Some morbidly peaceful thoughts before I clean the slate

Over the last few days I've been out and about, going to Wheaton on Thursday and the Museum of Science and Industry on the south side of Chicago on Friday. We stopped in the museum gift shop just a little bit before closing time, and I simply intended to bum around and look at stuff while my friend did the same, waiting until he was ready to leave. A book suddenly caught my eye, and when I picked it up I randomly turned to a page about a roadside haunting. And after I finished that story I read another story about a myth in a graveyard. The book is entitled Weird Illinois, a compilation of myths, legends and random oddities that either occur or have occurred in the state. Although I have been reading articles about UFOs and harmless apparitions more recently, what still catches my eye are some of the stories of the ghosts that don't "rest in peace," per se. Many of these stories and accounts are scary as can be, but for some of them I kind of felt for the ghosts, as if they needed help for something but will never receive it because we as a society of those who are still living have been taught and trained to be afraid and run away from these *ahem* creatures.

I'm doing my best not to think too much of it--it seems to have worked; I haven't had any nightmares about the accounts since I bought the book--but reading them has made me a little less fearful of death. The fact that we have ghosts helps the belief that we don't cease existing when we die. True, there is a separation between the two entities (one of the dead and one of the living) and it is rather difficult to communicate between persons from the different dimensions, but knowing that I won't just stop thinking or feeling things when I croak has helped me to peacefully move closer each day. Of course, while I've been reading this, I'm trying to figure out where God has a hand in it; I'm not sure how He does it, whatever it is, I just know that He does it.

Aside from a heck of a lot of driving, death was a pretty common theme this year. Aside from the celebrity deaths in all sectors, ranging from politics (Gerald R. Ford) to sports (Lamar Hunt, Kirby Puckett, Cory Lidle, et al.) to music (James Brown and Gyorgy Ligeti) to science (Steve Irwin), there have been a few that have affected the people around me, to where I have had to pray for them as they go through their hard times. Aside from my friend Allen and pet bird Phillip, one of my friends at Olaf lost his uncle in mid-summer and a couple others lost a parent or sibling. But one lesson I've carried from it is that these people are no longer in pain, and, as long as no one's screwed around with their graves, are presumably resting peacefully. And it makes me happy to know that they are doing alright, albeit jealous sometimes.

New Year's for me has always been a time of cleaning the slate and starting over. I never want to forget the people who have been in my life in the past, but at the same time cleaning the slate helps me move on. I'm not sure what my resolutions will be (if I make any). Sometimes they just happen, and by that I probably mean I just give the pen and paper and have God write them down. [Something like that.] Hopefully for 2007 I'll be able to start anew again.

2006 Adventures with the Jeep

One of the things I will remember from this year is that I drove a lot. I needed the car for some appointments 30 miles away from Olaf, and as a result I needed to spend the majority of my time up there (summer included) so to go to them regularly. Aside from getting used to driving on interstates and learning how to drive in both Minnesota and Illinois (the whole culture shock is still, well, shocking to me--people in Minnesota drive like people, people in Illinois drive like chickens with their heads cut off) I've had some interesting adventures on the road. Just over a week ago when I was on my way home, I popped my ears while driving down a steep hill in southeastern Minnesota (I was driving really fast; I had left late in the winter's day and wanted to minimize the amount of night driving I had to do by going fast while it was still daylight). What's amazing about it is that when I normally drive down (or up) said hill my ears never popped.

Aside from the long trips, I occasionally had the privilege of driving my friends around town and occasionally to the Twin Cities and back. And with these carpools I had a few funny incidents. One involved a return trip to Olaf from Target, when I stopped at a red light and asked Pat if that was one of my friends on the sidewalk to my left. After a couple seconds of deliberation he looked over and confirmed that it was. After remembering that the horn mysteriously had stopped working after I had taken it in the shop a month or so before, I realized the only way I was going to get Nolan (the guy standing on the corner)'s attention was to roll down my window and call out to him. Now it was dark inside my car in spite of the headlights being on and such, and I fumbled trying to find how to lower my window. The result involved locking the doors (for the umpteenth time) and rolling down all the other windows before finally hitting the right switch.

Another hilarious (or so Pat thinks, anyway) involved a trip the three of us took to Arby's for a late-night snack. While I was waiting to pick up everyone's orders I moved the car forward and backward so to make it easier for me or Nolan, who was sitting right behind the driver's seat, to pick up our respective food.

There have been other interesting events, like the time Pat and I were driving back from a White Sox-Twins game and saw red and green lightning (only to discover they were fireworks). Or the time I think a friend tried to drag-race me (I refused to take part in it). But mostly it was routine driving. I think the multiple 7-hour driving trips taught me something about patience and pacing myself, especially for the sake of the Jeep. I drove out to Wheaton to chill with Glen for a bit, and driving back this evening for some reason just mentally drained me. Something about remembering how selfish and "jackass" some of these drivers can be (all part of the culture shock; and this is supposed to be "home"!).

So driving and being one with the Jeep will be but one of several things I will remember about this year as I'm looking back. I think mostly I'm thankful it was in Chicago when the hailstorms pounded Northfield and other parts of southern Minnesota back in August. I'll be both glad and sad to not have it up at Olaf anymore. I'll be glad because I'm done with having to worry about driving for 7 mind-numbing hours, but at the same time I'll have to rely on someone else to drive me into town if I need something. Also my mom will be able to drive instead of having to rely entirely on the CTA and walking to get herself around.

Happy Birthday God

I woke up (for about the fifth time) to some child singing these lyrics on my radio alarm clock--well I heard the "Nutcracker Suite" and the news report first--but it was quite amazing to realize what the text was actually saying (I was still half-asleep when I heard this). And now I've been up for the last half-hour of Christmas morning. Presents will be exchanged relatively shortly, and probably food as well (maybe eaten instead of exchanged, though).

Last night was the first time in 15 years that I did not sing in the Christmas Midnight Mass. Through my years in the St. Luke's and St. Thomas Choirs, as well as randomly waltzing back to a couple makeshift choirs the last couple years at St. Luke's and St. Paul's, it's been quite a run, singing a vast smorgasbord of Christmas church music. So last night I joined the congregation at St. Paul's. It didn't feel all that different, although I think it was the most tired I'd been at Midnight Mass for over a decade.

Last night I played part of the role of Santa. [No, I did not go down a chimney wearing a fat red suit...] But I did indulge myself to a couple helpings of milk and cookies and stuffing a couple presents under the tree (under my real name of course). And while I was indulging in my sugary sweets I realized what I was doing and decided to give out a little Santa laugh just for the heck of it.

But today isn't Santa's birthday. It's just his only traveling workday of the year. It's God's birthday; or, more accurately, it's Jesus's birthday, but since He is also God as well as Son thereof, it is God's birthday as well. And (I think) it is for this reason that the whole Christmas cheer is necessary. Even though we give and treat each other with love and respect as well as anyone on this day, it's how God wants us to act all the time. But too bad in our culture we decide to limit God's birthday to one day. It should be every day. But in the meantime, happy birthday and Merry Christmas.

End-notes from the noggin

Since I've finished going to the Owatonna clinic for appointments, I've really begun to realize a bunch of differences in how easily I can perform tasks for work and school. Most of them have involved reading more easily and making sure I put myself in a position where I do it so it is easiest on my eyes. I've in general become more aware of how my internal muscles (meaning muscles that I don't necessarily strengthen by lifting weights), and how to convey what I'm experiencing as a result. For example, when I started taking voice lessons this semester my instructor told me I was singing from the throat, producing a woolly sound. So when I really started feeling for where the sound was being made vs. how it should be projected, I made the adjustment rather quickly. Another example involved the final exam in music history I took on Tuesday morning. Normally it's supposed to be a two-hour test, and it really was, but I finished it with 15 minutes to spare. Normally when I took tests in HS and the early years in college I usually took the entire testing period (unless it was for Music Theory). So I've got some side-effects in my success story from going to vision therapy appointments. [Speaking of which, I need to fill out my success story handout and mail it to them.]

So I finally made it back to Chicago. I basically squeezed my music history exam and a 7-hour driving trip in one day on 6 hours' sleep. I wouldn't recommend it to those faint of mind. [I cheated by chugging a Pepsi so I could stay awake.]

I'm glad to be back and see all of my "home" friends, but I already miss my Olaf ones.

I've got a few potential projects brewing over my time here. Chris and I will transcribe a few Ben Folds songs, I will probably orchestrate a piece or two I'd already written, and I will try my dangdest to practice at the Music Institute while it's open. I went for a bit yesterday, and I probably will return sometime today, but I have to figure out what all's going to go down.

I went bowling last night, and for the first time I had discomfort in my wrist towards the end of the evening. Usually it occurs in my elbow, but it's a sign that I need to strengthen my wrists when I lift weights next month. Going down the list I probably want to focus more on abs and ankles too so I can improve my jumping skills, specifically in frisbee where I'm dead if I'm guarding someone who can jump well.

If I'm going to maintain my body strength, I need to eat food. I'm going out to get some right now.

So weird to be back here

Excerpts from "Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds:

Everybody knows

It sucks to grow up

And everybody does

And so weird to be back here

Let me tell you what

The years still go on and

We're still fighting it

It was pain

Sunny days and rain

I knew you'd feel the same things

I'm kind of at this stage in life that this song gets at, struggling with the idea that I'm not a kid anymore. I've been getting better about coming to grips with it more recently (probably when I refer to my peers I've started using terms that refer to them as adults rather than children), but it's still weird. Since my best recollection of life now really begins with my entrance into college, I look at everything before that and see it as separated to my current life, whatever it is. I guess 400-or-so miles of geographical distance will help with that.

I recall being kind of afraid during junior and senior years in HS as to what will happen to me once I went to college. I was on the cusp of the proverbial Ianus door of life, looking back and seeing 18-19 years (although probably remembering only the last 12), and then looking ahead and seeing an indefinite number of years of complete uncertainty (this was also probably around when I started freaking out thinking I wouldn't be able to go to college because they would all reject me or something). I still see years of uncertainty ahead of me, but perhaps it is because I'm only a junior in college that I can still see the next 18 months as relative certainty. Of course, there are several things that will come up over the incoming period of time that I will have to make decisions on (concerning figuring out my work/career status, class credit completions and my ever-running battle of perfection with my social life). But in looking back (and to explain why I chose the particular line of text for my entry title) I look at myself at age 18 or so and see how weird it is to be back in that time period, living the life I lived then. Perhaps it's because my confidence and levels of trust (as well as number of good friends vs acquaintances) have risen quite a bit over the last 2 or so years vs the previous 4 or so years.

Basically, this is probably the first semester where I stopped seeing myself as an overgrown kid. I'm still not quite mature enough to be considered a "man" ("guy" will suit me just fine right now) but I suppose if I don't spill out my life story to anyone I don't know really well they would probably consider me a man. I look at my friends, and while I call some of the guys "men" I call others "dudes", and with the opposite gender I waffle between "girls" and "women" (probably mostly because of their age, etc). It's weird, trying to fit myself and everyone else with all these labels society thrusts on us. Another thing that college has helped with is the fact that I don't look at people based on their age anymore. I used to do that all the time as a kid, when kids generally base authority on each other over who was born first. But I simply don't look at some of my friends and automatically think "he's 20," or "she's 21." I just don't. And I think college really has helped shed a lot of these labels and help me focus on what's more important, namely confidence and trust. I recall I really had lost my grip on these two attributes during my tensions with Steven towards the end of the summer, but in a way I've tried to look at it as something to keep in mind if similar conflicts arise again (which I'm sure they will, in different shapes and forms).

Anyway, enough blabbing. It's just weird to try and picture what my life and I were like back then (2003-ish, give or take...). I suppose if I could suck my gut in and get a job and plan events to do then I would get another few baby steps closer to manhood (still a weird term to me, though). Also, I have to return to practice, study, and write. It's finals week up on the Olaf Hill.

I love cranberry juice

Well on Monday night my piece, Cranberry Juice, premiered in a composition concert. Even though I was frantically scheduling rehearsals so everyone could make them (I had four, including one right before the concert, and still not everyone could make them) I was pretty pleased with the outcome. I got to listen to the CD just this afternoon, and even though there were plenty of things that I could've done to ensure that it would've gone even better the group did a nice job. So kudos to Jacob, Signe, Kaitlin, Rachel, Christoph, Nolan, Jonathan, Bryan, and Greg, who had switched to keyboard percussion at the last minute. It's nice to know people who could pull it together in just a few short rehearsals.

I plan on doing this again for the Musika Nova CD in February/March/whenever the recording/release dates are.