Day 219

the town of fernie is divided by a highway that, in itself, connects two parallel highways. this perpendicular cut, made possible by the elk river valley, also serves as the passageway for dozens of coal trains.

on any given night, especially crisp, sub-zero ones like today, a faint echoing train whistle can be heard on either of the far sides of the valley. never both at once however. that result would be far too exciting for everyone.

our house, next to this highway and in the very middle of the town, is a straight shot of five or six blocks from the tracks. i particularly hear the train coming around the bend after early nightfalls of occasional restlessness. once the initial warning blast is sent, i know that i have just enough time, if i so desire, to make a brisk walk towards the tracks in order to approach the final block by the time the first dark and raging car comes storming between the two, last brick buildings.

the beast moves swiftly and yet glides surprisingly quietly across the narrow path on the snow. however, the weight and heavy momentum does not go unnoticed- especially if i can make it to the last building. sometimes i lean against the streetlight pole or put my back against the brick. the ground trembles and i imagine a derailing and subsequent swinging and smashing of steel and wheels and then the destiny of any unfortunate thing that might have been sleeping near or, better yet, previously admiring the raw energy that had now spread as strong as a hurricane.

one. two.. three... four.... the longest i've counted was one hundred and forty total pieces. through the valley, across shadows, and past houses, this linked army marches without any recognition to any shivering observer. grey and neutral. mighty and serious. another night, another town.

Day 218

i assembled a four man team for last night's 'name that tune' weekly competition. there were about six other teams and, after a good time by all, our team ended up winning it all.

camp seems like ages ago. it sometimes comes up in conversations around the house- why wouldn't it, we met each other there- but there's also a strong understanding that this is a totally different life. sure, our relationships started during the close work at camp, but life is different and is supposed to be back to normal now and we don't reminisce too much. i like this new normal.

i've spent this sub-zero evening looking at some more old emails and saved text files. there were letters trying to explain all this that i didn't quite understand to my parents. there were messages from friends.

there was that 'i would' list from almost a year ago now. i haven't opened it since day 121, but i have again tonight. unbelievably, almost, more of these long standing bullets have since been realized. i'm kind of typing as i go and switching over to compare the list and then switch back to type here.




i would play more music
write more songs
ride a bike
walk places
watch the sunset from my front porch
go to coffee shops
read
revive

i would ask people what they want most in life
i would ask their stories
help people who need help

i would redefine spirituality and the way it had so often manipulated the perspective of my appearances to people rather than the influence it had on life itself

i would stop pretending i was happy and okay with situations that tore me apart
i would lower my expectations for the typical life of searching for ultimate stability, comfort, and self-anhilation

i would have fun
set standards
achieve goals
have adventure
chill
redefine life
have peace
have balance

i would feel free. completely fresh and free.
i would know i was free.
i would be free.


i would has become i am

Day 217

i acquired a bunch of my old files recently. i found a short story in them from a while back that reminded me of how much i miss sweet tea here. i'm posting that up for your entertainment and critique while i take a rest to do some reading. i'm finding this book to be really insightful, but i want what i'm absorbing to find its flow.

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the porch screen door opened silently. chester shuffled through its white, flaking frame and lowered his shaky body onto the porch swing. heavy, sparse breaths were the only sound of the late summer afternoon; not even a trace of a breeze was left in the air. impulse, or maybe habit, would have called for some toast and sweet tea, but any such thoughts today fell silently into an eternal shell of quiet consternation. there was no desire to say or think anything in particular, yet never had he so strongly felt as if there was something that needed to be done.

not even the swing's unusual resistence could forge the dense, motionless air. it swung in eerie silence. his stiff neck turned to the metal joints and squinting eyes begged for a sqeak or rattle or any noise at all from the suspending chains. even the june bugs and grasshoppers had deserted the crisp, yellow lawn. the tall oak tree was all that was all that remained in the middle of the yard. never before had such a strong contrast existed between its dark frame and the old hay field he knew so well.

countless times had chester watched the sun fall behind this tree and the extending country hills. in fact, he quietly anticipated that time of the day when the sun would take center stage and would perform its glorious solo. the ultimate closing act always followed- a graceful and much appreciated fading bow to a humbled audience.

today the sun cast long shadows from the tree's bare, outstretched fingers and lifted them gently over the old eyes of its solitary audience. it was if the sun knew that it, in all his power and glory, could not muster a single wiff of air nor could it reach the old man's ear with any resilience of a burning crackle.

it was an ironic duo the two made. both, eternally destined it seemed, had their way of life and both silently met to end each day together. no sound, no words, nothing could better communicate the similiarity that burned within each of them. nothing could explain it and, now, nothing could replace it.

suddenly chester sighed, half wondering if it was only to break the stifiling silence in honor and remembrance of a time when he needed not call the air alive. oh the time when crickets sang lullabies from the sweet, dewy grass to the small children asleep upstairs. that time when his dashing wife would bring out two glasses of tea and would silently rest her head on his shoulder as a rythmic squeak accompanied the paling orange decent.

the sigh ended and the sun dipped, lower and lower and lower, behind the familar bumps on the horizon. finally, the tree was outlined by a fading pink brushstroke. flashing lights sprinkled the stillness- stars took their place along the branches of darkness. the swing rocked and rocked and suddenly, strangely, screeched a single, long whine.

somewhere, far beyond the wood rail fence, an inspired, solitary cricket gave an awkward, return outburst of jubilee. the single chirp resounded like the drip on a still pool of water. the wrinkled face pinched into a tiny smile.

"go get 'em little guy, go get 'em."

Day 216

two big highlights today.

i don't know how what words to describe the sweet experience it was to play a real show tonight. there's four of us. australian drummer, kiwi electric guitar, aussie bass, and me on keyboard and sometimes accordion. ski bums and friends packed the 'bar named sue.' what a good thing.

this afternoon, i finally got up to the resort to meet up with the restaurant manager. perfect timing. after scoring the job playing piano in that big windowed room on the mountain, i had lunch there with the montana girls, tim, and scott the hotel manager who were chilling in a free room. the piano gig will also supply me with free meals on the nights that i play. right now, that has potential to develop into free steak dinners on at least five nights a week. this also comes at a great time cause my food drawer is starting to hallow a bit as i'm still a janitor in the real world.

i ordered a buffalo burger at the resort and it reminded me of a family vacation in south dakota. dust and seven up.

once, well over a year ago by now, i had an acute mental picture of an ultimate scene. dream. the elements were simple but by no means ordinary. in my imagination there was a grand piano, big windows, a fireplace, and massive mountains launching peaks outside.

i'm very blessed and thankful for all this.

Day 215

it's been good to talk with a visiting friend from the summer at camp and to reflect.

i got a message today in a belated birthday card that quoted a proverbs verse. ''trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledging him and he will make your paths straight.''

it seems that i'd always gleaned the first part about how i couldn't handle all these human decisions and that God was trustworthy enough to make me aware enough to want to repeat sincere prayers for direction and peace and purpose in the current state of life. still i'd feel that i'd be left hoping that one undetermined day, tomorrow would be vaulted ahead in a dozen, quick rotations and a sticky today would finally be put deep in the fading stack of yesterdays. like rolling to land on a shoot. a ladder. a lotto ticket. a brand new relationship.

then i wonder about, in this petition and waiting, how the question of 'bad things happening to good people' is the first, fiery front for people who feel short-changed or betrayed in tragedy or turbulence. maybe karma is the catcall of a false start- almost like people started to try to make decisions for themselves on how they were meant to be treated. God even says that he doesn't take pleasure in the death of the wicked. then ezekiel 18:25 "yet you say, 'the way of the Lord is not right.' hear now, o house of israel! is my way not right? is it not your ways that are not right?"

ways.

its in the second part of the proverbs verse too.

ways.

i'm persuaded by the instructions of trust and faith and acknowledgment. i'm here today because of God's provisions and preparations. not plans. and it has been very good.

and i'm convinced and inspired that maybe life isn't supposed to be all planned out. how can so many accept and expect the same blueprint.

i don't think i've ever been as ready and willing to let these paths continue to be straightened. i don't feel like i'm holding a magnifying glass to my feet anymore.

tim and i were talking about the pressures of relationships last week and i remember wondering if its just not easier to stop looking for the final, conclusive piece of the puzzle as if it was going to be revealed as one big answer for the previous million little building blocks that were natural and part of the journey. no decision or change is really made in one piece.

all these little ways. acknowledging. straightened paths. i hope i'm thinking clearly because i was looking and thinking for something more than just noting some of the day's happenings.

they were good too, however. today had the biggest snowfall yet. i think it's even safe to call it the first permanent snow because the main streets are still covered in white and the streetlights outside the big kitchen window have been hanging their head over a constant flow beneath their auras for many hours.

church did an outdoor, christmas music concert in the streets downtown tonight and i was asked to do video. i put a rain shield on the camera. wanderers stopped and huddled next to the tea house to hear the live music and snow and wind and music filled the streets. the soft, reflecting light was good and i'm looking forward to editing the footage.

tomorrow is a big day. the hill officially- and finally- opens. multiple groups of out-of-town friends are here for the weekend. our band's first, big show is at night. here we go.

Day 214

hey. i gotta run. busyness has pounced and i'm running to do a gig at tea house, then have band practice, and then work hooked employees up with a free night in the resort on the hill. we've got training there early in the morning. this is day 214. details later.

post edit:

ray lamontagne is echoing in green peaked ceilings of a two bedroom suit. a snow machine is purring right outside. the thermostat produces a few quick ticks and then three flames appear around a fake stack of wood in the fireplace. i'm here, sipping complementary coffee in this resort room on the ski hill. all for free. here's what happened after i cut it short earlier.

i walked to the tea house to play for thursday night. the icy draft pushed colder and faster down the mountains and over the highway and between buildings and against my bearded chin. the full moon illuminated white peaks in all directions. i feet like the last piece of cereal in a bowl.

the tea house, and all of downtown for that matter, was dead and quiet. even by six this weeknight, the early dark and intense freeze has put people away in their apartments converted from former, main street hotel rooms or into their shared houses or has called them to the smog of loud laugher and classic rock in one of the pubs. it didn't look like anyone would come in tonight so instead of pulling out the keyboard, the owners offered me some coffee. i accepted. both the bob dylan and writing book were in my backpack.

i sat in my usual seat- the furthest, tall table that faces the door- but lowered the book and broke the collective silence, happening to create a conversation with the owners leaving me wishing i had a tiny tape recorder. or a notepad. i framed an imaginary viewfinder to balance her excited face with the coffee and tea in the background as if the conversation was being recorded.

three years ago, after leaving a successful career in book binding and forsaking the idea of opening a bed and breakfast, randy and his wife moved to fernie and opened the tea house as a specific specialty shop. struggles to find a building downtown and contractors for a complete interior renovation were overcome with sincere faith. her excitement could have convinced me that they'd just opened last week.

she asked my story as well. the summary of opportunities, faith, and obstacles excited both of us. i still remember that quick and sudden process of committing to work at camp in late april and telling my family as i left in mid may that i had a feeling that might not be back right away. i still remember that feeling. i still have it. randy's wife said i should write a book. i told her i really want to someday.

we talked about the sketchy theory of global warming and how a recent news headline told how obama was suddenly turning the market around. the tv is flickering across this resort room at the moment and i happened to just notice a cheesy commercial for some newly issued abraham lincoln/obama dollar coin. he isn't even sworn in yet. i wonder how many other presidents have been turned coin before chief. i wonder what it all means.

i was still genuinely interested in their story and asked about book binding. their machine would produce ten thousand books in one hour.

a van pulled in front of the window and headlights flashed. our band had one last practice before our first show this saturday night. we're feeling good about it. friends from montana are coming up for the weekend and we still have two visiting camp friends here too. i walked out the door with intentions to return tomorrow to hear the rest about binding books and running a coffee shop.

now tonight, the crew of newly hired resort housekeepers were given free rooms at the various resorts after our first day of training. we start again at eight thirty to learn how to clean these rooms.

this is a strange and random combination. poor. foreign. rock star. janitor. resort.

i took a walk around the place as is now tradition for larger-than-life mountain resorts. the chair lift is right outside. there's a dark and empty restaurant and coffee house and gear rental place on the main level. spas are next to the elevator on each floor. the parking garage is warm, clean, and empty. all this is within the incredible amount of stacked logs of this giant cabin. i got up here after ten so i don't know if there are many other employees in surrounding rooms but the season still hasn't started so i know that the whole property is almost entirely vacant.

Day 213

the mountains glow at night.

we trekked up the mountain today with our boards to find some snow. the hill isn't officially open for business so its free to hike and ride. after sitting down to strap in and ride down, i found that part of the binding had loosened and fallen off. i had no idea where it had disappeared. frustrated, i walked down the mountain, chucked the snowboard in the car, and hitchhiked back to town while the rest stayed up to learn to ride.

tonight was randi's birthday party, so we went over and our house sang her a song in front of everyone by flight of the conchords. good times.

Day 212

i was cleaning at church today when the pastor and i started talking about design and upcoming events. i was really encouraged when he said he was amazed that i've achieved 'an integral role in the community in only two months'. really encouraged. this is the right place for me right now.

take a look at a video if you're interested. it's the rough draft from the sfc retreat in banff a few weeks ago.

i spent the rest of the afternoon at mug shots reading. i only have a couple free days left before another job starts. my friend jerri who works there would come around to chat in her heavy english accent and to kindly refill coffee.

also, two friends from camp came today to visit for a week. they're staying in the spare room we have that will soon be rented to a swedish friend, jon, at the end of the month. right now everyone's over watching batman and life is good.

thanks again for the letters, books, and birthday cards. they continue to filter through the mail and arrive in timely fashion. very much appreciated.