Bucket List

We were assigned to write a one year bucket list, what would we want to do if we knew we were going to die one year from today.

I want to pass all my classes. With only a year left I’m not sure why, but I think it matters.
I want to paint something worth remembering and write something worth publishing.
I want to cook with truffles, and Kobe beef.
I want to finally perfect my orange chicken recipe.
I want to drink twenty-five year old scotch.
I want to drink fifty year old scotch.
I want to drink two hundred year old scotch.
I want to lead my friends who have fallen away back to the faith.
I want to go back to Italy and Greece.
I want to stand on top of that mountain in Delphi, smelling wild sage and thyme, watching the sunrise over the bay of Corinth.
I want to wrestle with my Dad one more time.
I want to see my unborn niece. I want to see her laugh. I want to see her baptized.
I want to see my father’s father who I haven’t spoken to in five years.
I want to see my mother’s father you hasn’t spoken to her in three years.
I want to go to Poland.
I want to see my friends do great things. I want to see them be more bold.
I want to defend somebody with my hands. I want it to come to blows.
I want to die for someone, or something. I don’t want to just fade.
I want my heart to burst in my chest from doing too much than dying having accomplished nothing.
I want to be laid in the ground under a cross and “I want For All The Saints” sang over my grave.

Marie

This will be Marie’s last winter. Her face is crooked. The wind changed and it got stuck that way. Her hands are like tiny bones in a bag, dwarfed as she puts both of hers into one of mine. Her voice comes out of her throat as though it were being dragged over sand-paper. She’s withered since the summer. More leaves have fallen. Her trunk is overcome by its own slight weight. Her limbs are more bent. She used to use her legs. Now she use a nurse and a chair with wheels. She’s all knuckles and creases now. The sun left town today, and I don’t think she’ll be here when he gets back. I won’t see the sun for six months. Marie may see it in weeks. Marie will find summer before I do.

19

I’ve gone around the sun nineteen times. I’ve pushed over trees and played with ants. I’ve painted walls and faces and floors. I’ve seen a man die. I’ve read my bible with moderate to poor consistency. I’ve seen my father get white bristles in his beard. I’ve seen my brother cry. I’ve gotten bigger than most. I’ve been tipsy. I’ve been really angry. I’ve smelt wild sage on a mountain in Delphi. I’ve seen two sisters baptized and a brother married. I’ve picked up big things and have been knocked over by very small things. I cried in church this week. I went West, young man. I’ve chipped a tooth, broken a bone, busted a knuckle, blacked an eye. I’ve loved and been loved. These last nineteen years were good, are good, will always be good. They cling to me like smoke in a jacket. The best part is I get more. More years to hide in my pockets and under my hat. Years that will be filled with babies, and beer, and new love and old love. I’m already wet with life and I’ve only had so little. It’s been a good year. Time for another round.

2222

So guys we kind of blew right past 2000, but i will bless whoever can prove that they we're number 2222 (yup, prove, as in take a screen capture).

From Spurgeon: The world lends a willing hand and shakes us to the right and to the left with great vigor. Well, well! Let it go on. Thus is the chaff severed from the wheat!

From Tyler: Having pink eye is like having the world lend a willing hand and shake you with great vigor by the eyeball.

100

I’ve spent the last two months trying to think up ways to make all the old posts cohesive and interesting in a group. That attempt was about as difficult as herding rabid three-legged toddlers. The only thing that comes to mind is to post about something which I’ve never written about on this blog: mi madre. The astute observer will have noticed that I’ve written about my uncle, brothers and sisters, and often about my father. Never about my mom. For those you know me better you’ve probably seen a handful of more or less roughly sketched portraits and paintings of the pater familias, laying around my studio. Some of you who know me worse might think I don’t have much of a relationship with my mother. You’d be wrong. Think of my dad as my face and my mom as my backbone. Both are integral but one is aesthetic and the other is structural. My dad gave me his nose, his sense of humor, and many of his skills. My mom gave me my ideas about justice and home. I’ve written and drawn my Dad so often because its easy. Big nose, beard, tired eyes: he’s a caricature. My mother on the other hand is a paradox. I could write about her about as easily as I could describe a square with no hard edges. Its such a strange mix of strength, and femininity, and grace and fairness, that I nearly threw away this document and almost decided to not even post this entry. Maybe I’ll try again when I’m smarter. So this is to Mom. My 100th blog post.

Uncomfortable

Has anyone else had a diminutive bald man with a New England see you stand up and lisp, "Well you're a tall drink of water!"

Its weird, and I didn't like it.

It might be a few days before I post again as my next post will be my hundredth and I'm gonna make it special.

T

Morgan Again

"Sometimes its good to be naked."

Honest Question- Raised by a friend outside of my family, calm down, all hypothetical.

If one of your siblings was getting married to a non believer would you attend the ceremony? I absolutely would go to the man's bachelor party, to keep him from dishonoring my sister the night before their wedding. And I can see myself getting more involved in my sister's life afterwards, because she will need support and love all the more. My question isn't whether I would drop out of her life. Certainly not, just the opposite. I can't support the union, because he can't love her as Christ loves the Church, because he doesn't love Christ. Her father is going to have to continue doing that for him. Her Father is still her covenant head in many bregards. My Question is; would i attend the ceremony (coming from the middle latin awed, or revered rite) between a believer and a nonbeliever?

Morgan is still smarter than me

"In my shop, I'll sell things to people, and jordan will fix their hair, and you'll stand at the door and draw pictures for the walls and mom will where a giant chicken suit and wave signs outside."

Morgan is smarter than me

According to my 7 year old sister: "Gymnastics is the best thing ever... except for God, and Jesus,... and friends and family... and life... oh oh oh and forgiveness. So its the seventh greatest thing ever. maybe gymnastics is just cool."