A Pause That Refreshes

Anderson, South Carolina

Most of the people in my world never ever think about water. They never think about it being scarce, expensive, or potentially laden with life-threatening contaminants. To them it is none of these things. To nearly three billion people on earth it is all of these things. It takes me about fifteen minutes to earn enough money to buy and dispose of all the clean safe water I want to make use of for an entire month. For a small bit more I can heat it up for showers, cooking or any other purpose I choose.

Hundreds of millions of people spend much of their waking time thinking about water. Many spend hours in physical labor each day acquiring it. Many children throughout the world have sacrificed their childhoods to be beasts of burden hauling water from distant polluted sources to satisfy the barest needs for cooking and hydration. None is available for showers, shampoo, hot tubs, or the other delights we take for granted.

Monday night 230 people who never think about water paid $100 to gather in a bucolic farm setting to pause and think about water for those who have to think about it all the time. We gathered to raise money to rebuild a dam, pump station, four reservoirs, and a system of high pressure pipe that supplies water to 12,000 Haitians living on the edge of the economic and nutritional abyss that is their world. People who don’t have to think about water have chosen to do so and pay the water bill for those that have no capacity to do so. Because open-hearted people have chosen to help others, some that were forced to think about water all the time are no longer required to do so.

A grand venue with a fine hall was donated as were hundreds of chairs, tables, and a tent big enough for a small circus. Caterers provided all the cooking, preparation, and presentation. Other vendors donated wine and beer. Others volunteered to be an attentive wait staff. Other offered to bus and clean up. My role was to scurry around and connect wires and hook up sound systems, projection systems, and computers so that our guests could see and hear what a Haitian world looks like that is forced to think about water too much. They could also see that the dam has now been built and that people are going to be able to start thinking more about things like education and better lives.

The bill to make sure these Haitians have safe water is about $1 million. We made $25,000 for offering a fine catered dinner at sunset. Unlike the miracle at the marriage supper in Cana where water was turned into vintage wine, we saw our offerings of wine and food turned into safe water for those are just beginning to believe in the possibility of miracles.

Melodies in the Night

Anderson, South Carolina

One does not have to spend six hours listening to the whine of jet turbines in order to hear the great melodies of life. Sometimes a two-minute drive in an eighteen year old Toyota will suffice - at least for me this was recently the case. Two of my favorite things to do in the world are taking pictures of people doing the things they love the most and listening to those blessed people who know how to make music in a twenty-three piece big band. For the first time ever I was able to do both of these things at the same time. I was asked if I would be interested in taking a couple of photographs at a big band concert in the nearby university auditorium. Part of the deal was free tickets to the event. The band was wanting some pictures for publicity purposes. I thought about this for at least a nanosecond and said I would be happy to do so.

It was as if I had my own private concert. I was told to feel free to move about the auditorium, the stage, and the green room spaces. For two hours I basked in the rich sounds of twenty-three musicians who really know how to bring to life nineteen of the classic big band standards of greats like George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Richard Rodgers, and Lerner and Loewe. For what seemed like but a few seconds I scampered about this melodic oasis and took hundreds of pictures of twenty three musicians and a dozen fine vocalists in complete flow with each other. How grand it is to document people doing something really well - giving pure pleasure to the several hundred aficionados in the audience who have really good taste. I was granted a close-up perspective not usually granted to concert goers. It is amazing the different ‘regions’ that exist within a large big band. It was a delight for me to photograph the band from front, back, and sideways.

I can only hope that these musicians want me to digitize them again the next time they blow magic into our lives.

Swimming in the Stream of Life

Atlanta, Georgia

One of the great destinations in the Southeast has come to be the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. This epic facility draws as many as twenty thousand visitors in a day. For hours people wait to gain admission to this marine wonderland, to experience the beauty of a world often unrealized by those of us consigned to living on land. Even though constrained to live on land, we are free to swim, ride in boats, descend in submarines, and otherwise experience the delights of our water world. If we so choose we can swim with the dolphins.

Alas, there are many of us unable to experience the joys of recreation and social connections because of medical or genetic misfortunes. Many thousands of children around the world have been burdened with congenital genetic nightmares or have been subject to disfiguring and disabling accidents. In many countries, disfigured or deformed children are consigned to a life of hopeless neglect and despair. Childspring International has as its mission the redemption of the lives of as many of these children as possible. Last year nearly 200 of these children were brought to the United States to have life saving and life changing surgery. The value of the cost of treatment for these children was in the tens of millions. To each of the children the value was beyond price.

This week four hundred and sixty of us privileged individuals made a pilgrimage to the Georgia Aquarium for a chance to watch the beluga whales and the whale sharks glide through the turquoise waters of seven million gallon tanks. For the evening the place was ours. Suited up in our black velvet and diamonds, silk cummerbunds and tails, we showed up to celebrate the visionary lives of those who seek to include these special needs children into their lives. We saw the vast difference that a single individual can make in the lives of many. As awe-inspiring as it is to see these great denizens of the deep glide soundlessly through the waters, far more compelling was to experience the vision of those who see beyond themselves.

We enjoyed our well-presented dining experience, made new friends, danced to the sounds of a grand twenty piece dance orchestra, and relished the prospect of telling others about this modern gospel of healing. I don’t think I will see fish quite the same again.

I arrived home at 1:40 AM, having been reminded of my privileged station in life and my responsibility to bring as many other souls along with me to a better place as possible.

Spectral Images of Spring

Augusta, Georgia

Opening the front door can be a really pleasant experience. Today I opened up about 6:45 AM and found a sapphire blue heaven lacerated with amazing streaks of crimson, pink, and red, punctuated by rays of bright orange ascending from the horizon as the solar event horizon raced across the sky. These images are always the better when seen on travel days. I wasn’t hopping on planes today but was anticipating about four hours of enjoyable country driving at the peak of spring color here in the south.

So it was that I picked up a friend to drive to Augusta for her annual visit to the Medical College of Georgia. The morning drive through rolling South Carolina farmland in late March is beautiful. Dogwood trees in full bloom accent the banks of lavender, purple, red, and white azaleas. Several species of late blooming daffodils provide their yellow punctuation on emerald sweeps of fresh lawns. Many fence rows are illuminated by Yoshino cherry trees and the nearly ubiquitous Bradford pear trees are just finishing their blooming cycles and putting on canopies of newly emergent green.

Perhaps one of the most visual of all sporting events is the Master’s golf tournament in Augusta. I am willing to bet a lot of people vie for tickets to the Masters just for an opportunity to wander around in one of the most perfectly manicured landscapes in the world for four days as much as they do to watch people launch little white balls into the cerulean skies of Augusta. Today everyone in Augusta is preparing the town for its mass influx of Truflite pilgrims in a couple of weeks.

68 degrees at the end of March with a china blue sky and everything in full bloom certainly does give a colorful reminder of how grand life really can be even if it includes visits to the neurosciences center of a university medical campus. Every day that one is above ground and able to smell the flowers is a good one. In all things, give thanks, especially for springtime in the South.

Oriental Inspirations in a French Style

Atlanta, Georgia

On a brilliant Saturday morning under a cerulean sky streaked with crimson contrails and accented by a platinum crescent moon, I loaded up fifteen of my friends into a couple of vans here in Anderson for a two-hour journey to Atlanta to visit the Terra Cotta Warriors exhibit at the High Museum of Art. The morning was given to viewing these amazing archeological treasures from a far western Chinese province. In the afternoon we had opportunity to view the Third Year of the special Louvre Exhibition from Paris.

Our two vans arrived in Atlanta exactly on time, with no missed turns, malfunctions or other challenges. Our special exhibition tickets were at the will-call window as they were supposed to be and parking proved convenient. My other driver, John, helped me provide door to door service for our guests. We joined the others for a journey back in time some 23 centuries to 221 BC in China during which The First Emperor spent several decades building a 23.5 square mile burial complex. Part of this complex was 8,000 terra cotta soldiers who were supposed to keep him alive in the afterlife. We still don’t know if this happened or not but he did leave a lot of grand pottery for the archeologists to find in 1974. We were able to enjoy a really well curated show of carefully restored ancient artwork of the highest order.

Our luncheon was served in a French fashion at Table 1280 on the museum campus. Attentive service and linen added a fine touch of class. The group dispersed after a leisurely lunch to enjoy the Louvre exhibition or the permanent collections containing a nice representation of Dutch and French masters. I never tire of Renoir or Monet or masterpieces carved in travertine marble.

French Influence – Chateau Elan

After viewing priceless French art all afternoon it seemed appropriate to have a splendid dinner in a grand context. We headed for Chateau Elan, an oasis of European sensibility located in rural Georgia. Chateau Elan includes a 5-star European hotel, a winery, seven restaurants, golf courses, a race track, and a motor car factory. Inside one of the winery’s fine restaurants we enjoyed a grand feast at a table set like one might find prepared for the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. After two hours of fine dining, we returned to our reality, arriving back in Anderson about 10 PM all safe and sound. All were in church Sunday save one, and she had a good excuse.

Night Images

Anderson, South Carolina

Once a year my small town puts on a great effort, and a most successful one at that, to create a fine destination event. Anderson has become known as a regional hot-air balloon mecca. 250,000 people will make a pilgrimage to visit us each year. What makes a particular town suitable for annual balloon festivals are several variables –favorable weather, suitable launch facilities, a good road infrastructure for chase vehicles, and a sense of hospitality for the hundreds of thousands of people that show up for such events. Especially important is that the balloonists and their crews feel wanted by the townspeople. Some towns actually don’t want them landing in their pastures, fields, or yards. Here, people will actually let their grass and hay grow up a few days before our annual festival so as to be able to mow smiley faces into it and write ‘Land Here’ below them. We just had eighty-five colorful balloons spend four days drifting over our countryside and dropping in unexpectedly to start parties. Hot air balloons are quite the catalysts for spontaneous happy events.

Most of us that live here have learned to listen carefully for the distinctive sound of a balloon’s propane burner. We are quite willing to drop whatever we are doing and join a party. I can be sitting in my closed-up house and instantly know when a balloon is near by. I also enjoy the happy circumstance of having a commercial balloon pilot living five doors down from me. Many mornings I hear Steve’s burners as I am out riding my bike at first light. Sometimes I call him from my cell phone to see ‘What’s up.’

Each year the last evening of our Labor Day balloon festival is given over to an outdoor sunset concert. We enjoy the distinct sounds of our fine community orchestra. 10,000 happy visitors will convene in our grassed amphitheater to hear a couple hours of inspirational, patriotic, and classical music as they dine. Some will eat out of a fast food paper bag. Others will set up something akin to the elaborate digs of a major tailgating. Either way, all enjoy being in a spontaneous community. I struck a middle ground and brought a Styrofoam cooler and fed a number of good friends around me.

As the sun submerges below the horizon, we listen for the familiar pieces played each year along with the special selections picked for the current year’s theme. This year the theme was Star Wars. All of the kids in Anderson County were in the amphitheater with their light sabers, pretending to be Luke Skywalker. I could only wish my childhood had been seasoned with the joyous and colorful memories that were being created before my eyes.

There is nothing like being surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of happy kids enjoying sunset with their friends and families while watching all their favorite images of science fantasy projected with multicolor lasers onto giant scrim sheets and clouds of theater fog. Perhaps the most important images are those of the reality that comes from shared community as the edge of night reveals the spectral wonders of Zambelli fireworks in the ebony of night.

I went home feeling very much a party of life

Midnight Flight

Anderson, South Carolina

I found myself cast into a huge vortex of life today. Our little town has put on what is known as the Midnight Flight for thirty years. These annual midnight road races are held as a benefit for the youth programs at our local YMCA. At 9, 10, and 11 PM waves of thousands of runners will sweep down a four-lane state highway, chasing down endorphin highs and the satisfaction that comes from satisfying a competitive spirit. The YMCA has become a profoundly important part of my life and simply showing up there to exercise is not enough. I need to give something back. I had never been to one of these road races in the past and agreed this year to help out as a volunteer for this event.

The event has turned into nearly a destination. I showed up about 3 PM in the middle of a sultry southern summer afternoon. I was surprised at how elaborate the preparations were for this and how many hundreds of people were involved in setting up the venues. I had expected a couple of folding tables and half a dozen people I would have already known. There were miles of roads that had been cleared and marked. Midways had been set up with kiosks to dispense everything from Avon ointments to ice cream to $110 running shoes to Dansani water, to bags of saffron rice. I never did figure out what saffron rice has to do with road racing but there it was and I did end up with several bags of it. Bandstands were set up. Timing mats with computers were set up in the roads. Digital clocks were placed. Floodlights and generators were installed in many strategic locations. Water stations were placed along six miles of roads. Thousands of sponsor packets were assembled for the registered runners. Rooms were set up to pass out timing chips to keep track of race times. The olive branch long ago yielded to the T-shirt. We had thousands of these to pass out.

I quickly realized I was going to be a small fish in a much bigger pond. Hundreds of people wearing green tee shirts all seemed to be on specific missions and I soon found one of my own, passing out runner’s bibs, sponsor packets, and safety pins to those people with last names starting with J, K, or L. I did this for four hours. So many volunteers showed up that I yield my slot to someone else so she could feel useful and like she was contributing to this explosion of life that was about to take place.

Then about 7 PM all sorts of things started showing up, as if choreographed to maximize the overall experience and intensity of the event. A magnificent sunset erupted in the western sky. Orange and crimson bands streaked across the sky as the edge of night moved towards us at 1000 miles per hour. In the remaining boundaries of day, eighty-five hot air balloons participating in our regional balloon fest chased the winds and became speckled silhouettes in the spectral layers above us. These giant colorful gumdrops dropped down in convenient open locations and dozens of happy little parties erupted at the scattered landing sites.

Then people started showing up. Lots of people. Thousands of people. Happy people. People embracing health and life. People who show up in hot air balloons, chase vehicles, and runner’s nylon are chasing life and dreams. The atmosphere became expansive and vibrant. A fine band fueled the energy of the venue with strands of old classic songs from three decades. Finally six hours after arriving it was time to get down to business.

Runners ranging in age from 6 years to nearly 90 years showed up to exercise dominion over the state highway into town. Hot noisy roads choked with heavy traffic 24/7 had been transformed into a car-free runner’s heaven. I thought of how glorious it would be to be on my bike on that empty ribbon of asphalt. Thousands of on-lookers and well wishers were sharing happy community and anticipation in the once-a-year span of four hours when the combustion engine yields supremacy to the runner’s shoe and.

Happy laughter and eagerness had the runners crowding the timing mats. I found myself recruited by the race timers to stand in front of a thousand runners and keep them four feet back from the edge of the timing mats. I suddenly had visions of the soccer stadiums in Brazil where hundreds are occasionally crushed in stampedes. No tragedies occurred this night. I was given ample time to get out of the way before the starting gun release all this pent-up energy into the night. Three times, waves of families, friends, lovers, dreamers, and competitors swiftly headed into the darkness of the night just out of reach of the arc lamps illuminating the start and finish lines. Suddenly the road emptied of its human potential.

The spectators drifted over to the finish line a few hundred yards away and waited anywhere from 4.5 minutes to 2.0 hours for their favorite athletes to re-emerge from the darkness into the brilliance of victory. Everyone who goes out and does even a short road race in the middle of the night is a winner in my book.

It was 3 AM before the last of the road race infrastructure had been dismantled and the streets re-opened to the combustion engine once again. Some of the YMCA staff had been on site for 22 hours. A lot of tired happy people slept well Friday night.

I went home feeling like I had been caught up in the stream of life. Literally I had.