Postcards from Istani

Well, I would like to say its not my fault, since my wife gave me the latest chapter to "Guild Wars." However when you have been on the computer as much as I have been the last couple of days... yet with the lack of a meaningful, insightful, or even remotely humorous post to the blog can only mean one thing -- Shawn's been gaming.

Scott (who happened to get Neverwinter Nights 2 at Loop) would like this game. Some more of you out there as well maybe. Nightfall is the third chapter to the game which came out almost 2 years ago. It is a MMORPG (Massive Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game), which basically means there are probably over 15,000 players playing it online at any one time. The game is also global, as parts of the game are controlled whether teams from America, Europe, or Korea are winning or losing in the player versus player contests within the game. The scenery spans everything from estuaries, swamps, snow-covered forests, mountains, and deserts. So its like exploring outdoors when you log on.

The avatar above is of the oldest character I play. Currently we are exploring an island chain known as Istani in the game. It's very similar to an African coastal area. I will not bore you with the plot...


The game downloads from the net, or can be purchased from disc although the game updates almost every week. And unlike World of Warcraft, there is no monthly subscription fee to play. You pay for the game up front, and then do not pay anything else to play it. The only time you pay is to add a new world (chapter) to it when the come out with one (and only then if you want to play in the new world, the original continent of Tyria (Chapter One) is still open for people to play in).

Over the river and through the woods...

When the grandmothers of today hear the word ``Chippendales,'' they don't necessary think of chairs.
Joan Kerr


Or rather “up the escarpment and through the dust… to Grandmother's house we went!”


The official start of the Holiday season -- our first Christmas get-together of the season, came and went this weekend with a short trip to Brandy’s Grandparents (Brandy drove), and a long trip back home (I drove). Since the majority of the readers of this “esteemed piece of cyberspace literature” (hah!) were in attendance, my recap of the weekend’s events would be redundant. So instead, I offer…

Top ten things not to get caught doing at Grandmother’s House.

10. Taking a picture without a grandkid (anyone’s grandkid) smiling in your lap.

9. Jumping on cotton modules behind the house (“cityboy” excuses or not!).

8. Listening for the gin to stop running where your nose will as well.

7. Saying “Puuuupieeeee!”

6. Buying back the gift you wanted from Chinese Christmas.

5. Needing to use the front bathroom during a “woman conference.”

4. Using up all the hot water taking a shower Sunday morning.

3. Slipping cherries in food items (fruit salad, ice cream, etc.)

2. Weighing yourself before and after a trip to the desserts in the backroom.

1. Making the trundle beds squeak in the office – with your spouse.

"Date Night"

When they discover the center of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it.
- Bernard Bailey


Here it is "Friday Night!." I think we used to call it "date night."

Brandy and I still talk a lot about dates, like the date of open house at the elementary, the date we travel out of town to see family, or the date for Madelyn's next doctors appointment, etc. etc. Somewhere within parenthood the meaning of "having a date" has slipped away, replacing the question of what "we" will do, with what "we all" will do, or "what will we do with ______?" (insert names of children here).

So we don't ask the questions much anymore, and just sit at home unless the date is "planned." This involves much preparation, and I'm beginning to think that there might be a business in planning dates for parents, like a wedding planner plans your wedding. You just call up the person, tell them some shared interests between you and your wife, and they take care of the following:

1. Determining an evening where there is no soccer, basketball, ballet, recital, church, school program, meeting, conference, illness, or national disaster in the children's schedule.
2. Arranging child care.
3. Arranging emergency medical care for children during child care.
4. Arranging counseling and medical care for the child care provider after child care.
5. UPS shipped, clear plastic coveralls designed to allow the parents to leave the house without the tell-tale marks of cracker crumbs, milk, kool-aide, or spit-up stains.
5. Sending text messages to the mom's cell phone every 30-minutes during the date saying "Your kids are fine. You are not a bad mother for leaving them".
6. Making reservations at a quiet, secluded locale whose meals do not come with a toy.
7. Providing a list of adult topics to discuss during the evening (since the parents will be a little out of practice). These should be pre-screened not include any references to stickers, stars, dolls, diapers, formula, etc.
8. A grocery delivery made to the house where the date does not end with buying milk, bread, and diapers at Wal-Mart.
9. An after dinner activity that does not involve clowns (or other costumed things), arcade games, or getting a balloon or sucker.
10. A kiss or hug to end the evening, without hearing "EWWW!!!! Mommy, Daddy... STOP DOING THAT!"

But you know, in all honesty at least we as parents have had our time for "romance." Some people out there are still looking for it. I listen to National Public Radio, and one of the latest books they mentioned on-air was Naughty Lola, a compilation of personal adds from the London Review of Books. Below are some excerpts (story):

Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth.

You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Herve Villechaize and carry an odor of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box no. 3321.


My finger on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting -- geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older sex-starved woman on the brink of death to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since 1974. Box no. 7648 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is this pacemaker).

Your stars for today: A pretty Cancerian, 35, will cook you a lovely meal, caress your hair softly, then squeeze every damn penny from your adulterous bank account before slashing the tires of your Beamer. Let that serve as a warning. Now then, risotto?

Man... makes me glad I'm not single and looking anymore. I'll take watching Brandy change Madelyn's diaper in the middle of the living room floor on a Friday night over that any day....

Come before Winter

For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this world, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica. Crescens has gone to Galatia, and Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me. Get Mark and bring him with you, because he is helpful to me in my ministry. I sent Tychicus to Ephesus. When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments.

Alexander the metalworker did me a great deal of harm. The Lord will repay him for what he has done. You too should be on your guard against him, because he strongly opposed our message.

At my first defense, no one came to my support, but everyone deserted me. May it not be held against them. But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. And I was delivered from the lion's mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

Greet Priscilla and Aquila and the household of Onesiphorus. Erastus stayed in Corinth, and I left Trophimus sick in Miletus. Do your best to get here before winter.

2 Timothy 4:6-21

We got the first good snow of the season this past week (Thursday), reminding us that winter is ushering itself in. And as neighbors moved plants into their homes (to keep them alive), and others moved kids out of the house to play in the snow (probably for the same reason), I began to reflect.

Our preacher gives an annual sermon using this passage. The sermon always comes at the end of the harvest season. We "civilized" folk living in the metropolises scattering the plains of West Texas typically think of the gins (not the drinking type), strippers (not the dancing type), and module builders (not the computer programming type) at harvest, and a final push and flurry of work after patient and prolonged tending of the crops of the fields. Then after the harvest, with the cotton in trailers at the gin yard or bundled into modules at the turnrows, there is an eerie silence across the barren fields where once was verdant life. Golden harvest sunsets pass to the winter's cold flannel gray skies. At the onset of winter, nothing more can a farmer do to get more from his harvest. It's just too late.

Is this not the way it is with our life? Paul knew it -- "winter" was approaching. He understood how short life was because he knew his plight in Rome would end with his death. And as the seasons changed it made him reflect on his "harvest."

So too may we.

I understand something about the "harvest" in our own lives. We each "reap" what we "sow." Without planting and tending no harvest will come. We cannot expect to make a difference in the lives of those around us without acting in love and concern, tending our relationships with time and effort. How sad it would be to stand at our own "winter" seeing the harvest days had passed, and wish that our own "fields had produced more or better crops". So we work to make the most of our time.

Yet, with a calendar full of obligations to my church family and school, monthly deacons meetings full of requests for aid, and a constant schedule of helping young people learn science, I forget the real reasons I do those things to help others, make others lives better, or help them through hard things in their lives. It seems they just become another item to put on the calendar and fulfill. In efforts to treat others with care, we de-humanize them into a scheduled, prioritized list of activities. Then we wonder why we feel like we never do enough for others? Where is the harvest? Have I forgotten the real reason I am doing all this anyway?

The harvest always means gathering. It isn't the process of caring and tending. It's the process of seeing the reward of labor. No one looks for the harvest in the heat of July. They know its coming, but with the tender plants in the ground struggling to grow big and tall under an oppressive landscape, the farmer works busily tending with hope. Will every young shoot grow and produce? No, but if the farmer is patient and purposed, a harvest will come.

We the "instant gratification generation," with our internet speed, drive-thru shopping, and memories made indelible in one hour or less, have forgotten that you don't plant and harvest at the same time. You tend to those around you, whether that be the young tender shoot of our children, those oppressed by the "heat" of this cruel world, or the widowed and elderly, and then expect to see the fruit of your work by the first sunset. We get discouraged and forget that the harvest will come, if we are patient and purposed. Paul, patient and purposed, said it best when he stated above "I have kept the Faith." Even with the disappointments that he faced, and those who turned from him or harmed him, he knew that he had touched the lives of others. There were those he called friends. There were those like Mark, who he had disagreed with, but wanted to make amends. There were so many whom he would never know he so affected deeply by his life.

May we all be able to come to a day in our lives where we might look at the field, as the cold northern wind wisps mare tails across the azure sky. And as we look into the last strains of sunset, realize we had a harvest. We made a difference in the hearts of those around us.