Words of advice, “that is not a tanning bed”

I am a Pop Tart. My name is Brody. And today I want to tell you a tale about time travel and truth filled omens.

So there I was ,shooting dice behind the Wheat Thin families’ house with my best friend Chad, he’s a Pop Tart as well a ginger, when a flash of light filled our Cupboard. The two dice added up to seven yet were not celebrated due to the lack of witnesses. Chad and I had already hopped Spaghetti’s waist high fence and were on full tilt toward the unknown before the die had a chance to stop their dance.  Stopping only to wink at the coed cupcake twins, Rachel and Stacy, our pursuit was swift and determined. Nothing this exciting had happened since Brian’s dad, Stu, sang in the hit “Blue Box Blues” and brought honor to his now famous Macaroni family.

Chad was the first to spot the one we deemed responsible for the flash. Even from first glance, the man seemed oddly familiar to me. As we bravely moved in without hesitation, I was knocked off my feet in boredom when I realized it was just another Pop Tart like any other. As I dusted myself off, a crowd had gathered with copycat curiosity. Sighs of mundane awareness bellowed forth as all understood the excitement was for naught.

Minutes passed and Chad and I deep in disappointment became aware of two things. One, we were now alone with the kill joy and secondly that upon further inspection, the Pop Tart  that created such a fuss looked exactly like my dad who left my mom and I when I was three. Chad, always at a loss for words, stared with a stereotypical glance of confusion. “I…I… who are you,” I mumbled. Stepping into the light out from beneath the shade of the top shelf I heard the words “my name is Pete. I am from the future.”

A different  intro to a short story

Hello. My name is Pete and I live in a refrigerator. I know what you all are thinking, wondering and dying to find out... the answer is no, actually rent is really cheap and yes, the light does go on by magic. But, back to the “what” and “why”. Like I just told you, my name is Pete. My mom calls me P. K.; you can call me Pete. And this is the story about how I became a real life hero, ended a civil war and met the apple of my dreams.

Oh yeah... I'm an apple.

To set the scene please make an effort to throw out all preconceived notions of my kind and let the tale speak for itself. Background information needed for those not familiar with our history is as follows, so listen up. Just like your history is plagued by intolerance and prejudice for being different, so to have our eras been settling for below average morality and humility. The age old feud between reds and greens dates back way before your famous Johnny Appleseed discovered what we had known for centuries, apples cant fly.

                

Lazy Daze

As I sit to write at my computer I must admit two things; first, is that my feet are cold but the feeling is unique to the season and so I resist an unnatural desire for wool protection, secondly the tie-dye T I sport is not my own design yet I have been known to claim its splendor as my handiwork.

I yearn today to paint a picture of an hour of my day that took place at the “lazy daze” coffee shop in Irvington, Indiana. My media will be mixed so I hope, with a full heart, that words, rhymes and imagery will produce justice of atmosphere and the regality of its spirit.

Outside, sit patrons whose inviting nods, lend part ownership and part comfort to the unknown. Beards are in season as well as conversations drowning amidst binding worn novels whose pages turn as quick, if not with more pace than the protagonist’s sword and the lyrist’s quill that dreamt them up. This is a haven where leaves fall and are given the proper attention, kids roam in exploration of the familiar, and the concept of name tags seems to be as foreign as it is unnecessary.  Rust takes on a new role of chic and tables, whose legs have been unleveled in wake of coffee dates, eager pooches enslaved to the spot and an uncanny attention to people and not details, promote connections of shape. Circles to be exact.

Enter the rectangle, not square, door and your eyes go on vacation to a place that is the norm to so many of those who walk amongst us with 4 rather than 2.  Art can be described as a new answer to an old question. I am not sure what the question originally was but I know the answer was found somewhere between life and creativity. Couches hug the right angle to the left of the entrance and appear to be molting. The vision of the original hue has long since shed, denim and corduroy being the catalyst of change.  To sit is to give into temptation. I indulged. The wrapper, in which this comfort is judged by, is perfect in its interpretation. Here, time moves at a different pace. Here, books have been finished and ideas different than most, have been thought. Here, I am.

And there Joanie is. Behind a booth, antiqued with flavor and history, stands a overtly jovial female toting what appears to be the softest shirt ever made and hair thrown together in her style not yours. A smile that plays with your optimism ensures that customer service is not clearly followed or defined. A quick attempt for my order and my wallet escapes without acknowledgement. Banter begins and the verbal jousting that ensued between my roomy and Joanie was beautifully simple. Man. Woman. Joke. Laughter. Smile. Smile.

Orders morph into friendly requests as interaction glues three hearts to the moment. Art tickles the properly aged walls with jokes of paint and lines of poetry. Machines are just that, machines; glistening is not what they do best. This statement of truth is appreciated and materialized into twelve ounces of blissful relief.  Grab the flimsy yet effective foam like cup of liquid joy and hold off on reverting back to making the tough life choices that are now surrounding the shop. 

http://www.lazydazecoffeehouse.com/

The Fall of Summer

The fall chill blew threw only weeks before, which at the time merely hinted at what was to come. Clues battled not to be taken lightly. The slow ruthless killing of leaves guised in hues unfamiliar to the now trained eyes of the many, furthered the plan of winter’s wrath.  Now, it was not always this way. Fall, many many years ago, acted as cohort to summer’s annual celebration. The relationship was beautiful in mutuality and simple in its existence. Freedom was felt year round by months smitten with warm hearts and days long. What was is no longer what is. If only in those days, being aware were to have accompanied being present; then and only then would things have turned out differently? Not as cold. Not as short. Not as dark.

Sunshine, bright and strong enough to cure any ailment, presided as doctor over the fair lands ripe with laughter and songs of those in flight. Banks gathered hugs, smiles and dancing and stored then in unkempt huts full of holes through which rays and gusts of play ran.  January spent the majority of her hours flirting with the appropriately prideful October. Under pillows, referred to as clouds only by the glasses wearing, pocket protecting September, the two spun in circles with hands as free as July and feet as fleet and jovial as Decembers yearly birthday bash. Festivals were not special occasions but simply the way to interact with the day. All, it seemed was right and alive cloaked beneath entrenched optimism. Even August could be seen studying in the bright exposure with a book in one hand and a smirk hung on his mug.

 Seconds and minutes hid undetected, neglected by all but one. November, drenched in bitterness and envy from nothing in particular, slumped in the shade of a darkened fruit-bearing tree, counting down. Envy was not as much the chemical clouding his heart as neglect was. One of the youngest of the months, hand-me-downs and practical jokes followed him like a pesky fly.  One bad thought of cold quietly curled up in his depth awaiting and calling out for other similar ideas to join. Centuries of yellows and bright reds don’t have many dull blues. However when left to ferment, hatred needs only a few to twist truth into folly. The shade became an escape while each laugh poked at the already fated chord.

Had June only have noticed his brother’s face full of loneliness? Had October only have stopped his feasts? Or invited him? Had the twins, March and April, built a fort big enough for three? Had sexy February done anything other than admiring herself in the mirror? Had any of them reach out a hand?

This is a story of hadn’t s however. Questions were not answered or even asked until it was too cold, too short, and too dark. 

Rings multiply. 
Forests are to be.

Community has been on my lips and in my heart for what seems to be an eternity and a day. This moment, I see it before me, as the depth I swim in and the openness I soar towards. The feeling or recognition of such a coveted possession, state and natural ideal, steals dreams, redirects footsteps and grows love rooted in conversations and laughter.  Tribe, family, group and team dare to dip into the complex realities of true community, true life and true love. As fleeting as an echo and as firmly grounded as the oldest oak; hearts dripping of verbal cues ranging from “we” to “ours” fill with the hope of a garden filled with rose buds blanketed by raw sunshine. Warmth is only surpassed by depth, giving way to the potential of further desires of knowledge.

Living delights my hunger and those who surround me begin to acknowledge my thirst. A constant conversation is a mere ripple in the wake of a bigger splash. Images seen before distort into truth. Reflections of what “were” morph, beneath a force stronger than the wind and bigger than the skies.  Make believe claims undeniable truth in a world where up is east and the broken can fixedly lead a nation towards redemption. 

Water rains down and gathers; drops flirt and become one. A source of life wet with anticipation and moist in participation delivers energetic hope if those few would only draw courage to drink. A seed bolder than most yet invariably weak stumbles to a place where maps are wrong and weeds are overgrown. Parched from the imposed reality, the lost grasps for understanding; unconsciously choosing the mysterious glimmer whose texture is foreign. A sip. A drop. A drink. A gulp. A bath. A swim. More is never enough. An inexhaustible moment of growth, in the midst of confusion, averts focus from acreages of monotony towards an ever-lasting catalyst of unique provision and identity. 


(written in response to hanging out with friends at a coffee shop)

Creative enough to be me and free enough to fail.

I am back. I am not sure whether anyone is going to read this but I am going to write non-the-less.

My roommates and I are doing 21 day challenges to make ourselves better. 21 days is said to be the brink of habit forming and so we are undertaking 21 day journeys towards holistic being.

The following 21 days will be what they are.

Hello America...Good Bye Tokyo and Bangkok

Hello everyone. I am back in the good ole United States of America. Please stay tuned for stories of the adventures that happened during my three week backpacking excursion through Southeast Asia.

Tokyo is Japan's biggest city, home to over 12 million people, and recently claimed the title of most expensive city to live in. The big city is one of the few fashion capitals of the world, which is overly prevalent to locals and tourists alike, as they travel around to its many shops and boutiques.  The pace of the city is underestimated at a million miles a minute and the amount of people crammed into one city is at times overwhelming and unreal. Tokyo is also home to "so much plastic shiny shit" as Betsy's mom eloquently exclaimed as we ventured through the infamous electronics block which houses anything from spare parts for your Easy Bake Oven to arcades with wall to wall claw games.

My first taste of Tokyo was at Shinjuku Station which is the busiest subway station in the world. Everyday over 4 million people pass through the station and Betsy and I quickly became simply another statistic. Navigating the subway labyrinth is a unique skill in which luck, knowledge and insanity go hand in hand. The subway is at Tokyo's core, running miles upon miles beneath the concrete metropolis and became a intellectual game to Bets and I. (Betsy was obviously the brains of our operation.)

Our time in Tokyo seems now to be a blur. We were in the city limits for less than 48 hours yet saw all there is to see (minus the famous fish market which is scheduled for our return visit). We were fortune enough to get to go on a paid bus tour of Tokyo and thus we were able to take in more than the average tourist. Our first stop was Tokyo Tower which is identical to the Eiffel Tower except orange and ten meters taller. Following that fantastic view, the tour took us to a huge Shinto Shrine which was an amazing tribute to creation and mother nature and then to the Imperial Palace where Japan's emperor and empress live by themselves.  I should note that the palace is twice the size of the White House estate and the emperor holds no political power whatsoever. The rest of the tour included; a pearl demonstration, a Buddhist Temple and the electronics block. While in Tokyo, we also got to see Mt. Fuji from the Tokyo Government Building's 45th floor, a national park's beauty of the fall and the famous Ginza shopping district (which closes its streets on the weekend to make it the "shoppers' paradise!")

Tokyo was an experience and a half. Constant movement is the best way to describe its flow and feeling. Upon returning home to the small mountain village of Norikura, I felt oddly at peace in such a remote location yet missed the city's fervor and spirit. I would venture to say that one would go crazy living so close to so many people and moving at the rate at which they move but 12 million people do it everyday... my hat is off to them. See ya, wouldn't want to be ya.

Camp Program

Northstar is an adventure lodge that attracts many different kinds of people and groups and for the past month campers have been mainly high schoolers from around Japan. Schools come to Northstar for a unique experience of studying English in the midst of an "extreme" environment. The environment we create is a unique one to Japan and brings about an "aloha" community as service is blended with outdoor activities and fun.

Campers arrive by bus and after an energetic greeting by our staff, initiative games commence. Games include; four point tag, tank commander, mine field, human knot and lots lots more. These games are aimed at teaching lessons of communication and teamwork while simply having a blast with friends. Following initiative games, Kayo (our resident chef) whips up a delicious meal with international flavor. At night, campers enjoy jumping on the trampoline in the main lobby, playing ping-pong or fuse-ball in our game room or catching the latest snowboarding movie in the lounge. Kids usually play into the night and their voices can be heard long after the call for mandatory lights out at 10:30pm.

The following day the schedule is as follows; breakfast, adventure activity, lunch, adventure activity, free time, dinner and then s'mores and bonfire. It is a full day of fun. Adventure activities are led by the Northstar staff and include mountain biking, river hiking, hiking, rock climbing, tyrollean traversing and rogaining. Kids choose two activities and then are lead on the three hour adventure by us (adventure staff).

Days are long and filled with nonstop movement of serving, playing, cleaning, instructing and hanging out with our newly made friends. Days are 12 hours plus but the reward is great and worth it. The reward is smiling faces as kids leave and exclamations of having had the best couple of days of their lives are heard. God is moving here at Northstar and is at the heart of everything we do. The amazing attitudes and service shown in the face of "lost in translation" type situations and endless service are all testaments to God at work in all the N* Staff's lives.