That Was The Month That Was -- April 2004

April 2004 was a month that promised spring, but never really got around to delivering in a big way. The season actually seemed to be going backwards, quite often feeling more like February than April!

The Passover musical on the radio didn't seem to fit with the wintry weather I was driving through on the way to my friend J--'s birthday party. The backwoods in northwestern Pennsylvania have their own "terrible beauty" especially on a grey, cold day. It was quite a contrast to step into a warm, inviting home to spend the afternoon with friends. J-- turned 40, but you wouldn't have guessed from the decorations -- all superhero stuff. I could have never imagined any of our parents having Hulk decorations back in the day. Maybe my generation is just living out a lengthy childhood -- I celebrated my birthday (36) watching monster movies!

I took a much-needed vacation after the busyness of Holy Week. I ended up in Kentucky, where there was evidence of spring! T-- and I reflected that we must be crazy to live up here in New York aka the North Pole.

Last Sunday I went to a Youth Specialties event in Buffalo. The "training" wasn't so much about techniques as it was about discovery. The facilitator led us through some exercises to help us discover our own unique personalities and gifts. It was some much-needed affirmation. The intensive kind of people-work the church requires can leave me worn out, and it's a big temptation sometimes to wish I had the gifts and abilities of more successful ministers. But it's much more important to be myself. I may not be the best, but I am genuine, and that seems to be a rare quality these days!

I spent a lovely evening at the Mount Saint Benedict Monastery on Wednesday. Being a rather shy type, I almost cancelled my reservation when I found out T-- had to work. But I'm glad I participated. Sister Carolyn and everyone was so friendly to the "new guy." We shared a dinner and then spent the evening talking about creation spirituality. The one thing I took back from the program was the Benedictine idea of living in the present. I spend so much time regretting the past or worrying about the future, so it was a message I really needed to hear. In an age of multitasking, it's a message we all probably need to hear. It fed my soul, and I will be back for other events.

If there's one word I would have to describe April 2004 with it would be encouragement. I'm really blessed with a group of friends near and far. A few days didn't go by in April that someone stopped by the office or called me on the phone and encouraged me. I even received a few letters and had some iChats from friends far away. Believe me -- it more than made up for the weather!

That was the month that was - April 2004...

The Sweet Smell of Success

The girls at church today were talking about a feature they saw on TV about people who get paid to be "bathroom assistants" to musicians and actors. The gist of the job is that they proceed into the bathroom ahead of the star to scope out the room and empty it of people, if necessary. Then they guard the room while the entertainer, well, you-know, goes poop 'n' stuff. No word yet on if wiping is part of the job description...

And you thought your job was crappy!

Getting to the CORE of things

After wandering around wondering where I fit in most recently, I, B, H and myself had an opportunity to fit perfectly somewhere. We attended a Youth ministry training in Buffalo, NY and were in the company of a hundred or so youthworkers from our region. Some of the folks were total strangers, some peers and previous youth members now in ministry jobs from our home town, and some from our various trips with The Sally Army. There was a closeness there today that you only usually feel on day three of a three day retreat - but this was only hours long. Maybe it was the "sameness" of our jobs, the overindulgence in junk food or the crazy act like a fool games. I frankly don't care what the formula was -- it was exactly what my overly busy, emotionally drained person needed.

There has been so much talk about "calling" lately -- mine, yours or otherwise -- that I was happy to be accepted for who I am and where I am being ok. How refreshing! It's like someone packaged this short seminar in a peppermint patty wrapper and I unpeeled it to experience something totally unexpected and new. I felt supported, accepted and loved. Experiences like this show me all the more, that "church" or even better "God" isn't limited to my small perspectives and limited vision. Jesus can break through the tough exterior I put up to protect myself.

A good friend of mine spoke about how Jesus pursues us passionately. Like a group of kids that throw a snowball at your car. Do I stop and get out of the car to see what they want or do I just keep on driving while grumbling about my car's possible injury?

The pain that we feel can be the snowball Jesus uses to get our attention. The side-splitting laughter of watching middle-aged youthworkers play outrageous mixer games can be the snowball that Jesus uses to wake us up. Even while feeling insecure about the "calling" of God on my life, I was hit with a snowball today.

We broke into small groups and we were asked to write on a note card: a burden, struggle or habitual sin that has been dogging us. The group was to elect and "pastor" to gather the burdens and exchange them for a small container of anointing oil from the platform. After the exchange, the "pastor" was to return to the small group and anoint the person to the left of them with oil while reciting "My the light of Christ renew your spirit." After a moment of polite banter, the group elected me to be the "pastor". That moment I felt like I had been hit by a snowball. But this one wasn't made out of snow. It was made of God's light. Tears were flowing as I walked up to the platform to release not only my burden, but the burdens of all my small group family. I laid the burdens down and collected the bottle of oil. The oil was light, hope and purpose all held in a small plastic travel shampoo container. Returning to the group I wondered If I would be able to speak for the emotion pouring from my eyes and voice, but as I turned, I knew I wanted with all my heart for Jesus to flood my neighbor's heart with renewing light. So I threw the snowball.

They passed the blessing to the next person, and so it continued until it was B's to anoint me with oil. Pastoring is caring for and lifting each other up. I started the chain, but each person in that room was a "pastor" to their neighbor. I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for this expression of grace and forgiveness and asked if others wanted to pray. Some did, some didn't but the wonderful thing was that each person was hit by a snowball. Fear, doubt, discouragement and despair melted away like remainders of ice from Niagara Falls in April. Some were big and some were small, but the thaw that starts today will continue to melt the burdens of my heart.

The core of my burden comes from the fear of not having a place with Jesus. I know that is impossible. Jesus accepts me, love's me and has a place for me...no matter where I am. My core isn't in what I don't have, but in what I do have. Jesus is the one that can get to the core of things and help me to exchange my burden for his light.

No matter where I am: Jesus is my core. No matter what work I do: Jesus is my core. No matter what the future holds: Jesus is my core.

Review: The Book of God by Walter Wangerin

Walter Wangerin's Book of God is a true oddity in the world of publishing: a book based on another book. And not just any book -- The Bible, in fact. When I came across this book at Borders in Erie PA, I wondered what the purpose could be of adding yet another version of the scriptures to the dozens of translations and paraphrases already lining the shelves. I'm sure I wouldn't have given it more than a passing glace but for Wangerin's reputation as a master storyteller. After leafing through the book, I was intrigued enough to pick up a copy.

The Book of God doesn't really claim to be a Bible. It's more a chronological retelling of the Bible. It begins with Abram and ends with the birth of the church. Even though I've grown up hearing about these events all my life, the book finally helped me tie it all together as one story. Wangerin breathes life and personality into the characters who are usually only remembered by one significant event in their lives. Sometimes I found myself thinking, "that part couldn't be in the Bible," only to look it up to find that it was really there.

So often Christians have reduced the Bible to a book of mere rules and propositions. The Book of God is different in that it causes one to look at the totality of a character's life, and not just at the couple of verses we memorized in Sunday School. I found myself regularly reflecting on the people and events in a way that I seldom have before. What a discovery process. My only criticism of the book is the last few pages. Wangerin seems like he is rushing to a conclusion and trying to hit every "theological biggie" by the end. I missed the leisurely pace of the rest of the book.

I would recommend The Book of God to anyone who wants to get a good overview of the story of the Bible. I would also suggest that pastoral staff consider incorporating its reading into the confirmation or discipleship process of the church.

Quote of the Moment

"Life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop to look around once in a while you could miss it." -- Ferris Bueller

Talk Derby To Me (Part Three)

One of the cool things about traveling around the country is sampling the local cuisine.

In Columbus, Ohio we stopped at an Italian restaurant. I can't recall the name, just that it was a chain somehow connected to TGI Fridays. It looked pretty classy inside, not at all decorated in the "let's nail a bunch of crazy old crap to the wall" motif that seems to be in vogue at every other sit-down restaurant these days. I had the strangest exchange with the waitress. When I ordered spaghetti and meatballs, she looked me in the eyes and said flatly, "I'm disappointed in you." I'm still pondering what she meant by that. After all, spaghetti and meatballs would seem to be a fairly common order in an Italian restaurant. Does she say the same thing to every customer that orders it? Maybe her disappointment in me sprang from something else: Did she know me from school or something and was lamenting the fact that I grew up to be a big fat oaf? Or was she a gifted psychic who predicted the crappy tip I was going to leave her? I guess I'll never know. Anyway, it was a good plate of spaghetti and meatballs, but not worth the $11.95 plus tip plus low self-esteem that it cost me.

People always say that Wisconsin is the cheese capital of the United States, but I discovered that people in Southern Ohio/Indiana/Kentucky could give the badger state a run for its money. These people just L-O-V-E cheese on their foods. Lots of it. If you order a food item, it will be roughly composed of a 50-50 mixture between the food and cheese. I ordered a Philly Cheese Steak at Thunder Over Louisville that was so covered in cheese that it actually destroyed the structural integrity of the sandwich, causing an avalanche of steak, onions, peppers and cheese on my t-shirt.

I saved the best for last. I finally got to eat at a White Castle! I've been salivating over their commercials for years, but lived in a part of the country without any franchises. But they're all over that region! So I convinced my traveling companions to let me complete my life's ambition on Sunday afternoon: Eat a White Castle hamburger! A mere description of this momentous occasion simply will not do it justice. So I composed a Japanese haiku instead:

white castle smells good
greasy paper thin meat slab
special is square bun

I'm starting to tear up, so I need to sign off for now. Spaghetti and meatballs, Philly Cheese Steak, and White Castle. Do I know how to dine out or what?

Talk Derby To Me (Part Two)

I got to do something on my vacation that I rarely get to do otherwise: sleep in! T-- and I woke up to discover that it was 10:45 in the morning, which is pretty late for us, even on a Saturday. Thinking that we were holding up the rest of our friends, we got quick showers and headed downstairs to find out that only two other people were up and about. I guess ten-hour car rides will do that to you.

We made it downtown by 3 pm for Thunder over Louisville, the kickoff event for the Kentucky Derby. It's a six-hour airshow that features everything from biplanes to jet fighters. It was a pretty relaxing day all-in-all, lounging around the riverfront with 750,000 other people. After dark, the fireworks show to end all fireworks shows began. The regular part of the fireworks is better than any finale I've ever seen; the finale looks like the whole world is ending. I wonder what they do on the 4th of July?

Talk Derby To Me (Part One)

We crossed the Ohio border into Indiana around 8 pm last Friday evening. We were driving now on a state route road, which made for a pleasant change from the highway congestion of the previous ten hours. Instead of billboards and shopping plazas, I was looking at railroad tracks. I was looking at utility poles that we so old they still used ceramic conductors, wires droopy, and the poles themselves pockmarked and leaning too far left or right under all the years. At home, it had snowed just two days previous, but Indiana was far enough south that flowers had already blossomed. And then it hit me all at once -- the most wonderful scent. I was breathing in spring. As the van came around a curve, I became aware of the sunset -- brilliant pink being absorbed into dark blue at the horizon. I had the desire to ask J-- to pull the van over so I could just lay down in the grass. I spend too much time dwelling on mistakes of the past and worrying about the future. So I consider it a gift when nature bursts in like this and causes me to live wholly in the moment. Sometimes it's wonderful to be alive.

Have you heard the news?

“They couldn't print it if it weren't true.”

Have you ever heard that statement in regards to the veracity of a newspaper or magazine article? Maybe you've heard someone use a variation of the saying in regards to a radio or television broadcast, or a news story from the world wide web.

I've always preferred musician Lou Reed's maxim on the news, “Don’t believe half of what you read and three-quarters of what people say to your face.”

That may sound a little cynical -- okay, a lot cynical. But then again, Lou Reed ain't exactly Edna St. Vincent Milay. But I've always interpreted the statement to mean that information received from even the most respected source still needs to be critically analyzed.

I spent my formative years in the 1970s and 80s in an environment that would best be described as Evangelical Christian. If you've ever talked to people who was brought up in that subculture, I’m sure they've clued you in to the -- uh, unique worldview that’s fostered in those surroundings.

I remember reading "news" articles that ranged from just plain goofy (Can a Christian be a Mason?) to some dangerous seeds that could be planted in unbalanced individuals (None Dare Call It Conspiracy, a book-length expose of social movements, business and government that implicated everyone from the Rockefellers to the Beatles in a global domination scheme that makes The X-Files look positively reasonable by comparison.)

Police cover-ups of satanic ritual child abuse? AIDS, the product of a military research and development lab? A hoax called the Holocaust? Hey, they couldn't print it if it weren't true! Well, yes they can… and frequently do.

As I became lot older and a little wiser, I began to question more of what I read in newspapers and magazines, heard on the radio, and saw on television. In fact, I can vividly recall the first instance I recognized bias in the right-wing press.

I was 19 or 20 and worked for a small religious radio station in the northwestern hills of Pennsylvania. In between our mostly sad attempts at culturally relevant music, we would play short daily commentaries from various churches and parachurch icons like Tim and Bev LaHaye, James Dobson, Marlin Maddox, and Phyllis Schafly.

The particular commentary I recall was from conservative pundit Charles Colson. He was arguing against public schools adopting safe-sex curriculums. He mentioned that it wasn't just a conservative issue, but that the actual tide of public opinion had turned to abstinence and that liberal school board members had better wise up to their constituency.

As an example of "the tide of public opinion," he referenced an article that had recently appeared in a fashion magazine. I can't recall for the life of me which fashion magazine it was… Cosmo, Elle, Glamour, they all look alike to me. But what I will always remember is the name of the article: 2000 Virgins. I remember chuckling and thought it would make a great name for either a band or John Waters movie (I still do).

A few weeks later I was waiting to get a haircut. (Actually, I was getting my hair styled… This after all, was the 1980s.) I was at one of those salons where it never occurs to the stylists to get a Popular Mechanics or Consumer Reports in the waiting room in case a man wanders in. So out of sheer boredom I dug through a pile of heavily perfumed fashion magazines. And there it was, tucked between magazines offering to teach me how to undress for my man and lose the fat on my thighs: The cover story 2000 Virgins.

I decided to read this story of people choosing abstinence. However, I was rather taken aback when I discovered that the article turned out to be about "technical virgins." A few thousand words were devoted to interviews with women about the enjoyment of petting, oral, backdoor, etc.

I remember being very disillusioned with Chuck Colson. He took the tiny part of the article that agreed with his conservative agenda (abstinence) and omitted any mention of the actual details of the article, which was a far cry from the Christian ideal of "purity of heart."

In the weeks that followed, I began to question more of what I heard on my radio station: America is a "Christian" nation. Says who? People on welfare are capable of work and just playing the system. What case studies have you done? Glasnost is a Soviet trick. Really? Did Gorbachev whisper it to you over vodkas? I guess owe my membership in the Democratic Party to Chuck Colson!

Nowadays I wince when I recall a lot of my youthful news sources. I recognize that a lot of it qualifies less as “news” than straight-up urban legend.

I’m sure that a lot of religious magazine or book editors (and their readers) would be horrified that I consider a lot of their stuff biased. After all, they are just telling the truth that the other media ignores! But whose truth? From what sources?

I’m sure that in many cases their religious beliefs muddle up their critical faculties: "If the right reverend doctor says that this new bill in congress is an attack on the church -- and I already feel marginalized by society -- I'll take it as the Gospel Truth."

But by what right does the reverend speak as a political commentator? Will any members of congress be interviewed for an opposing viewpoint? What is the actual wording of the bill? A passionate editor can too easily allow his worldview (persecution of Christians) to short–circuit a more balanced handling of the story.

Bias isn't just a problem with the media of the religious right. It's always existed in various news organizations and probably always will. Bias isn't just a problem of the conservative right. Heck, I know each issue of the ultra-liberal Sojourners will have at least one article so out of reality that it’s good for nothing but a big belly laugh!

Rodger Streitmatter, in his book Mightier than the Sword: How the News Media Have Shaped American History describes how an anti-British bias was utilized by the press to help sow the seeds of discontent that came to a head in the American Revolution. Many papers relied more on editorial techniques that created emotional reactions in readers rather than constructing logical arguments for colonial self-rule that could be intellectually examined. In fact, many news journals of the day are known to contain highly exaggerated versions of real events, many more have been discovered to contain outright fabrications and lies.

This information was something that had been passed over in my public school education (or maybe I was just absent that day due to being ill) and I have to admit that this section of the book left me somewhat disturbed. It’s not like I walk around with rose-colored glasses or anything, but I became aware of America in the era of the Bicentennial: school assemblies watching Johnny Tremain, church and community picnics dressed in 1776 fashions, and the cartoon and comic book The U.S. of Archie (don’t ask). Discovering that the press chose to use made-up stories to create a suitable atmosphere for rebellion is somewhat akin to finding out that Batman receives payoffs from the mob, Mister Rogers donates his salary to the Man-Boy Love Association, or that America’s girl next door, Britney Spears, had breast implants. (Wait a second, the last one really happened. But you get the gist.)

It always hurts to find out that a hero has feet of clay. But it will make me question a little more of what I see on television. How do I really know what social and political life in "Country X" is like? Especially when the images I’m fed -- say, an orphan refugee child -- is certain to prey on my sympathies. I’m being asked to choose sides in a complex political/social/economic action by looking at one single image in the newspaper or on the television. Is that enough information to decide if I should support U.S. military strikes against "Country X"? I don’t think so.

Maybe I can make that argument clearer if I reverse it. What if "Country X" sent a news crew to document the human rights abuses in America? Night after night of prime time television, its citizens would be treated to images of urban slums and homeless people, news reports of the differences between rich and poor and racial profiling. Would the television viewers of "Country X" support military action against the oppressive regime of the United States of America? Darn right they would!

Remember the news footage of Islamic Fundamentalists celebrating after the collapse of the World Trade Center? It made my blood boil, but even then I realized that my image of America and their image of America are two different things, just as my image of the Islamic world is alien to their experience. The maxim of propagandist Samuel Adams is just as true today as it was in the 1700s: "Arouse the masses -- the real shock troops -- by instilling hatred of enemies."

Sometimes biased stories can backfire and bring harm upon the very cause an editor is trying to promote. Abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison spent forty–nine days in jail after losing a libel suit against a slave trader. Although it's highly unlikely that he could of corroborated his story by interviewing the trader, the libel suit and jail time couldn’t have helped advance his abolitionist stance among people who's opinions were yet undecided.

Citizen Kane himself, William Randolph Hearst, and Joseph Pulitzer raised news bias to an art form in the latter part of the nineteenth century, resulting in the Spanish-American War. In an effort to boost circulation, newspapers daily pushed the cause of Cuban rebels against Spain, even if that meant exaggerating their suffering and manufacturing untrue news items. America actually developed what was known as a "war psychosis" that involved the country in a conflict that could have easily been avoided.

The Spanish-American War is probably the most extreme example of the damage that can be inflicted by a biased press. But another, maybe even more insidious form of damage can occur in the attitudes (and later, actions) of readers who they just unquestionably accept whatever information is handed to them.

News bias will exist as long as certain passionate members of the press let their ideology overwhelm their critical thinking skills and their integrity. Believe me -- I couldn't print that if it weren't true!

Vacation

I never used to be good at taking vacation. In previous years, I have actually passed on vacation time and spent it at work. But now I like to pretend the universe can get along without me, at least for a few days at a time. When I did manage to get away from work, I used to fill my hours by catching up with school work or doing things around the house. But this vacation is different -- I've graduated from college, and the weather has been too cold and snowy for yardwork. So I've kept busy doing nothing.

I drove the family to Dunkirk today. We walked the whole way out onto the pier and could see across to Canada. It was the nicest day that we've seen all spring, but Lake Erie was still covered with a lot of ice. We were reminded of it everytime the chilly wind blew. Then we took in a late lunch at a little Italian restaurant in Fredonia. I came back home and read a book and watched some TV.

No watch, no Palm Pilot, no cell phone. I could get used to this vacation-thing, being busy doing nothing.

An Important Announcement

Dear Interested Reader:

This is to inform you that very soon, my "talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded." At least if I am to believe my fortune cookie...

My Holy Week Diary

WEDNESDAY:

Back in 2002 I was asked to plan a Wednesday church meeting during Holy Week. I asked my boss just what was the significance of that particular day in the church calendar. He replied that it was called -- ahem -- "The Day of Silence." It sounded like it had some potential, at the very least it sounded way cooler than "Maundy Thursday." Heck, it sounded like a movie title. Try it!

STAR TREK 11: THE DAY OF SILENCE
HARRY POTTER AND THE DAY OF SILENCE
THE DAY OF SILENCE -- THE RETURN OF HANNIBAL & THE LAMBS

When I finally got around to planning the meeting, I discovered the horrible truth: The hump day of Lent is called The Day of Silence because nothing is recorded about the day in the Bible. So I got stuck with planning a church service about nothing, and Jerry Seinfeld was nowhere in sight. (It all turned out OK. I actually made it a quiet meeting with plenty of time for meditation and reflection.)

This year's Wednesday was anything but silent, and my wife and I are all the poorer for it. The church my wife and I pastor shares the same building space with two other churches. On big holidays (such as Easter), we "unite" for a big service, which usually means an uber-traditional hymnfest with 2/3 of the congregation wondering what they're doing there in the first place. I try to have a good attitude about the united events, but I always seem to approach them out of a sense of obligation rather than anticipation. Also, a week's vacation would begin Easter Sunday after church, which meant that I had a lot of work to do before then. And then a few coworkers got under my skin.. and finally... I BLEW UP. Yep, yelled and pouted and acted like a complete ass in front of my wife. I took home the gold in the Olympic Jerk competition.

The worst part was that it didn't even occur to me until after the fact that my wife, who did nothing to provoke my tantrum, got the brunt of my outburst while the objects of my anger didn't even get a disgruntled growl. I wondered how many times I've played that scenario out? I can act professional under any circumstances between 8 to 5, but feel perfectly justified to act like a grump the second I get home. Or I give 110% on the job, but feel too worn out to play with the kids when I'm at home. Where do I get off giving my family the scraps? Something has to change... I have to change...

I make a mental note to find a way to do something nice for T-- that can cancel out the way I acted. Grant her a divorce, perhaps?

THURSDAY:

Dreams are cool, because you'll say and do things that you never would in real life. That's also why dreams are scary.

I had a dream in the wee hours of Maundy Thursday. It was about an individual that I care very much about, with whom I've tried -- in my own clumsy way -- to share the goodness of life in Christ. In my dream this person decided to pursue their spiritual quest at one of the other churches in the building. I ranted and raved about how pissed I was because, after all, that person "belonged in my church."

I woke up and reflected that I really didn't like the person that I had become.

Now, I realize that dreams aren't real life. Maybe Freud was right and they're our subconscious speaking, but then again maybe they're just random electrical impulses that happen during REM sleep. In fact, the evening before I had actually encouraged a person to attend a different church because they already knew people there. But sitting there in bed with the light on, the jealousy and feelings of betrayal still felt so real. Sometimes I hate being part of the church.

And sometimes I love being part of the church. That evening we had a "united" meeting for Maundy Thursday. It was a Love Feast, which sounds like an orgy or something, but is actually a communion service with an emphasis upon reconciliation. We were instructed to take the bread and grape juice and serve it to someone else in the congregation. It was a beautiful experience with smiles, hugs, and even a few tears. It was one of those magical times when I really felt a sense of joy and wonder about being part of God's people. And I think everybody else did, too.

FRIDAY:

This was the meeting that I organized. I had been thinking a lot about what it means to be a peacemaker. I thought that one of the ways I could "make peace" in our churches regarding the combined meetings would be to make sure that everyone was represented at the service. The pastor from the Hispanic church sat in with our church's band and played some hymns and modern worship tunes. Some kids from the Hispanic church did a dance to a Spanish tune. The pastor from the traditional church sang a hymn to piano accompaniment. I did a multimedia presentation showcasing artwork of Christ's passion. So many tensions arise out of three churches being on top of one another, but at least for one night we were just one big church.

SUNDAY:

Sunday saw our family try something new that I hope becomes a tradition: we spent Easter in a bar. My cousin owns a moderately successful tavern and invited us all over for dinner. It was a relaxed way to spend the holiday, with plenty of conversation and laughter. Bars have a good way of loosening people up, and I wonder if the Women's Christian Temperance Union gave all of us Protestants a raw deal when they got us to give up drinking for the good of society.

In the Christian tradition, Holy Week is all about death and resurrection. I got to experience a little of both.

Weekend Roundup

I had a really relaxing weekend. Went to the movies with N--, spent a leisurely afternoon at the library, and celebrated my friend J--'s 40 birthday. Even a drastically low church attendance due to the shift to daylight savings time, a snow storm, and sickness couldn't get me down.

The best part of the weekend came when I picked up some Texas Hots at Johnny's Lunch, sat on my couch in my undershorts and watched The Three Stooges on TV. The thought crossed my mind that this is probably what my guidance counselor thought I would turn out like.

Snow in April?

Snow in April isn't the most surprising occurrence in the world. Unusual, but not impossible as a look outside the window and this week's forecast has to prove. After dealing with a household fighting step throat, sinus infections and ear infections for the last month - I'm really ready for some sun and warmth.

All I want is to pull out my spring clothes, hang up the thick tights and feel the beaconing sunshine warming my arm through the car window. I'd roll down the window if we got temperature's warmer than 50 degrees - sun or not!

Not that I want to complain, but the forecast says it's going to snow on Easter. In the words of Charlie Brown,"AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!" and "Oh, brother!'. Easter eggs don't go with snow ploughs, no matter which way you look at it.

So in hopes of warmer weather: I took some old clothes to the thrift store, bought my daughter sandals and as sun-dress, found my son a bright tropical shirt to wear Easter morning, recycled a winters' worth of soda bottles and cans and purchased a new pair of lightweight summer jeans. So far it's still snowing.

Snow or not, I will color Easter eggs. Snow or not I will celebrate Good Friday. Snow or not, I will participate in an Easter egg hunt- even if I have to wear snow-pants and boots.

Snow on Easter. Maybe they should make a Frosty the Snowman and Easter Bunny buddy movie for all of us that live in the snow-belt. I imagine claymation characters singing a catchy song like " I deliver your basket faster in the snow", would make this a little easier. Maybe then snow in April wouldn't seem so weird.

Here's to frozen peeps candy and Easter baskets hidden in snow banks - Cheers.

Mo' Movie Reflections

I fessed up in my previous post to the sad fact that I enjoyed Scooby Doo 2 and hated The Ladykillers. I decided to try a few more films to see if this was a one-time phenomenon or not. So I watched The Return of Count Yorga, a badly acted, written, shot, and directed vampire movie from the drive-in's best friend, American International Pictures. Yep, I still enjoyed it more than The Ladykillers. (I'm kind of ashamed to admit that I actually rewound the Robert Quarry fangfest and watched it again.) Then I moved on to a few Three Stooges shorts. Yes even Larry, Curly and Moe brought forth more yuks than The Ladykillers. With empirical evidence to back me up, I can conclusively state that I hate, hate, hate the movie The Ladykillers and it was 97 minutes of my life wasted. Aren't you glad I got that off my chest?

Rut - Row

With half of the family sick -- again -- I've been catching up on my movie watching. In anticipation of seeing the new Tom Hanks comedy, I decided to go to my local library and borrow the original Ladykillers. The Ladykillers is a classic of British film. I have honestly never read a word about this film to indicate that it anything less than a comedic masterpiece. It has Alec Guinness. It has Peter Sellers. It was made by Ealing Studios, associated with comedy in the same way that Hammer is with horror. So with the giddy anticipation of a schoolgirl, I gathered the family around our entertainment center and popped in the cassette for 97 minutes of fun, fun, fun!

I hated it.

Comic genius? I wouldn't even classify it as mildly amusing. It was like a funny movie with all the funny bits left out. It's an amusing premise -- a group of crooks being outwitted by a little old lady -- and I kept waiting for it to catch fire. But it just kind of stood there and fizzled.

With the girls sick with the disease of the week, my son, N--, and I decided to get out of the house for awhile to give them a little peace and quiet. I took him to the movie theatre hoping to see Hellboy, but N-- talked/begged/pleaded with me to let him see Scooby Doo 2. How do you say no to a cute 7 year old? Even if you're going to waste the next 90 minutes of your life watching the latest turd from the Hollywood crap machine?

I loved it.

Yes, I loved it. Even with the gratuitous farting jokes, a "barricading the door" bit stolen from Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein, and the sadness of seeing Alicia Silverstone demoted to costarring in a cartoon movie now that Reese Witherspoon gets all her movie parts. It made me remember why I actually liked this cartoon when I was seven. And the monsters, all from the cartoon and made up with today's special effects technology, just rocked. It wasn't a great movie, but it was a fun way to spend a lazy afternoon with my son.

Who'd 'eve thunk it? I hated the Ladykillers, but loved Scooby. It does have me speculating where it will all end though... Will I stop listening to NPR and pop in a Clay Aiken CD? Will I drop Frederick Buechner and start reading Left Behind? Will I -- gasp -- vote Republican?

Open Heart by Frederick Buechner

A good novel leaves you wanting more. This was true of Frederick Buechner's magnificent novel Lion Country. Characters like the slippery evangelist Leo Bebb, his milquetoast assistant Brownie, and his sexy stepdaughter Sharon were just too interesting to leave alone. I couldn't wait to dig into Open Heart, the second of four books about the evangelist.

The book picks up a few years after the events of the previous book. Bebb has been riding the gravy train as the pastor of Redpath Ranch. Antonio and Sharon haven't so much settled down as just plain settled for married life in Connecticut. Brownie is, uh, still Brownie. The death of millionaire Herman Redpath leaves Bebb more or less independent financially, and so he decides to try out his fortunes up north. Bebb, a good old southern boy at heart, makes the most out of the move, but why is his wife Lucille wasting away so? Sometimes a person's past has more of a hold on a person than their present, and even a change of scenery can't compete with unresolved issues.

Frederick Buechner is a genius. He has the incredible ability to dream up these dislikeable characters and somehow, someway make you care for them. He can write a sad book that is somehow funny at the same time. Read Open Heart. You will weep for Lucille.