Fall Photos from my world

Part 1

Here is my own personal credo:

I believe in one God, who is God over all, infinite and omniscient.

I believe God is genderless, but for my purposes I will refer to God as him.

I believe that God created the universe and everything in it.

I believe that God created me in his image, although not necessarily a literal flesh and blood image, rather the ability to think and reason and choose.

I believe that God loves me, not because of who I am, but because of who he is. I have done and can do nothing to earn or deserve his love, it is freely given.

I believe God desires to be in a relationship with me and has instilled in me the desire to be in a relationship with him.

I believe that humankind rebelled against God and that a separation occurred. Our relationship with God was broken.

I believe that throughout history God has communicated with humankind through various messengers.

I believe that Jesus is unique among God’s messengers in that he was God incarnate, and was sent to be the one through whose perfect life, sacrificial death, and triumph over death, restoration of the broken relationship caused by humankind’s rebellion can occur.

I believe that God continues to communicate with humankind through the Holy Spirit and other messengers.

I believe God wishes us to continue to seek after him and know him and to be open to his messages and messengers.

I believe that God is love, and that the opposite of God is hate, or even indifference.

I believe God wishes us to fight against hate and indifference as expressed by all forms of evil, injustice, oppression, and apathy.

I believe that God has a plan or a path for each of us, but that no two plans or paths are perfectly identical, because no two humans are identical.

I believe that just because our paths are different, it does not mean that one is right and the other is wrong.

I believe there is no “magic formula” for knowing God, but that he honors all who have a sincere desire to seek and know him.

I believe I can never in this life fully comprehend the nature of God. I can know part, and you can know part, but none of us knows in full.

I believe there is a life beyond what we know and understand on earth, where all paths come together, where all knowledge will be joined, where understanding will be in full, and where all who have sought after God will find him.

You have probably seen this before, I know I have.  But recently a friend sent it to me again in an e-mail, and I was struck anew by it’s profound message.  I hope you can take the time to watch it, even if you have seen it before.  Even if you don’t believe.  It’s worth 4 minutes out of your day.

An utterly fascinating look inside the mind of an autistic person. “The Speed of Dark” by Elizabeth Moon, is set in the near future. Lou Arrendale, the book’s protagonist, is an autistic man nearing 40. He was born in an era where early intervention methods made it possible for him to live a near normal life, while not actually “curing” his autism. He is one of the last of his “kind”, as those just slightly younger than he were given a treatment in-utero to “fix” the genetic abnormality identified as the cause of autism. Lou struggles with the idea of being “not normal” in a world of “normals’. He is near genius in his intelligence, but significantly impaired in his ability to interact socially. When the pharmaceutical company he works for develops an experimental treatment designed to re-wire his brain through a combination of genetic engineering and nanotechnology, with the potential to elimate his autism, he and his fellow autistic co-workers find themselves wondering who and what they will become if they agree to submit themselves as volunteer subjects for the procedure. Will it change the very essence of who they are?

The story raises many moral, philosophical, and ethical questions about how society views not only autistic people, but anyone who is considered “different”, for whatever reason. At the core of many of these issues is the question: if we truly love and accept people for who they are, why is it necessary for them to change, especially if they are also happy with who they are?

Lou is a very likeable character. He reacts to his environment in interesting ways. I especially enjoyed the way he was able to internalize music (classical) to adapt to his moods or to regulate them when he felt himself becoming anxious. His special ability in pattern recognition is a common trait among autistic people, but I was intrigued by the descriptions of the many ways he uses pattern recognition to help him cope with the world and his interactions with it. He is endlessly fascinated by the idea of darkness and whether or not it has a speed (light has a speed, why not dark?) “The Speed of Dark” becomes a metaphor for other things – discrimination, ignorance, death – basically anything unknown or misunderstood. Lou prefers his environment to be ordered, predictable, routine – known – but through the course of the book he encounters situations that he cannot control, things that challenge his rhythms and routines and force him to change in order to adapt and understand. He learns that change is inevitable, and that we must make the choice to accept or resist the change, even if the result is unknown.

Most of the story is told from Lou’s point of view, but occasionally the perspective changes to that of another character. I did not find this to be at all difficult to follow. I liked being inside Lou’s mind the best, but the occasional shift of perspective helped with the overall flow and development of the story line.

I would put this book near the top of the list of books I have read in the past year. I would highly reccommend it for readers who enjoy character-driven vs. plot-driven stories. It is not action and adventure, but more an exploration of culture and ethics. This book won the 2004 Nebula Award for best novel.  The Nebula Award is given annually by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.  The author, Elizabeth Moon, is better known as a science fiction writer, and the story is set in the near future where science and society have made some significant advances, but this is not your typical sci-fi story, so even those who usually don’t care for science fiction could enjoy reading “The Speed of Dark”. My only complaint with the book is that I was not 100% satisfied with the ending. Because the story and Lou’s character were developed in such detail, I found the ending too abrupt. I was so invested in Lou Arrendale I wanted more details, and they simply weren’t there. On the other hand, it does have a great ”last line”, one of the best of any of the books I have read lately.  However, you will have to read the book yourself if you want to find out what it is!

I know — you can’t believe I am back, can you?  My real life has been keeping me so busy I haven’t had much time for my cyber-life — unless you count facebook.  Facebook is easy — beguilingly easy.  Blogging takes a little more of my attention, my concentration.  Lately I have been finding my focus too divided for blogging — really blogging.  Today’s blog isn’t a real blog, either, in my opinion.  What it is is a collection of videos taken over the past week that highlight some of the musical accomplishments of my family.  The first is a video of my chorale.  Last weekend we presented our Christmas concert 4 times, once each on Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings, and a fourth concert on Saturday afternoon.  I had to miss the afternoon concert on Saturday – more about that in a bit.  My son took the video I have posted here on my digital camera.  It’s not so great to look at, he wasn’t sitting in the greatest spot for viewing, but I hope you will enjoy the audio — it’s about the music, after all.  You might be able to spot me in the front row, under the director’s left arm — I go in and out of view as he moves around.

The next video is of my youngest son’s choir.  As I have mentioned before, he sings in a boy’s choir.  There are six choirs altogether in the organization — a prep choir (ages 4-7), training choir (boys ages 8 and up who are just coming into the organization), Voyager Choir (boys ages 8 & up who have completed the training program and are ready to perform publicly), Nordic Choir (boys ages 8-13, the National Touring Choir) and the Viking Choir (boys ages 9-14, the International Touring Choir) and the Alumni Choir (former Choirboys who have gone through a voice change).  Isaac is in the Nordic Choir.  All of the choirs presented a Christmas program last Saturday afternoon.  The reason I missed my afternoon chorale concert was because I was attending Isaac’s Choirboy concert.  In this video they sing a new arrangement of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”.  It is challenging for little boys because of the time signature/rhythms — they are not typical.  I think their conductor told me once it is 7/8 time, but I’d have to look at the music to be certain of that, it doesn’t feel like 7/8 to me, but it’s not a time signature I am overly familiar with myself!

And finally, a video of the high school Concert Choir that Grant and Mark sing in.  This song is called “Betelehemu”.  It is a Nigerian Carol, sung acapella, with the exception of some percussion.  Here is the translation of the text:

We are glad that we have a Father to trust.

We are glad that we have a Father to rely upon.

Where was Jesus born?

Where was He born?

Bethlehem, the city of wonder.

That is where He was born for sure.

Praise, praise, praise be to Him.

We thank Thee, we thank Thee, we thank Thee for this day.

Gracious Father.

Praise, praise, praise be to Thee.

Merciful Father.

There you have it — a sample of what I have been enjoying recently.  Music is just one of the things that really makes Christmas special for me.  Of course, if you have read my blog much at all, you know that music speaks to me in every season.  These are the things that make Christmas “Christmas” for me:  Music, it fills my mind, my heart, my soul with joyous celebration; Christmas trees, with twinkling lights that look like stars and ornaments brought out year after year that remind us of Christmases past; lefse, a Norwegian tradition passed down to me by my mother; Christmas cards, letters, and pictures that arrive in my mailbox – in this age of instant electronic communication I like knowing that others will take the time to remember me in this old-fashioned way, and even moreso, I love remembering others with my own offering;  Family, for it is during this season of peace and love and fellowship that we gather and experience peace and harmony and love with the people who know us best.

Thanks for listening!  Merry Christmas!

I have long been haunted by the concept that material things have more “substance” than our lives do — that the things we own or create, the places we build and live in –endure longer than our fragile human bodies.  As human beings, our lives on earth are so evanescent, vanishing in the blink of an eye.  And yet, I believe we are eternal beings of soul and energy, so that the things we do and the lives we live, in our fleeting existence here on earth, have eternal significance.  Some people create great works of art, some write epic stories, and some build great structures — landmarks, even.  Some architecture is more humble, built more for function than form, as depicted by my photos for today.  I wonder about the people who built these…who were they? For myself, I will not create any great masterpieces.  I hope my legacy lives on in the lives of my children and in the mercy, love, and grace I have shown towards others in my own brief journey through life.

Now for the pictures.

An old museum school not far from my house.  This one-room schoolhouse was still in use as recently as 1971.  Current 3rd graders in our school district still attend school here one week out of the year, to experience first-hand what “old-fashioned” school was like.

A close-up of the bell tower.

I love this gnarly old tree outside on the school grounds.

Near the old schoolhouse is a “Pioneer” cabin, a reconstruction of the type of home early settler’s in this area may have lived in.

Peeking into the cabin’s interior. 

Highlighting a few details of the cabin –

The rain barrel:

The door handle:

The peak of the roof against a brilliant October-blue sky:

I’m not sure what this is, but it was outside a shed near the cabin…an old water heater, possibly?  Or an early attempt at robotics? 

From old school to new — this is at the local college campus, one of the newer buildings in the area.

Also on the college campus — these retaining walls are a perfect blend of form and function. 

A nearby country church.  Something about these buildings stirs me as deeply as the great cathedrals.  Perhaps because I see in these humble but beautiful structures a reflection of the simple but solid faith I feel in the depths of my soul.

I leave you with this song from Nicole Nordeman, which sums up my thoughts about the kind of legacy I hope to leave behind me.

 Some more pictures from my recent outings…..

This old bridge a few miles north of my home is scheduled for demolition.  I thought I should take some pictures before it is gone.  It was closed 35 years ago when a new bridge was constructed adjacent to it.  It was left standing in the hopes that it would be used as part of a trail, but those plans never developed.  It has deteriorated to the point that it is now considered a safety hazard, but at one point it was listed on the county’s historical register.  It’s “unofficial” name is the “Oxbow” bridge.

This moss was growing on the concrete bridge deck, so it really is sadly neglected, and fears about it’s safety are probably quite justified.  It’s sad (but not unusual) that something so beautiful can also be so dangerous.

This next bridge is called the “high” bridge.  It is an old wooden structure that crosses over the railroad tracks.  It looks to me as if it has suffered some fire damage at some point, but it is still open to restricted traffic (load limits apply).  I have driven over it safely a number of times, but after taking a closer look at it, I’m not sure I feel safe crossing it anymore! 

The third old bridge (there are many more in my county, but I am drawn to the old ones), the “park” bridge.  This particular bridge crosses the river that runs through town next to the city park, hence it’s name.  I’ve taken pictures of it before, in the wintertime.  I’ll post them as well (for comparison).

And finally — proof that I was wearing totally inappropriate footware for my impromptu photo excursion — cute, but really, REALLY inappropriate (especially for tromping around in ditches, which I did a lot of, particularly near the high bridge).  I should have gone home and changed when I decided to take pictures, but home was “out of the way”, so I just kept schlepping along…muttering about my stupid shoes the entire time!

Tomorrow’s photographic subject will be “Buildings”  I hope you come back!

“One of the hardest things in life is knowing which bridges to burn, and which to build.”  Unknown

The fall color peak has come and gone here in Minnesota.  Luckily, I captured some of nature’s finest on display earlier in the month. 

The dew was still on this fallen leaf when I took this close-up picture.

More frosty fallen leaves–

The oak trees are usually the last to start changing.  I know when their colors start to show that winter cannot be far behind.

A maple tree ablaze — no color adjustments on this picture at all — it really was this brilliant, and the sky really was this blue!

I love the quality of late afternoon sunlight — the way it illuminates the leaves is spectacular!

The early morning light can be quite interesting as well….

Fall color is not just confined to leaves — this apple’s bright red splash against the still-green leaves on the tree captured my eye.

Another leaf decorated by sparkling dewdrops.

This is the same picture I began this post with, edited for a different look.

This majestic maple tree stands in my very own yard.  It’s one of my favorite trees.

More berry-red color.  The fruits of fall — although we will leave these flowering crabapple berries for the birds!

I may have gotten carried away with my photo editing software on this picture.  I wanted to emphasize the way the red sumac seemed to POP against the background foliage, but it ended up a little dark and moody looking. 

From the “Land of Sky-Blue Waters”

Taking a walk in the park — I wish you could have SMELLED what I did — that sweet, musky, fertile, earth smell, it was intoxicating!

I was driving along a country road and these grasses were in the ditch — the way the sun was hitting them they looked like they were made of glass, or ice.  It stopped me in my tracks, literally.  I had to get out and take a picture (I was glad I had my camera handy!)  The pictures I took just don’t do them justice.

Do you see the snowflakes?  Since they looked so icy and snowy, I couldn’t resist adding this little touch, lol!  And again — I love the sunlight!

I know that this is considered a weed, and I wouldn’t want it growing in my lawn, but out where I found it it was like a diamond in the rough.

Even more beautiful up close….

That is all for today.  More pictures tomorrow!

The old couple who lived here were my grandparents.  The house is gone – obviously.  The two story structure remains fixed in my childhood memory for its sunny porches, for its wood burning stove in the kitchen, for its grate in the floor of the upstairs bedroom that let warm air tinged with the the scent of woodsmoke and strong coffee brewing waft up from the main floor in the early morning hours……and for its color.  My grandfather, a jack-of-all-trades (one of which included house painting), chose to paint his own home pink.  Not just a fade into the background, pale pink.  Oh no – his house was flamingo pink!  Not only was his house pink, but his car was pink as well.  And in his pocket he always carried those round, chalky pink mints, which he freely passed out to grandchildren and kids on his school bus route.  All this was long before Mary Kay Ash developed her pink cosmetic empire.  My salt-of-the-earth Grandpa just plain liked pink.     

Before he earned his living painting houses and driving school bus, Grandpa owned and operated the local creamery.  Dairy farmers used to bring their milk in daily, whereupon Grandpa and his two or three employees would separate the cream, churn the butter, prepare the buttermilk, and make the ice cream.  Deliveries were made in the pink car.  It was a real family business; Grandma kept the books, and my Dad and his younger brother earned 5 cents a day helping to churn butter and make deliveries.  Grandpa and Grandma survived the Great Depression on the proceeds of the creamery, which oftentimes came in the form of a bushel of apples or a dozen eggs, because cold hard cash was so hard to come by.  My Dad, who grew from a lad of 5 to a teenager during the depression, says he never even realized that times were tough.  It was just the way life was in those days. 

Next to the house Grandpa always put in a huge garden.  He grew potatoes and carrots, strawberries, corn, and beans – both green and yellow.  I don’t remember that he ever grew tomatoes or lettuce or broccoli or cauliflower or cabbage.  He was a simple man in many ways, given to simple ways and simple tastes.  He had spent a year in the trenches of France during WWI and treated each day as a gift.  For her part, Grandma grew hollyhocks and asparagus.  Her asparagus patch was by the shed out back.  Her rule was to stop cutting the asparagus on the 4^th of July.  I don’t suppose she ever broke that rule.  Asparagus simmered in milk and butter, with lots of saltine crackers crumbled into the milky mixture was one of her specialties, along with “Minnesota” potatoes – potatoes chopped fine and pan fried in lard with a generous seasoning of salt and pepper.  She never exercised a day in her life yet she outlived my active grandpa by a quarter of a century.  You would think with her sedentary lifestyle and with all of the fat and cholesterol she used in her cooking, her heart and arteries would have rebelled at a much younger age, but somehow she managed to survive until a month shy of her 106^th birthday.  That was a decade ago.

Summers at my grandparent’s house meant long hours playing outdoors.  In addition to his garden, Grandpa also grew Christmas trees.  Grandpa and Dad used to go out to the “tree farm” on hot summer days to trim the trees, pruning and shaping them with a few well-placed snips, preparing them for a December harvest.  I would sometimes come along and play pioneer games amongst the shady trees while they worked, imagining myself a little Laura Ingalls living in the Big Woods.  Other days were spent at the lake.  To get to the swimming beach we would ride our Schwinn one-speed bikes — with the baskets in front loaded with paper bag lunches – down the country road into town, through the alley behind the old Davis place, and across the street.  My little sister and I, and sometimes a cousin or two, would swim like fish for an entire day.  My brother, on the other hand, would often spend his entire day fishing in the lake, bringing home fresh sunfish, northern, or walleye that he would clean and give to Grandma to prepare for our supper.  Somewhere in my parent’s photo album back home is a fuzzy Polaroid of my brother and my cousin holding a nice stringer of fish, my proud Grandpa looking on.

After Grandpa died, Grandma lived alone in the pink house.  Before long she had her sons repaint it a more “respectable” white.  I can only assume she allowed the house to be pink as a concession to my Grandpa and her great love for him.  When she died, the house, with all of its memories, was put up for sale.  Eventually the new owners had it torn down.  The garden and the asparagus patch gave way to weeds and wild grasses.  The once-tended acres of trees grew far too big to decorate anyone’s living room.  Today, I don’t even know who owns the land that my imagination and I once roamed freely across. 

It always nicks my heart when I drive past this place now, not just because of the loss created by my Grandparent’s absence, but also because of how quickly time can erase our material existence.  I doubt another passerby would even give it a second glance.  Where there is emptiness, we easily turn away and forget.  I am like a weary desert sojourner, seeing a shimmering, sun-induced mirage…images of a home, of a history, of human beings.  I cup these images in my hand and carry them – precious — like water.  Even the nothingness of memory has weight.  And I realize that the space I inhabit will someday fade.  I, too, will return to field-swept breezes, overgrown trees and grasses, dark, fertile earth.  My existence on earth will become someone else’s precious images, faded snapshots of the life I lived and the love I shared. 

With a sudden start I return to the present.  I turn my Chevy Malibu back onto the county road and drive on, feeling slightly lost in the in-between.  Past. Present.  Loss.  Progress.  Extinction.  Vitality. History.  Potential.

Rumor has it that the town is expanding in this direction.  The land has become valuable.  Someday soon there will be plans to subdivide it, to build efficient homes sporting nondescript vinyl siding, landscaped lawns, and paved driveways leading to three-car attached garages that house mini-vans and hybrid cars.  Perhaps the new owners will never wonder about who came before them.  They will be caught up in the living of their own lives, with the making of their own history.  There will be lawns to mow, snow to shovel, kids to raise, groceries to buy, wages to earn.  They will be working hard, trying to make a good life for themselves, a better life for their children.  But I’m pretty sure none of their houses or cars will be flamingo pink.