Time was

"Time was," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches. Reference photo, Tailyr Irvine, N, Y. Times

 “All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; and the grass withers and the flowers fall,..." 1 Peter 1:24

'Tis the time of year when perhaps we think about our invention, time, time passing and time coming, though the Jewish and Christian God is only present tense, "I am that I am."

Another year, a human invention,  fades with memories, a new one is now, and looms, as does another birthday.

Thus today's watercolor, the first of the year, on the Great Plains, as I think of  times, seasons, grass and the rest of creations unaware of time, just now.

Why not?

"Why not?" 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico rough press

 Healing. 

Good medicine.

Vibrant color in  drab times, life and world.

"In the beginning God(s) created color." "In Him was the color of the world."

Why not? After all, what is light but colors. No light, no color. 

The more color, the more creativity, the closer to the creators of color.

Healing. Good medicine.

Why not?

Today's 5 x 7 watercolor.

The colors of God--a sad story

I buried a bluebird today.

It died on our back porch three days ago during the 10 degree cold of our February snow storm. Robins and other birds including bluebirds, swarmed in the yard, around our feeders. When I first saw it, it sat there, fluffed up, barely moving. It's mate huddled against it, twitched, fluttering try to keep it warm.

When I came back, the mate was gone, i thought to eat. A few minutes later, so was it, so I felt better. In another 15 minutes, it was back, still alive, but alone. In another 15 minutes,  it was lying on its side, and I knew.

I went outside, and its feet were curled up, and hits eyes dull, with eyelids half over them. I started talking to it, telling it I was so sorry. I felt its chest, and while it wasn't frozen yet, there was no warmth at all. I picked it up by its tail and I bet it didn't weigh five ounces. I dug a hole in the snow and covered it up to prevent it from being eaten by crows or jays.

Today as I looked out the window, there it was on the bare ground where the snow had melted.  When I  got my shovel and went to bury it, I found a dead robin a few feet away, also a victim of the cold. 

Before I picked it up to put it in the hole I dug near a tree, I pulled three of its tail feathers out. Then I placed them together, covered them with dirt, and patted it down.

Bluebirds have arrived in our yards this season, and we look for them every day. During the cold snap, they were almost everywhere, near our feeders, their brilliant colors standing out against the drab days.

The feathers are now part of a small planter in our kitchen window, reminding us of the joy and beauty of creation, even in the midst of grief and destruction. I will also remember forever, that dedicated partner forlornly and desperately trying to warm  its mate.

Looking at the miracle of those feathers, their beauty and design, and I think, they are surely the colors of God.

Centuries Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series no. 9

"Centuries of Calm," 5 x 7 Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series no. 9

"This too shall pass."
We don't know how, but the  pandemic, racism and t-Rump will pass, as they have for thousands of years.
Impatient homo sapiens is just to short-sighted and impatient to keep that in perspective. We think we're important, when against the ages of time, we're just a blip.
That's one of the lessons of cats. Four thousand years ago, they were gods in Egypt. Ask yourself why? What was it that caused the ancients to worship them? I suspect that their calm, relaxed and in control aura was part of it. And don't cat owners still worship them, in a sense, today? Why? 
And unlike inanimate gods, idols, these gods know they're regal, and demand our obsequities (I've wanted to use that word a long time), which we willingly offer.
Judging by history, cats don't have just nine lives...essentially, they're immortal.
So for the ninth  Calm Cat-astrophe watercolor series  (could this be the last one, matching nine lives?), here's today's watercolor 

Star Dust--12 days til Christmas

"We are stardust," 5 x 7 watercolor card

We are not alone. Isn't that the real lesson behind the story of the star leading people to Jesus at his birth?
For Christians, it should be. For those who are not, the deeper meaning should be more scientific, but still truth.
Star-dust--we, and all creation are stardust... composed of the scientific matter of the expanding universe.
Why wonder that we are  composed spiritually of creation, that humans gaze at stars, that we are drawn to stars, journeying as they journey? Science hasn't abolished or negated their wonder, their magic. Gaze only at the believers in astrology, or in other religions. 
This season commemorates a star, its journey, and a journey it beckoned humans to follow, 2,000 years ago, and since. 
For those who believe in an omniscient, omnipotent, and especially omnipresent deity, that means God is in and of humans and all creation. 
All is sacred, all is God. Wasn't that what Jesus really meant when he said,  "I am with you." 
We are stars, we are a star journey.
"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at the stars because we are human?" 
--Neil Gaiman, Stardust
"The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself."
--Carl Sagan

Child of the desert--8 days 'til Christmas

"Life, in the deserts," 5 x 7 watercolor

He was a child of the desert, spending more of his life there than in the cities or towns.
Three of the world's major religions began and grew from people and gods of the desert--children of Abraham, a child of the desert--Judaism, Christianity, Islam.  Why? How?

Are deserts where people find God, or does God find people in the deserts?

 Ignore the stereotype image of shifting sands of the desert. Those of us who have grown up in arid areas know the desert is more varied than that...places of stark landscapes, little water, vast skies, withering daytime heat, stunning nighttime starscapes.
People find solitude in deserts, and humility from finding how small they are in vast landscapes.
It's no wonder Islam, home on the largest deserts, including those dunes we all imagine,  in the world, have brought us must astronomy and mathematics. Out here you have time to think and observe and create.
It's no wonder that the children of Israel, exiled in Egypt and Babylon, and wandering 40 years in the desert, give us poetry and another religion.
"I cared for you in the desert, in the land of drought."--Hosea 13:5
It's no wonder that Jesus and his teaching come with insights about truth and humility.
The King James Bible did us no favor by referring to the desert as wilderness. I suppose that's because those English translators had never seen a desert.
Jesus had. Born and growing up in an arid town. 
"And the child continued to grow and become strong in spirit and he lived in the deserts until the day of his public appearance to Israel."--Luke 1:80
Walking and working in the dusty landscapes where wells were landmarks, he sought followers there, but also sought solitude, spending 40 days fasting and being tempted in deserts.
"Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the desert, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil."--Luke 4:1
He knew about the deserts in people's lives, in regimented religion that preached rules and complications and ignored the freedom and spirit of living in deserts.
In the deserts, the child of the desert found not death, but life.

"And God created...Color!"--Creation!

"Creation," 8 x 10, 140 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

"Celebration of Color," concluded the #watercolor prompts for the 31 days of July, #Worldwatercolormonth.
Color, the spectrum, light. Genesis. The Big Bang. What you see in a rainbow. No light, no life. Science, faith.
Art is creativity, a child of creation, regardless of beliefs. Do they not all merge together?
Here is what brewed in my head and heart and the primordial soup of creation, for today's #watercolor: The spectrum of color, the spectrum of light, the spectrum of life. 
Celebration, appropriate ending and beginning to 31 days of watercolor.

Out of hibernation, and God in the back yard

Two months without a new posting, first time in nine years, since the blog was born.
Dead or hibernating?

"building, like the clouds soaring in humid skies"

Hibernating I hope, like the bear I sometimes am.
"You need to write," chastises my brother Jerry.
Been busy, and writing takes a lot of time, I replied.
My wife Susan chimed in, "Time to write."
The reasons, or excuses,  I've not written? Occupied with watercolor business at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery in Paseo, and painting, and adjusting mentally and socially to full retirement.
In fact, I'm writing now while I wait for a first wash on a painting to dry.
But the thoughts and subjects for writing have been there, building, like the clouds soaring into humid skies this June, that I'm trying to paint. 
Those of you who follow this blog know that it has changed over the years, toward less writing to more artwork. That's all right because I have changed too.
But, OK, it is time to write more, reflecting those changes. Too many stories to tell, thoughts to share. What I hope to do is blog about two or three times a week, on a schedule, because I'm terrible at scheduling and an expert at procrastinating.
**
I love sitting on the back porch in the cool or the morning with coffee, just listening to the birds. No TV or phone noise, no humming of lawnmowers yet.
I barely move so the birds will visit the feeder--Cardinals, Jays, Wrens, Titmice, Chickadees, Downy woodpeckers.  Above the tree branches, a Mississippi Kite soars. An occasional red tail hawk wafts through the branches
The Psalm came to mind this past week:

 "Be still and know that I am God."

My concept of God has changed with me. No longer the Old Testament Yahweh, or even the church-taught versions of an judgmental god threatening damnation, while singing about love,  and strict obedience to some sectarian set of rules.
Readings from Catholic seers, Thomas Merton and Richard Rohr, and in Native American beliefs have awakened me in ways, though the wisdom and ingrained beliefs of the ages in the Old and New Testaments still affect my thinking.
If you believe in an omni-present God, as taught by our churches, then God is everywhere, in all things, is all things--all life, all creation. Does not that make everything holy? If you believe in eternal life in this god, is that not also for all creation, since god is in all creation?

Where you can hear eternity

So my idea of god, has had to change; it's now "Eternity."
Sitting on the back porch, listening to the birds sing, I realized, by sitting still, I'm listening to god through the birds. Eternity is in the backyard.
**
This blog has not been about religion or politics, and it won't be. 
Next post will be about the best book I've read in years, "The Best Cook in the World," by Rick Bragg.
Now, since writing takes so much time, it's back to painting.

God and professors--paradise without tenure, conversation

 (An earlier version appeared six years ago)

God:  "Welcome to Heaven. Sorry for the memorized formula speech, but we have to read you your rights. You've got your welcome packet, met the lawn crew, read the rules, signed consent and release of liability forms, signed up for health care insurance like Congressmen get, been assigned mansions just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and  streets of gold,  got pass keys to the stables of The Four Horsemen, know where the cafeteria is, gone through training to use the Help-Desk, got security clearance from IT, and have been issued always-clean-no-wrinkle white robes. Any questions?"

Professors: "When is fall break and what office hours do we have to keep?"

God: "Give Me a break. There is no work here,  no office hours. If you can sing, you can join the choir. For others, like Clark, we'll find something else to occupy your time, oops--no time up here either--to keep you busy."

Professors: "It seems we've filled out a lot of paperwork and useless forms."

God: "I figured you university types had lots of experience with that, so I wanted you to feel at home. Don't worry, the forms will soon change and you can do them over."

Professors: "How come the angels have different colored robes? We see some with gold, silver, bronze,  and ours are white?"

God: "The gold robes are for Full angels, silver for Associate angels, bronze for Assistant angels, and white for Lecturers."

Professors: "What? We're full professors. We don't even speak to lecturers."

God: "Up here, we have a real 'higher-ed' system. It's based on service, not snobbery."

Professors: "Service? We've all been on committees and task forces and faculty senates and  ..."

God: "Not that kind of time-wasting mediocrity. We don't have any time to waste. Literally. Up here, service means actually helping people."

Professors: "So what about research?"

God: "Just ask Me."

Professors: "Would you mind repeating that construct so we can dialog  with you as to the impact of this concept vis-a-vis our cognitive post-modern theses..."

God: "Stop it. No profanity up here."

Professors: "About research, God. It was more important that teaching or service down there, and we're specialists in analyzing minutiae so we can publish it in academic journals nobody  reads."

God: "I repeat, if you want to find something out, or do research, just ask Me. I know the answers, all of them. Quantum physics? Philosophy? The name of Shakespeare's dog? --Yes, Shakespeare had a dog. Never would have found out that would you?--Why Conan was really fired?  How the so-called Religious Right's synapses misfire in their brains and the chemical analysis of that?  Literature? Did you know there's a lower level of Hell that Dante forgot about? The one reserved for micro-managing  administrators and poor teachers.

"Name your discipline--such a silly term for knowledge--and I can give you all the answers, and the statistical calculations and chi-squares, immediately.Where do you think 'Rain Man' got his talent?  I am a know-it-all. No brag, just fact. Nope, no need for 'research' up here, sorry.

"And publishing? That is so 18th Century. Nobody reads those 'journals'  anyway, much less understands all that obtuse academic jargon. They just gather dust.  I'm not interested. Now if you've written something for Mad Magazine, I might be, or if you have an I-phone ap for Mad, cool."

Professors: "Then why are we here?"

God: "Good question. I wonder that Myself. Well, you all must be pretty good teachers. Your dossiers show you actually liked students--even Freshmen. You helped them learn,  weren't boring, didn't talk down to them, learned their names, mentored them, didn't mind being disagreed with, kept your doors open for them, weren't rude or arrogant, kept your office hours, were on time, were usually prepared, had a sense of humor and were secure in challenging them and being challenged."

Professors: "So how do we get to move up to Full Angel. What about 'shared governance' and when do we get tenure?"

God: "I've got a lot of people who need a lot of help. Lists everywhere. Get busy."

Professors: "Uh, about  faculty senate and tenure...."

God: "There ain't no faculty senate or tenure up here. I don't 'share governance.' That's why I'm God. Don't have to. Satan has a faculty senate--meets  and talks forever and never gets anything done...modeled after your systems."

Professors: "No tenure in heaven. Why we thought...."

God: "Ever hear of the fallen angels? No. Hmm, I thought you were educated. You did know Milton plagiarized in 'Paradise Lost,' didn't you? Check out his source, an old book among many I recommend. I've got it on a podcast if you want visuals. It might be apocalyptic for you.

Professors: "Godda...er, Youdammit, God. Tenure...why that guarantees our academic freedom...."

God: "MeDammit. Look, If you want tenure, you can go to Hell. Never have to leave. Never will."

The angel had wings

I first saw it out of the corner of my eye...a flicker of movement, and then the distinctive head and beak.
Up it hopped on the porch outside the  huge sliding glass windows, taking its time, completely alert.
Then it jumped up on the wrought iron table just outside those windows, not 10 feet from where we sat, introducing ourselves.
We'd come to a historic home in northern Oklahoma last Saturday morning for a "mindfulness" retreat, which was new for me, but I knew had to do with living in the moment.
And then we we came face to face, were introduced, to a winged messenger, which is by definition an angel, from the world of living in the present. 

I'd never seen a roadrunner up close, and rarely seen one still. They're usually fast and careful to stay near undercover. This one stopped us in our journey for several minutes. It (I don't know the gender) was looking at us through the windows, as we looked back at him in astonishment. 
It may have been looking at its reflection, but our forms could surely be seen beyond the glass. It wasn't spooked, and raised the crown in top of his head a couple of times, changing poses, standing still. Its eyes were piercing. It was noble. 
It's taken me a week to mull the experience and these words over before I could write. We discussed its meaning, and I knew from the outset it was an omen. Later in the day, a colleague and friend Christy Vincent, joked, but seriously, that the messenger, the bird-angel, was appropriate--a roadrunner standing still, taking its time, to a bunch of human roadrunners. Stop and think about it. Look at all the traffic in our hurried world, and how much time you spend in a car, and tell me we're not roadrunners.

Later I described to some as having seen "God." That caused a pause. But if  you believe that god, or great spirit, or universal spirit, or whatever you name eternal life, inhabits all creation, then we came face to face with God, or at least the messenger-angel of the eternal, and it told us to slow down and be mindful of the present--not the past, nor the future.
For the record, we were at Turtle Rock Farm,  (click on this link for more stories) near Billings, in the home of former Oklahoma Governor and U.S. Senator Henry Bellmon. His daughters Pat and Ann operate the farm as a sustainability, spirituality and healing  center. That's another story coming soon. The angel photos are by Pat Hoerth.
Be sure and read Pat's account of the event on their blog, "So There's a Roadrunner on the Table" and her photos of some of us and of the retreat. 
After the five or so minute visitation--time seemed to stand still--it turned, hopped down and disappeared in the green undergrowth. The angel set the tone for the rest of the day.
When you come face to face, perhaps soul to soul, with Present Tense, "I Am that I Am," you remember it forever.

Letter to Bob from the Old World Booth, Redux

Letter to Bob

"Here's to Bob!" From left, Himself, Mark Zimmerman, Susan Clark, Mark Hanebutt, Gwen Olivier, Bill Hickman, Christy Vincent

Old World, April 24, 2010

Well old friend, sorry I haven't written sooner. Fact is, writing just slipped my mind, but I was browsing through a Charlie Russell book today, "Trails Plowed Under," written by the artist about a year before his death. The Introduction, written by Will Rogers in 1926, was a letter to Charlie in heaven, and I figured, what a great idea. And he started it out, "Old World."

But of course, it ain't as though we've forgotten you, you know that from the many times you've heard us toast "To Bob," in the booth and elsewhere in the five years since you've be assigned to keeping God in stitches. I figure, given the state of the world, he needs you, maybe more than us, but even if not, he does get to pull rank.

I hope you got to see and hear our party for you on our back porch earlier this month. We had a good crowd, and I'm posting the photos with this letter on my blog, just in case. I know you don't understand this blogging stuff--I remember you having trouble with email. Just think of it as a sort of digital diary and newspaper column. But yes, unlike your lead pencil, it does crash from time to time.

Anyway, in case you missed it, I  thought I'd catch you up on things down here since you left. Frankly, the place has gone steadily downhill, most of which is my fault--actually I'd like to blame you because you weren't around to set me straight. Yep, I got this wild-haired idea to merge with the communication department--I know, I can see you rolling your eyes. We needed to get together with the broadcast folks, but the communication people came with the deal. They're good people, but as you said, they were more "touchy-feely" people than us. They do think differently.

That was five years ago, and as a testament to my foolhardiness, I got elected chair again of the whole outfit--22 full time faculty and as many part timers--a huge department--meaning of course, more problems. Then of course, not being able to get my senses straight by playing you cribbage at least once a week, I got bogged down and lost a couple of administrative battles. The result is that I'm no longer chair, having been given the job of running the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame, which I do enjoy, cause I get to work with journalists and don't have to worry about all those personnel problems, and the endless administrative meetings that waste so much time, but which academics just love. But I've moved out of the building and spend less time with students.

And now, the worst news I can tell you...Sherry Sump is retiring in a couple of months.  I can tell by your silence how stunned you are. You and I used to get to the office at 7 a.m. and sit in the darkness and sign and enjoy silence and talk, and we'd often talk about what a great secretary she is...we'd agree she's the best we'd known.

So the department has changed radically since you've left, and when she's gone, it'll sure never have the same character and spirit.  Students, alumni, faculty, everybody likes Sherry. She's been here almost 15 years now--can you believe it? We joke that she's my "other wife," because we're so much alike and I rely on her so much. We were arguing with each other one day--you know, good natured disagreement like all journalists have...and a student overheard it, stuck his head in the door, and asked, "Are you two married?" Ain't that a hoot?

You can be glad you're gone, because there's more and more official nonsense and paperwork--I swear they're trying to make us all clones--and there have been no real raises since you left.Your "Sweet Pea" and family have been down to visit a couple of times, and we keep wanting to get up and visit. I hear the redbud tree we bought is doing well in your front yard.

We think of you often, almost every day, and you'd be pleased to know it always brings a smile.. Went to a NCAA basketball tournament here with son Travis--he says hello, by the way--and Kansas State was playing. Immediately, I thought of you referring to it as "Silo U."

On personal news, I've got six great grandchildren now, and I hear from Liz that your family  and grandkids are doing great things, including being at Notre Dame. Those are the important things, aren't they?

At any rate, at our party for you, I dug out the old cribbage board, your ugly green coffee cup and a photo of you and I playing cribbage in the "Booth." They were on our back porch during the party, and you were toasted many times. I used good Irish Catholic whiskey, Jameson, for the toasts. The booth has moved about a mile south of where we played, but the plaque is hanging there, and we visit it almost every week. But I haven't played cribbage since our last game.

There's some people up there I'd like you to look up and tell them I said "Hello." There's a one legged artist up there, probably doing portraits and landscapes, name of Terrence. Tell him you knew his oldest son, and  that son has taken up watercolors and is pretty good--not as good as his dad, but good enough that a Clark watercolor hangs in the Illidge manse in Wichita. And my Mom is up there too, a tall slender lady with a great sense of humor, and all her brothers and sisters. They're probably located in the East Texas section. Amble over and tell Mom how much I miss her, and share some stories.

Well, I'm about out of stuff to write. I look forward to sitting down with you for another cribbage game, but I'm not in any big hurry to do so, just yet. We think of you often and miss you. Take care of God--he needs all the good spirits he can get these days.

"Himself"

The miracles of life

Miracles of life--moss, and fungus, and lichens, and more, abounding on what was once alive.

The more I travel, and look, and wonder, and read, and age, the more I'm astounded at the miracles of life on this planet. 

The seasons of life are brief.

We humans seem to think that we are the center of creation, and the last, best stage of evolution, but that is so egotistical and short-sighted, and frankly perhaps a stupid insult to both God and science.
A brochure about the Flint Hills in Kansas listed the various numbers of wildlife in a square mile...birds, reptiles, etc. It added there were 10 million insects in that small area.
I was reminded of the comment about life flourishing on earth if man went extinct, but ceasing if insects were exterminated.
As you study more about God and come closer to the Native American view that God is in everything, that all life and earth is part of God, that we are all connected, you begin to realize how small and insignificant we are. As you study science, especially the facts of our DNA, you find that we're infinitesimally different from all other humans, and even have 97 percent identical chromosomes as Chimpanzees, for instance.

The seasons of life are long.

As you look at the small things around you, at the beauty of the creation, at the age and permanence of life and the earth, I think it is possible to see God,  for what are you looking at, but God?
A walk in Rock Bridge State Park in central Missouri this last week made me more aware of how brief our life is, how much we are part of a whole, how much we should enjoy the moments we have.

Like creek water over stones.

It's an ever-changing journey, like creek water over stones, glistening in the sunlight. It's filled with mystery, and wonder, and discovery, part of a larger whole beyond our comprehension, but of an existence we are privileged to be part of.

A journey of mystery

Metaphor and more--blogs to think by

An infinity of shapes and lives and meanings

Metaphor. Yesterday's post about clouds continues today, in the skies and in the blogs I read.
Today's heat made clouds unlikely , other than a general high haze, but a few have drifted across the skies. It's good that clouds are like people and snowflakes...infinitely different, never the same. That's part of the fascination of living. An infinity of shapes and lives and meanings.
And metaphor helps tell the stories, helps make them clear and relevant...one reason among many that Christ's parables were so powerful.
A metaphor master in my mind is friend and colleague Sherri Ward, and her blog, Blonde Moments illustrates that every time she writes. There's usually humor, pathos, and concluding thoughts that almost take the wind out of you. The most recent post linked zip lining and life and God. I'm Tethered. 
Another blog that always causes me to stop and think, almost as a daily devotional, is Turtle Rock Farm, published by Henry Bellmon's daughters at their Billings retreat. The most recent post  will wake you up to the sounds of summer. Read Morning symphony.
And for an upbeat, avant-garde blog full of energy and offbeat content that'll make you enjoy thinking, you should look at Really Most Sincerely, the blog of my former student Sheri Guyse, a modern media maven. Read the most recent, The Internets.

Blog favorites on the birthday

At Black Mesa, March, 2012

Those of you who read this blog, which is now five years old, know I have some favorite topics.
Watercolors, art, traveling, New Mexico, books, family, trains, writing, a little religion. So as I started looking back over these 48 months of blogging, several articles and postings stood out. Here are my favorites.
My favorite--Best writing, humor, mingled with fun and tears--"Booth is a verb--A Love story," which stretched to more than 10,000 words in several posts over two months in August and September, 2009. Here's the link to the first episode, http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2009/08/booth-is-verba-love-story-prologue.html
Travel--lots of these but three are my favorites. First was a tie-- several posts about the USS Abraham Lincoln sailing from San Diego to Everett Washington in April 2011, thanks to former student and officer Steve Curry. When I was summarizing travel since the blog started, I left this out, and should have listed "Pacific." Sorry Steve. Here's the link to the opening post of seven about that "Pirate Proof Cruise" as I called it. http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/04/tiger-cruise-part-one.html.
I'd be hard up to rank it ahead of several posts a year ago this month, on our trip to Alaska...one of the items on my bucket list. Here's the first of 13  posts  in May and June with photos and video and writing. Here's the first link: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/05/alaska-itinerary.html
Also at the top of the list, or near it, was the flight I took on a WWII B-17 bomber on D-Day, 2010. Brother in law Jim Henry and I each paid $300 for the flight over Oklahoma City. They wouldn't let me bomb Republican headquarters, but the posting includes video as well as photos. What fun for a fan of WWII aircraft. Here's the link to one of about four related posts that month: http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/search/label/B-17
Other favorites in travel included the trip to India, in March 2011, and to hike Black Mesa in Oklahoma in March, 2012, each with several posts and photos.  http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2011/03/flight-timeindia-journal-thoughts-i.html
http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2012/03/to-top-of-oklahoma-and-back.html
Then there are other blog favorites, like humorous conversations with God on tenure, heaven's bar, and church services--check the months of Feb., 2010., Oct, 2011 and July, 2012.
Too many paintings, book reviews , photos and family history, and New Mexico to share. Yes, it's multimedia, but after all these years, it practices what I preach...you have to have good writing first. Thanks for reading. More to come.

Geezer, God chat on top of Black Mesa

Old professor meets God while hiking on top of Black Mesa, Cimarron County, Oklahoma.

"Who are you?"
    "You can call me God, or Allah, or Yahweh or Odin or ...."
"I didn't expect you up here. And where's the long beard?"
     "You're lucky to meet me unexpectedly while you're still breathing. Most people meet me unexpectedly when they stop breathing. And I'm getting tired of the 'beard' thing. What gives you the idea I have a beard?"
"All the artists...."
    "Artists are great creative people, I like them, but I've not sat for one portrait. If you ask me, they took a little too much artistic license for that.  Beard? I've never shaved. Besides, your Scripture says I am a spirit, so what gender is that? A beard is just out of the question. Now what are you doing up here (as if I didn't know)?"

"Consider the yucca...."

    "Looking for beauty, and inspiration, and room to think."
"Have you considered the yucca? ( I know it's not like considering the lilies of the field, but hey, this is Black Mesa.)"
      "Well yes, I did when I brushed too close to it, and one of the spiny leaves struck my leg
"You should have been watching where you're going."
     "I was, but was looking ahead on the trail, wondering how much farther it was."
"So you missed the beauty of the stalk and flowers and the purpose-filled life of the leaves while wondering about the future?"
      "Hmm, never thought about that."
"I thought you said you came out here to think. Did you think about rattlesnakes? They're one of my best designs. Beautiful patterns, occupying areas others don't usually like. They keep those furry little varmints under control--I admit, I underestimated their reproduction ability."
      "Well, yes I did. It is too early for them, so I wasn't paying too much attention to the trail right under my feet."
"That's what's wrong with you Americans and humans--you look too far ahead, or you're always looking back  where you've been."
      "I only stopped at the rim to look back at the view."
"That's not what I meant. All this nostalgia stuff. You've been looking back ever since Moses wrote about the Seven Days. I'd hoped you'd 'evolved' since then (pardon the pun), but no, still hung up on how all this started. Get over it. It really doesn't matter. I'm here. You're here now.  Live now.
     "Hey, I'm a Texan and a Southerner, we grew up looking back."
"Exactly my point. Get over it. You read where you're made in my image? That means living now, not then, or sometime ahead. Present tense."
      "I was trying to do that up here."
"I'll admit you came to a good place to do that. I like high places."
     "Closer to heaven?"
"Stop it, no. I'm here. I know, I know, I made the low places too ( Great tune I put in Garth Brooks' head. and by the way, I have lots of friends like that--remember the 'eye of the camel' thing?), but they're for swamp people, and alligators, and such. Too much humidity for me. I like the free flowing wind and clear skies so I can see more of this masterpiece, especially before you people ruin it."
     "Hard to believe that up here in the middle of almost nowhere."
"Now you sound like that crackpot Senator Inhofe of yours. Honestly--no wait, that's wrong.  The evidence is everywhere, if you use the brain God (uh, Me) gave you. Just too many people--hmm, like those furry little varmints, and without natural predators, I underestimated your humans' love for copulation."
    "Most of us in Oklahoma don't use that word, but a much shorter one."
"I know, but it's much more sophisticated, which fits my personality."
    "So, do you have any more advice for me, other that watching where I put my feet?"
"I've had lots of advice for you people from The Beginning, and you mostly ignore it. Why do you ask now?"
   "I was trying to get you off politics. It's too pretty up here for that ugliness."
"By God (er, by Me), you're right. Enjoy your hike. Watch your present tense step, you might miss something important."

Geezer and God

Old professor and God, driving down an empty highway in the Oklahoma Panhandle.

"I know a lot of people call this a 'God-forsaken' land, but I like the time alone."
    "Excuse me, that irritates me. How can someone call this "God-forsaken, if they believe in God, or for that matter, especially if they don't? I mean,  I do remember creating this place."
"You startled me. I thought I was here alone. How did you get here?
    "I've always been here. That's why I'm riding with you, and you're not alone."
"It feels like it. Not a lot of people understand why I come out here."
     "Why do you come out here then?"
 "Let me put it another way. It's a great place to get away from traffic, and noise and too many people."
    "But why do you come out here?"
"Gives me time to think, to enjoy wide-open spaces, the huge skies. Fuels my imagination. I get to talk to myself."
    "What about talking to Me?"
"I'll admit, this country makes you want to pray, because you realize you're pretty small, and not in control, and being in a hurry doesn't make sense. But talking to God wasn't at the top of the list."
     "Who said you had to pray to talk to God?"
"You know what I mean...."
    "Of course I do, I'm God,  but what makes you think all those other things you mentioned aren't the same as talking to me?"
"If I told people I was coming out here to talk to God, and that talking to myself was the same as talking to God, they'll think I was just a crazy old geezer."
    "Does that bother you?"
"I like being a geezer. It allows me to be who I am, and say what I want.  Sure, my students laugh at me, and other faculty just shake their heads in disbelief but they seem to enjoy it.
   "Why do you think they enjoy it?"
"I don't know. Maybe because there are so few characters left in bureaucracy, and civilization is trying to make cookie cutter people these days. Maybe individuality is refreshing."
   "I wouldn't call that 'civilization.'"
"Well, I don't either, which is why I come out here to talk to myself."
   "And me."
"Oh, God (uh, oops), I forgot."
    "So have a lot of people."

Jesus denied tenure--a conversation

A conversation between God and the professors of American "Higher Education."

God:  "What is this? My boy was denied tenure. Even the Jews called him "Rabbi," a universal--and I should know--term of respect for a good teacher."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, there's more to getting tenure than just teaching."

God:  "I thought you were 'professors"?

"God, that's true, but actually, teaching isn't that big a part of getting tenure. In fact, a lot of bad teachers get tenure every year."

God: "How can that be"?

Tenure committee: "There are several reasons. One is that many places are afraid of being sued. Another is that some whacko will start shooting people. Another is that the professors don't have enough service and haven't done enough research and publication. Or they don't have a terminal degree."

God:  "Service! Excuse me, my boy excelled in service--he healed the sick, made the blind to see, calmed storms, created wine, fed thousands. I mean he literally walked on water to help people...."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, that's wonderful, but helping people is not the kind of service that counts in "The Academy."

God: "Then what does?"

Tenure committee:  "Well, you know. Serving on committees that draft long reports or study campus issues. Or being elected to the faculty senate. Or working to improve the faculty handbook to assure some form of shared governance. Or getting grants from large corporate sponsors for research or buildings. Things like that."

God: "You mean sitting in long meetings, talking forever, forming other committees, never getting anything done? Sounds like Hell to me."

Tenure committee: "God, it makes us feel important."

God: "What about the students"?

Tenure committee: "Only junior faculty, lowly assistant professors and lecturers usually work on committees involving students. It's not all that critical, especially for senior faculty."

God: "Now what about this research and publication stuff?"

Tenure committee: "Professors must do research in their disciplines, discovering new knowledge that contributes the The Academy. The research must be original, supported by strong statistical analysis, and then published in a book or our refereed academic journals...."

God: "Wait a minute, wait a minute. My boy literally wrote an entire book--a best seller...."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, frankly we saw his submission, but  it was ascribed to several other authors. He can't claim other people's work. And further, there were no footnotes nor statistical analysis. Its sources were   vague and only roughly qualitative at the most--nothing quantifiable. All that material would have to be attributed.  How could he honestly call it "New"? And really now, the "review of the literature" leading up to that book? Come on God--citing the entire Old Testament won't do. No footnotes to all those previous quotations, no verifiable research that can be cross checked. Even historians question its validity. And frankly, his dossier was pretty thin. Just three years of what he called 'field research' That wouldn't even qualify for a Master's thesis."

God: "His students called him Master, for God's, uh, My sake! Refereed? God kno... uh, Myself knows, I vouched for his work.You're telling me that quoting ME isn't a good enough source"?

Tenure committee: "God--er, Youdammit, we have to follow the standards of the faculty handbook to assure the reputation of The Academy and all our hard work through the years. And frankly, there are a lot of professors who seem to doubt your qualifications.
"And besides, there was his nasty incident in the Temple of throwing out the money changers. God, we can't afford to alienate corporate donors and stakeholders."

God: "Stakeholders? Stakeholders? My boy can tell you something about stakes!

"Speaking of that. This terminal degree nonsense. He certainly had a terminal degree--literally! And besides, you gave tenure to Muhammed--another of my favorites, a step-son really, even if he does call me 'Allah'"

Tenure committee: "Ur God, that was really the final straw . Muhammed has a law degree. It's only a J.D., sure, but it's close enough to a Ph.D., that we can count it. Your boy barely finished grade school."

God: "Pardon me--no, you can't do that--but you guys have a Hell of a system working for you."

God and professors--paradise without tenure

God:  "Welcome to Heaven. Sorry for the memorized formula speech, but we have to read you your rights. You've got your welcome packet, met the lawn crew, read the rules, signed consent and release of liability forms, signed up for health care insurance like Congressmen get, been assigned mansions just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and  streets of gold,  got pass keys to the stables of The Four Horsemen, know where the cafeteria is, gone through training to use the Help-Desk, got security clearance from IT, and have been issued always-clean-no-wrinkle white robes. Any questions?"

Professors: "When is fall break and what office hours do we have to keep?"

God: "Give Me a break. There is no work here,  no office hours. If you can sing, you can join the choir. For others, like Clark, we'll find something else to occupy your time, oops--no time up here either--to keep you busy."

Professors: "It seems we've filled out a lot of paperwork and useless forms."

God: "I figured you university types had lots of experience with that, so I wanted you to feel at home. Don't worry, the forms will soon change and you can do them over."

Professors: "How come the angels have different colored robes? We see some with gold, silver, bronze,  and ours are white?"

God: "The gold robes are for Full angels, silver for Associate angels, bronze for Assistant angels, and white for Lecturers."

Professors: "What? We're full professors. We don't even speak to lecturers."

God: "Up here, we have a real 'higher-ed' system. It's based on service, not snobbery."

Professors: "Service? We've all been on committees and task forces and faculty senates and  ..."

God: "Not that kind of time-wasting mediocrity. We don't have any time to waste. Literally. Up here, service means actually helping people."

Professors: "So what about research?"

God: "Just ask Me."

Professors: "Would you mind repeating that construct so we can dialog  with you as to the impact of this concept vis-a-vis our cognitive post-modern theses..."

God: "Stop it. No profanity up here."

Professors: "About research, God. It was more important that teaching or service down there, and we're specialists in analyzing minutiae so we can publish it in academic journals."

God: "I repeat, if you want to find something out, or do research, just ask Me. I know the answers, all of them. Quantum physics? Philosophy? The name of Shakespeare's dog? --Yes, Shakespeare had a dog. Never would have found out that would you?--Why Conan was really fired?  How the so-called Religious Right's synapses misfire in their brains and the chemical analysis of that?  Literature? Did you know there's a lower level of Hell that Dante forgot about? The one reserved for autocratic administrators and poor teachers.

"Name your discipline--such a silly term for knowledge--and I can give you all the answers, and the statistical calculations and chi-squares, immediately.Where do you think 'Rain Man' got his talent?  I am a know-it-all. No brag, just fact. Nope, no need for 'research' up here, sorry.

"And publishing? That is so 18th Century. Nobody reads those 'journals'  anyway, much less understands all that obtuse academic jargon. They just gather dust.  I'm not interested. Now if you've written something for Mad Magazine, I might be, or if you have an I-phone ap for Mad, cool."

Professors: "Then why are we here?"

God: "Good question. I wonder that Myself. Well, you all must be pretty good teachers. Your dossiers show you actually liked students--even Freshmen. You helped them learn,  weren't boring, didn't talk down to them, learned their names, mentored them, didn't mind being disagreed with, kept your doors open for them, weren't rude or arrogant, kept your office hours, were on time, were usually prepared, had a sense of humor and were secure in challenging them and being challenged."

Professors: "So how do we get to move up to Full Angel. What about 'shared governance' and when do we get tenure?"

God: "I've got a lot of people who need a lot of help. Lists everywhere. Get busy."

Professors: "Uh, about  faculty senate and tenure...."

God: "There ain't no faculty senate or tenure up here. I don't 'share governance.' That's why I'm God. Don't have to. Satan has a faculty senate--meets  and talks forever and never gets anything done...modeled after your systems."

Professors: "No tenure in heaven. Why we thought...."

God: "Ever hear of the fallen angels? No. Hmm, I thought you were educated. You did know Milton plagiarized in 'Paradise Lost,' didn't you? Check out his source, an old book among many I recommend. I've got it on a podcast if you want visuals. It might be apocalyptic for you.

Professors: "Godda...er, Youdammit, God. Tenure...why that guarantees our academic freedom...."

God: "MeDammit. Look, If you want tenure, you can go to Hell. Never have to leave. Never will."

Conversation with God, on arriving in Heaven

God: "Ok, you've got your welcome packet, met the lawn crew, read the rules, signed consent and release of liability forms, signed up for health care insurance like Congressmen get, been assigned a mansion just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and a street of gold,  got a pass key to the stables of The Four Horsemen, know where the cafeteria is, gone through training to use the Help-Desk, got security clearance from IT, and have been issued an always-clean-no-wrinkle white robe. Any questions?"

Clark: "Well, it's been a long trip and I'm a little thirsty."

God: "We've got fountains free everywhere, including one from under my throne...."

Clark: "I mean I was sort of wondering where I might get, you know, a real drink?"

God: "You mean a bar?"

Clark:  "Yes, except not one of those Oklahoma ones with 3.2 beer." 

God: "Me Dammit! You mean they still enforce that?"

Clark: "Unfortunately. The Religious Right and the Republicans won't bend."

God: "Of course not. They work for the wrong Guy."

Clark: "Uh, God, about that...."

God:  "Oh yeah, a drink. Well we had to open one for all those Irish Catholics. They thought it was part of the Contract, and wouldn't sign without it. Where'd they get that red hair and temper? Never mind...just remembered."

Clark: "Uh, you haven't heard of my best friend Bob Illidge have you?"

God: "Illidge? Illidge! If I ever hear of the 'vagaries and vicissitudes' again, I think I'll die...oh, that's not possible, but you know what I mean."

Clark: "Do you know where I can find him?"

God:  "He's probably down at the bar playing cribbage waiting for you to show up."

Clark: "Where is that bar? What's its name?"

God: "I named it myself. 'Heavenly Hootch.' Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Clark: "Just don't try writing any headlines, please. Now where?"

God:  "Right down the street, next to where the choir is practicing. Actually, I prefer the choir stop in there first. It helps them get 'in the spirit,' if you know what I mean"

Clark: "Great. Uh, God, when does Happy Hour start?"

God: "To quote Illidge, 'It must be 5 o'clock somewhere.' Clark, didn't you read the rules? There's no time up here. so there can't be a Happy Hour. All hours are happy."

Clark: "Well I'll be damned. Hell of a place you got here."

God:  "Don't push it.  Texans, journalists and professors who think they're God, aren't,  and don't get special treatment up here. Not even tenure. You were lucky to get in. I had doubts but a couple of cute red-headed angels convinced me. Satan likes you guys almost as much as Republicans, Okies and OU fans."