It's Been A Year

It's Christmastime once again and the New Year will soon be upon us as an arbitrary marker of the passage of time, commemorating the beginning of another calendar year. This is the time of year when photo collages of the past year begin showing up in social media, lists are made, and new resolutions for self-improvement are dreamed up, all within the context of reflecting on the past, ushering the "new" and doing away with the "old."

The latest Facebook gimmick is the "It's Been a Great Year!" photo collage where the social media giant selectively pulls photos from a person's timeline and weaves together a story of said person's year. This is not a bad thing and it is, in fact, fun to go back and reminisce over everything that has happened in the past calendar year. However, I find it to be a bit overly-simplistic, and unrepresentative of the complexity of life. In fact, I even get uncomfortable with the title, "It's Been a Great Year!" because it implies that my year was, "of an extent, amount, or intensity considerably above the normal or average," according to the dictionary definition of the word, "great."

For those of us not celebrating amazing milestones, or who perhaps had difficulties in the past twelve months, perhaps this use of hyperbole is uncomfortable and even inappropriate. Maybe it's enough to say, "hey, that happened!" or "it's been another year!" and maybe that's okay. I feel like we are so often concerned with telling everyone how "great" or "fantastic" our lives are, that we gloss over what makes each of us human. We all experience joy/suffering, happiness/sadness, triumph/defeat in our lives. It's not always an equal balance, and sometimes the bad outweighs the good, but it's all there in between the photos that we share with the rest of the world.

As I get older and as I try to understand my own interpersonal relationships, I am beginning to see that my constant stream of photos, tweets, and status updates dedicated to enshrining the good in my life, actually distances me from other people. I get to tell my story to a group of friends but I can omit the bad stuff and I become a one dimensional character. This is what leads to depression, anxiety, and addiction. Human beings need fellowship and community that is based on everything that comes with our humanity, both bad and good. We are attracted to one another because of the good things, but it's the difficulties that bind us together and give depth to our shared experience.

As I look back over the past twelve months, I am grateful to have lived it. I am grateful for good friends and family, for self-awareness, for everything that I have that I do not deserve, for the ability to live my life one day at a time, and for the grace of God that I get to keep on going. It's been a year.

Lessons From My Retreat

A view of the Abbey Church from the West. I spent a week praying the Divine Office and living with the monks of Gethsemani Abbey.

Somebody recently asked me, "what do you do when you go on those retreats at those monasteries?" This post is a response to that question.

What I learned
This week, like all retreat weeks, has given me a great deal about which to think. There are four important themes that seemed to resurface throughout my time at Gethsemani Abbey, and about which I have thought a great deal: Silence, Prayer, Alertness or Vigilance, and Wonder. Each of these themes represent areas of improvement needed in my own life, and I hope to carry these into my day-to-day actions.

Silence
The monks, in general, keep a silent life. There is some talking from time to time, but much of the day is spent in silence. We live in a very noisy world filled with constant distraction. All too often we become swept up in two or three tasks (or more!) at once, each pulling us in a different direction and fighting for our attention. Television, radio, cellphones, concerns about work, concerns about family, driving, etc. The list of distractions is endless. Therefore it is of the utmost importance to carve out some silent time each day, whether it is prayer, meditation, or something as simple as not listening to the radio while doing the dishes, or going for a walk without headphones. These moments of silence ground us in the here and now and allow us to just be. In a noise-filled world, silence is a precious commodity and one doesn't have to be a monk to understand its relevance and transformative power.

Constant Prayer
The monks pray formally seven times per day in church. Beyond that, by keeping silence, even in the midst of manual labor, a monk's mind and heart are open to prayer. Monastic life is really a life of constant prayer, even in the midst of daily activities. Most of us don't have that luxury, but I believe we can adapt this to our own lives outside of the monastic enclosure. Even a simple check-in a few times per day is a great help to our own sanctity. Something as simple as waking up and thanking God for another day, remember His graces over lunch, and spending a few minutes reflecting on the day (both the good and bad) and giving thanks for making it to evening before going to sleep, will go a long way toward enabling us to live lives filled with grace. Additionally, the more one prays, the more one is eager to pray. It is this desire that drives a person forward on a spiritual, contemplative life, and compels us to ache for holiness.

Alertness or Vigilance
The monks are vigilant. So much so, they have an office at 3 AM called "Vigils" where they wake up in the middle of the night to keep watch for the Lord. During my week at the monastery, many of the Gospel readings focused on the idea of alertness or watchfulness. Jesus tells his disciples, "Be vigilant at all times," (Lk 21:36) and "Be watchful! Be alert!" (Mk 14:33). We never know when the end will come - of our own lives or of the world - it's going to happen at some point. Jesus wants us to live grace filled lives that always keep one eye focused on eternity.

Now, most of us are not going to wake up at 3 AM to "keep watch," and I'm pretty sure we don't need to stock up on food, water, and guns with some kind of certainty that the end is nigh - "You do not know when the lord of the house is coming..." (Mk 14:35). I do however think our lives can be a constant vigil by doing our best to live dutifully, follow the Gospel teachings, love one another, do good, and constantly strive for self-improvement with the grace of God. I don't know about anyone else, but I've got a lot of unfinished business that I need to take care of before I can punch the clock on this life. I just hope I have enough time. Jesus warns us, "Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkeness and the anxieties of daily life..." (Lk 21:34). Ouch. That's basically my life in one sentence. St. John tells us, "if we say 'we have fellowship with him' while we continue to walk in darkness, we lie and do not act in truth" (1 Jn 1:6). Once again, busted. How can I go on living a life, doing bad things but saying that I'm sorry? My inner and outer self must change so that they are in one accord. My alertness to the Gospel and my conversion of heart must align with my whole self. This is definitely where I struggle the most.

Wonder
On Friday of the week, we were singing the office of Terce (7:30 AM) on an overcast morning, when all of the sudden the sun burst through the clouds and illuminated the church with brilliant light. At that moment I looked across the choir and one of the monks' eyes lit up and an awestruck look swept across his face. This man, in his late fifties/early sixties, has probably seen this happen before, but he was so moved by the moment! We all might lead better lives if we opened ourselves up to the realization of something greater than ourselves. "You have given me a short span of days, my life is nothing in your sight. A mere breath, the man who stood so firm, a mere shadow, the man passing by..." (Ps 38 6-7). Thomas Merton declares that we should start with "the realization of our nothingness and helplessness in the presence of God." Faced with this, why should I be anxious and worry? I am not even a blip on the cosmic radar! I am nothing! However, rather than this being an invitation to stop caring, I find it freeing and life affirming. To me, this is a call to trust the Lord and to be reverent and childlike in my love and respect for His creation. What is the point of anxiety or worry when God will take care of me and show me the path if I am vigilant, silent, and in constant communication with Him?

On my last day in the monastery I was walking through the woods on a path when a thought came to mind and I realized "my life is like this path!" I could see where I was going immediately, I generally knew what direction I was headed, but I couldn't see the twists and turns beyond the trees that lie ahead. If I stopped and looked, I could see a faint glimmer of the path, but it was never fully revealed until I was there. And when I was "there" I still had more unknown ahead of me. And so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that I was on the path. All week long I struggled with myself, the meaning of my retreat, the meaning of life, tried to pray as hard as possible (that never works), and it was a simple walk in the woods that opened my eyes.

Friends, I am happy to be on this path of life and I am grateful for each day and to find joy in unexpected places. Thank you if you made it this far with me!

"You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life." - Albert Camus

Fall Road Trip

The view to the Southeast from Trail of Tears State Park.

If I had to pick a favorite season, it just might be Autumn. There is something magical about this time of year when the leaves change color. It makes me want to be out in the woods feeling the crisp afternoon air on my skin while walking through filtered sunlight. The forest, once dense and deeply shaded in summer, becomes aglow with fiery reds and oranges and golden yellow hues. It is like walking through an old photograph.

Fall has always been a particularly nostalgic time of year for me. Perhaps the light and cool afternoons, coupled with the reality of a season set on the brink of the icy stillness of Winter, remind me of the temporal nature of life. Change is inevitable, just like the trees remind us, and what was once a reality is now long past. I have so many vivid memories of Autumn afternoons and they all walk alongside me in the woods in the soft, gentle light of Fall. This weekend I decided to make a trip across the Mississippi to the see the St. Louis Symphony and continue South along the river to Cape Girardeau. I had no particular agenda. Just a scenic drive on a lazy Fall morning.

First on my itinerary was the orchestra concert and a night in town courtesy of Airbnb, the website where you can rent a room for a night in somebody's house. Prices range from $250 (or more) down to the more modest sums of $25 per night. It can be a range of options including shared rooms, private rooms, a tent in someone's living room (yes, a tent), or entire houses. Being adventurous and thrifty I chose a room for $30 per night that came with a bed, couch, drumset, and a cat to sit in my suitcase.

For a mere $30 per night "Hot Wings" the cat will sit inside of your luggage.

The next day I awoke early and hit the road after coffee and donuts, making my way along the river to Trail of Tears State Park, just north of Cape Girardeau. The park afforded breathtaking views of the river, some history about the Trail of Tears, and a nice campground which I will hopefully be able to check out at some point in the near future.

Trail of Tears State Park is a "Treasure" of the Great River Road.

The Mississippi River in the distance, through the trees.

The view to the North from the overlook at Trail of Tears State Park.

After a short hike and some scenic views, I drove the remaining 11 miles to Cape Girardeau. Once I arrived I had lunch, walked along the historic main street (which has an equal number of bars and antique stores), saw some historic buildings, and toured the first Catholic church built in town.

The catfish poboy at Broussards Cajun Cuisine.

The restored second iteration of the first Catholic church in town. The first was destroyed by fire twelve years after it was constructed.

Up the steps to the courthouse.

Marks on the levee indicating high water during floods. Note the two highest have occurred since construction of levees amid river management efforts by the Corps of Engineers. 

The view to the South and the bridge across the river to Illinois.

Fall colors, check. Time in the woods, check. Getting out of town for an evening, check. 

It was a good weekend and a nice break from routine.

What's In My Cup?

Most days it's very difficult to wake up at 6 AM but I do it anyway. Lately I've been waking up at that time to immediately retrieve the newspaper (yes I still subscribe to an actual, physical newspaper) lest it get stolen from my doorstep. (Gotta love my neighborhood!) However the main reason for my waking up that early is to make it to daily mass at 7 AM at the church across the street from my apartment. For me, it's a beautiful way to wake up each morning: sitting in the silent nave with twenty or so other early rising souls in the dawn semi-darkness. Daily mass is short and sweet - no music, no incense, no extra bells and whistles - just the bare bones of prayers, readings, and Eucharist.

I pay attention, mostly, to the readings and the homilies. Sometimes I feel connected to the other parishioners, sometimes not. Sometimes I get an idea that stays with me throughout the day, sometimes not. Lately I've found myself going more out of habit than anything else. I've been going through the motions and have not really been actively engaged. I go to church, then come home, eat breakfast, drink a cup of coffee (or three), and get on with my daily life. It's just what I do. Today was a little different, however.

In today's Gospel (Luke 11:37-41), Jesus schools a Pharisee who criticizes him for not washing according to prescribed custom prior to a meal. He says to the guy, "Oh you Pharisees! Although you cleanse the outside of the cup and the dish, inside you are filled with plunder and evil. You fools! Did not the maker of the outside also make the inside?" 

I have to admit, this kind of stung. I know exactly what this is all about because Jesus could be talking to me directly. Just like the Pharisee, I like to keep up appearances. I go to daily mass, pray daily, go to retreats at monasteries, and do a lot of spiritual reading, but I'm not actually "all in." There are so many things that I do, so many behaviors in which I engage, and so many things I think or feel on the inside that do not square with my outward appearance. I could post hundreds of photos on Facebook of my trips to Gethsemani Abbey or talk about by relationship with the Lord, but I would not dare post pictures of or write a status update on the true state of my soul.

I am human being and I (along with everyone else) have my ups and downs. At some point, however, I need to own my actions and decide if I want to continually give myself a pass or hold myself to a higher standard. This doesn't mean pretending to be perfect or judging others for their actions or behaviors (or even claiming I truly know what is right or wrong for that matter!). It simply means adopting the perspective that I am not, despite my outward appearances, as put together as I would like to imagine, and that at times, I do things I know I shouldn't do. Whether it's lying to someone, gossiping, having too much to drink, watching too much TV, or worse, there are things that I do that prevent me from being the best version of myself. The question I need to ask is, "are there things that I truly want to change about myself so I can be a better, happier person?"

I'm going to borrow from Alcoholics Anonymous for a moment. In AA, as in most twelve step programs, the first step is recognizing that "I am powerless over (insert addiction here) and that my life has become unmanageable." This can be a bitter pill to swallow and can be an overwhelming concept at first. However, once a person is able to admit this to oneself, it liberates that person by giving them powerful self-knowledge. It is only then that the process of healing and bettering oneself can begin. In the Catholic sense it is the knowledge of sin and the desire to not only confess, but to actively engage in the process of change of self that is so important. "Faith of itself, if does not have works, is dead," (James 2:17). To this end, I need to trust in God that He will make me a better person if I have the wisdom, the courage, the patience, and the love to let Him.

"God, help me to be truly human. Help me to appreciate and bring out the best in everyone around me. You have created man so that he is capable to appreciate consciously all the gifts that you have given him. Lord, help me to appreciate all that you have given to me. Help me to be truly human."

-Teenagers' Prayer, from Harare, Zimbabwe

Deserve's Got Nothin' To Do With It

I was sitting in church yesterday, listening to the Gospel from Matthew (20:1-16A), in which Jesus tells the parable of a landowner going out to find workers for his vineyard. He goes out at dawn, at nine o'clock, noon, three o'clock, and finally five o'clock. Each time he finds idle workers who agree to come to his vineyard. At the end of the day he settles with each of the laborers and ends up paying them all the same wage. The laborers who were hired earlier in the day are miffed about getting the same wage as those who were hired last. They complain that they had been out in the heat all day, toiling, and that they deserve more money for their long hours of work. To this the landowner replies:

‘My friend, I am not cheating you. 
Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? 
Take what is yours and go. 
What if I wish to give this last one the same as you? 
Or am I not free to do as I wish with my own money? 
Are you envious because I am generous?’

This whole episode reminded me of this scene from Clint Eastwood's masterful 1992 Western, Unforgiven, in which the outlaw William Munny takes revenge on small town sheriff Little Bill, played by Gene Hackman, when Bill murders Munny's longtime friend and former partner in crime played by Morgan Freeman. Just as Munny is about to pull the trigger, Little Bill exclaims, "I don't deserve this. To die like this." To which Munny replies, "deserve's got nothin' to do with it." Of course, in the movie, the audience knows that Little Bill is getting what's coming to him, but that's not how he perceives it.

At first these two seemingly disparate stories - one a parable instructing us about the generosity of the Lord, and the other a movie in which the outlaw protagonist exacts frontier judgement on a no-good sheriff for the murder of his longtime friend and partner - have little to do with one another. However, I would argue that the attitude of the workers in the parable and that of Little Bill in the movie have more in common with each other than not. Unfortunately for me, it is an attitude that I far too frequently adopt in my own life: "I don't deserve this. I deserve better. I deserve more."

We all work hard in our own ways to live the life that we think we want. For instance, some of us focus on careers or family or some combination of both. In each way we set about to make something of ourselves and to have an impact on the communities in which we live and work. We desire meaningful work, connections with other people, and time indulge in hobbies, travel, or leisure activities that are fun and fulfilling. Along the way we hold on to things, people, and places that ground us and give us a sense of identity and belonging. We work hard and we deserve the fruits of our efforts.

Earlier this year I read a little book called, Where the Hell is God?, in which the author, Fr. Richard Leonard deals with this exact issue when his sister gets into a horrible car accident and is instantly paralyzed from the neck down. Up to the time of the accident his sister had been a model Christian, living a virtuous life, volunteering, and doing charitable works. Fr. Leonard asks difficult questions in this book including the very topic of "deserving" and the generosity of the Lord. If God is so generous and loving, how could he let this happen to his sister?

In the end, the Lord gives what He gives. It is up to us to accept His generosity and love and to do with His gifts what we can. Of course we can ask for mercy, insight, forgiveness, and charity, but in the end it is not up to us what He apportions. We can find God in the smallest corners of our lives, in the silence of our hearts, and in moments of great joy and beauty, but we can also find him in the midst of unspeakable tragedy and suffering. Blessed Theresa of Calcutta knew this very well as she entered the depths of poverty and human misery in her ministry to the poorest of the poor in the slums of India, even in the midst of her own spiritual darkness.

It is only when I can echo the words of Christ, "Not my will, but yours be done," and abandon myself fully to the arms of the Lord, that I allow Him to open up my life and transform me through his boundless love and generosity. Rather than looking at my life negatively and wishing that I were more successful, living in an exciting big city, traveling, making lots of money, and thinking, "I deserve more than this," I instead should be saying, "Lord I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof." I am nowhere near feeling this every day in my own life, but I do want to try harder. 

I have more than enough to be healthy and happy. Thank you Lord for all of the gifts you pour into my life each day. Please help me to be always grateful, and to accept your love, mercy, and generosity with an open heart and mind. 

"Take, Lord, all my liberty. Receive my memory, my understanding, and my whole will. Whatever I have and possess, you have given me; to you I restore it wholly, and to your will I utterly surrender it for my direction. Give me the love of you only, with your grace, and I am rich enough; nor do I ask anything besides."

-St. Ignatius of Loyola

Eau Claire Show

Last night we played a show in Eau Claire. I've only been back there a few times in past year and a half, and I certainly haven't spent much time on any of these visits, so it was nice to have a chance to be in town for the afternoon and evening. It gave me a chance to visit some of my favorite places near campus:

It's a funny thing to revisit this place that I once called home. I lived in Eau Claire for thirteen years - first as a college student and then as a teacher - a significant portion of my life, actually. I've never really felt like I've had a "hometown" of any sort, but Eau Claire definitely was the closest to this for me. This town will always have a special place in my heart, but it no longer has the same sense of home that it once did. I just don't belong there anymore. I can no sooner go back to my old life in Eau Claire than I can to my childhood growing up in Minneapolis.

Spending the summer traveling from town to town across Wisconsin, seeing all of the different people, and watching this group of kids perform for their hometown crowds has made me reflect on the communities that we create and how our sense of identity is inextricably linked to our families, friends, and loved ones (and even our enemies too). We create communities and live together because we need each other. We all want to belong somewhere. We all want someone to miss us when we are not there and we like to feel useful. We want others to rely on the talents and strengths that we offer. It's human nature that we desire a sense of belonging wherever we live. 

I belonged to Eau Claire once. My life was there. I lived, loved, worked, played, struggled, and grew there. I reached a lot of milestones in my life in Eau Claire. It was such a good place to me and the community left an indelible imprint on my life. Memories from my past lie around each and every corner in that town - so much so that I could easily spend a week wandering the streets reminiscing. Every time I am in town, my past seems to follow me, but it's all just a memory. I left Eau Claire to move on to "bigger and better" things - grad school, greener pastures, the next adventure - and along the way I lost my sense of belonging.

In the end we all make choices about where we want to live, who we want to associate with, and who we love. If we want to belong somewhere, we have to decide, "this is where I want to be." For some this may mean living in one town for their entire lives, getting married, and raising a family. For others it may mean living alone, making friends all over the world and building a network of connections that you can visit in a semi-nomadic lifestyle. The word "community" is flexible and it's meaning varies according to each individual. The most important part is how you relate to your particular community. 

I'm still figuring out what my community is and where I belong but I'm happy to know that I can be who I am and I can decide where I fit. It also puts my mind at ease to know that I can choose to be happy anywhere - that sometimes happiness and belonging come in the most unexpected ways and from the most unexpected places.

The KIDS from Wisconsin Experience

I'm sitting in my dorm room at the State Fair Park in West Allis, WI as I type this, exhausted and dazed but otherwise feeling good about the month of June. I was hoping this summer would provide the opportunity to share my thoughts on the road about traveling with KIDS and talk about our tour, sharing interesting facts and stories that were funny, heartwarming, and entertaining. Instead, the job of tour director/stage band director has consumed most of my life (in a very positive way) and has reinforced the fact that this summer and the entire experience is completely about this group of thirty three very talented and very wonderful human beings and not so much about me. But I have some time on this, the first day of a three day break, to share some thoughts about the experience so far.

For those of you who don't know, I was in the troupe back in 1998. I had just finished my first year of college and was looking for something to do during the summer. It was a good experience for me, but in many ways I was a cocky, immature little SOB back then, and I didn't recognize the true value of the experience of being a KID until later. This was confirmed during our seventeen day training camp when I met up with some of the staff who were in the troupe with me that year! In fact, I realized what a good experience it actually was for me only after I had been away for a while - especially in midst of my job in the live entertainment division at Valleyfair the following summer.

To be honest KIDS wasn't even on my radar at all prior to this year. I knew that it existed and that I had been a past member, but when I got an email from the producer asking if I would be interested in the stage band director job, I didn't know what to think. First of all I had not been the most enthusiastic member of the troupe (to put it mildly) and second, I am going to be thirty-five years old this summer. I'm getting too old for this, right? Could I really handle this job: eighteen hour days, riding buses all over Wisconsin, living with thirty-three high energy 15-20 year-olds, working with music that I don't know or to which I never listen, and eating fast food for practically every meal? It has proved to be challenging for my introverted self, used to a quiet house, reading, going to bed at 11 PM and waking up at 6:30 AM, and working a few hours a day at grad school work and my youth orchestras, attending daily mass, and keeping to myself mostly.

So far the challenges to me personally have been met with even greater rewards. I know that we've only completed only one third of the summer (!) but I am looking forward to seeing these kids again in a few days. They have helped me grow in my understanding of self, they have challenged me and pushed me harder than I've been pushed in a long time, and they have entertained me endlessly with their sense of humor, creativity, talent, and (even though they might be too cool to admit it) their sense of childlike wonder which is still present beneath the mask of adolescence and young-adulthood. The teacher in me truly enjoys being a part the experience with these kids on and off stage all summer long.

Finally, I am so happy to be here this summer at a time in my life when my sense of community and belonging is completely disoriented. After a year that brought enormous changes to my life, I am happy to know that "once a KID, always a KID," is actually something that is very true. The warmth that I have felt from my fellow staff members who shared the stage with me when I was nineteen years old, the sense of welcome from the artistic staff - many of whom were present in 1998, the openness of the troupe, and the rhythm of the KIDS experience between camp and tour, have made me not feel so old actually. It is truly a remarkable place.

Riding the elevator in the dorms.

My Neighborhood

This is me and Abraham Lincoln's house. I live four blocks from here and on any night, like last night, I can walk by and say hello to (the home of) our 16th president. It's a relatively historic area of Springfield that also includes the current state capitol, the old state capitol, the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, the Dana Thomas House and many others - including this place:

I guess everybody's trying to hop on the bandwagon somehow or other.

Finding My Inner Monk

A view of the Abbey of Gethsemani from the top of the hill where the monastery was originally founded in 1848.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I spend a lot of time moving around. Until recently I was driving 720 miles per week for my various jobs and I've moved no fewer than three times in the past year and a half. I just went on vacation and drove over a thousand miles (for fun!) and I will be spending the entire summer on tour with KIDS from Wisconsin. Needless to say, motion is part of my life. I'm a mover.

All of the motion of my life came to a standstill this past weekend when I went to a "come and see" retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky. There, I spent the entire time in silence and contemplation with a community of 45 brothers. They are part of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (which is commonly called "Trappists" - think beer) and Gethsemani was the first monastery of its order in the United States. Since its establishment in 1848 more communities have been founded - including five daughter houses directly formed from this Abbey. The number of Trappist communities in the US now stands at 17, including two in my relative geographic region - Gethsemani in Kentucky and New Melleray in Iowa.

Being a big fan of Thomas Merton, I decided to make a retreat to Gethsemani during Advent last winter for a week and was genuinely moved by the place, the brothers, and the prayerful atmosphere of the monastery. This time I actually got to sit in choir with the monks, chant the divine office with them, tour the monastery grounds, and talk to some of the brothers. It is a very beautiful life and a great antidote to the noise and harried pace of the modern world.

I'm still trying to figure out how to articulate the imprint this experience has made on me, but I definitely feel a bond with the community and the life of the monks that I've carried with me into the world outside of the cloister. In the coming days I hope I can share some of this experience in my blog. For now, I'm readjusting to talking, the constant noise of the world, and not waking up for the office of Vigils at 3:00 AM!

The Scenic Route

Yesterday I returned to Springfield from a two-week-long trip to Wisconsin and Minnesota. I've often lamented the fact that in order to get to all of my favorite places (and some of my favorite people!) I have to drive at least six and a half hours. Backpacking on the North Shore of Lake Superior? Try ten hours. So, in an attempt to explore some of the areas I normally drive past as fast as possible, I decided to take the scenic route to return home, following the Mississippi River south from La Crosse, WI. While it added a few hours to the trip, it made it interesting and broke up the drive.

My first stop was Beaver Creek Valley State Park outside of Caledonia, MN:

After a nice hike along the creek in the lush, green woods, I continued south until I found this:

I've always wanted to visit the Field of Dreams from the 1989 Kevin Costner movie, so I was thrilled to stumble upon the film site outside of Dyersville, IA. After wandering around and taking some timer shots of myself pretending to hit home runs, I stopped for evening Vespers with the Trappist Monks at New Melleray Abbey outside of Peosta, IA:

It was a lovely day, a nice way to meander through the countryside on my return trip, and a wonderful way to wrap up two weeks away from home. 

A Season Ends

Prior to the dress rehearsal for Sunday's concert.

Yesterday was my last concert as Music Director for the McHenry County Youth Orchestras, a position I've held for the past three years (plus one concert, which I wrote about here). It was an amazing three years during which I learned a lot about conducting, music, teaching, and relating with people. It has been fun to watch the orchestras grow and change over the years, and I really hope for the best for everyone involved as the organization moves into the future. Yesterday's concert: Holst Jupiter from The Planets, Bernstein Overture to Candide, Copland Hoedown from Rodeo, and two very talented concerto-competition-winning student soloists. It was a good way to go out.

As much as I will miss the orchestra in Crystal Lake, I definitely look forward to not making the 344 mile round trip drive from Champaign each week. Next year my life will be more centrally located in Springfield, IL as I move into my second year as Music Director for the Sangamon Valley Community and Youth Orchestras. What will I do with all that extra time not spent on the road you ask? Well, there still is that minor detail: my DMA dissertation project.

Life is all about balance.

Summer Begins

Tent... Check

Cookstove... Check

Sleeping bag... Check

Tuxedo... Check

Today I leave on a thirteen day trip to Wisconsin and Minnesota, with a stop along the way to conduct my last ever concert with the McHenry County Youth Orchestras. After the concert, I will spend a couple of nights in LaCrosse visiting my parents and then head way, way up to Split Rock Lighthouse State Park in northern Minnesota for four days of backpacking along the shores of Lake Superior.

I'm looking forward to a little R and R on the heels of an incredibly difficult and stressful year which has brought a lot of change to my life. It will be nice to get out into the woods and allow Mother Nature to wrap her arms around me for a while. 

Last. Class. Ever.

Today I Skyped into what will hopefully prove to be my last grad school class ever. It was German 501, a class designed to help grad students overcome translation difficulties in academic articles by German language authors. As with everything this semester, I struggled to be attentive to the very end, but I've now crossed the finish line. I don't remember what my very first day of school ever was like but I'm fairly certain it was more ceremonial than this, my very last day of school ever. I was quite literally "phoning it in." 

Now it's on to dissertation writing and qualifying exams, but at least I can check having to attend class off the list.

Stopping to smell the roses

Today I decided to take advantage of my proximity to Wisconsin. After a youth orchestra rehearsal in Crystal Lake, I enjoyed a lovely, albeit windy, walk through Moraine View State Park in the very northern reaches of McHenry County. Afterward I popped across the state line to buy a couple of six packs of New Glarus beer. A pretty nice day if you ask me.