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I guess the title of this post is intended ironically, since I’m pretty sure my kids are about as different from Kurt Cobain as you can get.

My oldest child, my daughter, is off to a competition in another city today. This year in high school she signed up for a web design class, which is taught by the woman who is also the advisor for the Business and Marketing (BAM) club. I’m still not sure what it is they do, and I have even less an idea of what this competition is about, but that’s not the point.

The point is I envy my daughter. I wish I’d had her drive when I was her age. She’s taken to heart the advice that your teen years are the time to explore, to find out what you enjoy, what you’re good at. If something looks enjoyable and engaging, she’s in. Sometimes that works out really well, like art. Sometimes it’s not so successful, like playing the saxophone. But I’m pretty sure my daughter will not be like her dad in one very important aspect: I doubt she’s going to spend eight years getting a bachelor’s degree and then do something entirely different. The way she’s going after things I suspect she’ll have a pretty good idea what she wants to do by the time she gets to college–and if it turns out she was wrong it won’t take her seven years to figure that out.

She’s growing up so fast. That’s practically a mandatory cliché that all parents must spout, but only because it’s true. Three years from now my daughter will be in college. This morning she was trying on a business suit that she’d borrowed–from one of the adult leaders of our church’s young women’s group. She looked so…hire-able! Sure, she’s only fifteen, but…dang! A little more experience and maturity and she’s going to kick life’s butt and take names. When did this happen?

It’s fun and largely satisfying to watch my kids growing up. Each one is so different. Each has their strengths and their weaknesses. Sometimes I feel like I know them better than they know themselves, and yet they still regularly surprise me. At our middle school as part of the parent-teacher conferences they encourage the kids to write a letter to their parents. I would have expected our youngest to balk at this assignment and do the minimum to get by. No, he wrote a long, thoughtful letter. I was amazed! This is the quiet one who dislikes expressing his feelings!

My middle child, my Pokémon champion, is working to overcome a significant setback in his goals for this year. The Pokémon company reworked the championships system and made it much more difficult for him to get his invitation to the World Championships this year. When he first heard about it I nearly expected him to give up Pokémon. But no, he’s been working it all out in his mind and trying to figure out a way. It won’t be easy, and it will require some sacrifice to get him to all the tournaments he’ll need to go to. I do find myself wishing he’d find interests outside of Pokémon, but at least he’s keeping up his grades. And I do think the process of setting and achieving his goals–and experiencing setbacks–has been good for him. He has matured quite a bit in the past year or so since he first got serious. It’s gratifying to see.

I’m not about to claim my kids are perfect. But considering how much most people complain about their teenagers, I have to wonder how we got so lucky. Yes, we do see some of that. We have our clashes. We do have to deal with moodiness and dramatics. But on the whole, I really like my kids. They’re good kids. And I blame their mother for that. Me? I’m still trying to get myself together.

The other night they watched the Presidential Debate. They’d never seen anything like that before, and it made them think. I don’t know what conclusions they came to in the end, but from their discussion I’m pleased to see they were looking as much at the candidates’ behavior as they were their words. I do have hope for the future in the form of my kids. It’s my deepest hope that they will be smarter than we seem to be.

So…now we have a band doing a live cover of their mechanized rendition of a song they composed. What an odd world we live in. The mechanized version was considered awesome because (in addition to being catchy for all its simplicity) it was all made from wood, metal and legos over the space of a year–a master-craft analog representation of what could easily be done electronically these days. And now they’ve released a video of them playing the song live at a concert. Only they left the machine at home and it’s all played by real musicians, once again reminding us that machines can’t replace musicians.

As an aside, I love how they tried to capture the sounds of mechanical workings of the machine, as that was as much a part of the original presentation a the actual notes.

Wintergatan, the band, I find delightful. They are an eclectic musical stew of uncommon instruments (music boxes, typewriters and hammered-dulcimers, for starters), mingled with some electronic elements–though even then they often make their own. As it is, almost as exciting to me as the video is the revelation that they’re recording a new album. I’ll be watching for that, for sure.

Oh yeah, the video:

There’s a fairly specific route we walk with our dog each night. One part of our walk takes us along a major road where the houses backing along that road are cloistered behind an eight-foot sound wall. A power line runs along that same stretch of road. For a while now we’ve been finding dead birds along that section. At first I thought they had just flown out into traffic and been hit, but we began to notice that the evidence of trauma was minimal. And nearly all of them were on the sidewalk, not the road, and laying directly beneath the power line. It seems likely they were sitting on the power line when they died.

But we started paying more attention. Something odd is going on. For one, it’s only along one particular block, and usually within a very specific 50-100 yard stretch. In most cases there’s no obvious damage like a hawk had killed them (there is at least one in the area), and certainly no sign that anything has tried to eat them. They’re almost entirely intact. A couple showed small holes and bleeding like they were shot.

We contacted the local animal control and, while they’re concerned, there’s not much they can do. They asked us to see what evidence we can gather to justify investigation, and so we’ve been doing what we can. The deaths have  been sporadic over the past two months, but they continue. One pigeon was still alive, its wing damaged, and we were able to get it to a local bird sanctuary for care. The dead species have included pigeons, doves, and starlings, so it’s not limited to a specific species.

Last night we found three dead birds and one still alive, but clearly injured. As we were trying to get a closer look and see if we could catch it the dove hopped out toward the street. At that point, though the street is often busy, only a single car was driving along that stretch. We were sure it would see us and, since there are two lanes going that way, could easily avoid the bird–and us. It didn’t. It headed straight for the bird and hit it.

Now it may be they didn’t see it–too busy watching us and our dog–or had a brain-freeze trying to decide what to do and ended up doing nothing, but it seemed rather heartless. The wheel missed the bird, but the undercarriage struck it and sent is sprawling. It lay in the road on its back, feet twitching. We were horrified, and if looks could kill that car would have suffered a Michael-Bay-esque explosion. I was certain the poor dove wasn’t long for the world and was wondering how we could euthanize it quickly.

Suddenly it fluttered back up onto its feet. It was stunned, and perhaps damaged, but it was still fighting for life. My wife was able to approach it and wrap it up in her jacket. She took it home, and it’s now recovering in one of our cat carriers. It survived the night, and my wife has been unable to see any indication of injured wings. We’re hopeful it will be able to recover fully and perhaps make friends with the doves in our yard where it’s safer.

But meanwhile we’re left to wonder just what is going on with that section of road. It seems like someone living in one of those houses backing onto that section is using the birds on the power line for target practice. We’re helpless to stop it for now, but we’ll continue to gather what evidence we can, and hopefully someday we’ll find a way to put a stop to it. But it’s so sad and frustrating to think that someone is purposely trying to injure these poor creatures.

*Trigger warning: Those of you uncomfortable with discussions of spirituality may wish to come back some other time*

Religion is central to my life and defines many of my priorities. I’ve decided, for example, that I’d rather be a good father and husband than a worldly success. If success can still be found within those parameters, cool, but it’s not important. Sundays are reserved for church and family. Entertainment is to be carefully chosen based on what I find uplifting and inspiring, not what everyone else tells me is the hottest new “thing”.

But truth be told, I’ve felt personally stuck for a while now. It’s hard to describe what we in my church call “feeling the spirit”. It’s like trying to describe the color blue using only words to someone who has never seen it. It’s peace, joy and calm all intermingled. It’s ennobling, yet quiet, and reassures me that all things are possible–and reminds me what is truly worth pursuing. Under its influence I find it easier to picture myself as the person I want to be. I find it easier to be patient and understanding. I find my love for my wife and family is deeper, and my anxiety around strangers less. I feel less alone inside my own head. Like I said, it’s hard to describe, but I know it when I feel it.

And for the past year or more it’s been hard to feel. I’ve made considerable spiritual progress in my life from who I used to be, but lately it’s been like hitting the wall. I’ve felt the spirit from time to time, but I’ve been unable to hold onto it. I’d look around me at others (I know I shouldn’t, but I do) and see signs of their spiritual growth and realize that I’m being left behind. I’ve seen what the world is throwing at my kids and known I should be able to help them, and yet known I’m not strong enough myself.

It’s been frustrating, lonely at times, and sometimes agonizing. But that was insufficient to help me push past my fear; fear of changing, fear of facing who I’ve been, fear of what I might have to give up to gain any more spiritual ground.

Recently I decided I’d had enough. I can’t sit still any more. I need to either go forward or go backward. And if I really believe what I claim I believe, backward is just not an option. That would be like deciding that since growing food is too hard, I’ll just settle for eating compost. That might be okay if I’d never eaten food, but I have. And knowing what my wife’s snowball cookies or pot pie taste like, how could I settle for compost, organic or otherwise?

It’s time I got myself unstuck and moving forward again. It’s required some changes, and doing some difficult things.

I could kick myself for waiting so long. God didn’t make me step very far into the dark. His hand was there before I even had time to worry whether there would be solid ground beneath my feet. Oh, my feet are still pretty unsteady, but I’m feeling the spirit more–and more deeply–than I’ve felt in I don’t know how long. Life hasn’t become any less challenging, but it’s become more…sweet, more vibrant. My fear has lessened, my inclination to push back against critics and naysayers has diminished. My ability to identify and appreciate the little bits of beauty around me has increased.

And I must keep going. I can’t relax. The trials and opposition haven’t ceased. Just as there is a God who loves me and wants me to progress, there are forces working against that, as well. One came in the form of a likely well-intentioned person at church who decided I needed correction in the form of a stern, condescending lecture. Not that his initial criticism wasn’t on point–I recognized immediately he was right–but his delivery did far more harm than good. Anyone who knows me likely knows that if you’re going to correct me, get to the point quickly, and then back off and let me process it and decide what to do about it. Belaboring the point triggers my conflict anxiety and puts me into a mental tailspin for hours to days at a time, focusing on the conflict, not the message. He belabored and triggered in spades.

And yet even in that experience I could see the Lord’s hand. It was a flashing neon sign indicating “Your next growth project is right here!” I simply have to overcome–or at least weaken–my fear of conflict, or I will keep handing Satan the keys to drive my personal car in a ditch. I’ve got to learn to step back and see things calmly and rationally, removing the emotional weight enough to stop stalling out. Certainly I shouldn’t aim to feel no emotion at all in these situations, but right now I experience debilitating emotion, and that’s a serious gap in my spiritual armor.

But I know that can be overcome. I don’t know how, how soon, or how easily, but I have my Savior on my side, and I’ve experienced His help before in overcoming serious weaknesses that I couldn’t conquer on my own. I’ll get there–or rather, we’ll get there, but it’s going to take work. And quite likely it’s going to take going through more such experiences in the future, against which I can measure my progress. That…doesn’t sound fun. But to achieve that end…wow, and well worth it.

Anyway, I’m enjoying being unstuck finally. I’m enjoying life. I’m enjoying my marriage and my family more than ever. I’m feeling the spirit more and more. This last Sunday was delightful, and weekdays in general are better than they’ve been, even on the rougher days. I’m grateful I finally made the effort to get unstuck.

Kim Holderness is an introvert. Penn is not. Here are their tips for introverts dealing with the rest of the world:

Dan Golding takes a look at why you just don’t remember many movie soundtracks these days–and places the blame at the feet of one of the current masters of film music, Hans Zimmer:

I ran across this story about some local teens, who stepped up to help a single mom who had been in an accident. There’s more to the story, but the story itself is heart-warming.

I’ve posted Joerg Sprave’s bizarre engines of death and mayhem before, but this one is especially genius: A rowing machine that fires 30 mm steel ball bearings. I think I love his voice and his laugh as much as his ingenious contraptions, though in case of zombie apocalypse I’m thinking I’d want to be his next door neighbor. In any case, his videos are just plain fun, even if I’d never attempt them at home.

Over the weekend I was up in the high country for some camping and hiking. Not far from Park City and for much of the trip I could see bursts of color as the leaves have already begun turning. On Labor Day it was nearly jacket weather all day. The weather is cooling off and fall is peeking around the corner. It will soon be my favorite season.

I’m eager. Here’s a preview:

Of course with autumn comes The Autumn People, and one of my favorite works by Bradbury. The movie doesn’t hold up as well these days as when I was a kid. But it’s always lurking out there on the edge of my psyche, the antithesis of the golden glow and crisp tingle of autumn. There will always be Mr. Dark and his ilk, but there will also be Mr. Holloways, of which I hope I have become. This scene always struck a chord with me, and only more so now. And if you ever needed a sign that Jonathan Pryce’s character is evil it’s this: he rips out the pages of books!

https://youtu.be/mK02PA0IVK4

Pryce’s Mr. Nightshade holds a place in my mental Hall of Hallmark Villains. His acting in the rest of the movie would have been sufficient to cement his place, but this scene would have done it all by itself.

But to get back to the light side of autumn, there is a song by Mannheim Steamroller that, even though it’s on their supposed “summer” album, is to me the essence of autumn. (Oddly enough, their autumn album, however much I love it, has never felt like autumn to me.)

Dang, now I need to go dig out my Fresh Aire collection. It’s been too long. One through Five were always my favorites. Six onward, after the rest of the band left, always felt a little too digitized, a little too canned for my tastes, though his Christmas Albums remain favorites. But I digress.

It’s autumn! Time to fall in love again…  Kapow! Fwoosh! Zingg!

My first exposure to Star Trek (having been born after it had already ended) was in 1977 when the space shuttle Enterprise was undergoing testing and the media felt it necessary to inform us of the name’s history. It was a few years after that before Star Trek truly entered my life as syndicated after-school television. I would watch it every day while folding newspapers to deliver. Considering it was on for years, and that I delivered newspapers for over ten years, I got to the point where I could tell you within half a minute of any episode which episode it was. I went as Spock for Halloween one year, though thanks to our black and white television I had no idea my outfit was supposed to be blue, not yellow. I read a lot of the Star Trek novels.

And then the movies hit. The first movie was cool, mainly because it was Star Trek. I didn’t realize until I got older just how dull it was. But Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan cemented it for me–Star Trek was awesomeness incarnate. That movie remains as on of my all-time favorite movies. I eagerly consumed The Next Generation during my high school and early college years. I didn’t pay much attention to Deep Space Nine, though I should have, and Voyager lost me early. I never saw even a single episode of Enterprise, and I’ll admit the reboots leave me cold. So am I a true Trekkie? Probably not by popular standards.

But in some ways my interaction with Star Trek has been broader than most. Early in my childhood my brother discovered Starfleet Battles, a tabletop war game of starship combat based in the Star Trek universe. I got deeper into it than he did, focusing far more than I should have throughout my teenage years. My friends and I arranged sleepovers in order to play massive battles (that invariably ended far more quickly than we expected, either from boredom or from things degenerating quickly).

I discovered the Star Trek RPG in high school and, while my friends at the time didn’t get into it, I found my sister did. Though nine years older than me, she and I bonded over building our own little sub-section of the Star Trek world and populating it with a cast of characters that would make Game of Thrones envious. We expanded the lore much farther than was ever intended, I suspect, and we modified the game to suit our needs.

We made elaborate maps, and made cardboard game pieces to mark the location of every single character, and which we kept in an old pill bottle between games. I still remember my mother, making an audio tape to send to my brother in Japan, wandering into one of our games and asking us to describe what we were doing. At one point she asked us just how we could see all these characters we were playing and we told her we just got out the pill bottle. It’s been a family joke ever since.

We played the RPG well into my college years, and it only really ended when my sister moved away. I still miss that little corner of the Star Trek world we built and the deep, complex stories we told through the years. Many of those characters are nearly as real to me as any of my “real” friends during that time. Every so often I run across the boxes of materials from those sessions stored in my shed and the wave of nostalgia that hits is still quite strong. I’ve never found another RPG quite as satisfying.

So yeah, Star Trek has had a pretty strong impact on my life, probably more than any other Sci-Fi or Fantasy franchise out there, though Star Wars runs a pretty close second. I’ve never felt the slightest need to participate in the Star Trek vs. Star Wars debate; my love of both has never been mutually exclusive, nor have I felt it necessary to compare them. They’re different and amazing in their own ways, and such competitions seems as senseless to me as trying to decide whether chocolate or cinnamon rolls are better. Why would I limit myself to either one? I’ll happily consume both!

So today Star Trek is fifty years old. I’m not sure what I should think about that, other than the realization that soon I will be, too. That simply means I’ve been enjoying it for a long time. I’m glad it’s been around so long, and yet even if it had died off before The Next Generation resurrected it I’d still love it, and it still would have had nearly as large an impact on my life. I find the fact that it’s still around in some form or another largely irrelevant. My tastes have changed (I’d like to think matured), and it doesn’t offend me that Star Trek, repackaged for modern tastes, has gone in another direction. I feel no need to approve or disapprove of the reboot series or the upcoming series. If someone else enjoys them, great! I’ll sample them, and if I like them, great. If not, that’s okay, too. I won’t rail about how they’ve ruined Star Trek or any such nonsense. If I don’t stick with it, it’s my own fault as much as anyone else’s.

I’m quite grateful for the part Star Trek has played in my life–and it’s been a disproportionally large part. It’s not necessarily a part I need it to play any more, and that’s okay. Whatever may happen, Star Trek and I will always be friends, and I’ll always have fond memories of those years when it was one of the main bright spots in my life. We’ll always have Paris, so to speak, and I’ll be thinking warm thoughts as it gets on the plane and flies off with Victor Laszlo. I have been and always shall be your friend.