» 9.30.2004
more toys than any one kid needs...
» 9.29.2004
all in how you play the game...
I don't want to make it sound like high school was a complete waste of time for me, but the one thing I learned that has been the most useful to me in life was touch typing. Sure, several other classes taught me skills that helped me get through college, but most of the skills I use in my day to day life were learned sometime before I sat down to an IBM Selectric for the first time in 9th grade. Sure, there were classes I enjoyed, such as drama. And there were times when I learned interesting facts about literature and history. There was also social interaction, but only one relationship from high school still survives today, and that, mainly, because I wake up next to her every morning.
I do carry a lot of good memories from those days, half a lifetime ago, and a few accomplishments that I'm still proud of. Take, for instance, the fall during my junior (or was it senior) semester that I was the assistant coach for a 9-10 year old soccer team. I never was much for team sports. I played a little basketball, was too scrawny for football, and just plain hated the game of baseball. But soccer fit me. I was never really any good, but I understood it.I was, of course, too young to be a coach, but I called the local city athletic association to offer myself as a volunteer. I was a little late getting started,
but I was paired up with a man who was coaching his son's team simply because there weren't enough. (Rather sad for a small 4 team league, but hey.. Athens is a small town.)
The night I met him and the team was the night of their first game. Turned out they were playing the best team in town. It showed, too. Final score was 3-0 and it didn't go our way. Sadly, our little team never did win a game, but I don't think I had ever put so much effort into anyone else before then. I ran with them around the field. Ran drills and exercises with them. Tried to get the slow ones to move faster, the faster ones to play smarter, and made sure everyone had a good time. Not much else could get me up early on a Saturday morning.
The night of the final game, we were scheduled to play the same team that beat us so soundly earlier in the season. They had yet to lose a game and we had yet to win one. And while we didn't win that night, we didn't lose either. Those kids ran faster, played harder than ever before. The end result was a tie game, 1-1. After the game we had the kids all huddled together for one last talk. Looking at those tired faces sitting around me on the pitch, I couldn't help be think of how far they'd come. I reminded them of what happened in the previous game, how bad they'd felt when they had lost. I did my best to show them their progress from a 3-0 loss to a 1-1 tie and how proud they should be of their hard work and how proud we were of them for it. I tried my best to show them that success can be measured as much by your own personal growth as it can be by winning a game. From the smiles, I think they understood what I was trying to say.
These days, I try my best to remember my own advice.
I don't want to make it sound like high school was a complete waste of time for me, but the one thing I learned that has been the most useful to me in life was touch typing. Sure, several other classes taught me skills that helped me get through college, but most of the skills I use in my day to day life were learned sometime before I sat down to an IBM Selectric for the first time in 9th grade. Sure, there were classes I enjoyed, such as drama. And there were times when I learned interesting facts about literature and history. There was also social interaction, but only one relationship from high school still survives today, and that, mainly, because I wake up next to her every morning.
I do carry a lot of good memories from those days, half a lifetime ago, and a few accomplishments that I'm still proud of. Take, for instance, the fall during my junior (or was it senior) semester that I was the assistant coach for a 9-10 year old soccer team. I never was much for team sports. I played a little basketball, was too scrawny for football, and just plain hated the game of baseball. But soccer fit me. I was never really any good, but I understood it.I was, of course, too young to be a coach, but I called the local city athletic association to offer myself as a volunteer. I was a little late getting started,
but I was paired up with a man who was coaching his son's team simply because there weren't enough. (Rather sad for a small 4 team league, but hey.. Athens is a small town.)
The night I met him and the team was the night of their first game. Turned out they were playing the best team in town. It showed, too. Final score was 3-0 and it didn't go our way. Sadly, our little team never did win a game, but I don't think I had ever put so much effort into anyone else before then. I ran with them around the field. Ran drills and exercises with them. Tried to get the slow ones to move faster, the faster ones to play smarter, and made sure everyone had a good time. Not much else could get me up early on a Saturday morning.
The night of the final game, we were scheduled to play the same team that beat us so soundly earlier in the season. They had yet to lose a game and we had yet to win one. And while we didn't win that night, we didn't lose either. Those kids ran faster, played harder than ever before. The end result was a tie game, 1-1. After the game we had the kids all huddled together for one last talk. Looking at those tired faces sitting around me on the pitch, I couldn't help be think of how far they'd come. I reminded them of what happened in the previous game, how bad they'd felt when they had lost. I did my best to show them their progress from a 3-0 loss to a 1-1 tie and how proud they should be of their hard work and how proud we were of them for it. I tried my best to show them that success can be measured as much by your own personal growth as it can be by winning a game. From the smiles, I think they understood what I was trying to say.
These days, I try my best to remember my own advice.
» 9.28.2004
two'fer tuesday: play time...
{ Soccer Ball In Shadow : 10 votes}
{ Toys In A Window : 6 votes}
[ Voting ended after 3 min stopage time... ]
{ Soccer Ball In Shadow : 10 votes}
{ Toys In A Window : 6 votes}
[ Voting ended after 3 min stopage time... ]
» 9.27.2004
a bit about music...
{ i-gizmo contest : Music }The trouble is not in the "noise", but in the "joyful" qualifier. We can bang, clang, shout, stomp, clap, raise a ruckus or raise the roof. The style, the genre, the instruments or lack of, the location, the freshness of the lyric, the tempo, the tune... none of these things matter. The din of cracked voices, raised in shouts of joy, is sweet enough to make the God of the universe cry, to smile, to raise His own voice and sing over us. The most beautiful truth of music is that creates its own joy. A song begun in cathartic anger, infused with depressive angst and finished with minor key sorrows can raise the maker’s spirit above their low origins.
I've heard it said that the most often repeated command in the Bible is to sing. I hope that's true, because it's the easiest command to for me to follow. A few good CDs and a 200 mile drive and I'm all set. Never mind that my throat's too sore to speak when it's over. It's the drive, not the destination, which makes the journey.
My love of music is an incidental heritage given to me by my parents. Out side of a year or so of piano lesson in grade school, there was no real parental push towards music. But music was always there, always on in the background. From mother playing Barry Manilow on the piano when I was young, to the 45's of pop songs, to cassette tapes they hated, music has always been the backdrop of my life and the scene is set to repeat with my son.
Already he's beginning to develop a love of music and with music addicts like us for parents, the boy doesn't have a chance. Standing in the living room holding on to the edge of the window sill, he will bounce to the rhythm of the commercial jingles. Driving down the road, we will hear a soft and wordless singing drift from the backseat as he follows along with the radio. He has sat for long moments simply watching my fingers as I pull notes from my guitar. It's enough to make daddy proud.
{ i-gizmo contest : Music }
Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. - Psalm 98:4
I've heard it said that the most often repeated command in the Bible is to sing. I hope that's true, because it's the easiest command to for me to follow. A few good CDs and a 200 mile drive and I'm all set. Never mind that my throat's too sore to speak when it's over. It's the drive, not the destination, which makes the journey.
My love of music is an incidental heritage given to me by my parents. Out side of a year or so of piano lesson in grade school, there was no real parental push towards music. But music was always there, always on in the background. From mother playing Barry Manilow on the piano when I was young, to the 45's of pop songs, to cassette tapes they hated, music has always been the backdrop of my life and the scene is set to repeat with my son.
Already he's beginning to develop a love of music and with music addicts like us for parents, the boy doesn't have a chance. Standing in the living room holding on to the edge of the window sill, he will bounce to the rhythm of the commercial jingles. Driving down the road, we will hear a soft and wordless singing drift from the backseat as he follows along with the radio. He has sat for long moments simply watching my fingers as I pull notes from my guitar. It's enough to make daddy proud.
» 9.23.2004
holding it together...
Hey... While you're here, do me a favor and click this link. My friend the space monkey is having a blog-birthday party and wants lots of visitors as his present... Thanks!
Hey... While you're here, do me a favor and click this link. My friend the space monkey is having a blog-birthday party and wants lots of visitors as his present... Thanks!
» 9.22.2004
thirst...
You feel it in the back of your throat, a feather-tickle on sensitive skin. Or so it begins. Quickly it becomes beach sand in unnamable creases on the long drive home, the constant irritation of a grain that births a pearl. Clams don't like pearls. They would rather not hide the painful reminder on the back of their tongue. But they hold it tight, like a soldier keeps the rifle of a fallen enemy, like a mother holds the precious child of a violent attack.
With time, it moves from sharp, localized pain to a dull ache over the entire body. Forgotten muscles begin to twist and knot and reintroduce themselves in fits and spasms. Every movement is labored. Every twist of joint feels like the slide of bone on bone, as if the cartilage and sinew have turned to fine powder. You begin to feel the weight of your organs. Even the brain feels heavy, every extra thought pushing it downward into the spine.
Shut it off. Shut out the noise. Shut out the world. You'd scream if you had the breath. If the opening of your mouth wouldn't let fly the last ounce of moisture in you lungs. And you crave moisture. You crave the cool liquid relief of simple elements in simple union. A cool rain to fall on your face. A deep pool to fall into and drown, if only for an instant.
Thirst. How quickly we forget, in our present abundance, the lessons we learned in the desert...
You feel it in the back of your throat, a feather-tickle on sensitive skin. Or so it begins. Quickly it becomes beach sand in unnamable creases on the long drive home, the constant irritation of a grain that births a pearl. Clams don't like pearls. They would rather not hide the painful reminder on the back of their tongue. But they hold it tight, like a soldier keeps the rifle of a fallen enemy, like a mother holds the precious child of a violent attack.
With time, it moves from sharp, localized pain to a dull ache over the entire body. Forgotten muscles begin to twist and knot and reintroduce themselves in fits and spasms. Every movement is labored. Every twist of joint feels like the slide of bone on bone, as if the cartilage and sinew have turned to fine powder. You begin to feel the weight of your organs. Even the brain feels heavy, every extra thought pushing it downward into the spine.
Shut it off. Shut out the noise. Shut out the world. You'd scream if you had the breath. If the opening of your mouth wouldn't let fly the last ounce of moisture in you lungs. And you crave moisture. You crave the cool liquid relief of simple elements in simple union. A cool rain to fall on your face. A deep pool to fall into and drown, if only for an instant.
Thirst. How quickly we forget, in our present abundance, the lessons we learned in the desert...
» 9.21.2004
two'fer tuesday: the lousy lunch...
{ Bread : 3 votes}
{ Water : 13 votes}
[ Voting... yeah... it, like... ended... ]
{ Bread : 3 votes}
{ Water : 13 votes}
[ Voting... yeah... it, like... ended... ]
» 9.15.2004
something like wind-blown...
I guess we really do over use the word hell. Guess you could say we're under using it, really. War is hell. Love is hell. Politics is hell. Skunks are smell... But I digress.
We all fight our own hell, now and then. A bedraggled band of loved ones arrived early this morning, refugees of a crazy Russian terror which sprang from nature's original sin-tortured bosom. A hell of wind and water and rain. An unpredictable, drunken fury hell... Looking in from a distance, it doesn't seem so bad. Looking through the modern marvel of the satellite lens, it looks quite beautiful. But that's a still photo. The hell is in the movement, the the whirling dervish twirl.
Guess I should count my blessings and go pray for those poor souls in hell...
» 9.14.2004
two'fer tuesday: a burning pile...
{ Metal On Fire : 4 votes}
{ Something Like Hell : 13 votes}
[ Voting, as eventually happens, has closed... ]
{ Metal On Fire : 4 votes}
{ Something Like Hell : 13 votes}
[ Voting, as eventually happens, has closed... ]
» 9.12.2004
12 hours and too much $$ later...
» 9.10.2004
this seems to be a theme around here...
» 9.9.2004
appealing fruit...
» 9.7.2004
two'fer tuesday: construction...
{ Block : 10 votes}
{ Board : 6 votes}
[ Voting, as always, has closed... ]
{ Block : 10 votes}
{ Board : 6 votes}
[ Voting, as always, has closed... ]
» 9.3.2004
toys in the window...
» 9.2.2004
simply beautiful...
Yes, kudzu blooms. And the flowers are quite pretty, really. Unusual, but attractive...
Kudzu usually blooms between late August and early October, so run out to your nearest patch of green and root around under the leaves. Never know what you might find.
Yes, kudzu blooms. And the flowers are quite pretty, really. Unusual, but attractive...
Kudzu usually blooms between late August and early October, so run out to your nearest patch of green and root around under the leaves. Never know what you might find.
» 9.1.2004
heads i win...
[story forthcoming...]
[story forthcoming...]
