A church

(A visit from guest blogging person, I. Squirrel, aka Mrs. B) I dreamed last night about going to church (I spent a good portion of the evening looking at the website of a local Episcopal church) I liked the church in my dream because it was decorated by "William Mackintosh" (A dream hybrid of William Morris and Charles Rennie Mackintosh I think). One thing I know about William Morris is that he was a big proponent of posessing things that are useful and beautiful. An important sentiment.

I want to find a church. Our kid(s) needs to have some kind of religious education. If we are going to celebrate holidays like Christmas and Easter (which we are) we need to have some kind of spiritual basis otherwise it is just awful. Should we try the Episcopal Church downtown? I liked everything that I read on their website (I know that sounds incredibly cheesey but hey how else do we screen things these days?) I know I have said that the Jesus-ness of a church like Episcopalian has made me a little woozy but I realize that the thought of continuing through life especially life as a parent without some kind of religious grounding makes me woozy too.

Here's another question for you: Is there anyone in the world right now who wishes they could trade places with Pres Obama? Sarah Palin might be making noises about it but seriously....Ugh! When is he going to be featured on "Dirty Jobs"?

Dream about PEN

I dreamt that I was walking down an incline through a shiny new UW campus building. I walked by a center of PEN housed in the campus building. On the TV there was a story about PEN Center USA in Los Angeles. The story was that PEN Center USA had taken in a group of refugees. It was all very heroic and I felt proud by association, and I let everyone know that I had worked there in the past. At the same time I knew that I had nothing to do with the heroism.

Photo Tag

I've been tagged by Girl in the Room to do a picture tag! Here it goes: open your first photo folder (She took this to mean oldest digital pictures folder). Scroll down to the 10th photo. Post that photo and story on your blog. Tag five others (or more) friends to do the same.























Monica's brother took this one while he was in Santa Barbara for our wedding. What's remarkable about it is that it's just the kind of thing that guy from Minnesota would take a picture of when he's in California. I only understand now that he was in California in February. Let me say again, he was in Minnesota in February, and then he flew to California. I don't think I could have understood at the time what a shock that must have been. Especially to come to Santa Barbara. It must have seemed freakish or like coming to heaven. He left a land that was slushy and frozen and beaten hard for three months by winter with at least a month or more of snow and subzero temperatures and he came to the Southern California coast. What must our verdant desert have seemed like? Among some of the other pictures he took was this one:


















And this one:

















This one was also on the roll:

















Here he is with his sister, soon to be married she is, running into the Pacific Ocean - in February - I can't stress that enough - February. Just as they ran into Lake Michigan as children.

I'll tag you back and add Blueprint Blue.

http://girlintheroom.blogspot.com/

http://blueprintblue.blogspot.com/

Too Late For Crime?

Is it too late for me to fulfill my life ambition of being a professional criminal and cat burgler?

This reminds me of my current favorite pitch - Go Team Ninja! - it's City Slickers meets Beverly Hills Ninja. A motley crew of middle aged misfits are thrown together during a work team building exercise. They bicker and complain until their beloved ninja master is kidnapped and they must band together and use the ninja techniques that they've gleaned along with their office skills to find him and bring him home.

Who Am I Here? Addressed More Fully.

I spent many years doing one kind of thing - working toward creating a screenwriting career in New Spain. Now I feel like that has come to an end. Not a bad end, but still an end. I still write. But now writing scripts seems pointless - not pointless, but purposeless. Why write scripts? Am I really going to sell one? Certainly I enjoy it, but there are other more reader-ready forms of writing than scripts. And, to tell the truth I was never a natural at it. Now of course I have a family and I am the guy who is going to work and making the money. I do that well. I'm good at it. Maybe I've spent the last ten years as Michael Jordan trying to play baseball. I like work. But my picture of my identity isn't of someone who works in an office, my picture of my identity is of someone who is an artist - a creator rather than a manager or a helper. Who can I blame for this? Ha! I can't say I regret my choices. I would much rather be in the position I am now having done what I wanted without too much regard for practicality than looking back with regret at not having goofed off more.

Who Am I Here?

This is the question that I've bumped into frequently since we've moved to New France - who am I here? God, there's so much to say about this I can't write it all now. Later.

Why Today?

Why have I picked today to start posting again? Who knows? It could be the sheets of ice over the streets and sidewalks. It could be because I'm wearing corduroy pants with a corduroy sport coat. (Some out there would be surprised, and I hope proud, to see how well I've cleaned up since my stay-at-home dad days.)

The real reason is because I miss typing and writing. I had a day off yesterday and did no writing at all. None. A completely free bonus day - with no writing done. What does that mean? Have I given up on my script? No. No. I refuse. I'm incubating it. But man, I need some outlet. Some venue for my thoughts.

If you're looking for a good read, try Norman Rush's Mating. Top shelf fiction. I must have read something else since then, but I can't remember what...