Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I will destroy your peanut butter!
The planet VLTRRGGGRKLAXX will send its hoary minions to destroy your trans-fat consuming asses in a vapor ray of sizzling potency. YOUR BEANS WILL BE OURS!
ps-all your base are belong to us.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Today I Helped Someone Leave Me
Matt and Cary Moore were the first people I knew in Cincinnati.
Actually, I knew them before coming here. Cary conspired with me in proposing to my wife, at their house, with them away, in November 2001 (it's worth saying that Matt wasn't too keen on the idea: he'd heard that I broke Didi's heart and wanted to talk to me before agreeing to be a party to my proposal. I liked that). Didi became my bride-to-be on their steps. Since then, Cary has become my wife's best friend (not just in Cincinnati). Matt and I met together for about 2 years every week to help each other find God when I was a mortgage broker. He was a pilot for the inept ComAir, a flying partner of Delta, and had open daytimes. They both had Texas roots so we bonded with them in our perception of the midwest and our fond remberances of Texas/southern culture and cuisine (Cary is a Louisiana girl), and Matt is my Longhorn buddy who I chide when the Aggies beat their longtime foes (I have the chance to rib him, it seems, about once every three years). We've been on vacations with them: a Caribbean cruise, and a Los Cabos getaway a couple of years ago. They made us godparents of their second-born, a son, who just turned four. Matt taught me how to SCUBA dive. I helped him lay the concrete for his drive and sidewalk, build his bathroom, and build his back porch. He helped me build my bathroom. Cary is Didi's right-hand woman for the deliverance ministry she shoulders here, and the two of them have run in multiple marathons and 5- and 10-Ks together.
The years of sowing into this relationship have produced the ruby-red fruit of love.
Today I helped them pack up their home into a shipping container.
Matt got his dream job, flying huge airplanes for Cathay Pacific, a Hong Kong-based liner. They'll be based in Anchorage, Alaska. Their goodbye prayer meeting was held at our house last week. Cary will take Sara, Ben, and Emily to Abilene to stay at Matt's parents' ranch while Matt's in training in Hong Kong. Then everybody will relocate north. (I plan on helping drive the cars up there!)
I had a weird moment today, picking up Ben's toys for the last time, and wandering up to the 3rd floor attic office that I helped rough in. I just thought about this young family, their misgivings about leaving the only home their children know, their wonder at the days ahead, and the permanent grasp we give to one another's hearts. I cried. A family moving out of a house is just a sad thing. Summing up a significant chapter of life always always leads me into reverie and melancholy, but it felt worse helping them shove off. I have usually been the shover-offer, and it's not as hard to take. Throw children in there and it's downright painful.
We shared Mexican food today (as is our wont) and, between dismantling their beds and stacking boxes on chairs on desks on boxes on dressers, Cary said "you're a good friend, Steven."
Know that this is the greatest compliment I could be paid, but as I considered that I felt honored, not put upon, to be part of this screenshot, I could only think of this truism: that's the only kind there are.
Actually, I knew them before coming here. Cary conspired with me in proposing to my wife, at their house, with them away, in November 2001 (it's worth saying that Matt wasn't too keen on the idea: he'd heard that I broke Didi's heart and wanted to talk to me before agreeing to be a party to my proposal. I liked that). Didi became my bride-to-be on their steps. Since then, Cary has become my wife's best friend (not just in Cincinnati). Matt and I met together for about 2 years every week to help each other find God when I was a mortgage broker. He was a pilot for the inept ComAir, a flying partner of Delta, and had open daytimes. They both had Texas roots so we bonded with them in our perception of the midwest and our fond remberances of Texas/southern culture and cuisine (Cary is a Louisiana girl), and Matt is my Longhorn buddy who I chide when the Aggies beat their longtime foes (I have the chance to rib him, it seems, about once every three years). We've been on vacations with them: a Caribbean cruise, and a Los Cabos getaway a couple of years ago. They made us godparents of their second-born, a son, who just turned four. Matt taught me how to SCUBA dive. I helped him lay the concrete for his drive and sidewalk, build his bathroom, and build his back porch. He helped me build my bathroom. Cary is Didi's right-hand woman for the deliverance ministry she shoulders here, and the two of them have run in multiple marathons and 5- and 10-Ks together.
The years of sowing into this relationship have produced the ruby-red fruit of love.
Today I helped them pack up their home into a shipping container.
Matt got his dream job, flying huge airplanes for Cathay Pacific, a Hong Kong-based liner. They'll be based in Anchorage, Alaska. Their goodbye prayer meeting was held at our house last week. Cary will take Sara, Ben, and Emily to Abilene to stay at Matt's parents' ranch while Matt's in training in Hong Kong. Then everybody will relocate north. (I plan on helping drive the cars up there!)
I had a weird moment today, picking up Ben's toys for the last time, and wandering up to the 3rd floor attic office that I helped rough in. I just thought about this young family, their misgivings about leaving the only home their children know, their wonder at the days ahead, and the permanent grasp we give to one another's hearts. I cried. A family moving out of a house is just a sad thing. Summing up a significant chapter of life always always leads me into reverie and melancholy, but it felt worse helping them shove off. I have usually been the shover-offer, and it's not as hard to take. Throw children in there and it's downright painful.
We shared Mexican food today (as is our wont) and, between dismantling their beds and stacking boxes on chairs on desks on boxes on dressers, Cary said "you're a good friend, Steven."
Know that this is the greatest compliment I could be paid, but as I considered that I felt honored, not put upon, to be part of this screenshot, I could only think of this truism: that's the only kind there are.
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