Brian

Howdy,

It sure is good being home. Right now I'm lounging around and playing with my iPod while listening to country music on the radio. I've got a sunburned left foot and a sore right shoulder but God is great and Oz is good.

So far there have been great meals and many Hong Kong trips (I am on N), golfing, music, flicker (a game with a soccer ball), Praise & Worship, concerts (we put on), jamming, plectrum purchasing (I just had to say that) and tons of other fun things like tacos and strawberry shortcake to name a few.

Emily and I are gearing up to go to Ireland after this trip which will be wonderful. We're also gearing up for BMT's Youth Group among other exciting things.

Well, it's off to lunch for me right now,

Brian

Hi all,

Well, I'm just sitting in the Apple Store. I've been having this problem for a while where the keyboard and trackpad on my MacBook Pro becomes unresponsive. Thanks to Apple Care, the problem is going to be fixed (hopefully) by having a new top case installed. Theoretically nothing would have happened to my data because they wouldn't have even touched the hard drive, but Emily and I figured it was time to invest in a terabyte hard drive for backup since we've been talking about it for a while.

So, right now my computer is backing up before I hand it off to the people at the Genius Bar.

Not to complain, but I do feel I am cursed when it comes to computers lately and I wouldn't mind any prayers anyone would like to offer up. I know they could be used. I've wanted to tear my hair out more than once recently and have very much considered selling all my computers and living without them. Isn't that a wonderful pipe dream at this point in human history?

So, with that said, let's change the topic to something else. Emily and I just got back from an overnight retreat at Glastonbury Abbey. We enjoyed it very much although our time with the monks was all too short. But they are so very loving and welcoming. It was a pure joy to give them all hugs.

The retreat was organized by Fr Ron Perry, SJ from BC High and was for faculty of the school and spouses. Besides Emily and I, the Skippers were there and one other faculty member. It was great to make quiet reflective time with Scripture and conversation. It was also great to get to know the Skippers more as we'll be renting from them next year.

Yup, that's right. We've got plans for a place that we can move into at the end of this academic year. It's really nice. It's on the third floor of a really neat house in Dorchester. It's right behind Blessed Mother Teresa Catholic Church which will be our parish next year. It's also about a fifteen minute walk to work for me. I'm excited about that since getting to sleep an extra hour in the mornings will be a blessing although I don't mind the current T commute since it gives me great quality time to read, pray or play video games.

Well, I'm going to go grab something to eat and buy some strings at Daddy's Junky Music (which gets a lot of negative reviews from people but which is still fun to go into because, if you can avoid the people who work there, there are some fun guitars to play).

Much peace,

Brian

Hey there,

New fun at this journaler's parents' house. I new addition to the family. A small Yorkie named Maizy. Gotten from the Rogue Valley Humane Society, Maizy is a nine pound, six-month old puppy that was part of a litter with a sister who's a rat terrier (different father). Originally named Licorice (with her sister named Gumdrop), Maizy caught my mom's attention and didn't let go.

She's really calm and doesn't yap or anything. She does like to be loved and enjoys being on your lap. She's a really precious little dog. I call her my little fox because her ears look like those of a fox's--especially when they go back. In the light, her hair has a little red-brown to it.

Oh, and happy new year,

Brian

I've been producing a slew of these quick little updates lately so bear with me for one more. I just have to say how happy I am to be home and to be enjoying the company of friends, family and loved ones. Wherever you are, thank you all for your part in my life. I am truly blessed. Praise be to God.

How exciting! Tomorrow Em and I make our journey to the other side of the country. In any event, it's pretty cold on this end. I'm told it has been snowing quite a lot on the other (how odd that it just started here). I guess this isn't so much of a post as a statement of my excitement and a little prayer that everyone who comes across this has a blessed Christmas. Draw near to your friends and loved ones. Oz, here we come!

It's really been coming down today. Em and I were able to hang out with our dear friend Brian. Great Vietnamese food for lunch and warm tea back in our apartment made for a splendid afternoon.

Hello,

Typically I have not reviewed movies in my journal. That is if memory serves me right. I suppose I have made mention of movies fairly often--I would hope especially such movies as The Legend of Bagger Vance or Big Fish which, it should come as no surprise, are among my top favorite movies of all time. Since that's out there, I have probably colored your opinion of my following thoughts by saying that. Oh, well.

So, tonight Emily and I rented two movies as it was a two-for-one day at our local little store. The movies: Dan in Real Life and August Rush. The former is a movie that I had no desire to watch in the first place (although mostly because I had it confused with The 40-Year-Old Virgin) and the latter is a movie I have wanted to see for a very long time.

August Rush was not what I expected. Emily and I both agreed that it left us feeling that it was striking a very awkward balance between real and surreal. Actually, it was too real to be like The Legend of Bagger Vance and it was too surreal to be . . . well, in this case, believable. Unfortunately, it never really told you whether or not it was trying to tell you something deep and it never really was able to say anything deep other than in a few scenes where Robin Williams speaks vaguely about "music"--and who wants to trust a creepy Fagin from Saffron Hill?

As for the series of events, they plodded through in a fairy-tale like way where a boy who can't even whistle a few weeks previously can suddenly figure out how to hook a delay peddle to a stolen Gibson J-200, set the guitar to an alternate tuning and play finger-tap style like some kind of Erik Mongrain (check out "Air Tap"). Unfortunately, as I said--it wasn't a fairy-tale. It ended up being a movie more about the showcased music--which was good music for the most part and this showcase would be okay, were it not for the fact that every "musician" in the movie was so obviously not actually playing which dropped the viewer into reality quicker than a broken cable in an elevator.

I guess I'm being harsh, but it's just that Emily and I expected so much more. Maybe part of the reason that I haven't critiqued movies before is because it's not like I've made one or anything. Yet, in all of this, I can't help but take that the wasted potential in August Rush personally and maybe I'm venting as such.

Dan in Real Life, however, was terrific. Maybe it's because Emily and I are coming down off of a The Office marathon kick, but Steve Carell was excellent. The story was well conceived and it was nice to see a movie where there were no loose threads and there was no esoteric plot devices meant simply to surprise the viewer for the sake of surprise and then be covered up with an explanation that makes all the artsy, post-modern types accept the movie as if it was intended for their little club. No, here was a story that was straight and simple and where every part of the screenplay had a point. Imagine that! Recently, I think this has become a rarity. Oh, and did I mention there was no sex or bathroom humor? No? Well, there wasn't!

So, if you're looking for a movie tonight, check out Dan in Real Life. I don't think you'll regret it.

God bless,

Brian

Wow,

What an afternoon! I'll cut to the chase. Emily now has a new MacBook Pro.

The atmosphere here in Brighton has been one of confidence and giddiness. Currently the machine is charging. More stories to follow. This has been one of the easiest purchases we've made in terms of certainty. The Mac Store on Boyleston Street is a very nice three story tower of glass filled with very helpful staff.

The demo computers indicate our purchase will be elegant on the inside. Our own exploration proves that the MacBook Pro is elegant on the outside. Not only that--the packaging is minimal and smart. I never thought I'd say that before. In fact, even the simple, white-apple-marked bags we were given to haul our purchase away in was designed appealingly.

I am looking forward to getting a MacBook Pro myself. And then I won't have to use a computer that is running through a television monitor. More on that once I find my journaling voice again.

God bless,

Brian

Hello,

Wow. What a thoroughly tiring day. I had a couple papers to turn in and a meeting with a professor in the afternoon. Neither Emily or I got much sleep last night so we’re pretty tired right now. Still, we’re doing pretty well. It’s a strange grey day but I wouldn’t know that if it weren’t for Jack Johnson encouraging me to open up the window and actually look outside while I’m at my computer. Despite appearances, I spend far too much time on this here box without any view of the outside world. Well, I decided to get some music today because I haven’t got a new album in a really long time and have gotten out of the habit of listening when that’s like reading to writing—a key factor in development as an artist.

I went by Newbury Comics which is a really hot spot that I check out pretty often here. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, it’s in the large mall-like complex in Harvard Square called “The Garage.” They have comics, video games, music, movies, guitar strings, knick-knacks and all sorts of other things. So, today I went in and bought Jack Johnson’s newest album. It was really inexpensive—Newbury actually has pretty good prices—and so I also picked up a funny little Wiimote-shaped tin full of mint gum. But that wasn’t all I’d get at the counter! The clerk saw the album and said:

“You know, a free seven inch comes with this—would you like it?”

“Uh . . . sure?”

And with that, I was happily holding a red and white bag with an iconic, toothy, smiling face that looks like a five-year-old drew it filled with a Wiimote-tin, “Sleep Through the Static” and a 45 (I guess called a 7 inch these days . . . these youngin’s. . . .) with “If I Had Eyes” on side A and “Let It Be Sung” on side B. It’s über cool.

So, with that I walked through the grey sky, snow fields of Cambridge and back to Emily.

God bless,

Brian

Hello,

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything and I can truthfully cite a major reason for that as lack of confidence in myself, in who I am and in my relation with the Father. For anyone thinking of studying theology, let me warn you the same way everyone warns every person beginning the endeavor—and, truth be told, the same way that I was warned—by saying it will challenge your faith. But I will not go so far as some who told me it will strip you of your faith. No, today I am quite certain that no one can “lose” their faith and I have the assurance of one Stanley Marrow to bolster that opinion.

Quite simply, Stanley believes that if one “loses” one’s faith, then it never really was there to begin with. You simply awaken to the reality that you never possessed the faith to begin with. I suppose faith may seemingly lie dormant for a length of time in some cases, but if you genuinely abandon it all together, you genuinely never had it.

So, what if your faith is challenged and/or lies dormant? What does that mean? Well, as I currently understand it, it can be challenged in two distinct ways: 1) your knowledge and understanding of your faith can be shifted resulting positively in the need think critically about your faith and 2) your love of the world overpowers your love of the Father. The former case I believe to explain itself pretty well. The latter, however, is the topic I chose for a short exegesis which I will be turning into Stanley on Wednesday so I’m going to practice here in this little journal entry by collecting some thoughts.

First it is necessary to define what is meant by “loving the world.” John states, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If any one loves the world, love for the Father is not in him” (RSV, 1 John 2:15). Why does loving the world necessitate the absence of love for the Father? This verse trips me up each time I see it. I have always found beauty and joy in much of the world around me. Authors and artists have created works that evoke similar responses as one would call religious or spiritual. Similarly, after just having watched the excellent documentary, The Journey of Man: A Genetic Odyssey, I can’t help but reflect more deeply on our common origins and with even more certainty maintain that Jesus Christ taught charity for all. So, with this understanding of the world, how can one hope to understand 1 John 2:15?

The answer is, one can’t. This view of the world is not the same that John is using in this context. That’s not to deny the existence of this view—simply to say it’s not helpful in this context. In this context, a different view of the cosmos is presented. Similar to the previous view, in this one, Christ came to save the world—not to judge it. The salvation offered all creation by the Cross of Jesus Christ is salvific to all that accepts. However, that which rejects what is held to be true—that Jesus Christ did die for our sins and for the sin of the world—is what John is calling “the world.” It is that which is tainted by impurity and becomes as it would be if there was no salvation: mutable and temporary. However, the effect of that world is what can be disastrous to the life of the Christian. For some mystery, we are all swayed by the world of this sense and prone to enslavement by it. Addiction strips us from right relationship with God and with the opportunity to reflect upon our actions so that we may try to the best of our ability to remain pure and blameless in the eyes of the Father and good stewards during the realized vision of God. We forget that Jesus has overcome the world and we must too.

Throughout all of this, faith has marked us with a mark that cannot be taken away—remember those indelible marks of the soul that the Catholic Church talks about? Perhaps your remember your Confirmation. Your faith is marked. So, though you might have been overcome by the world, it is not the final world. Your faith is with you and the salvation of Jesus Christ is freely offered to you and all that is required is a simple apology and thanksgiving for the grace of God.

And that’s about all I can muster for right now,

Brian

It is not easy for me to be a Christian, to believe twenty-four hours a day all that I want to believe. I stray, and then my stories pull me back if I listen to them carefully. I have often been asked if my Christianity affects my stories, and surely it is the other way around; my stories affect my Christianity, restore me, shake me by the scruff of the neck, and pull this straying sinner into an awed faith.

--Madeleine L'Engle from Walking on Water, chapter Keeping the Clock Wound

It seems to me that there is far too much waste around me. I was trying to clean up some things and found that I had old packaging I wanted to do away with and then I saw the excess. It was probably most apparent because of how little is actually in this rather large apartment that Emily and I call home this year.

Anyway, my New Year's resolution is to learn how to reduce, reuse and recycle to the very best of my ability. Every little bit matters. I actually came to this resolution when I had a paper package that once had . . . heh, paper (you know, for the printer) and I thought, "This could be recycled. . . . But, that would mean I would have to get out of my chair and walk to the kitchen when there is a perfectly good bin right here for Kleenex and the like."

Well, that's that. I'm going to try. We can all do it. With our own hands. It's easy. Well, hard, you know--but it's easy.

So, Emily and I fly out tomorrow. That being said, I've got to get going. God bless,

Brian

Well folks,

Last night's jam was terrific! So great! We did in total about 13 or more songs. All of them quite long. If we were trying to record an off-the-cuff CD, we would have succeeded. In any event, it seems there are quite a few talented musicians here at WJST this year and many are just now showing up. I'm glad Emily sent out an e-mail to everyone.

In other news, it's the long weekend--praise God! It's going to be quite a nice chance to recover a bit. So many papers in the last couple of weeks. I've got a little one-pager that I'm going to try to write today, but other than that, this weekend should be a blessed chance to catch up on sleep, good eating habits and a bit of housekeeping.

This month Emily's grandparents are visiting us, and that's exciting. I can't wait to show some family around the apartment. We're really making it nice, I think. And in addition, it's becoming a good place for social gatherings. I just hope that we get some pictures on the wall soon. Maybe that can be a "this weekend" type project.

So, a shout out to all and a thanks to Hebe and Shannon. ;)

Peace in God,

Brian

Dear friends,

A random thought to start us off, taken from a response to Shannon's last post:

Not to go off in a totally different direction--though that is precisely what I'm about to do--but, doesn't it seem like ages since we were in Ireland? The other day I was confronted by someone who spoke fluent Irish. They saw my shirt (the red one with the star and "People's Republic of Cork" written in Irish) and asked me if I was part of the communist movement in Southern Ireland (joking, of course).

Anyway, my Irish was rusty--near non-existent. It seems like that was a lifetime ago. Looking back at my school files, my second semester Junior year is empty. Not much writing at UCC. Perhaps a blessing I wish would reoccur this semester. But, such is life.

Emily and I are now, after a wonderful wedding, now married and living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. A perfect wedding followed by a perfect honeymoon followed by a whirlwind packing frenzy followed by a flight which was downsized and resulted in our taking a later flight in followed by much unpacking and lack of personal belongings culminating in an all-too-quick beginning of another school year.

Not that I'm complaining. Married life is amazing and I think just what I imagined. Dishes are, in fact, an inevitable aspect of life and brings some constancy that, in a strange way, gives order that helps one stay sane.

There's so much to say! Spiritually, Emily and I have been roaming around the "Catholic circuit" here in Boston. We've decided on attending Boston University's "Salt & Light" which is a grad-student and young professional group. Quite good and directly following a weekly spaghetti dinner. Yum! Sister Olga reminds me a lot of Sister Bride minus the accent (substituted by another one) down to the point I believe I accidently called her Bride when mentioning her to someone today.

Emily and I have a carrel in the EDS/WJST library and our apartment is slowly but surely manifesting itself into a workable sacred and hectic working space. Somehow, I think we're finding the balance.

In a blessed turn of events, praise God, a Thursday night music fest tradition has begun that has thus far occurred four? times in our apartment. It will branch out as well, but Emily and I both look forward to playing with all the talented musicians. We have some guitarists, a bassist, a clarinet player and one of the guitarists really considers himself a drummer and is a durn fine one at that! He has a djembe and other various percussion instruments such that the night is grounded and last Thursday, a klezmer tune became one of our biggest and best jams. Quite fun--really!

Emily is learning the "T" and I'm getting ever better at it--even finding ways to put videos on my phone. I've watched some little shorts called "Fuggy, Fuggy" that I would recommend to anyone. Just Google it. Really--it's worth it. I've also been helping put in tip-top shape the "Weston guitar." That project just finished itself, I believe. I might do another small tweak to the truss rod, but all in all the action is much better, the neck is much straighter and the strings . . . aren't . . . 21! . . . years old anymore!

Things have been hot here in Cambridge but are finally starting to cool down. It's a blessing and a welcome change. Unfortunately, however, it seems Emily may be getting sick. I am feeling a little . . . meh myself and partly because of that and partly because after already turning in one paper, Emily and I are both writing our seconds tomorrow and I have another one due next week. Still, there's more to do in the apartment and it would be nice to do that soon. We still have pictures to put up. Thankfully, we do have two new twin beds put together for a king with a memory foam pad that makes it just so comfortable--and much better than what we had to deal with when we first got here.

So, really, that's the update for right now. Please, check out Ingrid Michaelson's song "The Way I Am" as it's on her MySpace--just Google it! It's charming.

As for me, I'm off to bed to dream of *cough* Nintendo DS's.

Love and blessings,

Brian

Hullo,

As it were, I made $17 today by playing about an hour at First Friday Art Night here in Grants Pass. Not too shabby, I'd say.

Emily is in Europe. She's been able to e-mail me fairly often, but I miss her. Funny how it feels to be home while she's elsewhere.

I'm selling my truck. I'm detailing it tomorrow and removing all the stuff that won't be sold that I've put in its special place. I guess it finally hit me today how I will miss her. She has been a good truck and she houses all of my tools and a bed and . . . I guess I am somewhat of a truck person.

But, I've also inherited Uncle Ken's Ford Maverick. That makes selling the truck easier. It really occurred to me two days ago what a sweet looking vehicle she is. And she's unique. Something I don't necessarily strive for, but I do embrace. I like the bright orange and the white racing stripes. I can see me packing my instruments and my artwork in her to take down to the next First Friday where I will actually have a table where I will try to sell my wares.

When I took Emily up to Seatac, we stayed in the Abbey Guest House. When we first arrived, Nick met us up at the Abbey Church. As soon as I walked in, I remembered what it's like to be home and home in God. I saw the place in the Rose Garden where I prayed my first Rosary. I saw the place I lay and cried myself in the comfort of His arms. I remembered the mercy. I remembered the grace. I remembered the dream.

I could live content in a little trailer. I could live content. I need to simplify. I want to. Too many distractions. I suppose people who tell you to work the system don't understand the graces that they have as well. Life, then again, might just be one of those things that's difficult for all of us no matter our walk of life.

There's a new fountain in the Abbey Church courtyard. There's hope for the future. I'm so happy for my best friend, Nick. He seems to have lot going for him. I'm so very happy for him.

Ever wonder what it's like to lay in the middle of nowhere and scream out to stars in an eternal and endless ink? Perhaps you should experience that if you've never thought of it.

"I've just seen a face I can't forget . . . as it is, I'll dream of her tonight." Emily. . . .

Brian

PS: Oh, I shaved my facial hair off. Smooth as can be. Now for that hair-cut.

Listen.

This is the first word in the Rule of St. Benedict. This is the one word that I can’t extract from the forefront of my mind right now. It appears to be grabbing me and flaunting itself in front of my eyes. It is calling. It is commanding. It is suggesting. “Listen,” the angelic voice decrees. “Listen and hear all.”

If there is one word that epitomizes home, it is “listen.” For all that I am, all that You are, all that we are, “listen” is means that we are connected. To listen is more intimate and passionate than a kiss. It is more healing than the best medicines. To do this simple act touches a soul.

I have had the privilege of being invited to listen the last few days. I’ve lost the art. To listen is one art that is not practiced or understood where I am. Yes, there are a few who are masters at the craft. Steven Crimaldi, for example. The reason I say this of Steven is not so much the way his body language proves that he is listening, but the simple fact that he can recall details I’ve forgotten I’ve told him and he’ll retain that memory for many months. Listening is not simply sitting leaning towards the person who is talking and nodding your head (my own failure), but rather it is hearing, caring and comprehending. Listening is such a powerful act that it has the power to create and the power to destroy.

In the darkening night when the cool breeze hovers around the small band gathered on the front steps, all are talking . . . God listens. God hears, understands. We may not even care enough to listen ourselves, but there is one who always does. In the gossamer twilight, three branches break under the blooming hydrangea. A squirrel looks up and smiles. Somewhere a star twinkles and a spritely creature comes from out of the shadows and dances in the dewed grass that no one yet has discovered. A little laughter happens and an ear perks.

To this do we owe our lives. To this do we dedicate our souls. We are not worshippers of noise. We are warriors for peace and screamers for silence. Still, that small sprite dances twice and whistles. Two tunes are emitted and then the sprite sits down, reclined in the thatch. An end. A cricket. Silence.

God.

There is a tree that fits perfectly between the matte of concrete and steel containing glass that is filmed with the residue of New England winters. The tree grows out of the brick sidewalk and twists and meanders as it grows to heights that enable it to see what’s on top of the chimney nearby. Tom would be able to tell me what the tree is called. He was a landscaper before he joined the Franciscan fraternity. Capuchins. O.M.Cap. The clouds are taking on a distinctly warm yellow hue above the bluish violet that the sky has turned. The bark appears an old gray. The yellow green of the beginnings of leaves makes the tree seem mossy and wise. I want to walk up and touch her. She is a gnarled old thing.

The smooth white bark of the trees further down the street feel smooth. I don’t think her bark would feel so smooth.

The sun is fading. The neon lights of my small cell are starting to become more apparent and take over the ambient light the room once had. Now it begins to seem harsh. The texture on the walls: brushed and spiked like the walls from home. Only the walls at home are a soft plaster. This is a hard, unforgiving sort of concrete. The spikes of home break off. These spikes do not.

She is looking at me now from in front of the chimney that grows a rich ruddy red. She waves a little. Her branches sway. She sometimes feels as an only friend from within this cell.

The violet, turns to red, turns to gold, turns to dark. The witching hour. Soon.

Hello,

I backdated this new entry because I wrote it on the eighteenth, but it does not show up on your Friends Page and it is not the most recent post (that makes sense) on my main page.

Ergo, here go,

Brian

I’m ashamed.

I keep looking at the topmost entry on my LiveJournal and seeing OMFG. It’s a horrible little acronym I picked up in cyberspace. I said, when I wrote it, that I didn’t care. I said it really meant, “Oh my freaking God,” but that is no better. I guess I was looking for an excuse to let loose all inhibitions and shout out something like that. Now that I look at it, I realize it’s not me. And I don’t want to use that term again. I’m embarrassed. I thought about editing the post, but I don’t think I can. The post is what it is. I can’t always go and revise my past. I have to live in the present and for the future. Isn’t that how it goes?

But in other news, today there was an electrical fire in the Park Street T-station. It was right over the meridian between the inbound and outbound “busses” (trains). There was a whole fire-crew and everything. I was worried I wasn’t going to get to my class at BU on time. Thankfully, I managed to, but not before walking around on the blanket of ice that is currently Boston Common. I waited for the shuttle bus that was announced to be there over the loud-speaker, but it wasn’t for a good half hour or more that it came. But, I got to figure out where the Boston Public Library is as a result. I’m going to try to go there again.

You know, I consider myself to be more of the adventuresome type. I love to explore. But I don’t explore here at all! I have to figure out things by chance. Then I might remember how to backtrack. I might have put m finger on the reason: I will explore in nature. I will get lost in the woods. I will not do the same in a city. Maybe it’s too foreign to me. And what a shame it is that there are people who are the opposite of me in this regard.

Cessation of thought,

Brian

I'm so happy right now because . . .

FECKING MARY-DRESSED-IN-BLACK IS VISITING ME ON FRIDAY!

We're going to keep ourselves blissfully entertained while trying to reconcile our location and company. We're already on the lookout that there is a Thirsty Scholar in Boston! What?! How did I not know?! Mary found it. She's wondering if there's any relation to the one in Cork. ME TOO!

And she's stoked about Grendel's Den! Pub crawl! (Mary laughed at me because I'm 23 and don't drink; it was a good laugh.)

Whoot,

Brian