Apathy & Snow Angels

 Apathy is living oblivion. - T-Shirt 

Comments I, myself, have heard (or spoken) in the past two weeks or so:

"I am done with this *+&#@"

"I wish we could get more."

"Can't wait to get out and play in it."

"Gonna hunker down and hope the power stays on."

"This is why I DON'T live in Minneapolis."

"This is why I WISH I lived in the islands."

When it comes to snow in our little corner of the world, Indifference takes a back seat. And keep his mouths shut. Around here, snow inspires passion. Fervor. Sometimes rage.

And then of course, there are the frantic milk-and-bread-panic-attack-grocery-store-runs. And while we're on the subject... milk and bread? Really? You're going to be holed up for a few days, and all you want is milk and bread? What about Doritos and beer? Tacos and Oreos? Meat balls and hot sauce? More evidence that snow makes you crazy.

But when the flakes start flying around here, the passion does indeed start pumping. The fervor either for-or-against the wintry-mix produces a wild-and-wooly mix of feelings and opinions. Sleds and moods begin sliding down. Snowballs and epithets get thrown around. Snow people rise; attitudes plummet. In these here hills, snow divides us in ways that Republicans and Democrats have never known.

There are a few things that bring snow-lovers and haters together, however. Bon-fires, for instance. Hot chocolate. Snuggling with your honey. Snuggling with someone who might become your honey. Sipping whiskey by the fireplace. And hot tubs.

A few snows back, there were seven or eight of us in the tub. We were wearing bathing suits or less. The water was hot. Steam filled the room. Outside, there were about 5 inches of snow on the ground and more coming down. It was a quiet, gentle snowfall. No wind. No branches snapping or transformers ka-powing. We were there together, snow groupies and snow haters alike.

The chatter and laughter was as bubbly as the water when someone said, "Hey! Let's run out and make snow angels!" And he immediately jumped out of the tub and ran outdoors. The rest of us watched him go, dropping our jaws with a collective, "What the....?"

The snow-angel-maker reappeared in the doorway looking like a scene from Yellowstone Park. Steam coming out of every pore. "Come on!" he said. "It's amazing!" And so, social pressure being what it is, believers and non-believers alike climbed out of the tub, went outside in the 20-something degree air, plopped themselves in the snow, created a heavenly host right there in the back yard and then scrambled back into the tub with a frenzy usually reserved for milk and bread.

There may be physical sensations more invigorating than hot-tub-snow-angel making; but, if there is, I've never experienced it. In our breath-taking thrills and chills and hooting-and-hollering return to the tub, our divisions over snow evaporated. We were simply a collective of steamy, giggling goof-balls who, through laughter and silliness erased any semblance of apathy or nonchalance. We were ecstatic to simply be alive. And warm.

"Apathy," says the T-Shirt, "is living oblivion." Life is too short to not give a damn. Whether you love it or hate it - play in it or stay inside eating bread and milk,   snow disrupts our routine, shakes us loose and kicks apathy in the butt. Hurray for the &*#@ snow!!!

Howard will be celebrating St. Paddy's Day with some live Irish music, good friends and enough Irish whiskey to make St. Brighid and St. Patrick do a little dance.  Or maybe a little more.  Howard is a true believer in luck.  And, since the Irish seem to have more of a handle on the gift than any other country and since Howard is pretty sure he's got some Shamrocky blood running through his veins, he will be singing, dancing and lifting a glass to each and all.  Howard's favorite Irish toast:

May those who love us, love us

And for those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts.

And if He can't turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles

So we'll know them by their limping.

Signs

Ask a sign for yourself from the Lord your God; make it deep as Sheol or high as heaven. - Isaiah 7:11

What if a daffodil is more than a daffodil? What if a drenching spring rain is not just a meteorological event? What if that chance meeting in the grocery store with your long-lost dear friend from elementary school was not just a coincidence? What if these seemingly random and isolated events are signs? What if they, somehow, point to a bigger picture of what's going on?

OK, OK. It's easy to trip over this idea and fall in a puddle of woo-woo. 'Tis a slippery slope from seeing signs - to hearing voices in your head - to channeling Kubla Khan. But, even the most unimaginative bozo can see that budding trees are a sign of spring. Or migrating birds. Or couples kissing in the park. And these are good signs. Very good signs. Even a bland and uninspired couch spud can see that acts of kindness or folks building Habitat houses or lovers walking hand-in-hand are good signs. Very good signs.

Despite all the crap we hear daily from CNN or Fox or political debates or misguided preachers, there are good signs everywhere. And not just a few. There are bounteous good signs which appear moment by moment. You can spot a dozen before breakfast if you pay attention.    

And perhaps, one of the most life-enhancing things we can do for ourselves and the world is to notice these things and say to ourselves, "This is a Good Sign." And then live with that awareness. With that assurance. With that faith that God is with us and there is far more going on than we can possibly imagine.

Howard is thrilled that his daughter, Kelsey, has come home to Asheville from the University of Miami Medical School for two months so she can do her clinical residency at Mission Hospital and then graduate in May as a Doctor in Physical Therapy.  Howard is planning on many DDDs (Daddy/Daughter Dates) in the coming weeks.  

Facing It

Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes. - C.G. Jung

Here's an idea: Stand in front of the mirror and just stare at your face. Just stared. No zit picking, nose-hair clipping, make-up applying, eyebrow plucking. None of that. Just look at the mirror-image of yourself. Have you done it lately?                

You know, of course, that the reflection you see of yourself is reversed. Hold up a magazine article in front of a mirror and it's hard to read. Likewise, the face looking back at you in the mirror is not what others see. It's backwards and may be hard to read as well. But give it a try. Just look. No analysis, critique or judgment. Just gaze for awhile at the albeit bass-ackward face of yourself.                                 

It can be depressing. You may see flaws you never knew were there. Wrinkles, moles, blackheads and wild hairs which have somehow moved into the neighborhood without your knowledge or permission.             

Check out the eyes. Look deeply into those windows of your soul and wonder how many incredible images have passed through those orbs. Waterfalls, printed pages, clouds, scenes of horror and delight, colors, stars, food, faces of loved ones. Gawk at your ears and stand in awe of the infinite plethora of music and words, roars and squeals, chirps and sirens, whispers and deals, screams of pain and murmurs of love those ears have received.                  

Gaze at that crazy head of yours in which is imbedded your even-crazier brain. Utterly unique and yet, so very similar to every other human brain on earth. Your brain which has processed every sight, smell, touch, taste, sound - every thought, meditation, every boring history class, erotic urge, yearning and sadness, curse and blessing that you have encountered or pondered.                

Try it sometime. Try staring at your face. And, before you finish, with or without a straight face, look into that mirror and say, "My God, you're beautiful!" Just do it.

Last Sunday, Howard and his LadyLove, Joyell Smith, led the Jubilee! Celebrations together.  'Twas a first-time for both of them.  First time for Howard in sharing the stage and first time for Joyell in leading Jubilee!  And a good time was had by all.  Howard's getting the itch to try some new things this year; and the Jubilee! experience this past week he considers an excellent start.

Moving to the Beat

Civilization is a movement and not a condition, a voyage and not a harbor. -Arnold J. Toynbee

"If you wake up in the morning," wrote Frederick Buechner, "and assume that everything is exactly as it was when you went to bed the night before, you're crazy." The good professor speaketh truth. Nothing in this world can be permanently nailed down, tied up, fastened, stuck, attached, joined, bonded or glued or screwed in place. Which is to say, everything's motion. Every goober and galaxy, mountain and molecule are all on the dance floor - all swinging and sashaying to whatever rhythm rocks their socks or gets their boogaloo boogying.                 

And that includes you and me. We're all movin' and groovin'. You might feel stuck - in a job, in a relationship, in a life style, in an addiction, in a body size. So many ways to get stuck; so little time. But, even if you are crazy enough to assume that you're not on the move; you might be reminded that you - in all your stuckedness - are riding on a planet that is zinging at 67,000 miles per hour though uncharted space. You may feel stuck, Sugarcheeks; but you ain't.            

Maybe the reason we feel stuck so often is because we're missing the beat. Missing our own beat. Missing the rhythm that gets our hearts hopping and our brains boogying. Perhaps we forget that my rhythm is not necessarily your rhythm. And it's when I keep trying to move to your rhythm that I feel stuck.

Picture God as a dance band, playing the tunes to keep the universe spinning. Maybe faith is nothing more than listening for the beat and moving to it.

Tuning In

I saw the spirit descending from heaven like a dove - John 1 

A seasoned traveler can tune out the roar of a jet engine in flight.  An experienced Mom can tune out Saturday morning TV cartoons her kids are watching. A good bar tender can tune out four or five at-the-bar conversations simultaneously. And any teenager worth his zits can tune out a high school history teacher rambling on about the War of 1812.                  

The talent to tune things out is high art, a holy gift and can keep you from scrambling to the bathroom for a Xanax.                                      

The talent to tune in is not so highly valued. Parents, of course, tune immediately in to their children's conversation when they heard the words "sex" or "drugs." Grocery store managers tune in when they hear "snow" on the local weather forecast. And avid shoppers drop everything when they hear, "bargain."            

But, for the most part, tuning in is not as highly valued these days as tuning out. And so, we might miss the telephone-wire-perched bird song in the midst of downtown traffic. We might not hear the giggle of delight across the room in the restaurant or the almost-silent flutter of fresh snow as it falls through naked trees.                  

True. Our lives are full of noise and dissonance that can rattle the brain and jangle the nerves. But if we only tune out and never tune in, we might just miss a giggle, chirp, rustle or rhythm that sounds for all the world like it's calling our name. 

Howard is prepping his spirit for cataract surgery.  Never having been a big fan of doctors, hospitals or surgical "procedures," Howard is toasting the possibility that he will soon be able to see a beautiful face or a sunrise more clearly.