Religion at the dinner table

Have fun with this one. Just recently I read an article citing the results from a Pew Forum on religion and Public Life, basically a poll on religion and religious views. I found the article interesting and carefully written, citing facts and views of what they might mean. The challenge I found with the survey, or at least the one nugget of information pulled for source material in this article, was the wording of the question. “Can many religions lead to eternal life?” Here is the actual question from the Pew folks as asked, “Now as I read a pair of statements, tell me whether the FIRST statement or the SECOND statement comes closer to your own views even if neither is exactly right. First/next: My religion is the one, true faith leading to eternal life, OR: many religions can lead to eternal life. Whoa boy here we go. Religion: Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source - Share This re·li·gion Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ri-lij-uh n] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun 1. a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, esp. when considered as the creation of a superhuman agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs. 2. a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects: the Christian religion; the Buddhist religion. 3. the body of persons adhering to a particular set of beliefs and practices: a world council of religions. 4. the life or state of a monk, nun, etc.: to enter religion. 5. the practice of religious beliefs; ritual observance of faith. 6. something one believes in and follows devotedly; a point or matter of ethics or conscience: to make a religion of fighting prejudice. 7. religions, Archaic. religious rites. 8. Archaic. strict faithfulness; devotion: a religion to one's vow. —Idiom According to this definition can conservatism, liberalism, environmentalism, and humanism be deemed religions? Kinda muddies the water a bit. I believe, though intimately involved in a faith defined above as a religion, that it is not the religious practices that get you anywhere, in the eternal sense. We are all created as eternal beings, sorry Charles, designed to inhabit, subdue and fill the earth. We are already in eternity we just happen to be on Earth at the time. The question is when our time here on earth is no more, then what? Will the rest of your/my eternity be spent in the presences of our creator or not? Pew says roughly 88% of the over 35k surveyed believe in “God or a Universal Spirit”. Whether you believe in God or not He believes in you. It is not about religion it is about relationship; relationship with our creator and each other. Entropy, or lets call it breaking of relationship, entered the story on earth early with the taking of a fruit and has since severed the close ties designed in the relationship, and everything has been downhill from there. Two more items to ponder: 1) Do you believe in absolute truth? Absolutely? 2) Is being intolerant of the intolerant true tolerance? New Pew Questions: Do you believe in eternity? Do you believe in heaven and hell? Where will your correct or incorrect adherence to your religion take you? The truth is exclusive but morally compassionate because it provides objective hope. “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.” John 14:6 See Ya, Tony

Updates and stuff

The Olympic trials for USA Track and Field start today, in Eugene OR. I can hardly wait for the TV coverage and on my birthday too. WooHoo! Gabe woke up early, around 3 am, the other day and decided to go snuggle with Sodhi, our golden doodle. We found Gabe at 8am zonked out on Sodhi’s cedar beg and Sodhi standing next to him staring at this human spread eagle taking all his space. They have a special bond. I have been collecting 12 foot long 4x4’s from an aerospace company near the church for the purpose of building a camping shelter in the woods for the boys…and me. The company receives parts and supplies on these pallets each made with three such 4x4’s. The pallets, when emptied, are tossed out, but not anymore. I have been hauling them home and with the help of my boys ripping off the cross pieces to get to the 4x4’s. The base of the shelter is a semi-level 12x9 platform of 30 4x4’s set up on cinder blocks. The walls are framed with the same recycled wood ripped lengthwise into 12 foot long 2x4’s. Right now I am designing bunks for the side walls and a table to go don the middle of the room. (I will have to post a photo soon.) The hardest part of the whole deal is getting the wood down into the wooded ravine. My goal is to have the structure completed by August 23rd, the day we are hosting a 3-D Archery shoot. Jonathan has been away at a summer camp in Bellingham for the week. Ama and Daco have loved having him and watching him make new friends. It has been great for us to have Gabe by him self, he is such an interesting little guy. We are heading up to get older brother tonight. Cool You tube BASE jumping vid: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttz5oPpF1Js Cheryl was the featured artist in the latest Monroe Arts Council Art Walk. Her photos are covering the walls of a local vintage and used clothing shop on Main St, she even booked a shoot from the exposure.

Edit: Here is the camping structure... That’s it for now, Tony

A lighter posting...

Wow, the last posting seems to have had increased the local gravitaional forces around its readers. And thus please read the following... http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/199702/lamentations-father Enjoy, Tony

The Slowing of Time

I had another one of those wrinkle in time events the other day. You know when all your senses seem to focus and your perception of time warps in the face of extreme anxiety or danger. All of a sudden everything seems to switch into a “Matrix” like slow motion. It got me thinking, what is it the cause of this perception? It must be just a perception and not a “real” happening because I have not been instantly rocketed to the speed of light allowing E=mc2 to kick in. (or have I?) I can recall many events where I felt the same perception of time: a car crash I was involved in one Fourth of July, a soccer game in my youth where I was facing the goalie by myself, having a gun pointed at me, and trail running out in the North Cascades. The list goes on to include other events where my senses seemed to have sharpened or my brain feels like it has kicked into turbo boots mode. Why? What is it? The research seems to attribute this “feeling” to epinephrine, more commonly called adrenaline. A wonderfully designed hormone secreted by the adrenal gland that feels really cool, I mean really cool, to experience. One of its many medical uses is to combat severe allergic reactions in the form of anaphylactic shock, a reaction to an allergen that can cause sever difficulty breathing and, if untreated, death. I have had the distinct pleasure of injecting myself with epinephrine using an Epi Pen twice. The most memorable while deadheading a rhododendron bush. I was up on a ladder and well inside the bush when two or three wasps decided to let me know I was invading their space. I was stung on the ear and back of the neck. My allergic reactions to bees had been steadily increasing in severity for a few years and today was the day to reach the pinnacle, complete system overload in three minutes. My doctor, who had trained me on how to use the EpiPen, said the next time I was stung I would have only a couple minutes to get the shot before I would have breathing problems. He was right. The brain rush was instantaneous or so it felt; increased heart rate, opened breathing tubes, it was amazing. (Dave, the friend who rushed me to the hospital didn’t seem to agree, that’s a story for another day.) All this excitement happened, as you might guess, in slow motion thus bringing us back to the topic of the day, perceived slowing of time. Here is the latest research, at least the research that I could find, read, and understand. David M. Eagleman at Baylor U. seems to be a leader in the actual real world study of the phenomenon of perceived slowing of time. Click on the time perception link it’s pretty cool stuff and not to hard to read. Here is what he theorizes is happening in a nutshell, if I can get it right. The brain perceives a stimulus that triggers a release of adrenaline boosting brain activity. This increased activity doesn’t increase the speed of the brain, and thus slow external time (drat, no time travel), it allows for increased processing ability of sensory input. For instance on a typical day at any particular moment you don’t feel the fabric of your clothing touching you skin even thought it is. It can be thought of as sensory background noise, useless and of no value to our survival, and thus is filtered out and not logged into memory. But when a stressor is perceived and the brain is bathed in “turbo-boosting juice”, all this normally brushed aside sensory input is logged into memory. Here is where the perception thing gets weird. Our minds are comfortably lazy processing “X” amount of input, discarding most of it valued as useless static. But when we are under stress and revved up, the amount of input processed or perceived as valuable to our survival, skyrockets to “X to the 10th power” (or something like that, I’m just trying to quantify it so we might understand). Now the brain is taking in and storing a volume of sensory input normally reserved for the lazy days of August in about 15 seconds, and (stay with me here) because we attach a time value to a specific volume of input, once the input is dramatically increased time is “stretched” to match the increased sensory input. Let’s see if I can explain it differently. Visualize an English ruler with 12 inches. The inches are broken down into 1/16 increments. This ruler will represent an amount of time, say an hour. Now, if we fill in each 1/16th of an inch, or 20 seconds (60minutes/12inches/16=about 20 seconds), with 10 bits of sensory input, in an hour we will have a total of 12x16x10=1920 bits of sensory input. (Remember this is just an illustration and the example will fall apart at some point.) Now we are being chased by a lion across the Kalahari dessert. To most this would be perceived as a stressor, thus triggering a wave of naturally produced brain speed juice. Back to the ruler. Each 1/16 of an inch normally content with its ten bits of sensory input is now being crammed with 1000 bits of input including such things as the sound of the hungry lion and the smell of his breath. But the bits need space so the 1/16th of an inch is stretched to allow for elbow room (Do bits have elbows?). The 1/16 of an inch is still labeled a 1/16th of an inch in our mind, with a time value of 20 seconds, but is stretched over a span of 2000 seconds (33minutes and 20 seconds) on the new ruler because we have multiplied the amount of bits by 100: 10x100=1000. Confused yet? Deep breath… So here we have our mind, perceiving 33:20 minutes worth of input in a span of 20 seconds. Our mind cannot change the 20 seconds value because that is hardwired. What changes is our perception of the 33:20 minutes. In an amazing mental adjustment we convert the bits per second into seconds per bit and our perception of real time is that is has slowed because we are processing more information per second than we do normally.(It confuses me even more as I try to describe it.) So the next time you are chased by a lion, or in a car accident, or at the peak of athletic performance and feel time slowing you can rest in the knowledge that you mind is not actually going faster it is going more. What? Never mind, it just a theory. Tony

Dad, should we run?

The last week of school for the boys brings with it the usual stress and short-timers disease seen in other families. As part of the last week the school is staging an in class “Camp”, including fake camp fires, smores, arts and crafts, letters from home and a little creative homework too. Gabe’s class tried to do a nature walk on the trails in the wooded area behind the school. The trails back there are the typical trails found behind most schools where the kids hang out. These trails, at least most of them, have been neglected for a few seasons and are thus very grown over with blackberries, salmon berries and stinging nettles. Gabe’s class found in impossible to continue past an old amphitheatre seating area no more than 150 feet into the woods. To this Gabe exclaimed, “My dad can make trails, he can fix this.” The news of impassable nettle invaded trails spread quickly among the teachers, reaching Jonathan’s teacher and then Jonathan’s ears to which he exclaimed, “My dad can make trails, he can fix this.” Now we have two teachers dropping hints to Cheryl who is volunteering in class, what a great idea. The husband receives news of the need that night, thinking, “How is it that I get volunteered for these things?” I speak with the boys and explain they will be an integral part of the process if we have time. We had time. A block of time opened up on the rainy weekend and we made our way to the school with limb saws, safety gear, a weed eater, and a shovel. I decided to pass on the machetes incase other kids were around. The graveled trails were designed as a loop, of sorts, and some old logs crossing the stream had long since become unsafe to use. We crossed a small metal bridge and made out way to the point where the trail became impassable and began to work; knocking down the big stuff to re-establish the route. Many trees had fallen last winter in the wind storms and provided interesting texture to the otherwise flat trails. Rounding a corner we reached the second stream crossing made of the old rotting logs and decided to retrace our steps and begin the weed-eating process of clearing a swath for travel. The boys were assigned to cut out most of the larger limbs blocking the trail while I swung the brush devouring weapon back an forth opening up an avenue about 10 feet wide. At this time I fully realized the amount of stinging nettles hidden in the brush. As the rotating strings shredded the plants, coating me with bits and pieces of green debris, the small chunks of nettles found bare skin around my neck and face releasing their stinging cells on impact. It was not enjoyable. We successfully cleared about a quarter mile of trail, including a spur leading away from the amphitheater area and dumping out on a back field edging private property. Upon completion of our task and feeling good about the progress we had made for the sake of Jon and Gabe’s classmates, we departed the woods in route for the parking lot only to view a county Sherriff blocking my car. He was talking to a woman who was standing next to his vehicle. We stepped onto the playground from the woods, spotted the officer and stood still for a short moment, just long enough for Jon to ask, “Dad, should we run?” Now most will find this funny, kind of cute, and well I did too. But then I thought, “Where did this come from?” “No, we are not going to run. We’re going to walk over there and find out what’s up.” As we got closer to the patrol car the boys walked farther and farther behind me. The woman talking to the officer look a little like the Principal of the school but as I got closer I realized is was not her. I’m sure I was quite the sight covered in tiny bits of freshly pulverized vegetation. “What’s up?” She turned to me and in a delighted and approving voice asked, “Did you clear all the trails back in there?” “Yup, we did.” Turning to the officer I awaited his response, “I was just checking your plates; it is not often we have a single car parked here. It came back as a Cadillac.” (I drive a 1996 Honda Civic DX coupe, nothing like a Caddy.) Interesting. He then explained the history of the plate prior to it being reissued to my little green Honda. The boys edged closer as the discussion became lighthearted. I think they realized we were not in any trouble. So what was really going on was the first minutes of an investigation into vandalism on the school grounds and the neighboring house belonging to the woman standing before me. We chatted about the spray paint and the possible events of the prior night. I stated there was no evidence in the woods, and we all went our ways. All in all an interesting event. The boys served the school and I learned a lesson about how I need to better teach my children. Baths and hot cocoa awaited us at home. Tony

Owls, baseball, and injuries

So we found out, from a local expert, that the owl in the last post is a Barred Owl. Way cool, check out the link for the sound of is call and more info than you really want to know. In other news Jonathan’s Little League team, the Timber Rattlers, made it to the playoffs. Last night was their first and only playoff competition. The Game was a fast paced three up and three down game with very few strikeouts. I’d like to say it was a pitching duel but the machine was launching balls equally to both teams. It was truly a defensive battle with two double plays in the first alone. By the fifth, just over an hour in, the game was tied 3-3. We batted first in the 6th, the final inning, scoring 3 additional runs and cinching the game. We thought. The Diamond Jax exploded with hits, good hits, defended well, but just good old baseball. It was well played and a victory well earned. It was so hard to remember we were watching a game played by 8 and 9 year old boys. Both teams were turning plays, chasing down balls, working together and hitting very well. This game was more exciting than any professional baseball game I have ever attended. GREAT JOB BOYS!! NOW LET’S GO GET ICE CREAM!! It is hard to change direction but here goes, I have a knee issue and am not running for the month of June. I have something called Osgood Schlatter disease on my right knee. It is an actual disease; I would think it more to be a syndrome or just a simple injury. But, hey it is called a disease. My family Doc along with my PT (aka Cheryl, my wife) have ganged up and labeled me a “non-compliant” patient because it has been irritating me for a few months and I have continued to run. So now I’m on a no running, ice, vitamin IB and ultrasound regime for the next 30 or so days. I pray this will help. Speaking of athletic injuries…here is a story from college. Pole Vaulting The pit opened shortly after the officials arrived. Warm ups started slow, everyone sizing up the competition. We looked, even though we for the most part knew each other, for any signs of weakness any signs the others might be off their game, Vaulters are a strange breed, often times viewed as oddball freaks and adrenaline junkies throwing themselves into the sky for attention. At least that is what the distance guys said about us. The scene of a pole vault warm up is confusing in its most organized condition. Up to 32 vaulters bring with them 5 to 20 15 foot long fiberglass poles. At best a mess. Imagine 200 poles strewn about as if dropped on a lawn from a helicopter, 200 hollow fiberglass and carbon fiber poles lying about while athletes wearing spiked-soled shoes avoid them with careless precision. Fourteen-days separate these vaulters from the championship meet, a few will make it most will not. Statistically I’m in but with two weeks to go I need a few good jumps at really high bars to finalize my preparation. The average college vaulter has 10 to 12 quality jumps in them, if you go beyond that anything can happen; success, injury, who knows. I plan on taking 8 to 10 jumps opening at a high bar and being fresh for a possible personal record. Warm ups are a patterned behavior. We all have our quirks and needs, our warm up routines are very personal and scripted down to the breaths we take. I begin by surveying my poles and gear bag, measuring out my steps and marking my starting point with a spiked golf ball. My steps are my consistency. If everything goes well and my pattern is followed my steps will be on, my takeoff foot will strike directly under my upper had on the pole. I take two easy laps around the track to get the blood flowing and drink in the atmosphere of the meet (the smells, sounds, colors) it all helps to put me in the zone. I do a few sprints into the pit starting on my mark and driving to the foam pit finishing with a diving forward roll onto the pads. This is the pattern of warm up I follow at most all meets when the conditionals allow. A few good run throughs and I am confident my steps are on. I attempt a full plant and nail it. Feeling confident, I take the runway for a final run to really get the blood flowing and cement my confidence. Vaulting is a very dangerous sport. Many things can go wrong the transference of energy from a running athlete to a fiberglass pole and then back to the airborne athlete. Slight variations early on have the potential to become life threatening once you leave the ground. Confidence is a must. A reverent fear of the potential helps to keep us in check. My final run through was intended to solidify my confidence for this meet. I would blast through the steps, plant the pole, hit my mark and allowing my grip to loosen sliding my hands down the pole as I ran onto the mat. The steps were perfect, the plant was straight, and I was pleased. In the next fractions of a second I loosened my grip, allowed my hands to slide down the pole, and bounded onto the mat. My hand slid down the pole with a high pitched screeching of flesh on a dry smooth surface, similar to a basketball players sliding across the floor diving for a lose ball. The pain was immediate and fierce; I had just melted the prints off my fingers and palm. In a frustrated and angered blink of an eye I turned my head to look blamingly at the pole allowing my footfalls to become unmonitored. It only took two steps to find the hole. Most pole vaulting pits are constructed of five large foam blocks: two in the front and three in the back. All the blocks are designed to be strapped together with straps and buckles to prevent them from separating and then covered with a one to two inch thick mat that is clipped to the blocks to aid in preventing the pit from separating and creating gaps like to one my left foot was descending into. I felt the change in “feeling” of the pit and realized there was a hole. Diverting my attention from the burning of my hand, I turned to look at my left foot as it disappeared into the chasm created by the blocks of foam not being strapped together properly. I was not able to un-weight the foot as my forward motion and rotation was quickly positioning my entire body over my left foot. Then I hit bottom. The six sharp spikes on the bottom of my shoe became hung up in the mesh of the mat cover and my left ankle rotated and gave way under the enormous force of my downward angling motion. I have heard it said a runner on a flat surface can generate 3 times their body weight on a foot fall. I can’t imagine how much force was transferred from my 150 pound frame, running at a full sprint, to the connective tissues of my ankle. It didn’t hold. The ankle rolled severely as the bottom of my foot was held tight to the mesh cover by the spikes. There wasn’t a complete separation but the sensation I felt and the sound I heard made me think I had shattered bones, and popped my foot clean off. I flexed my left knee tried to absorb some of the fall and did a forward roll aiding in extracting my foot from the death pit it sank into. I flopped off the mat to the soft, cold, muddy field turf and let out a howl of pain and disgust mix with a few words of frustration. I quickly removed my left shoe and like opening the flood gate of a dam my ankle quickly swelled to the size of a melon. The sports trainers, responding to my obvious pain, were on me quickly with ice and a wrap. They carried me to the training tent and called for an ambulance to transport me to the local hospital for pictures. The x-rays would reveal I had a severely sprained ankle; a soft tissue injury that would take months to fully repair. Had it been a break I would have been looking at only a few weeks of recovery. Funny how that works. I wished I had broken the thing. I had two weeks until the Championship Meet. I was ranked in the top five in my league and I really did not want to miss the culmination of the season. The following Monday I worked my way through classes and into the training room for my first round of treatment. I had twelve days to recover. Linda, the head trainer, took me through the recovery plan and then let me know what I was responsible for. I would be in there five times a day for three days for 20 minute ice baths, followed by two days of E-Stim and ultrasound and more ice baths. Until this point I was instructed to remain on crutches. The next five days were five daily sessions of contrast baths and some of the most excruciating massages I have ever experienced. I would come in the morning delivering coffee, go through a ½ hour contrast bath session then lay on my belly with my knee bent as a trainer would deeply massage my foot, ankle and calf to increase blood circulation in and around the wounded area. It sucked. The pain was tremendous as the trainer forced the swelling and bruising in the tissues to flow out. I would put a towel in my mouth to muffle the noises and give me something to bite on. This I did five times a day for five days. Day ten; I was allowed to run on the injured ankle today, finally. I did a whole ½ mile with an ankle taped into a neutral position. I felt as if I were running in a cast. This was my first time with a taped ankle and I hoped it would be my last. Day eleven, after going into the training room for a short ice bath and a tape job I headed out to the track and promptly removed the tape. I grabbed a pole and did six easy runs on the track to see how the ankle felt; good but a tad loose, duh! Tomorrow was the meet and my folks would be there to cheer me on. I did not want to drop out due to this injury. I returned to the training room and received a sound verbal thrashing for removing the tape. I requested another round of ice and ultrasound for good measure. The next day I again allowed the trainers to tape the ankle only to remove it during warm ups much to their dismay. Everything was going great, warm-ups were uneventful and the competition was underway at the lower heights. As the bar was rising vaulters were dropping out and at my opening height there were only 8 of us left. I cleared my opener with a ton of air between me and the bar. We continued up and as the jumping continued our group dwindled to only those who would make the podium. I was one of them and I was ecstatic. I placed third in a Championship meet I should have not made it to. My folks were able to see it and the trainers, although annoyed at my removing the tape, were very proud of me and their work. All the pain, treatments, hard work and training paid off in that little yellow ribbon; simple but forever valuable to me. The ribbon, framed next to the competition number I wore at the meet, hangs in my closet as a testament to overcoming adversity. Tony