Me and my House

Things have been few and far between around here lately, to say nothing of grim. Just once, when I was in a good mood and had something good to report, I wanted to say 'hello.' For, as Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, "..whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."

Okay, it's a stretch, but it's one of my favorite verses, so I went with it. Shoot me.

I have spent the last 22 hours or so (okay, the conscious bits, anyway) recuperating from a bad cold. Far from being annoyed that I was spending one of my days off recuperating, I relished the chance to rest. I spent a little time resting and meditating, but the bulk was spent playing the new Legend of Zelda game and tinkering around on the newly-opened Pottermore site. It is about the latter that I wish to opine.

There's been a lot of griping — a bit of it even from me — about the inordinate amount of time it's taken for Pottermore to get out of beta. I don't know why it took so long, apart from the fact that creating anything for the sheer volume of users they must have been expecting can be no easy task.

Anyway, after several false starts, the site finally (and quietly) opened to everyone Saturday morning. Word began to spread like wildfire Saturday morning (or, if you like, fiendfyre), and by noon or so that day, our family had its very first Hufflepuff. Yvonne and I waited more or less patiently the rest of the day for our own "letters," which came late Saturday. Tired, but undaunted, we opted to plow ahead until we at least knew what house we belonged to. We'd gathered around my daughter as she had been joyfully sorted into Hufflepuff (which has long been 'her' house). Now, she returned the favor as first she, then my wife answered the questions that would determine our own houses.

Yvonne had registered before I had, so it was only fair that she got sorted first. She has long identified as either a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin, and so was more than a little surprised when she was sorted into Gryffindor (which she'd conceded as a remote third possibility a few hours before the sorting). She's, in the main, pleased, but she's still sorting it out, I think.

I had always sort of liked Gryffindor, but was often embarrassed to say so. Because the books focus on three young Gryffindors, who are, in the main, taught by Gryffindor teachers, the House of Godric Gryffindor is a popular choice among Potter fans. It seemed something of an unimaginative choice, and I am just vain enough to let such things as being thought unimaginative matter. But I couldn't argue the fact that I strongly identified with the principle virtues of Gryffindors, including loyalty, courage, and a love of justice. So when my family told me that I was definitely a Gryffindor, I didn't argue much.  Secretly, I really wanted to be one, but just didn't think I was in that class.

Whether I am actually in that class or not, I am pleased to report that the sorting hat also thinks I'm a Gryffindor. I would have actually been fine being a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw — both noble Houses with fine qualities of their own. I would not have been happy as a Slytherin, which appear to value the self more than I'm comfortable with at this phase of my life. But, Gryffindor it is, and I am inclined to regard it as official. And, if I may say, quite pleased.

I have good words for the site itself. It isn't a video game or MMORPG, and that's a good thing. Nor is it about the movie versions — it's about the books, and the site takes none of its visual cues from the films. The illustrations are, as far as I can tell, original. The whole thing seems to be designed to compliment the books, but it very much feels like its own entity at the same time.  Books, movies...web site.

While it's free, the site also features plentiful opportunities to purchase digital eBooks or audio books — perhaps the reason the site exists, as far as the 'money' people are concerned. If so, then that, too, is a success — the cost of putting the entire Harry Potter on my iPad is a more-than-reasonable $60. And while my finances do not permit such extravagances at the moment, I feel certain that the next time I re-read the series — and there will be a next time — it will be done precisely this way.

A Grief Observed

Hello,

I only have a minute to write this; it is Easter Sunday, and services at my church begin in an hour. Easter is one of the most joyous — no, the most joyous  — day in the Christian calendar. It is the day the disciples discovered the empty tomb; it is the day that Jesus Christ conquered death for all of us. It is a day full of rebirth, and beautiful spring days, perfect for soaking in the awareness of God's love, and watching children enjoy the surprise of more candy than they can possibly eat in one sitting — although many of them will certianly try.

Easter is a day that I cherish. And even as I write this, I am able to bask, just a little, in the specialness of this day.

This is also an Easter that I was able to appreciate without the benefit of much imagination the disciple's feeling of loss that Friday and Saturday night. As many of you may know, Yvonne and I lost one of our dearest friends on Palm Sunday. Amy Dodson was, in part, one of the reasons we chose the name Amy for our daughter, and she was always known as Aunt Amy in our house. I first met her when the girl I was dating at the time (and who kindly consented to marry me a few months later) brought her over to my apartment.

This was the mid-eighties, and Rush was still very much a cult band that were almost exclusively the earnest province of nerdy young men. Women at Rush concerts at that point were a complete unknown, unlike today, when they are merely an occasional rarity.

When they arrived, Amy walked to the center of the room, turned to face my stereo, and the 3x4-foot "Rush"Starman banner that dominated the wall, and exclaimed "Oh, cool! Rush!" Somewhat stunned, I soon learned I was in the presence of what must have then been the only female Rush fan in the entire Mid-South. (my wife would soon join her, which was probably a very good thing for her sanity, since she'd be living with the band for her entire married life — in fact, to date, she's seen them nine times).

Anyway, it was natural with a bond like that that Amy and I would become friends. And for 27 years, she was a charter member of a group I call "the circle" — a group of five or six college friends that have remained close well after what should have been our expiration date. Since then, a few of us have fallen out of touch, but in many cases, we still keep in touch, we call each other more than some families call each other, and we manage to juggle finances and schedules to see each other a couple times a year, if not more. They are, in short, friends that have become family.

And Amy was the first of us to leave.

I've lost family members before, so I know what grief is. This is somehow different. This is a someone who died unexpectedly, who took us completely off-guard. It is a loss that has changed us both. I could write all day, and still not be able to tell you how — somehow, words seem like the wrong reaction to this.

I am writing this morning because my friend was buried on Good Friday, and today is Easter Sunday. I have felt the joy of the resurrection in years past, but today, the sorrow of the tomb is, I'm sorry to say, still coloring things.

It also seemed wrong to let this occasion pass without comment. I was not about to use this space to memorialize Steve Jobs, who made the products I love, and little more than that, and not make some mention of a woman who was, in my estimation, far his superior in kindness, compassion, and innate love of her fellow men. I realize that it is common to over-romanticize the good qualities of the recently departed, but Amy was, quite simply, one of the most innately compassionate people I will probably ever know. The way she cared for people was, as my wife observed, Christ-like — she always put others before herself, she was one of the world's great listeners, and she seemed completely without the self-centeredness that plagues many of us, myself certainly included. I am among the many who are infinitely better for having known her.

And now, I must go. It is Easter Sunday. And, hallelujah, He is Risen!

What’s wrong with us?

Since I got my first AARP card in the mail this week, I figure I’ve finally taken the first steps to becoming elderly. I’m excited about this, because one of the chief virtues people assign to the elderly is their wisdom. Older people know things. It must be because of all the miles they have logged, but the older a person gets, the more he or she understands life — even if the conclusion is that life cannot easily be understood.

I’m also excited to tell you that this older person = sage thing obviously worked. Because, less than a day after the card arrived, I woke up this morning understanding what is causing most of the problems in the world. It’s them.

You know who them is. In the realm of U.S. politics, for example, if you are a Democrat, it’s a Republican. Conversely, if you’re a Republican, it’s the Democrats. All of the world’s problems would disappear and the earth would be  a garden if we could just lock up all the Democrats, or all the Republicans. Simple as that.

While we’re at it, we have to get rid of the conservatives and the liberals. A lot of Republicans use Liberal as another label for Democrat, so we can probably kill two birds with one stone there, and conversely, Republican must equal Conservative, so that’s another two-for-one special out of the way.

So that’s my solution: If we just figure out who they are and take them out of the equation (non-violently, of course), surely whoever’s left will be free to enact their plans on how to fix America, and we’ll finally get that paradise we’re all wanting.

The only problem is people have tried that before: politically parties have taken over legislatures, or indeed, whole governments, when they saw other groups causing all the problems. For example, in 1930s Germany, they went by the name of Social Democrats. Once the opposition was eliminated, then Germany was free to usher in the “paradise” that was the Third Reich. And since so many men and women of my parent’s generation suffered and died to rid the world of that “paradise,” I think we can rule out mass bans of the opposition as a way of settling debate.

Our founding fathers were much wiser men than we seem to be. They built into our government a system of checks and balances, so a man like Adolph Hitler wouldn’t turn the country into a dictatorship — or, to be fair to their perspective, a monarchy. There are sophisticated controls to allow one branch, when pushed, to push back. The problem is, I don’t think they foresaw just how much of a role money and power would come to play in our governments. And I don’t think they knew to what extent pushing would become the rule, not the exception.

Washington today has become a joke. Were he to go to Washington today, Mr. Smith wouldn’t last five minutes before he was swallowed up by special interests and partisan politics. That’s simply the coin of the realm these days. Quite apart from their individual selfish interests, the various and sundry Republicans and Democrats have dropped any pretense of seeing the other side as “the loyal opposition,” and instead, have become the political equivalent of that old married couple down the street — the only way they can communicate is to argue. They belittle, they ridicule, they accuse, they demean, and the seek only the other side’s destruction. When a man goes to Washington these days, he’s often much more interested in hurting them and doing good for his own side than in doing what’s best for the people that sent him there. I know — that’s a generalization. But it is far too often true.

So in retrospect, I guess age does not automatically equate to wisdom. Mostly because I really have no clue how to fix what’s wrong in Washington, but also because so many of the people who are causing the problems in Washington could and perhaps do belong to AARP.

Be that as it may, I remain convinced that the United States has thrown aside the greatness of an us in favor of a lot of shrieking, divisive thems. 

When I was a young man, and even more idealistic than I am now, I watched the presidential election night results at a friend’s house. I won’t say which election, and I won’t say which party to which he and his mother belonged. But as the night fell irrevocably to them, one of them said to the other, with a wrathful relish I’ll not soon forget, “Now we’ll show them!”

I’ve thought of that every election night since then. At first, I thought that tone was simply the province of that particular party — proof that they were, themselves a them to be opposed. But now, I realize that both parties come to power, or return to it, with that battle cry on their lips. As a result, I have long since dismissed politics as an insolvable mess. As them against them. Oh, I voted every year — my duty as a citizen. But I tried to stay aloof; to not get involved. I had no desire to wade into somebody else’s fight. And besides, I really didn’t have any answers either, so why muddy the waters with my own amateurish and unschooled opinions.

Now, the “wisdom” of my years have made me realize that this was a mistake. I’ve sat on the sidelines for far too long. And, all kidding aside, I don’t know how many years I have left. I think perhaps the time has come for me to make some sort of difference with the time I have remaining.

The battle is out there. But it is also inside of us. The thems aren’t conservatives, liberals, Republicans, Democrats, or any of the various and traditional opposing forces. The thems are ignorance, poverty, greed, corruption, scorn, contempt, pride, arrogance, abuse of a dozen different kinds, prejudice, bigotry, waste, and hundreds of other sins of commission and omission. They are all around us. They are non-partisan. And they will never be stopped until the Lord returns. But they must always, always, be fought.

I am a small man, of small means, and there is little that I can do of myself. But starting today, and in my own small way, I mean to try.

Requiem

Steve Jobs, former CEO of my favorite technology company, died today. There are going to be a lot of people eulogizing Mr. Jobs, or Steve, as we Apple fanboys frequently called him.

Virtually any of these people are going to be far better qualified than I am to wax poetic about what he was like, or how his life mattered in ways we still don’t fully know the scope of.

I never knew Steve; never wrote to him, never even saw him from afar. I suspect that had I known him as a person, there’s a chance I might not have liked him. None of that matters right now, anyway.

I only want to tell one story about Steve, and its not really about him. It’s about me. 

When I was a young man in the mid-eighties, I loved music above practically all else. It consumed me. I wanted to spend the rest of my life making it, listening to it, and sharing it with other people. I was going to be the next Geddy Lee, or John Lennon, or any one of a handful of the talented men I idolized in my early twenties. Music was, in a word, sacred to me.

Flash forward roughly twenty years. By this time I have failed at becoming a musician, in more ways than one. I had burned out on studying trumpet (a very long story), which left a music education degree unfinished. I had subsequently left that to become a bass player with my best friend. That, too, came to naught, and eventually, the part of me that used to love music was a empty, dead place. Poke it a little with a memory, or somesuch thing, and the pain of my failure would come roaring back. So mostly, I avoided music for years at a time.

What changed that feeling for me was an iPod photo, which my wife, in her infinite wisdom, encouraged me to buy when she saw how much I wanted one. And make no mistake, it was enormously expensive compared to other devices — $500, at a time when portable CD players were $100. But it gave me the ability to carry around my music collection with me wherever I went. It let me sit, still and quiet in a chair, getting lost in pieces of music I hadn’t listened to for years. The ability to access whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, was a complete game-changer for me. And before much time had passed, I was able to fall in love with music again.

Oh, not to the same level I had before; I was young, then, and full of the passions of youth. Music will never be like that for me again. But thanks to that iPod, and the ones that came after it, I was able to become excited about music again, which for me is by no means a small thing.

The company that made that iPod is named Apple. The man who oversaw the many, many people in that company who designed and built that iPod is named Steve Jobs. He died today.

A lot of people are going to remember Steve for what he built. I’m going to remember him for what he, indirectly, gave back to me. As it turns out, the iPod was just the tip of the iceberg for me — there were Macs and iPhones and iPads in my future. But I still, still feel a soft spot in my heart for the simple genius of that first iPod. And it is altogether fitting that, when I heard the news of Steve’s death, I was tinkering with the playlists on my iPhone — still enjoying the world of digital music that he helped make happen.

Rest in peace, Steve. And, from the bottom of my heart, my deepest thanks.