Little more

No Resurrection

jl — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 04:05:20 +0000

Biking my daughter Rynn to school today, I witnessed the shortsightedness of modern efficiency. I stopped. My heart sank. On the far side of a chain link fence a front end loader pulverized the dusty remains of our neighborhood Lutheran church. Ashes to ashes dust to dust.

You might expect that the local Presbyterian minister’s sadness would be a response to the diminishing number of congregations in his neighborhood. However, this was not the heart of my sorrow. I am confident that the saints who once worshipped inside those walls have been scattered like salt to season this world with grace and life. My incredulous grief was in response to the growing pile of good wood, stone and copper becoming no more than rubbish and waste. A living building would soon lie useless, lifelessly buried in a landfill grave.

I asked the foreman of the demolition crew, “Are you going to salvage those beams, or the stone?.”

“No time. They just want it down and gone,” he said. We both shook our heads, knowing the value and gift of the earth those 100 year old timbers and moldings truly are. Our woodlands no longer have gifts like those to give.

With patience and time a craftsman could have salvaged enough tight grain timbers to build a fine and sturdy home or two – better materials than you could ever find at Home Depot or your local lumber yard. Solid wood doors were splintering between the teeth of the diesel beast. Wood flooring, hardwood window frames, the copper steeple and cross – all pulled down in haste, without gratitude or imagination.

The stone-flesh and timber-bones of this church awaited a wise and patient craftsman. But the executioners arrived first. The empty building could have been reborn as a home – place of shelter, life, and beauty. Instead, it was damned to rubble. The trees that collected sun and water for hundreds of years gave their gift, and we, like spoiled children on Christmas morning, forgot the the gift given.

In three days this building will be dead and gone – broken and buried. For this gift of stone and timber there will be no resurrection, only the dying memories of her former congregation and several passers-by who shook their heads and walked on.

Oregonians no longer…

jl — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 01:51:01 +0000

Our family has officially taken up living on the North Shore of Chicago. I have a new job, assistant pastor at Grace Presbyterian. We have a new home, 203 5th Street, Wilmette, IL.

We are glad to be here! More to come…

We’ve joined the Apple cult

jl — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 04:05:42 +0000

Caroline and I are sitting in silence in front of a fire on a rainy and cold Portland spring night. We are drinking a cocktail. Both of us are fiddling on our MacBooks. This is a stereotype enfleshed in my living room.

This is awesome. I like being married to this woman.

Southern decay and northwestern snobbery

jl — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 17:23:45 +0000

I’m spending a long weekend in Savannah, Georgia. It is a beautifully unique and old (by American standards) southern city. It clearly is a place that is protected and loved by its citizens. Savannah lives in the shadow of the ‘War between the States.’ Live oak canopies draped in veils of Spanish moss protect the charming leisure of well worn southern decay. I like it. The old humid air, lard filled home cooking, pork ribs, the leisure of southern comforts – after nearly 3 years in the northwest I have not forgotten how to appreciate this place.

In spite of my gratefulness and nostalgia for the southeast, my daughters are both from east Tennessee, imagining a life here is not easy. I can’t find a barista that knows how to pull a descent shot of espresso, much less make an macchiato. The local brewer’s use of hops created an IPA that made me long for a PBR. And southern country kitsch continues to be a bad idea no matter how exclusive the boutique that sells it.

I’m becoming a provincial Pacific North-westerner: a west coast snob. Self knowledge is a painful process.

opa

jl — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 07:14:46 +0000

Today is Fred James Little’s birthday. A good day. Happier by far for him, being free from sin and the curse.

I took his old Walther PPK to a gun store and traded it for an over under 12 gauge shotgun. I hope to kill a bird or two in the company of my dog Roscoe with this gun. I’ll need to remember how to shoot first. But, the idea seems right.

Wish I could have called him up and told him about the trade, just to hear him warn me about shooting myself or my dog.

nocino part two

jl — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 22:23:58 +0000

bottled and aging
the few exploratory sips – excellent
a whole journey of flavors

light

jl — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 18:44:13 +0000

Are you tired of carrying

thousands of world’s and time’s wisdom

ever watching – peacefully searching – never sleeping

gleaning from behind veiled widows and screened doors

vessel’s cyan, deep magenta

vases of lymphy ochre, creamy sinew cords

unseen green, tangled nerves, fat

collecting the deeps with graciously ruthless speed

straight and unencumbered

story laden – a carnie sideshow painted

luminously unresting – silently deafening

your gypsy caravan parade of stolen secrets

you magnificent and flamboyantly attired

thief: an eye, cheek, a wrinkle’s brow, lips.

Come sing and dance upon the retinal stages

they will all run . ‘see the yet unseen!’

but I know that your journey never slows

never stays – go

leave your mystery for my memories to confuse.

Three Finger Jack

jl — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 05:49:09 +0000

mosquitoes that sucked three quarts of blood.

Amazing rock and silver snags.

Roscoe hikes with the best of them.

Tents however look like a kennel.

nocino 2009 – infused p.m. of July first

jl — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 16:51:21 +0000

1.75 liters of vodka

.75 liters friesen grappa

3 bottles plus .25 liters of friesen rosa

28 grams whole cinammon sticks

27 grams whole cloves

2 cupped palms of juniper berries

1 whole vanilla bean

90 green walnuts, quartered

3 peels of lemon.

sunshine for 60 days…

dining le pigeon

jl — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 16:47:20 +0000

to start

cheese board with quince jelly. buenalba – raw goat, spanish. le chavron de chemin – raw goat, belgian. juniper grove – raw goat, oregon.

blood pudding with green beans, soft boiled egg, and cherry vinagerette

mains

Pigeon, wrapped in caul fat over spinach, shitake, and pepper jam

Halibut, over fregola with trumpet royale mushrooms, ham and clams

dessert

lavender panna cotta with macerated strwberries