JACK-ER-WACK CUTTIN' A RUG.

I'm sorry it's sideways.

"WE'LL STOP IN BANNING."

JOSH TATE- OFF THE RESERVATION

As we were driving home from the valley last night I discovered that I had accidentally left my cellular phone device behind at my Mother-in-law's house.

I gotta tell ya, I felt kinda liberated. I had no idea I hated my cell phone until that moment. I was surprised to feel sort of relieved by the discovery.

What else do I hate and haven't realized yet?

Until I am reunited with my cell phone there will be silence on this end, but I wanted you to know I am not dodging your calls. It is my love for all of you that will compel me to take up my phone again.

But I'm going to enjoy this vacation from my phone while it lasts.

Until then, I've slipped my tracking collar. I've gone off the reservation. So long suckas, I'm over the fence and into the trees!

HERE ARE TWO FOOD-RELATED POSTS FOR YOU.

BFZ PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT

The best hamburger in the world is the Jalapeno Burger at Carl's Jr. It's in a class by itself. If you've never had one I suggest that you do yourself a flavor, hustle over to Carl's Jr. (...if you're not too fat!), and purchase one at the earliest opportunity. It'll be the best $2.99 you ever spend.

IN THE KITCHEN with Josh Tate

In this edition of "IN THE KITCHEN," I am going to teach you how to make a bag omelette. I do have to admit that before writing "omelette" on the bag I had to look it up in the dictionary to make sure I was spelling it correctly. As it turns out there are two acceptable spellings of "Omelette" in English- the other is Omelet. I went for the fancier form of the word because I'm sassy like that. You feelin' me? Speaking of being fancy, a bag omelette is the epitome of class. If you ever want to impress some upper-crust member of high society the bag omelette is the way to go. I have it on good authority that this is how the Queen of England prefers to have her omelettes prepared.

First crack two eggs into a zip-lock bag, and squish them up inside...

...like so.

Then toss a bunch of stuff into the bag with the eggs. Sarah sauteed up some mushrooms and onions for our bag omelettes, but you don't need to be that fancy.

We also had some ham, cheese and green peppers on hand. Anything you like in your omelettes can be thrown in.

Just toss 'em in and squish them up with the eggs...

...until it looks like so.

Then drop the bag into boiling water for 13-15 minutes.

After 13-15 minutes a perfect omelette will slide out onto your plate.

Then enjoy. You're welcome!

(Special thanks to my friends, Bob and Lynne Leih, for first introducing this to me. It's a hit with large groups, because everyone can make their own custom omelette and they can be prepared simultaneously. Just toss as many bags into the pot as will fit. Last night for our small group Bible study we probably had a dozen bags going at once.)

POEM FROM BUMMER-FREE ZONE INSPIRES SONG BY SAN DIEGO MAN

So Cal. musician, good friend, and fellow citizen of the Bummer-Free Zone, Chris Leisz, put the following poem to music. I like it.


"I walk through the heat. I choke on the dust.
The sun drops like bricks through wilting trees,
Falling on me and the brittle crust.
The land is exposed. There is no breeze.
Everything breathlessly waits for the rain.

Oh, I long to walk through a soggy place.
A shady place where water flows.
Where mist in the air dampens my face
And dew on the grass- my clothes.
Lord, take me to that place again."

Check it out here.

SHE FOUND HIM BY MOONLIGHT.

She found him by moonlight. He was sleeping in the pines as those of the Burlick faith* do. She wanted him for her own, but she knew that he would never have her. He had made that point embarassingly plain. As he slept, she cut a wound in the bark above his head and silently watched as the sap oozed and mixed with his hair. When he woke he would be trapped, at the mercy of any creature that happened along, but it was she who would "happen" upon him. Crouching there in the moonlight she watched the sap flow and smiled at the thought of the coming confrontation. She would remind him of his words. They were already sweet in her mouth. She had been rehearsing them ever since the moment he had rejected her, and now he was under her power. He would plead for his life, and the thought made her shiver with delight. She liked the thought of him squirming and afraid. He could never be hers. She knew that now, but the birds, ah yes, the birds, with their beady merciless eyes, they would make him regret the things he had said. His last thoughts would be ones of regret. The birds could have him, and she would watch as they pecked out his eyes- eyes that would never look on her with love.



*** *** *** *** *** ***

"Burlick" means "the voices." Practitioners of the Burlick faith believe that different sounds in nature speak to different areas of life, but that most are unable to understand their meaning. The sounds are often interpreted (for a price) by an order of priests called "Jinkobs." The word "Jinkob" means "interpreter" in their tongue.

It is believed, however, that even the layman can understand the voices given the proper circumstances. The Burlick believe that if you sleep within earshot of certain sounds, the voices can speak through your dreams. Thus it is common for the young and unmarried to sleep in the branches of Evergreens to gain insight into matters of the heart. Even with a dream, however, it is often necessary to employ a Jinkob to give its interpretation. Jinkobs also sell a dizzying array of drugs, the mind-altering properties of which, are said to give the voices clearer access to the mind. They also teach that the voices can be understood in the midst of extreme pain and pleasure. At times of great personal and even national distress the Burlick faithful are often encouraged to alternate between the worst sorts of self-injury and debauchery in an attempt to gain direction from the voices. The high holy days of the Burlick Faith have been described to me as horrific scenes of drunken debauchery and painful misery.

OVERHEARD

This edition of Overheard is unique in that all of the quotes can be attributed to one young man whom I encountered "smokin' and jokin'" outside the post office the other day. I decided that he looked like a "Zack." I don't know his real name obviously, but I will hereafter refer to him as Zack. It just fit him somehow. (He was white, 17 or 18, thin, a hint of acne, mousy brown hair hanging over his ears and jutting out from under his backwards facing baseball cap, pink t-shirt, denim jeans and sneakers.)

Finding myself without any form of vehicular transport I had decided to take the ol' shoeleather express into town to get the camp's mail that day. As I approached the post office I noticed Zack leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette and talking excitedly with a group of friends. While I was still several hundred feet away, he suddenly threw up his arms and bellowed incredulously, "He's Chinese?!?! I thought he was Mexican! Shut the f*** up! He's not Chinese!"

That got my attention. I had to pass by where they were standing on my way to the post office, so, as I pondered how a Chinese person might be confused for a Mexican, I continued to watch them with half an eye as I walked in their direction. As I got a little closer I observed a girl, pretty with black hair in a pony-tail and carrying a cowboy hat under one arm, peeling off from the group with an annoyed expression on her face. Zack called after her, "Oh, c'mon! Where you going? C'mon!" She didn't answer, didn't even look back, and just kept on walking. Zack laughed, but he looked sheepish about whatever had happened with the girl. I could see her face as she walked away, and she looked pretty steamed. "Hmmm...interesting," I thought. Always on the lookout for a good "OVERHEARD" I slowed my pace considerably as I passed by and picked up this nugget from Zack, "I want to go to the future, but I wouldn't want to be stuck there. It could be really s****y, you know?"

I went into the post office, retrieved the mail, and as I came back outside I heard Zack's voice, riding a whiff of cigarette smoke, come to me from around the side of the building, "I can't believe you bought peaches! Who the f*** eats peaches anymore?"

I eat peaches, Zack.

THE MOOSE LEG DREAMS

I have two kinds of dreams which are distinct in theme and mood and which repeat themselves more frequently than other types of dreams. I am not one of those people who delights in sharing his dreams, nor am I one who ascribes much meaning to my nocturnal mental wanderings. These two types of dreams though stand out in their intensity, vivdiness, and frequency. I do wonder why I have them.

(Disclaimer- Generally speaking, I find it very boring when other people go on and on about dreams they have had. I've been told, and I think it's true to some degree (though not entirely), that my disinterest in other people's dreams indicates a lack of interest in other people in general, but half the time I'm convinced they're just making it up. I was trained to detect lies- up and to the right, up and to the right. I don't like being lied to, and whenever someone starts recounting a dream to me I always start looking for that tell, up-and-to-the-right. Then I suffer through the part where they try and tell me what the significance of the dream, that I am now convinced they fabricated, might be. So I realize that this post may strike some of you as 1. narcissistic (It really is just about me.) 2. a tad too text-heavy (A lot too text-heavy?) 3. boring (uh-huh) and 4. possibly made up (It's all true though!), but I am posting it anyway. Why do I give this disclaimer? I just want you to know that I know how some of you feel about this post. I would feel the same way.)

Over a span of about five years I had a series of three dreams which have always intrigued me. I call them the “Moose Leg Dreams.” The Moose Leg Dreams were unusually memorable and evocative and each had unusual characteristics which uniquely defined them and set them in a class apart from my other dreams. They join the “cover dreams,” which I posted about in 2007, as the only dream series I have ever experienced.

Dream #1- I was standing on the shore of Lake Champlain in the middle of winter, but not the Lake Champlain of today, it was long, long ago. The woods seemed wild in a primeval way that I have never actually experienced, and there was a frozen silence about them that was menacing. As with all of the Moose Leg Dreams I had freakishly long, thin legs (like a moose) with a bulky, even massive, torso (like a moose). I was covered in heavy furs. In my dream I stood there looking out over the frozen lake. Behind me a party of maybe half a dozen lay sleeping under the spreading branches of a spruce tree completely ensconced in heavy furs as well. In my dream I knew there was nobody, and no settlement, for miles and miles. For some reason I felt responsible for the people sleeping under the Spruce Tree. The sleeping people were comfortable and warm, but I sensed that they were exhausted completely, and they weren’t going to make it. Make it where? That question simply didn’t come up in the dream and I didn’t bother myself with answering it. They just weren’t going to make it. I felt torn because in some vague, ambiguous, and ill-defined way I was responsible for them, but suddenly I was filled with an amazing feeling of energy and vigor. It was euphoric. I decided to just walk out of there. I set out walking across the frozen lake with a bounce and a spring in my step, leaving the sleepers behind. It was almost like learning to fly how easily I moved. I was completely free. I had tapped into an energy reservoir that seemingly had no bottom. (This euphoric feeling of energy and wellness is also a defining characteristic of the moose leg dreams.) As I walked away my concern for the sleeping people faded completely. It felt exactly like when you wake up from a horrible dream and slowly realize that it was only a dream and everything is okay- but I was in a dream! I was alone, walking with a light heart and with boundless energy, striding effortlessly towards some unknown destination.

Dream #2- The next Moose Leg Dream occurred roughly a year after the first. Once again I found myself with long, thin legs and an oversized torso (it seemed impossible that my long thin legs could support my upper body) walking with boundless energy through the woods in winter. Unlike in my earlier dream though I was not draped in heavy furs and as I walked I became increasingly cold. Just as the cold was becoming unbearably painful I happened upon a spot where some sort of warm vapor, like breath, was escaping from a small hole in a mound of snow. With one hand I scooped away some of the snow to enlarge the hole and found myself looking down into a bear’s den. In my dream, the bear’s den was the very picture of warmth and comfort. A brown bear with soft dry fur was resting on a heaping mound of soft brown pine needles. I longed to climb in and cuddle up with the bear to get warm and perhaps doze off for a bit, but I was afraid the bear would wake up and kill me if I did.

Dream #3- The last moose leg dream came about four years later- Once again, the long, thin legs, hulking upper body, and boundless energy. When I say boundless energy, I mean bursting with vitality, an incredible sense of wellness and happiness, hale and hearty, vim and vigor, bright eyed and bushy tailed, you get the idea. It was winter, but there was no snow on the ground. It was cold though, I remember that. I was walking down the deserted main street of St Albans City. Not deserted in a post-apocalyptic way, but rather in the-whole-town-is-asleep kind of way. I was the only one awake and I was walking directly down the center of Main Street. I felt capable of great speed, but I was just walking at a normal rate. Off to my left I watched as a red fox emerged from an alleyway between two store fronts and made its way, moving in the same direction as me, sniffing its way along the store fronts, nose to the ground. It seemed aware of me but it was not concerned. It was almost as if we had met like this many times before and I was just a normal part of its late night rounds.

All three dreams share-
1. The long legs, and massive torso
2. They all occur at night or early morning
3. Someone (or something is asleep) in every dream.
4. I am essentially alone in every dream.
5. Boundless energy
6. Cold/winter

I rarely even remember my dreams, but the “moose leg” and “cover” dreams have always stood out in my mind as unforgettable and are interesting to me like a new smell. I don’t know. It’s weird. Hmmm...

HONEY, LETS MOVE TO TEXAS.

"I holler and the coyote stopped. I holler again. By this time I had taken my weapon out and charged it. It is now staring dead at me. Either me or the dog are in imminent danger. I did the appropriate thing and sent it to where coyotes go,"

Governor Perry of Texas describing a recent encounter with a coyote who was threatening to attack his dog while jogging near his home outside of Austin.

OVERHEARD AT IKEA

"He's too fat for that one."
Two skinny, asian, twenty-something girls discussing the purchase of a chair for an absent fat man.

"He's not gonna like it. I know he won't. He never likes any of the things I get, and he doesn't want to come with me either. I stopped trying a long time ago to make him happy. So I just get what I want 'cause I can't make him happy anyway. Am I right?"
Tall, thin, black woman with large hoop earrings talking on the cell phone.

BFZ PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT

Recently, a Korean man I had just met asked me if I wanted to try some "Korean coffee," and I declined because I had just poured myself a cup of non-Korean coffee, but the man's sister, who had been listening, would not be denied. She brought me a styrofoam cup steaming and brimful with the stuff. The man explained to me that it comes in these little packets, some sort of instant coffee, with creamer pre-mixed inside. Much of the information on the reverse was written in Korean.

"You just pour two packets into a mug, add water, and BAM you have coffee," he instructed.

Feeling slightly ethnocentric and provincial for having turned it down in the first place I gave it a sip, and found it to be delicious in a superior sort of way. Certainly worthy of the coveted BFZ endorsement. Thanks Koreans!

"That is some good coffee," I said as the pushy sister pressed six of the packets into my hand.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that."

I'm glad she did though. I gotta figure out where to buy this stuff. There are no Korean markets here in Idyllwild.

I LIKE IT.

In the nearly seven years that I have been a Father, my kids have brought me countless "works of art"- scribbles, drawings, paintings, etc... You know the sort. I usually try and find something nice (and sincere) to say about them before stuffing them into my pockets or using them as a bookmark. When I clean out my pants at the end of the day they are sometimes stuffed with their precious offerings. It really is very sweet. I love that they think to make me something when I'm not around. They are so enthusiastic and sincere in their efforts. Who wouldn't be touched by that? But it has always been the spirit of the thing that I have enjoyed rather than the actual product.

But on Thursday I picked Lucy up at her pre-school and she handed me this painting that she said she had made for me, although I rather suspect that she would have told Mommy the same thing if she had been the one to pick her up that day. I had the good fortune to pick her up on Thursday however, and thus came into possession of this exceptional finger painting.

"Lucy, I really like this."

Now I'm no art critic. My friends, Kelly and Alexae Visel, could no doubt profer a more thoughtful critique of the merits of this piece, but I like it. On a basic level, I just really enjoy it. I'm not suggesting that lucy is some kind of burgeoning artiste or prodigy or anything like that. Oh no, she's not particularly talented, at least not more than your average four year old, but something about this painting struck me as better than the others I have received. It kind of gives off a feel of Old Mexico or something. It's kind of evocative to me in a way I can't readily define. The vertical brown lines resemble fence posts along a dusty track- a red dirt road- on a hot day.

I just like it.

Grown up Lucy, if you are reading this years from now, in the future, I liked your painting. I really did.

SNOW

By my rough estimate we got approximately half a foot of snow overnight. I apologize for all of these photos without human subjects in them. I am always bored with pictures that don't have people in them, and it is a mystery to me why I post so many pictures on this blog that I would find boring if I were looking at them as a visitor.

The Ducks got the start today over the Boat shoes.

It's beautiful, but also a little surprising in late April. So much for April blooming like a flower, eh?

Early on the kids and I were hopeful that there might not be any school today, but the minutes ticked by as they ate their cereal and toast without any exciting news coming from the school so they dutifully slid into their jackets, shouldered their backpacks, and trudged out to the van.

At least it was a pretty drive to school.

On my way down to the office I set my coffee in the snow so I could take a picture of the sun lighting up the snowscape.

It's like winter just came back to say goodbye. Goodbye winter, I'll see you again in seven months.