rollin' round the bend

Something I love about being home is the sound of the trains, which I notice usually at nighttime. I guess I've always loved trains, but I don't think that was a conscious love until I looked back through an old pre-teen journal and I had listed a bunch of things to do with my life, one being take a train across the country,"--which I kinda did coming back home from Bend. (Portland--Chicago--KC over three blissful days of rolling monotony and traveler's anonymity.)

Anyway, the continuous sounds of the trains in the night make me think of this that I read in an Anthony de Mello book:

When Brother Bruno was at prayer one night, he was disturbed by the croaking of a bullfrog.

All his attempts to disregard the sound were unsuccessful, so he shouted from his window, "Quiet! I'm at my prayers."

Now Brother Bruno was a saint, so his command was instantly obeyed. Every living creature held its voice so as to create a silence that would be favorable to prayer.

But now another sound intruded on Bruno's worship—an inner voice that said, "Maybe God is as pleased with the croaking of that frog as with the chanting of your psalms."

"What can please the ears of God in the croak of a frog?" was Bruno's scornful rejoinder.

But the voice refused to give up. "Why would you think God invented the sound?"

Bruno decided to find out why. He leaned out of his window and gave the order, "Sing!"

The bullfrog's measured croaking filled the air to the ludicrous accompaniment of all the frogs in the vicinity.

And as Bruno attended to the sound, their voices ceased to jar, for he discovered that, if he stopped resisting them, they actually enriched the silence of the night.

With that discovery Bruno's heart became harmonious with the universe, and, for the first time in his life, he understood what it means to pray.

And, on another note, also this...


and as the original poster of this video says, sorry for the sideways-ness. The sound quality is quite good though.

close encounters

I'd heard of this man before and enjoyed his music when I caught it but never made an effort to get real acquainted--until--we were acquainted two nights ago. A favorite lovely lady had four free tickets to his show and we field tripped westward into Kansas college town territory. A few months ago listening to "So Runs the World Away" online I never, never, anticipated I'd be hanging out with this dude on his tour bus. And now I have Ritter fever. Forget Justin. It's all about Josh now.


Like when I wrote a David-Sedaris-style essay for an author imitation assignment and a year later met the man after a reading. And he read [ie, politely scanned] my imitation of him. Right over my grade school heading of name/date/name of assignment, "David Sedaris imitation," he signed his own name! omg!

It's strange and fun to realize people you read and listen to are people in fact.

hopes & prayers

Today my life idol is having major cancer surgery--at the age of THIRTY SEVEN. I don't know what is in the KC water but this makes the second of my two most favorite STA women (and the 80-millionth that our family knows??) to have breast cancer.

She's been re-reading some of her travel journals and on her blog she shared this, which she wrote while living in Central America fourteen years ago:

To me, we are alive to learn as much as we can in the time we have. We are to learn about ourselves, others, and the world we live in. We are here to have and to accomplish dreams, we are here to fail, to love, to hurt, and to be hurt. We are here to desire and to be desired. We are here to accept and to deny. We are here to find balance in ourselves and in what we do. We are here to live, I mean really live. To take chances and to not be afraid of what those chances may bring. If we don't we will never learn. And education is what makes us be and what makes us wise. Never stop learning because learning equals life.

Somewhere, there must be a lesson in all of this, but I wish there was another way to learn it.

'tis the season

no longer, unfortunately, despite the mounds of snow and chilly temps.

In early December we joined the KC Wildlands' effort to remove non-native red cedar trees from the land a tad east of town, and tromped through some tall grass looking for just the one non-native red cedar for our living room. We all agreed this was a good lookin' tree, hacked it, dragged it, shoved it into the car and set off on our merry way. (Oh, Christmas humor..)

Pulled out the back of the station wagon, our dear tree, so quaint and natural and perfect in its non-native habitat, suddenly dwarfed the back door. Thanks to some heavy duty shears and Dad's eye for aesthetics, the tree got lopped to about a third of its size and set up in the living room. Out house smelled like Kansas City wildlands, and the thing guzzled a whole tree stand of water its first night at home. Luckily the picture doesn't show the blunt branch ends that resulted from the pruning.

Ain't it cute in all its natural non-native perfect imperfection though?

missourah

'mafraid I might be more Missouri than I thought.

Some recent field trips through the northwestern corner, past the hometown of Sir Jesse James (site of cross country district championship win '02, hollerr), through slow rolling hills, past signs for the Stetson store, boot company, and Pendleton outlet (Gainfully employed, I would've stopped at each.), stirred my pioneer heart with fondness for the state I've never really accepted as my own.

Badger-bred and cheese-curd-cultured, I never felt much entrenched here in this state. As a first-generation Missourian I bled neither black and gold nor blue and red for the MU-KU rivalries and didn't know I-70 went east til I started heading there for meets, visits to Marcy's grandparents in Marshall, and State soccer cheerleading. Da YooPee? Yah, I know where dat is, but Rolla what? I know more about Wisconsin's geography and have seen more of it than Miss MO's. Kids here titter at my parents' long As and make fun of the way all we Kellys say "Wisconsin." Wisg-onsin. Not Wes-Consin. What are you, from Missourah?

But then I started to wonder when some nerds at Marquette freshman year thought I had a drawl. And my recent little drives got me thinking about Missouri's place in our fine country, at the edge of the plains and prairie, where the west began, and where south still meets midwest. Yeah, y'uall this is the heartland.

I have to say, I quite like my bicultural formation. Alternating between Spotted Cow and Boulevard, fish fries and barbeque. I can dig it. I'll don my Stetson, pick up my boots in St. Joseph, spin my spurs and hop on that Oregon Trail. With summer sausage in my wagon.

gobble gobble

Sorry, I know an up close and personal picture of raw poultry isn't particularly pleasing, but look at that bird! It looks like it actually lived a life! We picked up our fresh 18.25-pound turkey from the folks of Skyview Farm the Saturday before Thanksgiving. I beamed with pride every time I opened the fridge, and hoped to God it would taste as good as it looked or else I'd never hear the end of it from the financier of this operation: "When your dad and I moved to Kansas City we could buy a turkey for twenty cents a pound!" At $2.50 a pound, this was a significantly larger investment.

But, phew!, it was worth it. Not only did it look like an actual bird who breathed fresh air, its cavity was clean and the parts left inside were identifiable: why, yes, this does look exactly like a turkey's neck, and here's its liver, and heavens to Betsy, it even had a heart that presumably beat. In the pre-dinner frenzy I wasn't able to get away from my salad making to snap a picture out of the oven, but, it was beautiful. And tasted delicious.

The other turkey-oriented highlight was the Thanksgiving Eve gobbling contest that took place at Kelly's Pub: ten middle-aged women competing fiercely--in all seriousness--for a turkey hat and other poultry paraphernalia. The woman who won had won before, and informed my mom that she listened to turkeys online and then practiced in her car coming home from work.

gone in a flash

[loose park]

good bye, autumn

Yesterday morning started off breezy and 60 degrees. By lunchtime, the temperature had dropped at least fifteen degrees and by quittin' time the churning wind had whipped up winter. Gotta bundle up for that Plaza Light switch flipping. Thanksgiving night: 19. ohh boy!

The blue skies and vitamin D have surely done the mind & body good. Didn't realize how deficient we were on the latter in China; the sun really does crank up your disposition. May be why some of the happiest memories occurred on sunny days: track meet at school, bike ride to Bai Shan village outside Lijiang, Yunnan, the friendliness of the town Zhang Ye and the bumpy bus ride out to Mati Si in Gansu.

[mati si (buddhist mountain & temple), gansu province (western china)]

eid al-adha

Friday night UMKC hosted Saudi Arabia night to celebrate Eid al-Adha, the three-day "festival of sacrifice." The holiday honors Abraham and his faith & willingness to sacrifice his son (Muslims believe it was Ishmael that he brought up the mountain) and also marks the last day of the hajj (the pilgrimage to Mecca). Muslims sacrifice an animal on this day and give the meat to the poor. American Muslims usually send money to relatives abroad to contribute to purchasing the animal since you know, we don't really do animal sacrifices here.

Moh's friend tattooed me with what I'm told is a traditional Saudi design (I had the choice of Indian, tribal, Saudi, ... who knew henna had so many identities?) She also offered to come over for a touch-up in a few days if I want, and to arrange a cooking lesson sometime :D

deo adjuvante non timendum*

One afternoon last week Kate & I went over to the Academy to check out the renovations, and mourn the loss of the bowling alley; D111, aka Dill (study hall); The Pit (lunch room); and of course, our youth & athletic prowess.

Then last night Molly picked me up on her Vespa (for the 100-yard ride to campus) to attend a reception for Pat Dunlay. If I haven't paid verbal homage in your presence, let me tell you, I love that woman. Dunlay is brilliant, exacting, and a tough feminista you don't want to disappoint. Her College Composition class remains one of my fondest memories of high school for the way she commanded and inspired creativity, excellence and fear within us every single day. Her instruction and encouragement led me to take writing seriously and she's certainly on the list of top five influential people in my life.

Dunlay was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, and has had to retire from teaching English at St. Teresa's after 21 years. I was afraid to see her in a vulnerable condition, but she looked good last night. By the time Molly and I got to the reception it was winding down, but we were immediately recognized and greeted by name by cool dude social studies teacher Mr. Whitney (we probably each had him for one semester? (The Kelly name must stick with him for the open retaliation against left-wing-indoctrination a certain father reader rallied. (You're reading Howard Zinn?!))), then by 70 (80?)-something math teacher Dr. Joe, and of course, Ms. Dunlay herself. It was truly special to be remembered by such a disparate delegation of our four years there, and made me grateful to be a part of St. Teresa's fine Academy.

the quad seal. don't you dare step on it.
(but you may kiss it, as Jessie and I did one nostalgic post-grad Christmas break)


*Hopefully you all know that I am fluent in the very useful language of Latin, and can tell you the STA motto is
With the help of God we need not fear

ohmyladygaga

A couple nights ago we celebrated mum's birthday with a night on the town. The plan was to enjoy happy hour and tapas at Extra Virgin, a new-ish, "hip" spot in the Crossroads. We pulled up to see the radio station's van parked out front. Megan hopped out to investigate.

M enters Extra Virgin, looks around.
Radio Station people sitting near the entrance: HI!
M: hiii..
Hostess: HI!
M: hi. Do you..have an event going on here tonight?
Hostess, thinking, isn't that why you're here?: ..Yeah..
M: Uhm..
Hostess: Iiiit's... the Lady Gaga pre-party?

Megan came back to the car and we quickly concocted a Plan B. (R Bar anyone?) But yes, Lady Gagme herself descended on downtown KC Tuesday night. Of course the appropriate response to such an event is, "OHMYLADYGAGA!" -- the popular phrase amongst Chinese youngsters as a variant of OHMYGOD. "Because...," one of my students explained, "Lady Gaga is so famous. Like God."

does a body good

A few days ago Allie, my mom and I drove north to Fair Share Farm to help out for a morning. We started out picking kale, and bunching the leaves for the share boxes that'd get picked up later in the day. Then we moved on to the tomatoes, trimmed and cleaned garlic, started putting together salsa packs, and then hopped in the back of the truck to go out to the bean field. The 96-degree heat wasn't so bad with the steady breeze, and we all appreciated a solid morning of solid work. It's good (and so fun!) to get up close and personal with your food.

Allie in the beans

In addition to farmhanding, Al & I have been doing some yoga. I love an enormous sweat in a hot yoga class. It feels good to feel good.

(For the record, Patron doled out by a young dad at the Peanut does not do a body good after a night of charity event's cocktails. I should stick to farming, yoga and one breed of intoxicant per night. I miss my youth.)

my dad takes me on the best dates

Just about exactly a year ago we went to see Neko Case at the Uptown, which was awesome of course. (And it was his idea because he's that much cooler than me.)

A few nights ago we headed towards downtown to sit on the rooftop at Hamburger Mary before heading to the Tivoli to see Micmacs.

Being, like, out of the country and stuff, I had no idea what Micmacs was, and didn't do any googling before we went, but if you like the quirk and piano of Amelie, I think you'll like this one too (same director). Lots of laughs.

feels good to be home*

Dad: You know the first thing your mother's going to say when she walks in the door.
me (hopeful, cappuccino on the brain): "Wanna go to the Roasterie?"
Dad: Nnno....
me: uhh...
Dad: "Where are we going for happy hour?"

*more on that later