In four weeks and one day I will be leaving for Japan. I am so incredibly terrified at the thought. But I've started putting together a separate blog to chronicle my experiences while I'm over there. I don't know what the future of this blog will end up looking like, but anyhow, here's the link:
MY NEW JAPAN WEBLOG!!!
Enjoy.
Much love.
29 July 2008
01 July 2008
camping with friends and hiking alone
I remember going camping with my family as a kid and having those few experiences where we were situated within close proximity of a group of young adult campers who spent their time laughing loudly, getting boozed up, and shouting at one another like they were the only ones in the whole wilderness. My parents would grumble loudly about those "obnoxious kids" who were ruining everything for the people who actually went camping in order to enjoy nature. In my eight- or nine-year-old mind I heartily agreed with my mom and dad. I may have even rolled my eyes exasperatedly and joined them in muttering under my breath, "Yeah! Obnoxious kids!"
And this is, I think, how I grew up with the vague idea that going camping with one's friends ought to be regarded as somewhat edgy or even rebellious. I don't know if that mindset had a direct effect on the fact that it took me so long to do so, but, this Friday as I stood over a camp stove preparing the fixings for an incredibly dense and starchy burrito, it struck me that this was the first time that I had ever gone camping with a group that was neither family nor church-affiliated. Just me and my pals. And beer, too. We had beer. And somehow we managed to be non-obnoxious. What fun.
The brief camping trip didn't entirely satiate my weekend thirst for nature, so on Sunday I drove out east of San Diego to Cleveland National Forrest and hiked the Big Laguna Trail. Although I would categorize my experience as mostly pleasant, I don't recommend this hike for hot sunny days (of which last Sunday was one), as the vast majority of it is out in a meadow and completely lacking in shade. The trail also diverges and splits off in several parts, so it's entirely possible to do what I did and intend to take maybe a two-hour hike and find yourself completing a four-and-a-half-hour one instead. In sunny, 85 °F weather, such a combination leads, most naturally, to utter exhaustion.
And this is, I think, how I grew up with the vague idea that going camping with one's friends ought to be regarded as somewhat edgy or even rebellious. I don't know if that mindset had a direct effect on the fact that it took me so long to do so, but, this Friday as I stood over a camp stove preparing the fixings for an incredibly dense and starchy burrito, it struck me that this was the first time that I had ever gone camping with a group that was neither family nor church-affiliated. Just me and my pals. And beer, too. We had beer. And somehow we managed to be non-obnoxious. What fun.
The brief camping trip didn't entirely satiate my weekend thirst for nature, so on Sunday I drove out east of San Diego to Cleveland National Forrest and hiked the Big Laguna Trail. Although I would categorize my experience as mostly pleasant, I don't recommend this hike for hot sunny days (of which last Sunday was one), as the vast majority of it is out in a meadow and completely lacking in shade. The trail also diverges and splits off in several parts, so it's entirely possible to do what I did and intend to take maybe a two-hour hike and find yourself completing a four-and-a-half-hour one instead. In sunny, 85 °F weather, such a combination leads, most naturally, to utter exhaustion.
25 June 2008
17 June 2008
the birds, the bees, and the Australian flame trees
With the weather being so pleasant lately, I’ve found a good deal of pleasure and relaxation in spending the afternoons lounging in my parents’ back yard with an interesting book in hand. As I read, I am often startled back into my surrounding by the whir of a curious hummingbird hovering inquisitively just a foot away from my head. I watch as it, satisfied that I am neither a threat nor a source of food, flits over to a nearby flower and inserts its beak into the blossom. Delightedly, I observe him move on to another flower, then another and another. How unaware he is of the entirely crucial rôle he is currently serving! He and the other birds and pollinating insects who frequent the garden are unwittingly responsible for the variety and general vitality of the flora therein, but to them it is simply a matter of sustenance. For the flowers, it is a matter of sustenance. For me, too, it’s a matter of sustenance, because I’m reliant on the plants and, indirectly, their pollinators for food. But where do I fit into the circle? Lounging on a deck chair beneath an umbrella, with a glass of ice water in one hand and a novel in the other, I feel like a bit of a freeloader.
I grew up in and lived in the same house my entire life, up until moving away for college. It’s the house where my parents still live today and the house where I’m currently residing as I wait for the next epoch in my life to take hold and whisk me away overseas. There’s a tree in the front yard that my parents planted before I was born—a Brachychiton acerifolius, more popularly known as an Australian flame tree, not very commonly seen in Southern California besides, perhaps, at the San Diego Zoo—with a thick, sturdy, and perfectly perpendicular trunk. Throughout my childhood I recognized that it was an exceptionally nice tree; it looked attractive and never made a big mess. When I was about fifteen years old, my parents were forced to remove the fig tree from our back yard because of its tenaciously expanding and increasingly-threatening roots system. To replace the empty space left in the lawn, they opted to plant a young Brachychiton, noting that the one in the front had served them so well for so many years.
The next spring, however, something happened which none of us could have anticipated: the new flame tree began sprouting a profundity of brilliant purple flowers and the old tree in the front yard, which had never before given any sort of bloom in all the years on our lot, broke out into a perfect profusion of reddish-violet blossoms. Amazing. We had never known or even suspected that this tree held the capacity for such splendor, but there it stood: decked out as magnificently as though it had been practicing this for years. It was cross-pollination with the flame tree in the back yard that finally allowed it to demonstrate the true full capacity of its inborn potential.
Naturally, I’m struck by the allegorical parallel that can be made between the cross-pollinating Australian flame trees and the self-actualization that comes through human communion; about how, so often, we are not free to truly be who we were created to be until another person calls it out in us.
Living at home these last few months has taught me several things about the importance of human relationships. It has also brought to the forefront of my mind several conundrums over the nature of family that remain, as of yet, unresolved. Why did God command his people to honor our father and mother? So that we wouldn’t put our hand on the stove or walk out into the street unattended? Or was there some deeper meaning?
Human relationships. I met with a few of my fellow future AETs for lunch on June 7th and am all the more excited about the amazing times we will have together in Japan over the next year. Laura Hoppe and Jared Christenson are married now, and their wedding was beyond beautiful. Jared Tharp lives in Senegal, but still finds time to chat with friends over the internet. And, as I write this, I’m aware that I need to start getting ready for work at the self-serve frozen yogurt place where I’ve been employed for almost a month. If you come in to visit, I can’t give you free yogurt. But I can feel happy that you are there, and tell you so.
I grew up in and lived in the same house my entire life, up until moving away for college. It’s the house where my parents still live today and the house where I’m currently residing as I wait for the next epoch in my life to take hold and whisk me away overseas. There’s a tree in the front yard that my parents planted before I was born—a Brachychiton acerifolius, more popularly known as an Australian flame tree, not very commonly seen in Southern California besides, perhaps, at the San Diego Zoo—with a thick, sturdy, and perfectly perpendicular trunk. Throughout my childhood I recognized that it was an exceptionally nice tree; it looked attractive and never made a big mess. When I was about fifteen years old, my parents were forced to remove the fig tree from our back yard because of its tenaciously expanding and increasingly-threatening roots system. To replace the empty space left in the lawn, they opted to plant a young Brachychiton, noting that the one in the front had served them so well for so many years.
The next spring, however, something happened which none of us could have anticipated: the new flame tree began sprouting a profundity of brilliant purple flowers and the old tree in the front yard, which had never before given any sort of bloom in all the years on our lot, broke out into a perfect profusion of reddish-violet blossoms. Amazing. We had never known or even suspected that this tree held the capacity for such splendor, but there it stood: decked out as magnificently as though it had been practicing this for years. It was cross-pollination with the flame tree in the back yard that finally allowed it to demonstrate the true full capacity of its inborn potential.
Naturally, I’m struck by the allegorical parallel that can be made between the cross-pollinating Australian flame trees and the self-actualization that comes through human communion; about how, so often, we are not free to truly be who we were created to be until another person calls it out in us.
Living at home these last few months has taught me several things about the importance of human relationships. It has also brought to the forefront of my mind several conundrums over the nature of family that remain, as of yet, unresolved. Why did God command his people to honor our father and mother? So that we wouldn’t put our hand on the stove or walk out into the street unattended? Or was there some deeper meaning?
Human relationships. I met with a few of my fellow future AETs for lunch on June 7th and am all the more excited about the amazing times we will have together in Japan over the next year. Laura Hoppe and Jared Christenson are married now, and their wedding was beyond beautiful. Jared Tharp lives in Senegal, but still finds time to chat with friends over the internet. And, as I write this, I’m aware that I need to start getting ready for work at the self-serve frozen yogurt place where I’ve been employed for almost a month. If you come in to visit, I can’t give you free yogurt. But I can feel happy that you are there, and tell you so.
02 June 2008
Das Bunker, das Gute
Okay, you got me: I don't speak German. But that doesn't stop me from believing that there are few things in life more enjoyable than taking a good turn on the dance floor to some dirty German techno hit whose only lyric I can confidently say I comprehend is its hypnotic refrain of "Deutschland." As a matter of fact, the only thing I can think of that's more enjoyable than taking said turn on said dance floor to said German techno jam is doing so with Mr. Christopher Heintz, who could probably easily make it onto anyone's shortlist of favorite dance partners of all time.
So, when Chris facebooked me earlier last week and proposed that I join him and a few others to Das Bunker on Friday night, consideration didn't even come under consideration. I was there.
Trying to describe the night would be superfluous. Of course it was great. The pictures below I hope will suffice as testaments. I love dancing. More than almost anything. Period.
My point is this: please come visit me while I'm in Japan so we can go dancing together. See you there.
So, when Chris facebooked me earlier last week and proposed that I join him and a few others to Das Bunker on Friday night, consideration didn't even come under consideration. I was there.
Trying to describe the night would be superfluous. Of course it was great. The pictures below I hope will suffice as testaments. I love dancing. More than almost anything. Period.
My point is this: please come visit me while I'm in Japan so we can go dancing together. See you there.
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