NEXT!?!

Good morn all, this is the Stranger and I am quite aghast.  When I heard that Josh was going to change the name of New Attitude I thought, "Oh no! Well, I will withhold judgement until the new name is announced."  Here it is, NEXT.  Yeah.  Next is next apparently, and it couldn't be much more lame.  I mean, ok I can chill with the message intended by this word but it doesn't have much power in the shadow of ten years of New Attitude.  *SIGH*  This is where someone would say, oh let's just be all meek and follow the leadership (yadayadayada) and I will however this does not change my slight outrage.  We will see what comes next.

Dt

Cold Snap

It was the Dead of Winter and he was whiter than snow. In the lonely mountain ranges which spread across the Eastern world two men slumbered within a warm cabin. The equipment stored close by said they were going to ski cross country, and the thick blanket of snow in the mountain ranges said it would be a good skiing trip. The sky was changing its coat slowly as the rays of the sun reached into the frigid sky. Black heavens receded unto a frosty blue and the harsh klaxon of a cheap alarm rudely roused the travelers from their bunks.

"Remind me again why we set the alarm for 7 in the morning when we have all day to travel to the bottom?" Said a groggy skier. The other man without reply escaped his bunk and warmed up some coffee. Soon thereafter he was joined by his stumbling companion and they shared a simple breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and coffee. Still mum they put on their suits and sticks and glided out of the cabin into the winter morning.

The trail in the mountains sloped upwards forcing the men to rely on their sticks to propel them to the trail's end. They planned to take this trail until they reached a fairly high altitude and then to simply ski down the mountainside. "Man, I wish my life looked this good all the time." Said the now not groggy man. The view was breathtaking; the sun had just ascended over the peak and was illuminating the forests and valleys in the roots of the mountain. The other man paused to survey the splendor, and then proceeded on without comment.

They eventually began to notice their breathing becoming strained in thin air and decided they had climbed far enough. They hydrated themselves and rested for a few minutes before taking what the talkative one thought of as the big plunge. "Yeeehaaaw!" Said the only man in apparent use of his tongue. The other man was smiling. They raced each other down the snowy scene for a time and then slackened their pace to something a little less hellbent. Still silent he took out his compass and pointed to the east of them, alongside the slope instead of down.

The first time that day the other man replied in actions instead of words and followed him. They travel east until the meet with what skiers call the spines of the mountain. The rocky formations caused by some great upheaval of earth blocked their way east for as far north and south as they could see. Their only option was to travel even farther down the slope. "Figures, we'll probably get lost." Piped up Mr. Talkative. Mr. Silent made a mute sigh.

For the first time that day Mr. Talkative guessed right, they did get lost. The dazzling light began to fade and the snow blurred the differences between rock and tree. In the failing sun they at last spotted a shallow cave in the side of the spine. Fortunately they had some trail mix left to eat and enough water to survive for another day. But the night did not pass with much rest for either of them, for the air was continuously pierced by the cry of the wolves and the roar of bears. They both greatly feared they were squatting in the den of some beast and would soon enjoy claws and teeth as their reward.

Before light had fully taken hold they left the cave. The slope before them was barely discernible and they traveled cautiously towards the bottom. They had almost passed a gap in the spine when Mr. Silent spotted it and made towards it without warning. "Hey, wait! What?" Cried out Mr. Talkative, soon followed by a soft "Ooooh." They headed east desperate to reach the town where their all terrain vehicles were parked with supplies. In the night the sky had sent down a short rain which made the trek more slippery and as a result Mr. Talkative was complaining. "Ahhh, gosh. It had to be freezing rain. The snow was perfect only yesterday and..." Mr. Silent didn't hear any other words and turned his head to see Mr. Talkative sliding backwards down the mountain.

His panicked yells only increased when he lost his sticks and all the while Mr. Silent sped after him. Farther and faster he hurled down the slope but not as quickly as Mr. Silent. Soon enough they were side by side, one in control and one out of it, and Mr. Silent grabbed the arm of Mr. Talkative. They began to slow down, bit by bit, as Mr. Silent shed momentum with well placed movements. Yet he saw the cliff side too late. Suddenly Mr. Talkative was hanging off the edge of the cliff and Mr. Silent somehow had managed to stay on the slope while keeping his companion's arm in a firm hold.

"Richard! Oh Lord, oh Lord!" Stammered Mr. Talkative gripped by fear. "Calm down Mark, you're doing nobody a favor by panicking." Replied Richard with the strain obvious in his voice. "I, I've been headstrong Richard. I've stopped being an example of love and light, and I've allowed my pride to blind me. Oh God, forgive me for wasting so many years and backsliding faster than my ride down this mountain!" "Mark, what are you doing?!"

The air was fast, sliding past him with its frigid knives. The side of the spine had been lifted quite high off the mountain floor and the landscape flashed before Mark's eyes just as fast as his life. Soon he began to hear a high and sweet sound as he fell faster and faster. He looked up to see Richard looking down at him, just a small figure now, and he felt like he was flying instead of falling. In the death of winter he was whiter than the snows of his grave.

Dt

Ps.  This story is a little rough around the edges, so I'm sure you will all have comments about how I can improve it.  But I still like it.

A Somewhat Haunting Scene

Allow me to spin to you the tale of an actual current event. My co worker's (codenamed Sali) mother passed beyond the rain a few days ago. Sali is a bright and cheerful young lady with an Arabic and eastern orthodox lineage. From her character and life I have seen much fruit and have little doubt as to her salvation. She has often told me how her mom has been an inspiration in her life and based on what I've seen in her I wouldn't be surprised to find the Mrs. in heaven one day. I never met Sali's mother but by all accounts she was a beautiful person, how similar her wake was to this.

There was still large amounts of snow on the ground from the big storm only two days prior to the wake. It took me about a quarter of an hour to dig out my car and another to arrive at my destination. Rose Hill Cemetery is not a quiet and secluded place, it is not nestled behind green hills beside a forest, and it is not tiny or quaint. In fact it is just off of Main street, immediately after the Mall, and before another large shopping complex. Despite this odd geographical placement the church by the Cemetery was all the things a grave-side church should be, simple, ambiguous, and beautiful.

I noticed it didn't have any icons or statues right off the bat, it was white on the outside and a softer dim off-white inside. People in dark colors were spread out in clumps of two or three in the receiving area. They were talking in low voices some in English, but most in Arabic or some other foreign language. Many were richly dressed wearing Mink or expensive Italian suits, some were obviously college students with their cargoes or jeans, but everyone was mindful of their current purpose. Death, it seemed, had gathered this conglomerate of tongues in one place.

I eased past the early wave of mourners and signed in, leaving my name and address, and entered into the sanctuary. It was of moderate size following the form of a catholic church (with the nave and focal) minus the statues, pillars, and icons. There were dark wood pews to sit on and I noticed a few friends of mine from work closer to the front where Sali and her family were standing, greeting, crying, and huddling together for protection from some unseen cold.

In the sanctuary guests and families were seated sporadically some were whispering to each other but most were in silent contemplation. The casket was open revealing a middle aged red headed woman with a kind face, an old style eastern cross, a picture of the same woman when she was younger, and a white cloth settled around her. A stool was placed in front of the coffin for those who practiced by any form of the Catholic faith, twenty flower baskets were spread out to the right and left, and a small piano was nestled in the corner. The ceiling, mostly grey, turned white then a majestic looking indigo (representing the Holy See) which melded into a stained glass window of what was probably paradise.

A large family was greeting Sali and her family, they looked to be fast friends. For they kissed each other on the cheeks three times and hugged each other, right before dissolving into tears and sobs as they spoke something in incoherent Arabic. Their meeting was passionate, but brief and they soon had moved on. Round the bend another family came, and another, some with little children, others slowly with canes, and still more in the spring of life. I watched as a family member to Sali brought her new born baby boy for them to hold. Mourning gave way to smiles of delight as they passed the little one to and fro. His giggles and cries of delight melted so many more hearts and they cried more, this time for the joy of life.

Soon enough I went forward with my friend and coworker to offer our condolences, there wasn't much to say so I hugged her and went to pay my respects to her mother. All I could think of as I stood there was this woman's legacy, all of the people in that room may not have cared for her much in life but they were there for her death. Many were suffering the signs of many tears, others of boredom, but they had come to show to Sali and their family that her life was not in vain that she had gained friends and left a big pattern in the fabric of society which would continue to affect it for generations. As I commented to someone while standing in line at the local Barns and Noble (don't ask how we got on the topic) death may be a part of life but so many forget that life is a part of death.

Here's to you, mother to Sali and dear to the hearts of many, I at least am convinced of your life after death. See you there.

Dt

Sana

Good news everyone, this semester I enjoyed my introduction into Latin. I knew English was steeped in the language of Rome but I never realized just how many words we outright steal from them. For example, as the title suggests, sana. Sana means safe or sound (sound as in whole, uncorrupted, etc.) which English uses in the word sane (within one's right mind) so that if we say, "I am a sane man." We really mean, "I am a sound man (or a safe man)." Inversely insanity (non sana) would be likened unto, "I am not a sound man (not a whole, complete, or safe man)."

I'll give a fairly interesting example (which has also changed the way I look at English). After many years of anxious toil and frustration I have solved the mystery between the words dexterity and sinister. In Latin these two words are often found close to each other even though we would hardly think to put them in the same sentence in English. Dextra means right (often combined with hand, road, foot, etc. right as in the direction not the correction) sinister (same spelling!) means left. This made me really think about the history of English and the culture surrounding it. Back way back in time when English was still being formed these words were used and had other connotation besides right and left (it wasn't all black and white). Because most people were right handed they probably connected being nimble with your hands with being right handed. Ergo, dexterous. Left handedness was more rare and you typically do not assume someone to be left handed, and therefore are surprised when they give you a left hook instead of a right cross. This surprise put a pallor of disrespect upon the word "left" and we began to associate sinister with evil tendencies.

Amazing! There are hundreds of examples in Latin of words with the same or a similar meaning to the one English now gives it or of words with the same or similar spelling but completely different meanings! The etymologist in me shrieks with pleasure at the unravelling of often pondered questions like, "Why do we spell words the way we do?" or "How did it come to be that this words means this when it seems to indicate something else?" As my Latin tutor would say, I am a Latin nerd. Well, I proudly hike up my over sized pants and tighten my suspenders because I indeed am a Latin nerd and intend to stay so.

Dt