My First Real Ash Wednesday

It didn't occur to me until partway through the service tonight that I hadn't been to an Ash Wednesday gathering for about fifteen years, and this turned out to be a spectacular return. As I approached Jacob's Well in the warm dusk of a false spring night, a blazing fire was being stoked by a girl just before the entrance in a large, metal basin. Inside, the candlelit foyer was brimming with an installation of windowpanes pasted with photos and contemplative, grounding thoughts. Wending through to my pew was a solemn and beautiful segue into the season of Lent.

So, being a non-Catholic, I had never before had ashes dotted on my forehead until tonight. I caught myself consciously worrying about what I'd look like when I went to Westlake's after the service, but muffled my inner squelch by noting that ashes are common and discreet among Christians on Ash Wednesday. However, as you can see from my photo, for me that was not the case.

After the service, outside the church were the remains of the fire pit freshly quenched and distributed in small basins to a select few. I approached an available woman with a bowl, knelt upon a pew pillow cushioning the concrete and received the reminder of my earthy inception and conclusion, dust.

Rising I paused to contemplate and gaze at the crowd. A girl I recently met and her husband came up, said, "Hello," and informed me that I had a rather large cross on my cranium. I thought nothing of it until in the rear view mirror of my truck and, soon there after, the mirror of the Westlake's bathroom shed some light on the rather large compost pile on my face.

Currently, I have random bits of ash on my hands, face and, fortunately and probably, my charcoal gray sweater, and will probably change clothes, soil some new ones and completely forget the my countenance of soil.

While waiting for an outstanding scrub of my body and the inner scrubbing of my spirit on Good Friday, I can comfortably say that I have made up for twenty-seven ash-less Wednesdays and will look forward to my next dusting.

Tuttle Creek Lake

Car Talk: the Modern Nero Wolfe

Click and Clack, the Tappert brother, of the NPR show Car Talk are just like Nero Wolfe, except ambulating and comedic. People call in about their car problems providing only a mysterious situation with little information. Click and Clack go to town with probing, seemingly unrelated queries. Their intuition, experience and brilliance guide them to a certain solution.

Clients hire Nero Wolfe, the detective extraordinaire of Rex Stout, to solve their impossible quandaries. Wolfe is an unamicable, obese, agoraphobic, alcoholic genius that haughtily and smoothly uncovers the mysteries of his clients by direct questioning, precise observation and the errands of his employee and the narrator, Archie Goodwin.

The same observant genius permeates both Click and Clack and Nero, which differs significantly from Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Archie is the humorous narrator and lacky, who admits Wolfe's genius in a somewhat flippant and disrespectful way. Watson worships the feet of Holmes, never questioning him and always in awe of his reason. Wolfe's utilizes observation of humans, while Holmes is focused more on his genius knowlege of minute details that would challenge any Wikipedia buff. Wolfe's addition is beer and food, while Holmes' are cocaine and opium. The mysterious violin playing of Holmes and the orchidae obession of Wolfe's are similar in their ability to recharge the detective and probably incubate theories.

So, in short, Car Talk, Nero Wolfe and Sherlock Holmes are three intriguing deliveries of detection with completely different format and presentation, yet with underlying similarities, which make them all a good read or listen.

Fossels and Avians

I just had the most amazing experience on the Indian Creek Trail behind my apartment. The trail is continually amazing; the sunsets, the wildlife, and today the high water from a recent rain shower. My walk with Shadow today was ultra-slow due to my ultra-sore everything from my ultra-muddy bike wipe-out on Monday.

As our journey embarked, I first spotted a red-tailed hawk hanging out on a telephone pole near the tree that houses two of their nests. After walking until my limp was obvious and we encountered too much mud, we turned around.

On the way back, Shadow and I observed a kingfisher just east of the Watt's Mill and heard its telltale trill swooping over the rustling water. Around the next bend I heard a bird that had the timbre of a cardinal but not the colloquial call. I had just sighted the red bird when I heard an approaching party wondering what species was sounding, a gray-haired man and his six year-old son,who with I had previously crossed paths. He is a college professor and his son is a nature lover. I showed them the red-tailed hawk, which the son was enamored by, and they revealed the most amazing thing about the trail. The exploratory son had found a 10,000 year-old jawbone of a horse and three arrowheads in the creek! I was enamored by this information, since I have always wanted to find a fossil more significant than a crinoid, Missouri's state fossil, and I don't think I've ever actually found an arrowhead. The man had consulted a paleontologist at his college regarding the jawbone. It turns out that Native the indigenous people had hunted out horses long ago, but they were able to cross over to Asia over a land-bridge. In addition a mastodon was unearthed in the creek, so all sorts of ice age fossils are unearthed in high water.

At that time my phone rang, and we parted ways, but only shortly. My gaze floated to the sky and turned around to yell, "There's a bald eagle!" Soaring high above my apartment complex shined the brilliantly white head and shaded body of the majestic bird. I was absolutely enamored, as I have only seen bald eagles a handful of times and absolutely never in an urban area.

My unfortunate cohorts could not reach the vantage point in time to see the sight, and we soon parted ways. I walked across the short yard to my door mesmerized by my forty minutes of wonder in my big backyard. An unexpected and truly personal gift was given to me. Surely I become glazed to the usual wonders encompassing me every day. I appreciated the divine nudge and blessed stimulation of my senses to the everyday awes of Abba.

Enjoying the Clean Patio, Not Enjoying the Back Pain

More Uses for Laundry Baskets or Can't Find the Wheelbarrow

Found it the second I finished, of course.