I’m not sure I enjoy any sociospatial context more than free-spirited, small-group conversation at a table at Webster’s Bookstore Café, surrounded by the sight and smell of used books, the taste of good tea, and the sound of vintage hipster music that isn’t even trying to be cool. (I just wish they stayed open past 7 PM!)
Carolina wren outside my office window definitely just got “The Dreidel Song” stuck in my head.
Carla, a middle schooler, and I collaboratively created the above design for our local municipality. KB Offset printed it, and it now stands as an 8' × 4' banner posted along PA-26 outside the township administration building.
Here’s the municipal webpage on the subject of College Township’s sesquicentennial.
Inspired by part of this interview with Lisa Silvestri, the author of Peace by Peace: Risking Public Action, Creating Social Change, which I may read soonish with my friend Neill—after I finish:
- Forgiveness: An Alternative Account, which Ruth and I both got excited about roughly simultaneously and thus co-purchased (co-purchasing books—what a fun idea! an interpersonal nano-library…),
- parts of Stricken by God?, another of Neill’s recommendations after he read my essay about the Cross, and
- Watchmen, recommended to me by both my son and my wife—
here is a list of what bothers me:
- barriers to walkability,
- the predominance of solo, receptive, junky entertainment,
- words whose poor definitional boundaries cause moral problems,
- faulty exegesis,
- parroting, and
- roadkill.
I miss the white pages ✏️ 🎤 🎵
I hereby plead with governments, universities, and commercial real estate developers: If you’re going to erect a public clock, please make sure it keeps time. Otherwise, you’re just littering our built environment with noble-looking embarrassments whose only effect is to remind us that everything is broken and most of us don’t care.
headlamp + summertime + living next to a large park → reading a book while meandering outdoors at night 🔦📚
We measure distance more frequently in units of time than in units of length. Why? What does that say about our culture?
Resolved: One creative goal at a time. Current goal: Legalize backyard hens in College Township.
Things I learned today:
- Orientation towards accomplishment and order is going to be hard to mix back into orientation toward people and whim.
- Local democracy is a lot of fun when it involves something you care about.
- Carla is clever and thoughtful.
- Buying presents for nephews and nieces is way fun (at least when you know what to give them).
- I’m eager to be done with the HRIS selection at work.
I don’t usually like what Katherine Watt writes. But this illustration is dynamite good.
Perhaps the joy is lost from listening to and making music largely because it feels desultory: There’s no goal. At least, that’s what it seems like the Spirit may be saying as I possibly discerned on my walk to and from Gary Abdullah’s house to drop off an apology note written by Sullivan for his having tripped over an electrical cord and unplugged Inflatable Christmas Countdown Santa. So, here’s a goal in the absence of a relish for musical theatre, anthem gigs at college basketball games, Puddintown Roots, and the Choral Society: Build your repertoire book.
Today, I am grateful for:
- the joy of hunting suburban deer, which, to be successful (which I was not today), apparently means moving around and using binoculars and stalking, which is fun whether you’re successful or not,
- the joy of joining my dad, Lorraine, Jami, and Jordan in Honey Brook this past weekend, and
- the joy of a job I love.
What I learned form hunting this past weekend:
- Stalk the whole way to your hunting spot.
- Stalk the whole way from your hunting spot.
- The manure pile is a great place from which to shoot.
- Get more doe tags.
- Reading will be the thing I use to redeem the time.
- During the rut, buck are apparently most active from 11 AM – 2 PM during daylight hours.
Today, I I called myself a “whimsical dabbler” as a way of celebrating and embracing my quick decision to stand on our stoop and cheer the Nittany Valley Half-Marathoners on as they passed by about midday today. (We’re at about mile eleven of their route.) It thereby also a way to encourage myself to make more decisions of what to do out of loving whim, and to accept my identity as a dilettante, and not just in the arts. Indecision about hunting this past week had me down this morning after an unsuccessful hunt yesterday.
I did decide I would become a suburban bowhunter after finding out how much red meat meant to Carla.
Follow the impulses of your heart and the desires of your eyes, yet know that God will bring you to judgment for all these things. Let all that you do be done in love, that is, in self-donation for the benefit of others, whom you view as more important than yourself and unsurpassably wonderful.
Smattering of recollections from venison roast dinner this evening with Sauders at their house: I got to share my Alan Jacobs story. They were delighted at God’s activity. They remarked that we’re funny—like, make-you-laugh funny—something they don’t have enough of among their friends at University Mennonite Church. I surmised that social justice warriors have a hard time smiling. Ruth insisted that people ought to grow more idiosyncratic as they age, as long it’s not grumpily idiosyncratic. As such, in reply to Carla’s question about whether the Sauders think I’m weird, her answer was a very positive affirmative. I picked up Ta-Nehisi Coates’ letter to his son as my next book. The kids made Ed the Rabbit some things to chew on. It was a delightful evening.
“Let the seasons begin,” sings Beirut in my head as I wake up. A fair enough piece of advice for a time when I’m upset that I’m not doing anything with my life after Dylan and Noah leave.
For posterity, I’d better explain: Fostering Dylan and Noah lent me noble purpose. Sending them back their parents removes that purpose, which sends me reeling. It doesn’t help that my friend comes over last night with a young man who is determined to build physical environments conducive to the formation of Christian community, after spending the last few days touring the town talking to community-minded folks like Christian Baum of co.space, Joel Martin, and the staff of the College Township government administration, so as to pick my brain about Christian community, something about which I don’t know much. I leave that conversation and go to bed angry that I’m not doing anything “kingdom-minded” or noble.
You, God, or my subconscious mind tells me as I wake up, “Let the seasons begin.” For goodness’ sake, it’s only been two days since the boys have gone home. Give it a break. Let the seasons, the natural turn of time and the changes it brings, begin. Plus, you know you want to focus on the family these days anyhow.
Since I have decided to concentrate my life so locally, my locality matters. It’s Houserville for now, but I can envision wanting to live in a neighborhood that isn’t in a place that’s already called ‘Happy Valley.’
I got chills thinking that while driving to Giant this evening on my way to buying a pink hedgehog Beanie Baby for Éa and a big-eyed monkey Beanie Baby for James.
I am grateful for our good friends the Potters, with whom we shared a dinner and an evening today. (I told Josh about my pollo-pesce-venatarian tonight.) I am grateful for our good friends the Rookes, the Matt of which I raced and competed on pull-ups with today. I am grateful for the rest of our good friends at church, with whom we shared a park walk today. I am grateful for our good friends the Wendles, who gave us two deer worth of meat today after we butchered them.
I am grateful for the loving effort Carla is putting forth these past few days into making Christmas cheery for us all by overcoming her distaste for shopping and spending the better part of today and yesterday shopping. We had decided after last Christmas that we would do 100% of our Christmas shopping locally. We probably won’t end up doing 100%, but the decision does mean Carla has been all over town: Jo-Ann Fabrics, Goodwill, Ross, and Target, to name a few.
I am grateful for our tenant Apoo’s eagerness to share Indian dishes with us. We had her, her husband Vijay, and her father Raju up for dinner this evening so we could meet her father. We shared garden vegetable quiche; she shared chicken biryani. Carla and I overate because everything was so tasty.
I am grateful for the culturally show of fatherly tenderness Raju made by touching Éa’s face when she caught her hand in the globe while fighting Sullivan over it. Perhaps it is purely cultural and doesn’t carry the same meaning in Telegu India as it does in Pennsylvania. But his willingness to touch a child he had just met simply because she was a child who was in pain was touching. At the same time, I wonder if it babies children too much. Nevertheless, I think there is something to learn there.
This is how I feel.
Here is a list of things from today that were gratifying, and which, therefore, because by some strange extension You are the giver of all good things, I thank You, God:
- tapas dinner with the Wendles at Barrel 21,
- deer hunting scouting time on the far bank of Spring Creek,
- agreeing with Ethan to meet him tomorrow morning at 5:45 to make use of said deer hunting scouting time,
- my beautiful wife who sat next to me at Barrel 21,
- my inventive Sullivan who made some Legos light up today at the Wendles’ house (while being babysat by Jeff and Denise), and
- my standing desk.
If, when I’m old, you were to ask me to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you it was a day all four of us attended Clearwater Conservancy’s annual meeting at Good Shepherd Catholic Church in Gray’s Woods. Pure Cane Sugar provided background music. We enjoyed grilled shrimp, baked squash, couscous, apple cider, and more. Betsy Whitman got to know me and vice versa a little after the business part of the meeting was done. But I pick this gathering as my thing to share from today because I came home feeling a shade lonely and jealous of Carla.
Why? Because our lives are structured in a way that facilitates her enjoying hours of leisure.
To be clear, I’m not saying she doesn’t pull her weight around the house. I’m really just saying she gets to be more social—both in a pure sense and in a project- or cause-oriented sense—than I, by a long shot. I’ve spent the whole week without having really touched or talked with anyone other than my three favorites.
If, when I’m old, you were to ask me to tell you one thing about my life as it was today, I predict I’d tell you that Carla was reelected today. I’m glad for her and proud of her.
Yes, Carla. Yes it was. You are pretty great. Congratulations on your victory.