To Tat or Not to Tat, That is Not the Question

We are having family discussions about tattoos. Some in our tribe want some sort of "artwork" and some are reluctant. The reasons given are different. For some the reasons are to honor someone or something. For some, it is the "art." For some the cool newness of moving the line in the sand may be the reason. What ever the reason, you might imagine the amusing conversations that have taken place between everyone involved. The discussions themselves give a peek into the minds of some smart cookies and that is pleasure for me by itself.

In the middle of these talks and afterwards I have many thoughts somewhat related. Yesterday Maureen and I were talking about another blogger's post about Christian Music. Last night at a baseball game I saw a cross tattoo that gave a new direction in my tattoo thoughts. If a "tramp stamp" is a cross/crucifix, does it negate the trampiness? What if it sprouts out of cleavage? What are these artful expressions really about now? God? Tattoos? Art? Keeping up with Slim Shady?

I have to admit I haven't studied the Bible much for answers regarding tattoos. I know there are some Old Testament admonishments regarding some activities. I know some things were prohibited for various reasons. I also know I will be doing some studying soon about this. But my semi-original questions about "Christian" tattoo art bring me back to the bigger question--Why? Or better, Why should I not? Why should I not have a cross or Tree/Vine of Life or favorite verse permanently marked on my body, even if only a few people see it? Even if I am the only one to see it each morning when I wake up? These thoughts lead me to the core of what a Christian is or should be. Different than the World. At this point, if I can prove that my tattoo doesn't make me like or of the world, then I can't see a reason at this time that should prevent me from getting a tattoo.

But is that the point? And in what other ways am I like the world? What music do I listen to? How do I treat strangers? How do I treat co-workers? How do I treat the members of my own congregation? Have I shown them grace and mercy just as Christ showed me? Or have I acted like the world, and dealt with them as the world deals with me? If I can't answer those correctly, a tattoo seems trivial.

Oh, For the Depths of Lake Tahoe*

Have you ever thought about why you gave something up? Why you stop doing something you used to do. Maybe it's something that you did infrequently, but still enjoyed. During college I ski raced at the club level. Did alright, didn't win, but thoroughly enjoyed the time. And I became a better skier. After marrying and having children and a job and coaching, the skiing stopped. Not a bad thing, just something that happened.

In the time Sam has been away, he has written 20 letters or so. We all have written back and a new dynamic has taken place in our family. All without technology, or better, all because technology has been taken away.

Each day about the middle of the afternoon a tension starts building in the house. It's one of those good tensions that really is an anticipation. Someone asks, then another person asks, then another goes outside to look and finally it happens. The mail arrives.

Is there a letter? No, and disappointment happens. Yes, and a smile. Yes--two letters, and the smile ends with a giggle.

Sam is quiet, but when he talks he is animated and expressive. He's not the type to take over a room with his talk, just the one you should listen to and enjoy. His letters are another expression of this. He tells of events in compact meaningful extensions of himself. It has been a joy to be a part of this.

This anti-tech communication has also forced us to rekindle our lost letterwriting. I've never been one to write many letters, but this has given me the desire. It has given me an insight into another time and other eras. When reading Sam's letters I sometimes imagine the still pictures and hear the voices of a Ken Burn's film. I am connected to my fellow humans. Most of all, as I read, I am reminded that despite me, Sam is a wonderful man and I miss him.

Why? Because we can't use email and cellphones. Maybe we should dropkick them to the bottom of the lake.


*Lake Tahoe is the 2nd deepest lake in the U.S. at 1645 feet. So cold that it is clear for what seems like forever to the bottom. What is the deepest lake in the U.S.?

"Blood, Toil, Tears, and Sweat."

I read a story about Winston Churchill and his thoughts on vacation. He painted on his time off. He said he felt even in the midst of huge difficulties, it was important to take your mind off your work for a bit. It would bring him back refreshed.

I'm taking another route the next two weeks.

Consevationist, Frugal, or Just Plain Cheap?

Cool picture, Maureen. I like the sawdust bits flying in the air.




The pictures involve a repurposing of a friends playhouse into a chicken coop. Wils helped in the latest part of the dismantling.

Also got help from some other friends.

The move from 2 blocks aways is next and that will take more than a few able bodies and weak minds to accomplish.

The next day, yesterday, I spent some time in the side yard cleaning up and preparing for the planting of fruit trees. I moved some old bricks, a clothes drying drum that we used to use as a fire pit/barbecue and other assorted flotsam and jetsam from the past. I realized that the pile of wood and trim and other building materials weren't really going to get used for their original purpose. The cinder blocks and pier blocks and old trellis and bikes and teeter totter and chairs and tree trunks for wood and windows and bed frames and. . . It struck me that my frugal cheapness has become a liability. I grew up going through the scrap pile of building sites, farms and shops for the "fun" stuff. I love to wander down alleys looking for finds. I'm the guy that didn't order food at the restaurant when our children were growing up, knowing that they wouldn't eat all of their meal and I could dine on their leftovers. Still do that occasionally. Can't stand to see things wasted, or just compulsively obsessed?

The side yard I'm cleaning used to be clear of everything except a few shrubs. The neighbor built a fence between the two houses to keep us at bay, and this became a forgotten part of our plot. A great place to hide the assorted detritus of our lives. Except now, there is too much of the stuff and not enough calm.

It would be nice to have a "Free, come and Haul it Away" day, but alas I don't think that will happen. I am looking forward to the ridding of excess and leftover stuff. Now, where do I pile this stuff before it leaves?

Summer's Here, I'm for That

Three songs come to mind when thoughts of school being out come to mind. Alice Cooper , James Taylor's "Summers Here," from Dad Loves His Work and Ry Cooder's version of "School is Out" from the album Showtime. Each has its own place and at different times each has played through my mind.

Today James Taylor is doodling away with his "rubber sandals" and "straw hat" as I think about today being the last day of summer school.

Plants, Color and a Couple of Books

The house above is in Cayucos and is an example of things we do when we travel. We drive around and look at houses and take pictures of unique abodes. This one is very colorful, though this picture doesn't capture all of the color. The house is a butter yellow with purple, blue and Columbia blue trim. The plantings look overgrown, but aren't. At least for us. Many people can't abide with plants growing. They have to trim and shear and control. We like the opposite look in house gardens.

This house also offered a unique chance that we realized too late. We were slowly moving down the road looking and moved around a colorfully dressed woman walking two full-sized standard poodles. We turned around to get a second and third look at the house, when we realized the woman and the house belonged to each other. It would have been nice to talk to her.

Book plug/post: Maureen and I have just started a new book together, Better Off:Flipping the Switch on Technology. I know I'm already a Luddite, but have you ever had the feeling that techology or a tool is using you instead of you using the tool? I've had this feeling often and I suspect my children and students have heard me rant about this too often. We've opted out of the "newer" car game with a wonderful older compact that someday will have windows that actually go up and down. My bikes have been my transport for years, and why not in a small town. We garden for our food and use farmers markets. Even before the No China/New Clothes Challange I didn't buy new clothes much. But what about the other technological toys that society shouts out that we need? I'm looking forward to seeing where this book goes.

The other new book I'm reading is Wendell Berry and the Cultivation of Life. It seems like a doctoral dissertation on Berry that leaves we wanting to read Berry instead of this book. I'll continue though and see where this leads also. There are some good points being raised that go to the heart of community and the idea of wellness-disease.

Thanks on 4 July 2009

On this day that we celebrate the birth of our nation; though the declaration to separate was actually on 2 July, and the actual fighting began in April of 1775; I thought it might be nice to mention a few things for which I am thankful.

I have a wonderful woman in my life that gives so many gifts. Gardening to look at and live in, food that melts in my mouth and of an incredible variety, conversation to exercise my mind and so many other things that slip this addled brain.

Children that despite my foibles still serve others. They may not choose to serve the same method as I, but they do serve others--Brad in coaching, Sam his country, Wilson and Annie are still searching, but helping family and friends is only the beginning.

A God that is patient.

A job, especially one that challenges me daily.

Have I mentioned the garden and house?

Bicycles and the Frenchman that is credited with devising them.

For family.

And to speak for Maggie: Thankful for older cousins to sit on.

Thankful for David L. Zack--RIP. I heard of this man for years from my father. I then worked, or better learned, from him for 2.5 years at Tulare Irrigation District. What my father started, Dave Zack continued. Thank you.