Learning by contrast

Our understanding of light is very much shaped by our awareness of darkness, and vice versa. In a similar manner we learn about "smooth" by experiencing "rough" and so on. Life is full of contrasts and in these contrasts we experience the variety of creation and something of the divine creativity.

On one of my earlier flights from NOLA back to ABQ a fellow passenger commented on what one sees approaching Albuquerque: lots and lots of dirt.

He was right. It is a very earthy place and a large part of what stirs my emotions is soil.

I grew up a city boy. There is no way I can deny that and my more rural relatives would laugh me out of the room if I tried. But there is still something about growing up in the Central Valley of California that links one to the soil. For whatever primal, mythical, or simply delusional reasons, I feel a strong bond with the earth - and, specifically, with dirt. This does not mean you see me often out digging weeds, turning soil, etc. But there is something there.

I am also a Taurus. Fixed. Earth. Sign. Not water, air, or fire - earth.

So my heart sings when I see the vast expanses of "dirt" as the plane comes in over the eastern hills and prepares to land.

I probably would not have noticed or had that conversation with the young man coming to visit his fiancée in New Mexico were it not for the contrast.

When I first flew into New Orleans in late April I saw something very like the shots below, all taken when I flew in last Monday.

Now this one looks like most of the Central Valley of California - fields given over to agriculture, rectangles in a million shades of green and tan. I was not looking this soon on the first flight into New Orleans.


This is the sort of thing I noticed. Watery expanses.

Radical contrast with the desert West. Something exotic, different, new - and unsettling for a fixed earth sign type.
Lots of greenery, wet greenery, stretches of water covered with algae, trees growing out of water (how unnatural is that from a Western standpoint?). Green, green, and more green.

No wonder poor Mimi and her friends could not get over the reddish-brown, brown, and more brown of Santa Fe! Where was the green they were accustomed to?

I was also blown away six years ago when visiting Ohio and seeing the sort of pervasive greenery that simply does not exist very much until the very northern reaches of California.

The history of California centers on water wars in varying forms. The issue of obtaining, hanging on to, and utilizing water is critical to survival.

When I moved into my current house in Albquerque, the back yard was what I call "a big sandbox." The soil was a mixture of fine adobe clay particles (the ones that get caught up in the wind and fly everywhere!!!!) and sand. Not much in the way of organic matter to nourish growing things. I will be amending soil for years to come. The trees in our neighborhood are growing but it will be many years before we have any mature trees near us. I look forward to that day.

And I do love driving along tree-shaded streets in New Orleans, immense oaks forming a shady canopy overhead. Wonderful. Beautiful. Somehow restorative to the soul.

On that first flight into New Orleans, though, I looked out the airplane window and thought, "OMG, they've shipped me off to the swamps and I shall surely perish there." Well, I haven't perished and I actually enjoy the city (when I have time and energy to do so).

May Godde bless all our homes in all their variety and teach us to appreciate the wondrous variety in this world, and among its peoples. May we experience the other and the different with less fear and more delight and all grow together in grace.

--the BB

Home again

Flying in to Albuquerque Friday evening, looking down on the lights and the Rio Grande.

The last trip home we had a breathtaking sunset of endless shades of lavender and peach among all manner of misty clouds and atmosphere. I thus sat at a window seat with my camera in hand this flight. Not as spectacular but I was still rewarded with something ABQ is known for - a great desert sunset.

Two blocks from my house this morning: a balloon having touched down. I grabbed this quick shot before hanging a left and going my way.

I pulled over on Alameda near the Balloon Fiesta Park to take a distance shot. Those little bumps in the far distance are (currently) dormant volcanoes. They mark the west as the Sandias mark the east.

This is Corrales Road, the road to my best friend's house.

And this is the gate to the front garden of my best friend's house.

And this is my best friend Bill, having risen from weeding among the strawberries.

Which are very happy. And tasty (based on a sample of one).

The onion family is well represented.

And corn for later this summer!

Here you have typical New Mexico adobe home architecture across the street from our mission's new location.
Speaking of which, lo and behold! Here is where I will be preaching tomorrow morning. My dear friend Diane gave me the idea for the sermon, so h/t to her.

The coyotes announce my arrival back in town.

This is a close-up of cottonwood leaves. Los alamos are part of the poplar family and the leaves flutter much like quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides). Oh dear, when I do something like this from memory I worry that taxonomic terminology has evolved since I learned it but I will stick with this and resist the temptation to google it immediately.

And here is a shot from early in my midday walk (more of that later) showing the Sandias Mountains which are, in my opinion, the soul of Albuquerque (along with the Rio Grande flowing through it).

So a further reflection is that as a western boy who always could see mountains in the distance (well, always on clear days), I really do need to live near mountains. Western style mountains, not low hills. But then, I grew up spending my summers in the Sierra Nevada, so it's little wonder that mountains are, for me, like roots, anchoring me to the land.
--the BB

A sense of place

I have written a bit lately about a sense of place. Land has form and spirit and presence. One place is not interchangeable with another. Globalization and standardization and horrid lowest common denominators all work against this truth and seek to subvert it. It matters little what Macdonalds or Starbucks you visit, you get pretty much the same product and you have no sense of place. Character and identity are stripped from place and person and we become increasingly unrooted.

Mimi and I shared today our sense of place. She wondered whether she should say anything and if she might give offense but, as the truth came out, desert places just don't work for her. She has been to Santa Fe but hills with no substantial greenery leave her feeling in an alien space. I confessed in turn that I have said I just don't belong in the swamps. As I flew into NOLA at the end of April I looked down at expanses of green algae-covered water and my flesh crawled. I was entering an alien place. Lush greenery is pleasant but I seem to like my water in manageable doses.

Eileen (and her mother) have introduced me to Celtic Thunder, a group of singing Irishmen, and I was surfing several songs from their show on YouTube. I came to this one, sung by their youngest member (with an amazingly strong voice). The sense of place got me all choked up. All Celtic music seems bittersweet and gets to me. [Granted, the first verse in Irish is more silly boasting to impress a woman than love of place.]

Come by the Hills (Buachaill ón Eirne) sung by Damian McGinty



Come By The Hills – Celtic Thunder Ltd

The first verse is done in Irish.
Buachaill ón Eirne mé's bhréagfainn féin cailín deas óg
Né iarfainn bó spré léithe tá mé saibhir go leor 'S liom
Corcaigh a mhéid e , dhá thaobh a ghleanna's Tír Eoghain
'S mur n-athraí mé béasaí 's mé n' t-oibhr ar Chontae
Mhaigh Eo
Here is translation
I am a boy from Ireland and I'd coax a nice young girl, I
wouldn't ask for a dowry with her, I'm rich enough
myself, I own Cork, big as it is both sides of the glen and
Tyrone, And if I don't change my ways I'll be the heir for
County Mayo.

Come by the hills to the land where fancy is free.
And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the loughs
meet the sea,
Where the rivers run clear and the bracken is gold in the sun;
And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

Come by the hills to the land where life is a song.
And stand where the birds fill the air with their joy all day long,
Where the trees sway in time and even the wind sings in
tune;
And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

Come by the hills to the land where legend remains.
The stories of old, fill the heart and may yet come again,
Where the past has been lost and the future is still to be
won;
And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

Relámpagos y tormentas en todas partes

Let's start this weekend with a bit of Ella:



"Stormy weather" seems like a hopefully-passing theme at the moment. From the no-planes-going-anywhere in NOLA yesterday morning to the backlog of flights in Phoenix to the rain and wind and very gray sky greeting me in Albuquerque. Tornadoes here and there yesterday as well, most notably in Denver.

Monster Twister Rips Through Colorado, Killing at Least One
ABC News - 1 hour ago
By MIGUEL MARQUEZ, LAURA MARQUEZ and JONANN BRADY A monster tornado ripped through Colorado, Thursday, with wind gusts up to 130 mph flattening hundreds of homes and businesses and killing at least one.
Tornado kills 1, injures 13 in northern Colorado The Associated Press
Colorado pulls together to help tornado victims 9NEWS.com

I looked out my bedroom window this morning to see how the garden is doing. The grapevines are about twice the size they were two weeks ago, the low-growing coral colored single roses are now all in bloom, and everything was bending this way and that in the wind. So I sit here and look out through double-paned windows. Wet and windy outside, dry and quiet inside.

It is oh so good to be home again for a little while.


I love seeing the bumper stickers that say "New Orleans is HOME." What a great spirit lies behind that and it warms my heart and strengthens my soul to see it. For me, obviously, it is not home. I am a western boy, a son of the soil of Central California and now a citizen of New Mexico. The central and eastern parts of the United States are part of my nation but not even remotely "home" for me. I think it's good to know and own that, as most of us have deep emotional ties to our regions. I believe in regional "flavor" and the importance of preserving it - not divisively but in mutual delight.

This is undoubtedly part of why I enjoy "locale" mysteries. [This calls to mind the day a wonderful bookstore owner referred to locale books while I was describing what I preferred and I had to ponder lo-cal for a moment. What did calories have to do with what I was discussing? Hey, I can be slow sometimes!] Most of the fiction I like has a strong sense of place. The stories cannot be placed just anywhere.

I look forward to visiting New Orleans again on vacation when I can relax and enjoy the town, getting out and about and having fun. Fun just doesn't fit the schedule well when one does business travel, as most folks can tell you. (Not talking about conventions when one attends one in five sessions and parties most of the time - I mean traveling for work.)

I did, however, stop at the Shimmy Shack Wednesday night for my glass of red wine, hamburger, and fries - and some chat with Ksusha, the Russian waitress. We talked a bit in Russian, more in French, and lots in English. Five months ago she did not speak a word of English. She hopes to spend a year in the U.S. then return home and finish university. She's had three years of French and that was the common language in which we both could speak more comfortably. Now I have motivation to work more on my Russian in the month ahead. Sweet young lady.

Two last bits of miscellaneous blather:

I do loves me some quiet. My home is quiet. I live in a quiet neighborhood (barking dogs and an occasional motorcycle are the random noise, with kids playing in the street now and again, a sound I enjoy) and, as noted above, I have double-paned windows. When nothing else is going on, the major noise as I sleep is a very quiet tick as the battery-powered clock on the wall advances. The apartment in Louisana is never quiet. There is a combination of the fountain in the courtyard that goes day and night (and sometimes fountains are NOT relaxing, much as I love them), the air conditioning (which is a good thing), one very noisy refrigerator, and several other things that are ongoing. It is never quiet, not for a second. This is not really a big complaint - I do fall asleep almost instantly and the noise does not keep me up. It is one of those experiences that tells me something about myself. I really, really like quiet. And that tells you all you need to know about why I have had no inclination whatsoever to walk a few blocks after work and visit Bourbon Street. It's rather nice at noon, however.

Finally, one part of blogging that I miss is the "Oremus" posts with prayer requests. There have been so many calls for prayer in the past four weeks and I have, mostly, not been passing them on. Somehow, when I am feeling physically exhausted, I don't feel up to the challenge of the gracious phrasing that I strive for and even the old cut and paste feels harder to do. I want folks who get prayed for to feel gently embraced and lifted up and it's probably too self-centered to say I prefer to be in a certain emotional and spiritual space to post prayer requests. So this is part apology and part self-chiding to get over myself and share the prayers. I also don't want to miss folks. This I can say: when I read the calls for prayer, I pray. My bedtime prayers are filled with names from blog posts. Will try to do better about sharing.

That's the Friday morning check-in!
--the BB