King in South Carolina

No, not Elvis, 'twas I in South Carolina. My recent trip to South Carolina was beyond all expectations. I was met at the airport and chauffeured to Anderson where I was well-fed with home cooking and greeted by the friendliest little dog on the planet. Later I was treated to a live concert of a small but well-prepared orchestra. The concert had a theme of musical counterpoint and imitation including a premiere by a local composer that provided great moments of musical interest, originality, and innovative harmonies. Especially intriguing was the Bach Suite performed by the string players in a standing position. The tone rang clear throughout the auditorium and the audience responded with enthusiastic applause and warm reception to the musical excellence of the conductor and performers.

Following the concert, a small group of four went to a local restaurant to experience escargot (referenced in an earlier blog) and conversation ranging from the greatest 20th century composer to music business to opera. Most fascinating was the orchestra conductor arguing in favor of voting Duke Ellington as the greatest composer! While the topic of Verismo and Puccini was touched on, eventually, as all good discussions must, we found ourselves conversing on Wagner and Bernstein.

The next morning, I enjoyed a meeting with an administrator of Anderson University and we discussed the value and challenges of distance learning. It was a productive meeting and I left invigorated and committed to growth in the online arena of learning. Later, I addressed a class of music education majors concerned about their future and the continued development of their own music education skills. It was an hour that moved too quickly and I was disappointed when it was over. The students were perceptive, curious, intelligent, and enthusiastic about the topics discussed.

Finally came the time to direct the honor band formed out of the finest 8th graders from the area. It was a good band with nice, obedient students. They responded well and seemed to enjoy the music selected. The first rehearsal was introductory as we "learned" each other and began the process of making music together and preparing for the upcoming concert. The rehearsal concluded with great expectations for further musical experiences the next day. That evening was yet another great meal and an opportunity for time together with a friend.

The next day we intensified the rehearsal tempo and performed an admirable concert to an audience filled with supportive parents and teachers. In addition to the quality of the players, they had obviously been well-taught and demonstrated commitment to excellence. Precision and energy were applied to the performance and the students were filled with excitement as we concluded the concert in a musical whirlwind of glorious band sound.

Mention should be made of the outstanding organization skills of the college students handling the instruments, stands, music, program, meals, and other needs that go with supervising an honor band. The students showed great poise and maturity in dealing with the myriad challenges and provided an enjoyable experience for everyone involved in the project.

After the concert, we dined at a restaurant worthy of distinction and I once again ate food better than I deserved. All this fine eating added to a pleasant surplus of avoirdupois that I decided to address at a later date. The next morning, I was again treated to a filling breakfast of an omelet and then headed to the airport for my return trip. The few days in South Carolina were filled with friendship, music, pleasantries, and lots of great food. To all who made my trip a highlight, I thank you. It was certainly a trip worthy of a king and much more than I deserved.

Culinary Courage

I have embarked on a new adventure of culinary experiences. It began in South Carolina as I decided to eat escargot, otherwise known as snails. The 8 little critters arrived on a small plate each within its own dimpled cup not unlike a deviled egg plate. In their former life, the snails were vital and slow moving creatures with limited but useful purpose. Their diet consisted of plants and dirt and their prodigious production of mucus allowed them to maneuver across even the most dangerous of pathways. Yet they had become fodder for me on this particular evening.

The chef covered them in butter, garlic, and cheese, served them on a silver platter and I ate them without hesitation and with much zeal. Later I learned that because snails eat dirt and decay, they can be toxic to humans unless they enter a period of fasting and purging prior to their demise. As I reflect on this, I am hoping my snails fasted appropriately and meaningfully! They were indeed delicious and I look forward to yet another opportunity to partake in their unusual but appetizing pemmican. Never mind that my friend pointed that virtually anything covered in butter, garlic, and cheese is tasty.

Less than a week later, I found myself in a sushi bar eating raw fish and eel. I allowed the sushi bar manager to create a dish of sushi "greatest hits" for me in the hopes I would receive a wide variety of delectable sushi treats. And I was not disappointed. Raw fish and eel of various types adorned my plate with a garnish of parsley, an edible orchid, a spot of ginger and some horseradish. In appearance it was creative, colorful, and consummate without being excessively baroque or affected. The sushi was excellent--smooth, gentle, tasty, and palatable with an aperitive flavor. I savored each morsel carefully since I rarely get sushi where I live.

I must admit, however, that I remain somewhat suspicious that rather than providing great taste, eating sushi and an entire lounge devoted to sushi is a bourgeois excuse for bragging rights. The ability to say "I ate sushi and escargot" gains a begrudging respect from those who simply don't want to try. The environment of the lounge was modern with odd lighting, contemporary art, and background music that bordered on the "new age" with hints of current popular idioms in the accompaniment. It makes me wonder if the idea of sushi is greater than the reality.

Yet, I do not wish to discount the unusual and tasty qualities of sushi and escargot. Although not as forward tasting as rattlesnake, nor as wild tasting as alligator, and certainly not as delicate as turtle, sushi and escargot deserve their place among the elite of foods. While this is not something I want for every meal, I did enjoy my experience and look forward to further opportunities to test my culinary courage.

Evidence of Grace--Chicago II

An onomatopoeia is a word that sounds like its meaning. Many onomatopoeia's may be applied to the following experience. Screech, squeal, bump, slam, honk, and roar are all examples of sounds that I heard from the airport to downtown Chicago. It was a roller coaster ride of high speed, curves, acceleration, and creative adjustment to the prescribed highway system. The terms smooth, refined, elegant, careful, deliberate, and polished have nothing to do with our trip to downtown Chicago.

It is only through the grace of God that we were delivered safely to our respective temporary residences. Not one speed limit sign was acknowledged; not one curve was executed with safety; not one lane was occupied by us for more than a minute at a time. Each stop light was approached with anger at its existence, and the brakes on the vehicle were applied at the last second to prevent the inevitable crash (note the onomatopoeia). One memorable moment occurred as we moved onto the parking lane with our wheels flirting feverishly with the curb, and the taxi driver inched past the line of cars waiting at the light. Suddenly in a fierce acceleration, he moved past the cars, jumped in front of the line and continued. His prediction of the green light was uncanny.

Strangely, during this mad flight through downtown Chicago, he gently talked about his five children and his wife and how much enjoys raising his children in the United States. He was from India but had lived here many years and spoke positively about the opportunities in our country. During the conversation, he would pause to allow me to make the usual verbal sounds acknowledging his words. I must say I did quite well at masking my fear and trying to place my heart back in the right place and out of my throat. I did have to wait a few seconds to answer one of his questions so I could witness the 3 inch clearance as we passed a large truck, drove on the shoulder near the drop off of the bridge, and moved in front of the truck only to hear a wild crescendo of honking horn sound emanating from the truck.

When I wasn't grunting (another one!) out a response to the driver, I was busy saying silent prayers and watching my life flash (good one, huh?) before my eyes. As I exited the taxi, paid him richly (that's not one), I was very happy to have my feet on the ground. I'm sure the greeters at the door wondered about my euphoric grin on my face. I wanted to hug everyone I saw and thank the Lord for being alive and sending the angels on the trip. Whew (a good one), the ride was over.

Later I walked through the streets and stopped counting at 10 near accidents between vehicles, pedestrians, and bicycle riders and decided to reflect on God's grace that allows us to even be alive in this rat race we call life. For it must be some sort of miracle that prevents constant mishaps in downtown Chicago. Therein lies the difference between Chicago and where I live in Texas. I look forward to the irenic joys of my residence where the angels still have to work, but not nearly as hard!

Unfortunately I have to get a ride back to the airport on Tuesday. Yikes! (best one yet).

Above and Below--Chicago I

Chicago. The windy city. Home of the Cubs, White Sox, and the Bears. Cultural mecca for opera, symphony, ballet, art, chamber music, and all kinds of theatre. I am here enjoying the city and realized something strange during my rather gauche pilgrimage through the congeries of stores, restaurants, shops, and people. There is a city below downtown Chicago and a city above downtown Chicago. Below my steps I heard the motorized sounds of the subway and watched as hundreds of people emerged out of the tunnel and onto the street. Above my walk I again heard the frightening roar of the train as it reverberated through the lifted steel that contained its fierce undulating movement. And as I gazed upward, I looked in awe at the massive buildings that dotted and almost obliterated the sky above. Buildings covered with marble and glass and buildings rising from ab ovo only to end with a minaret so high as to be almost disguised and masked with the clouds hovering deliciously over the skyscrapers.

As I reflected on the city above and below me I found myself curious as to the people. Are they different in Chicago from people in Texas? Are they uglier, meaner, prettier, or nicer? Are they friendlier, ruder, smarter, stronger, less intelligent, or weaker than Texans? Do we in Texas rise above Chicago in pride, in spirit, in integrity, or in individualism? Or are we below Chicagoans in culture, in experience, in education, or in collective wisdom?

From my brief experience in this amazing city, I conclude that Texans and Chicagoans are simply people. There are nice ones, mean ones, scared ones, confident ones, tall, short, ugly, pretty, casual, intense--just people of all types, shapes, personalities, and values. I did notice that my propensity to strike up conversation in a folksy style brought smiles to faces. Apparently this is a bit unusual in Chicago. And I learned not to violate personal space in a revolving door. One lady began to laugh uproariously as we rotated around and stepped on each others feet amidst my inexorable apologies for not waiting for another rotating slot in which to reside. As we tumbled out of the door and on to the street, she glanced at me and laughed at me and continued her trek toward her own goals.

All in all, my day was enjoyable as I experienced this multi-layered city. I encountered many fine, helpful people along the pathway. And so I dispel the myth that Yankees are not friendly. Like Texans, some are and some are not. The layers of Chicago are as complex as are the people. But while the people may be similar, there are some things about downtown Chicago that are very different from where I live. Those differences will be outlined in Chicago II.

Chicago

I am off to Chicago for the NASM convention. It will be for several days and I'm sure it will be informative. I will miss my family and my youngest son's birthday. I have had several difficult days of administrative challenges and not enough time to take care of all the things coming across my desk. But I am hoping to get caught up in the next couple of days on the airplane and in the motel.

I need to blog on my new appointment as a deacon in our church. I have many thoughts on this. I also want to share some insights on my South Carolina trip. Although certainly not the highlight of my trip, I did get to eat snails and have several thoughts on that. So, as soon as I have a few hours, blogs will be coming forth!

Bloglessness

Please accept my apology for my blogging delinquency. I have been swamped. Much material is on the way. Being in South Carolina has provided hours of endless peripatetic meanderings. You may increase your anxious anticipation of a tirade of tidbits. They will arrive soon.

Concession Conceding

As we drove to the concession stand to spend the evening making burgers, nachos, cheese fries, sausage wraps, Frito pies, and an assortment of creative concoctions such as pickle juice poured over a snickers bar, I was filled with that strange combination of emotions that commonly occurs when I am out of my comfort zone: namely dread and anticipation. I was dreading the smoke from the grill that was an unending river of haze slowly but deliberately seeping into my clothes and my eyes. But I was also anticipating the opportunity to serve and to generate funds that in turn would help the students of the organization.

It was a high school football game, a game of two teams unlikely to advance, a game where only the the most dedicated (of which there are many) were going to attend. A chill was in the air due partly to the weather but also due to the typical fear of victory and defeat. For some of the fans, it was entertainment; for others it was serious. For the players, it was the opportunity to compete and to apply the grueling practice sessions to the real event. But this essay is not about football, it is about the concession stand.

The evening began by cleaning the grill, filling the smoker with wood, and lighting the fire. I experienced a moment of relief when the fire caught on and the grill began the heating up process for the more than 200 hamburgers and 100 sausages we would cook. According to the dictionary, concession means to yield or concede an argument or a fact. It also means a space allotted for a subsidiary business. And both of these definitions apply to our concession stand. It is a business. A fairly big business with a flowing of cash that is unusual in small businesses.

Yet, in many ways, we are conceding a point or an argument, since the stand included men and women of all ages working together for a common goal. We don't always agree but we also don't make it about us. It is about serving and if the truth be told also about making money. We serve well, we serve selflessly, we serve honestly, and we serve completely, and consequently we are rewarded on many levels.

Standing by a man I never met before and flipping burgers, sharing smoke, sharing stories, laughing, coughing, complaining, and pontificating, I found myself in a new friendship. For we stood shoulder to shoulder, bearing the joys and burdens of cooking at the grill. We didn't always agree on when the meat was done or how much more wood was needed or which spatula was the best or even which side of the grill was the best, but in the end it didn't matter. We bonded in our work and we bonded in our play and two completely different people in all respects--education, family, priorities, world-view, gifts, and life situations--found themselves friends with a common goal.

I spent some time reflecting on this as I battled the smoke and the burgers. The evening moved quickly and my com-padre had to leave early. So it was time for clean up of the entire stand and once again all the people working conceded to each other and worked together for the goal of cleaning the stand. There were no arguments, no egos, no selfish agendas, and no anger. Only committed parents working hard and quickly to close up the concession. As we finished, did some sweeping, stored all the goods, and said our goodbyes, I sensed an unspoken but real affirmation of a job well done.

Blessings often come when we least expect them but blessings are everywhere if we but look. I never expected to be blessed while cooking greasy smoke-filled burgers but it happened.