Bren Turns 16

Our first child turns 16 today. My Facebook statement sums up my sentiments nicely: “Hard to believe my eldest son Brendan turns 16 today. He is smart, responsible, strong, gentle, persistent, respectful, and faithful — and I love him.” But don’t take my word for the type of young man he is (outstanding in many ways) or what motivates him (faith, food, personal goals, and a particular brand of ginger soda). Consider how he’s spending this special occasion:

  • The movie Cinderella Man and pie last night, and the actual Braddock-Baer fight from 1935 on YouTube this morning.
  • Breakfast burritos this morning, football this afternoon, stuffed pasta shells this evening, chocolate bundt cake for dessert — all here at home, with family.
  • No driver’s license until later this winter or early this spring — he’s got school, wrestling, Confirmation classes, and taxidermy work to earn money for a pilgrimage to Rome next summer.
  • On his birthday list: several Catholic books; the movies Big JakeCaptain America and Here Comes the Boom; the book Cinderella Man, and a “Vires et Honestas” (Strength and Honor) t-shirt from the Art of Manliness website.
  • Theology class tonight with his friends.
He opened his gifts this morning: a secondhand army dufflebag containing the following:
  • two 12-packs of Vernors, plus a book called The Vernor’s Story and a vintage Vernors recipe guide from the 1960s;
  • a handful of 100 Grand candy bars;
  • a jar each of smoked black pepper and hot dill pickles;
  • Fr. Richard Heilman’s books Church Militant Field Manual: Special Forces Training for the Life in Christ, Fortes in Fide: Church Militant Prayer Book, and Strength and Alliance: Church Militant Field Journal;
  • The Naval Academy Candidate Book: How to Prepare, How to Get In, How to Survive;
  • Three movies: Here Comes the Boom and the two recent Sherlock Holmes flicks;
  • and a set of keys to all three vehicles and the house on a Captain America key ring.
Some of it he asked for, all of it he’ll enjoy — and sweet 16 in this case is a relaxing day at home. He’s growing into a fine young man, and we’re proud of him. Much love to you on your birthday, son!

It’s In the Small Things

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”  — St. Augustine of Hippo

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged.

I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that I’m neglecting this site. I’ve been thinking that I ought to just provide quick updates and anecdotes about the kids. That’s what my readership (largely friends and family) tend to read and comment on anyway. But I also have in my head these much grander posts I’d like to write, but can’t find the time for — and I second-guess myself about the smaller updates and think, “Why spend valuable writing time on the day-to-day, when you have bigger fish to fry?”

As a result of this back-and-forth, I’ve written nothing.

Last night, a dear friend, Fr. Tyler from Prairie Father, visited from South Dakota. As usual, we talked long and late about everything under the sun — most amusing were his interrogation of Trevor on the topic of Greek mythology, which Trevor knows primarily from Percy Jackson and not from the myths themselves, and his discussion with Gabe about the nature of reality and the unintended consequences of Copernicus’s work and the scientific method.

Later, we began to talk more practically about how we, as Catholic adults, can live our faith on a daily basis and act as missionaries wherever we happen to be. I admitted a tendency to downplay the little ways in which I can evangelize in favor of planned grand gestures in the future: a book I’d like to write, or a pilgrimage or retreat I’d like to take with friends or family. Several times during the discussion, Fr. Tyler repeated, “It’s in the details. It’s in the little things.”

“I know you’re right,” I replied at one point, “but that’s not how I’m living on a day-to-day basis.”

I’ve said before that I believe men want to be a part of something great and glorious — but although I had a great marriage and glorious family, I’m constantly, restlessly searching for that great and glorious thing — that other life — I should be leading.

It’s in the small things.

I thought about his words throughout a restless night and morning — then checked my personal email and found a new, anonymous comment on this blog post. It’s the most popular post on my little site, and I joke about it sometimes, because my web stats tell me that post, in particular, is big in Russia.

Yeah, I’m read internationally. Deal with it.

The point is, not only am I looking for the next big thing, but I downplay, and even mock, the little things I do well. Today an anonymous reader (Fr. Tyler, was that you?) reiterated the message of last night: It’s in the small things.

* * * * *

Blogger’s Postscript: Apparently I’ve written this post before. How soon we forget…

For Jodi: An Anniversary Poem

The two of us.

Seventeen years ago today, I promised my life to my bride. I do not say I married my best friend, though I may have thought so at the time and though it is certainly true today. We were young and barely knew ourselves, let alone each other.

In truth, I married my greatest challenge — as I have said before, “the rock, the glue, and the guide.” What we glimpsed during those first three summers in South Dakota was an unseen hand and an unimagined plan for us. Thank you, Jodi, for trusting Him, and teaching me to trust.

genesis

you were the word unspoken, love

the gift yet to bequeath

when light first pierced my darkness and

revealed the void beneath

 

i was an unformed wastrel then

a breath of dust, alone

you were a shaping vision, love

and carved from solid bone

 

you were a moving stillness, love

my unknown missing peace

a heartstring tug that drew me near

my bond and my release

 

i was a crash of water then

and you the softest stone

i broke myself upon you, love

and you returned me home

Book Break: Atlas Yawned

Several months back, when I took a break from blogging, I spent many long weeks listening to an audiobook reading of Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. From the opening chapter, I wanted to like it — it unfolds like a story that needs telling — but my guard was up: from what little I knew of the book and of Rand, I was certain to find parts of the book’s worldview objectionable.

In hindsight, I still believe there is a great story to be told in Atlas, buried among the monotonous monologues, ham-fisted philosophizing, immense egos, and sexual dysfunction and self-loathing. It is prescient in some ways, and in general, I agree with the dangers of rewarding inability and incompetence, and saw much I recognized in the progressive agenda and the corporate culture of political power, spin, and blame. On the other hand, the insistence upon ability as the sole criterion of the worth of a person, the overly simplistic and roundly negative presentation of religion, and the conflation of lust with love are fundamentally problematic for orthodox Catholics (and should be, I would argue, for Christians in general).
But as a reader and aspiring writer, the problems run deeper (or rather, shallower) than these. The books goes on and on, long after the point is made and the mystery solved. Dagny Taggart and Hank Rearden are among the brightest minds of their era, and neither can put these pieces together? The mysterious John Galt; Francisco’s odd, destructive behavior; the disappearance of the captains of industry — and no one gets it except the reader. There is an odd parallel here to The Blair Witch Project, which opened with the knowledge that the protagonists were never seen again, so that the viewer was left with little in which to be interested, except to see how they bought it. In this case, however, we know they haven’t bought it — and we’re waiting to see how long it takes for the heroes to figure it out.

Answer: A long dang time.

Really, the only thing I was a bit uncertain about right up to the reveal was who the nameless rail-worker in the Taggart terminal was, and who he was spying for. Strangely, his primary source, the ever-loyal and reasonably intelligent Eddie Willers, shared no such wonder.
The book could be half as long and thrice as engaging, if only the characters talked less and connected the dots more. I would recommend it only to help people understand the frequent political and cultural references we still hear today. I’m interested in seeing the film version, as even spread across three movies, I have trouble believing the filmmakers could have been so long-winded onscreen. This may be the rare instance in which the movie surpasses the book.

More Shave For Less

The old standby: Gillette Sensor Excel and Edge Shaving Gel

The Art of Manliness (AoM) website continues to be a favorite destination for my sons and me, for everything from well-researched writing on the history of manly honor to how-to articles on wilderness survival. It is not without flaws, of course: there is an undercurrent of hipster consumerism that manifests itself, for example, in the site’s frequent Huckberry giveaways. Huckberry is a free subscription site that aggregates interesting content and cool manly gadgets, products, and clothing, and every week or two, AoM sponsors a giveaway to drive traffic to Huckberry’s store. The merchandise is often quite nice, but how can a site touting manly self-sufficiency advocate for purchasing a $40 hardwood six-pack carrier (or a $120 “wallet” made out of old baseball glove leather) when any man worth his salt could make the same for the cost of a few bucks and a little elbow grease?

Nevertheless, if you pay attention at AoM, you might learn something that actually saves you money. For the past several months leading up to this summer, I’ve been wearing a full beard as opposed to my more typical goatee. When I finally decided to lighten the load on my face, I couldn’t find any spare cartridges for my razor — an old double-bladed Gillette Sensor Excel I’ve had for years now. I scraped by (see what I did there?) with the old cartridge until I got to Walmart to pick up some more. $20+ for ten cartridges.
My head rebelled. Must be discontinuing these, I thought. I should get the razor Brendan has; then we’ll use the same blades.
Brendan’s razor is a triple-bladed Schick Hydro 3 he got at Christmas time. It’s nowhere to be seen, though there are a few cartridge left on the rack — also $2+ a piece. I could get a newer model Gillette or Schick cartridge razor for $10-$20, and pay through the nose for cartridges you use three times and pitch, or go cheap and completely disposable. 
Secondhand Gillette safety razor
and badger brush, $12 total
Then I noticed a tiny box that read “Wilkinson Sword double-edged razor blades” — a 10 pack for a couple bucks — and I remembered something: a few evenings back, Brendan had been watching a video on the Art of Manliness site: How to Shave Like Your Grandpa. I turned my back on the Walmart rack and went home.
The video was helpful, as was the original article and several others on the site, and I learned a ton of useful (and useless) information. For example: who knew that most shaving brushes are made with either boar or badger hair, both of which provide an appropriate level of stiffness while retaining a certain amount of water needed to mix shaving lather? Badger is considered the premium hair for shaving brushes, but boar is more readily available — leading to a discussion about a side business to Brendan’s taxidermy work: Would hunters miss a few brushes’ worth of hair from their boars? Would a naked badger mount ever catch on?
Of course, the hipster element persists here too: an old-school wet shave is considered the pinnacle of…something…so you can spend hundreds of dollars on “silvertip” badger brushesmodern safety razors (or sought-after vintage models), organic and vegan shaving soaps and splashes, you name it.
Yeah, I didn’t do that. As I approach my 40th year, I like cheap and secondhand, and I like things that last. I found an secondhand Gillette safety razor at an antique shop in Rogers for $5, which I opened and scrubbed with hot soapy water and a toothbrush, then found a pure badger shaving brush with a chipped handle and its bristles intact at an antique store in Buffalo for $7 (“That’s luxury right there,” says Bren) — I washed that thoroughly several times with antibacterial soap. Blades were a $1 for ten; shaving soap was $1, I think, and after four shaves, I can’t tell I’ve used it. I’ve picked up a couple of other things, just to try: a tube of cream for a few dollars, a shaving “scuttle” for $2 at a secondhand store in Monticello, drugstore aftershave, that sort of thing. I’ve used one blade thus far for four shaves, and shaving twice a week on average, I shouldn’t need to purchase anything else (blades, cream, or soap) until Christmas, at which point, I’ll buy blades in bulk at a couple cents a piece.
Secondhand shaving scuttle and soap, $3 total
What’s more? These are the best shaves I’ve ever had. Incredibly close and smooth on the cheeks and jaw; the neck has taken more practice, but it’s closer than ever with no more nicks or razorburn that with a cartridge. It takes two to three times as long at this point — one pass it all is takes with a cartridge, because the second and third blades take off the first couple layers of skin.  But I’m getting faster, and when you know you’re saving money and can feel the difference when you do it well, a few more minutes seems worthwhile.
What’s pictured is all you really need: a razor and blades, a brush, a mug, and soap — and really, your palm can sub for the mug. $15 to $20 to get started. Bottom line: If you’re not gonna grow your beard out like my dad, then shave like your granddad — you’ll get more shave for way less money.