I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight?

Our travels today took us from Red Wing, Minnesota to Scottsdale, Arizona and a very nice room at the St. James Hotel to a palatial villa at the Fairmont Princess. In between I was a somewhat uncomfortable guest of Northwest Airlines, sandwiched into a middle seat (though my original seat reservation was for an aisle) while the guy in front of me reclined into my lap so far that he blocked the light from the reading lamp so that I had to hold my book up over his head in order to read. Which I was happy to do, while also summoning up the juiciest coughs I’ve had in days. He was unmoved.

Meanwhile a mother seated behind me read an endless series of Curious George books to her toddler daughter who showed her delight by happily kicking the back of my seat. I was also four rows from the back of the oversold flight, which meant a long wait to “de-plane”. Once out into the concourse I had to take several deep breaths to re-inflate to my normal body size. Things definitely started to turn for the better when my wife and I got to the rental car counter and found that the full-sized car she reserved had been replaced with a brand new Suzuki SUV (so new it still had a paper license plate in the window). Not only that, it was in my wife’s favorite electric blue color!

Still it was 9 p.m. ‘zona time by the time we got to the hotel, where we found that I had been upgraded to a villa suite by the resort. Apparently my name on the contract for the conference my company is hosting made them feel especially warm and friendly. The accomodations are very nice; the bathroom “suite” alone is nearly the size of the very nice room we had had over the weekend at the St. James. In addition we have a sitting area, two large plasma-screen TVs, a private patio and a king-sized bed ideal for playing Marco Polo with the Reverend Mother.

We had to hustle, though, to get something to eat before the restaurants at the resort closed, and around 9:30 we made it to Bourbon Steak, a very, very nice place where the staff was very, very pleased to see me after tapping my villa number into the computer a the hostess stand. We were seated (in a small booth with real fur pillows!) and then our waitress approached and addressed me by name (“Mr. Night Writer”). It was late and we wanted to eat lightly, but the menu was awesome, though some of the entrees were well north of $45. I finally settled on a Kobe-beef hamburger (only $22) topped with fennel slaw and water cress while the Reverend Mother ordered a salad and crab cakes (you don’t want to know how much, though Accounting might ultimately take an interest). After we ordered our waitress brought us a selection of duck-fat fried french fries (some coated in smoked paprika, another variety in a truffle seasoning, and a third, savory option that I can’t remember), all with different dipping sauces, plus some fresh from the oven buttermilk foccacia bread, all compliments of the chef.

A short time later they brought our food, and it was almost too beautiful to eat. Almost, but we were really hungry (and it was all delicious). We did pause long enough, however, for the Reverend Mother to take pictures of our food and the fur pillows. I told her I thought I could get used to living like this, and she said that no, I’d probably die from a heart attack if we ate like this all the time. I reminded her, though, that if I had a heart attack while on company business my life insurance pays off triple — which would mean that she could then live like this for some time.

“Would you like some crab cake?” she asked.

If wishes were fishes

I wish…that every time I see someone with a Hispanic name in a crime report that I didn’t automatically wonder if they were an illegal alien.

I wish…that every time I see a dominating performance by an athlete that I didn’t wonder if he or she was on steroids.

I wish…that if I have to read a story about an athlete being arrested that it didn’t always mention a strip club.

I wish…that when overpaid athletes complain about their contracts that they didn’t claim they just want what’s fair.

I wish…that every time Bill Clinton wags his finger that it didn’t make me laugh.

I wish…that every time the Minnesota legislature is in session that I didn’t think about moving to South Dakota.

George!

Awesome tribute to George Washington on his birthday from Sheila. She’s excerpted several fine descriptions of Washington as a man and a leader from those close to him, and from his own words, that are both humbling and inspiring.

Could there ever be another like him?

Thomas Jefferson on George Washington:

The moderation and virtue of a single character probably prevented this Revolution from being closed, as most others have been, by a subversion of that liberty it was intended to establish.

Martha Washington wrote a letter to a relative on the eve of her husband’s departure to the Convention in 1774:

I foresee consequences; dark days and darker nights; domestic happiness suspended; social enjoyments abandoned; property of every kind put in jeopardy by war, perhaps; neighbors and friends at variance, and eternal separations on earth possible. But what are all these evils when compared with the fate of which the Port Bill may be only a threat? My mind is made up; my heart is in the cause. George is right; he is always right. God has promised to protect the righteous, and I will trust him.

Does this sound like anyone we know?

Nancy at Fritinancy (formerly Away With Words) touches on the Divine:

But enough about Patty. Let’s talk about the dog. Specifically, the dog’s name. On paper she’s “Shann’s Legally Blonde.” But she picks up her ears and smiles a doggy smile when you call her “Diva.”

Then again, who doesn’t? Once upon a time, the term (which means “goddess” in Italian) was applied highly selectively, and with all due respect, to opera megastars such as Maria Callas. These days, everyone with a pair of X chromosomes is a diva. We’re so democratic! Divacratic, even.

Nancy, who makes a living by naming and helping to brand new products, goes on to list a series of Diva-centric product names (not all that I’d care to reprint here). A sampling:

Zappos, the online shoe store, features four pages of shoes code-named Diva, including the Gel-Dirt Diva 2 running shoe and the Diaper Dude Divas Diaper Bag. (Divas do diapers?)

“The Diva” is Old Navy’s name for its lowest-rise jeans.

Diva Furniture sells furniture in Los Angeles and Seattle.

Viva Diva, a clothing boutique not far from where I live, gets points for rhyming.

Diva Espresso, which has four Seattle locations, gets points for referring to itself as “she” (“Diva paid her growing-pains dues…”).

Surf Diva offers surfing lessons in San Diego.

Then there’s the sisterhood of blogging divas: Cooking Diva, Techie Diva (pink! pink! pink!), Retail Design Diva (which had a nice post a few months ago on why store mannequins no longer smile).

What, no Mall Diva? Perhaps she’s lost her Diva cred? Maybe she needs to take the Are You a Diva? quiz or the What Decade Diva Are You? test.

Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance

This evening was another late getaway away from the office in the dark, this time so late that all my favorite radio programs were already off the air for my “drive-time.” Bummer. Plus it was cold. Damn cold. As I drove along an almost deserted street in the direction of St. Paul, I was surprised to see a train making it’s way in the cold, dark night across the battered concrete bridge over Hennepin at 18th Avenue. Though it was a diesel engine, not steam, the frosty air nevertheless produced white clouds and in that moment I was suddenly transported — or “trains-ported” — into a black and white photo that could have been done by O. Winston Link himself. Not only that, I was transported back to another time in my life, and another time in our country’s history. What I saw tonight looked very nearly like this, minus the swimmers:

My grandfather was kind of a nut about steam locomotives. He even worked for awhile as a fireman on a steam train during World War II, though that challenging experience apparently didn’t sour him on the big engines. Some 25 years ago I happened to read an article about O. Winston Link, a photographer who had set out in the 1950s to capture in the disappearing trains of the Norfolk & Western line, the last steam-powered railroad in the U.S. Photographing trains presented more than a few technical problems, such as lighting. As Link said, “You can’t move the sun, and you can’t move the tracks, so you have to do something else to better light the engines.” As a result he created a sequenced flash lighting system that he would painstakingly set out along the tracks hours in advance to get a shot with his 4 x 5 Graphic camera. Naturally, most of his shots were at night, creating some of the most evocative records of a bygone era. The article I read mentioned that a book of Link’s N&W train photos, entitled “Ghost Trains”, had been produced, and I knew instantly that I had to track down a copy for my grandfather.

This was way-back in the days before Amazon.com, or even much public awareness of the Internet. I followed some clues in the article, made some calls, wired some money and in a couple weeks’ time I owned a handsome, half-tabloid sized paperback of Link’s best photos. Plus — bonus! — a thin recording on vinyl of the sound of two steam trains plying their trade across the valley. Link was a gifted technician who had also been able to make several high-quality sound recordings of the locomotives that fascinated him so. My grandfather would insist on playing the floppy record for me, and I can see him sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, his head slightly cocked with that crooked grin of his as the trains chugged and hooted from his stereo. Something about the sound just suggested a cold, snowy night, and how good it felt to be warm and snug inside while our machines soldiered on.

Trains have always been about getting from one place to another. Sometimes it’s a raw display of intimidating force, and other times a surprisingly delicate balance of momentum, mass and friction. As my grandfather learned over the course of many hard lessons, there was as much art as there was science to getting a steam locomotive to operate at its best and to come to your hand. And like grandfathers, you can easily take them for granted and then one day they’re gone. Yes, trains are about taking you from one place to another, and sometimes you don’t even need to get on board.

When my grandfather died, the only thing I asked for was the book.

Here are a couple of O. Winston Link’s better known photos, but by all means visit the link above to view a slide show from this great American artist, or here to see even more images. Here’s another interesting resource for where you can buy images and recordings.

Punked

I felt better this morning so I went to work. A mistake, I think. I was still getting alternate waves of chills and heat, and back-breaking coughing and sneezing despite my cold drugs. Some things still had to be done, however, so I isolated myself as much as I could from others and cranked on emails and conference calls till I could go home. I may have overdone it, though — I’m very, very tired and feeling kind of punk. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

An off day on my day off

My fingers feel like they’re the size of bananas, my tongue feels like leather, my throat like I’ve been gargling razor blades and I think I’ve separated three of my ribs with my violent coughing. I had some plans for what to do with my President’s Day holiday, but I’ve mostly moved from one couch to another with a blanket and a box of tissues while drifting in and out of some weird dreams.

Yuck.

Oh, before I forget

Last Friday was the third “birthday” of this blog. Wow, talk about time flying by, and in that time there have been 1,028 posts, totaling more than 530,000 words. So, yes, I could easily have written a book during this time, though it should be noted that Tiger Lilly, the Mall Diva and the Reverend Mother have contributed some words as well. There’s also been more than 133,000 visitors according to Site Meter. I have to say I’m surprised by all those numbers, especially since I generally don’t have any idea what I’m going to post about from one day to the next (or even if I’m going to have a chance to post from one day to the next).

The discipline has been good for me, though the main reason I’ve kept it up is that it is so much fun and because of the wonderful people I’ve been able to meet (including a prospective son-in-law). It’s been a great hobby, and one I’m planning on continuing. I’m even thinking about a new look which you may see shortly. I’ve also gained a lot of confidence in my writing over the past three years, to the point where I’m seriously thinking about making some money at this. No, not in terms of blogads, but in using some of the posts here as samples to pitch articles or essays to publications. In preparation for that I’ve been going back through all the posts and categorizing them in greater detail for easier access (you may have noticed a much longer category list on the right side of this page). I’m about a third of the way through this process and then I’ll turn my attention to a new look.

By the way, for the past three months I’ve gotten two or three emails a day from Go Daddy reminding me that my domain was due to be renewed (quite a change from last year’s fiasco with Registerfly). Naturally I was fully aware of this and intended to renew but I deliberately was stringing this out as my own personal protest against Go Daddy’s Super Bowl ads. Then last week I got a call at work from a GD customer service rep wanting to know if it was my intention to let my domain lapse. I wasn’t expecting such diligence, but it was a great opportunity for me to explain why I had been delaying. The rep was a bit taken aback, but apologized and said that he would pass my concerns up the line. So I’ve got that going for me.

Anyway, thanks for stopping by.

Picture this: Yes

Saturday morning we had our Inside Outfitters men’s meeting with men from a couple of other churches and a large contingent from Minnesota Teen Challenge. During the worship part of the meeting we sang with an abridged version of the song “Yes” by Shekinah Glory.

Will your heart and soul say “yes”?
Will your spirit say yes?
If I told you what I really mean,
would your heart and soul say “yes”?

It’s a song that moves slowly and deeply, giving one a chance to either sing along or meditate on the words as they minister.

There is more that I require of of you,
Will your spirit still say, “yes”?

For such a long time in my life my answer was always “No.”

Later I came around to where I said, “I don’t know.”

Eventually, in many areas of my life I said, “Yes” — to great effect.

Why then, in too many other areas, do I say, “Yes……but”?