I remember an old Ziggy comic, in which round-headed Ziggy sits with his dog on a cliff’s edge admiring the sunset. He remarks to his dog, “He does great work, doesn’t he?” It’s a simple homage to a greater power, and the logic (or belief) behind it can be applied to most anything in life. I remember and come back to that Ziggy wisdom occasionally because of its simplistic depth…an elementary understanding of something complicated, which to me makes perfect sense.
Now in Berlin, I am reenacting that Ziggy moment almost every night. Our view of the horizon has brought unbelieveable sunsets into our life, which make for interesting Futter für die Seele. (Food for the Soul)Continue reading “Ziggy Wisdom”
Editor’s note: As the troupe finds itself waiting again for a new member, a re-featuring of this post seems appropriate.
It’s like popcorn popping: you hear the last kernels turning into something wonderful, but you can’t be sure it’s time yet to take that goodness and partake. The baby’s not popping, but it does squirm, and as my wife’s stomach still holds our addition-to-be we sit waiting, wondering, and preparing for a little person with a lot of people ready to help.
You could call this a precursor to the much-anticipated “In Search of Blue Water: Part 2.” I’m sure my reflections on sailing the coastal waters of Catalina/Santa Barbara Islands will be just as potent, if not more introspective. This post is my warm-up. The last weeks re-acclimating to the U.S., to another time zone, to “standard” food, entertainment, and everyday trials have been interestingly frustrating. No thanks to, but not exclusively because of, the Sandman.
Though most of the island trails were blocked by makeshift barriers to protect nesting pelicans and seagulls, two prized trails were still open for conquest–the one to the peak of Santa Barbara Island, and another to a small lighthouse on the very edge of the island.
We had sailed for hours from Catalina, seeing nothing but rolling waves and the occasional scavenging bird.
Now was our time. Santa Barbara has no residents, and only a small ranger house, and we would exploit that freedom in every way possible: to enjoy what nature had set neatly and alone off the coast of California.
Editor’s Note: This is the first of three narrative accounts of a journey at sea. More dispatches to land in the coming days.
It’s sometimes hard to swallow: the stinging reality of things we can’t change. As regular readers of this site know, my best friend Joe is heading to Iraq on a 1-year deployment.
I’ve known him for many years, since our days teaching at a Boy Scout camp in the Inland Northwest. Joe taught lifesaving, and I taught rowing, but we both cherished sailing. We were both introduced to harnessing wind by a laughing coworker pushing us into a small boat, alone.
Those coworkers are long gone, most never having sailed again. Joe and I…are sailors.
Today, however, being the biggest game of the season, takes this show of capitalistic prowess to a new level. This level happened to be above the call of God, according to one Phoenix-area church.