So much cooler than you

My friend Ann is officially, the coolest girl ever. She rocks, hardcore. She will rock your socks off and you won't know what hit you.

My phone's on vibrate for you, too.

Oh yeah, baby. Rufus Wainwright, performing live on my voicemail. I felt like I was there for just a second.

Ann - she's hot(tttt) with five t's.

More than a week ago I wrote that I was waiting to be sure of what I know. There’s been a lot of upheaval in the past several days. Little sleep and lots of bad coffee. And I am much closer to being “grown-up,” than I was before.

If I wait until I am sure of what I know then I will never write again. There must be some aspect of faith in one’s life. And sometimes that requires a step without knowing…

Knowing. Living. It all requires some amount of faith. A small amount of trust that the sun will also rise and you with it.

At six years old, a child may think that her heart is actually heart-shaped. And why not? The two people the child loves and trusts most in the world, the people she places her six year old faith in have named two semi-circles and a peak a heart.

It is sad to hear a six year old voice say, “I thought my heart was heart-shaped.” To know that her heart has become to her merely the lump of muscle that resides in her chest.

And for some children, this is the first small test of faith.

A child’s faith in a loved one’s words. What else could a heart be but that which we draw and color on scraps of paper? What does it mean if a heart is not actually two semi-circles and a peak? When one is six, the heart is for loving and believing and hoping. The heart, for a child, might be the principle organ of faith.

What is lost when a child’s heart becomes to them only a round, fist-sized organ?

It may take some years, but she may find the heart truly is something for wishes and dreams and faith. A force of strength that may guide according to the love it holds. What’s the old line…where your treasure is, there also your heart.

For some adults, this is both the test and the restoration of child-like faith. Belief which looks past the immediate and hopes for things unseen. A heart which trusts its treasure.

Of this I am sure. This I know.

Until further notice...
"Listen, to live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know."

"I may have to stop talking again, until I can be sure of what I know." ~ Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

I haven't updated in over week. It's not for lack of trying. So, gentle reader, rather then leave you in suspense, I'm just saying that productivity is down.

I'll continue to write, and when it's coherent - I'll put it up for your enjoyment (and your criticisms - which I tend to prefer). Let's just say I'm acquiring the words to the story. Stories.

And there are several rolling around up there - stories of elephants and mushrooms and other pieces of life crammed into dusty corners and gathering cobwebs.

Maybe I'm just waiting till I'm sure of what I know. Soon though. Soon.

"I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light." Sonnets from the Portuguese, Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Posted by Hello

On a sunny Saturday, two young women – freshmen at the University of Missouri – sat at a kitchen table in a house in Barnhart, Missouri drinking coffee.

Glad to be away from classes for the weekend, the ladies relaxed in their pajamas in front of the kitchen window.

“Oh, do you see that little box of house down there,” said Jana, the one who had invited her roommate to come home with her. “The one just down there at the bottom of the hill?”

The white house at the bottom of the hill was beyond tiny. Just four walls enclosing four rooms. It had a gracious front porch that looked out to a garden that seemed almost bigger than the house itself.

Jana knew the family that lived there – the father had passed away the year before, when Jana and one of the boys had been seniors at Crystal City High. There were eight kids in all, and only two were still under the family roof. The mother was a tough old bird who worked long hours at Steak ‘n’ Shake to take care of her boy in college and her son still at home.

“Yes, I see it,” said her friend. She was from Raytown, the eldest of five children and the first in her family to attend college. The daughter of a TWA pilot and an Illinois farm girl, she was studying to be an elementary school teacher, but spent lots of time playing bridge and drinking coffee in the Union.

“Well those people can cram more people into that house for barbecues and get-togethers than you could ever imagine,” said Jana. “They practically pour out of the house and on to the porch and into the lawn.”

“But the house is so small – how could they possibly fit two people, much less ten or fifteen?” said her roommate.

“Oh, more than that. I say you wouldn’t believe it if you saw it – their family is large,” said Jana.

With that, they finished their coffee, and at the end of the weekend returned to their life in Columbia.

I suppose Jana’s roommate didn’t think much more of that weekend until she found herself, three years later as a senior in college, in the small house next to the man she loved.

She must have laughed remembering her first encounter with her husband’s family from Jana’s kitchen window.

Actually she’s still laughing about it. Both of my parents are still laughing about it.

37 years ago, today, Jim, who grew up in that box of a house, and Lynn, who was Jana’s roommate in Johnston Hall, got married in an evening ceremony at a Methodist Church in Kansas City, Missouri.

She carried a bouquet of daisies and yellow roses and her husband wore a daisy in the button hole of his jacket. And in every picture the joy on their faces seems to challenge the world to find something to bring them down. Hasn’t happened yet.

Here’s to them: 37 years and they love each other something fierce. They have a gift of laughter. They have a tremendous sense of adventure and curiosity. And they have given their children a vast appreciation of life and love and all that those two things entail.

Congratulations folks. And thanks.

This little piggy went to market, or
An open letter in response to the recent flurry of comments

To the one who posted the comment, "which gives me the right to free speech,":

The constitution also gives you the right to not speak - it's a lesser known right, but just as cool.

It's a little incomprehensible that you seemed to reiterate Jo's comment - but perhaps you were confused about what the first amendment is - that's the free speech one - which is actually what Jo was pointing out.

The right to free speech is wonderful - you're absolutely right. And it's that right that protects that marketplace of ideas of which you are so fond.

Why then, does it seem like just because Sam and Jo and me don't agree with you, you respond as though it is an attack on your right to free speech.

Do you really want to play in an open marketplace of ideas, or would you rather just bemoan the entire "liberal media," and follow your country unquestioningly because of your belief in the fundamental goodness and decency of your nation and the righteousness of your cause.

And by the way, the above paragraph isn't an attack on your right to free speech. Just a question of how open the marketplace of your ideas is - wouldn't it be kind of pointless if everyone agreed on everything - how horribly blasé.

Yeah, the first amendment rocks my face off - the right to speak or not speak, the right to worship or not to worship, the right to have a courageous and free press. The right to question your government.

You want to go to market? Great, come on, there's room for everyone - but let's not feel your speech is being subverted or attacked simply because people don't immediately see the "rightness," of your words. By posting your response to, “Penny for your thoughts, a flag for your troubles,” on a separate blog, you invited comments and responses to that. And I would say that most of those comments have been extremely kind and more generous than I am being right now, or am inclined to be.

Perhaps if your response had been grounded upon stronger evidentiary proof, the comments you have received would have been different. By basing a response upon your knee-jerk reaction rather than well documented occurrences, you have effectively closed the door on any truly open and reasoned discussion about your position.

It's a big market - and in this particular booth, there aren't any bullies trying to steal your lunch money, er, I mean your right to free speech.

Penny for your thoughts, a flag for your troubles

The vast majority of the bodies of American soldiers fly into Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. Under the auspices of protecting the privacy of the soldier’s families, the Bush administration has enforced the policy used in the first Gulf War, which prohibits journalists or other citizens from witnessing the homecoming of these now quiet Americans.

While no press cameras are there, photographers from the Department of Defense are clicking away for record keeping purposes.

The public saw these pictures after Russ Kick, of Arizona, requested their release under the Freedom of Information Act. Kick requested the photos and was denied on the grounds that releasing the photos would result in an invasion into the privacy of the families. Kick finally won on an appeal, and received 288 photos of U.S. dead returning to Dover.

Not all the pictures are of soldiers killed in Iraq. Some are from Afghanistan, others from U.S. military operations in other parts of the world. But it is a reasonable assumption that most of the bodies are coming from combat actions in Iraq.

In Griswold v Connecticut, 1965, the Supreme Court held that there was indeed a right to privacy within the constitution. Justice Douglas wrote in the court’s opinion, “Specific guarantees in the Bill of Rights have penumbras formed by emanations from those guarantees that give them life and substance.”

Thus, there are implied freedoms, without which the “specific guarantees,” would not stand.

Justice Douglas illustrated his point using the example of freedom of speech and freedom of the press. He wrote, “The right to freedom of speech and press includes not only the right to utter or to print, but the right to distribute, the right to receive, the right to read and freedom of inquiry, freedom of thought, and freedom to teach…Without these peripheral rights, the specific rights would be less secure.”

Justice Douglas efficiently affirms both a right to privacy and a right to know.

The Restatement (Second) of Torts, an academic collection of laws, states that a charge of invasion of privacy must meet two requirements in order to have legal weight. The matter at hand, in this case, pictures of caskets, must be both highly offensive to a reasonable individual and not involve a matter of public concern.

Even if the subject is deemed offensive, it may still be released if it is a public concern, that is, if it is newsworthy.

From Iraq we have seen pictures of the dead bodies of Uday and Qusay Hussein, towns a flame, and other violent pictures which might be called offensive.

But the pictures recently released show nothing of that sort. There is no blood, no anguished faces, no smoke or fire or terror.

Just an honor guard. Just a white hearse. Just the belly of a transport plane and rows of simple boxes covered with the stars and stripes.

So here are the soldiers who joined up to pay for college, or escape from their town, or to provide an income for their families. Here are those who went to a strange land to die.

And the American government refused to let you see them cloaked in red, white, and blue. Not because the pictures were gruesome or offending to delicate public sensibilities. But because, these pictures, more clearly than any chart or newspaper show the cost of the war.

The Vietnam War was called “the living room war,” because of the broadcasts that were shown on the evening news. The images returned from those jungles played a great role in turning the tide of opinion against that war.

Operation Iraqi Freedom is already an unpopular war. And it isn’t just about the dead Americans. It’s about the Japanese humanitarian workers taken hostage, the journalists who have died, 25 since 2003, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists, and the people of Iraq.

There are folks here in Columbia who stand on street corners holding signs asking people to “Honk for peace.” And several people sound their horns each time they pass, but whether the sound is heard in the hallways of the capitol has yet to be determined.

There have been numerous ceremonies here to read the names of the American dead. Still the appropriation of the names of the dead soldiers in an anti-war protest is arguably offensive. No one can say whether these soldiers would have added their voices to the vehement declarations against the war.

Either one of these actions may be thought offensive and ineffective in turning the tide of war.

But pictures of living soldiers helping their fallen compatriots to a final home?

This is not offensive. This is not invasive to their privacy. This is their last statement, neither affirming nor denying the justness of the war. These are their silent voices. And no one may say what these soldiers thought of the war except that they are dead because of their service.

They are no different from those silent Americans in Flander’s field, who, “short days ago…lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved…”

Regardless of one’s stance on the war there is no denying that there are costs to the action.

We hear that we are at war in order to protect our freedoms – this is a perennial justification for military action. Yet this most recent challenge to our freedom to view public records and the freedom of the press, came not at the gates of Baghdad, but from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

And that ought to be offensive to any reasonable person.

Hi...surreal
Jenny is totally back in Columbia, and today she swung by Panera to say hey. It rocks my socks off that she's back. I envision some many good times and I can't wait to hang with her.

But, it is a bit strange to think that she was just in London, ordering from the Easter Star and riding the tube.

Welcome back, yo.

"I get by with a little help from my friends," The Beatles

My Saturday should have been terrible. It was rainy, I had to work an eight hour shift at the Mo-ian, during which I had to write three (count them, three) obituaries - that's three phone calls to three different grieving families, and then I got off at 8 p.m. and ate dinner by myself.

But, due to a variety of beautiful people in my life, this was probably the best Saturday I've had in a long time.

Thanks to:
My Dad for a lovely Saturday morning conversation.
Sammy D. for wanting to play Scrabble.
Mel and Jon for coming over.
Scrabble followed by Euchre followed by a trip to the diner with three of the best people in my life.

I wish you all such wonderful folks as these. Today picked me up in so many ways, and for the first time in awhile I don't feel a knot of tension between my shoulder blades.

"Why he left his home in the south to roam round the pole, God only knows," The Cremation of Sam McGee ~ Robert W. Service

It is my firm belief that all truly great writers are stronly connected to the place where they consider home. What is Faulkner without the South, Steinbeck with out California? Who would read Garcia-Marquez if his words did not carry a Colombian heat? And would Tom Robbins' characters be convincing out of their pacific-northwest home? Incidentally, Robert W. Service was the poet laureate of the Yukon.

People tease me about the south and Texas, and that's fine - I make most of the jokes myself. But I'm counting the days till I can get back to that place, because I need it. And my home is a much bigger part of me, than I will ever be of it.

I need the housewine of the South, amber in glass that flows from morning to night.

And the wisteria that hangs so heavy on it's branch that it drags the ground.

I need magnolias as big as dinner plates and Southern lilacs in every color you can think.

I need my Texas sky, and Texas bluebonnets, and Texas longhorns.

To sing "Just as I am," in the cool of a Southern Baptist Church.

Banana pudding, and fried green tomatos, and creamette salad.

The skyline of Dallas and the Red River.

More than anything I need my family who loves me and the familiar faces I grew up with in a place called Texas.

Hello Weekend - I will pet you, and hold you, and love you, and....study like a mad scientist for my comm law test.

Exhausted and going through the motions.

Win some, you lose some

MU Jazz Concert, 8:00 p.m., Stotler Lounge - Memorial Union.
(Good music, good people, good times)

If things work out...
If my life will go, just for the next few hours, exactly as I have it planned (I know - I'm jinxing it) then I will be able to both spend an hour with four nurses from Mexico, and have dinner with a jazz musician and writer who is in town to perform with our band.

I've got one hour to interview los enfermera's and then book it to Loeb to make dinner.

Hoping and wishing, ya'll

On the edge of what promises to be a long day...

8:42 p.m. Adelante Newsroom...
Wrote a new lead - hacked about 5 'graphs out of my story.
Am now waiting for editor to return with coffee so that we can put out a magazine.

8:44 p.m. Wondering...
Why do the international people that use McReynolds always play in the FARC yard? All winter it was snowball fights and now it's frisbee. Why do they want to play outside so much - the snow I get, 'cause maybe they don't get snow. But still - is it that restless drive to be Joe College?

8:46 p.m. Must be spring...
The landlocked Mizzou campus smells of dead, festering fish - is it a plague? No. Those trees that smell of fish are in bloom.
Almost brings a smile to my face.

8:48 p.m. Decided (mostly)
I told Mel that I've decided what I really want in life.
I want a dog. I want a kitchen.
These are my top picks. Anything that comes with them is gravy.
I possibly want: someone to share dog/kitchen with and/or children to play in kitchen with dog.
The someone and the children are tentatively penciled in -- we'll see.
But I'm sure on the dog and the kitchen.

9:00 p.m. Trabajo
Editor back - bearing gifts - back to work.

P.S. If anyone has leads on a dog or a kitchen, let me know.

From the Holy Sonnets of John Donne (1572-1631)

Batter my heart, three-personed God

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivated, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

~ John Donne

"Get me heaven or hell, Calais or Dover." ~ Rufus Wainwright

Whoa -- Good day, Yeah!
So today was great for a variety of reasons...

Both former residents of 309 D managed to be a part of my day -- I got a postcard from Jo. And....Dylan is camping out in my room for a couple of days.

Can I stop and say how good it is to see that boy!!! I've missed him since he's been in New Zealand, and it is so, so good to see him. He just makes me smile in so many ways, and spending the evening just laughing with him was exactly what I needed.

But...the biggest, most exciting news of the day:
So I saw that Clint had called my cell phone several times today, and when I finally had a second to sit down and call him back he told me some happy news.

He and Lisa got engaged over the weekend.

So to Clint and Lisa -- who very shortly will be married -- Clint has the days on a countdown:
I am so beyond happy and excited for you both. What an amazing time in your life!

On a personal note -- I've known Clint for several years. He was a skinny East Campus kid, with brown hair and thick classes. He was the guy who made All-State Band in eighth grade, and who was named Mr. FBA his senior year.
The Clint effect, smints, Monty Python, San Antonio, the short lived adventures of the Audi -- I have so very many shared memories.

And I must say there's something awfully comforting about a friend who you have had since middle-school -- who's gone through all the same teachers, and classes, and endless band events.

Sure, you change a lot in college, but that makes those people who are connections to your past that much more precious.

So I really don't have the words to say how terribly proud of and happy for him I am right now. I'm just so blessed to have known him so long, and to have seen him become the person he wants to be.

Best wishes you two, always and forever. See you in July!!!