wake

tradition
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
and we'll dance...

I took Jack out to the Little Red Church today to play a concert for those Irishmen and their consorts. There wasn't a whole lot of response from the audience (ok... no response), but we really felt good about it.
Lest you think this was irreverent, I promise you, that our intentions were precisely the opposite. It was our desire to honor these folk with music and dancing. The utmost respect was felt in the sharing of the music, the stepping of the feet, and the leaping of the joy.

pushing up cedars

pushing up cedars
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Many people resting beneath these moss-dripping cedars were born in Ireland before the United States was a country. They made their way here near the turn of the 19th century and many having been resting for 200 years, since long before these cedars sprouted from the ground.
My mind free-associates as I stop awhile and take in the evidence of an era. I’ve spent most of my life with my arms and fingers wrapped around cedar, rosewood and mahogany, drawing melodies from the tone wood.
When my fingers have curled, and knuckles gnarled, and my songs are trapped in my heart, I think I’d do well to lie beneath an ancient cedar while her roots circle my bones and draw nourishment for strength and sonority.
I believe I’ll drive back out there with my sonorous cedar box and play for these Irishmen and their consorts.
Maybe Jack will bring his fiddle.

the things of earth

the things of earth
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

there's a place you can go in the communion of friends
where all things momentarily fade.
There is nothing left but spirit and flesh.
The water, the sand, the sky -
even the morning disappears.

The breadth of the ocean is a mere stone's throw,
it's depth but a tea cup,
and a grain of sand contains all there is to know.

jubilee

jubilee
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Apparently, in addition to steak sandwiches, Philadelphia is also known for other rich histories.
It was interesting to juxtapose a visit to Gettysburg and Philadelphia on subsequent days. In Gettysburg, we stood at the scene of a three-day bloodbath where Americans fought Americans over complex differences in ideals, not the least of which was freedom. Eighty-seven years before that bloody three days, the bell had tolled in Philadelphia, to announce the public reading of the United States’ Declaration of Independence. The bell had been cast in England, yet another 25 years earlier, and inscribed with Leviticus, 25:10.
Greg came away from the bell having read the info that said no one knew why Leviticus was chosen as the inscription, and asking is it too much to assume that possibly they understood the concept of Jubilee and that a reference to consecrating the 50th year and announcing freedom, was something they believed in?
My mind zeroed in more specifically on the words, “and all the inhabitants thereof.” I’m wondering if any of us actually want freedom. It seems that everyone else’s freedom rudely infringes on my own. What I really want is freedom for myself, and heavy regulation that will keep anyone from denying me my freedom. Do we realize what we’re saying when we grunt, “liberty and justice for all”?

I wonder if the “liberty” bell began as a symbol of an institution that represented freedom from another institution. At what point do some feel it necessary to demand freedom from the freedom granting institution? Aha! Fast-forward 85 years.
My own state was the first to declare independence from the U.S. shots fired on Fort Sumter occurred right here.
When the inscription was written, I wonder if it declared that we free ourselves from our oppressors, but have no intention whatever to free those whom we oppress. It took another 116 years before slavery was abolished in a country that declared, “proclaim freedom throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof.”
I surely don’t mean to sound unpatriotic or cynical. It’s just that I wonder in what ways do
I still squelch the freedom of others while demanding my own. I wonder how many people I pay to own slaves for me so that I can inexpensively live in my land of freedom.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis

Pat's Steaks

Pat's Steaks
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Apparently, Philadelphia is vehemently divided between whose Cheese Steaks are the best, or even the original. Pat and Geno are the team leaders. Pasquale apparently was the first to serve chopped up steak on a hoagie roll, and Joe of Geno's claims to be the first to add Cheese Whiz.
These two establishments are located directly across the street from one another, so you can wait until the last minute to decide whose grease-soaked conconction you'd rather try. I'm sure no one would mind if you decided to try both before joining a team and pledging fidelity.
We chose Pat's, and yummy it was, though I'm not so sure it was the best choice to begin a day that ended with Calamari, and then, fish and chips.

molly at the bar(re)

molly at the bar(re)
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Molly assists in the teaching of dance classes for younger dancers in order to help Mom and Dad shoulder the financial strain of having such a talented progeny.
Ballet is a terribly expensive art. If you think fine fiddles and 'cellos are expensive, you should try on a pair of pointe shoes. A fine fiddle lasts for generations and appreciates with fine playing. A pair of pointe shoes lasts a night.
I dislike practically everything having to do with ballet, except the ballet. There are few things in this world as beautiful. I’m hard-pressed to think of anything as beautiful as Molly dancing. She dances from the same place from whence I play. I know that we share that inner sanctum because I recognize it. You witness not the bending of joints, the tautness of sinew, the grace of wrist, the disciplined muscle; but saudade, the wisps of soul breezes, resolve and resolution.
I am warmed on Monday evening sneaking glances inside the studio when I come get her from class. Today, I watched her be what the little ones wish for at their next stage of development. I watched her physically touch little ones to put stray limbs and disobedient muscles to right.
An hour later, she changed roles and became the taught - the grasshopper to a greater Sensei. I know the importance of operating in both these roles simultaneously through all of life. There is no ceiling for one who continues to learn in humility. But we have the responsibility to bring along those who come behind us. The balance of learning and teaching is healthy and beautiful and necessary.

windows on the present

windows on the present
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

I know that I've posted several photos involving this Carolina First building. But, I promise, each is for a different reason. Truth is, one could sit here and shoot at this building on the hour, every hour and get subtleties of change in the window reflections. I am all about subtleties. Nuance.
Heck, I take thousands of shots of the moon. How boring could that be?
Never boring.
Always different.
She shows us the same face every night, but that face is held slightly differently.
This building always faces the same way and shows the same stone and glass. But that stone and glass shows more than itself.
Aren't we the same way? Aren't we seen according to our contexts? I'm fortunate enough that my contexts actually reflect parts of me. But though those contexts and expressions are all closely related, I am more than any one of them can express. Their connections aren't evidenced by any single manifestation.

I love to sit and watch this building reflect it's context. I love to watch it sit there, stone solid, unwavering, and yet express empathy to everything around.
It knows what is going on and it shows on its face. If the building across the street is feeling organized, symmetrical, and ordered, it can look into this building and see itself.
If the building feels jagged, chaotic, unsettled, squiggly, it can look across and see its own situation reflected, felt and expressed by a neighbor.
I want to be like that building. Strong, unmoving, solid, and beautiful. But I want my beauty to depend greatly on the reflections of those around me.

vintage

vintage
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

"And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the new wine will burst the skins and it will be spilled out, and the skins will be ruined. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins.
And no one, after drinking old wine wishes for new; for he says, 'The old is good enough.'"

These barrels are made of Canadian Oak. Due to temperature differences Oak from Canada has a tighter grain pattern than does oak from the U.S. Canadian Oak then, doesn't allow as much absorption, nor transfer of the oak flavor to the wine, while U.S. oak flavors the wine more.
Apparently, over time, the wood will have absorbed enough wine, and they will have given all it has to give to the wine aged in these barrels, and will be replaced with fresh barrels.
The new barrels will have a greater affect on the flavor of the new wine, and will not impose it's pre-absorbed old wine on the new vintage.
The old barrels will be sold to lower quality wineries who may think the old wineskins were good enough. Some are sold as flowerpots at Lowes or Home Depot.