Eliz and I are pretty non conventional people.  We don't adhere to typical gender roles, we attempt to be more nontraditional in interaction with people and general carrying of ourselves.  This has lead us to some pretty amazing an interesting places.  From coffee ground fresh on a Nicaraguan mountain, to the tuberculosis slums of South Africa, she and I like to get into the mix of the world.  We love to experience these cultural oddities together and feel it not only brings us together as a married couple, but opens our eyes the beauty of the world, while strengthening the bond we all share.  That bond of humanity.

We have found subcultural experiences even here in our own town.  Inner City communities accepting us as one, homeless men and woman sharing with us happiness and pain, wonderful taco cart eateries and Latino seafood restaurants where you have to order in Spanish, just to name a few.  But, recently we dabbled in the foray of Easter Medicine.  Acupuncture.

Part of a deal we found on Seize the Deal website, half off a session of Acupuncture.  It was a very interesting experience.  First, it was administered by a very tall, white man with over 15 years of experience.  An ex army man who dabbled in different disciplines of both medicine and meditation all of eastern descent.  He and his very Bavarian wife, were making a killing with this acupuncture using a Chiropractor's office on Saturdays.  He informed us he was in business of dealing with pain, but could work on other "issues" as well.

For me, being an athlete, and an aging one at that, I have some aches and pains from my unwillingness to admit my age, combined with being the oldest on my soccer team, a need to prove myself.  Along with my running this has left me with a tight and pained left hamstring, a sore right knee, and an odd pain in my right rotator cuff, when my arm is engaged in one motion for too long (like running).  These were the maladies I explained to him, for which he was hopeful some relief could be obtained.

He himself was a runner, and a talker.  This came with lots of time chitchatting, or in this case him talking to me with my monosyllabic grunts to acknowledge a partial participation in his conversation.  He put me in a room, had me to lie on the bed and begun sticking needles, with force, into my knee.  I waited for the relief, none came, but then he pulled out a Tinge machine and hooked it up to the needles and pulsed electricity to my knee.  Something he repeated with both my hamstring and my shoulder. As I lied there, feeling like a human pincushion, and wondering what my poor wife was going through, I found it to be no big deal.  Perhaps years of yoga and my preconceived notions of a Confucius type man centering my Chi and defining my shockras led to my lackluster approached to a modernized, ancient medicine.  But, I don't think it is something I will regularly do.  Plus it's damn expensive.  I will admit, however, I've run a few times since and have not had any pain in my hammy, my shoulder, or my knee. So, maybe there is something to it after all.

Here are some pics I attempted to snap off, kinda hard with pins all in you body, hard to move, but if you look close you can see the pins and the tinge machine's electrodes:

Fun with Filters

all photos taken with an Iphone 3GS and filters applied from the Instagram App.  

Faux Fall

Lately I've taken to running the trails at the Stoner Boat Launch.  Shreveportians are pretty lucky to have suck a great trail system so close to downtown,  (actually starting in downtown).  These river front trails provide for all types of biking and running.  They have an asphalt path, 5 miles one way, that can accomodate all runners and both mountain and road bikers.  It also had miles of trail for mountain biking and trail running, my favorites.  Yesterday, I took advantage of both the trail running and the mountain biking.

In the morning, around 6:30, when the sun was peeking through the trees, and we were was quietly running the trail with leaves falling and rustling below us, I felt at peace.  I sighed and took the time to look around.  It was gorgeious,  yellow, red, and green leaves falling.  A blanket of them lying on the floor.  For a moment I thought to myself, "Wow, this is gorgeous, fall like, wonderful."  Then relatity hit and said outloud,  "Wait, WHAT?  It's the middle of Agust, why the hell does it look like fall here.  Oh yeah, right, I know, because of the weeks of consecutive 105+ degrees of heat." Yeah, the damned heat wave has caused the trees and thier leaves to die, imitating an autumn jettison of their precious shade providing, food luring, leaves.  Sad really.  Once I realized the cause of this, I was less inclined to be so happy with the condition of the trees.  But, the paths are still nice.


This weather has been great for my tan...or lack there of.  I refuse to go outside and do things, course stuff is starting to pile up and I'm waging a loosing battle with my grass.  But, it is what it is.  At least the trails are fun and I can still find some things to occupy my time with.  Peace.

Birthday Fun Days

This weekend Elizabeth, Pico, and I went down to South Louisiana to celebrate a birthday.  Friday we stopped off in Lafayette to vist with Eliz's sister, brother in law, and their cute son, Rives.  He is two and you can tell.  We met at the rock climbing gym, Rok Haus, for some climbing and general fun and frivolity.  We were fully expecting Rives to be climbing up and down the walls, expending his energy as he went.  He has loved climbing at the playground and we were pretty sure he'd get a kick out this.  Turns out he was having more fun running around on the soft floors, playing with the ropes, and weaving through the feet and hands of the other climbers, then actually doing any climbing himself.  I know this is something he will enjoy, it just might take another year or so to get him into it.  We had a nice Thai dinner with them and went to bed early (as I seem to do more and more in my increasing years).

Saturday we ventured to Denham Springs, arriving in time to help set up for the party.  Annalynn's birthday is 8/9/10, but as days change, we celebrated on Saturday, the 6th.  Tony and Sarah did an amazing job decorating the house, and mom even helped preparing food and getting everything in order.  Guest came, AnnaLynn cooed, presents were open, it was a party.  Lots of fun.  Some highlights were Laura getting to join us via Skype.  It was nice to have her there.  She got to enjoy watching her favorite niece and everyone at the party got to see how Skype proficient ole AnnaLynn is, impressive by the way.  Also, in a year of her life she had never had cake or ice cream.  No sweets, no joy of knowing refined sugar, milk, eggs, and butter.  So she was able to celebrate with cake and ice cream.  We all took lots of pictures to document this occasion.  As she was winding down with the cake I noticed her mom had put grapes on her plate.  Annalynn was choosing them over the cake and ice cream.  Her daddy was proud of this, and I have to admit, so was I.  Good job to Sarah and Tony for instilling good eating habits at such an early age, now how you going to teach those to me?

Eliz and I spent the night in the house with them that night and we left out the next morning.  Not before, however, I got a good trail ride in and Eliz a good trail run.  We headed back home around 10ish with a stop back in Lafayette for lunch with Eliz's family and to pick up Rives to take him to Mansfield.   He was on his way to see his grandparents.

We stopped at this innocuous little place in Sunset, LA whose name I can't remember, Jacquelin's Diner I think.  It appeared, from the outside, to be a run down, greasy-spoon diner.  But, inside it was in good shape with an impressive cajun menu.  Entrees like shrimp and grits, softshell crab, fried catfish, and my choice, Tuna Steak with veggies and potato cake.  Nothing says yummy like a seared, cajun spiced tuna steak.  It was very tasty and I lamented it's departure after my last bite.  Definitely a place I recommend.  Eliz, Pico, Rives, and myself all loaded up the car to come back home.

You can see all three of them out

With in ten minutes there were three sleeping bodies in the car.  First one out was Pico, with a characteristic deep sigh and he was gone.  Then with a yawn and a tilt of the head Rives was out.  Eliz hung on as long as she could (like I said ten minutes) and she slipped into slumber.  I was able to crank the radio up, set the cruise, and relax in the quiet sunshine most of the way home.  As we took our exit Rives woke up, pleasant after a two hour nap, we dropped him off at Eliz's parents houses, spent some time with them, and finally made it back to our house.  A soccer game later that night kept me from going to sleep early, but nothing kept me awake after it was done.  It was a long, wonderful, and exhausting weekend.  I look back at it wondering where it went, but thankful for family and fun.

And the best gift...tinsel, that was used as a filler

all three, Sarah made the cake

Someone was caught talking on the phone in the "Reading Tent"

Dog and  Boy, sleeping

Cake Euphoria 

Balance

dLife is about balance. Yin and Yang. A deep cosmic righting of the world that evens all things. Balance is seen in everywhere we are, in everything we do. It can been seen in Buddhism, with Karma. It can be seen in Christianity with the Golden Rule, it can be seen in Muslim teachings as well. One can not live long out of balance with ones self. Balance is catching up with me, and I'm indulging in the oneness of this natural process. See:

Sunday-I wake early, go to church, come home, rest from a busy weekend (balance). Deciding to play in a soccer game at 9:50 that night. Monday, I awake, later than normal as I'm tired still (balance).

Monday-after rising late, I enjoy the morning, resting, drinking coffee, taking care of me. I spend the afternoon doing honey-dos and cooking lunch for my beautiful bride (balance). I go to the gym, deciding to lift weights after an absence, then I choose to play in another soccer game that night.

Tuesday-I wake early, I run 4 miles, I come home, I choose to drink coffee, make breakfast and relax. I load and unload a truck full of items for a garage sale, I spend an hour doing yoga. Afternoon is here, I'm sore, I'm tired, I beat. This the (Balance) from the previous 3 days of exercise and exertion.

But the true and intended balance is...I am a good friend, as such, one of my best friends chooses to stay with me when he's in town (balance). I have exerted myself so much over the past few days, expending so many calories, tonight, we will drink beer and stay up late (balance). Tomorrow starts another day of (balance) with a long run, but tonight, I will go to sleep even.

Balance is a delicate thing, teetering in the bounds of too much and too little. Running the errant path is what forces our hand to balance. Everyday is a mix of battles and balance. Those to be waged and won, and those in which truth is the victor.


(so, I poured myself a glass of wine from South Africa, sat down in front of my computer, and spewed into this blog. I realize it doesn't make sense, and I'm ok with that, for it is balance for the few times I do make sense. Cheers!)

Weekend of the Cross

To prepare for something in which spreads love and light to other people often comes at the price of labor and an occasional good story.  This past Thursday evening saw the start of Weekend of the Cross (WOC).  A yearly event in which students from all over North Louisiana gather in Shreveport for mission work.  It's a great weekend full of hard work, great worship, and overall good times.  For the past two years I've participated as a group leader, having sites or homes to be in charge of.  We either paint portions of the home, or there's light construction work to be done, mostly in the vain of porches and wheel chair ramps.  Two or three adults are paired with around 6 to 8 kids and they spend the weekend fixing up some one's home.  This year, it was a little different for me.

I was asked to be a Major Group Leader (MGL).  This brought about a new experience, a different experience than I was use to.  As a MGL, I was in charge of 5 sites.  5 areas of work, 5 different groups of adults and children, all with different projects and needs.  It was awesome. I thoroughly enjoyed being able to serve these groups, and serve these homeowners as well.  My preconceived notions of how little work the MGL actually did was quickly laid to rest as Monday rolled around.

I decided to go by and personally look at all my homes.  I had come in late to the WOC, which is an all year planning experience, and by the time I had gotten into the mix, most all the measurements and home choices had been made.  In order to best serve my teams, I thought it mandatory to check out these home first hand.  Of the five sites, four were geared up, ready and willing and expecting their groups.  However, no good story proceeds without conflict.

I noticed my homes were all located in the Queensboro neighborhood of Shreveport.  A neighborhood not known for well manicured lawns and exceptional outdoor parties.  Not a lot of neighbor's beaming at the opportunity to express how their property values have been shooting up, if you catch my drift.  A place even I, who will go almost anywhere, would be wary to travel after dark.  A neighborhood in which some things are overlooked.

Pool of Poo

In this case it was the giant pool of pee and poop that had taken up residence in the front yard of one of my group's homes.  One that, in fact, was quite a project.  They were suppose to rip up the flooring of an enclosed porch and then construct an exterior patio.  Something that would really liven up the home exterior.  Imagine my concern when I noticed the area the Middle School and High School kids were intended to work and share and hang out for three days was literally swimming in feces.  Not something you want the parents of these kiddos finding out.  Problem Solving mode hit and we ran with it.


I called a plumber who got his drain man to come out to the home and take care of the issue.  I was very impressed with the quickness of the handling of this incident.  Called on a Monday afternoon for the request, I received another call from the man, Jr., at 7:45pm saying he was heading out to the home to fix the problem.  I slept well that night, knowing we did what was best for the kids.  I had planned to run by the next day with a bag of Lyme to really put it all in the past.

I call Jr the next morning, to confirm he had no problems cleaning out the drain. I inquired of his time at the home.  He informed me the line was clean.  But, then he decided to go into detail of the source of the clog.  Thinking the damage a result of roots, feminine products, or just a rough month with the TP, I indulged his discussion of the subject.  However, he informed what was really the cause of the back up, the pool in the front yard, the smell, the flies, the extreme health issue was in fact...a cat.  Actually more like a kitten.  When he snaked the line he found there to be a feline stuck in the line.   Gross huh?

The cat could only have gotten in the line one of two ways.  Either from the outside clean-out access, which I'm hoping, or from the inside with a "burial at sea."  I want to and choose to believe curiosity is what killed the cat and he ducked in the open line to see what was going on, only to never return.  I feel better at it's demise this way than the more direct and intentional path of toilet to sewage.  It helps to believe the world is not as cruel and misunderstood. 

Either way, this is a funny and unique story.  One in which could and should be shared.  And that's exactly what I did.  I told the director, the site manager, the team leader, my wife, I spread the funny and grotesque news.  I got some razzing from it too, which I embraced.  The pinnacle being at our first full group meeting.

The first night, the first meeting, a room filled with over 100 adults excited and a bit nervous about the weekend to come.  The meeting starts, information is shared, but something out of the ordinary happens.  The site manager (the one in charge of all 31 sites) begins an "interesting" story.  Mine of the cat.  She reveals my name, but at the end, she calls me to the front.  I am presented with a Kitty Litter Cake. A hearty laugh resonates from the crowd as I sit down with my large cake and new nick-name of kitty litter.  I spent the weekend with sly calls of "Meooowww" passed in my direction.  Funny, indeed, and I gladly embraced it. 

The weekend proved to be amazing, as usual, with wonderful work completed by these youth and adults.  The Shreveport Times came by and took some pretty good pics, so check them out.  I also took some pictures showing some greatness by these groups.  It was a wonderful, challenging, and God-centered weekend.  I'm so proud of all the participates and organizers and know the future will be bright as the present shows that Love and Peace will prevail.

Check out these extra pics too:

Prayers Before the work began

Giddy Group Going Great

Making Due with Smiling faces

the Hulk

returning of the buckets signaled you were done

Bringing it Down Home

Quick, here's quiz to determine how "southern" you really are, it's only one questions.  What's a cushaw and how do you cook it?  If you answered a squash/melon type of vegetable, then you are not only truly southern, but probably past the age of 50.  Specifically a Cushaw Squash is a crooked necked squash that is good with cinnamon and in pies, apparently.

I'd never have heard of one, neither had my wife, but her father brought us a cushaw.  For which we had to find something to do with it.  This leads me into today, Sunday, a glorious day.

Today was hot in Louisiana, something like over 100 degrees, hot.  Hot like when you walk outside your find yourself wanting to write your deodorant company complaining there "hot zone" guarantee can't stand up to 10 minutes of LA summer and you want your $3.99 back.  Hot like you can audibly hear the cries of your grass as it lets out it's last breath and dies, virtually seeing it turn yellow before your eyes.  Hot like you are standing at the edge of the river styx waiting to greet Phlegyas.  Hot.

This was the day I decided to grill some chicken.  I found a pretty neat recipe in Men's Health for Jerk Chicken (which we took to calling Republican Chicken).  It needed 60 minutes on the grill.  We cooked it, it was awesome, there's some left if you want some.  But, while we prepared this we had the battle of the desserts.  Me with my Cushaw, and Eliz with her Peach Bars. We flitted around the kitchen in each others way attempting to make the best dessert.  Stove kicking it a 400 degrees, three burners on the stove dialed up to boil, and the sun streaming through our uncurtained windows.  It brought a more literal definition to "If you can't stand the heat, get out the Kitchen."  We survived, neigh, we endured this heat to bring ourselves some goodies.  Neither of us had made these sweeties before and were diligently following the instructions we had.  Turns out, cushaw is good for pies, and that's pretty much what I found on the internet.  I'm willing to bet it's because Louisiana is great and taking healthy vegetables and making them not healthy for you.  Which is what 2/3 cups what sugar, adn 2/3 cups brown sugar will do to any squash.  Not to mention the milk and butter.  And we wonder why there's an obesity epidemic out there.  That being said, we dove into making our sweet treats just as sweet as directed.

Turns out Cushaw pie is a lot like pumpkin pie, could be because one recipe called for 2 Tbs of pumpkin pie seasoning but who really knows.  It cooked for over an hour and half and when it was done was not bad.  With the consistency of custard and the creamy butterness of pumpkin pie.  We had so much cushaw we made two pies with two recipes, for comparison.  I'm pretty sure they will be give away to a good home, though, and not consumed by us.  That'll be next weeks PSA, "Feeling as if you can't go on?  Too much staring you down?  Don't take that next bite, donate your half eaten pie to the W.G.T.Y.U.P of America.  Here a We Glady Take Your Used Pie, of America, we're dedicated to making sure no pie is neglected and no consumer is over indulged."  Yeah, I could see it.  Course The Park Cafe would be like ground zero for trading, but I'd dig in for some more Sugar Free Razzleberry, damn that stuff is good.

It turned out good and now I feel all the more in-tuned with my southern brethren.   Course, this day and age, I know of almost no one who knows what this is.  They're going to be confused tomorrow at church group when I lay that puppy down.  But really, pie is pie, and with enough sugar and butter even old leather shoe pie could eat...and probably has before.

 

The finished (and tested) products. Not much to look at really, but tasty!

Note the Miller High Life in the background, it is, after all, "the champagne of beers."  The recipe I used came from Discuss Cooking, Cushaw Pie.  Bonn Appetite (but say it in a south Louisiana way).

Book Review 100 Top Novels, You Dig!

#55 on Board Review and #42 on Readers List:

On The Road  by Jack Kerouac:

As I posted previously, I decided to read The 100 Best Novels, both the Board's list and the Reader's List.  Well, I was derailed with my first selection, Ulysses by James Joyce.  This mountain of a book proved to be more than I could surmount.  In my self deprivation of my ability to finish this continuous stream of thought explosion of James Joyce, I didn't pick up another of the top dawgs for a while.  Then I, head bowed, turned back to my list of novels.  Choosing, On the Road.

Let me preface this by saying, I'm not a book reviewer, I'm not a publisher, I'm not even grammatically correct all the time, but I'll lay out my pedantic thoughts and let you intern them as you see fit.  For thus is the purpose of the internet...a collection of unwanted, illformed, self-deprecating thoughts of others, which you never intended to know.

The Review- On the Road


Set in the late 1940s, a writer by the name of Sal Paradise feels a stirring in his soul.  One aided by the oft high and ever incorrigible new acquaintance, Dean Moriarty.  With simple goodbye to his gal and loan from his aunt, he takes to the road with hopes of hitchhiking and stowing his way from New York to San Francisco and back again.

He writes of interesting traveling companions, changing weather, and his constant bar hopping and skirt chasing.  Relationships are won and lost and music is a continual theme.  He leaves hoping for self realization, but merely gets homesick, and returns to New York, just to hear the calling of the road again.

He has a companion Dean, whom I could swear he was in love with, but I don't know how plausible that would be in the 40s.  He spoke of him with such regard and emotion as Dean played upon his pseudo intelligence.  I found myself disgusted with Dean's constant infidelities, laziness, and lechery.  His constant taking advantage of his friends and conning those he encountered.  A blatant disregard for anything but himself and getting his kicks.  I wonder if the author/narrator enjoyed portraying this character as a means to show how he wished he could live or what he truly valued.  Then again, perhaps I'm the pseudo intellectual who has missed the point.

Overall I enjoyed the book, not one I would read again, but worth the read.  The calling of adventure and oneness with the times has probably been in all our hearts.  If it was only safe enough these days to attempt to hitch across the U.S.  I'd think of giving it a try, but I wouldn't use this book as any guide.  Kerouac was herald as the original beatnik.   "A gone dude out see the world and get his kicks, dig." I guess I could see myself in his character, that of Sal Paradise, but found that of Dean and the interaction interesting.  One who has opportunity and education does not seek to find out everything, but finds complacency in his bubble.  One who has a disregard for authority, a rejection from society, and inability to stay put searches the world for good times and metaphysical explanation. The dichotomy of the two and how their paths intertwine.  Can you Dig?

A refersher course for all you serious backpakers

The Shearing

 Louisiana is hot. And when I say hot, I mean, WHOLLY CRAP IT'S LIKE I'M ON FIRE IT'S SO DAMN HOTT!  I guess I may be acting a little over dramatic, but it's pretty warm and humid.  Combine that with our past two week vacation in Montana and the heat seems to be working on me a little more than normal.  For example, when we woke up to catch our flight home on July 9th, it was 39 degrees outside in the crisp, Montana morning.  It made the 100+ Dallas evening somewhat unbearable.  Hard to breath and I felt as if my blood was syrup.  The transition since then has been difficult. 

I find it hard to wear too many clothes and sweating as I walk down the block is pretty usual.  Actually, just standing outside, not moving and I sweat.  Mmmm, LA is fun!  I decided to help ease the transition i would get rid of excess facial hair, which was like a wool blanket on my face.  So, I shaved down to a pretty rad, little 80s mustache.  I kinda dug it but Eliz was not a huge fan.  But, I documented it for funzies. 

The obligatory Before pic.

Throwback to my Goatee days (ah I miss the late 90s early 00s)

This is a mid break just show that the beard was over an inch thick

Voila, this was my go-to facial hair style, I dig it

 

 

Eliz reaction when she saw it.

Needless to say, she was not a huge fan of my facial hair decision.  She actually wouldn't even give me a kiss and cringed every time she looked at me.  So, I shaved it all off that night.  Too bad, my very short lived mustache days...or should I say, hours.