lots of random photos from two recent trips

The water photos are from a trip Angel and I took last weekend to Deception Pass State Park on Whidbey Island, WA. The mountains are from Baker Lake, near Mt. Baker in WA. I went there with some folks from Multifaith Works.

Headed to Vancouver

Angel and I are leaving tomorrow morning to spend a few days in Vancouver. When I get back, I should have some thoughts on Seminary there, some pictures, and maybe a blog walk, depending on the weather.

Some pictoral highlights from our trip to Squamish, BC.

Angel at Horseshoe Bay, near Vancouver
Dynamic Sky on the Sea to Sky Highway
Us at the same viewpoint later in the day.
Cabin in Squamish, at our campground.

We're going to Squamish

Fleeing to Canada for a few days to regain our sanity...

This is what I've been waiting for from the School of Rock

Off to Portland

Tomorrow, we're headed off for a magical adventure in the garden utopia to the south.

Discovery Park

After having realized that my commitment to walking all over the city has had it's desired effect--that is, helping me to not hate living in the city anymore--I decided that it was time to allow myself to go back to walking where I like for a day, at Discovery Park in the Magnolia neighborhood. Here are some photo highlights for your enjoyment.

Path facing Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains.

Seattle Sort-Of Beach


The Park's small peninsula, with beach, lighthouse, and Olympic Mountains in the background.


And one more shot of the Olympics across the water.

Being back out away in the "natural" (that is, not yet covered in concrete) world got me thinking back on two things: New Zealand, and my science/ecology and faith interest. In a few months I'll be presenting at St. Margaret's about the theological foundations for environmental concern and action, and might do the same at a national Environment and Faith conference that our diocese is hosting.

To dash off a few of my initial thoughts in that direction:

1. Lynn White in the 1970's essentially blamed Christian faith, and the biblical call to subdue the earth, for our present environmental crisis, and the idea that Christians are anti-environment is pretty widespread among religion's modern cultured despisers. That's a bit silly, in part because sociological studies have repeatedly shown that religious faith doesn't generally have direct causal control over human action, even among the most religious, but also because it ignores a significant portion of Christian tradition, which views the earth as Creation and humans as stewards and protectors. That emphasis has been visibly present in Christian tradition as long there's been such a thing, while those who have taught the "subdue" theology essentially appeared around the time of the industrial revolution, when "subduing" the earth became both possible and lucrative. (It's also been popular among the "Last Days" crowd--which should be noted as a Christian minority--since it doesn't seem to matter much if we destroy creation, since Jesus will be back to wipe it out soon anyway). Christians need to accept responsibility where it exists, since we have been complicit in the abuse of nature, but lets not allow ourselves to be used as a scapegoat.

2. There's recently been a significant theological shift towards panentheism--the idea that God's spirit is present in all of creation (though God godself transcends it--which is what distinguishes this from pantheism). This theology undergirds much of recent Christian environmentalism and eco-spirituality. Our experience of God in the grandeur, beauty, mystery and tumult of nature is a true indicator of God's presence there, not a sort of pagan sentimentalism. It's also a foundation of our moral imperative to treat creation with respect.

3. Jesus himself was seen in the New Testament (Ephesians, to be exact) as the reconciler of all Creation. Thus, if we are to follow Christ, there must be some component which includes the pursuit of the "New Creation" in the present--just as there must be some pursuit of the Kingdom of God amidst this world's structures.

4. If you don't like all of this nature stuff, our environmental crisis is also a serious human problem (which is really why most care about it anyway). We're screwing things up, and the poor will be the most deeply affected. The Church has a responsibility to not be complicit in that.

A Stroll Around the Lake

Those of you paying attention might have wondered if I'd given up on my blogwalking habit. In fact, I have not--I've just not had the opportunity to take one in weeks! Today, however, I got up early and decided to work off some of that Thanksgiving fat by taking a walk around Lake Union, which I think ended up being about 8 miles. Now I'm knackered.

Here are some photos and captions:



This is a photo which lots of people take, from Volunteer Park on Capitol Hill near where we live.



I'm not sure what this is all about. It's under a bridge on the Burke-Gilman Trail, in Seattle's University District. I love the strange and giant things you find in public places in this city--particularly under bridges.



Seattle's Electric!



Another strange Seattle Park, which I happened to wander into today--Gasworks Park. It's actually just a fenced off, rusty old Gasworks, but it's got a great view of the city, so people like to spend summer afternoon's laying here.



On the last part of my walk, I crossed the surprisingly shaky Aurora Bridge, walking beside Hwy 99 in terror (sissy that I am) with the abyss to the left of me and speeding traffic to the right. It's a popular suicide spot, so it's a bit of a sobering walk.

I realized today as I was circling the city that my blogwalking discipline has been extremely successful in achieving its desired effect. That is, I started out generally disliking the city and feeling that I needed to escape it in order to feel peace, and now genuinely enjoy living in the urban mess. If you said such things, I guess you could say that I've come to peace with my surroundings. Even on a cold, grey winter day, I was thinking that I really do like it here. Now, if I could just come to peace with the suburbs...

Seattle's Greatest Attraction

Angel's mom flew into town today, so the first thing we're going to do is take her to see Seattle's greatest attraction: Transvestites!!

Well, not exactly. We're actually going to eat somewhere on Broadway, but it's Halloween, and there are sure to be transvestites.

Meanwhile, I'm preparing to preach on Saturday at convention. I've got it all typed up, so I'll post it soon. I don't want to spoil it before the actual day though!

Take me down to Columbia City

It seems that every time I start to feel okay about the US, something else comes up to ruin it. Last night I found out about the "Medicare Donut", which refers to the hole in the middle of Medicare coverage. That is, when Medicare expenses during a year exceed $3600 (or something like that), suddenly you're no longer covered and have to pay all of your medical expenses out of pocket until your own personal costs reach $2300 (or something like that). After that, you're covered again. Of course, if you don't have that money (which you very well may not, seeing as how you're on Medicare), well, you're screwed, and I hope you enjoyed being healthy and pain free during the first half of your year, because you won't get to experience that again until next year--unless you die, and there's a heaven. This situation came up last night for a diabetic friend (who also has AIDS) when she went to pick up an insulin prescription, and the cost was unexpectedly 10x what she normally pays. Happy Halloween! Insulin, as you may know, is not an optional or cheap medication, but luckily a friend (also disabled, on Medicare, and unable to get medical treatment) was able to cover her costs for the next 6 weeks, but then what? Which makes me ask once again, what the Hell is wrong with us?!

In that spirit, today I decided to take a walk through some of Seattle's least gentrified neighborhoods, among it's Medicare and Medicaid recipients, ending in Columbia City. My path took me through the Central District, along the edges of the International District, through the Rainier Valley, and finally into Columbia City.

Quite an interesting walk, actually, which reinforced my feelings of ambivalence to my country of origin. The Central District is actually technically where we live, I think, but begins culturally a few blocks down the road from us. It's the historically African-American part of town, and generally working class. It's slowly gentrifying, and the buildings are an interesting mix of new condo developments, old houses, shiny new chain restaurants, and old neighborhood stores. In one place, there was an Audi SUV parked in a set of new townhomes across the street from the dilapidated and anachronistically named "Afro-mart", from which loud music was blaring. Seattle's worlds are colliding. The most memorable part of my walk through my neighborhood was that a group of teenage boys (no school today for most of Seattle for some reason) yelled at me to "Get the f*** out, White Boy!". I did, slowly, at a walking pace. I hope they're happy.

After that I walked through the Eritrean and Ethiopian section of the International District, which I had heretofore never seen. Once again, walking gives you perspective on things, and this walk helped me to realize the scope of the African community in Seattle, which is surprisingly large. When I think of the ID, I think of Seattle's large Asian population and Chinatown, but I was mostly surrounded by Africans for almost the whole of my 5 mile walk to Columbia City--Ethiopians, Eritreans, and Somalis notably, judging by the names of restaurants and community centers. I would guess that that community is at least as large as the hipster Capitol Hill community, of which I am of course an integral part.

A picture of Seattle's art deco VA Hospital, on top of Beacon Hill, on the west side of the Rainier Valley

The name "Rainier Valley" evokes a sort of beauty that's not reflected in the actual neighborhood (although there is a great view of Mt. Rainier on clear days from many locations). It's mostly a typical American strip mall street--McDonalds, Starbucks, Lowe's, Safeway, KFC, Starbucks, McDonalds, Lowe's, plastic grocery bag filled with puke, Safeway, Tully's, bus stop, Burger King, Starbucks, etc. There's also the real American Dream though, because it's miles and miles of Africans, African-Americans, hispanics, whites, Asians, middle-easterners, immigrants, locals, Italians, money grubbing developers, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Sikhs, old people, and so forth. I have to admit that that is the America that I'm proud to be a part of. From what I can tell, we are the world's best example of the blending of cultures. Every country has that to some extent, but it's something for which we strive and take pride in. It can be a huge mess and pretty ugly, like our country as a whole, but it's the result of America's noble attempt to affirm the humanity of all and provide a home for all comers. That's changed significantly post-911, and I think that's a real tragedy. The terrorists truly are winning, though I don't think they're accomplishing what they set out to do.

Columbia City is really an extension of all this. It used to be a distinct town, I believe, but Seattle has grown into it. It's still a nice little neighborhood populated by all sorts of people, apparently. I didn't stick around long, because a bus came at a fortuitous time, and I was ready to be done walking anyway. On the bus back I sat in front of a couple of teenage girls, talking the whole way about doing Ice, Coke and Marijuana, sleeping with boys and disobeying their parents. An appropriate way to end my walk.

My Walk in the Woods

I just finished, appropriately, Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods", which is about his attempt to walk the 2000 mile Appalachian Trail, and which I'd heartily recommend as a very likable book by any measure. As I was reading it, I realized an interesting fact (at least to me): that several friends and I actually started the trail at about the same time as he did, in Spring of 1996. He and his fat, middle-aged friend made it much, much further than I and my two young spry friends did, but we weren't really trying.

We'd planned a spring break trip to walk about 100 miles of the trail in Smoky Mountain National Park, which is one of the nicest sections. We got to Tennessee following record low temperatures, with snow still on the ground, and walked about 14 miles on our first day to the highest point in the Smokies, Klingman's Dome (sp?). We were cold and exhausted, so midway through the walk (after 7 miles of continuous uphill) we shared a meal of dry spaghetti and protein powder which we cooked in the restroom. No one else was there, because it was cold, the road was closed, and it's stupid to walk up 11 miles of hill to go to the bathroom. After that we stumbled the rest of the way to our shelter in the dark, snacking on dry oatmeal and cheese blocks that we carried in our pockets, and waking up the prudent campers who had arrived during daylight and gone to bed.

For some reason, the next day both of my friends woke up deathly ill. I was fine--in fact better than fine, because I was fine and I had plenty of medicine. I of course didn't share it with them, because it was mine. They were actually too sick to continue walking, and it was cold and icy out anyway, so we decided to just sleep that day. Indeed we did--we slept for about 36 hour straight to be exact, with only a 2-3 hour waking "nap" in the middle. The next morning we agreed that it would be a better idea to get the hell out of the hills than to suffer on. We'd busted our overly ambitious itinerary at that point anyway. There was a big ice storm that day, so we put on our waterproof stuff (I had a green full-body suit that I bought at Target, which was made of thick plastic. A week after the trip I found the remains of a cheese block in the pocket of the pants) and trudged out. I left my friends behind and made it back to the bathroom fairly quickly, finding out that the road had fortuitously been opened in the two days that we were in the woods. Once my sick friends rolled out of the woods, we hitchhiked down the hill (my only hitchhiking experience, actually), catching a ride in the back of some Tennesseeans pick up truck.

We hadn't planned well, and we only had about 80 dollars between us for food, gas and lodging. I paid for a cheap hotel ($36) in Gatlinburg and we found the nearest buffet, gorging ourselves like we'd been in the woods for weeks ($25). Then, since the only shoes I'd brought were soaked in the rain, I bought some white Panama Jack shoes ($10) from Wal-Mart. The next day we hung out in town, gawking at Hillbilly Golf Courses and the Redneck Hall of Fame. Then, hungry and assessing our financial situation, we realized that we didn't have enough money to both stay another night and pay for gas home, so at about 8 o'clock we decided we'd better head home. It was late, we were tired, and it was a long drive, so when both of my (drivers licensed) friends started to nod off, I (not drivers licenced) volunteered to drive for a while. They agreed, and both fell asleep immediately. They woke up to the sounds of rumble strips on the side of the road more than once, so they made me stop driving. Not having money for even the rattiest hotel, we decided to spend an uncomfortable night in a Wendy's parking lot. The next day we made it back to Ohio.

That's my story of hiking the Appalachian Trail. I like to hike.

Another Blog about Walking

Well, I'm just back from my most recent Blog Camino. This time I trailed Angel to Seattle's Fabulous U-District and the University of Washington. Here I am, ready to buck the system, reflect on God, the meaning of life, and things important:

I started out today under the grey light of a just-arrived Seattle Autumn, and I was predictably depressed and tired since it was 9 am. I didn't feel like walking, and I decided that I was going to avoid natural beauty that might perk me up and defeat the purpose of an "urban camino". I took a few bleak photos to illustrate my inner bleakness:

The first is a depressing image of yet another Seattle Dirt Park, located predictably in the Central District, the historically African American working class are in the city proper. The second image is grey view of Bellevue, and the third is an ominous photo of a nondescript street view that reminded me of a corrupted Great Smoky Mountains on this particular dusky morn.

Hope was soon to arrive though, as I got into the rhythm of the walk and Ron Paul and some random Evangelists helped me to remember once again that all is not lost:

(I'm glad to see that Seattle youth are finally rallying for something worthwhile, rather than the usual sex and dope rallies that they hold here in the devil's city. I'm anxious to see if either Mr. Paul or our youth will be able to overcome the odds and bring Hope back to the land of the American Dream.)

In fact, I soon began to once again see the humor in our human situation: Watch your cats!

I have to say that I love this, and I'm rooting for the coyotes as these vigilantes of nature clean up our streets and reclaim their rightful territory.

Once I started to perk up, my walk went relatively quickly, and within an hour I was crossing the canal splitting the Montlake neighborhood from the U-District.

On my way across, I noticed this spraypainted sign.

I'm not sure where it came from, but it made me think of pleasant days strolling past the mighty river Leith in Dunedin on my way to the other great waterside university of my past, Otago.

On the way up the path to the U-Dub, I noticed this curious sign, in the middle of a relative nowhere:

In Washington, you have to be at least 25 feet from a building entrance to legally smoke. Smokers, naturally, hate this completely impractical law. Not being a smoker, I'm indifferent, but I do have to sympathise with the plight of those students who have to walk a quarter mile across campus to get their fix and put their butts in a pointy thing.

I learned recently that this University of Washington site was originally designed and landscaped by one of the Olmstead family, who designed many of America's great park systems. This particular fountain was built as part of the location for an exposition on the Pacific Northwest and Alaska in the early 20th century. Directly behind me, in clear skies there's an excellent view of Mt. Rainier. Today wasn't clear, so you couldn't see anything. That's why I didn't take a picture from the other side.

Here's yet another homage to Communist Russia--the library in U-Dub's "Red Square". After last week's visit to Fremont's Lenin Statue, and recently learning that Seattle used to have one of the largest Communist enclaves in the US, I've begun to think that we might need another McCarthy to keep those LaRouche people and their ilk from further corrupting Seattle's impressionable youth.

As I was taking these photos, I realized that I probably looked a little bit suspicious, and not a little bit skeezy, lurking around a university campus with my camera. In order to make people more comfortable with my presence, I took to removing the camera from my pocket , looking around nervously, and then snapping a shot before I walked away quickly with my head down. so as not to draw attention to myself.

My walk this week was shorter than last week, because I hopped a bus which stopped fortuitously directly in front of my path. However, I did have a chance to do some reflection, if a bit less seriously than is normal for me. My thought for the week is as follows:

I love university campuses for the same reason that I love Cathedrals--their buildings tend to express something of humanity's highest ambitions. They reflect our pursuit of truth, our hope for the future, and ultimately our need to learn and improve ourselves. The problem in both cases is that when we fill them with people, we inevitably end up with scenes like this:

I've thought for a while that if the Judeo-Christian religions have gotten any theological point right, it's been in the area of anthropology: we are beings created for paradise, but destined for the sewer. Our ambition and potential always seems to exceed our capability. My favorite theologian Jurgen Moltmann has made a career of pointing towards the hope for ultimate redemption in this unfortunate situation, and I have to say that I hope he's on to something.

Capitol Hill to Fremont Camino

Well, I've just returned from this week's Urban Camino (a new term I've come up with, even more pretentious than "urban hike"!) I have to admit that I liked it more than expected. Walking really is the way to travel if you've got the time for it. You really don't get a good spacial conception of an area until you've walked it. It turns out that Fremont isn't actually a half-hour drive away--it's a one hour and fifteen minute walk, and there's a lot that lies between here and there.

I started out at our place on a relatively grey day--like most days in Seattle this time of year, the sky looked mildly threatening, but mostly harmless. I took my raincoat, but didn't use it.



I started out in a bit of a negative mood. I usually do in the morning. The city looked generally dirty and gritty to me--the closest thing to "natural" being these offensive ravens wallowing in construction debris looking for filth to eat and then regurgitate, (or so I assume).

It took me about a half hour to walk to Lake Union though, and by that time I was starting to get into the rhythm of the walk. Walking for me is something of a spiritual discipline, because the rhythm of the movement puts me in a reflective mood. It helps to have an attractive location to walk in, but I was surprised to find that the distraction of the city became a sort of white noise relatively quickly. The first half of my walk passed by quickly.

Within an hour I was crossing the bridge into Fremont--I'd expected it to take about two to get there, so I was surprised. Once again, the city comes into perspective spatially when you walk it. Driving distorts distance.

I found the Troll for the first time since I've been in Seattle. It's under a giant freeway underpass, and is a surprisingly large thing to find there--similar in scale to the Lincoln monument in Washington, if I remember it correctly.

Because I had some extra time (I'd alotted 3 hours for the walk), I looped around to Fremont's mildly terrifying Lenin statue, which they "rescued" from some post-Communist Eastern European country, again, if I remember correctly. Seattle's quirky liberals have really "taken the power" out of Lenin's evil, because they decorate him like a Christmas tree for the holidays. Is this not distasteful?

No real epiphanies today, but I did come across this interesting little bit of preserved railway, turned into a garden in front of a houseboat community.

I've got two versions of Pete Seeger's "John Henry" on my iPod, and couldn't help think here that John Henry's battle was a losing one--ultimately, machine has triumphed over man. Exhibit A--travel is mechanical, to the extent that it feels like cultural rebellion to walk the city on a business day, during rush hour. Walking still feels like the most human way to travel. Not that I'm giving my car up anytime soon.

At the conclusion of my walk, I followed a trail through next year's winner of the "World's Most Unpleasant Park" Award: Seattle's brand new, ill-concieved monument to liberal humanism, the "I-5 Colonnade"!

"Come on kids! Lets go down under the interstate! We can have a picnic (don't forget to brush the syringes off of the table!), and we can let Rover run free in the giant gravel crap-box! Bring your bikes, there's a new trail that swoops dangerously close to some giant concrete pillars!" Not surprisingly, no one else was there. Crowds usually don't show up until 11-12 in the evening. The city is trying to make this place more livable, but really, whose idea was this?

In the end, it was a good experience to begin to walk through the city that I've begun to call home. I still don't feel a strong connection with the place, but it has it's charms. I've always liked dorky quirkiness, and Fremont's pretty much the city's center for that. Capitalism and corporate greed continually smack you in the face as you walk past endless rows of advertisements, but you also see lots of little glimpses of humanity. Seattleites--and particularly Fremontonians--are great about weaving art and nature into the life of the city, so it's hard to forget here that the city can express some of the best of that humanity has to offer along with some of the worst.

Seattle Hiking

Hi Folks,

For the next several months while Angel's working overtime at school, and I'm working overtime to pay the bills, I've realized that we're not going to have much time or money, which means we're not going to have much time to get out of the city to go for hikes. My theme for the youth group this year is "Finding God in the Mess", and in line with that I've decided that for the next few months, as grey and rain descend upon Seattle, I'm going to take up the practice of "Urban Hiking", also known by the less pretentious as walking around the city. I generally find the city to be repulsive and dirty (not Seattle in particular, but the city in general), but I'm going to make an attempt to find beauty and transcendence here. Rather than taking my usual Friday or Saturday jaunts to the park or the mountains, several times a month I'm just going to walk to from home to different neighborhoods in Seattle, and try to provide some photo documentation.

Today, for my first trip, I walked from Capitol Hill to downtown. It wasn't a long hike--about two hours total including a stop at the Central library, which is one of the more interesting libraries I've been to architecturally. (I didn't take any pictures but I have stolen some for your enjoyment):

I can't say that I had any moments of transcendence, but I did have a nice view of Lake Union from 4th avenue on the way from Pike St. to the Library (In this photo background you see the Lake and some people I don't know--I stole it from Flikr. I have a very similar hat and shirt to the guy in the picture, so you can pretend that it is a picture of Angel and I):

After that, I passed several people who asked me for change.

I have to admit that one of the reasons I find the city distasteful is that you're constantly being hassled to give people on the street money. (As a result, it's almost impossible to go on an "Urban Hike" without either spending money at a shop or giving away money to someone panhandling.) When one lives in this sort of environment, the sad thing is that you become accustomed to giving beggars the stiff-arm--you almost have to, b/c you only have so much change, and you only have so much compassion. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not the "get a job, bum" type, and I'm not averse to giving people money on the street from time to time--sure, they might spend it on alcohol or drugs, or they might be better served if I gave the money to an organized charity, but honestly, most of the people I know spend their money on alcohol and drugs, and I wasn't going to give that 50 cents to charity anyway. I was probably going to use it to buy junkfood.) You ultimately are going to distance yourself from the situation, because you can't spend all day dwelling on other people's plight. I used the think that that would be the Christian thing to do, but it really doesn't accomplish anything--sure, work to make things better, but if you don't distance yourself from most individual situations, you're going to have a guilt driven nervous breakdown. I don't know where the epiphany is in there, but I'm pretty sure there's something of a lesson about God's love and our own ultimate limitations in that.

After the panhandlers, I went on to be hassled by another type of beggar, at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I've got some friends who are getting married, and their shower is this afternoon, so I had to pick up a gift. I got a corkscrew and a spoonholder (the same cash could have bought a beggar about 5 meals, or one bottle of really good whiskey, but nevermind).

From there, I hiked back home, up the famous Pike/Pine corridor, past lots of new condo developments and small businesses selling hip and gritty urban home decor. My first excursion being a huge success, I'm hoping next Friday morning to walk from my house to the Fremont troll. That's about a 4 mile hike, so I'll probably bus back. I also might not make it then, b/c next week's busy.

To Give Up or Not to Give Up

Of the 8 hours or so today that I spent putting bottles in boxes, at least 4 were spent considering whether or not Angel and I should leave the country. Actually, more specifically, they were spent thinking that we should just leave and move back to New Zealand. Part of New Zealand's draw of course is that it's filled with places like this:

and this:

Let's face it though: there are lots of nice places all over the world, and the Pacific NW isn't half bad. It's not just about scenery.

The fact is, neither one of us likes living in the US. As all Americans well know, everyone else in the world would simply kill to live here, because it is indisputably the greatest nation on the planet, but it's just not doing it for me. I'm sick of the work culture--I've got two jobs and zero vacation time. Angel's got about three weeks (good union), but gets hassled every time she tries to actually use it (bad, but standard, employer). I'm sick of the materialism. I'm sick of the media--specifically the bizzare way that TV dominates so much of our common culture. I'm sick of our health care system. I'm sick of the religious environment. I'm sick of advertising. I'm sick of elitism. I'm sick of keeping up with so many Joneses. I'm sick of our condescending attitude towards other countries. I'm sick of our foreign policy. I'm sick of being encouraged to be afraid of everything. I'm sick of ignorant arrogance. I'm sick of loud people and loud conflicts. I don't want to deal with it anymore, and I don't want my kids to have to deal with it either. We can stay and try to help make positive contributions, but honestly America isn't going to be reformed in our lifetime, or in the lifetime of our children. It's a big ship to turn around.

Further, we loved living in NZ. There is no "work" culture--it's a vacation culture and an island time culture. We were both actually told by our employers that we needed to take our vacation time. There's less materialism--most everyone drives an old car and wears the same set of clothes 3 days of the week. The media there is less pervasive, and there's usually nothing on TV. They have universal health coverage. They don't have the same bizarre evangelicofundamentalist/conservative politics connection. They are as egalitarian a place as I've ever been. Their gov't keeps its nose out of others' business (for the most part, though there are a lot of Pacific Islanders who would dispute that.) They are self-conscious about their general lack of influence on the world stage. The people have a typical English reserve, combined with a distinctive Kiwi humility. On top of all of this, a lot of our best friends are there--more, actually, than we've got in Seattle. It's paradise for people like us. It really is. The only problem really is that they have cold houses, but we could invest in insulation.

Still though, it's just not that easy. Moving there, for one, would feel like giving up on America. There are 300 million others to pick up the slack, but still, I've got this sense of responsibility. It's also difficult to leave home. There are a lot of things I like about this country--the food, the sports, the landscape, the affordability of living, the history and the principles that "America" is supposed to stand for, the people I know. Really though, it all comes down to family. If our family wasn't here, we'd be gonzo. We want our kids to know their grandparents, and we don't want to disappoint our relatives by heading to the opposite side of the world. Neither family has the means to travel frequently, and inevitably we'd be cut off from them significantly.

Still, the decision isn't made. One thing that we've realized is that in the US, we have much less time to take vacations, so it's actually difficult to keep up with family just living in a different state. There's very little chance that we'll move back to the Midwest (even though we're not ruling anything out completely), so it's likely that we're going to be pretty well cut off no matter what. In New Zealand, we'd have a month off yearly, and it's not that expensive to get back here. A month every couple years is probably about as much time as the kids (currently non-existent) would be able to have with extended family even if we stay in the US (or move to Canada, which actually is another real option. BC is fantastic!) . I've realized that when you start travelling, you essentially have to give up on ever being completely happy where you are.

Off the Road

Golly, I've done gone a whole month since my last post! I had to read the new Harry Potter book. I don't want to spoil it, but it turns out that Harry is some sort of Wizard, with magical powers! Quick, cover your children's eyes so they can't read it!

It also so happens that we've been out of town, mostly driving around Alberta and British Columbia, Canada, on Vancouver Island and then the Canadian Rockies (almost wrote Candian Rockies--sounds delicious!). Here are some photos from the highlight reel:

Is the problem government, or is it just us?

My old friend and "Anarchist of the Year" award winner, Country-Ass Wes, responded in thought provoking manner to my last post on New Orleans, and brought up an issue that is currently rubbing a raw nerve with me--the inefficacy of American government. Here's what he says in excerpt:

"The whole incident (Katrina) reaffirms my distrust, disgust, and disdain for government in all of its manifestations; my faith in the churches, private organizations, and good ole' citizens. A truly sad case of individuals (black or white) completely dependent on government, ultimately let down, and somehow people are surprised by the fact. Should anyone be surprised or appalled that liars and thieves (writ large) act as such?"

After seeing New Orleans, I have to admit that I sympathize with the sentiment. Individuals are doing a lot, government, in all its manifestations, is doing seemingly jack-squat. I also have to admit, though, that after living in New Zealand it is difficult for me to generalize the problem to government in general, and remove it from American government in specific. As Americans, we're indoctrinated from birth with the dogma that we live in the greatest nation on earth, so it is a jarring thing to visit another country and realize that many people actually have it better--and much better at that! That's what happened to me in New Zealand, and it significantly altered my view of government: prior to the trip, I had libertarian leanings, and general lack of faith in government in general, much like Wes. Now I'm a big government liberal of sorts.

In basic principle, in a democratic society government should be nothing but an organization of the people into a structure designed for universal benefit--it provides for needs which cannot be provided for at an individual level, and is accountable to its constituents if it makes their situation worse. In America, somehow that doesn't work--citizens feel separated from the government, politicians aren't held accountable to their constituencies, beaurocracy at a gov't level is an impenetrable wall holding back any positive benefits to the citizen, corporations make all the important political decisions, and basic human needs--food, shelter, healthcare, social stability--aren't being met in large scale in the most affluent nation in the world. The issue is though that there are places where it actually does work--or at least where it works significantly better than here. People in New Zealand, for instance, genuinely did seem to have a better quality of life with a bigger government. They had superior health care, better access to higher education, more time for recreation and vacation, better international relations, apparently less political corruption, a similarly healthy economy, fewer social ills, less racism, almost universal democratic participation through voting, and a feeling of ownership for the nation's political situation. They aren't perfect, but it was enough to make me feel that our particular government is the root of the problem--not government as a principle. America, as a political entity, is quite frankly not even close to the greatest nation in the world, even if it was at some point in history. It's a relative backwater, in fact, which has managed to turn democracy into a joke and corruption into an art form.

I truly hate what our government has done to our country in the last 50 years or so. Although we've never been perfect, we used to be a beacon of freedom and hope for the world, the best, healthiest, place in which to live. Now America is likely the most broadly hated country on the planet, and the least developed of the industrialized nations. While other countries grew away from racism, sexism, classism, and economic inequality after World War II, we wallered in it. I really do think that is largely government's fault, but not simply because it is government. We've been stupid and lazy, and have been bilked by both politicians and corporate leadership. We haven't held government accountable, and we've supported leaders who screw over the most vulnerable in our country and abroad. We've become a bully state with cancer--we're bringing ourselves down and taking the world with us.

That said, I still think reforming government has to be the answer--either that or moving to Canada. We still are actually a democracy, and we've got the ability to organize ourselves for mutual benefit. I don't know if it will happened, but it's happened in much of the rest of the world, so there has to be some hope for us.

Heaven and Hell in the City that Care Forgot

So, Angel and I are back from our church's single handed attempt to save New Orleans. It didn't work. Don't get me wrong, rumors of New Orleans' demise have been greatly exaggerated, but outside of the tourist core and the affluent Garden district the city is still largely a festering wound on America's underbelly.

The funny thing about the city is that you can't help but love it. The heat is oppressive, but forces you to slow down, relax, and not work so hard, even if the city needs it. Three houses per block have FEMA markings, but they also exude European/African/American/Confederate history and voodoo mystery. The citizens are desperately poor in a third-world sort of way, and they murder each other at a rate higher than any other American city, but they come off as the friendliest folks you'll meet. The streets are teeming with drunks at all hours, but you get the impression that you should get drunk too, because it's more fun that way. The government has failed New Orleanians at every level, but they seem to be used to it--they don't trust the gov't, hate it even, but also don't use it as a scapegoat. You get the sense that it's still a party town because laughing is better than crying, and those really are the options in their situation.

America as a nation genuinely is failing New Orleans--It's probably the most interesting city in the country, but it has holes the size of neighborhoods now. The majority of the 9th Ward community is probably gone for good, and will probably become stripmalls, condos, or somesuch. Half the city has moved away, and the other half has post-traumatic stress disorder. Two years down the road, George Bush and his cronies apparently still don't care about black people, and neither do the insurance companies. Luckily some private citizens do, or nothing would have changed, according to the people there. When we were there, we saw literally hundreds of other volunteers, and there were probably actually thousands in the city giving time and cash to help rebuild. It makes me proud to be an Episcopalian, because we are at least doing something, but ashamed to be an American, because we're failing our citizens on so many levels.

On the bright side, the beignets at Cafe du Monde are still excellent. I actually had a lot of fun on the trip, b/c I was with teenagers whose positivity couldn't be shaken, and who taught me to pop, lock n' drop it. God, though, the situation there is depressing if you let yourself think about it too much. Read this book and Save NOLA.

Down to the end of the Mississippi

Tomorrow I take a group of teenagers to New Orleans, sometimes referred to as "The Big Easy", or "The Great Babylon of the South".

Please bow your head and join me for a quick prayer before we go:

Dear God, please don't let anyone get killed.

Amen

Went back to Ohio, and my city was gone, etc.

Notable Events of the Month

June 2: Sent an email to our local Episcopal Diocese asking for help for a friend who is a Katrina survivor. She was looking for housing, and had been repeatedly turned down apparently owing to the fact that she's black, on a gov't housing subsidy, and the mother of 9 children, 6 of which still live with her.

June 6 (or thereabouts): Got a form response from the diocese talking about all of the ways in which we're providing support for folks in the Gulf Coast region, which had nothing at all to do with the question I asked. Original email apparently went unread.

June 14-16: Spent relaxing weekend in Bellingham, WA after dropping Angel off for a flight to Ohio.

June 21: Flew to Ohio for wedding of Angel's brother Allen to his now-bride Rachel.

June 28: Discovered that Katrina survivor friend still was without housing, and was less than a week from eviction from present housing. Sent email request for help to diocesan folks including the phrase "fucking pissed" (very unlike me to be so abrasive).

June 29: Recieved long and extremely helpful email about possible ways to help find housing for friend.

June 30: Saw Michael Moore's "Sicko". Would highly recommend it as a surprisingly levelheaded portrayal of the need for universal healthcare in the US, and the possibility thereof.

July 1: Found out friend has found housing (admittedly not due to my assistance or that of the diocese). Began to think of myself as a career do-gooder.