wind Blues--Rhonda Vincent
It'll Never Be Thru With Us (Until It's Thru With You)--The Wilders
That Old Time Religion--The Wilders
Green and Gray--Nickel Creek

Getting ready for another vacation

After almost 6 weeks of solid work in the office and the community, I'm getting ready for another trip. Six weeks of working outside the home has turned me back into a morning person. I am way too tired at night to function. I gather rally my gumption and give the girls a quality evening for bath time, homework, reading and prayers. I could barely bring myself to fold any laundry last night. I feel like I'm making up for lost time in adult conversations--so work energizes me at this point, even though I'm an introvert. I haven't earned a vacation in terms of time served, it will be good for pacing to get away. I'm glad my congregation gave me some grace so I could travel back to South Dakota with my family. My dear wife has a reunion to attend, so we're making a family trip out of it.

Thinking it's been almost 6 months since we came to the Pacific Northwest, it sometimes feels like a long time, yet other times--we just departed. Days have rarely flown by for me--I don't know if it's a gift I have, something I have yet to experience, or what it is about my brain that gives me an even pace to my days. I'm looking forward to seeing a few friends and watch my dear wife enjoy the glory of her college days and friends.

What needs to be accomplished before departure is what feels oppressive.

+ Dog needs a major health check up and prep for being kenneled.
+ Honda Element needs new tires. Especially with all the mountain snow across the Cascades and Rockies in recent days.
+ My home office is in a shambles. I barely know which end is up in there.
+ Small thing, yet still time consuming--I need a haircut, for what hair I have remaining.
+ Pack for the 1500 mile drive--kid provisions, dog provisions, contingency scenarios, temporarily cleaning the vehicle.
+ Communicate with service providers and educators about absence.

I will be adding to this list, no doubt.

I've learned enough lessons over the years that I provided a preaching-free zone for 2-3 weeks around my trip so that my all-consuming weekly task of speaking in front of 400-plus people, plus a television audience, will not eat me alive while I try to haul my family across hundreds of miles. I'll be glad when we actually get in the car--but it's really time to buckle down.

I think my Husky elation has turn into deflation, then maybe to wisdom

Almost nothing could diminish the joy of watching the UW Huskies beat USC in person. I think it would end up hurting if they didn't win another game the rest of season and that win ends up merely in upset lore among my football brethren, like Mississippi State beating Florida a few years ago and getting Ron Zook fired. I don't want that game to be only a fun victory in an otherwise lost season.

The game today against Notre Dame was a dagger, because the victory over USC is looking more like luck all the time (though I really don't believe that). The Huskies have the talent at QB and receivers, and a mere few on defense, but it's not enough to play with the big boys. To secure momentum, they almost have to win next week at home against Arizona. The games don't get any easier. I want them to give Arizona a beat down and get some momentum back.

Though my life doesn't hang on the Huskies success, it's fun to follow the UW and gives me a little bit of reflection about from where I come. It represents my Granddad and his GI bill, a dream, and being the first member of his family to graduate from college, my father and him scraping by to build some vocational hope through his education, young men learning about responsibility, work ethic and grit. Husky athletics represents some pride in a region and a particular way of doing things. Husky athletics represents the higher education experience. I know from my own personal experience as a collegiate athlete about the dark side of athletics, but I will always come back. Even if I feel deflated for a few days.

For all you Mariner fans out there...this is fun

I know Dave Niehaus is not at the same level as in earlier days, but this call is a reminder of why Dave is so awesome. I want Kevin Calabro in the booth eventually, but this is vintage Dave, and I don't want him to go. He's a Pacific Northwest classic and a baseball legend.

The Washington Huskies and reality

I still haven't come down from Washington taking down USC last week. Though television technology has taken sports to a new level, a live event still offers a unique shared experience.

The rebuilding project will still take some time for the UDub--and Stanford looked like a pretty good team. I tire of the bromides about being a physical football team, but Stanford brought an extraordinary level of toughness that the Huskies couldn't match last evening. The Pac-10 is going to be a blood bath this season, and 6-6 or 7-5 or 5-7 looks about right for the Dawgs. Maybe they'll do better (still hoping). The play of the Huskies yesterday reminded me of the volatile psyche and performance of my days as a late teen/early adult years. It's even tough to learn as an older adult about preparing for solid, consistent performances in the midst of adrenaline rush. I applied that wisdom last week as I almost stopped cheering in the 3rd quarter so I would have a voice left and be able to do my job with integrity on Sunday morning. Some student athletes are wise beyond their years and can accomplish this--which is why I appreciate my lessons as a student-athlete that much more.

Beck may be "arguing with idiots," but doesn't exactly encourage intelligence

I don't waste a lot of time reading or watching Glenn Beck. I don't understand why a public event protected by free speech needs to be stopped.

Thousands will gather today in Seattle and Mount Vernon to hear and meet a man who is puzzling in his vitriol at best and maniacally foolish at his worst. I don't understand the petition to cancel his appearance in Mount Vernon. People are free to protest his appearance, but seeking cancellation? I suppose Beck is broadly adept at attracting foolishness--which means I should never write about him again.