Clouds v Sunshine

Thursday 22
Kings and kingdoms will all pass away
But there's something about that Name.

Friday 23
I had another physical therapy appointment in the morning. My back and neck have improved greatly and I am so thankful for the care of Dr. Choi and co. The healing process after a car accident is such an important thing, and they've really put me back on my feet.

I also had the opportunity to do some freelance work for a potential contract employer; the meeting took place in the afternoon. The meeting was a chess game, two people each sizing up the other, each assessing how the other might make their business more profitable. Unfortunately, some questions of ethics were raised in my mind. We'll see what happens, but I won't compromise my professional integrity for any reason.

Study in the evening was good again, back in 1 Timothy 4, and Hebrews 12 by way of conversational rabbit trails. The ever-genuine Rick DeVaul leading discussion. It's always a wonder to me how meek and strong he can be at the same time, complete with his twinkling eyes and salt & pepper beard. He reminds me of Laura Ingalls Wilder's childhood memoirs concerning her father. God wants this to be my credo and modus operandi for the time being. (Well, actually Christ is technically the credo. Anyway.)

Saturday 24
Got up a little earlier than I wanted, and put on my grey suit and that purple J.Crew tie I've been meaning to wear someday. I like to look sharp at a wedding; in retrospect I should have just chopped my beard off and gotten a haircut. But none of that is important. The wedding was important. For those of you who don't know my best-female-friend Christina (formerly) Yakel and my Bible-study buddy Jeremy Walker, this was the equivalent of Jim and Pam finally getting married. Since Jer is from FBC and Christina is from HBC, of course all the Fairhaven guys were there, and most of the Hillview friends and most of Martha and the Chores, so we were critiquing the wedding band the whole time, taking notes for our own debut at the DeVaul wedding in June. We are all anxious not to biff our first wedding. It goes without saying that Christina was beautiful in her golden tresses and pure-white gown, Jer more fun than ever stalking his long, tall tuxedo around the reception, and both of them full of charisma and sparkle. The succinct service and bubbly reception were truly celebratory, and all of us worked up a healthy glow, dancing and singing our exultation.

Sunday 25
Hillview's German intern Tobi preached at Grace on Sunday, and his natural earnestness complemented well the slim boyish carriage and warm coloration so common in young German scholarly types. He is truly a sincere seeker of Christ and I am grateful to have gained a friend in him, as I think he is exactly what he appears to be, and will continue to be of humble and solid repute, a man worth knowing and by whom to be sharpened. He preached on the importance of sharing Christ with people who need him, an echo of Friday night's study taught by Rick, and the tears in D.L. Moody's view of the world.

Martha and the Chores practice was a little lame-o in some respects, but it was refreshing to have Peter shoulder some of the responsibility for the practice. Still everyone kept coming to me instead of him with questions, though. All things considered, we have a way to go before we're kings and queens of R&B, so I anticipate a few more weeks of rough going. I do wish the bride had requested a little more Nat King Cole and a bit less Bebe & Cece Winans. :P

Monday 26
Since I don't think stealing Zooey Deschanel's heart is a realistic plan, I'm keepin' my eye out for someone who could sing me this song. It's been stuck in my head for weeks.

It doesn't get better than home,
now, does it?

She would never have to sing me this song, even though it's cute as anything:

Stopped by my parents' house after work for a bite, a chat, and some family prayer time. It was pleasant. Lately prayer has been a necessary release valve more than any kind of discipline for which I might take credit.

States' Line-Drive, and a Grove Goes Holm, Pt.2

Saturday, March 6, continued...

All the photos had been taken, and all the preparations made, including the mischievous ones, which we'd practiced over, to make sure we were ready. "Best Man" John, "No.2 Groomsman" Bryan, and I were dapper as rental money could afford, as was our charge, with his added "pocket square" which is what they call the silk kerchief you wear with a rental tux. I helped him make the square look right, though we were woefully without an iron. The result was still pleasing. Now, all weekend I had been seeing a side of Andrew I had not often seen before, and I wondered at it.

Andrew Holmquist

Andrew has always been as stubborn as a mule, though calm, and occasionally, explosively exuberant. His blond curly head has always been as hard as it was screwed on straight. And while he had the optimism and energy of a one-man industrial revolution, when appropriate he could also be as damp as a blanket in the rain. He wasn't the sort of fellow you'd consider remarkable or exceptionally good looking, but maybe that was due to the low profile he kept, the fact that he dressed like a man in his forties when he was in high school, and the acne he fought for years. Still he grew tall, was always fit and ruddy, and had a knack for craftsmanship of all kinds, from woodworking and metalshop to making jewelry. And he had quirks; for instance, he refused to wear shorts or sandals, and didn't like to ever go in the water, whether at the pool or in the ocean.

We grew up together. As children, no matter what I wanted to play at - the themes changed with regularity - he wanted to play railroad engineer. I mean he literally always wanted to play with his toy train set. That's an important point in understanding Andrew.

Flipways, I did not care about trains. There was something about them that caught my imagination, but not like Andrew. Andrew was dead-set on them. There was no other theme for play time. This of course made us a bit distant in our preferences if close in proximity and friendship. As we grew up, we had at times grown apart and back together again, my being a home-schooled boy who had something to prove to the world, his being perhaps the only kid to ever survive the public school culture completely untainted by the world. We became friends again in high school when I was the leader of our Boy Scout troop and he joined up. Those years were wonderful for all our friendships, Andrew's and mine being no exception. From constructive projects to combat with sticks and acorns, we were all a part of a team. We each took high school classes through the local community college, so we had some classes together, too.

In the summer of 2000, before I went away to college, I was convinced that every person needed to finish a BA or BS degree. Andrew and I had a job that summer painting a huge block of storage units, and I spent the whole time dogging him about finishing his education. Both our families were poor, his more than mine, and I was convinced his fixation on railroading had gone far enough, and would land him on welfare. In the end I am an office worker with a two-year degree and a four-year degree, a mixed skill-set, a jumbled résumé, and seeking direction. Andrew has now been settled as a railroad man in Oregon for five or six years, pays a mortgage, builds his own canoes, ukeleles, cabinetry, kitchen utensils, and anything else you can imagine, and is far and away more prepared to support himself than I am. He just always knew what he wanted, and while I was distracted by shiny worldly ambitions, he quietly grew into an impressive man. It still boggles my mind that anyone could know what they want to do with their life already at age three.

Of Husbandry and Lip Balm

But I had rarely seen him on-edge like this. The previous night I'd seen him vocalize some small disrespect to his weather-worn, soft-spoken patriarch. Mr. Holmquist has always been incorrigible with the puns, and I always thought Andrew had liked punny humor, but now his father's nervous punning was driving Andrew nuts, and he said so. Being groomsmen, it seemed appropriate we do something to keep our charge on track. Our way aiding Andrew in keeping his usually respectful, good-humored sunshine was by stopping to pray with him intermittently throughout Friday night and Saturday morning, starting with the Friday night frayed ends we started to see. He was grateful and responded well. I think we gathered to pray perhaps four or five times on Saturday morning, which seemed to leave a glow on everything from the simple dresses to the rubberbands we kept shooting at each other during the wedding photos. Andrew loves God, and loves people, especially his family. He was just frazzled because he was already engaged in careful husbandry, preparing his home for his bride's return post-honeymoon, attempting to keep the wedding humming like one of his well-maintained pieces of woodshop machinery. By praying, we kept him well-oiled. He was still nervous, but his lanky frame stood a little more confident, and his now-handsome, rugged features more at ease.

The one tick our groom continued to display was a fondness for his Burt's Bees chapstick. Saturday morning it seemed he couldn't get enough of it. He'd set it down and forget about it, then miss it and search around diligently for it, asking if we had seen it, apply some, then misplace it again. I thought it odd to worry so much about chapped lips, and tried to remember if he'd always been lip-focused before.

The Ceremony

Soon the guests were creaking in the pews, roaring softly their anticipation for the big day. The music started, simple piano. The grandparents and parents were ushered down the aisle. The sun shone through the winter windows on a clear-weather wedding day. Soon it was our turn to go. I (trying to keep my tux from looking bluged and lopsided) escorted the best friend of the bride. No one noticed the ill-fit of my treasure-laden rental tux. The second groomsman and Karena. John and Lisa. We all took our places and watched, with everyone else, as the music changed for Loree.

She looked positively angelic in her slender dress and streaming veil, neither of which I can describe properly, being that I am a gent, and have no knowledge of the requisite terminology. She wore her small glasses in the wedding, which I thought was cute and apropos to the practical beauty of their ceremony, and they gave her eyes an extra glint in the sunshine still warming the proceedings. Her carriage was direct, graceful and serene, her expression warm, not betraying the nerves she had assured us, in her brief way, that she would undoubtedly feel in front of so many people. She gave her promise ring back to her father, which he had given her when she was 14. The bronzed, flat-topped, tight-lipped fire captain's chin quivered a little, as he hugged his middle daughter away, and he nevertheless enthusiastically presented her to Andrew and vigorously shook his hand.

The preacher was decidedly cowboy, smelling of Barbasol and lumber, with a broad, Baldwinesque expression. His salt-and-pepper hair that bounded neatly back from his slightly beading forehead was pomaded in combed rows, and his open tuxedo collar and black boots bespoke a man who perhaps knew his way around the brush as well as he knew his way around the Bible. He beamed at Andrew and Loree emotionally, as though they were his own children. Perhaps in a sense they were. He then spoke about Jesus, explaining that the greatest marriage proposal ever had been given by Christ, to us, at Calvary. The vows were so beautifully self-effacing and simple, and when Loree said those words of commitment to my friend I lost all visual focus as my eyes swam in happiness that spilled down my face and into my stubble.

The preacher asked for the rings. Andrew feigned a befuddled response, felt rapidly through his coat and pants pockets and turned agitatedly to his best man. John was convincingly absent-minded as he patted himself down and turned to Bryan. Bryan, apparently at a loss in turn, looked at me, believably puzzled. I had already turned to look in my own right pocket, and when I turned back toward our audience I had on my face not only a confident expression, but also a pair of cheesy white aviator sunglasses. With an exaggerated, smarmy look at John, I unbuttoned my tuxedo jacket and swung wide a right lapel to reveal my wares, Andrew's carefully arranged assortment of junk jewelry and the two beautiful rings he and Loree had made for each other. John was so choked up and tear-glazed by the beauty of his cousin's wedding that as hard as he tried to keep up the charade and pick the right rings, he came away with Andrew's ring and a cheap crackerjack ring with an enormous fake diamond instead. Andrew came back to my coat and unpinned the two diamonds and two emeralds he had set in white gold for Loree, and the rings were exchanged. Their first act as a married couple was to take communion, a tradition of which I will never tire. After Andrew and Loree each tied their half of the true lovers knot, all of the bridesmaids and groomsmen pulled each end to make it firm.

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia

It became clear to me then why Andrew had been so nervous with the lip balm; when the preacher told him to kiss his bride, it was for each of them their first kiss. Their faces had been close all morning, and both of them acquitted themselves of the task masterfully. The true lovers, Loree with her bouquet and Andrew with his coil of rope, and wedding party exited exuberantly to strains of "signed, sealed, delivered." After a lot of handshaking and becoming reaquainted with friendships that predated our births, we were ready to make our way to the reception in the town's refurbished antique fire engine, driven by the father of the bride.

The happy couple. That's the father of the bride in the driver's seat, and thats me in the back of the fire-truck, on the far left. Photo credit: Keri Herbert

The reception was great fun, complete with a seven-tier cake that Andrew's sisters had been up all night finishing, and a rubber-band fight in lieu of rice-throwing. We of the wedding party had done a thorough pranking of Andrew's vintage truck, including our tin cans, duct tape on the doors, and inscriptions of Andrew's characteristic idioms such as "This is sure going to be neat," and "She's a swell dish!" We pinned my lapel cloth, with all its odds and ends, on the bench seat in the cab. As a testimony to how fun both families are, the rubber-band fight persisted a full hour after the bride and groom were long gone.

The exiting bombardment. Peter and I hid ourselves in the truck bed in order to better pelt the couple with rubber bands. Photo credit: Keri Herbert

Our family enjoyed a nice dinner with the Spaliones, and then Peter and I went to meet up with the Grove girls and some of their cousins to play some games. We got to bed around 11:30 pm, tired to extreme satisfaction from a fun and emotional day.

Sunday, March 7

We got up at five, and Peter and I took turns driving back through the countrysides and McDonald's coffee stops on the way to Portland, while Dad and Mom read out loud from the Bible and (I think) Roy Hession in lieu of church. We also did some praying, and Dad jokingly reminded me not to close my eyes while driving. The flight was generally uneventful, apart from being filled with noisy Dairy Quiz competitors from Cal Poly. I suppose that's a hazard associated with flying out of Oregon. Soon we were at our respective homes, trying to get caught up on the hum-drum we had missed on our memorable weekend.

States' Line-Drive, and a Grove Goes Holm, Pt.1

Friday, March 5

My parents and I met Peter at ACM aviation, where he works, and parked our cars there for the weekend. This has become traditional travel planning for members of our family; since Peter is the director of safety at ACM now and has been there in various capacities for the better part of the last ten years. We snagged a ride to the other side of SJC and eventually boarded our 8 AM Southwest flight to Portland, OR.

We arrived in Portland at about 10AM, picked up our Subaru rental car and headed east. Little did I know that by driving along the Hood River I was taking in views of both Oregon (on my right, including mountain goats) and Washington (on my left, over the river.) Little did I further know that in Oregon 65 MPH does not mean the same thing as it does in California. Before I had covered more than 50 miles of territory, I was stopped by a highway patrolman who promptly assessed me a fine in excess of $270. I had been traveling at about 75 MPH, but going downhill I had slowly edged my way up over 77, 78, and 79 till driving at about an 80 MPH clip. While I saw many vehicles traveling faster than this both before and after my ticket, I didn't see the cop waiting in the turnoff. Maybe that was all the difference. I was told by the locals, upon arriving in La Grande four or five hours later, that the Oregon authorities are quite strict about the speed limits. I was warned that even vehicles traveling as little as 68 MPH are often pulled-over and warned if not ticketed.

The first couple hours at Andrew's house in La Grande were spent building a stand for the wedding reception punch bowl, a huge, clear glass GE-brand steet-lamp cover. If you knew Andrew, you would know that this kind of industrial cleverness and sense of humor are just up his alley. Within minutes of my arrival I was in his impressive, industrially outfitted garage shop, using a belt-sander, drill-press and jigsaw to help him cut out the pieces. Dad correctly observed that it was a surprise to see me behind such equipment. But I felt surprisingly at home. Note to self: power tools = awesome.

After working for a while at Andrew's place, we cleaned up a little bit and went to the wedding rehearsal at the First Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) of La Grande. I am pretty sure Andrew would never go to a PCUSA church, but it was a nice old building and beautiful for a wedding. The hostess, Mary, was a delightful gal. The practice was also fun. Andrew had brought two lengths of rope, one for the groom, and one for the bride, which were to be tied together during the ceremony in a True Lovers' Knot. Andrew and Loree (Ms. Grove, his fiancé) each tied one half of the knot, then everyone in the wedding party was to pull on it to tighten it fast. The practice went well, and I enjoyed meeting the other members of the party, especially Loree's sisters Lisa and Karena. They were definitely fun.

After the rehearsal, while the rest of my family continued being good guests at our host-home, I went with Andrew and his best man (a cousin of his, and old friend of ours) John Herbert, to a dinner for the wedding party at someone's house whose name has become lost on me, but who was absolutely wonderful. Note to self: you really need to work on your problem with remembering people's names. It makes them feel they'r unimportant. The time spent with the Holmquists and Herberts and Groves was a real delight, hearing different stories of how the perfect couple had met and meshed.

That evening Peter and John, Joshua Herbert and I followed Lisa and Karena over to their house, which was quite quaint and had a linoleum floor decorated with 50's-style multicolored starbursts on a shimmery background. It was enough to do the Big Lebowski's bowling alley proud. We spent an hour or so chatting, while taking turns using a hammer and awl to punch holes in tin cans, then tying them onto yellow nylon rope.

Photo credit: Peter Kjell Ballard

Saturday, March 6

Saturday Morning I got up and had some quiet time before 8:30 AM, when Andrew was supposed to pick me up. I also had a little time for coffee and chatting with our enchanting host and hostess, Johnny and Rosie Spalione. Andrew was all ready to run when he arrived a bit late, and I saw John was already waiting on the bench of Andrew's ancient yellow Chevy pickup when we bustled out into the morning chill.

We proceeded to the church, where various concerns kept us busy, particularly dressing ourselves in the tuxes we hoped were the right size. They were ordered from a place in Visalia, CA, so if they didn't fit right, we were out of luck. As fate would have it, everything fit except the lengths of the trousers, which were a bit long for the other fellows and a bit short on mine. Still by the time the photographer was ready, so were we, yellow ties and waistcoats intact. The ladies looked pleasing in their green dresses with lemon sashes. I was told later that Andrew had chosen all of the colors and accoutrement, presumably having already consulted with the bride concerning her preferences. The photo shoot was good, though the photographer had a bad habit of getting us smiling then sitting and waiting for the smiles to stiffen before actually clicking the shutter. Still, he had a good way of getting us to keep smiling long after our smilers were tired, and that has to count for something

Then came the pre-wedding mischief. Andrew had a plan. I was to have a green piece of fabric pinned inside my tuxedo jacket, with various pocketwatches, rings, and other oddities pinned to it. I also needed sunglasses. Being that I was the third in line out of three groomsmen, I wasn't immediately sure what in the world he could have planned for me. But when he told me the plan I agreed it was a good one.

...to be continued...

Oh The Times Return, With a Bit of Nausea

I have been writing again. A lot. So much that it overflows into stuff, and gets on my shoes. It occurs to me it might help to begin chronicling again. The factual nature of this blog was very therapeutic in complicated times before. But never mind the reasons. I see now that this blog wasn't just for the summer of the dreams, but also for the winter of the puke.

To elaborate, I have spent a good deal of time this winter being sick. This is not because I have a poor immune system, so much as that I still think I am invincible, and have been diligently ignoring the memo that I am over 25 and a mere mortal. I'll explain more as I go on.

2007 E.B.O. (Extremely Brief Overview to be Filled in Later with Vague References to Things I Haven't Mentioned Yet) - Having finished my BA in Government Studies back in April of 2007, I went back to school last quarter (Fall 2007) at De Anza College, pursuing a new career direction in earnest: graphic design. No, I am not crazy, I am happier. By sheer accident I picked the one community college in my area that specializes in the arts. It actually is supposedly the best in the state of California. It's not hard to believe, because with only one exception in two quarters my profs have been outstanding. By the end of December I had a 4.0 in the Arts Department. (curse you, lingering Spanish grades!) Getting this GPA involved four all-nighters, which each time left me reeling the next day.

December helped me recoup and detox (all that caffeine, basically) in time to eat a lot of cookies, then stop eating altogether, replacing my entire diet with water and a general sense of guilt. I decided that I was poorly (as opposed to well-)read, and I needed to do something about it, and further resolved to start with science fiction and whatever else came into my mind. I drank a wonderful array of hot beverages while reading the following:





Unfortunately you have to read a lot more than 10 books over Christmas break to consider yourself well-read, and most would insist that that list isn't where they would start. But whatever.

2008 So Far - For New Years, My boss had the coughing chest flu from hell, which he promptly gave me with the instructions to duplicate ten times, distribute the copies to the office and my friends, and keep the original.

I traveled to Virginia, Pennsylvania, Virginia and North Carolina (respectively) from Thursday January 10 through Tuesday the 15th of January, for Jeremy Sewall's wedding. I was honored to be a groomsman and also to sing a song in the wedding. Bachelor party Thursday night, rehearsal dinner Friday night, wedding Saturday, drive back to Virginia Sunday, spending the weekend primarily with Knepper, Jimson and Mouse, but also spending time in protracted conversation with old friends David Sewall and Samantha Clark, and making at least one new friend in Jeremy Shull. During this phase I was miserable not only because I was sick and missing the second and third class sessions of all my Winter 2008 quarter classes, but because I am hard on myself when I am traveling. I don't work too well with jet lag, usually telling myself to ignore it, then feeling crappy. Nor do I work too well within the realm of "bachelor parties which are relatively clean but nonetheless driven by huge Cuban cigars and scotch," because apparently "losing weight" can translate literally to "becoming a lightweight." Last time I drank in any quantity (read: years ago), I was 30-40 pounds heavier, and the speed with which the 160lb version of me can get tossed was rapid. I found myself faced with this choice: (1) give in to the reeling nausea or (2) hold it in and get reeeeeallly drunk trying. Yeah, I let it all out. Felt pretty stupid. Drunkenness is not among the things I shoot for in life. Not gonna do that again. Needless to say I was more careful over the remainder of the weekend with the rest of the gallon jug of scotch that James and I had bought. James and I drove down to North Carolina to see Paul, help inspect his land holdings, do some sand-leveling and waste rifle ammunition, during the process of which we were hosted by his always delightful family, and accompanied by Daniel B. MacAdam and wife and clan of delightful rowdy youngsters. I flew out of Raleigh. Note to self: easier to fly out of Raleigh than to drive back up to Baltimore every time.

Upon return, I still wasn't well, and I was burned out from all the travel, but had to turn to catching up with classes. January was generally uneventful, except that I had a few surprises. (1) I needed to buy very expensive software as NOT defined in the Flash CS3 class description or materials and (2) I needed to know how to paint, as NOT defined in the class description or prerequisites of my "Color & Design" class.

College - I have one professor who is outstanding (ARTS-3TE "Today's Working Artist" - E. Rodriguez), one who is online and thus too impersonal even though helpful (ARTS-114.63Z Flash CS3 - P. Bruegger), and one who is not very good, though a very nice guy (ARTS-012 "Color & Design" - P. Chandras). I am still trying to get A's, but since most of it isn't actually studio work, and that which is seems mostly rote, I admit I am less motivated.

Career - I have an interview next week with the De Anza College Marketing Department for a job helping in Graphic Design. All I did was walk into the Marketing Department office suite one day after classes and inquire if I could help in any way. The gal I spoke with seemed very pleasantly surprised, and said, yes as a matter of fact they need a student employee right now. Considering my boss just gave me an unlooked-for raise, I think he knows he doesn't want to lose me, so I may find myself working two graphic design jobs in March, which makes me quite happy to think about.

Friday (today) - To bring things up to date, it's Friday February 22 (although I didn't start this post today.) Got really sick Wednesday night with either the flu or food poisoning, so there's the second nausea reference, and missed work and classes yesterday. Still a bit under the weather today, but mostly fine. I intend to work all week on homework and preparing a lecture for Basic Christian Training class I will be delivering at church Sunday. (That's another thing that happened last fall; they pulled me in to help teach Advanced Christian Training, and now that that class is over, they recruited me for BCT. I feel a little bit underqualified, but they think I'm doing a good job, so I guess that's cool.)

Late Summer, Part Two (A Retrospective)

• Saturday, 9/9/6 - Asheville North - After Farmer and Cannone and I waved off their girls, we traveled north. The hour was 12:30 AM, the road was dark and calling. I remember shouted conversation, tackling every issue from the metaphysical to the sensual to the spiritual. There was no doubt in my mind that they knew the same God that I did, but often their hypotheses wandered a bit far from truth into mysticism or spiritism. Farmer did more of the talking, usually describing Cannone's exploits for me, then telling Cannone to recount for me his latest theory on how lies fit into the truth. Then Cannone would cringe and explain that he didn't want me to "hammer" him, because he likes to play games with Truth for the sake of feeling like a hippie-philosopher-king. Coupled with the knowledge that I don't like doing that, Cannone becomes a bit of a barefoot hesitant. The two of them had also brought a stash of salvia with them, and we had a good deal of tobacco and cigarettes left. We opted out of the hallucinogen, as I had the distinct impression that it was a bad idea for an overnight road trip, even though it was legal.


• Route 81 - From Asheville we took highway 19/23 North (which is also called hwy 26, but it's the same road) proceeding to 81 North into Virginia. After a while Cannone slept, and Farmer and I discussed the meanings of many things. By my estimate, it was about four in the morning when I stopped at a Flying J, where 81 meets route 77 in Virginia, for sustenance in the form of a coffee and a Big Hunk candy bar. I gassed up Farmer's old sport utility vehicle, and Farmer spent some time waking Cannone up. After we were sure Cannone was awake, which was longer than one might think reasonable, our vehicle set out again into the night, the dawn well nigh. Farmer slept in the back seat while Cannone tried to pretend to be awake enough to talk to me. After a while, he blinked off some of the stupor, and talked for some time autobiographically, relating some things because he had overdone them for the purpose of retelling them at just such a time, and relating some things because at just such a time it was easy to retell them in an exaggerated manner. His life seemed a roller coaster of more or less welcome failures, a string of events tragic and made for the telling. The passing Virginia countryside dimly increased with the sunrise, and I began to feel tired, but never got sleepy. I live for roadtrips, and I do not prefer to sleep through them. It was a waking bucolic dream set to a campfire storyteller who didn't have any one particular story to tell. The only thing that changed was the waxing daylight, and the storyteller's name. Sometimes he went by Farmer, sometimes by Cannone.


• Northern VA - I took highway 66 east from 81, cutting across familiar territory, and by nine-hundred hours we had reached the beltway. We took 495 north to 7 west, arriving at James and Jeremy's sub floor apartment in Falls Church, VA, by about 9:30 AM.
  
  Between saying hello to one crowd of old friends, and saying goodbye to another, and getting lunch, I didn't take any opportunity to nap. I admired James' new truck for the first time, as it was a huge improvement over the old, time-tested Grand Am with the notoriously marshy backseat. (Although, there's something fond in the memories, watching countless passengers realizing that their butt was mysteriously wet.) He and I talked over spiritual things and other less memorable fluff over a lunch burrito, somewhere off the main drag (Route 7) in Falls Church. Post-burrito, we proceeded back after lunch, and I got a triple S (eliminate, shower, shave) for the first time in a while. Donning our suits and ties, we rechecked the directions to the wedding, and made our way to the Universalist National Memorial Church, deep in the maze of Washington, D.C., for a sign of the end times.


• Washington, D.C. - Upon arrival, we were greeted by a lot of dressed up people in the belly of a staunchly gothic stone building, which was candle-lit and gaudily beflowered. The apocalyptic harbinger we were about to witness was really only a wedding between a couple of old friends, but the solemnity and pomp with which the event was executed really did reinforce the old joke we used to lay on Mike's conscience, that the day he got a girl would be a sign of the end times. In an only slightly exaggeratory light, Mike and his bride made each other exactly 347,490 vows, all of which they will never be able to keep due to the unmanageable tome that would result in the event of their codification. One good-natured guest observed under his breath an opinion which I endorse, that bride and groom are doomed to marital infidelity on several minor points by dint of sheer promissory tedium. Note to Self: It would be appropriate to establish a committee for the purpose of framing a bill of amendments to these vows. It should allow parties to break many of the lesser vows, provided apologies are promulgated immediately following any said breach. A resolution should also be accepted, directing executive emphasis to the more orthodox and central points of the bureaucratic code that certainly must follow the necessarily involved architectural capping of such a cleverly intricate marital foundation.
  
  Considering that I had had no sleep after my nocturnal road vigil, I blinked slowly several times during the wedding. I did my duty as witness to their actual vows, because I cleverly saved my nodding for the proclamatory readings of one lover's sentiments to the other. These readings were preserved for just such an occasion from the more-or-less gushy love letters of months past. Naturally, these were read by someone not in love, to all us, who were also not in love. I found these moments quite lulling, but did my duty to bravely wake after each was safely over, in order to faithfully witness more vows. In any other nuptial event, the abundance of promise and the lavishness of sentiment might have become quite grating by the third hour of the ceremony. But considering that we had all teased Mike for years for being grinningly, purposely annoying, the melodramatic nature of the proceedings was instead touching and likeable. At the end of the ceremony, the couple receded as a brassy fanfare shook the halls and summoned the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Luckily, the disagreeable equestrians were preoccupied elsewhere and did not attend. Once outside, I was happily greeted by several old friends, including Faith, Abigail, and Jeremy and his girl.


• Arington, VA - A reception was held at the Army Navy Country Club, which was pleasant enough, despite its severe case of military branch ambiguity. Solemn faces mixed with jolly ones, and round after round of toasts were followed by round after round of traditional family frivolities. The night ended at a reasonable hour for us, and if I remember correctly, we returned to the apartment to mix with Paul McNiel, which was even more agreeable than usual. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have.

Collision Collateral

My mood today was largely determined by something that happened January 6th. On that date of this year, someone slammed into the back of the car I was driving, wrecking both the car and my spine.

Today, I was woken by my cell phone. The fellow who is indefinitely babysitting my wrecked car called. He needs a car cover on it before the 10th, which is when his landlord will see it. The car is thrashed.

Midday, I went to my old friend Josh Sikora's wedding reception (the wedding was elsewhere a couple weeks ago). The rest of the day was spent on various odd jobs around the house. I can't begin to explain how shooting low back pain, tight neck muscles, numb hands, and sharp pain between my shoulderblades can slow a fellow down. Just trust me, it was bad today. Afte hours of helping clean our garage, tidying my own room, then poring over documents at the office, the pain is just frustrating. It would be less so, if I thought it would be gone soon.

My band is still looking for time to have a first practice. Tomorrow I will play worship music while my brother leads. Monday, I must find a place to get x-rays. Gotta stop avoiding that.