It’s not about the game

Whew, I think a brief recap of the last two months is in order:

- worked a youth retreat up in the mountains
- camping
- more driving
- more soccer
- more surfing
- more music

To put it into perspective, I think I have only one weekend left in the year where I do not have something planned.  And next year is filling up fast.

Sure beats being bored.

Last weekend I went out for one last shot at surfing for the year.  I had gone out the weekend before, and the camping was cold beyond belief.  Not just sort of cold, but bitter and clammy.  The kind where everything feels damp.  On a brighter note, the surfing was pretty good.  The sun was out, and the waves were pretty smooth.  It was one of those days where its just good to be out on the water with a friend.  That, and walking around in a wetsuit and with a surfboard you just look cool, which is really the important bit.

In contrast, this last weekend, the wind was horrendous.  Being out on the water was just one huge mass of foam, white water, violent waves, and a mixture of sun and rain.  It was awesome, but the surfing itself was horrendous.  That, and a bunch of stuff was stolen out of one of the cars, so we decided to forgo camping and call it a day.  What a great world we live in, sometimes.

Last regular season soccer match last night.  I got into the city early to have dinner with some friends.  As we were walking to the stadium, we ran into a friend that I met playing indoor soccer with, which always amazes me how that can happen in a large city.  After the match I pulled on a Celtic FC jersey (they won today and have jumped to the top of the League!) and a few of us headed out to the usual Irish pub.  We had hardly sat down, when a guy came over to take a look at my jersey.  He was from England, and was with a couple of guys from Ireland, and he shared a deep love for Celtic FC.  Soon we were shaking hands, singing songs, swapping stories.

And that’s the reason I love soccer.

Mulligan Stew

Took a long weekend here to go out adventuring with a good friend out on the Olympic Peninsula.  As we were throwing some random supplies together on Thursday morning, the power went out.  Asking at the front office, they told us that powere was out all over the area and that they were evacuating hospitals and shopping centers.  Her best guess is that it was the Zombie Apocalypse.  I called around people I knew in the area (my car was running on fumes and I was hoping to find a gas station with power).  Nobody answered.  Zombies it was.

We headed out shortly thereafter with no gas, no food, no tent, and no plan.

Our first stop was out at Westport.  I had read a little blurb online at how they surf out there.  So we went.  After a stop at the gorcery store, we spent the afternoon and evening on the beach, cooking over a fire, and just taking it easy.  That night we learned two very important things: it rains in Western Washington and tents are good for keeping out rain.

We woke up that morning and crawled out from under our tarp, dripping wet.  The people near us must have thought we looked absolutely pitiful, because as I was trying to start a fire, they came over and offered us breakfast.  We spent the day out on the water, surfing.

That night we went further up the coast to a random campground that was full and crashed in a vacant campsite (that apparently was reserved, but that’s another story altogether).  This time we were smart.  We hung hammocks and made a cover out of the tarp and slept dry and well (except when my hammock came undon and dropped me to the ground).  We had to get out of there in a hurry in the morning, so we ended up back down on the beach cooking over an open fire.  The day was spent on the beach skimboarding and just generally enjoying life.  We were increadibly out of place though.  While everyone else had their pants and waterproof jackets (it was raining again), we were in t-shirts and boardshorts.  They gave us a wide berth.

In the afternoon we headed up to Neah Bay in the most northwesterly corner of the state.  Along the way, we passed through Forks blaring the techno soundtrack from “Blade” (straight up vampire hunting).   When we got to a campground, it was absolutely pouring.  It was by far the most difficult fire I’d ever started.  We got lucky finding some random logs laying around that we managed to dry out enough by the fire to then burn them.  It wasn’t until 11:30 or so that we got into our sleeping bags, and finally were sorta dry.

The last day, Sunday, we took a brief hike out to the most westerly point in the contiguous 48, and made a mad dash back to my town in time for Mass.

For the first time in our Hobo Adventure, I put on a clean shirt.

You’ll Never Walk Alone

Barcelona vs. Sounders FC…
…definitely left something to be desired.  Moving on.

After the match we went for the usual: Kell’s Irish Pub.  One of the best parts is always the live music.  To rep Celtic FC, I wore my jersey to the pub (but not the Sounders match, because that would just be tacky).  The lead singer noticed my jersey (“I see there are some Celtic supporters here tonight…”), so they played the anthem “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and announced the team’s recent victory as they push for the Champions League.  Epic.

Later, we were down at the docks catching a ferry.  While everyone else waited in line to buy tickets, I started to head over to the boarding area.  I was approached by several English guys wearing Barcelona jerseys who took exception to my shirt.  My good friend who was waiting in line at the time later told me that with the body language all around, something was up.

To make a long story short, they confronted us again on the nearly empty ferry.

I left the boat that night with my head high and an apology from a Rangers FC supporter.

“I would fall for soccer like I would one day fall for women: suddenly, uncritically, and without regard for the pain that it would cause me.” -Nick Hornby

What is our direction?  What is our goal?  What are we moving towards?

Probably one of the most important series of questions, but also probably one of the least considered.   Where do we put hope in our lives?   We can fill our time with stuff, even with great stuff, but if there is not an important direction, especially when we are young, its a rather sad sort of life.

This past weekend a good friend was out visiting, and amoung other things, we spent it out kayaking.  Put in a good seven miles on a rather beautiful day, and almost got attacked by a jellyfish and a group of seals.  Now that would have made a sweet story.

There’s always a ton to do around here, and life is great, but that doesn’t supercede the question of purpose.

“Senor, hazme misionero por la fuerza de Tu Espiritu”

Just recently, I spent another week in Tijuana visiting my family: Los Misioneros de Jesus y Maria.  Such wonderful people.  There were many reasons for my trip, among those because I missed them terribly.  I flew into San Diego fairly late, so I stayed with a couple of the nuns at a house that the missionaries run in Chula Vista.  The next day, I was up early for Mass, breakfast, and a little bit of work before I would cross the border.  Nothin like diggin’ a hole at 8 o’clock in the morning on your birthday.

Happy birthday to me.

Actually, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything else.

Throughout the week, I spent my time living the discipline of the community, visiting with all of the missionaries and my friends in the community there in Colonia 3 de Octubre.  And a good time infront of the Blessed Sacrament.  It was so good to be back.

When I returned, I was able to catch Mass with my family before I had to leave town to where I work.
I sat there with my dad and my brother.  During the consecration, it became very dark outside.  As we began to pray the Agnus Dei, a tremendous peal of thunder shook the building.  It continued until the end of communion.  And then the rain came.

“We still have the need for wonder.”

Another month, another few thousand miles by air, land, and sea.  Brief synopsis:
-Scuba diving Puget Sound
-Weekend of cliff diving in Idaho
-600 mile round trip for a soccer match
-Week in Tijuana
-Wedding in Washington

“The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of Night.” -Longfellow

“And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.”

Its amazing how quickly time passes when you’re busy.  And you know you’re busy when you take a laptop across the country for the sole purpose of trying to catch up on emails when you’re waiting for planes.

Shenanigans have included more soccer, a near concussion, and the obligatory several thousand miles on the road.

Most recently, I flew out to Maryland for a wedding of a good friend that I’ve known since middle school.  It was a ridiculous journey with very little sleep, not enough time off of work, red-eye and early flights, getting lost and plenty of frustration.  Once I got there, things got rolling pretty quick.  Us groomsmen tried to behave through the rehearsal, and then the rehearsal dinner took up most of the afternoon.  It was a while mess of shellfish southern-style and a mountain of Cajun Maryland blue crabs.  All this sitting on the porch of a beach house.  Man, life can get hard sometimes.

For the bachelor’s party, we loaded up some kayaks and canoes and headed out towards the Chesapeake and up into some inlets and marshes.  And the next morning started out with a good early kayak.

The wedding was beautiful.  The reception was probably the most formal and classy I’ve been to.  There was good dancing, and all of the pomp, dignity and poise that a wedding back east should have.  And to end the day, sitting on the back porch, watching the thunder roll in across the water.

Finding your moments of peace with good people is worth any sufferings to get there.

Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse.

I am ruined.

Last Wednensday I got up early so that I could leave work early.  I drove nearly 400 miles, and stopped to visit a friend for a couple of hours.  It was midnight when I jumped back in my car, made it only another 70 or so before deciding to crash at a friend’s house for a few hours.  The next morning I got up at dawn to make it to my parents house for breakfast and a quick shower, then drove another hour for an appointment.  I spent that afternoon back in my hometown making housecalls with an old friend.  Then it was back in the car to my first stop: back to university for grad weekend.  That was only Thursday.

Overall it was another 1,000 mile weekend.  To beat that the only real food in my house is a couple cups of rice, some spinich, and leftover Chinese from the weekend.

I would do it all again without thinking.

You know, that’s probably how I ended up doing it to begin with.

And on a different note, I was scolded by the woman who sat next to me during Sunday’s match to not take soccer so seriously.  She is worried I am going to have a premature heart attack down the road.  She says I need to relax.

I just call it living.

A bit of bad news: I played football this week. With my hands.

“Por la gracia de Dios soy un ser humano y un cristiano, por mis acciones soy un gran pecador, por mi condicion social soy un peregrino sin techo de la clase mas humilde, siempre caminando de un pueblo al otro.  Mis riquezas las llevo sobre mi spalda: una alforja con un poco de pan seco, en me sayal, la santa Biblia. “

Eso es todo.

This is probably the best opening to a book.  Ever.

It comes from a book entitled “Tales of a Russian Pilgrim.”  I first heard of it last summer, when I was living in Tijuana.  It is the true story of a man.  A Russian man.  In the morning, one of the priests or nuns would read to us from it.  I then read those bits again on my own, because my Spanish was just that bad.

“By the grace of God I am to be a man and a Christian.
By my actions I am a great sinner.
By my social condition I am a homeless pilgrim of the lowest class
always walking from one town to another.
My wealth I carry on my back:
in my bag a bit of dry bread,
in my sayal the Holy Bible.

That is all.”

“I can’t sing. As a singist I am not a success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am.” -Artemis Ward

My friend on the beaches of Rosarito, MX

My life is in two parts: ecstasy and the days between home matches. There are few things better on a calender than “Sounders Home.” Now if we canan only pull ourselves out of this rather sudden slump. Either way, it should be good. Each home match has become more and more intense. The last one, the atmosphere was so overwhelming that people around me were commenting that they might have to leave, their hearts couldn’t take it.

When the new Jerusalem comes at the end of the world, descending from the sky, I pray that they will have built a soccer stadium.

“Some people have said that football is a matter of life and death. I am disappointed with that view. I can assure you that it is far more important than that.” -Bill Shankley.

“Not all those who wander are lost.”

Life, as always, has been busy.

In the week leading up to Easter, I was a bit down.  Every year, Easter has always been spent with family or friends, and it was looking like it was going to be the first one spent doing nothing.  Alone.

Then I remembered that I stopped simply accepting life ages ago.

On Holy Saturday, there was a soccer match in the city.  I usually walk on the ferry, but this time, I decided to take my car with me.  That day I had received a few offers to spend the holiday with friends’ families in the area.  At about halftime, I decided, “forget this, I’m going to spend this day with my friends.”  So I left after the match, and drove across the state.

Since then, I’ve made another trip across the state for some various appointments.  Looking into the coming weeks and months, life doesn’t lighten up much at all.  There is a bunch of things I want to do while I’m over here, and even more places I want to go besides.  Life is beautiful.

And in summary of all these things, I’ll just refer to an indie film that is currently in the works, called “The Human Experience”: