Category Archives: Night Writer

A Beast in the Night

Posted on by
21

It’s two a.m. and the beast slides in under the bedroom door while I’m sleeping, a darkness deeper than the dark. I feel his weight as he sits on my chest and the tingling sensation of the tips of his talons as he takes my head and turns it slightly to face him. “Let’s talk,” he hisses.

This implies conversation, but it is one-sided. Doom seems to be the theme, oppression the objective, but I’m not paying too much attention to specifics as I sort through and catalog the degrees of my awareness. The house is quiet and still. No strange lights from outside, no smell of smoke through the screened windows. My wife rests peacefully beside me. There is just this…thing, hunkering down, pressing on my thorax. My breathing seems shallow; does it have to be? I fill my lungs several times, deeply. Breathing is good, the weight remains. I experimentally try shifting my position.

“Ah-ah,” says the beast, “does it hurt when I do this?”

Actually, no, nothing hurts. I easily move my arm and place my hand below my collarbone. The river courses deep and wide and steady beneath my fingertips in a familiar rhythm. My skin is cool and dry and yet I know the beast has found something, deep within. A tiny flame of fear, like a pilot light, and now he breathes on it and his very breath is combustible – the flame roars, seeking more fuel, wanting to consume me. In the light of day I hardly notice the steady but small flame; now in the dark every flicker seems to cast an ominous shadow. This is beyond reason, but reason I must: there is money in the bank, we are whole, the jobs are good, the basement will be dry again. I am fine and no weapon formed against us will prosper.

The beast is unimpressed, and answers each thought with a “But…” of his own, his own butt and haunches squeezing against my ribs. The debate goes on quietly for an hour. I should get up. I should get some water. I should change the scenery, but I feel trapped. “Yes…trapped,” the beast says, “trapped, trapped, trapped.” This is going nowhere. Reason is not sufficient, and argument is ineffective. If he won’t listen to me, then I won’t listen to him. I deliberately turn my mind to the old songs, the songs of deliverance and praise, I repeat them to myself, sometimes running verses together or in different order, simply using what comes to mind, from another pilot light, a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, replacing fear with power, strength and a sound mind.

The darkness in the room changes perceptibly. It’s nowhere near dawn, but it seems lighter somehow. Peace returns, if sleep does not. At 4:00 a.m. I’m aware that my wife is awake, lying quietly in the dark. I speak softly, “Are you awake?”

“Yes. Why are you?”

I tell her what happened. She draws closer, hooks one of her legs over one of mine, her arm brushes the last traces of the beast from my chest.

“I’m feeling better,” I say.

A thought, embedded in a dream, wrapped in a fantasy

Posted on by
12

One of the most interesting parts of home educating my oldest daughter was when we worked on creative writing and composition. The textbook I used was Alan Lightman’s Einstein’s Dreams. It’s a mind-bending book that imagines that Albert Einstein had a series of dreams leading up to the publishing of his theory of relativity, with each dream a view of a world where time operated in a different way, such as a world where the higher above sea level you went, the slower time moved; or a world where time moved like currents of water and where a person could be accidentally caught up and deposited in his or her past.



The way we approached it was for her to read a dream (they were generally only a few hundred words each) and then answer three or four essay questions I’d ask based on that dream, usually along the lines of how she’d cope with certain situations in that kind of a world. One of our favorites was the dream dated April 19 where a man tries to decide what he should do about pursuing a woman he has just met. Three possible futures are described, and the kicker is:



These three chains of events all indeed happen, simultaneously. For in this world, time has three dimensions, like space. Just as an object may move in three perpendicular directions, corresponding to horizontal, vertical and longitudinal, so an object may participate in three perpendicular futures. Each future moves in a different direction of time. Each future is real. At every point of decision, whether to visit a woman in Fribourg or to buy a new coat, the world splits into three worlds, each with the same people but with different fates for those people. In time, there is an infinity of worlds.



Some make light of decisions, arguing that all possible decisions will occur. In such a world, how could one be responsible for his actions? Others hold that each decision must be considered and committed to, that without commitment there is chaos. Such people are content to live in contradictory worlds, so long as they know the reason for each.



Inspired by Lightman’s imagination and my daughter’s answers, I offered a composition of my own in the same style as the original essay. I reproduce it here as an example of the objectives and pay-offs of home educating. And because it was fun to let the horses run.




It is a cold morning in a Minnesota winter, and a man sits in his basement wearing a loud rugby shirt colored as if attitude alone can defy the chill. He is staring at the white eye of a computer monitor, at the blank page in the screen that is ready to receive his typing. He knows that the blankness is an illusion, that what he sees is only the smooth representation of a myriad series of complex miracles that harness electricity, electrons, protons and light waves and leave them ready to be directed by his fingertips. He is not sure exactly how it all works, he only knows that with the knowledge he has he can put words and thoughts on the page and generally make them do what he wants.



In a way, the whole thing reminds him of his daughter. Fresh and unlined on the surface while beneath miracles even more complex and astounding than those that went into the creation of the machine course through her; here combining, there splitting, following a program he barely has wit enough to understand, let alone predict. He is pondering a series of assignments for her in the hopes of adding a catalyst to the program that may somehow improve or tune the instrument she is becoming. Should he do it? Should he do it?




21st century British healthcare

Posted on by
23

(Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 2)
CART MASTER: Bring out your dead!
CUSTOMER: Here’s one.
CART MASTER: Ninepence.
DEAD PERSON: I’m not dead!
CART MASTER: What?
CUSTOMER: Nothing. Here’s your ninepence.
DEAD PERSON: I’m not dead!

Terminally Ill Can Be Starved to Death, UK Court Rules
By Nicola Brent, CNSNews.com Correspondent, August 02, 2005(CNSNews.com) – An appeal court has denied a terminally ill British man the assurance that his wish not to be starved to death once he becomes incapacitated will be respected to the end.

Former mailman Leslie Burke, 45, has a progressively degenerative disease that although leaving him fully conscious, will eventually rob him of the ability to swallow and communicate.

He petitioned the High Court last year to ensure that he would not be denied food and water once he was no longer able to articulate his wishes.

CART MASTER: ‘Ere. He says he’s not dead!
CUSTOMER: Yes, he is.
DEAD PERSON: I’m not!
CART MASTER: He isn’t?
CUSTOMER: Well, he will be soon. He’s very ill.
DEAD PERSON: I’m getting better!
CUSTOMER: No, you’re not. You’ll be stone dead in a moment.

Burke won that right when judge James Munby ruled that if a patient was mentally competent — or if incapacitated, had made an advance request for treatment — then doctors were bound to provide artificial nutrition or hydration (ANH).

But last May, the General Medical Council (GMC) — the medical licensing authority — took the case to the Appeal Court, arguing that doctors had been placed “in an impossibly difficult position.”

The appeal judges have now agreed, overturning the High Court judgment and upholding GMC guidelines on how to treat incapacitated patients.

CART MASTER: Oh, I can’t take him like that. It’s against regulations.
DEAD PERSON: I don’t want to go on the cart!
CUSTOMER: Oh, don’t be such a baby.
CART MASTER: I can’t take him.
DEAD PERSON: I feel fine!

Those guidelines give doctors the final say in whether a patient should be given life-sustaining “treatment,” a term legally defined to include artificial feeding or hydration.

The latest ruling obliges doctors to provide life-prolonging treatment if a terminally ill and mentally competent patient asks for it.

However, once a patient is no longer able to express his or her wishes or is mentally incapacitated, doctors can withdraw treatment, including ANH, if they consider it to be causing suffering or “overly burdensome.”

Ultimately, the court said, a patient cannot demand treatment the doctor considers to be “adverse to the patient’s clinical needs.”

CUSTOMER: Well, do us a favour.
CART MASTER: I can’t.
CUSTOMER: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won’t be long.
CART MASTER: No, I’ve got to go to the Robinsons’. They’ve lost nine today.
CUSTOMER: Well, when’s your next round?
CART MASTER: Thursday.
DEAD PERSON: I think I’ll go for a walk.

Anti-euthanasia campaigner and author Wesley Smith told Cybercast News Service it was important Burke had taken the case to court because “it is now clear that a patient who can communicate desires cannot have food and water withdrawn.

“That is a line in the sand that is helpful.”

However, he added, the judgment had “cast aside” those who were mentally incompetent or unable to communicate their wishes — “those who bioethicists call non-persons because of incompetence or incommunicability.

“I believe that the judgment clearly implies that the lives of the competent are worth more than the lives of the incompetent since doctors can decide to end life-sustaining medical care, including ANH,” said Smith, a senior fellow at the Discovery Institute and author of Culture of Death: The Assault on Medical Ethics in America.

Burke was quoted as saying in reaction to the ruling that it held “no good news at all” for people who shared his concerns.

In the light of public health service cuts and underfunding, Burke said he was worried about “the decisions that will have to be made” by doctors in the future.

“I have come to realize that there are quite a few people who feel the same way I do,” the Yorkshire Post quoted him as saying. “Not everyone wants to be put down. Not everyone wants their life to be ended prematurely.”

CUSTOMER: You’re not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn’t there something you can do?
DEAD PERSON: [singing] I feel happy. I feel happy.
[Cart Master hits him in the head.]

Responding to the court’s ruling, the GMC said it should reassure patients.

The council’s guidelines made it clear “that patients should never be discriminated against on the grounds of disability,” said GMC President Prof. Graeme Catto in a statement.

“We have always said that causing patients to die from starvation and dehydration is absolutely unacceptable practice and unlawful.”

A professor of palliative medicine at Cardiff University, Baroness Ilora Finlay, supported the court ruling. “Stopping futile interventions allows natural death to occur peacefully,” she argued in a British daily newspaper. “This is not euthanasia by the back door.”

But the Disability Rights Commission (DRC) took a different view.

The commission was one of several campaigners, including right-to-life activists and patients’ groups, which had strongly supported Munby’s earlier ruling.

DRC Chairman Bert Massie expressed the group’s dismay at the Appeal Court decision, saying it did nothing to dispel the fears of many disabled people that “some doctors make negative, stereotypical assumptions about their quality of life.”

It had also “totally ignored” the rights of those who were unable to express their wishes, he added.

CUSTOMER: Ah, thanks very much.
CART MASTER: Not at all. See you on Thursday.

The Night Writer’s vote for the funniest line: “Ultimately, the court said, a patient cannot demand treatment the doctor considers to be ‘adverse to the patient’s clinical needs.'” You mean, such as, “Please don’t starve me to death?”

See also Suing to Stay on Life Support.

(Monty Python and the Holy Grail excerpt available here.)

Night in the Emergency Room

Posted on by
25

Walking out to lunch yesterday in the 99% humidity I started to feel an odd heaviness and pressure on the left side of my chest. No pain, no shortness of breath or anything else out of the ordinary, so I thought, “Ehh..it’ll go away.”

A long, strange trip it’s been

Posted on by
1

My wife and daughter are safely back home and still decompressing from their 17 day trip to the “distant and mysterious land” (DML). I apologize for appearing coy, but it’s not out of the mistaken impression that this blog is widely read. It is because I know there are software and web tools that collect and report the usage of certain words and phrases, especially when used together (I use these tools myself in my day job to monitor information that may impact my company). Because of people still in the DML, it really doesn’t pay to come to the attention of a particular government. I think alert readers should be able to piece things together themselves, but there’s no point in waving any red flags electronically.

It sounds like a cliche to say it, but the DML is a land of many contrasts. For example, by government it is officially a collectivist state, yet the daily lives of its people openly revolve around buying and selling and collecting wealth. In fact, the “free” healthcare for some 1.3 billion people isn’t very free: we have heard first-hand accounts of seriously ill (but not contagious) children being refused admission to a hospital unless cash is provided upfront. It is a land of modern skyscrapers and streets – that uses these same streets as public urinals. It is a land with an ancient and intricate culture – where the sound of hocking and spitting is constant as you move around (even while on airplanes). It is a land where the women dress exquisitely – while their husbands and brothers accompany them on the streets wearing dirty shorts and tee-shirts, often with the shirts pulled up to cool their bellies in the stifling heat. It is a land where cellphones are everywhere – even among people living in homes and environments that would have been considered squalid 2000 years ago.

Another contrast is in the area of religious faith. Offically the DML worships nothing – and everything. There are countless shrines and temples for an ancient religion – and many who worship their former 20th century leader as a god. Even the Christian faith is “accepted”; that is, as long as it is practiced in the “government church” designated for it. My wife and daughter went to a Sunday service at the government church with the rest of their group. Even though they arrived late, they were ushered into the front rows – the better, it was pointed out, to be seen by the cameras. The cameras were not, however, for the church’s benefit.

The bulk of the effective Christian teaching, evangelizing and discipling inside the DML is done in underground house churches, many of them no doubt similar to the home church my wife and I conduct. The crucial difference is in our version we are open to visitors and welcome new faces. In the DML the prevalence of government spies makes the small groups wary of newcomers; a justifiable precaution because friends of ours there know of midnight raids and home church leaders that have been beaten, deported or “disappeared.” Yet the body of Christ thrives. While there was never going to be a chance for my wife and daughter to be taken into a house church, they met many Christians throughout their travels who were excited in their faith and hungry for news and teaching and they were deeply touched by the strength and hope of these believers.

These are, of course, simple observations. Any stranger visiting a new land is sure to find many things that don’t appear to make sense, whether they are in Chicago or Cairo, or even between Minneapolis and St. Paul. We carry our filters and expectations with us wherever we go, and part of seeing a new place is having these preconceptions shaken up (let’s hope in a positive way). In my wife’s case, for example, she imagined that people living under this form of government would be chafing at their oppression in the same way that people from our culture would under similar circumstances. Instead, most appeared fairly stoic and comfortable (though there is a history of the more discontented being dealt with harshly).

This was the first time my wife had been on an overseas mission where she and her group could not go openly about her business. In other trips national governments were at the worst indifferent to their cause and the local governments even embraced and celebrated their activities whether it was for a large open-air crusade, or the quieter and vitally important pastors conferences and training. As I noted the difference between the DML and, say, the Philippines, it made me appreciate what an 800 pound gorilla the government can be in evangelical work…and then I realized that the same is true in America, with all the permits, regulations, licenses and 501(c)(3) hoops that encumber our “freedom” of religion.

And I wondered if someone visiting from another land would look at us and marvel at how stoic and comfortable we appeared to be.

Moonbats on the hoof

Posted on by
1

I was out in my front yard last night, bringing in another bumper crop of dandelion greens for the guinea pig when two young ladies walked up my driveway. The one in front had unnaturally black hair and a demure ring in her right nostril. Her companion was wearing a St. Benedict’s sweatshirt. Overall their attire suggested they might be homeless, or perhaps trying to raise money for a latte. Then I noticed the clipboard. Ah, a petition!

I had a hunch I probably wouldn’t go along with whatever they were supporting, but I smiled pleasantly because that’s what I do. They were also very sweet in demeanor. The first young lady informed me that they were in my neighborhood on behalf of NARAL to show support for protecting women’s rights. “Do you support women’s rights?” she asked me.

“Indeed I do,” I said. “Just not in the way that your group goes about it.”

“Do you mean you don’t think asking people to sign petitions is a good idea?”

“No,” I said, still smiling pleasantly. “I mean I support the rights of all women, including the unborn ones.”

There was a bit of a pause as she cogitated my statement. Ding! “Oh, you’re not pro-choice then,” she said.

“Choose life,” I said, still smiling. They thanked me and went off. I went in the house where Faith was waiting.

“What did they want?” she asked. I told her.

“Did you play with her mind like it was a drunk kitten?” she asked.

Sigh. “You know me so well.”

No news from the dark side of the moon

Posted on by
1

We’re in the countdown of the final days before my wife and youngest daughter return from their mission to a distant and mysterious land. Email communications had been regular since they arrived until this past weekend when they moved to a new place where we thought the connection might not be so readily available. By Tuesday evening they should be back in “range” and I eagerly await word of what has gone on since the last cliff-hanger message.

It’s kind of like the days of the Apollo missions when Houston would lose contact with the spacecraft while it orbited the dark side of the moon, leaving the guys in Mission Control to stand vigil, watching the clock tick down until the ship came back into radio contact.

I calculate 12 hours, 15 minutes from now before I can first expect word.

Of course those crew-cut guys in their white shirts and dark ties in Mission Control were cool, calm veterans, relying on their technology and their elaborate testing, knowing the communications blackout was a natural, expected part of the plan, nothing to worry about and thank god they can smoke on the job and watching the clock gave them something to do to relieve the boredom. Really, what could go wrong?

T-minus 12 hours, 11 minutes.

We are operating under the assumption that emails in and out of the country where they are staying are being monitored, and we know certain words can lead to problems. Therefore, for example, we refer to prayer as “thinking.” This part of their trip was scheduled to include a sight-seeing boat ride that would take them within view of the land of an elevator-shoe-wearing tyrant with bad hair and an even worse temper. My wife said they were planning to think deeply about this man and this country while they were that close.

Six years ago my wife went to the Philippines with a group to help train pastors and leaders of several churches that we are connected with over there. They were also going to conduct a three-night long children’s crusade and my oldest daughter, then 10 or 11, was part of the team. That time I was left behind with our youngest, who was about five. In those days you could go right to the departure gate at the airport to see people off and everyone was holding up well until my wife disappeared down the jetway – where she fortunately couldn’t hear our youngest begin to wail, “I want my mommy! I want my mommy!” This continued without let-up all the way back through the concourse as I carried her in my arms and waited for airport security to tackle me for attempted child abduction.

This time it’s the little one who got to go, and the oldest daughter doesn’t seem to be on the brink of a meltdown. We’ve hung out, sipped lattes, made a quick trip up to Duluth, and had some good talks. She’s also found things to do to keep busy. I’m just not nearly as cuddly as her mom, however, and I know she misses curling up next to her to ask for help in figuring me out – at least that’s what I figure they’re giggling about since they get quiet and just grin at me if I walk into the room.

Just four more days and we’ll all be back together to hear in detail about their adventures, the food, the people, the markets, the dead body that was left all day behind the place where they’ve been working…

T-minus 11 hours, 43 minutes.

Update:

Contact! Sounds as if it was a bit of a trip through the dark side, but what’s a mission trip without some good stories about the conditions?

“…so glad to be back in this hotel. It’s a palace compared to what we had to endure in xxx. Moldy ceilings, dried feces on the toilet, a floor that is never vacuumed, overflowing toilets, rock hard beds, not enough light and on and on….”

Hmmm. Sounds like my bachelor days. Mental note: clean bathroom before they get back.

Filings: What’s “good” for you?

Posted on by
Reply

A friend of mine e-mailed to gently chide me about a recent post I wrote drawing parallels between the Supreme Court decisions on Kelo and the Ten Commandments and how the Constitution and the Ten Commandments concern themselves with standards of behavior. In that post I had a toss-off line (I buy them three for a dollar) that “in my opinion, those who find the Commandments offensive are offended more by the suggestion that there should be such a standard of behavior (other than their own) than by the mention of God.” I’ll include his entire comment later in this post, but the part of it that was most related to my original essay and the struggle I see is as follows:

We believe that standards of behavior as established by the state should not pander to any one religious order but rather to the collective will of the moralities of all the American religions, which includes no religion. Contrary to fundamentalist belief, even humanists have morality.
: )

Oh my goodness.

Or is it, “Oh, my goodness”?

Yes, everyone has a level of morality, whether it is self-formulated or externally applied: “I won’t do this, even though I might want to, because I think it is wrong,” vs. “I won’t do that, even though I might want to, because I don’t want to get arrested.” And if you’re grading on the curve, there are “good” people everywhere inside and outside of religion. I’m reminded, however, of the account of the rich, young ruler in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke who came to Jesus and asked:

“Good Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus responded to him by saying, “Why do you call me good? There is none good but God. But if you will enter into life, keep the commandments.” (Matthew 19:17, Mark 10:18, Luke 18:19).

This essentially becomes a worldview issue. To use my friend’s terms (though perhaps not his definitions), a “humanist” sees people as essentially good, a “fundamentalist” sees people as essentially bad, or sinful (there are obviously a lot of shadings within the groups, including those in either camp who wouldn’t necessarily include themselves in their respective groups, but let’s go with these terms for now). You can argue over which side can bring the most compelling evidence in support of its case.

People generally accept there should be a standard of goodness; it comes down to whether this should be a fundamental and timeless standard, or an evolving one complete with exceptions and penumbras. Roping myself to the fundamentalist side, I’d go for the eternal, if unattainable, standard over the one that relies on the shifting currents of human wisdom and fashion. I do so even though I believe that all of us, regardless of philosophy, have what Bonhoeffer calls “the vigilant religious instinct of man for the place where grace is to be obtained at the cheapest price.” It’s my belief that society is better served by acknowledging these “stretch goals,” even if large numbers ignore them, and even if there is a wide gap between what the culture deems “desirable” and what it sees as “acceptable”.

What struck me about the SCOTUS rulings on the Commandments and the Constitution is that both are important documents and were written down so that we could remember them and consult them authoritatively. If the people don’t know what they say then you can make them – commandment or the Constitution – say whatever you want, especially if you are a Supreme Court justice.

Now some will question the reasonableness of believing there is a divine standard in the first place, and the constitutionality of displaying it even if there is. It certainly makes for robust and, sometimes, even civil debate. For me, however, God is not a concept or an ideal. I have felt His tangible presence, seen His miraculous intervention in my life, even heard His voice. (So has Sandy, and you can read her recent account here.) And yet I still have better than an even chance of breaking many of the commandments every day. That, however, will have to wait for another post, as will my thoughts on the rest of what my friend e-mailed to me:

It’s not a matter of whether what’s on the Commandments is a standard or not, it’s rather that they talk specifically to a standard established by a religion–they are, after all, supposedly the word of God, but that’s a very specific, Judeo-Christian God. The laws of the country are established by consensus of the individuals herein (in theory, of course, being representational government and all) and one of the key parts is that said government “shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion”. Accepting the commandments de facto does just that. Establishing murder as illegal establishes that the society has deemed this behavior immoral, regardless of our varied religions. Laws can and do incorporate the ten commandments, but the 10, as a group, in the wording of the Bible, represent a specific religious segment. That’s why we find it offensive. We believe that standards of behavior as established by the state should not pander to any one religious order but rather to the collective will of the moralities of all the American religions, which includes no religion. Contrary to fundamentalist belief, even humanists have morality. 🙂

There are some good points in there and some things I want to respond to, especially regarding what “establishment” means and how the “collective will of the moralities of all American religions” are expressed, but this post is already long even though I’ve avoided any number of tangents that occurred to me while I was writing this. I hope to return to this topic soon, and I invite your comments as well.

You’re a great audience, and don’t forget to tip your waitresses!

Posted on by
7

I’ve always wanted to say that! Here’s why:

Today I’m up to the fifth month of the six-month trial blogging period I set for myself when I started this blog. During this time I’ve had people ask me why I blog and I think this is a great question – a question I was asking myself before I even started and for which I still don’t have a firm answer.

There is one analogy, however, that I think fits: this blog is my garage band. You see, ever since I was a kid I’ve wanted to be a singer in a hot band. The problem is, I can’t sing a lick (or play one for that matter) and my sense of rhythm is such that no band would ever let me shake a tambourine (more cowbell!). For that matter, my dancing is even worse than my singing, and I have little artistic ability. But, oh, to be in a band! It wouldn’t even have to be a great band, or even a band with a recording contract. Just to be good enough to be in a garage band would be so cool.

Why do people play in garage bands? Obviously, I can’t say. Some perhaps hope to be “discovered” but I’d hazard to say that few see it as a way to fame and fortune. Some musicians may just like collaborating with others to create something. Others see it as a fun way to make some money doing something they enjoy, and perhaps for others it is just because they love to make music – whether anyone else likes it or not. Perhaps if you asked them, they’d have as hard a time finding a single answer as I have in answering people who ask me why I blog.

The only skill I have is in observation and stringing words together. I don’t think I’m a bad public speaker when the opportunity arises, but my “stage” is likely to always be obscure. Blogging gives me the opportunity to use the gift, such as it is, that has been given to me, to stretch out the boundaries of my comfort zone and appreciate whatever satisfaction I get from doing so.

Perhaps musicians of every ability also yearn for those moments when they get that perfect mix of time and place where the music transcends the mere notes themselves and touch a soul. Me too! Somewhere out there is the perfect line waiting to be written; the perfect note of irony in response to the day’s events; the sparest description that illuminates completely; the spark of inspiration that starts a brushfire in someone’s mind – the shock of recognition that causes someone to say, “Yes, yes! That is exactly what it is like to be me, and now I see myself in a slightly different light!”

Umm..okay, getting a little carried away there. I think, however, that this is at the heart of why I blog. I don’t do it to become rich and famous (though that would be nice). I don’t do it to change the world (though that would be nice, too). I certainly hope people enjoy the experience, but, essentially, it’s about my enjoyment first.

Earlier this week Joe Carter at the Evangelical Outpost wrote about the addiction he sometimes feels toward his Site Meter count and Technorati and TTLB rankings. To which I have to say, “Preach it, brother.” I check my own counts at least a couple of times a day, and I’m fascinated by the “referrals” page that shows from where people are coming to my blog. Some of the Google references have been very interesting. I suppose this is displays a weakness of character on my part, but as Joe himself has said, “If you don’t care if anyone reads you then you don’t have a blog, you have a diary.”

Like others who have gazed at their own blogging navel recently, the things I appreciate about the last few months are the many new friends I’ve met (some in person, some only electronically), the comments and trackbacks I get that show I’ve made at least a small ripple somewhere. Here’s to you, Leo, Kelley G, Emily, Muzzy, Sandy and the rest of the Squad, Bruce, Derek, the NARN, Kevin, the Saint and Roller Pauls, Doug and all the other MOBsters. Without this contact this blog wouldn’t have lasted a month.

One month – or six months – from now, who knows? I still haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer to the first question I posed to myself when I considered starting this blog: How will I tell if this is successful or not? One thing I am learning – and that I wouldn’t have expected when I started – is that success may be measured, but not defined, by Site Meter or NZ Bear. I think a large part of it has to do with the people I mentioned above, and the ones I’ve yet to “meet.”

Thank you, and good night! Rock on!

One down, 16 to go

Posted on by
Reply

I had 10 years of single life back in the day, in which time I managed to cook (not just heat), shop for groceries, do my laundry and ironing, not be startled by the sound of the vacuum and even clean the bathroom (admittedly usually only when it was time to move). I even weaned a couple of housemates off of SpaghettiOs, showing them it was scarcely any more work to make real spaghetti than to heat that glop. Therefore life on my own (or life on my own with an almost 17-year-old) shouldn’t be too tough (see yesterday’s post “And They’re Off”), especially since I still do the laundry and I’m responsible for my own ironing.

Day one of my single-life interlude and I come downstairs thinking about being able to brush my teeth without having to bob in and out of the bathroom between my wife’s ministrations of makeup and hairspray. Great – just eat, brush and go. But then the guinea pig starts squealing; he’s used to being fed at least an hour earlier than when I made my appearance. Out to the yard for dandelions to mix in with Timothy hay and some green beans. When I come back in the bird is cursing again and the cat keeps trying to lie down in front of my feet. My daughter’s voice comes down the stairs, “Daddykins – I’m running late. Can you make me one of your egg sandwiches?” Why sure, missy. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan … I’ve got this under control.

Oh wait, food. That reminds me…dinner! You see, the secret is you’ve got to have a plan. If I don’t figure out now what we’re doing for dinner tonight then it’s likely to be dandelion greens for the pig and us. I look in the freezer where we’ve been squirelling away extra portions from our dinners the last few weeks. I pull out a couple of foil-wrapped bricks, cryptically labelled “Italian baked dish.” I figure we must have liked it or it wouldn’t have gone into the freezer, so I move the bricks to the refrigerator and efficiently take out the eggs and cheese for the breakfast sandwich, nearly tripping over the cat again when I turn around. When it is all said and done, somehow or another I end up leaving the house 15 minutes later than usual.

This evening I came home earlier than normal and lovingly tossed the Italian baked dish bricks into the oven. My daughter arrived, claiming to be so famished that she is about to pass out. Mr. Henri is once again there in a pinch. “Hauh, hauh, zit down, din-nehr iz about to be served.” I pull the bricks out of the oven and unwrap them. Oh, I remember this stuff; it is good. Not quite warmed through yet, but that’s why God gave us microwaves. But when I set the now-steaming portions down on the island I realize that I have not provided a vegetable. Oh well. “Take your vitamins,” I say, pointing to her pills. I reach into the refrigerator for a couple of bottles of water and twist off the tops. “Here is a refreshing beverage. You might want to let that breathe a little before you drink it.”

Later, as we’re finishing up, I ask her what she’d like to have for dinner tomorrow night. “Dad,” she says, “tomorrow night is my open house, remember?” Oh, the open house for the new building her school has just moved into. Right. “Um,” I say, “is there going to be food?”

“Uh-huh.”

Yessss! I can do this. Just 16 more days to go.