Category Archives: big stuff

On the last night of the year

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Certainly, all calendars and all counting systems are arbitrary and inevitably meaningless, but today is December 31st and tonight is New Year’s Eve. One might wax nostalgic or maudlin or sad or happy or whatever, but most of that is meaningless as well. In fact, there is almost no meaning whatsoever in the fact that 2013 comes to a close this evening. I used to dread New Year’s Eve because I couldn’t find the merriment and fun that apparently everyone else felt so strongly. The end of the year also felt a little melancholy to me. I mean, looking at a frozen January from the bottom up seemed no treat–short days and cold nights punctuated with a bunch of snow didn’t seem like anything to look forward to. I never understood the reason to party on New Year’s Eve. Was it happy or sad? Or just what was going on. Were people trying to put something behind them? Or was this some irrational hope that the next year would be a sight better? Most years seem eerily similar, with highs and lows to be expected, so why do people expect anything any different. In the end, poetically, tragically, the changing calendar is a symbol of human hope, the ability to forget the past and to hope for a different future. Perhaps this is our greatest quality as a race–to bounce back from adversity and build a new future in spite of everything that we still drag along in our unopened baggage. Maybe the new year is a time when we dump the baggage, once and for all, and move on.

On the last night of the year

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Certainly, all calendars and all counting systems are arbitrary and inevitably meaningless, but today is December 31st and tonight is New Year’s Eve. One might wax nostalgic or maudlin or sad or happy or whatever, but most of that is meaningless as well. In fact, there is almost no meaning whatsoever in the fact that 2013 comes to a close this evening. I used to dread New Year’s Eve because I couldn’t find the merriment and fun that apparently everyone else felt so strongly. The end of the year also felt a little melancholy to me. I mean, looking at a frozen January from the bottom up seemed no treat–short days and cold nights punctuated with a bunch of snow didn’t seem like anything to look forward to. I never understood the reason to party on New Year’s Eve. Was it happy or sad? Or just what was going on. Were people trying to put something behind them? Or was this some irrational hope that the next year would be a sight better? Most years seem eerily similar, with highs and lows to be expected, so why do people expect anything any different. In the end, poetically, tragically, the changing calendar is a symbol of human hope, the ability to forget the past and to hope for a different future. Perhaps this is our greatest quality as a race–to bounce back from adversity and build a new future in spite of everything that we still drag along in our unopened baggage. Maybe the new year is a time when we dump the baggage, once and for all, and move on.

On vacation

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It comes around about twice a year: a moment when I don’t have to get up in the morning and go. That doesn’t sound like much, but after weeks on end of nothing but deadlines, meetings, and the rest, one really appreciates a little down time. For me, vacation is less about going to the beach, or climbing a mountain, or visiting a foreign country than it is having some time to myself when I can do what I want to do. This sounds a lot like complaining, but I’m not complaining. I love my job and when vacation is over, I’ll be right back in the saddle fixing problems, answering emails, and teaching class–happy, in other words. My problem, everyone’s problem probably, is that the day-in, day-out, stress of the routine starts to wear on the nerves after awhile. Breaking free of the office for a few days is, however, great for moral. Sometimes getting away from it all gives you that new perspective that will make everything easier when you return. That is why vacation is such a good thing to do. The daily grind can be a backbreaking routine that just sucks the life out of your spirit. Whenever I get the chance, then, I do something to break up the routine, and believe me, it makes everything a whole lot better. So this is my chance to catch a breath of fresh air, to do some things for myself, be creative, cook a little, take a long winter’s nap. I don’t need excitement or strange places, odd food or dangerous past-times. All I really need is a fresh log to throw on the fire and somewhere to rest my weary feet.

On vacation

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It comes around about twice a year: a moment when I don’t have to get up in the morning and go. That doesn’t sound like much, but after weeks on end of nothing but deadlines, meetings, and the rest, one really appreciates a little down time. For me, vacation is less about going to the beach, or climbing a mountain, or visiting a foreign country than it is having some time to myself when I can do what I want to do. This sounds a lot like complaining, but I’m not complaining. I love my job and when vacation is over, I’ll be right back in the saddle fixing problems, answering emails, and teaching class–happy, in other words. My problem, everyone’s problem probably, is that the day-in, day-out, stress of the routine starts to wear on the nerves after awhile. Breaking free of the office for a few days is, however, great for moral. Sometimes getting away from it all gives you that new perspective that will make everything easier when you return. That is why vacation is such a good thing to do. The daily grind can be a backbreaking routine that just sucks the life out of your spirit. Whenever I get the chance, then, I do something to break up the routine, and believe me, it makes everything a whole lot better. So this is my chance to catch a breath of fresh air, to do some things for myself, be creative, cook a little, take a long winter’s nap. I don’t need excitement or strange places, odd food or dangerous past-times. All I really need is a fresh log to throw on the fire and somewhere to rest my weary feet.

On ice fog and winter football

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The weather in central Texas has been a little bizarre this week. Don’t get me wrong, on Tuesday it was almost eighty, but today, Saturday, the high was twenty-seven, resulting in the rare, if not weird, phenomenon of ice fog–fog that forms when the dew point is below thirty-two. All of this on the day when Baylor football finally won the the Big XII title outright and closed, once and for all, its old football stadium, which is scheduled for demolition sometime during 2014. Has Hell finally frozen over? Everybody is asking. The football game was played under Minnesota rules–temperatures well below freezing, a wicked wind blowing from the northwest, flurries. Is there a colder past-time than watching a football game under winter conditions? The ice fog was testimony to frozen toes, numb fingers, and cold noses. The second game of the season, back in September, was played in the sun and the on-field temperatures had to be above 120F, so today, the last game at Floyd Casey Stadium, Baylor played a game at about a hundred fewer degrees than that. Ice crystals hanging in the air made the night a memorable one, to be sure.

On ice fog and winter football

Posted on by

The weather in central Texas has been a little bizarre this week. Don’t get me wrong, on Tuesday it was almost eighty, but today, Saturday, the high was twenty-seven, resulting in the rare, if not weird, phenomenon of ice fog–fog that forms when the dew point is below thirty-two. All of this on the day when Baylor football finally won the the Big XII title outright and closed, once and for all, its old football stadium, which is scheduled for demolition sometime during 2014. Has Hell finally frozen over? Everybody is asking. The football game was played under Minnesota rules–temperatures well below freezing, a wicked wind blowing from the northwest, flurries. Is there a colder past-time than watching a football game under winter conditions? The ice fog was testimony to frozen toes, numb fingers, and cold noses. The second game of the season, back in September, was played in the sun and the on-field temperatures had to be above 120F, so today, the last game at Floyd Casey Stadium, Baylor played a game at about a hundred fewer degrees than that. Ice crystals hanging in the air made the night a memorable one, to be sure.

On a bonfire

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There is something completely primeval about a fire that speaks to a primitive memory that we all harbor in the deepest, darkest reaches of our DNA. We see fire and we turn toward it. Fire is at once both a saving grace and a sign of destruction, warmth and salvation, smoke and ash. We build fires to celebrate community in a ritual so old we have no memory of its origins, no memory of its meaning, but we cling to the light in the darkness as it protects us from shadows, both known and unknown. The bonfire, whether on a beach or in the woods, wards off the approaching specters, shielding us from our own irrational fears. The fire provides light and warmth against the dark and cold, the difference between making it and perishing. The memories are both collective and ancient, unspoken and unnamed, reaching into the darkness before even words mattered. The bonfire becomes a modern ritual of celebration that we cling to without knowing why. The bonfire commemorates our success, lights our road into the future, chases away the shadows. We are drawn inevitably toward the flame, like moths, yes, but more than moths. The light illuminates our darkest dreams and desires, filling us with logic and reason, and the warmth pushes away, if only for a moment, the cold and cruel reality of everyday life. Perhaps what the bonfire really stands for is hope, hope for the future where a bright, warm light shines, keeping at bay the chaos and lighting the path that we find so dear.

On a bonfire

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There is something completely primeval about a fire that speaks to a primitive memory that we all harbor in the deepest, darkest reaches of our DNA. We see fire and we turn toward it. Fire is at once both a saving grace and a sign of destruction, warmth and salvation, smoke and ash. We build fires to celebrate community in a ritual so old we have no memory of its origins, no memory of its meaning, but we cling to the light in the darkness as it protects us from shadows, both known and unknown. The bonfire, whether on a beach or in the woods, wards off the approaching specters, shielding us from our own irrational fears. The fire provides light and warmth against the dark and cold, the difference between making it and perishing. The memories are both collective and ancient, unspoken and unnamed, reaching into the darkness before even words mattered. The bonfire becomes a modern ritual of celebration that we cling to without knowing why. The bonfire commemorates our success, lights our road into the future, chases away the shadows. We are drawn inevitably toward the flame, like moths, yes, but more than moths. The light illuminates our darkest dreams and desires, filling us with logic and reason, and the warmth pushes away, if only for a moment, the cold and cruel reality of everyday life. Perhaps what the bonfire really stands for is hope, hope for the future where a bright, warm light shines, keeping at bay the chaos and lighting the path that we find so dear.

On homecoming

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Tonight, the St. Peter Saints will play the Luverne Cardinals at 7 p.m. in St. Peter. St. Peter is celebrating its homecoming week and football game tonight, which means parades, homecoming queens and kings, getting out of class early, and an exciting football game to which alumni are invited once a year. Nostalgia is fun, but it doesn’t pay the mortgage. I have always thought that Thomas Wolfe was correct when he said you can’t go back home. Personally, I haven’t really lived in my hometown for over thirty years, so although I recognize the last names, a couple of generations of children have gone through the high school. I have more in common with the football players’ and cheerleaders’ grandparents than I do their parents. As the decades have dropped by, my hometown has changed a bit, but it has also stayed the same. Living in the past is a dead end. Homecoming is more fun for the high school kids than it is for the old alumni, and that is the way it should be. Kick-off is scheduled in about an hour, and the band will play, the cheerleaders will jump and scream, the young men will strap on their gear, and the students will file into the stadium to cheer on their team as they always have. Perhaps homecoming is there to remind us all that we have grown up, Peter Pan. I will not be there, just as I have never been there for the past thirty-six years. It’s always time to move on.

On homecoming

Posted on by

Tonight, the St. Peter Saints will play the Luverne Cardinals at 7 p.m. in St. Peter. St. Peter is celebrating its homecoming week and football game tonight, which means parades, homecoming queens and kings, getting out of class early, and an exciting football game to which alumni are invited once a year. Nostalgia is fun, but it doesn’t pay the mortgage. I have always thought that Thomas Wolfe was correct when he said you can’t go back home. Personally, I haven’t really lived in my hometown for over thirty years, so although I recognize the last names, a couple of generations of children have gone through the high school. I have more in common with the football players’ and cheerleaders’ grandparents than I do their parents. As the decades have dropped by, my hometown has changed a bit, but it has also stayed the same. Living in the past is a dead end. Homecoming is more fun for the high school kids than it is for the old alumni, and that is the way it should be. Kick-off is scheduled in about an hour, and the band will play, the cheerleaders will jump and scream, the young men will strap on their gear, and the students will file into the stadium to cheer on their team as they always have. Perhaps homecoming is there to remind us all that we have grown up, Peter Pan. I will not be there, just as I have never been there for the past thirty-six years. It’s always time to move on.