How's the weather?

Today is February 3, 2009.

In Philadelphia, it is 32 degrees and snowing.

Here in Southern California, home of the Rhi & Benner, it is 74 and sunny.

We've got a couch you can sleep on, people. Just saying.

RIP John Updike, 1932-2009

I was a freshman in high school the first time I encountered the words of John Updike. I had a bad habit of reading in class rather than pay attention to what the teacher was saying, and so it went one day in English as I stumbled upon Updike's classic short story "A&P". I was transfixed from the beginning:

In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits. I’m in the third check-out slot, with my back to the door, so I don’t see them until they’re over by the bread. The one that caught my eye first was the one in the plaid green two-piece. She was a chunky kid, with a good tan and a sweet broad soft-looking can with those two crescents of white just under it, where the sun never seems to hit, at the top of the backs of her legs. I stood there with my hand on a box of HiHo crackers trying to remember if I rang it up or not. I ring it up again and the customer starts giving me hell. She’s one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I knowit made her day to trip me up. She’d been watching cash registers forty years and probably never seen a mistake before.

As the young teenager me read on, he recognized so much in the story: The passion and urgency of being a kid. The disserviceable desire to buck responsibilities in favor of looking cool. Standing up for something even if you're never sure what it is you're standing up for, even if you're standing up just to stand up. When Sammy makes his fatal heroic gesture, quitting his job to impress a girl only to find she didn't stick around to witness it, that she never shared the false intimacy he had invested so much in over a breif period of time, my heart sank and my brain applauded. Updike drew a picture of the complications of logic in the youthful mind unlike any author I'd previously read. I knew of Fitzgerald and Steinbeck and Salinger from middle school English, and I loved them all, but this Updike guy was something else.

I went out and tried to find more Updike. To my dismay, "A&P" was an outlier of sorts for the man; he seemed more interested in crumbling marriages and societal pressures on middle class adults than he was in teenage angst. And here I was, an angsty teenager craving literature that would affirm my station in life, trying to wrap my head around Updike's rather heady prose about people like my parents. Not quite what I was expecting.

Still, I forced myself to read the man's work. I read "Rabbit, Run" and the rest of the "Rabbit" books. I read his short stories, and had a particular fondness for his "Bech" series. Eventually, I got deeper into his repoirtoire (and it is a deep repoirtoire indeed: Updike had a committment to publishing one book a year for his entire professional career, a challenge he nearly defeated), and found that maybe I could absorb a lot more than I thought. For in many stories, those same youthful passions Updike wrote about in "A&P" were still lingering in the minds of his adult characters.

He did reach outside the boundaries of Northeast suburbanite drama from time to time, though. In fact, I noticed he seemed to just write about what interested him at the time, almost as a lark. He wrote sci-fi and comedy if he felt so moved, and a book about a coven of divorcee witches that became a Jack Nicholson film. In his spare time, he crammed in respectable careers as an art critic and poet. And for that reason, John Updike is a hero to me. Not simply because he was prolific, or because he could write whatever he wanted and succeed wildly. He is my hero because he could do all of that, but also remain authentic and true to who he was while doing it. No matter what he was writing about, you knew it was Updike writing, because he was so precise and so telling. He had an unmistakeable voice. You trusted what he wrote, because you knew him, he put it all out on the page and you felt indebted to him for sharing things so revealing, even in his fiction. I felt so indebted, in fact, that after reading "Rabbit, Run" for the first time I had an urge to confess my sins to Updike, to let him know who I am truly and deeply the way he had spilled his soul to me.

(And there is an interesting dichotomy to think about: In my mind, Updike bled on the page, used his heart as an inkwell, confessing to us everything, and yet his words tended to be so spare, so precise, so perfectly chosen. He gave the reader everything using very little. He is a master.)

As a writer myself, I am tempted to align myself with the man. I want to see things we have in common, similarities between myself and the two-time Pulitzer winner. But I know I am not fit to share a professional field with Updike; I feel guilty knowing our names share common letters. He is a giant in my mind, one that cannot be toppled or even approached. Though I have yet to amass a body of work that can be compared numerably with Updike's, I know I will look back and compare myself to the man and wonder how I could have written more like him. And I think I'm OK with that, because coming in second or third or millionth behind Updike is an honor unto itself. I'm just happy I was ever running the same race as him.

Rest in peace, sir. You will be missed.

Ahh, sweet mysteries of life so glad I found you...

I remember a couple years ago, Benner and I were visiting the Chandlers in St. Augustine Florida. Jenny and I took a long walk with her beagle, Otis....we strolled by the bay, through the neighboring national park, and then along the beach. Yes, all 3 natural wonders border her neighborhood, aren't you jealous? We were talking about life, feeling the sand under our feet, stopping here and there to admire a particularly striking seashell with no pressing obligations causing us to keep track of time. We were just enjoying the day. But then, and I don't know what caused it- maybe it was feeling of being understood and accepted by a friend who knew you so well, or the peaceful rhythm of the waves, or the excitement of finding so many beautiful seashells, or simply being on vacation- but there we were two adults (ps. i don't feel like an adult at all) skipping down the shore in improvised song:.."oh, sweet mysteries of life, so glad I found you...." It was such a great moment. I felt such joy and contentment just walking along the beach. I wasn't weighed down with my never ending list of to do's. I was not bored, not distracted or stressed, not worrying about tomorrow, simply enjoying a feeling of true fulfillment. Being able to enjoy the small wonders, the sweet mysteries of life is a gift of grace from God. It is really profound when you think about it, and even more profound considering I was enjoying it with Jenny. Someone who spent decades of her life in chronic pain due to fibromyalgia but experienced miraculous healing and was set free from her disease. Ps. Fibromyalgia isn't even curable. I knew her well before she was healed and witnessed firsthand the extent and implications of her pain. So sharing that moment with her, skipping along the beach was truly special.

This past week, maybe even longer, I have been enjoying that same sense of peace and contentment. No, I have not had the time for leisurely walks along the beach...and it has lingered beyond a single afternoon or even a full day. It has stayed with me throughout chaotic days at work, conversations about stressful things, as I clean our bathroom and EVEN as I sit through a root canal. I know, right? What has prompted this feeling of peace and deep satisfaction? Where does it come from? Why do I feel such a heightened level of gratitude for the things in my life? I find myself appreciating sunshine or a walk during lunch at work. Cheesy, but true! The sound of crunching leaves under my feet while wearing a tank top. A heart to heart conversation with a friend. A glance at the mountains. Very little pain during a dental procedure. An hour to myself to read. Waking up to sunshine. Enjoying a cup of tea in a quiet house. A funny movie. No, Hallmark has not hacked onto this blog, it's still me. I'm just thinking here. I love my life! I love living in LA. There us much to appreciate. We have such easy and authentic friendships (all over the country), so many people who support us and care about us... we live in a beautiful place where I get to see the mountains everyday. It's always warm enough to enjoy a long walk and I'm married to my bestest friend in the world who makes me laugh everyday. But that unwavering sense of fulfillment and joy doesn't come from circumstances. Life is messy. For each item on that list I can counter list something that is hard in my life. A dear friend who is battling cancer, missing our friends in Philadelphia, living far away from dear family, not being where we want to be in our careers, wishing we had more money to do things we enjoy, wishing I was thinner, etc. etc. etc. Aren't we always wanting more of something? If only xyz...

I am fairly certain that circumstances cannot provide the kind of true fulfillment that we long for. The pendulum of life is always swinging with things can bring us up, that bring us down and riding the waves of happiness and disappointment never end. We are frustrated with a coworker, we are bored during a movie we just paid $11 for, someone makes us laugh, we get a promotion, we get laid off, we get sick, we exert physical energy, we rest and so on and so on life goes.

What I believe I am experiencing is a direct result of trusting God in my life. In knowing him personally and surrendering control. Realizing that I cannot manipulate the circumstances in my life so that I am always comfortable and always have it easy. But realizing and believing in my heart that I am created for a purpose. That God truly loves me Rhianwen in a unique way and will not disappoint me or leave me to my own devices. And as I trust God, he reveals more of his plans, purposes and heart to me. My faith is not just believing in a certain reality. It is experiencing it firsthand in a way that it personal to me. My faith is not a list of rules, it is first and formost a relationship and leads to a path to a joy and freedom that is sweeter than anything anyone else can offer. Maybe this whole post sounds cliche to you, but really, what are we living for? Riding the highs and lows is so exhausting! We get our hope up for something thinking it will fill the void, only to go to the next thing and the next. God is there all along just waiting for us to look to him. When we finally do, and we let go of our striving, we free him up to do what he wants to do in us and through us in our lives. And that is where we find true, lasting fulfillment. He's the one who created our hearts and personality, so don't you think he knows how to make us happy? The life he has for us is better than we could even imagine for ourselves, even with the hard parts. Turning to God can be hard, and it's not always easy to walk his ways. Sometimes he will strip away the things that we rely on in order to cause us to depend on him. I am thankful that God has done that in me. I'm even thankful for the trials of this past year. I never thought I could ever ever feel that way. And yet I say it in the midst of one! I know I'm being a bit vague and I'm rambled on and on, but there is some food for thought. I hope you are encouraged by it.

On a completely unrelated note, this morning Benner and I went for a hike at the canyon 2 min from our house (isn't that amazing that we can take a scenic hike 2 min from our house?! I know!) and look who we saw:


Ray Romano. I love this guy! I watch Everybody Loves Raymond like all the time. "Hey Robert, why you gotta be so tall? Ah c'mon Debra that headache excuse is getting old. Go back to your own house Mom and Dad!" Genious.

Also, we saw this guy:
Yup, It's a nice day for a white wedding...or dancing with myself. Or both.

Watching the Eagles Fly, From Cali

"Mike and Rhianwen? Hey, it's Donovan! Tell you what, we're going to go
to the Super Bowl and win it for you two. What do you say to that?"

The Phillies have my love and admiration unconditionally, always. But I'll openly admit that, when it comes to the Eagles, I am the definition of a bandwagon fan. When they are winning, I am rooting for them. The second they lose, it's as if I never loved them in the first place. I can't explain the emotional underpinnings of such a reaction; I don't know why I act that way, I just do.

That doesn't mean that when they're losing, I don't watch their games. I just do it with a bad attitude. "Why is Andy Reid passing right now?" I'll complain to no one in particular (Rhianwen does not really care about my complaints). "How come Sheldon Brown doesn't hit like he used to? I hate this team, always have." Then they'll do something like put up 200 points on a good team and I'll be back on board, acting as though I never left.

All this is to say that in light of how well the Eagles have played as of late, Sunday's game against the Cardinals has me beyond excited. I am of the opinon that, as long as the Eagles play as they have recently, they shouldn't have any trouble. The Cards' defense isn't particularly intimidating and our defense has the talent to bottle them up (or at least get stops). Then it's on to the Super Bowl, hopefully against Pittsburgh and we can enjoy putting that lousy city in its place.

But that complaining spirit is still lingering, for another reason entirely. Specifically, how is that two things I've never seen in my lifetime but have been waiting for (A Phillies World Series win and an Eagles Super Bowl win) might both be happening in the very year Rhi and I move to Los Angeles?

How is this fair?

(Sidenote: We have changed the colors of the blog to green and silver, to reflect our Eagles' fandom. Nice, huh?)

A Day With Barbara and France

Earlier this week we were blessed to have two dear people in Rhi's life visit with us: France and Barbara. They have known Rhianwen since she was born and have been good friends with Gwenyth (Rhi's mom) even before that. They hail from New Mexico... You might remember Barbara from Road Trip: Day 6; it was her wonderful home we stayed in. France, if you remember, is Rhianwen's godmother.

Sadly the duo were in town for the funeral of a dear friend. On a brighter note, they were able to squeeze a day in with us. So we decided to take them on a trek to the West Side, a part of LA that we rarely ever go to.

Yup. That's Venice Beach, with blue water and mountains in the background. It reminds us of Hawaii. I get the feeling that if she lived in California, France would spend as much time there as possible. She loves the water and compared herself to a seal several times. Here she is in the (cold, cold, COLD) water:

Did I mention that water is REALLY cold? We all eventually put our feet in, but France was the brave soul who walked several miles ankle deep in the icy sea. (There were still surfers that day, and some tourists were actually in the water despite the temperature.)

From there we decided to track down the Fig Tree Cafe, a restaurant on the Venice Boardwalk suggested by Barbara's friend Charlotte. We didn't know the address, just that it was slightly south of Santa Monica and on the Boardwalk. "Why don't we just walk until we find it?" was said. About two miles later, our legs were aching and our stomachs rumbling when we finally stumbled on the Fig Tree. We had earned our lunch, and the food there was tremendous. (Might I recommend the Grilled Ahi Tuna Sandwich if you ever find yourself there?) Here we are enjoying a meal and each others' company:

Unfortunately, after we had filled our stomachs it was time to turn around and walk back the few miles we had come. We decided to walk along the beach, where we ran into hundreds of these cute little baby seagulls:

It is my opinion that seagulls here in California are much different than the Jersey Shore ones Rhi and I are accustomed to. Those scrawny Jersey seagulls are constantly squawking, perched like vultures waiting for you to drop a French fry so they can descend upon it like an angry mob upon Frankenstein's monster. California seagulls, on the other hand, are large and proud animals. They rarely let out a squaw, don't scavange for food and seem as if they are politely bowing as you pass them. California seagulls are good birds.

Anyways, after we left Venice Beach we decided to go for a drive up Pacific Coast Highway and watch the sun set over the ocean. It was a beautiful drive, up until the point where we lost sight of the setting sun. I guess the coast winds in such a way that you're not always facing due west, but by the time we realized that it was too late: we could not find a good view of the sunset.

So we decided to just stop on the side of the road and make the most of it.

Still beautiful, no?

From there, we drove France and Barbara back to their friend Charlotte's house and said our goodbyes. It was a beautiful day, and we miss them already. Come back and visit, you two!