Sunday, March 29, 2009
New Orleans via Austin, Tejas, ostentatious
I went to Austin a month or so ago. Then we decided to drive 9 hours to Mardi Gras. I unfortunately left my camera in the hotel room most of the time. Yahoo.
Partners on the plumb wall
Starbucks partner party for Joanna's departure. Dress up nice, they said. Photo credit to Joanna Miller for those two shots at the bottom that I'm in.
Parker Bennett Curry Elementary.
Hanging out, after school, Parker Bennett Curry Big Brothers Big Sisters program. Elementary, dear Watson.
Tea drinker, front porch sleeper. I wept for you today.
My last post read the following: "Found this roll of film when I was cleaning out my car... It's from the KFTC annual meeting, back in October 2008. My birthday weekend, actually. Met some cool kids this weekend. Berea, Louisville, Lexington. Still haven't made that trip to Berea like we planned... Perhaps I lost this roll for a reason. Nice reminder to live a little, own up to intentions."
Less than two weeks later, my friend Zachary Sieben, who we had talked about visiting in Berea and whose photo was the last image on my previous post, passed away unexpectedly from a heart annurism. So we finally went to Berea, for the first time.
I wrote Zach the following letter the day I got back to Bowling Green:
We have been talking about visiting Berea for months, and we finally made it down this weekend. The town and college community are just as magical as you promised. I even saw the SENS house, only from the outside, as your parents and sisters were cleaning out your room. The compost project and water purification system were strikingly impressive. I know you worked really hard to take good care of everything that made that house what it is.
The Tibetans said prayers aloud as your mother and father spread your ashes on top of Mount Pinnacle. The hike there was beautiful, though I know you know this. It made me really happy to see a part of you stay in Kentucky. You belong here. Your mother said she considers you a Kentuckian, that California was too loud, too bright for your candid eyes.
I'm sorry I never called you back this week.
I really did want to hear of your ice storm adventures.
I also drafted a manifesto:
TO: Zach, God, The World, My Neighbors, Myself.
I will take every opportunity to explore the environment in which a greater Power has placed me.
I will enjoy the aesthetic and tasty goodness of a cup of tea. "Leaves in water are quite complex and deserve more than to be carelessly sipped."
I will get to know my neighbors.
I will be involved, and help when I can, being sure to stick to my commitment and spread the movement to those who don't know.
I will go outside, feel the sun, enjoy the bitter cold and smell the flowers.
I will be conscious of what I throw away, how I spend my money and where my food came from.
I will eat breakfast.
I will travel when given the opportunity, and remember the names and stories of those I meet along the way.
I will love Kentucky with a burning passion to make it better.
I will take advantage of my youth while it is still upon me.
I will turn the heads of my elders with my desire to get things done.
I will fall in love with blank pages, books waiting to be read and stories waiting to be heard.
I will skip instead of run, when everyone or no one is watching.
I will carry a compass, for it is necessary.
I will meditate in the morning and write in the afternoon.
I will be ok with being known as eccentric.
I will take vitamins.
I will never, ever let anyone tell me that Mountaintop Removal will never go away.
I will cherish my front porch and be conscious of its enchanting capabilities.
I will love with every breath that pumps through my body and sustains my being.
Less than two weeks later, my friend Zachary Sieben, who we had talked about visiting in Berea and whose photo was the last image on my previous post, passed away unexpectedly from a heart annurism. So we finally went to Berea, for the first time.
I wrote Zach the following letter the day I got back to Bowling Green:
We have been talking about visiting Berea for months, and we finally made it down this weekend. The town and college community are just as magical as you promised. I even saw the SENS house, only from the outside, as your parents and sisters were cleaning out your room. The compost project and water purification system were strikingly impressive. I know you worked really hard to take good care of everything that made that house what it is.
The Tibetans said prayers aloud as your mother and father spread your ashes on top of Mount Pinnacle. The hike there was beautiful, though I know you know this. It made me really happy to see a part of you stay in Kentucky. You belong here. Your mother said she considers you a Kentuckian, that California was too loud, too bright for your candid eyes.
I'm sorry I never called you back this week.
I really did want to hear of your ice storm adventures.
I also drafted a manifesto:
TO: Zach, God, The World, My Neighbors, Myself.
I will take every opportunity to explore the environment in which a greater Power has placed me.
I will enjoy the aesthetic and tasty goodness of a cup of tea. "Leaves in water are quite complex and deserve more than to be carelessly sipped."
I will get to know my neighbors.
I will be involved, and help when I can, being sure to stick to my commitment and spread the movement to those who don't know.
I will go outside, feel the sun, enjoy the bitter cold and smell the flowers.
I will be conscious of what I throw away, how I spend my money and where my food came from.
I will eat breakfast.
I will travel when given the opportunity, and remember the names and stories of those I meet along the way.
I will love Kentucky with a burning passion to make it better.
I will take advantage of my youth while it is still upon me.
I will turn the heads of my elders with my desire to get things done.
I will fall in love with blank pages, books waiting to be read and stories waiting to be heard.
I will skip instead of run, when everyone or no one is watching.
I will carry a compass, for it is necessary.
I will meditate in the morning and write in the afternoon.
I will be ok with being known as eccentric.
I will take vitamins.
I will never, ever let anyone tell me that Mountaintop Removal will never go away.
I will cherish my front porch and be conscious of its enchanting capabilities.
I will love with every breath that pumps through my body and sustains my being.
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