Another Austin Afternoon

I stood facing my appartment from the bus stop across the street. The bus wasn't scheduled to arrive for several more minutes, but I was enjoying the wait. A cold front finally blew through last week, and today has an almost perfect mixture of cool air and sunshine. I looked left to see if the bus was coming-- I could see it a couple of blocks up the street, one more stop and one traffic light away. I looked right and saw a middle-aged man, clean-shaven with a fishing hat and a pair of New Balance shoes, jogging towards the bus stop with a trumpet in his left hand. He stopped under the little shelter, tucked the trumpet under his arm and produced a small bottle of Lord Calvert from his left hip pocket. Unscrewing the white-plastic lid of the half-empty bottle, he made a moments eye contact with me, took a sizable belt and slid the bottle back into his pocket, replacing the lid with one fluid motion. I commented on the weather. "The weather's perfect," he said, sitting down on the bench. "Did you see the sunrise two days ago?" "I saw the end of it, I was waiting here for the bus." I have to be on campus before eight on Thursday mornings. "The clouds were stacked up in layer on layer, and the color was unbelievable!" He went on to describe, quite accurately, how the sunsets this time of year take on a color that isn't quite pink but isn't exactly red: "We don't even have a word to describe what it is, but it's beautiful." All the time he spoke, he fingered the keys of the trumpet absentmindedly. I think his hands were playing wordless colors, silently. Just before the bus pulled up, he put his head down to the trumpet and blew out a couple of smooth Jazz runs. "I love this trumpet; only sixty dollars." He boarded the bus behind me and took a seat near the front. Glancing up to make sure the driver was distracted, he took another quick pull from the bottle, settled back into his seat and fingered out a melody with the trumpet's mouthpiece resting under his chin.

Briar Patch! if you know what I mean

Here's a neat Where's Waldo game with an interesting ending when you find him. (hint: it's not the effeminate look-alike eating cotton candy in the front).

http://www.office-will.com/freewill/w/

still hot

The calendar tells me that the season is changing, but the weather around here apparently hasn't got the message. To paraphrase Henry Ford, calendars are bunk. I want to wear sweaters. I want to be cold. I'd settle for not sweating. I will see. In other title-related news, I'm still hot. But the ladies apparently aren't getting the message. To paraphrase Henry Ford, Coye is bunk. Speaking of bunk, I'm interested what kind of odds you guys are giving Bush's new Supreme Court nomination. I kind of want her nomination to fail just so I'll feel like the congress still functions and isn't just a rubber-stamping machine. So, I'm going to suggest an optimistic 60/40 chance that she gets the boot instead of the bench. And speaking of changes, I like the all black layout. Tres chic.

whew

Sweet action, my CPO box is MINE forever! I think I will somehow integrate this fine piece of American workmanship into the decor of my house.

Dave Update

The first brave leaves outside my window have already begun their pilgrimage toward the soil; they've given up their green without a sound, and slowly they're loosening their native bonds and waiting for that sudden moment of release. It won't be long before all the host of leaves follow in these fading steps-- before the skeletons of bare bark are left standing in the fragrance of this yearly sacrifice.

Fall: my twenty-sixth. I find it's the season with which I resonate most strongly--there's a strange hope about its dance toward death: an silent longing for rebirth--a longing which turns dreadful decay into a beautiful altar of love.

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If you have google earth (pretty much the coolest program out there), and plug in 142 Essex Street, South Hamilton, MA, you'll see the earth tilt and turn and the camera will zoom in toward the northeastern coast of the United States. You'll see Long Island and Cape Cod grow and disappear below view, then northern Boston and Cape Ann, and then you're all inland with streets, clusters of trees, and clearings. When you stop, you're hovered just to the right of Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary's main entrance. The campus is to the North. A small road drifts up past a rectangular pond and splits into a circuit around the "great field" where we play soccer and Ultimate Frisbee. The field is shaped like a thin pear; my apartment is up where the imaginary stem would be. To the west (up on top of the hill), you'll see the administrative and academic buildings.

So that's my little world. Any of you are welcome any time.

This coming week is reading week, so classes are off and we're all trying to catch up on papers and readings and so on. I'm taking four classes: Biblical Hebrew I, Systematic Theology I, Church to the Reformation (History), and The World Mission of the Church (Missions). It's been interesting to go over in the classroom all the material that we've discussed on the blog (things like Tradition and Scripture, Truth and Method, Love and Presence). As you can imagine, the contours of the conversation are quite different here. I hope we're not finished talking about these things; they're important.

That's what goes on up on the hill, down in the apartment the world's a bit different. Andrew's now 14 weeks old. He's talking all the time (though I have no idea what he's saying), and laughing. I love it when he laughs; its one of the most incredible feelings in the world when he's laughing and I'm laughing and we're simply enjoying the beauty of this relationship that God is giving to us.

The major bummer has been that I've been unable to find a part-time job around here. That's been hard. It's like holding your screaming and inconsolable infant: you know that there is a terminus--it will end--but that doesnt exactly make it less horrible.

OK, maybe it's not that bad, but it's not fun not being able to get the work you want.


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As you might imagine, it's taken a few sittings throughout the day to finish this little update. It's dark outside now, humid and warm and dark. Another day has passed, another day will come. My body's tired and achy--my mind is warn and fading--sleep comes soon, and with it: the grace of letting go of my weary mental grip on this massive world.