I think this is a small piece of just getting my thoughts out in written form, so take it for what it is worth.

In the fall of my senior year in high school, I convinced my parents to take a ride up to Hiram College, one of the DoC schools that had been on my radar since I found out I would get a $3,000 grant every year because I grew up in a DoC church. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Bethany College, another DoC school, had presented heavily at a DoC camp I attended every summer, and was looking like the pretty obvious choice. Staying in Ohio, though, meant I could major in education and not worry about transferring my teaching credentials from a different state, so Hiram stayed on the list.

Visiting Hiram for the first time was an unforgettable experience. It all ran by so quickly and I walked off campus knowing it was where I would spend the next four years of my life. There are so many people I cherish from those four years… so many faculty and staff members I can name who I could never thank enough. Many are still there, impacting the lives of students daily. I know Liz is still developing amazing leaders out of scared first year RA’s, and Dottie is making students across campus feel welcome with her smile (and most likely trying to set a few up them up on dates), and Professor Koritansky is most likely lecturing about the founding fathers, without notes, for what seems like an eternity.

But it was someone very special, someone that I met on that very first visit, that Hiram lost yesterday. When my tourguide found out I was interested in education, she took me to the Jessie Smith House, an old beautiful home on the southwest corner of campus that housed the Education Department. In a warm and cluttered office on the 1st floor, I was introduced to Kathy Feather, the Education Department chair at the time.

At the time, I had no clue how busy Kathy’s schedule was and how lucky I was to get a couple of minutes from her to chat about why I was considering Hiram and what subject I was thinking about teaching. She lit up when I mentioned high school and of course made me feel like the most sought-after student she had ever met. What was crazy about Kathy was that genuine warmth and the investment she made in me that day didn’t stop once I signed all of my papers and sold my financial soul to Sallie Mae.

There was no way for me to know that day, but Kathy ended up being one of the most important people in my four years at Hiram. Thanks to her work with secondary education students, I ended up having one of her classes pretty much every year and had a chance to sit down with her twice a year for advising. Towards the end of the fall semester of my freshman year when we filed into the gym to register for our spring classes (that’s right, we did it old school), I was set with my list of classes to sign up for first and a handful of backups. When I was met with filled class after filled class and was pretty sure my academic life was over, it was Kathy who calmed me down, helped me plan out a new list of classes I could take that would keep me on track, and encouraged me to move quickly as professors were packing up.

Kathy was so loved by the Hiram community. I remember catching word of her struggles with cancer and instantly knew she would be surrounded by her colleagues. She had stepped into the dean role a couple of years ago, which was great for the student body as a whole, but a loss for education students. The cancer struck quickly and mercilessly. Kathy fought, with the support of her family, still sneaking into work when she could. I didn’t want the update on her condition to contain the news it did yesterday. I sat at my work computer, hoping it was a misunderstanding… typical Hiram rumor mill that spilled into e-mails being forwarded by alumni. I even held out hope until official word came from Hiram today. The cancer was too much and Kathy passed away Monday morning.

The first thing that pops into my mind when I think of Kathy was the spring morning of my junior year when she came to observe me in my Methods of Teaching cooperative classroom. I had a room full of 11th graders, bored to tears by the rigid straight-from-the-text instruction their teacher provided, and I was somehow doing an even poorer job. Kathy asked me to ride back with her so we could chat, and I knew in my gut that this was not going to be a pat on the back and an ‘atta boy conversation.

In the 20 minute ride back to campus, I spilled my guts to her. I had convinced myself in 10th grade that I wanted to be a high school history teacher and until about eight weeks into my Methods class, I still thought that was the case. Something had changed, though, and classroom teaching was not how I pictured myself any longer, but what was I to do? I was in the spring of my junior year in college! I couldn’t change at that point. Grant and scholarship money would run out after my senior year and there was no way I would be able to afford a fifth year at Hiram. She had such an understanding way of listening – the way she arched her eyebrows with concern and nodded slowly as I told her why I had to stick with it.

Then, after she let me ramble on for another 20 minutes in her still warm and cluttered office, she laid it on me. She didn’t see me as a teacher either. She built me up first, of course, but she didn’t spend much time beating around the bush. Kathy Feather, chair of the Education Department, told me I was not destined to teach. Instead, she helped me shape an image of what my future might hold. An education major didn’t mean a lifetime of teaching, but rather a ticket to opportunities I had not thought of. Kathy rattled off by memory what several of her former students were doing outside of the classroom. They were working in non-profits and on college campuses throughout the country, perfectly happy with their job and making great efforts to still work with students.

I was nervous about sharing my change of heart with my parents, but it was Kathy who gave me the direction and support I needed to go through with it. We met a few more times in the following weeks to discuss where I would head after Hiram, often squeezing in conversations during dinner or between classes, but I can truly say, I have no idea what I would be doing if Kathy Feather didn’t take a genuine interest in me.  A little over a year later, on a sunny day in May, I hugged Kathy and introduced her to my parents.  “This is the professor that told me I shouldn’t teach,” I told my mom (the 3rd grade teacher).  We smiled and laughed and Kathy told me I better do something great with my life since she pushed me away from the classroom.  I would have loved to have called her in twenty years and let her know how it all worked out.

There are more stories to be told about Kathy and there are seeds she has planted over the past 25 years that will be growing for years to come.  I hope her legacy is carried by all of us.  I certainly have much to be thankful for as I celebrate Kathy’s life, and I’m sure I’m not alone.

The internetz is a really cool place sometimes. I can work from home every now and then (read as: “catch up on e-mail while watching the news cycle on MSNBC”), I can think about ordering a really cool pullover like the Indians were wearing in the postseason (cough-cough-christmasgiftidea-cough-cough), and I can search Craig’s List for a used Weber grill.

Chalking another one up for the internetz, I managed to get my hands on a legal pre-release of the upcoming Steven Delopoulos album, Straightjacket. The rest of you will have to make time between 2nd and 3rd helpings of deep-fried turkey (or a piece of turkey-shaped tofu, Jake) to download the album straight from Steven’s website. I can definitely tell you, though, that making that 2nd slice of pumpkin pie wait a few minutes as you watch the internetz work its download magic will be time well spent.

For those of you not familiar with Delopoulos, he’s the vocals of the Dove Award-winning band Burlap to Cashmere, which may or may not be defunct. Regardless, Delopoulos transitioned into a singer/songwriter and released his first solo project, Me Died Blue, in 2003 (I think). There was something so fluid and neat about the album, but his voice and unbelievable guitar stood in strong contrast, offering a raw feel that instantly transformed the room into a dark coffee shop, listening to a friend pick and strum away. That connection instantly gained Delopoulos a fan, so it was with great anticipation I awaited the new album.

The EP, Work To Be Done, can still be downloaded from Steven’s website and it may just be the perfect mix of his work (two live Burlap tracks, two tracks from Me Died Blue, and most importantly, two tracks from Straightjacket). The songs Work To Be Done and and She Held My Hand were perfect nuggets of anticipatory gold when the EP was released, and I still believe they are the strongest songs on the full album. The lyrics, vocals, and guitar accompaniment all flow together, standing out while simultaneously not overpowering one another.

The full album, while not as strong as Me Died Blue, still carries the remarkable talent and connectivity that led me to embrace the first album (and, of course, Burlap way back when). There are just small issues that throw me off, like the Gregorian chant background in the first track, Ruin of the Beast, but those issues are few and far between. I think the song stands strong on its own, but perhaps there is more meaning to the chants than I know.

The more and more I listen to it, the old school spiritual sounding May I Always Keep My Feet Upon the Ground may eventually take over the coveted “favorite track” position. It’s somewhat perplexing to hear the distinctively Greek-sounding Delopoulos backed up by a clapping choir. In my head I picture a soulful, shimmery robed black choir leading me in worship on a sunny fall day in a small church and I start to get lost in the music again. I really, really like that feeling.

Overall, it feels like Delopoulos stepped a tiny bit away from the comfortable singer/songwriter schtick, incorporating unique background accompaniments and a slightly different sound. I think he succeeds in staying mostly true to what connected him to that “friend playing in a coffee shop” feel, but the experimenting is still in need of further development. When he adds background strings to songs like Fire Away, he hits the mark head on and creates a lush, full, moving music experience. The piano intro to Open Your Eyes tees up the song and catches your attention, setting you up to sway and hum along with the simple melody and get lost again.

What I’m thrown off by, though, are songs like the aforementioned Gregorian chant-filled Ruin of the Beast, and the somewhat out of place, Halt. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on in Halt, but it just doesn’t feel like it belongs on this album, or at least, not between Open Your Eyes and The Dancer. I know record labels now want us to listen to songs, not albums, but I guess I’m still a little old school when it comes to listening to full albums as a piece of musical art, and Halt just stands in contrast of an otherwise strong body of work.

Speaking of The Dancer, the final track on this album really wraps up the entire project in the bread and butter that made Delopoulos stand out among singer/songwriters. I don’t know who is accompanying him on this track (sounds a little Emmylou-ish), but the mix of the voices and guitar gives me goosebumps. Definitely a gem hidden at the end of the album.  (so, apparently it’s Derek Webb’s wife, Sandra McCracken, that is singing harmony on The Dancer.  That’s pretty neat considering the first time I saw Delopoulos play he was sandwiched between McCracken and Webb.)

I’m thinking about starting a couple new hobbies.  I know, exciting, right?

What’s your new hobby, Dave?

Good question!  No, I’m not going to start knitting… or crocheting… or quilting… more like lame-ing, lamer-ing, and lamest-ing.

I’m thinking of things that are much, much closer to me.  Beer and BBQ.

My friend Jud has some of the skills I envy the most.  He can take a nice pork shoulder and some basic ingredients and turn it into a mouth-watering basket of awesomeness.  He makes his own sauce.  He makes his own marinade.  He works a Weber grill with the skill of a surgeon.  He is… the greatest BBQ genius to ever wield tongs and an apron.

Jud, though, wants to break my heart and move to Boston… or his wife wants him to… or something like that.  What does that mean?  That Jud won’t be around to make me BBQ forever.  I need to learn.  Teach a man how to eat fish, or something like that.

What do I need?

• Weber grill of the 22.5″ variety
• A nice hinged grate to allow fresh coals to be dumped into grill
• A charcoal starter
• Friends willing to try my BBQ

Once I acquire the top 3 items from that list, I will assume the role of Jud’s BBQ padawan, beg him to teach me his ways, and most likely burn myself and create really crappy food.

The other potential hobby of the moment is homebrewing.  I like beer.  I like being at home.  It’s a win-win.  Apparently, homebrewing isn’t that hard if you don’t mind beer that tastes horrible.  In fact, I could probably try to make that tonight if I can find some hops.

But no, the rules of the universe say that if you want to make good beer, you have to invest in the right tools and ingredients, which once again means an initial investment I should probably save up for.

Or I could just go blow a paycheck on these two hobbies and live off of burnt BBQ and bad beer until next payday.

Stay tuned!  Bets will be taken on how many stomach-pumping trips to the ER I cause in the first few months of my new hobbies.  I believe the over/under is +10.

It’s about this time every year that I get full use of the ability to roll my eyes that I perfected between the ages of 13 and yesterday. Much to the delight of my mom, no scenario was immune to the eye-rolling… birthday morning wake up calls, church gossip conversations at family events, conversations about the lack of girlfriend in my life… Needless to say, there were/are many opportunities to practice the perfect sarcastic non-verbal response championed by teenagers everywhere, and the next month just happens to be the height of eye roll opportunities.

Usually about a week or two after major retailers begin displaying their pumpkins and ghoulish costumes for the Halloween holiday, a sinister mid-level corporate manager sends memos written in puppy blood on tusks of endangered elephants and walruses to store managers throughout the country to begin slowly clearing an entire aisle in the back of the store in anticipation of a shipment that will be arriving in a week. That shipment? A harmless set of towels emblazoned with a smiling snowman and a few boxes of clear decoration lights.

Then comes day two… a box full of snow globes depicting harmless “winter scenes” and whimsical children against a backdrop of the city skyline. A few older church-lady-esque shoppers are seen visibly shaking their heads as they walk by the mostly empty aisle with distinct shades of red and green backing the empty shelves.

It’s day three that really sets the world into a tizzy, though. Day three is when the heavens open up and reindeer, Santa, penguins, and all the Christmas schwag that had been collecting dust in warehouses for the past four months descends upon local Targets, Walgreens, WalMarts, Menards, Bass Pro Shops, PetSmarts, and Victoria’s Secrets. Someone hastily e-mails Bill O’Reilly to let him know of this calculating and sinister plot that has been unveiled in the middle of their trip to find a five gallon drum of mayonnaise and a pair of super-husky pants for their six year old at their local WalMart, and soon the media machine that is Fox News declares the war on Christmas has entered a new year and that God is angry.

It’s a liberal plot to roll Christmas and Thanksgiving into one big holiday with none of the religious thought! It’s the next step in destroying all Christian holiday observances! This is opening the US to a Hitler/Stalin/insert horrible dictator here!

Really, Bill? If big box retailers are creating such an atrocity by allowing customers to purchase Christmas decorations and Christmas-themed candy before Thanksgiving, why not pull your book from their shelves, cutting off their ability to make a profit on your words of wisdom and insight?

And Bill, if you thought about Christmas as much as a big box retail chain, perhaps it is your heart that would grow and your faith that would find new depth.

But it’s more than just Bill… it’s every day normal Christians that buy into just enough of the corporate Christmas, but become disgusted when others buy into it just a little bit more. They write letters to the editor of local newspapers decrying the row of plastic evergreens that are now available at your local Home Depot, never mentioning the fact that they bought their husband’s Christmas present in May when they found it on sale.

It’s a good thing there’s nothing else in the news to report and that the biggest and most important talking point is the evil, watered-down, crafted by Satan himself message of “Happy Holidays.”

Meanwhile, the message of Christmas… the hope and joy and redemption found in a Savior… is lost amongst petty squabbling by “christians” more worried by the way the city square depicts a menorah next to the manger than their own belief and observance of the day itself.

When you allow others (read: big box retailers looking for the highest profit possible and public officials putting together holiday displays to make everyone feel welcome) to shape your belief in and observance of Christmas, you have much larger issues than the jack-o-lantern/turkey/snowman display at your local Target.

Besides, if this means we get to enjoy Great Lakes Winter Ale a little earlier, is there really any harm?