architects come and architects go

It should be known that one of my favorite childhood past times was climbing trees. Something about getting further from the earth and exploring a rarely touched part of creation excited me and caused me to commit acts of daring that, in retrospect, were pretty dumb.

On my fourth birthday I threw my friend Lane’s shoe up on the roof. He was mad, and I didn’t want to bother my grandpa with it, so I just shimmied up the pine tree next to the house, jumped from a branch to the roof, and retrieved the shoe myself.

The best tree I ever climbed grew in the front yard of the house we lived in on 21st Ave. It was a big ancient maple. It grew not only terrifically tall, but also wide, stretching across and shading the whole width of the front yard. It was magnificent, with big broad leaves that turned into the greatest pile of crunchy-ness in autumn, the kind of pile you can hurl a little kid into with out worrying they might hit the ground.

In other words, it was a damn good tree.

The rule in our house was that, if you couldn’t get up the tree yourself, you weren’t allowed in the tree at all. No boosts. This great tree didn’t have any low hanging branches, so it took me a long time before I got the right technique for getting up. But once I did I found a play ground that no one else could reach. It was exclusively mine. Sometimes it was my spaceship, or my submarine, or sometimes an exotic African village.

Because it was hard to climb, it was a perfect escape from all the big mean boys that seemed to infest every street of our neighborhood. From up there I could get away from their taunts, and occasionally spit on them when I got really mad.

I very nearly died in that tree. While up in the very tip-top (probably thirty five feet) the branch I was on snapped, and I fell down about eight feet before a big limb stopped my fall. It scared the day-lights out of me, and I had a lot more respect for the tree and its dangers after that.

Well the other night I was in a pretty bad mood. I really just needed to get away from people and decompress, so I went for a late night walk (kind of a habit for me). Since I live in that same old neighborhood, I decided to walk past my childhood home. As I drew near, I was suddenly shocked to see that the old tree had been removed. A dirt patch and a sapling was all that remained.

I was angry. I stood staring at the spot for almost ten minutes. I don’t know why anyone would cut down that tree. Maybe it was sick and they put it out of its misery. Maybe they are just arrogant pricks who like the look of a dirt patch than one of God’s best creatures. Who knows.

I was tempted to band on the door and ask.

It’s strange, how emotional I feel when I think about that tree being cut down. It was like a piece of me. Like my roots were buried down in that yard. And cutting it down feels almost like a violation. Like they should have asked my permission. Because now that piece of me is gone. It will only be a memory.

And one day I will forget, and there will be nothing.

I’m Getting Hung Up On Lots of Things Right Now.

Dear Kathryn Bigelow,

I would just like to thank you for making “The Hurt Locker.” It really is a wonderful film about the horrors of war and the toll it takes on soldiers, blah, blah, blah. Anyways the story was good, the acting was mostly good and it really got the entire audience on the edge of their seats (especially the scene where they are trying to get the bomb out of the car — and when they are being killed by the sniper guy — it really did remind me of my days in the iraqi village simulation). And yet, I have a bone to pick with you.

For some reason, you seem to think giving your precious cameras to alzhiemer’s patients and people having epileptic seizures was a good idea. The novelty of a shaky camera constantly zooming at random wore off after ten minutes of “Cloverfield.” Look, all I am saying is that it’s been done (and it was never really as clever as its practitioners thought it was). I know you were trying to say something about either about how the media influences our perspective of war or how war is confusing and jumbled. But I watched “Apocalypse Now” (a much better film then yours, sorry to say) and it said all those things with out making me feel like I was on a tilt-a-whirl.

All that said, it was a good effort, and I hope a lot of people go and see your movie. Just please, please promise me you will never ever use that shaky cam again.

- Ian

First Conversation of the Day

Me: Hey Carl, what’s the news?
Carl: (looking up from his fresh copy of the Oregonian) Well everything is just great. The healthcare debate is over and everyone has insurance, all the troops are coming home from both Afghanistan and Iraq, and everyone is getting a holiday from work next week. So I guess things are going pretty well.

Kathy: meditation on the loss of a loved-one

She wanted taps. Normally the song is reserved for those who have served our country in the military (“was she a veteran?” many asked), but she had insisted that that was what she wanted. The trumpet player said Kathy was the only person he would make that exception for. She wasn’t a veteran, and she didn’t serve in any foreign wars, but in her mind she had performed a similar duty. Suffering for the family, suffering for the Lord — it was that sometimes serious, sometimes cheeky self-approval that we always found funny.

Kathleen Joan Ranum Bauder passed away last Thursday. She was my grandmother and my friend. When I first found out, one of my co-workers asked me if we were close. The answer was yes, both in a relational and a geographical sense. For almost my entire life we have lived in the same town. When I was a baby we lived in Mt. Shasta where she taught me to eat redvines and sing patriotic hymns (both activities i still like to participate in to this day).

We all moved down to Nampa together, and they lived in the same house for a long time (briefly renting it out for their stints in B.C. and Phoenix). I grew up playing in their sprinklers, making radio shows with my cousins and watching Raffi tapes. She was a great grandma. It was like her job. It spilled out onto other kids who weren’t related to her, but were in need of someone to give them the gentle kindness only a grandmother can give.

When I was little she would tell me stories about her adventures in Africa (she has one anecdote about a wedding she attended that is for sure one of the funniest things i’ve ever heard). When I was in junior high, and it was summer and I didn’t have any friends to hang out with, she played about a million hands of ‘Flinch’ with me (she was a very competitive flinch player).

It was very common for Kathy to call over to our house so she could tell me a joke. I don’t where she got them, but they were all bad (corny, campy kind of bad). They were famously bad jokes. I think she tried to find the worst ones. But somehow, I always found myself telling them.

Another one of her amusing hobbies was being nosy. Kathy kept a police scanner so that if the sound of sirens passed by her house, she could know what they were up to. She was always formulating unsupported opinions about her neighbors based on clandestine observations. After taking a course on drug awareness the city put on, and which I was forced to attend (a program designed for my grandmother — it gave her just enough information to make her feel like John Walsh or something), she was always labeling various pedestrians as “heroin addicts” or “high on pcp.”

Part of me thinks it’s weird to feel sad about her death. I hardly visited at all over the past year. It was too painful. I couldn’t bear to see this pillar of my childhood slowly become like a child again. I guess I feel guilty about it.

I don’t really know what I believe about heaven. I’m pretty sure that all the “streets of gold” stuff is just those new testament guys getting poetic. After my dad sent me the text saying “gramma is gone.” I sat thinking about it. I had this picture in my head of a place where you get to experience love, all the love that you gave and all the love others gave to you, combined with the unceasing and untempered love of God. I want to believe that Kathy is in a place like that. Because she gave a lot of love. It’s such a cliche, but that’s ok. It’s true.

So that’s what I’ve been thinking about today.

My Most Recently Published Piece of Work:

Kathleen Joan Ranum Bauder, 74, died July 30, 2009, surrounded by her loved ones at her home in Nampa.
She is survived by her husband, L. Wayne Bauder of Nampa; her children, Denise Lundy of Kennewick, WA, Kevin (Peggy) Bauder of Hollis, NH, Derek (Cyndi) Bauder of Nampa and Melissa (Garret) Hodges of Nampa; along with her ten grandchildren and two great grandchildren; She is also survived by her brother, Dick Ranum and sisters, Verna Newcomb and Donna Rodefer.
A memorial gathering will be held on Monday August 3rd, between 12 p.m. and 2 p.m., at Karcher Church of the Nazarene (2515 W. Karcher Ave.; Nampa). Private Family burial will precede the memorial gathering.
The family requests memorial gifts be given to Nazarene Missions International (17001 Prairie Star Parkway; Lenexa, KS 66220).
The family thanks Guardian Hospice for their support through this difficult time.
Memories and Condolences can be sent to Kathy’s guestbook at www.alsipfuneralchapel.com.
Arrangements were entrusted to Alsip & Persons Funeral Chapel, Nampa; 466-3545.

READ IT (it’s funny!)

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A Holy Fool

A co-worker told me today that they sincerely believed God wanted the holocaust to happen.

LORD, beer me strength.

Toothpaste: WTF?

This morning I found myself with a few rare moments of spare time, where no suitable diversions could be found. So I decided to “get things done,” which meant going down to the “Mariner’s Market” to buy toothpaste.

(note: you may ask why I went to Mariner’s and not to one of the thriftier alternatives, e.g. the Family Market or the Surfcrest Market — what it really boils down to is that i hate walking up the hill to the FM — despite its exorbitant prices, Mariner’s is just too damn convenient)

Finding the personal grooming aisle, I ran into a gentleman perusing the toothpaste selection. Almost immediately I felt as confused as he looked. See, my past toothpaste purchasing history has revolved around one thing: vanilla. I go in, find the vanilla and leave. I ignore the multitudes of inferior flavors and consistencies because I know there can only be one king, and the king’s name is vanilla.

But, and here is the important part of my story, because my oral health has been waning in the past few years, my dentist has instructed me to use “sensitive” type tooth paste. Unfortunately, Mariner’s doesn’t carry that type of toothpaste. They don’t even have vanilla! They do have “Whitening,” “Extra-Whitening,” “Tatar Control,” “Plaque Control,” “Breath Control,” “Organic Tartar Control,” “Organic Breath Freshening,” “Extreme Cleaning Formula,” and “Extreme Cleaning Formula w/ Original Taste.” (I guess extreme cleaning formula flavor is just too extreme for some folks).

They also had, what on first glance looked to be a bottle of personal lubricant (a.k.a. “sex lube”). Upon closer inspection, this turned out to be a humorously packaged tooth paste called “Close Up,” which (according to the box) “Cleans, Whitens & Freshens with Mouthwash.” The combination of all three, as well as the novelty of the box made this one the clear winner.

This is the bottle of Close Up, which I personally believe is more entertaining (and more confusing) than the box.

(I think it’s worth noting that, while all the other tooth pastes — with the exception of $1.69 Pepsodent — were fully stocked, this was the last box of Close-Up on the shelf)

Men Who Inspire Me (and why)

Muhammad Ali: Born in a middle class black home in Louiville, this man was the greatest boxer of all time. Not only did he achieve greatness in the ring, but he stuck by his religious and moral convictions, choosing prison over a tenure in Vietnam.

The Wright Brothers: Orville and Wilber Wright accomplished something people had dreamed about since the dawn of time. Through out of the box thinking and solid trial and error they devised the first heavier-then-air-craft in the history of the world.

Sir Ernest Shackelton: An arctic explorer, Shackelton lead an expedition on the ill-fated HMS Endurance. After getting trapped in the ice, having his boat sink, spending months on an exposed rock, mounting a harrowing sea voyage in an open life raft and climbing an antarctic mountain, he managed to get his crew home safely without the loss of a single life.

Ludwig Von Beethoven: Born to a viciously overbearing father, Beethoven became the greatest composer of all time, creating music that transcends time and culture. Despite the fact he went deaf halfway through his career, the man still managed to create some of the most powerful expressions of the human spirit ever made.