Olympics from the Couch

It's that time again. Every two years, first in the summer and then in mid-winter, sports figures fill the TV screen, and the phone screen, and the IPad, some streaming live feeds, others playbacks of events of the 30th Summer Olympiad.

Where my mind might never bring to mind rowing, badminton, boxing, archery or beach volleyball (to name a few) during the four years between summer games, suddenly I am not only watching these sports but am becoming an expert in their history, the players' bios, and receiving a renewed education of the ever-changing geography of the world.

Some countries have hundreds of athletes; others a few; a few just one. 

Some parade around the Opening Ceremonies in native dress of their countries. Others in designer duds, but all in the colors of their countries' flag.

I am again, as I am nearly every two years, appalled and incredulous regarding the commentaries that accompanying the games and even more so with the interviews of the athletes. One commentator asked an athlete who had just won a silver medal why she thought she hadn't gotten gold. An interview with a boxer offered this snippet, "Well, I just trained hard and kept hitting him until I found my pace."  Another boxer who "came to the ring through thunderous applause" was soon seen kissing the mat.

Another asked an obviously stunned loser what had happened. What had happened was that he lost. (I suppose I would not make a very good interviewee. I would be using the "Doh!" word way too often).

Another asked a swimmer what it would take for her to take home the gold. Doh! It would take her to swim faster than anyone else in the pool at that time.

I watched the road race (biking) like I watch NASCAR; it became interesting only when there was a spill and bikes and riders slid across the road knocking down everything in their path like bowling pins. Now that was worth watching. I was interested in seeing the women's road race because there was a horrific storm coming at them and I figured good TV was about to happen, but I had to get to church so I missed all the fun of the rain and wind.

That's enough for now about the games. Tonight there will be more foil (fencing) replays, men's soccer (although I already know the outcome since I have three apps on my phone for Olympic results and live streaming), and ping pong. I wonder what might have happened if my parents had purchased me a javelin instead of a clarinet.

We'll never know.

And that's what I think about it.

Arts Smarts Camp - 2012

Arts Smarts Camp was held last week. I may have written about it in years past but I am so impressed with this fun-filled creative arts offering for kids from preschool to grade five.

I was helping in Graffiti Art. Graffiti is best done outdoors, away from cars and buildings. It takes lots of spray paint and sturdy walls and a wide expanse of lawn. Dry weather helps. Last week the temperatures hovered around 100 degrees each day.

I mean, kids and aerosol spray paint cans. What could go wrong?

I asked the campers if anyone had ever had the opportunity to use spray paint. Not one hand was raised. Hmmmmm! A clue there somewhere.

Forty-seven campers, out of a total camp of 775 signed up for this graffiti. Some had to be turned away and the class enrollment reached its limit quickly during the registration period. First come, first served had to be the motto.

One day, toward Thursday, a very dark rain cloud crept closer to the graffiti boards. Since the geographical area is in a severe drought it was not appropriate to pray that the cloud would move on. But it did. Thank you.

Thirty-one different classes were offered to the kids during the week. The campers chose their top five and were assured of three of those. If kids liked music they could sign up for drumming, bells, keyboard, guitar, bass or signing. Teachers were skilled at what they were teaching including a certified American Sign Language instructor.

Perhaps quieter endeavors were needed. Kids could learn to knit, write short stories, publish a newspaper, build a board game, find and write to a pen pal, or learn to script in calligraphy.

Kids who like drama had the options of learning set production, acting, filming a movie, producing a daily news TV new report, dancing. or running the TV cameras.

Regular art offerings included: make-up (my personal least favorite), carpentry, drawing, duct tape art, graffiti, sewing, cooking, painting, scrap-book making, photography, cake decorating, jewelry making, pottery...well, you get the idea.

Kids' classes were in storerooms, coat closets, hallways; there was not a corner of the building which was not used for creativity.

What's the point of having this kind of activity in a church? Doesn't it abuse the building? What does it have to do with what churches are supposed to be doing. Doesn't it make it difficult for the staff? Don't parents just want their kids out of their hair for the morning?

Perhaps some of the above is true.

The point - and there is one - is that God has given talents to each person. He (God) would love for those talents to be used to bring him joy and praise. We try to encourage kids to use their talents for good, for God. It may not be the church you grew up in, but it is the church that values kids like God does.

And that's what I think about it.

Busyness and Angst

This is a summary of a daily column by BreakPoint the writings of the late Chuck Colson now written by an outstanding team of thoughtful journalists...and moralists.

People, they write, are anxious, not about how they will make ends meet or put food on the table or the problem with some disorder that requires medical help. The anxiety is almost always self-imposed. Classes, lessons, volunteerism,..."It's the busyness of people who 'feel anxious and guilty when they aren't either working or doing something to promote their work.'"

Busyness, writes Tim Kreider in "The Busyness Trap" is our way of telling ourselves that "our lives cannot possible be trivial or silly or meaningless if we are in demand every minute of the day."

Jesus said we could come to him and we could find rest.

But rest is exactly what we don't want others to see us doing.

The article makes the point that when the New York Times wrote its continuing series on anxiety, faith was left out of the remedies The author then ponders whether that omission was because so few examples of faith making a difference exist in the faith community, that Christians are just as busy as everyone else.

That should leave us, well....anxious...

And that's what I think about it.

Life Lessons from the Cleveland Plain Dealer

Here is a shortened list of lessons life taught Regina Brett, reporter for the Cleveland Plain Dealer:

-Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
-If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
-Over prepare, then go with the flow.
-Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age...
-Frame every so-called disaster with these words, "In five years, will this matter?"
-What other people think of you is none of your business.
-Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
-However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
-Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
-Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
-God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

And that's what I think of it.

Summer

Have I gotten so used to air conditioning that I have forgotten what it is like to swelter in the heat of summer?

For over a week, the temperatures have been just under 110 degrees, hot by any standards, and no, it's not a dry heat. It's humid and drippy. Excessive heat warnings have been posted for the area, most of the mid-west if truth be told. So even packing a bag and getting out of  town is not an option since everywhere within driving distance is under the weather channel's red warning map (not to mention what it would cost in gas to get away). And the cat no longer runs to escape outside when the back door is opened.

Growing up on the shores (inland a little) of Lake Erie the temperatures got to 90. The highest temperature before this summer was 104, recorded in 1988, but I was long gone by then. On the side of our house we had a mulberry tree whose branches made a graceful arch up from the trunk to sweep down to the ground creating a perfect hidden, cool respite from the weather. Well, truth again, it wasn't really perfect since the mulberries acted like Ritz dye when sat upon creating a challenge for who ever was on laundry duty that week. It was never me.

But back to the present. Walking to the mailbox or the newspaper box becomes a waiting game with my husband. Who wants the paper more, me or him? This is the only time I have regretted getting him an IPad for now he can find all the news he needs or wants without our daily morning paper. Truth again, the news in the paper, especially the global news, is old by two, sometimes three, days. A whole war could be started and won (or lost) in the time it takes the local press to get the news out. Celebrities marry, divorce, and remarry all in the time it takes me to find out they are an item. But I digress.

We are wusses.

And that's what I think about it.