Summer Daze

It’s Summer time, and I don’t have anything profound to say about that fact. Nope. Summer just seems to defy profundity and position itself squarely in the camp of carefree. And, I guess that IS a little profound. Sometimes in the thick of real life, carefree is very elusive.

Who can’t smile at gumballs? Aren’t they the the epitome of instant sweet-filled and quickly-fleeting summertime carefree moments? I took the photo in this month’s desktop wallpaper image one Sunday afternoon earlier this month. That day, I did just what I imagine I did as a child on a summer weekend afternoon. I gazed at the scrumptious offerings inside a window, but was too drawn by the possibilities of the moment to stop and go inside. Summer daze gone by — when the endless opportunities of free time were almost overwhelming. And the absence of time constraints almost made me dizzy with possibilities.

I love that feeling. And, even though my constraints are a little more rigid in this grown-up June and July, I hope I can still capture a touch of that daze. Just a touch of that carefree heart peeking in the window, but too busy with loving life to bother with dropping in the coin. Enjoy my personal glimpse of summer, and feel free to download to use in your own devices. *wink*

Golden Moment

I was driving south on Highway 45. Going home to my parents’ house for Thankgiving with the children. The trip is only about 45 minutes, not enough mileage to be considered a real trip, I guess. Still, it was a symbolic trip of sorts, the opportunity to step away from my weekday surroundings and our normal work and school routines. I had spent much of the day working on last minute design projects and gathering clothes, toys, movies, and bedtime favorites for four days away from home. The short drive was my first moment to relax. It’s funny how powerful those moments can be sometimes.

The children had already spent much of their excitement about the trip that morning and one by one drifted off to sleep, lulled by the tires on the pavement. I was alone with my thoughts in transition from the busy-ness of the week and ready for a few unscheduled days. My mind was pressed. It had been a full week of thinking crammed into only two days. I had been in a period of thinking and creating, dealing with stressful situations and my own wrestling leading up to the Thanksgiving holiday. It’s hard to quiet myself during those times.

It had been raining off and on during the morning, so the sky was striped with clouds. The sun had finally dropped below the cloud lines enough to make its appearance. The timing was golden. It was a perfect sphere of light hovering just before its decent into sunset. The glow was what distracted me.

Suddenly, for the first time that day, I was bathed in sunlight. It felt like the first time that week. The first time that month. My light blue shirt was aglow as the western sunbeams streamed into the car window. It’s interesting when light presents itself. It’s unmistakable. It commands attention. It demands to be noticed and given its due. That one shaft of light stunned the noise in my brain into silence.

It made me take a deep breath.

As I looked in the rear-view mirror, I could see each of my gifts. Their faces were turned in odd but restful angles in their seats and shining. The sunlight set them aglow. The same glow I see constant in their spirits through the changes, through the stages, through the brotherly love and scuffles, through the first words and moments of learning, through the bedtime kisses and cheeks pressed against mine. Life. Aglow. A glow that brought into sharp perspective all the efforts of the week, all the commitments, all the decisions, all the needs and wants, all the challenges and joys.

Suddenly, I wasn’t alone with my thoughts anymore. I was alone with the three most precious hearts I’ve ever known.

Winding Roads

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line–or so the saying goes. I’ll bet that’s absolutely true in pristine geometry. In life, I’m not so sure it always plays out that way. In fact, I’ve realized that the winding path can sometimes yield unexpected rewards, and get me to my destination to boot.

A week or so ago, I was traveling to south central Mississippi to visit with a Small Pond Graphics restaurant client and ended up spending most of the day on the road–MS Highway 31 South, to be more precise. Oddly enough, Google thought the best (and fastest) way to get from Starkville to Magee, MS was through the curvy, two-lane highway route–a fact that may be uniquely indicative of Mississippi. Because it was true. It WAS the fastest way to get there, although 4-laned, 70mph speed limits were only a small part of the itinerary.

Stepping out of the four walls of my office and out of the mindset of the digital world proved to be quite a sigh of relief that week. One I’m still relishing. It’s interesting how a simple change of scenery can offer much-needed refreshment, even if that scenery is mostly seen from the front windshield. More interesting still is the new perspective that comes in releasing yourself from the need to get there as fast as possible.

I left early for the trip because I didn’t really know the way, and while Google may be the quintessential authority on most things, I wasn’t convinced that the back roads of Mississippi were actually included in that knowledge-base. I’m sure I have traveled that part of the state a few times in my adulthood, but the last time I really remember paying attention to it was when I was a child. That was the trip I took with my Grandmother to trace the roots of her growing up years around Smith County where I was photographed religiously beside many personal landmarks. And, I have the goofy, mis-proportioned, knee-socked, pre-teen, girl-standing-by-a-road-sign Polaroids to prove it. This time I only passed BY the sign to White Oak, MS. I didn’t actually stop to recreate that childhood photo op. But I did take my camera. And, I took my time.

The trip was an exercise in stopping–to smell the figurative roses, perhaps. Although, I suppose the sense of smell isn’t the one that got the most refreshment. (Unless, of course, you include the distinctive scent of chicken houses as a source of inspiration.) My senses of awareness and appreciation were the ones piqued along this journey. If you’ve poured over the Junkie tags list (and I’m SURE you have), you may have noticed a tiny one called “vernacular typography”. It’s a big ol’ phrase that, for me, just means hand-painted signs. Searching them down and recording them is sort of a haphazard hobby I’ve had since college. I just enjoy seeing the ingenuity and creativity folks put into communicating themselves without the benefit of cut vinyl. For the unindoctrinated, winding roads and small towns in Mississippi are the mother lode of hand-painted signs, y’all. I’m beginning to share some of the images I found over at Plop! my company blog, if you’re interested.  But, here, my mention of it is more an acknowledgement of the process of stopping. And capturing. Of driving and winding. And stopping. Of turning around and driving back where you came. To see something again. And to mark it in time with a snapshot. Whatever oddity it represents or what interest of the “designer” it communicates, the act of stopping and paying attention to something that caught your fleeting fancy is a phenomenal experience. Yes, my senses of awareness and appreciation were more than awakened.

In addition to capturing quite a few hand-painted signs, in this trip I saw turkeys. I saw rows of hay bales recently rolled and ready to be stored for winter sale or cattle grazing. I saw rows and rows of chicken houses representing one of the farming profession’s staples in this part of the state. I drove through the Bienville National Forest that boasts no cell service but stands of pine 12 feet from the road without the tell-tale reddish brown dying undergrowth produced by herbicides used to keep the normal summertime Mississippi roadside vegetation at bay. I saw the shade of those trees pierced by moments of sunlight. I saw the curves and the mailboxes and the road signs bearing the names of county folks. I saw Good Hope and Lena and Forkville. Morton, Polkville and Puckett. Yes, Grandmother, I saw White Oak.

I saw my need to get somewhere fast vanishing. I saw my own peripheral vision come into focus. I saw the journey grow just as valuable as the destination.

BP, Leftovers & Jesus: A Dialogue

I think I’ve mentioned my instigator friend, #17. He’s actually an old friend (don’t take that personally, #17) who claims to be a recent and avid EyeJunkie convert. I call him an instigator because he sometimes sends me links or questions or book recommendations to stir the Junkie pot a little, prompting me to express myself on various issues or ideas, and perhaps inspiring me to some essay eloquence. Right.

It happened this morning. Again.

Like many across our country (and indeed our planet), I’ve been watching news of the oil “spill” in the Gulf of Mexico over the past six weeks. The story is of particular interest to those, who like me, live in Mississippi and other Gulf states. But, the implications environmentally and economically are so much more far-reaching.  Anyone who is awake is certainly convinced of that. Right? When I heard of the proposed “top kill” option to stem the flow of oil into the Gulf, my first thought was, “This whole process is an exercise in experimentation with 210,000 gallons of oil gushing daily.” It’s a frightening concept to realize you are reaching the limit of your own capacity to redeem a situation.

Enter #17.

This morning he called my attention to an article from the New York Times about the affect the “spill” is having on Louisiana shrimpers and fishermen. The implications of this disaster on their way of life and livelihood are unmistakeable, including the  larger questions of whether shrimp from the Gulf will ever be safe to eat. The plot thickens on the impact of the explosion at Deepwater Horizon. #17 wondered aloud in cyberspace why the disaster is still being called a “spill” rather than a “crime scene.” Good question. But a crime against what? Against whom?  Then, of course, #17 took the probe one step further.

“WWJD?”

For the unindoctrinated, that means “What would Jesus do?” Yep. Once an instigator, always an instigator. The ensuing dialogue in pursuit of an answer to that question made me think. It made me sad. It made me wonder. It made me ask more questions. With #17′s permission, I thought I’d share it here with little editing…

Junkie: And what’s YOUR take on what Jesus would do?

#17: Maybe He would cry. Why don’t YOU lead me to water on this?

Junkie: I don’t know about leading to water, but random thoughts…

I do think God is grieved by it. I believe a few facts about God that color the situation.

I think God made this earth. I think He designed it to be a living and continual testament to Himself and His existence. I also think He made it to sustain itself in many ways, but also to need a caretaker. The first few chapters of the Bible indicate that God designated man to be that caretaker. I think God designated man as the culmination of His creation — therefore not equivalent to nature, but more important than nature. In many ways, He designed the “system” or nature to serve man. That’s not necessarily a popular opinion with environmental groups.

In those first few chapters of Genesis, there is the account of man in the garden of Eden. Some see it as figurative, some as a recount of history. To me, the concepts are the same regardless. In that story, it was God who killed the first animals to provide clothing for man after his “fall.” The environment was used to serve the needs of man.

So, there’s a fine line with this situation. I think it’s ok for man to explore, ok to tap and use the resources we have available on this planet. However, God entreated man to be the caretaker. So there is an inherent responsibility of stewardship. I think that’s where we fall short. I think that’s where greed takes over. I think that’s where we show our lack of restraint. That lack of restraint and balance is what so often leads us into disaster.

But, above all, I believe God is compassionate. He gave souls to men, not to plants or animals. In this situation, I think he still sees the people as more important than the damage. I’m also aware that the two aren’t easily separated.

What would Jesus do?
I don’t know. I think He would have men act with compassion. I think He would want us all to take responsibility for our own actions, to own them. I think He would want sincerity in motives and actions. I think He wants the extra mile, the giving of the shirt as well as the coat, the recognition of what is priceless. I think He wants this mess cleaned up.

I like the idea of the Gumbo parties. [Gumbo for the Gulf is the benefit brain child of Environment Michigan.] Go out and buy shrimp. Eat it and give. But, is a halt to all drilling the answer? I don’t know.

I know that for many counties in Mississippi and Louisiana, the best job opportunities for feeding families are found in offshore drilling (and ironically in fishing or aquaculture). With the limited educational opportunities and historic poverty, those jobs are essential in many ways. In Mississippi, forestry is one of the largest industries (if not the largest) — another target of the environmental lobby. The current crisis is in need of funds and so are the shrimpers and other fishermen. But what about long term? What economic development can be produced to replace the jobs lost with a halt to all drilling?

And, the reality is that most goods are delivered by freight across this country. A reduction in the amount of available oil (regardless of its source) means double or triple prices on basic needs. I can’t afford that again.

There are many positions here. And not many easy answers. For me, I think the best answer lies in balance and restraint. For regulations and limits to be real. For incentives for alternative fuel to be real and enticing. For disincentives to breeching the limits to be real and detrimental.

#17: I agree completely.

I appreciate the narrative about the scripture. I also see nature as something in service to man. So did the Romans. So did the American Indians. Have you read Wendell Berry? On Stewardship? [more instigation]

I also believe in moderation and compassion. I believe in restraint and delicacy. That’s why I re-read books, why I wear my clothes out, why I have ridden a bike for so long. Its why I took the bus in Cincinnati. Its why I took the train home in Mississippi. That’s why I buy $25 of gas at a time, why I eat leftovers and pack a lunch. Its why I put new lenses in old frames and why I’m careful about how often I wash clothes.

I also believe Jesus would be grieving. And so do many others at a distance from this crisis. We feel helpless.

Junkie: Everyone feels helpless. And, we ARE in many ways.

Presumably the best and brightest minds from the private and public sectors are applying solutions to this problem to no avail. That’s not an easy thing for man to accept. And, it’s not an easy thing to look in the mirror as a race or a people after having created such a far-reaching dilemma. It’s not easy to admit that we had no foresight, or at least inadequate foresight. It’s like the realization after Hiroshima — what have we done? What genie is now out of the bottle?

Bringing it back to the real people, I think what bothers me the most is the rush to embrace agendas. It’s human nature and politics, but it’s taking our eyes off the ball. Party lines, Obama bashing, big oil bashing. The rhetoric has a place, but it is in the back seat. I was disappointed most, I think, to see the immediate adversarial relationship established by the EPA representatives upon their arrival two weeks after the explosion. In reading the tenor of the press conferences since, it put BP in an immediate defensive position. Of course, they’re going to be the fall guy. They are going to be the culprit. That’s obvious. But, that was a mistake in crisis management. To establish advocacy and an environment of cooperation fosters the best ideas. It squelches the need for secrecy and hedging. I think that approach was politically motivated, and it offended me as a citizen of a state that is likely to be affected directly by this disaster for decades. And, to see a Congressman holding up a glass filled with dark liquid that could just as easily have been 3-day old coffee was just ridiculous posturing.

You know, I’m seeing articles where the concept of “risk management” and its viability are coming into question. The assumption is that BP (or any of the oil companies) may have imagined this scenario in some brainstorming session somewhere in the past, but it was likely not even addressed because the possibility was so remote. Now, the remotest possibility has created a situation where a hazmat suit is required to walk in the Louisiana marshes that feed the lowest elements on the food chain — for wildlife and humans. “Managing” risk is an exercise in choosing, in setting priorities. Unfortunately, the priorities provided by probability (and certainly by financial gain) are being shown NOT to match up with the potential consequences. The horror is that just as we can’t conceive of an appropriate solution to this problem we’ve caused, we also can’t conceive of the true impact. For all our smarts, our brains simply aren’t big enough to accurately predict that.

Dialogue is important. Sadly, it’s not always the product of this small world we live in. It’s not always the norm for friends living 17 states apart or issues entrenched an ocean apart. But, I think maybe that dialogue is our greatest hope for solutions.

From there OUR dialogue moved into less weightier topics and pleasantries, punctuated by something like…

Junkie: What were you thinking getting me started with both Jesus AND British Petroleum at the same time?

#17: A *smirk* I could read loud and clear across 17 states.

Tues Ten 041310: Notices They’ve Paved Paradise

I had a crazy experience last weekend. I went to the local not-so-urban, but sprawling shopping center where they keep my local Kroger grocery store. Normally, that wouldn’t be all that crazy, but I went on a Friday evening at 6:00pm. That definitely contributed to the crazy, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Do you know Joni Mitchell? I have her album (read CD), Miles of Aisles. It’s a great compilation of her work from mostly live performances with the L.A. Express and offers a nicely jazzed up version of some of her classic folk tunes. Big Yellow Taxi is one of the classics included. It’s the tune that sprang to mind during my crazy Kroger on a Friday at 6pm experience.

In honor of convenient, but harrowing grocery shopping and the incomparable Ms. Mitchell, I give you this week’s Tues Ten: Confirmation Notices They’ve Paved Paradise (and put up a parking lot). And just for fun and juxtaposition and sanity promotion, I’ve included a BONUS Ten: Proof Positives Nature Still Blossoms (this time of year in the South despite prevalent concrete). The photo edition.

1. If your car stalls at the front of the turn lane, you might consider switching on your hazards. Just a thought.

2. Those giant 15-passenger vehicles aren’t really designed to be able to make u-turn into the parking space angling AGAINST you on the OPPOSITE side of the lane. Just sayin.

3. Neither is the brand new-to-me mini-van I’m enjoying. But, to my credit, I know that and don’t try it.

4. Even if you are in the middle of a parking lot on a Friday afternoon sporting cute blue jeans and flip flops, it’s still a good idea to look both ways before crossing the street. At least that’s what Mrs. Kendrick taught me in K-5.

5. Wowza with the nice Spring weather we’ve been having here over the past week. The sun off the windshields is practically blinding me.

6. Where is a good master plan when we need it? Seriously. How many angling lanes of traffic can funnel into one right of way?

7. What very friendly check-out clerks and baggers my local Kroger continually has! Smiling faces were a craziness bright spot. [Self: take note.]

8. The appropriate sequence of scan-and-remove-quickly required to use my Kroger discount card AND my debit card at the gas pump is difficult to discern. But, admittedly, that could be the result of holding a sick baby all day.

9. Wait. There’s a gas pump in the middle of the shopping center parking lot. Ok.

10. I can’t believe I actually found myself complaining about having to park 20 spaces rather than 5 spaces from the front door of the conveniently-located store where I can purchase cold milk and pasteurized apple juice for maybe more, but still next to nothing (compared to most of the mothers in the world) every single day. Somebody’s spoiled, and it’s not the gallon of whole milk.

AND, the bonus ten photo edition…