Whistling Badger Blog

New Year's Eve, 2011.  So ends the hardest year of my life.  I have thought long about what I wanted to say tonight, how to sum up this brutal year and send it out the door.  So much loss, so much grief, not just for me and my family, but for my whole community.  Many of my thoughts have been angry and defiant-- There's the door, 2011.  Don't let it hit you in the butt on the way out, and may we never see your likes again. As good as it feels to say that, though, there is so much more to it.  As the old song says, "Where there's a shadow, there's a light."  Loss is just love turned inside out--you can't really have one without the other.  We lost a son because, however briefly, we had a son.  We hate fighting against poor health because we know very well what it is to enjoy good health.  We grieved the time away from our daughter because we have a daughter who is so wonderful we hate being away from her.  We mourned the loss of our wonderful South E

I love living close to the mountains.  People travel cross-country to see and experience what is practically my back yard.  To be able to get up in the morning and, with a minimal amount of preparation required to make the trip family-friendly, head for the hills...what a blessing. So it was that, the day after Thanksgiving, we loaded up the Subaru and headed up the canyon to find a Christmas tree.  I love Christmas trees.  I love what they symbolize--the durability of life, the assurance that, underneath that death-blanket of snow and ice, living things are dozing and plotting their annual springtime come-back.  It is a great reminder, having something large and green in the house during these longest nights of the year.  Decorate it up with sparkling lights and shiny tinsel and it's like the stars on the snow.  Hang up the ornaments, each one of which has its own story to tell.  Then plug the whole thing in:  It's like silent, indoor fireworks.  Yes. But since I am in ser

My 2nd and 3rd graders started laying the groundwork for harmony singing last week.  One Bottle of Pop.  Alfred the Alligator.  My Dog Treed a Rabbit.  Kookaburra--both the "normal" and "naughty little kid" versions. We talked about harmony and its definition (a room full of 2nd graders bellowing, DIFFERENT  SOUNDS THAT WORK TOGETHER!!!).  I showed them some examples:  All singing "One Bottle of Pop" is not harmony...why?  Because we're all singing the same thing.  It has to be different sounds.  Same thing, but with the guitar--is this harmony?  Yes!  The guitar is different.  Then a funny example:  Singing "One Bottle of Pop," while I play the accompaniment to a different song, in a different key and different meter.  Above the giggling and puzzled looks, I ask again. NO!  It sounds like a big mess.  Doesn't work together.  The big punch line is happening this week, when we start applying this stuff, singing rounds and partner songs

The greatest thing about having so many different friends--especially the oddly creative friends I seem drawn to--is the constant challenge to look at things from a different angle, to try things a different way. My friend Mara, the painter from Sheridan , enjoys painting "en plein air."  This is an artistic French term which means, reassuringly, "in plain air."  You grab your gear, head out under the sky, and paint nature as you see it.  If I were a painter, I would want to work this way.  It's natural, it's outside, it requires a good mix of planning and spontaneity.  Mara's work sometimes makes me wish I had time to take up painting again. We receive Backpacker Magazine, courtesy of an outdoor gear company who apparently thinks it will encourage us to buy more stuff.  (It might be working)  I recently read an article therein about Gordon Hempton , a man who has made it his life's work to seek out wild places in Washington state that are c

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung, Would you hear my voice come thru the music? Would you hold it near as it were your own? It's a hand-me-down. The thoughts are broken. Perhaps they're better left unsung. I don't know, don't really care: Let there be songs to fill the air! --The Grateful Dead Today is the big day: After three years, The Stone of Beth El is finally available. It is up on CD baby . The website is all set up. The set list for the party is put together. Everything is ready. I hope to see some of you at Global Arts tonight. For those of you who can't make it, I'll try to get some videos up in the next week or so: Thanks for being with me in spirit. Be sure to check out the cause this CD is supporting. If you buy a CD, check out the lyrics tab here on the website. This recording is my best work so far, three years in the making, with an incredibly willing and able supporting cas

Note to the reader: I began writing this on Fathers' Day morning. Katie woke up and seemed to think she needed some food and clothing, so I had to set it aside. I am just now getting back to it. It is one of the joys of my extremely full, parental life: I finally have a valid excuse for taking forever to get anything done. Two days ago, Katie, Mom, and I hiked up to Middle Fork Falls. This is only about a three mile round trip, with just under 400 feet elevation gain: Hardly worth mentioning in better days. But it was our first time hiking since all the bad stuff happened last winter, and we made it without hitch. I was outrageously happy, whooping and laughing, and Katito picked up on my mood. Sarah was more quiet and thoughtful. But for all of us, it was a big event. The whole way, I kept thinking of Sarah, four short months ago, unable to even get out of bed without assistance. I kept thinking about how wonderful it was to have Katie with us at this moment. I kept t

'Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich starker.' 'What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.' Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, 1888 I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret. I can't see how You're leading me unless You've led me here Where I'm lost enough to let myself be led. Rich Mullins, Hard to Get, 1997 Two very different ways of seeing the world. The first I myself have quoted time and again, usually in the middle of difficult rock climbs, trail runs, and similarly macho situations. It was spoken by the same man who coined the phrase, "God is dead," and who ended up going completely fruit-loops crazy in later life. So as appealingly macho as it all sounds, perhaps we aren't required to take him too seriously when he talks about that which makes us stronger. The second was written by a Christian singer and songwriter who could have been a millionai

Felt so good, like anything was possible Hit cruise control, rubbed my eyes These last three days, the rain was unstoppable It was always cold, no sunshine It rained all night last night. It was coming down so hard out at Wilson Manor this morning that even the meadowlarks packed it in. Rainy days always make me feel like I can do anything. Like anything is possible. Maybe it's because they are so unusual here in dry Wyoming. Maybe it's because they remind me of my years in Portland, when that feeling was a daily thing. Maybe it's because the daffodils and tulips look even brighter; my morning cup of tea taste even better. Maybe it's the way my truck seems to enjoy splashing through the gutters and puddles. Maybe it's just because of the way I sleep when it's raining all night. Over my morning tea, I spent some time praying and thinking about love (1 Corinthians 13, baby!), and how love plays out in this, the biggest single day in my school year. I had a

(by request) Disclaimer I mostly cook by the TLAR (That Looks About Right) method, so this is nothing like an actual recipe, and might take some experimentation. I know, because every time I go in the kitchen, it's an experiment. Preparations Wake up late, with a whole Saturday morning ahead of you. Put on water for tea (a good strong Assam/Irish breakfast type, of course). While chopping up your apples (see below), preheat a griddle on medium low. Rub some butter on it--the more the better, in my experience. I'm sure there's a limit to how much butter is a good thing, but I haven't reached it yet. Pancakes Dry ingredients: 3 or 4 handfuls whole wheat flour A teaspoon or so double acting baking powder A little less baking soda A good, hefty tablespoon or two of powdered buttermilk (or you can use real buttermilk in place of milk, below; or you can throw in a spoonful of plain yogurt or sour cream) 3 or 4 dashes of salt A couple table spoons of brown sugar You can a

We cannot WAIT to get back up in the mountains this summer!

If you are here for the pre-release, welcome! Check out the "listen to samples" link above, then get thee back to facebook and put your name on the list! If you are here for some other reason (maybe something really crazy, such as to read my blog), thanks for stopping by, and don't worry--you'll get your chance to buy a CD when it is actually ready to release. In the meantime, yes, you too can listen to samples. Lucky you! Thanks! T

This song really, really says it. Sometimes, faith means getting past the whining, getting past begging for explanations, when the bad stuff happens to you. Why shouldn't it? Isn't it sort of arrogant to see it happen to others, and then be shaken when the crap of a fallen world splatters onto you, too? He never promised things wouldn't ever be uncomfortable, awful, painful, unfair. He promised to get us through it. He promised to be with us in it. He promised to bring something good out of it. And believe me, he is faithful to keep those promises, if we will only trust him. After all, he beat death. Everything else is just a matter of time...

There a bumper sticker often seen here in Lander, usually on gun-rack adorned pick up trucks. It says, "I'm pro-choice. I choose to hunt, fish, trap, eat meat, and wear fur." It's a fairly universal feeling around here, even among those who consider themselves liberal. This is Wyoming, after all. When it comes to abortion, the real decision about whether to take the pro-choice stand is a bit more serious. Both sides of the issue believe strongly, and argue vigorously, that lives and basic freedoms are at stake. The other day, a friend's Facebook picture showed an intelligent young lady at a pro-choice rally. She was wearing a shirt that said, "I trust women. Do you?" That sounds wonderful. But should trust be the main issue in this or any other legal issue? If it were, we could get rid of so many annoying and expensive constraints: speed limits ("I trust drivers. Do you?"), government oversight of our financial institutions ("

The other day, a hospital aid saw me reading a book on Christian spirituality, and asked me if I prayed to my angels. I sort of laughed and said, no, I just pray to God and let him sort out the details. It's so much simpler that way. I take a fairly utilitarian view of angels. The Bible says they are ministering spirits, sent to take care of the saved. The word itself simply means "messenger," with no particularly spiritual connotation. Other than a small number of rather enigmatic, extremely intriguing mentions, not much else is said about them in the Bible. So, as usual, I am fine not trying to articulate what God has chosen to leave a mystery. But if you change that word "angels" back to the word "messengers," you start to see them everywhere--God speaks to us in many ways, after all--and they really aren't that mysterious or fascinating anymore. Or are they? ***Warning: Long, overly-detailed ramble follows. But stay with me, if

While waiting with my beloved wife to endure her latest painful round of tests the other day, it occurred to me with great force: I think I know why the light died when Jesus was on the cross, why the earth shook. For the past month, I have sat by watching and listening as my wife suffers through a truly horrifying series of painful illnesses, and the sometimes even more painful treatments for them. I have listened to her cry out in pain, seen her experience all the indignities common to hospitals, listened to her beg for relief when there was no more relief to give. And I have been here, offering support and encouragement, but there has been nothing I can do to stop it. Almost three weeks ago, I held my son in my arms and watched him die. It took almost three hours. I gave him my love, of course, but when it came to the dying, there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I just had to watch. Around two thousand years ago, God watched his son die a horrific death. It took

His name is David. I only knew him for two and a half hours. And I miss him. He came over four months earlier than he should have. Mom was taxed beyond her physical limits, fighting a horrific combination of pain and infection from a burst appendix. Her body decided that it could not fight this battle and still continue to grow this child. And so, at 5:30 Saturday morning, amid great pain and horror, we had a baby. The nurse asked me, right there in the midst of battle, if I wanted to see him. I told her I didn't know. I was crying, but I could see lots of blood; I could hear my wife screaming in pain, and I had a mental image of those pre-term babies you sometimes see...the ones that look sort of like deformed fish. I did not want to remember him as anything other than a baby. Better not to remember at all. But I could see movement out of the corner of my eye. I could see these nurses--these beautiful, beautiful nurses--carefully cleaning the baby, wrapping hi

Welcome to my new website. Things are still pretty basic right now. Check out the links, and stay tuned for the release of my CD, "The Stone of Beth El," in late January or February!