Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter is one of our RDC contributors who also drives around the state. A lot. He’s a geotechnical engineer and does soil and sub-surface testing for various projects that invariably lead him across the creeks and rivers of Oklahoma. And, underneath the bridges to take photos. A few weeks back, some of our readers were having a conversation about the funky creek names in Oklahoma. Here are a few of their comments:
Dog Thrasher Creek. I don’t remember exactly where it was but around Pawhuska to Drumright-Pawnee area of Oklahoma..
@Mike – somewhere (I think close to Woodward?) I drove by Skunk Creek.
One of my friends, (name omitted), told me that on road trips with her grand-kids they played a “game” of sorts where they would try to decide why a creek got its name. I’ll try to send you a pic of Hog Shooter Creek soon. We have some great names in NE Okla.
There’s “Suck Creek” but that’s down around Chattanooga.
Anyway, you get the picture…then Mark chimed in and said he had photos of several creeks in Oklahoma…and, well, there’s our Silent Sunday “trip” for you today. He wrote about these photos he loaded for you, “The great old bridges of Oklahoma display a lot of different designs but they are being replaced. Enjoy these pictures, but be grateful you won’t have to drive across them anymore.”
This morning our Silent Sunday post is completely focused on Tulsa. Because quite a few of our contributors live in central Oklahoma, we want to make sure and let Tulsa know they are in our hearts as well. All images have been provided by Vlad Railian, an amateur photographer from the Tulsa area. We’re certainly glad you’re living in Tulsa Town, Vlad…and for showing us some of what your city has to offer. One final note, the LED photos aren’t necessarily “Tulsa,” per se – I just liked them and thought they might be appreciated as Christmas lights with a twist. ~ RDK
This past summer I left my beloved state and visited a foreign land. The primary purpose was to take courses with a group of students from the University of Oklahoma School of Law in Oxford. However, I combined other parts of the trip with my regular marital policy work at OSU, and took a few days vacation to visit distant relatives I had never met. The trip was one of the best experiences of my life and greatly nurtured the Explorer within me. I’ve been working on cleaning up all the photograph links that somehow deteriorated during our move to the new site. During this process, I decided to put this guidepost up so if anyone would ever like to revisit the journey through my “40 Days in the UK,” they could do it all from one location.
Photographer's one week old colt, taken April, 2010 - Fittstown, OK (south of Ada). To visit "Brown Photography" blog, click the photo.
Looks like this little girl's parents will be up for more face painting this year as the OSU Cowboy football team continues their winning streak. Click photo to visit the OSUPics site.
Monday afternoon I was sitting in the window seat of a plane flying toward Minneapolis. During take off preparations, some of the shiny chrome trim on the tarmac equipment caught a reflective beam of sunlight and sent it directly into my eye; so, I had shut the window cover. But now I was curious. I wanted to see the view, to look around and say hello to the sky.
Ice crystals. Some of them looked like tiny caterpillars or stands of mitochondria.
When I lifted the plastic shade I was met with a view of tiny ice crystals that had been forming on the outside of my window. I examined them and looked for purpose or replication in their pattern. I thought about Minnesota and wondered if the quilted jacket I had with me was enough to keep the cold air at bay. My thoughts turned toward the conference. It had been a long day, so I reached up to once again close the shade and try to nap. I had been up since 4 a.m. and had a long night of preparations still in front of me.
Just as my arm started the downward motion to close the shade, something caught my eye. I stopped and took in the “skyscape” moment, visually tracking the long blanket of cloud cover beneath the plane all the way to the horizon. I’ve seen the clouds before, but I almost missed them this time.
Oh, HEY clouds. Good to see you!
I had allowed what was right in front of my eyes to be all that I considered. I then wondered, who had I done that same thing to today? Yesterday? This week? So my hope for you today is:
Remember to also step back, take in the whole person, and enjoy or consider their sum. After all, their whole being is always so much more than the sum of their individual parts.
Persimmon Time - Oklahoma is great place for finding edible treasures across the land. NOW is the time for Persimmon foraging. Have you seen any around? - Photo by Red Dirt KellyThe "Zac" group did their best to help OSU win their homecoming contest against Nebraska, but it just wasn't meant to be. This photo and more from "America's Best Homecoming" celebration at http://www.osupics.com/ Proof positive that fall IS coming to Oklahoma...eventually. Photo by Kenny Bomgardner, taken of his tree.While the weather is still good...make sure and plan a trip to the Wichita Wildlife refuge. You might find yourself sharing the road with this guy. Photo by the Oklahoma Tourism Department. Click to read more about the area.
For a little over six years now, I’ve walked the halls of the College of Human Environmental Sciences (CHES) at Oklahoma State University (OSU). One of the things I’ve never worried about is where I might eat my lunch in case I’m in too much of a rush to pack myself a meal. There are two restaurants in the adjoining building to ours, CHES-West. One of them is a little “faster food” style cafe’ serving both breakfast and lunch. The other is Taylor’s Dining Room, the “fine dining Lab for students in the School of Hotel and Restaurant Administration.”
I eat there about two or three times each semester. Every time I go, these thoughts come to my head: 1) The food is a good value compared to other bistro-style restaurants in larger city areas; 2) I’m contributing to the students’ education by eating there and interacting with the staff; and, 3) I get more than a meal when I go. I get a smile on my face; it’s a treat to be welcomed, seated, served and checked on by students in training within the 8th ranked hospitality and tourism programs in the world.
I visited Taylor’s about a week ago and was glad to see they continue to revamp the menu as are newly inspired from students, faculty and visiting chef’s from around the globe. In the mood to welcome autumn, I ordered the Arugula, Pear & Manchego Salad ($9) and a glass of tea.
The salad was complimented by their bread basket. They’ve changed their daily bread service since last year; the added bread sticks with caraway was a nice modification.
Like many salads I’ve had lately, I had to pick out two or three wilted leaves. Other than that, the dish was excellent. I especially liked their choice of the buttery Manchego cheese as a compliment to the sweeter poached pears.
If you have a chance to visit Stillwater and want a good meal for a good price, I suggest Taylor’s. It’s a chance to give, get and eat. Bon appetit!
We have a little gem of a bakery out here in the country. Backerman’s Bakery and Cheese Shoppe is a small Mennonite Bakery owned and run by a local Mennonite family. The bakery is a fairly popular stop on Highway 64 and is one of the ways I get my friends to come visit me…I promise to take them to the bakery for a fried pie.
A brief amount of research on Mennonites in Oklahoma revealed that this group played a role in the Land Run of 1889. They were key to helping Oklahoma become a major wheat-producing state. Currently there are three Mennonite churches in the tiny town of Corn (formerly Korn) which only has about 591 residents. Corn is located on the western prairie range, about twenty miles or so south of Weatherford.
Our local Mennonite community raises funds the first weekend in October in order to support their Mennonite school. The Mennonite Oktoberfest celebrates German heritage treats (without the beer) and the goodness of community. Of course, anytime I see an “O” and a “K” together, I think of Oklahoma; nothing screams “goodness of community” like my home state.
Oklahoma History Center (OHC) at Night - images provided by the OHC
One of the more recent precious jewels in Oklahoma’s crown has been the addition of the Oklahoma History Center, supported by the continued development and dedication of the Oklahoma Historical Society and their community stakeholders.
Last night I spent 30 minutes exploring their website. The first five minutes were used to review their current and upcoming events for October; I got overwhelmed…so much to do, so many choices! Then a blog hyperlink caught my eye. Well, I was “done for” at that point. I read three or four posts. Okay I read five, commented on all of them like an overzealous cheerleader, then told myself “Stop! It will be there tomorrow, and even the next day!”
I do hope you’ll visit their facility very soon, either to look through their exhibits or attend an event held in the beautiful building. And, if you ever have a chance to hear Director Dr. Bob Blackburn speak, my recommendation would be to drop your other calendared commitments and choose him. The guy knows his stuff, he’s really approachable and is a true teacher and scholar. Maybe I should have just written this shout out for him…yea, Dr. Blackburn!
"Tipi With Battle Pictures" - OHC Blog Photo, Authored by Matt Reed
However, there is much more than Dr. Blackburn’s speaking to enjoy. October is “Family History Month,” with new events, contests and news being posted every day. Check out their events calendar by clicking here.
The Center, the Society and all those involved who helped build what we now enjoy are to be commended…and for your efforts, you ALL get our RDC Friday Morning Shout Out.
Thanks for the good work, Red Dirt Kelly
"Winnie Mae" Atrium at the OHC - Photo provided by the OHC
You can read the story and other press pieces on their website. You can know that, depending upon your foot size, these men’s boots could fit women as well. And you can be certain that when wearing them, you’ll walk a little taller…how could you not?
Utilizing connections and relationships the world over, HELM boots are hand-made in Istanbul with soles from Italy, served up in several locations around the U.S. And they absolutely eke of style; an old-world return to a new future we have for fashion and footwear.
Based upon my research this morning, it appears that Josh and the boots have received a good bit of publicity in Oklahoma, including a feature in the Daily Oklahoman and a trunk show at the Shoe Gypsy. However, I’m just now finding out about them and frankly, have mentally started a “HELM boots savings account” to buy my favorite pair.
The culture of creativity runs deep in Red Dirt country and sometimes that story extends beyond the Red River. And sometimes to the other side of the world.
Congratulations, Josh, for realizing one of your dreams. I’m sure you’ll have more, based upon what you’ve done to this point. I’m making a note to check on you in another year…and I’ll be sportin’ my HELM boots when I do.
The "Jarmon" canvas, christened after his mother's maiden name...I want these. If you missed the link in the first sentence, click this photo to visit their website.
Down through the centuries, theologians and mystics have spoken of divine experiences in human time as kairos moments. By definition, a kairos moment is an event used by God to impact one’s life. It involves an intersection of sorts between the horizontal and vertical, the humdrum and holy, where, for a fleeting moment, one experiences God’s nearness in his life and God’s hereness in his world.
Kairos moments have happened infrequently in my life. But none was more pivotal and life changing than the karios moment on an obscure battlefield at Gettysburg.
The months leading up to this event had been colored by deep darkness. It had been almost two years since my wife and I first visited the fertility clinic. Now the “I” word was not some distant and remote diagnosis. It was a sobering reality. By this time, my prayer life had been reduced to a whimper of faith. The silence of despair grew firm within my chest. On the brink of a spiritual breakdown, I prayed as a desperate man for a break through. Little did I know how God would answer my prayer.
Culp's Hill
While attending a leadership conference at Gettysburg, one night I was approached by Marty, a conference leader. He asked me if I wanted a personal tour of Culp’s Hill, a famous battle during the Gettysburg campaign. I grabbed my Mountain Gear fleece; I was definitely up for it.
After snaking our way up through hills exploding with green April foliage, we stopped at a tiny knot of cedars surrounded by large boulders and scattered tree logs. “This was the Union army’s extreme right position,” Marty exclaimed as he pointed to a breastwork of cobbled stone covered in moss and dirt. “It was here that the fate of the Union army largely hung in the balance.”
As Marty began to lead me around the markers that jutted up around the hill, the whole scene suddenly transformed before my eyes into a dramatic amphitheatre of war.
The main battle commenced at dusk on July 2, 1864.
As darkness moved in amongst the thick trees at Culp’s Hill, the NY 137th disbanded in a thin line from the saddle down to the lower hill. Below the hill, gathering in a swale, and quickly filling up many trenches was a Confederate brigade led by General Steuart.
About that time, General Meade of the Union Army sent orders to Colonel David Ireland, the twenty-five-year-old commander of the NY 137th. General Meade’s orders were short and exacting.
“Colonel Ireland, hold the line at all costs.”
Soon Steuart’s men moved into position behind the low stonewall in rear of the 137th.
They quickly unleashed a staccato of gunfire. Before they knew it, the 137th was taking heat from front, right flank, and rear. Their position, as Marty described it, was “like a finger, surrounded on three sides.”
At about that time the 71st Pennsylvania regiment showed up. They were backups sent by General Hancock to assist the 137th. But seeing Ireland’s men taking heavy musket fire from all directions, the 71st fired off a volley or two at Steuart’s men and quickly withdrew from the line. Their position was untenable.
Union fortifications built to ward off the Confederates.
With half his infantry dead, resources depleted, and reinforcements in retreat, Ireland decided to order one final defensive tactic: commanding his regiment to stack up granite rocks to form a stone wall. There, entrenched on the saddle back between the hills, Ireland waited with his men.
As Marty showed me where Ireland had burrowed in with his men, I tried to put myself in the young colonel’s shoes. I got down on my knees behind the stonewall and peered out into the thick darkness with only the silhouette of the overhanging limbs visible. I wondered how Ireland held his men together as trees splintered from canon fire, bullets pinged off granite rocks, and hot metal tore through sinewy flesh. I suddenly felt like I could hear the shrieks of young men as they breathed their last breath and their souls slid out of their bodies.
Effects of Union shot and shell on Culp's Hill - photo by William H. Tipton.
Somehow through the long and unrelenting night, Ireland and his men found the strength and fortitude to stymie every Confederate charge up the hill.
At around three a.m., Steuart’s men suspended their attack due to complete lack of visibility and thus an inability to determine who was who. They feared they were shooting and killing their own men. As their attack subsided, the 137th found renewed strength and hope as the 14th Brooklyn and the 6th Wisconsin showed up with reinforcements.
Had the Confederates known the 137th was the end of the line, they could have advanced toward the Baltimore Pike and overrun the Union army, changing the outcome of the battle at Gettysburg, probably turning the tide of the whole Civil War.
But the line never broke.
After Marty finished telling the story, I stood in complete silence, as I suddenly felt like Culp’s Hill was becoming holy ground. I didn’t see a burning bush or hear an audible voice. But as the wind rustled through the Pennsylvania birch trees and I stood against the cobbled traverse, I sensed somehow that God was near.
A scripture came to mind, one that I had memorized early in my life.
Let him who walks in the dark,
who has no light,
trust in the name of the Lord
and rely on his God.
~Isaiah 50:10a
For two years I had endured what St. John of the Cross called the oscura noche, the dark night of the soul. During that time, I felt like Job—confused, doubtful, and befuddled by God’s seeming absence and deafening silence. My prayers were punctuated by sighs and groans. I came closest to God in my questions. I wondered not whether God existed but if God knew I existed. Did he know my pain? Did he see my suffering? Would he respond to my cry?
As I walked the hallowed grounds at Culp’s Hill, I began to pray. Specifically, I echoed Peter’s prayer: ‘I do believe, Jesus, help me overcome my unbelief!’ (Mark 9:24). I confessed to him that I felt like I was living within a precarious space between two parenthetical opposites: one being faith, the other being doubt. The bitterest pill I felt I had been forced to swallow involved watching Amy suffer and hurt and not knowing how to palliate her pain in any way.
In that moment, though, as the moon rose high into the starless sky and the leaves turned silver, I felt that God was near. For so long, God had seemed distant and remote, like a satellite. Sensing God’s closeness now, I cupped my ear and leaned into the silence. What I heard filled me with a renewed trust that the night would give way to the day. And somehow, in some way, against all odds, pressed in on all sides, he would hold the line. Like Col. Ireland and the NY 137th, Amy and I would see the first gleam of dawn burst through the darkness. We would feel the sun on our faces again. We would hear a new word heralded through the clouds: a new day had arrived!
~~Note: Josh and his wife Amy documented their journey, struggles and resolution to travel to Africa and adopt a child in their book, “From Ashes to Africa.” This post is a revised piece from that book. For more information visit http://fromashestoafrica.com/
A tiny snapshot of the good done in Oklahoma for Oklahomans every day. Flatlander Car Club members, Roger Koehns and John Pugh, present a couple in need, Tia Hegwood and Alex Holguin, with a check for $500. The couple struggles with medical expenses due to Tia's diabetes. (Courtesy photo - provided to the Guymon Daily Herald.) Click photo to visit the newspaper for the article and link to the Car Club website.Muslim men and boys pack the mosque of the Islamic Society of Tulsa during services Friday marking the end of Ramadan. MICHAEL WYKE/Tulsa World Read more from this Tulsa World article by clicking photo.Oklahoma photographer Carl Zoch's self-documentary compilation of a recent trip he and his friends took to the mountains. Great shots & music. Click picture for the "Carl Was Here" slideshow.
Mrs. Tulsa America, Sasha Townsend and her partner Ryan McDaniel won "A Time to Dance", a local Dancing-With-The-Stars-style competition, to benefit the Hospitality House of Tulsa. Inserts on the photo are a shot of them rehearsing, and of their trophy. Click photo to visit the Hospitality House's website. Reprinted w/permission from Mrs. Townsend. Congratulations, Sasha!Young girl led by her father on a miniature horse in the Sept. 4, 2010 Wilson Fall Festival Parade. Click picture to visit "The Ardmoreite" festival photos.Oliver and Ina Stonecipher will be celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary in Stratford, OK on Sept. 19th. They were married in 1940 on the Pontatoc County line by Reverend Vard Wood. Click the picture to read the news announcement and see a photo of them on the day they were married in 1940 - linking you to the Ada Evening News.
Two young boys play with toy farm equipment on the livestock barn floor, State Fair Week, 2009. The Oklahoma State Fair opens this year on Thursday, Sept. 16th. Click picture to view the 2009 State Fair photo gallery.Ft. Cobb State Park - by Manual Focus Custom PhotographyDouble rainbow, captured by Carl Zoch - Oklahoma City, Sept. 2, 2010
Newlyweds gazing upon an Oklahoma sunset - by Carl Zoch. Click picture to travel to his gallery.Oklahoma State University Students at the football season opener, Sept. 4, 2010. Click picture to travel to Daily Oklahoman game slideshow.University of Oklahoma season football game opener - Broyles' end-zone dive, Spet. 4, 2010. Click picture to visit Daily Oklahoman photo slideshow.
How many people have visited Meers, Oklahoma to get a hamburger and wax nostalgic? How about Eischen’s Fried Chicken in Okarche? Wilson’s BBQ in Tulsa? J&W Grill in Chickasha? The Italian restaurants in Krebs?
How many have visited these establishments for so long that they then take their children and eventually their grandchildren? Of those grandchildren taken by their grandparents (who were waxing nostalgic as well as enjoying their precious cargo), how many decide to then take their teenage friends back and begin their own sentimental journeys?
I have no idea. I do know that at least one has followed this hypothetical pattern. She took her boyfriend on August 18th, their two-year “dating anniversary.” She took him to Meers, Oklahoma to get a hamburger because she had a nice time when she was a kid on a trip with her grandparents.
Tylz and Rylz (Tyler Garcia and Rylee Roberts) headed toward southwest Oklahoma at approximately 3:30 in the afternoon. They had scheduled the afternoon and evening off work, dressed up slightly, printed out a map and set out to find the restaurant on their own. It wasn’t their first road trip and it probably won’t be the last.
They arrived at the restaurant, ate dinner, talked to the cook, and said hello to the stray cats. The cook said they could take one with them if they wanted. “Well,” he hesitated. “Not the fat one. You can take one of the others.” Evidently he had a soft spot for the “fat” cat. I wonder how many hamburgers that cat has ingested?
Just prior to arriving at the restaurant, Rylee spied a sign on the road. “That’s where I went on youth retreats! Camp Y’Shua…Let’s go back there after we eat. I’ll show you where I camped!”
Where she camped. Where she went with her grandparents. Where she went to her youth retreats. Tyler was getting the grand memory tour and Rylee was just fine with being the tour guide.
They said goodbye to the cats at the restaurant, explored the grounds at Camp Y’Shua, stopped by the lake to watch the sunset and headed home.
Tonight I was trying to decide what to put on the blog since we moved our Sports release to Friday, and another piece I had come in didn’t really fit our mission. It was one of those “What do I do now?” times. So I’m digging. Digging for some angle. I asked Rylee, “What is it about the 20-something crowd that makes them want to go back and explore the Oklahoma culture? The grass roots of our state? What is it that motivated you to choose Meers for your two-year anniversary trip?”
“It’s not my ‘group’ or my friends that are doing this, mom. We were the only ones our age in the restaurant. I just wanted to go back.” She sounded slightly annoyed.
“Okay. So, you just randomly decided to go?”
“No,” she replied. “That’s not it. I just wanted to go because I went there once with Granny and Papa when I was little and I liked it. That’s all.”
She wasn’t waxing philosophical. She just wanted to share a happy memory with her boyfriend.
Her reason was so much more than I had assumed before I heard her answer. And, it was certainly deeper than my questions.
I am a white-skinned father with a black-skinned son.
A little over a year ago, my wife, Amy, and I adopted our son, Silas, from Ethiopia.
Silas turned two in December.
Today our conversations tend to revolve around our favorite snacks – yogurt and lemon pound cake at Starbucks – and favorite TV characters and movies – Elmo and Ratatouille. We also squabble very little these days. Sometimes Silas will take a swing at me when I take away the Wii joystick. And other times he’ll treat the cheese sandwich I made him for dinner like a Frisbee.
One day, though, Silas will want to talk about other things. Like the color of his skin. And my skin. And his mother’s skin. And pictures and events and people and dates he finds in his history textbook.
There are some historical dates I don’t want to broach with Silas then. August 12th, 1955, for example. That’s the day Emmett Till, a 14 year old boy, was brutally lynched in Mississippi by white, southern, “Christian” men.
Then there is September 15th, 1963. That’s the day when four little girls were killed by a white supremacist bomb at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.
Or April 4th, 1968. That’s the fateful day Dr. King had his hope-filled voice silenced by a sniper’s gun.
But then there are days in America’s history I can’t wait to explain to Silas.
Days like December 1st, 1955, for example. The day when Rosa Parks refused to give up her bus seat to a white man. That small, defiant “no” reverberated out into a large, defiant “no more.”
There are other days, too. Like August 28th, 1963. The day Dr. King delivered his famous message, “I Have a Dream.” It was a day unlike any other day. It was a day of dreaming of another kind of America.
And then there was November 4th, 2008. Obama’s presidential victory. And then there was January 20th, 2009. Obama’s inauguration.
These are dates I look forward to telling Silas about – not as a student of history, but as a participator in making history.
Baby Silas
And I will tell Silas this: whether one voted for Obama or not, one could not argue that it was a significant symbolic moment. And a storied moment with deep biblical resonances. From hundreds of years wandering in the wilderness of prejudice and oppression. To now the new days of exploring the “milk and honey” land of equality and opportunity.
Undoubtedly, MLK glimpsed the Promised Land from a distance. Like Moses. Like a dream just beyond his grasp. But Silas, you, and others of your skin color will experience this land as a blessed reality. Like Joshua. And the nation of Israel.
I can only pray that this new land for you will shimmer with the topsoil of fresh possibility, and contain in its seedbed the promise of renewed dignity. But, Silas, there are still weeds trying to choke out these verdant seeds. For though the “color line” W.B. Dubois spoke of has been broken in America’s political establishment, it still exists in America’s religious establishment. 95% of the evangelical church, for example, still remains divided along the color line. Unfortunately, Martin Luther King Jr.’s truism stills rings true today: 11 am on Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour in America. Perhaps, though, Silas, by the time you come of age, that small, subversive 5% of the American church will have grown and spread through the body of Christ like a lush vine.
Voting though won’t bring this change.
Only Spirit-led repentance will.
I can only pray that you discover these seeds pods of repentance bursting within my heart. And your mom’s heart. And your grandparents’ hearts. And in the hearts of all of those who you know that call themselves Christ followers.
I am reminded of observing MLK Day last year. You, your mom, and I celebrated Dr. King’s legacy with our adoption community at the Queen of Sheba, a local Ethiopian restaurant. On that special day, our dear friends, Eric and Tara, received their referral picture from Ethiopia of their soon-to-be-adopted baby boy, Malak. That night we laughed and cried over Malak’s picture, ooing and awing at his large black eyes and his luminous smile.
Later that night as I lay awake in bed and reflected on that festive evening, I couldn’t help but wonder if in fact Dr. King were alive today, would he approve of couples like us and the Silvestres adopting black children. I also thought about how far we have come, from an age of colonialism, where Africans were our slaves, to this new post colonial age, where Africans are now our sons. And I wondered if Dr. King could have even dreamed of such a day when such transformation was possible. Who knows really? But it makes me wonder if at the Queen of Sheba, if just for a fleeting moment, with our bellies full of freshly baked bread, and sweet Ethiopian wine on our tongues, and with you in our arms, and Malak’s picture in front of our faces, if we did not glimpse even if for a moment, the future community of God, the eschatological days when the old age of hatred and racial division will be truly over, and a new age of love and racial harmony will have begun.
As I closed my eyes to sleep, I suddenly recalled Dr. King’s words spoken days before he was assassinated.
“The end is reconciliation;
the end is redemption;
the end is the creation of the beloved community.”
And remembering these words, Silas, I thought to myself, Perhaps the end has already begun.
-Josh Bottomly
Editor’s Note – this article is reprinted from Relevant,an online magazine. It was published as a Martin Luther King Day feature dated Monday, January 19, 2009. Josh is the Director of College Counseling at Casady High School in Oklahoma City. He coaches basketball, is a husband and now a father of TWO children from Ethiopia.Silas has a little sister. She joined the family in June of this year.
Lower red arrow shows where I stayed in "Staircase 14" - Amsterdam Quod. Other labels were added because I mentioned them in my posts.
Day 40 was 30 hours long. At least it felt as if there had been 24 hours + the 6 hours time difference between Oklahoma and England. And that’s putting things mildly.
On Sunday morning I left a city 75 minutes northeast of London and by Sunday evening landed on a very familiar Will Rogers World airport tarmac, right in the heart of Oklahoma. The time in-between those two events is a bit of a blur. Here are a few things I remember…
As I sit and write this entry my shoulders tell me this:
1) Suitcase = 61 pounds. The service person at the desk “…let it slide. After all, it’s not THAT much over 50 pounds.” [Really? Cool!]
2) Laptop = 6 pounds. I know. Please, no lectures. I realize there are sleaker models.
3) New bag = 7 pounds, crammed full. If the top had included a magnet clasp, the prospect of carrying that much clutter scooped in the last minute from my dorm room vanity would have been dismal. A zipper top is a thing of beauty.
4) Casebook, statues and handbook = 9 pounds, stacked neatly in a paper bag with handles. In the morning the bag had gleamed in its spotless, wrinkle free state. In the evening, the bag was hardly recognizable. Smudges, rips, one handle barely fastened. However, I got my books back. Good thing – they were 300 dollars. Young parents attending college must weigh this decision frequently: “Books? Or that child we wanted to have?”
Total poundage drug through three airports? 83 pounds. Sometimes at a dead run. Other times as a slow crawl. Never gracefully.
And as I wrote those words, “dead run” another thing came to mind. The magical beauty of an Express Connection bright orange sticker.
Like a Golden Ticket from Willy Wonka, only it's an Orange Ticket from American!
This little adhesive label allows the bearer to bypass thousands of people standing in line to get through customs and check-in counters because you happen to have been on a plane that arrived dangerously near the departure time of your connecting flight. Amazing – – leave one plane, go through customs, retrieve 61 pound suitcase, re-check it into another counter, ride the train to a different terminal, run like anything (with no regard for how you look to others at this point), and get to the connecting flight with 11 minutes to spare. Never mind that it needed repairs and didn’t leave for another hour or more. The magic of the orange badge had already been experienced.
My very special library card
When I got home and started emptying 83 pounds onto the middle of the living room floor, a small white card fluttered down from my laptop bag and underneath the coffee table. I stooped to pick it up, flipped it over, and saw that it was Brasenose College Library Card.
I’m not a big “souvenir” person. I don’t appreciate clutter for all the nostalgia it might contain, and I don’t do scrapbooks. For those of you who know Kelsey Sweger, she can attest to the fact that after a four-hour tutelage (and she IS a scrapbooking master), I have given up the notion of ever embracing the hobby. As I instinctively raised my arm to toss it into the trash pile, however, I hesitated.
I couldn’t do it. Maybe I’ll keep it. I guess I can have two souvenirs…my handbag AND my Library Card. And my memories. And this travel journal I’ve been keeping for 40 days.
Yep, that should do it. I completed my 40th day by sitting in the living room, way past my bedtime, talking to my husband, daughters and their boyfriends. I passed out travel gifts, listened to their stories about “how to jailbreak the iPhone 4,” what the girls did in Ecuador, and how Mick managed three yards at once while two sets of neighbors and I were gone. It was a perfect finish to my 40th day.
But as I composed this post one day past day 40, I didn’t have closure. One more thing needed to be done.
I lifted the top of my flatbed scanner, took the Library Card, and walked across my office floor. I looked around and decided it needed to be protected. Lifting the glass front to my antique 4-stack barrister shelves, I put it on the top row in the center, leaning against the back of the shelf.
I closed the lid and I was done. Tomorrow I return to work with my handbag in tow.
My fingers found the light switch as I continued to study the placement of the card on the shelf. “Well Done,” I thought to myself. And I turned off the light.
I am, to this day, a “Frasier” fan. The affected antics of two psychiatrist brothers raving about their less-than-stellar chocolate shavings atop their cappuccino cracks me up. The show’s writers blended a well-developed group of characters and scripting with the perfect mix of snobbery, culture, uncomfortable situations and physical comedy.
Take, for example, the ongoing desires of Niles and Frasier to become “Corkmaster” of their wine-tasting club. Watching their over-the-top “sniff, swirl, sip, swish and swallow” routine always sent me into helpless giggles (while wrestling with an uncomfortable anxiety – could they really be that ridiculous?).
So…I was watching a British couple decked out in their after-five attire walk down the sidewalk last night, her white feathered headband bobbing to and fro, and I thought of Frasier, Niles and their perpetual “dressing up” for occasions…and then the aforementioned wine-tasting episode as I noticed the couple was entering a posh hotel – a massive picture window view of diners eating and drinking inside. “Yes,” I thought. “There is my Day 39 inspiration. Perfect.”
Bag purchased on my last day in Oxford. One of my "final three" tasks to complete.
Sniff – When I arrived in England I was completely disoriented. I had to breathe in the culture and test the question of whether or not to embrace my new adventure. The aroma of London was promising enough, so I raised the glass of my 40 Day Trek to chin level and pressed on.
Swirl – The nice thing about swirling your drink is that you are in control of the velocity, therefore having some influence of the blending process as you prepare for partaking. I took my time, met with those who were important to me, my research and my energies, and agreed that this was a good thing. Not too much, not too little; a manageable schedule with appropriate velocity. I swirled, ramping up my culture intake, and went on to Oxford.
Sip – A gentle taste of things to come was helped immensely by the staff at Oxford. “Here, my love, let me take your bags.” “There you are now, dear, new fresh towels.” “Oh no, you can’t find the bus in that direction. You’d best turn ‘round and head the opposite way. That’s right. All better now.” Sip too hard, your wine goes straight to your windpipe. Sip too softly, and you annoy those around you with a horrible noise [aka – too many questions of too many people]. Read the Law Conference Manual, ask for directions occasionally, go to class, take advantage of what’s around you…and your drink is appropriately consumed. Nice. Very nice.
Swish – The purpose of swishing is so that you leave no cultural taste-bud unstimulated. You fill every nook and cranny within your head, in this case, with aromatic information of the grape, vintage and year you’ve chosen to drink. “Oxford, Summer, 2010,”she requested, “One bottle please.” Included in this swishing were day trips, special lectures, events, studying, cramming and taking exams. The final and most intense swish was accomplished through my Family Law final – a culmination of excellent lectures, incredible reading load, and an exhaustively complex three hour test that took us through marriage, divorce, child custody, international jurisdiction and the utilization of the Hague Treaty on child abduction. Wait for it……[*gulp*].
Tea and freshly baked Scones. #2 of my final three tasks to complete. Yummmm.
Swallow – on the evening of Day 39 the wine trickled down my gullet as I walked the streets of Oxford one final time. I had three things to accomplish on the journey. 1) Purchase a souvenir handbag for myself I have been eying the entire stay; 2) Pay a visit to an establishment rumored to serve the best baked-when-ordered scones and tea in town. The spread did indeed live up to the recommendations; and, 3) say goodbye to Oxford. As I walked down Queen’s Lane that last evening, the warm afterburn of my drink in my throat turned to emotion-filled pressure…the kind you feel before a cry begins. I was going to miss this place. I’m glad I came. And, I was glad to be going home.
Breathe – On the first breath taken after a drink, the “finish” is revealed. Rustic flavors of ancient walls and scholars, berries from the bushes, cherries from the trees, and apples from the garden of knowledge filled my head and sinuses. The finish was a good one; in the economy of payoffs vs. investment, I deemed my drink a winner. I am the Corkmaster of my own journey, so the Frasiers can continue to argue all they wish. I’ll be enjoying my wine for years to come.
Analyze – This category is still a work in progress. As the information from my 40 days in the UK settles, gets categorized and utilized as needed, I may think about it differently than I do now. Right now, my analysis is that I’m terribly grateful to my family and my place of employment for supporting my decision to come.
As I ended my evening walk, I metaphorically put the cork back into my bottle for safe keeping. It was time to pack, time to rest, and time to think about returning home.
Oxford, Summer, 2010.
An excellent wine, a bountiful year, and if I were placing the value for the market listing, I would put “Sorry – unavailable. Upon examination, owner renders a ‘priceless’ judgment and refuses to sell.”
Henry, our Red Coated Tour Guide, is out entertaining cute children right now, so I'll have to stand in his place. Sorry - he's really good.
[Cue the soothing tour guide voice.]
Welcome. Thank you for your interest in the highly sought-after talent of Effective Exam Preparation Avoidance. Are you a beginner? Perhaps you’ve had some experience yourself? Oh, are you an expert? Well then I’m sure you will have helpful contributions during our discussion. Come along now…this way please.
Stop 1: Breakfast
Be sure and seek out a place to eat your morning meal as far away from your domicile as humanly possible. Make sure it’s raining, and forget your umbrella so you can have “just one more cup of coffee until the rain lets up.” Consider whether or not you’ve absolutely exhausted all possible conversation with the restaurateur. If so, you’ve started out on the right track! Next…
Stop 2: Essential housekeeping chores
Although you could do laundry tomorrow afternoon following your three-hour exam covering a boatload of material, it would be better if you did laundry now! That way, the three trips back and forth to put the laundry in, switch it out to the drier, and take it back to your room will absorb precious studying minutes. Need even more help? That’s easy – forget your laundry detergent. Bravo! On to…
Task 3: Examine the interior of your dorm room while avoiding the open books on your desk
In case you don’t quite understand this advice, I’ll help you out with useful information to illustrate my point. For example, did you know that my dorm room floor is so uneven that you can effectively measure the angle with an index card? Well, now you do. It’s easy…
Just look at your prefab bookshelves jutting out from around a corner in your room. Measure the length at floor level. See? It’s exactly the width of the “narrow” side of an index card! Now, let’s measure the top. Wow! It’s exactly the length of the “wide” side of an index card! Now, just subtract the narrow from the wide in inches, then turn that into a right triangle spread over the area of one side of the floor to the other. Calculate, and voila!
Good job! 30 more minutes down the drain. Excellent work.
What? It’s only 11:30? Well, that’s a mere 3.5 hours of avoidance. Not nearly enough to be effective. Perhaps an early lunch? Definitely. A nap because the lunch made you sleepy? Perfect. Now, we’re talking. You’ve avoided your family law final exam for 5.25 hours now. After all, what in the world would you have done with all that studying time?
Next…
Task 4: Panic and freak out because you just wasted 5.25 hours of precious study time.
A good way to approach this point in the process would be to grab all the highlighters you can find, throw open your laptop, madly begin typing as fast as possible to complete the outline that is only half-way done, forget a good portion of week one and two course material therefore having to re-read several cases and a few hundred pages, look at your red eyes in the mirror, try to remedy your red eyes with saline solution, jump back on the bed and resume the “madly typing and reading” portion of your work, and keep this up for the next seven hours. Make sure and skip your dinner so you’ll have a blood sugar level of less-than-optimum. Good. Very good.
I can see you’re going to be a pro at this.
Repeat the “freaking out and cramming cycle” until 2:00 a.m., sleep until 5:30 a.m., finish your notes at 7:00 a.m. Print them out, and seek out a healthy breakfast to get your metabolism back into some semblance of a chemical balance to hit right before the exam.
There. You did it. You have now completed the Amsterdam course on Effective Exam Preparation Avoidance! If you feel you need to crash for a three-hour nap, then you will get extra points plus a bonus video.
Tune in tomorrow where I’ll demonstrate Effective Packing Your Suitcase Avoidance.
Have a nice day.
~~ ~~ ~~
Disclaimer: 1) Amsterdam is the name of the third quadrangle section of residential halls in Brasenose College completed in the late 1800s. They have in no way endorsed this exam avoidance program, nor is this blog post to imply such assertion.
2) Rumor has it that if you do the opposite of the advice in this field manual, you will pass an upcoming exam with flying colors.
Critically discuss that the European Union (EU) has evolved into a “U.S. of Europe.” Critically discuss the free movement of people, goods, services and capital. Are human rights adequately protected under EU Law? There is a democratic deficit in Europe: affirmative or negative? Critically discuss the EU Parliament, the EU High Courts, the EU Commission…
Points, sub-points, counterpoints, caveats. Write, write, shake my hand from to relieve the pain of an ergonomically incorrect pen grip, and begin again.
For two days I had been preparing responses to these questions and now it was just a matter of cramming in every word possible within the allotted time. For a brief moment while I was rubbing the joints in my hand I said a short prayer of thanks for the Brasenose library. The venue exudes an air of getting down to business and prepping for exams. My mind then flashed to the stuffed cat I saw curled on top of a stack of ancient volumes, and I diverted that thought as quickly as possible.
While I understand that stuffing a dearly beloved cat might be a positive thing, in remembrance of the feline soul and all that it gave the library over the years, all I could think was, “Icky!” (See 19th Century stuffed pets.)
Back to the exam. I haven’t used a “blue book” since my undergraduate years. I filled mine full save one page, stopped writing, leaned back in my chair and breathed in slowly. Then out. Done. One down, one to go.
And in case you are now bandying about the answers to the questions in the first paragraph to entertain yourself, just let me know when I get home. I’ll meet you at the pub and we’ll have ourselves a robust dialogue.
The gardens are nice. University Park is a wonderful treat. But walking along the curving way of Queen’s Lane in the evening on a cool night is the best. The BEST walk, in my opinion, in all of Oxford.
No cars. One or perhaps two rare bicycles. Three or perhaps four people…no more.
High walls, ancient rock, carved gargoyles and mountings. Long shadows, leaded glass, and cobblestones beneath your feet.
The Lane is fairly long for a street in the city, and walking around each corner reminds me of the feeling I first got when walking through a labyrinth made of turf and small shrubs.
Socrates described a labyrinth in this way:
“Then it seemed like falling into a labyrinth: we thought we were at the finish, but our way bent round and we found ourselves as it were back at the beginning, and just as far from that which we were seeking at first.”
However, at the end of my Queen’s Lane labyrinth, I usually find that which I was seeking…a quiet stroll in a foreign land, before I head back to my books then my bed.
Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.
Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter is one of our RDC contributors who also drives around the state. A lot. He’s a geotechnical engineer and does soil and sub-surface testing for various projects that invariably lead him across the creeks and rivers of Oklahoma. And, underneath the bridges to take photos. A few weeks back, some of our readers were having a conversation about the funky creek names in Oklahoma. Here are a few of their comments:
