Glen 2008: Day 5

Back to the oars today after a late night. Coffee and good poetry soon put all to rights, and we were working through Bob’s poems. Right good ‘uns, too. Later there was an interesting poem from Allen featuring a peregrine attacking a sparrow. I must say, referring to none I shall name, that I for the life of me can’t figure why someone would spend the time and money to bring work to a workshop that they had no intention of revising once receiving critiques that clearly show weaknesses, some severe, which need attention. If you took your car to a mechanic, and he said your wheels were about to sever their connection to the vehicle, would you not take steps to correct the situation?

In the heat of the afternoon, Bob, Chris, and I headed out to the Arroyo Chamisos Disc Golf Course for what turned out to be the best disc golf experience I’ve had in New Mexico. The course meanders through a dry river bed/wash–well, and arroyo. The course designers have made good use of the scrub junipers, brush, and elevation changes to provide interesting holes. The installers and maintainers of the course have marked the course very clearly with three tee lengths. Unlike the St. John’s course, it’s always pretty easy to find where you’re headed and at what you’re shooting.

We played from the red Rec tees, which actually were a bit too short for me. I ended up with a -4 but 4 bogeys due to the winds and overthrowing some shorter baskets. (Imagine overthrowing a hole with a Roc.) I should be happy with the 8 deuces. I also ended up throwing way more “hammer” shots than I think is polite.

After dinner, Jeffrey O, Bob, Chris, and I headed into town for a “guy’s night out” only to be confounded by the lack of parking. We ended up on a patio near Bob and Chris’s room chatting until it was time for worship.

Later in the evening, I noticed Laura L-M and her friend Cullen from SFBC sitting out in the upper dorm patio area. I sauntered over and was quickly enlisted to learn a dice game called “Farkle”. It’s a nice easy dice game that is good for socializing.

Heading into the last day of the conference, I had another rich, full day.

Glen07 Day 6: The Music in our Hearts

The morning workshop session, our last, was a bit more open ended than previous days since we only had two or three stories to critique. We had more room for general discussion about various topics. Two of our members had already departed campus, which served to remind us that the week was coming to a close. After the workshop was over, we all, I think, felt a kind of relief. The work was over; now we could sit back and enjoy our last day in Santa Fe.

Bob and Patrick joined me for a drive into town to play a disc golf course. After a couple of missed turns, we arrived at Ashbaugh Park. On first glance, it didn’t look like much. Small, flat, some homeless people sleeping on the ground. Turns out, that what you see is what you get. The PDGA listing states that the course opened in 1992. My guess is that it started out life as a 9 hole course, which would have fit the amount of available land just fine. Over the last 15 years, however, various methods of squeezing 18 holes into the space were employed. Now you have a situation where you’re shooting at the same baskets from multiple pins to create 18 different holes. The downloadable map is rather accurate and has all the information you need on it, but what that information is is not always clear. As we were wandering about looking for a hole, a local playing through gave us a quick layout and mentioned that some of the tees were just wooden blocks in the ground or red marks painted on fencing. Now the list of odd info on the map made sense.

With just the three of us playing the course, we didn’t have any trouble. But I can’t imagine tournaments being played here. You’d constantly be overlapping other players. Of course, you play what you have. Thankfully for Santa Fe, a new 18-hole course went in last year at Arroyo Chamisos. I predict the downside will be that Ashbaugh Park continues to decline. Of course, my feelings about the course would probably be better if I’d played better. I had no control. Several of the holes are layed out for lefties, so I was trying my forehand shot. I had all sorts of distance, but very little aim, so I ended up OB on more than one occasion. (Thanks, Bob, for climbing that fence!) On hole 6, I hit four trees. The big story, however, is that I’ve finally had a good disc golf experience in Santa Fe; good being defined as having actually shot a disc at all holes on a course.

On returning to campus, we had just enough time to shower, rest a short bit, and get ourselves to the last supper of the week. Meal times have always been one of my favorite aspects of the Glen Workshop. Yes, the food is usually top notch. But the most important part of the meal is the fellowship with fellow Glennites. Even if you know noone at the Glen, you’ll always find a table to welcome you. By the second or third meal, you will usually have some folks that you can join anytime. Of course, as the week goes on and you get to know your workshop-mates, conversations from the morning naturally carry over into lunch. The diversity of Christian experience is amazing, and meal times provide a friendly place for people to tell their stories.

The evening concert featured Pierce Pettis, reknowned songwriter whose songs have been recorded by Joan Baez, Garth Brooks, Art Garfunkel, Randy Stonehill, and Dar Williams and who worked closely with Mark Heard. Gasping for breath in the thin Santa Fe air, Pettis picked his guitar and blew his harp with such passion that the Glen crowd demanded he sing more even though doing so would eat into time for Over the Rhine, a Glen fave. Pettis was part of the “fast folk” movement of the 80’s and doesn’t seem to have slowed down any. Mixing reflections on beauty with poignant satire, you’re just as likely to marvel at his word play as his fancy picking.

Of course, the last four years at the Glen wouldn’t have been complete without a drop-dead gorgeous set from Over the Rhine. No disappointments here. Karin and Lindford treated us to several tunes off the upcoming The Trumpet Child, a brand new tune, and some old favorites. Deftly switching from instrument to instrument, the pair simply made beautiful music. This year’s set seemed to be tilted a bit towards more contemplative work, but noone could help smiling and joining in with their last tune, “If a Song Could Be President.”

Sadly, the good vibes of the concert didn’t carry over into what is usually one of the most humbling and meaningful times at the Glen: the final worship time and annointing of the artists. This year’s theme at the Glen was an exploration as to what literature and art could bring to the dialogue between the three Abrahammic faiths: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. The organizers clearly understood that such a dialogue is “inherently risky,” and I do give them full credit for trying to add positively to the discussion of how we can live peaceably in this world. However, nowhere did the claim that such striving for our common humanity would occur “Without seeking to blur the distinctiveness of any tradition” fail so much as it did on the closing night. All week I’d heard rumblings–and I myself stated on this blog concern–that the worship services were doing precisely what was not sought. While many seemed to be able to particpate fully in the service, it was clear by the number of people who left the auditorium or kept their seats during the annointing that my eyesight was not the only that perceived a distinct lack of focus. At this point, I’m fully willing to chalk up this major disappointment to well-intentioned mis-steps. Brave attempts do not always succeed, and quite often crash spectacularly.

But God is good. After the ending reception, I was walking back to my room lost in thought about the disappointment of the ending of Glen 07 when I heard some familiar strains wafting on the sage-scented air. I remembered an invitation to a little soiree. Entering a Common Room, I saw my roommate for the week, Canadian artist Gerald Vaandering, as well as some others. Fellow fiction workshopper Laura had a hymnal open and a small group around her were singing. I joined in, and for the next two hours or so, we picked old favorites and tried to sing them a cappella in four part harmony. We didn’t always get the notes right; I’m sure we got worse as the evening progressed. But when we quit a 2am, I was certain that we had offered up to the Lord a joyful noise. One woman who joined us was so happy she was bouncing in place. “I haven’t done this for 15 years!” May God continue to remind us of the good things.

I’ll end this year’s reporting with a photo taken by Sara Zarr, YA author. That’s me on the left end. Then Sara. Jeffrey and Anne Overstreet are on the right.

Glen07 Day 3: Patty and the Big Elephant

The morning came early and my comments on stories came late today. For some reason, I had some serious trouble coming up with comments on the stories we workshopped today. In ironical fashion, for some reasons the commments I did make caused Moira to ask follow up questions so I ended up talking alot. Today was a day when I really started to see the bounty we have in the room. Not only does Moira Crone provide insight and experience–which one expects–but Paula Huston also has much to add to the conversation. If the two of them together can’t get you on the road to a better story, you don’t deserve to be writing.

A shadow was put over the day, however, by news during the morning that Moira’s husband, Roger Kamenatz–writer, poet, speaker, and Jew–was having a serious medical emergency concerning his eyes. The IMAGE staff seemed to be caring for him which led Moira to carry on for the remainder of the morning. One of the workshop members suggested we stop to pray, which we did heartily. We all would have certainly understood if Moira would have left us to be with her husband, but we muddled through the rest of the morning. I don’t know at this point what his status his. Please keep him in your prayers.

The past two years I have tried to play the St. John’s Disc Golf Course with little success. In addition to poorly marked tees and baskets hidden in the brush, the map provided had little to no relation to reality. After lunch today, I was joined by fellow Fiction workshopper, Patrick, for yet another attempt at the course. I was encouraged that the hand drawn map had been replaced with a map based on actual aerial photography. Unfortunately, we never really got a chance to test-drive the new map. After warming up and throwing the first hole, which has always been easy to find, the skies darkened and began pouring scads of rain, lightning, and thunder upon us. After waiting for a few minutes under a tree (yeah, that was real smart what with the lightning and all) Patrick and I decided to pack it in. Even if the rain stopped, everything was wet and we had no towels to dry the discs. Of course, it didn’t stop raining. For the entire 1/2 mile or so walk back to the dorms, we were deluged. There was not one single dry spot on my entire body. Not one. I checked. So this is now three years in a row that the course has eluded me. On Saturday, it looks like Patrick, Fireman Bob, and I will be going into town to try the park there.

The Big Elephant
Over lunch, some of us began discussing the worship services that I’ve reported on previously. It seemed that we all were wondering how this interfaith thing was working. In the end, I think we were all coming to same place: the Jewish and Muslim texts that were being used in worship were generic enough not to cause a problem. However, the big deal being made over the texts by the leaders made it impossible to actually enter into a worshipful attitude. In other words, instruction and worship don’t mix that well.

There also seemed to be a big elephant in the room that we all sensed, but none of the speakers wished to address. That is, all three of the Abrahammic faiths make, on some leve, a claim of exclusivity. In Christianity, Christ states plainly that “I am the Way the Truth and the Life. No one come to the Father but through me.” What then are we to do with these other faiths? Kamenetz suggested that we start with little things before getting to big things, but I can’t help but wonder how much time we’re going to waste by not acknowledging that on a fundamental level, we all think the other folks are quite simply WRONG and not walking on the straight path to God. Even within our own faiths, we can’t get our acts together. How is a Catholic supposed to have any meaningful dialogue when the Catechism (and the Pope) insists that the Roman church is the only TRUE church? How are believers supposed to have any meaningful dialogue when at heart Evangelicals often believe that Roman Catholics are in league with the Whore of Babylon? I’m sure there are answers to these questions and helpful paths to take, but none of the speakers or worship leaders seem willing to acknowledge this huge elephant standing right in the middle of the room.

Patty Griffin
Ok, now that the concert is over, I feel that, in the spirit of full disclosure, I must confess that before tonight not only had I never seen her in person, but I really didn’t have much of a clue as to who she was. Sure, her name is one of those names that whenver it’s mentioned people I know get all excited. But I’ve never really been exposed to her albums or music. So, I was entering tonights show at the Santa Fe Brewing Company totally cold. Turns out that was just fine. Even on the rockin’ numbers, the sound was so good that I could decipher lyrics and musical nuances.

The show was held on an outdoor patio type of space with the stage at one of the skinny ends. The sun was setting behind the brewery as the show began. The general admission nature of the show meant that my arrival 15 minutes before show time resulted in my standing for the opening act. However, as Patty Griffin got ready, Jeffrey and Anne Overstreet and some other folks from the Glen showed up and we staked out some ground near the front.

Patty Griffin took the stage in a glamorous metallic calf-length wrap dress and black pump heels. Her hair framed her face like Loretta Lynn, and her guitar was adorned with floral patterned oyster shell. The band built her intensifying songs into powerful walls of sound punctuated by her clarion soprano vocalizations. Folks describe her as a singer/songwriter, roots, Americana musician, and I can see why. The songs she did solo with an acoustic guitar embellished that image. But the woman can rock, too.

It didn’t hurt that I was able to get a ticket and three beverages for less than what Sherry will be paying to see Patti Smith tomorrow night

I should be commenting on more stories, but I think I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day: Off to Roswell!

The International Disc Golf Center

I arrived at the International Disc Golf Center mid-morning on Monday. I was greeted by Lorrie, I believe, when I walked into the pine panelled walls of the IDGC and stood facing the stone and metal sculpture of a disc golfer. After showing me the features of the IDGC she got me some bug repellent and a map, and off I went to play the Steady Ed Memorial Disc Golf Course.

From the outset, let me say that the only serious improvement I could suggest for the course is some system for indicating which pin position the holes are in. Other than that minor point, the course is great.

The course seemed to be in the long position, which means it plays out at 6230 feet. But it was by no means clear at first. The first four holes lulled me into a false sense of security. Here I was playing the longs and only one over par. Then came hole 5. This was a hole having the pin position indicated on the tee would have been nice. It plays out over water, and you need to know how far out to drive so that it fades back in at the right spot. I couldn’t tell where the basket was and played it conservative, ending up with a 6.

I had the most fun I’ve ever had getting (more…)

NOLA throws plastic (other than beads)

After Sherry got up, got ready, I walked her to Canal St. I was mocked at several points for doing so since the path to Canal St. that looked so deserted and potentially dangerous for a lone, small woman carrying a briefcase the night before was now a somewhat busy, safe looking area bustling with people going to work. Nevertheless, I walked her to Canal St. which was filled with people and down which was the Sheraton where her presentation was going to take place.

After walking back to the hotel and enjoying a nice breakfast (Good job, O’Keefe Plaza Hotel!), I was about ready to depart for the DG when Sherry called desperately hoping that I had not left the hotel yet and wondering if I could walk her laptop to the hotel. Seems she, in fact, did need it for her presentation even though she’d been led to believe that all she’d need was her flashdrive. So, I packed up the laptop and ambled off six blocks or so to the hotel. I considered hopping in the car and dropping it off in front of the hotel, but it turns out it was good that I didn’t. When I delivered the laptop, Sherry, with hope in her eyes, asked if I could stay for the presentation to run the PowerPoint since the projector connection was far, far away from the podium.

The presentation went off very well, if I do say so myself. Sherry was examining the “Schoolhouse Gothic” mode of the 5th Harry Potter novel. It was well received. At least the middle-aged woman wearing full wizarding regalia–and a bowler hat–sitting to my right kept nodding and jotting down notes.

---

The delay in getting to Lafreniere Park turned out to be a good thing. First, I should mention that getting to the park was easy-peasy. It took less than 15 minutes from the hotel. In fact, it took less time getting to the park than it did figuring out where to park and begin the course. Second, I should mention that Lafreniere Park is amazingly gorgeous, even more so when you consider that in the aftermath of Katrina it was the dumping ground for debris trees which were piled 50ft high in places.

I did locate a DG sign which had a map; however, even though the map was fairly well drawn, I had great difficulty figuring out where hole 1 was. I could see baskets and tee signs everywhere, but not hole 1. Soon I noticed two guys playing a nearby and walked over to ask where I should start. As I approached, “Dixie,” a middle-aged guy with a gray, scruffy beard, round face, a perpetual smile, and something of a cajun accent, asked if I needed help. I said, why yes I do. And he invited me to join them. So I did. The other gentleman was also very friendly. I forget his name, but I did learn that he grew up in Shaker Heights, OH. So, with them showing the way, we teed up on Hole 6 and played on.

After just two holes, the Gentleman from Shaker had to leave and go to work painting a house or something. Before he left he told me that Dixie’s house had been demolished by Katrina. As he put it, “He had 12 ft. of water in a one-story ranch.” Evidently Dixie’s daughter and son-in-law had been in the house; as the waters rose, they had gone into the attic, but the water started into the attic. The survived by somehow punching a hole in the roof and clinging to the top. Throughout the day, Dixie never mentioned or spoke about his troubles. He did constantly point out places where things had been bad but were now recovering.

So, Dixie and I played two more holes until we met his friend Jet. Jet wore a floppy hat with the sides curled up, sun-glasses, a John 3:16 T-shirt, and a big smile. He was clearly the best player of our little trio. And so we continued on with the rest of Lafreniere’s 22 holes.

I didn’t keep score on this round because I was enjoying the company too much. We did keep track of hole honors, so I was able to get the sense that I was doing ok. I got two birdies in a row thanks to some rather nice tee shots. I kept the box for several holes, and I was at the bottom of the box for several.

The course is fairly wide open. On many holes there are some very well placed trees that make things interesting. In the middle of the park is a lagoon which comes into play on two holes; today though, the pin placements didn’t force us over the water. All in all, it’s remarkable how nice the park as a whole and the course in particular has recovered. All around us people were walking, playing, and jogging (Both Jet and Dixie remarked on how they didn’t mind the “distractions” of the jogging path when young females ran by.)

Once we hit hole 22, I had a sense of where the first holes were, and after thanking Dixie and Jet for their hospitality, went over and tossed the first five. It was a great day of DG.

• Only in New Orleans: Everyone I met on the course today made a point of mentioning that in NO you can walk around the park with a beer, and no one will hassle you about it. There was some lamenting of the fact that you can no longer drive around with an open container of beer. It was rather clear that folks make a distinction between beer and spirits. The former being almost a soft drink, and the latter being something that is reserved for the porch or dinner table.

---

Driving past the Superdome gives me the willies. Even though it’s all repaired now, and the Saints and events are back to playing the venue, everytime I go by it I feel like there’s ghosts haunting the area. It’s like the evil that erupted in the days following Katrina left some sort of residue that hasn’t washed off.

---

After cleaning up, I ambled through the French Quarter to Cafe du Monde, the world-famous coffee klatch. While waiting for Sherry to arrive, I had some amazingly good cafe au lait and beignets. The place was packed to the gills, but the Chinese women on the wait staff were quick to spot newcomers and less quick to take their orders. What is a beignet? They describe them as French dougnuts, which may be true after a fashion, like how Egg Fu Yung is Chinese scrambled eggs. A beignet is a square of sweet dough that is deep-fried and doused with powdered sugar. In fact, at Cafe du Monde, when the beignets arrive there is a small mountain of powdered sugar on them. The sugar hangs in the air like pollen on a really bad allergy day. Except that it’s sugar, and who doesn’t like that?

Just outside the patio, an African-American preacher stood with a trumpet. He’d play or sing gospel tunes–I heard “Amazing Grace”, “This Little Light of Mine”, “Old Rugged Cross”–and “Danny Boy.” In between he’d give some uplifting words and encourage folks to put tips in his trumpet case. He also had CD’s available. His voice was strong and crystal clear, and his trumpet a silver goblet of tunefullness. After he played for a couple of hours, he was replaced by a bluesy trio: a dark woman in a bright white dress singing while another woman strummed a guitar, and an old fat man in a red shirt and a comical hat blue a wonderful harmonica.

I sat reading and writing in my journal and watching the folks come and go. Sherry got delayed meeting me, so I ordered another round of coffee and beignets. I love New Orleans.

---

We met up with Vince in the evening. In addition to the conference, Vince was also here to congratulate his brother who is graduating from Tulane with a PhD in Health and Public Safety. Ryan did his dissertation research in Cambodia where he studied water resources in third world situations. His dissertation was named as the best of the year by Tulane. We were invited to attend Tulane’s big “Wave Goodbye.” So we went. There was all sorts of free food–gumbo, jambalaya, pecan pie, BBQ oysters, pulled pork sandwhiches–zydeco music, and atmosphere. We met Vince’s mother and Ryan’s father.

After leaving Tulane, we headed back to the French Quarter. After wading past the nudie clubs and the bars with loud, bad music (Did I really come to New Orleans to hear a bad cover band do ‘Sweet Home Alabama’?”) we finally found Fritzel’s, a bastion of good, live jazz in the haze of frat boy chic. We settled in for a good set of music from the small combo on the stage: piano, sax, clarinet, and drums. It was the essence of what I think of when I go to New Orleans.

Sadly, it seems that such experiences have been curtailed somewhat by Katrina. The small, live jazz clubs seem not to have made the comeback that the corporate sponsored tourist traps have. Makes a certain kind of sense. But it’s still sad to walk down Bourbon St and be bombarded with hyper-loud taped music or third-rate classic rock cover bands. Even the nudie places have the taint of corporate-ness with Hustler sporting at least three spots of their own. As NO recovers, it may be that one of the lasting impacts of Katrina is that the small businesses may have been largely knocked out of the Quarter.

It was still somewhat early when we called it a night, but we’d all had full, busy, good days. Tomorrow we shop, we eat, we listen one last time.

St. John’s Disc Golf: Strike 2

Last year when I tried out the St. John’s College disc golf course, I was less than impressed. But, optimist that I am, I packed the discs again this year, and trotted out to the course to try again. Here’s the skinny:

Pros:

• Great scenery
• Lots of elevation changes
• I actually found each basket this year
• I didn’t throw a disc over the fence into private property
• I didn’t lose a disc

Cons:

• Not a single stick of signage anywhere
• The course map provided by the college has only a passing acquaintence with reality. Hint: making the map to scale would be REALLY HELPFUL. Especially given the lack of signage and…
• Tee pads are non-existent; tee areas are largely unmarked
• I never did find the tee area for holes 4, 6, 9
• The course is incredibly unfriendly to those who have never played it.

In other words, if by course you mean a series of baskets sprinkled through an area, sure there’s a course. But they’ve got a long way to go before it’ll be anything more than an area of campus for a few guys to toss plastic about and get drunk (hint, guys: you might want to pack out your bottles).

So as not to totally waste my time, I practiced my drives for a while on the soccer field. It was kind of depressing as I was throwing my Roc as far as my Beast.

GW: Day 4: Free, Free…

It was gruesome, as on Christmas Eve in an old house a strange tale should essentially be. –Henry James

Last year during the free day, I retreated into my room and the library, and did little but listen to Over the Rhine’s Ohio. The previous year, I accompanied Cindy and Laura out to Chimayo and Canyon Road. This year, Dad and I decided to go to Museum Hill and then into the city for lunch and possible shopping. We woke late (7:15) and ate a leisurely breakfast. Because the museums don’t open until 10, Dad chooses to do some watercoloring; I return to the room and read some stories for tomorrow’s workshop.

We make our way to Museum Hill and elect the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture which is featuring an exhibit entitled “Iconoclash”–an exploration of the use of Indians as icons in American culture. The first piece that you see is a giant butter container emblazoned with “Land O’ Fakes”. Upon entering we are immediately folded into a guided tour of the museum. After spending 15 minutes hearing a description of 3 or 4 pottery jars (and with the prospect of 12,000 more) we peel away from the tour and set out on our own. A large part of the museum is devoted to a tracing of Indian culture that shows the past and present incarnations of Indian culture. For instance, there’s a wikiup in cutaway that shows a traditional Indian home and a kitchen from a modern reservation ranch-style home. There’s an actual school room from one of the Indian Schools. There, I read an account of an Indian boy who was told to pick a religion. Since it was popular, he decides on the Southern Baptists. After a year, he changes as soon as he can to the Methodists because they go on picnics, get dunked in water, and all sorts of the other fun stuff.

We spend two hours in the museum, and by that time we’re hungry and Dad’s sciatic is acting up. We go into downtown where Dad wishes to have a steak. After getting some vague directions that don’t pan out, we stumble into the Sleeping Dog, a hole in the wall bar. Their menu promises steak for $10.95. Dad orders the steak, and I get a burger with bleu cheese, grilled onions, and avocado. (No, we’re not in the southwest…) Everything is excellent. We spend the hour watching surfing vidoes on the TV, eating well prepared red meat, and finding out that our waitress is from the east end of London.

While we’d like to do some shopping, our two hours parking is almost up, and Dad’s leg is really hurting. So, we wend our way back to St. John’s. Dad goes to work on his angel fish, and I run some errands, spending some lovely time in library. After an hour, I notice that the clouds are building and the wind is starting to pick up. I’ve been waiting all week to try out the disc golf course, so I hurry over to get a round in before the weather goes.

While I can say that I’ve thrown plastic in NM, I cannot say that I’ve thrown a complete course. The helpful gent at the gym gives me a very nicely done map that unfortunately seems to have little to do with reality. The thin air causes my throws to rather long and almost perfectly straight. This wouldn’t be a problem except that I wasn’t throwing long flying discs and they were supposed to turn left. After muddling through the first three holes, I absolutely can’t find the tee for 4 although I do find the basket. I almost lose a disc on 5 when a wind gust practically turns the disc upside down and carries over a fence. After a 10 minute search, I shoot at what seems to be basket 6, but which turns out to be 8, at which I point I pack it in. The terrain is very rugged and while there is a map, the reality on the ground makes it very difficult to find anything. Besides, I thought I might have maybe felt a drop of rain.

When I get back to the dorm I look out the window to see a double rainbow carving across the mountain. By now the wind has really picked up and is driving the misty rain sideways. I venture out onto a balcony and snap some shots of the rainbow–hoping they turn out even with the rain getting on the lens. The wind grows stronger throught the rest of the evening.

At 9, I head over to the apartment of the Overstreets who are hosting a little soiree. They’ve asked us all to bring something to read. Given my recent bout with the insanely dense desert brush and my new experience with weeding the community garden, my mind has turned to Annie Dillard’s discussion of “fecundity” in Pilgrim at Tinker’s Creek. Of course, my copy is at home, so I’ve made copies from the library. There’s a good crowd on hand, and we spend a nice evening sharing words and why they’re close to us right now.

images lost in conversion from Blogger to be replaced soon

DGNE: Day3

So, we’re leaving CT and heading to Rhode Island (a state whose smallness boggles my mind), and we’re sitting at a red light when –bump– a lady who also had been sitting behind us at the red light decides it would be fun to run into our rear end. We exit the car and take a look; it doesn’t appear that there’s any damage, so we smile and wave and resume our trip. However, Ken makes sure I write down the license plate number of the car that hit us just in case.

We get to the Rhode Island course in Charlestown. After a series of adventures that Ken is better at recounting, we end up playing the only four holes that have baskets. Ken points out one difference between us on his blog. I’ll point another: My estimation of the situation is that the course is dying. It’s been around a while and is going to pot. The layout is nice and the signs show that hard work went into them at some point in the foggy past, but no one seems to give a rat’s patootie right now. Ken, on the other hand, wants to categorize it as the course is under construction, perhaps a renovation. Well, that’s nice.

Random observation: Something that was interesting in CT was the random appearance of stone walls in the middle of anywhere. Sure, one can understand seeing a wall near a driveway or along the front yard of some house, but we’re out in the middle of the forest playing disc golf and out of nowhere the beautiful flight of a disc is halted abruptly by a stone wall rising out of the pine needles. Wah? My first thought was, wow, someone went to a lot of trouble to put up that wall for no apparent reason; I certainly would not have done such a thing.

Random observation 2: The course in Amesbury, MA shared a park with a ball field. While we were playing a little league game was in progress. Everytime I see a little league game, I feel better about the world to a degree that is not at all comensurate with the sight. I mean, it makes me feel really good. Now, I played little league as a kid. My parents and other family members will remember 3 years of my sitting on the bench doing awful, 1 year (my last year of eligibility in our areas little league) of my actually doing well (except for that one horrendous attempt at pitching which must have been good for my character), and one year of riding pine in high school. Not a stellar career by any stretch. Yet, there it is, I see kids playing ball, and my chest gets all warm and my throat gets all tight and I stop caring for a moment about the fact that I’ve never lived under a President worth naming and about suicide bombers and people driving foreign-oil-guzzling monster trucks on the highway sporting “support our troops” magnets.

Random Observation 3: If you ever stay at the Fairfield Inn in Lowell, MA, consider yourself lucky if Lauren is at the front desk. In addition to being friendly and efficient, she was fantastic answering questions and giving us info about the surrounding area. I normally don’t like interacting with, well, anyone. But after she gave us free cookies, it did not at all feel unnatural to go to the desk asking for reccomendations for eating and such.

Random Observation 4: Ken may be impressed by the number of Dunkin Donuts here in MA, but I still think Chicago makes it look like a barren donut wasteland.

Random Observation 5: Got an email today that my Harry Potter book has shipped from London and is expected to arrive on the 22nd. Sure, I could have had the book land on my doorstep with a thud Saturday morning, but then it would be that bastardized American version where they don’t think kids can figure out that trainers are tennies and boots are trunks.

At any rate, it’s been a good day. Earlier in the day, we stopped at Target to get supplies, and I was able to keep myself hydrated and filled with energy-goodness so that I actually felt good about my rounds. Also talked to my sister and her husband this evening. The handover of their newly adopted daughter took place last night. While there was stuff done by the hospital that made a tough situation even more difficult, they’re home with Mercy and settling into the challenges that come with being a first-time parent. God be with ye.

Courses: 2
States: Rhode Island, Massachussets
Birdies: 1 (and only 1 no matter what Ken says)
Refills on ice tea: 0

Amesbury Course

1. 5
2. 4
3. 3
4. 5
5. 3
6. 3
7. 3
8. 3
9. 3
10. 3
11. 5
12. 4
13. 3
14. 4
15. 4
16. 4
17. 3
18. 3

Total 65

DGNE: Day 2

Newark, DE. White Clay DGC. Lose a Gazelle. Find a different Gazelle. Rough. Deuce. Rough. Humidity. Did I say Rough? Humidity. 10 holes. Back to hotel. Shower. Drive.

Drive. About 300 miles today. I need a hero fresh from the fight.

Philadelphia New Jersey SLEEPY HOLLOW!!

Norwalk, CT. Cranbury Park. Mansion. Deuce. Trees. Lots of people in a picnic shelter sounding like a brood of cooing pigeons. Not feeling well. Restorative powers of jelly beans. Stone walls in the middle of the woods. Stop keeping score. Ken 1 over par. New London on the Thames. Sashimi and Samurai Roll. Salty sea air.

These are my impressions of the day. For more detail, see Ken’s Blog.

I did learn something interesting about myself today. I need to pay more attention to what and when I eat. The weather here has not been hot but the humidity is outrageous. When we get done with 10 holes in DE my clothing is soaked, not just damp, dripping. The same in CT. All of this sweating has an adverse effect on me. Around hole 5 at Cranbury I notice that I have no strength. My drives are bland even when I try to crush them. My legs don’t seem to want to lift my feet off the ground as I walk. Around hole 8 or 9, I ask Ken if he has any snacks. He’s mentioned before that he keeps stuff in his bag for an energy burst. He offers me some jelly beans. I take them. Wow. I don’t go back to my good old self, but I don’t feel like dying anymore. Seems those folks at Gatorade have a point. By half way through the round I’d almost drained my water bottle, but the water was doing nothing to balance out my electrolytes. At any rate, tomorrow we’re going to hit a Wal-Mart or some such so that we can replensish supplies. I’m getting some trail mix and Gatorade so that I can play well.

So, tally for the day:

28 holes of golf
2 courses
Delaware and Connecticut

PS: After we get to the hotel, I get some phone calls. Our extra concert tickets sold on ebay, but Sherry had a frustrating day dealing with a watch she bought at the Detroit airport. Hopefully she’ll have a better day tomorrow when the sofa arrives and she gets to see TMBG. My mom called and it seems that all has gone smoothly in the handover of their newly born adopted daughter. We’ve all been praying that that would go well. While there were some snags, it seems that the important stuff has gone well: healthy baby, papers signed, Mercy at home. Yea!

DGNE: Day 1

This morning Sherry and I got up early and scooted out the door at 7:30. We made excellent time to Cleveland, and I ended up being checked-in and through security by 9:30. The x-ray operator seemed a bit perplexed by my disc golf bag, but he let me through with no trouble. Given that my flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until 11:45, you could say that I was early.

I used the time to get updates from my family about my new neice and to read the manual to my new camera. It’s pretty cool. Canon A95

The flight was ok. We were in one of those tiny commuter jets, so the ride was a bit bumpy. There was a kid behind me who was on his first flight. He kept telling his parents, “This isn’t scary at all! It’s just a bit too fast.”

I realized this morning that this is the first trip I’ve ever taken that wasn’t about getting to a destination. Sure, we’re going to New England and purpose to visit all of the NE states, but the end of the trip is to play disc golf, not spend a week somewhere. The closest I’ve come to this kind of travel is when Ted and I went to Alaska in 2000. On that trip we set out with a purposeful destination, a specific hike, but we ended up nixing the trip and it became a journey rather than a trip. This trip is all about journey. I’ll be interested to see what that means for me.

I found Ken very easily after disembarking, and my bag was waiting for me by the time we got to baggage claim. However, we did have a bit more difficulty finding the car. The Baltimore airport garage has an odd way of laying out its parking. We eventually did find the car though and went on our merry way. After a brief lunch, we headed off to our first course (well, my first course; Ken’s already played a few on his way here.)

We drove through downtown Baltimore, past the Washington monument and many other interesting places until we came to the zoo. Just past the zoo is Druid Hill Park. Someday, someone will have to explain to me the American fascination with druids. In Atlanta there’s a Druid Hill something or other as well. Anyhoo, the course is almost 20 years old. It’s a very mature course that has had a lot of thought put into it. The first two holes skirt an ancient graveyard. The rest of the holes were very interesting as well.

I made a rather long putt on the second hole to get a birdie. It turned out to be my best hole. The very next hole saw me miss some easy putts and post a 5. After that I settled down into a steady diet of threes and fours. I finished the front 9 at +3. Then the humidity and the length of the holes started to get to me. By hole 16, I was totally gassed. After my drive hit a tree, I still had a long way to go to the hole. My lie had me going uphill a bit, so I bore down and focused on driving forward rather than up. Just as I released the disc, my foot slipped and I went down in a heap. Fortunately I had been able to get enough of a follow through that the disc flew true. After that, I was just trying to survive

As we were leaving the course, a guy was hovering around hole 1. He saw my Toledo Mudhens hat and got all excited. He shook my hand and informed me he was a Baltimoron fan, pointing to the Orioles hat on his head. He then wished the Indians luck. Evidently Joe Walsh likes the Indians and this man was a big Joe Walsh fan.

We then made it without incident to our hotel in Christiana, Delaware.

1. 3
2. 2
3. 5
4. 3
5. 3
6. 4
7. 3
8. 4
9. 3
10. 3
11. 4
12. 4
13. 4
14. 3
15. 4
16. 4
17. 4
18. 3

Total: 63

Courses:1

States: Maryland