Smile

There’s a picture on my desk of Stacie and I embracing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I stare a those two sun-baked smiling faces throughout my workday, enamored by the love in their eyes, the joy in their smiles. I look at the painted sky, just beginning to fill with the wispy brushstrokes of a distant yet looming summer rain. But the couple in the photo seems not to mind the weather. These familiar characters are caught, literally, in the moment. Clearly enchanted with each other, I’m enchanted by them – this beautiful moment frozen, like innumerable others, in a way that only those of us fortunate enough to live in the last century have had the luxury to enjoy.

This sweltering late-summer day would once have been a fleeting memory, slipping in and out of my mind and growing all the more distorted with each passing day. Yet now it’s pressed flat and tucked neatly behind glass safe keeping, the colors desaturated by an artist’s bias, hopefully not to be lost until long after its characters too have slipped into memory.

What I find so compelling is this – I can look at this photo twenty, forty times a day and at some point it becomes more about the composition, the lighting, my hair, than it really is a glimpse into the history of our life together – but sometimes, like this moment, I remember that I was really there. I can feel the cruel August sun stabbing its way though my shirt. The stained smell of a chlorinated fountain wafts into my nose. I suddenly can feel the magnitude, the sheer size of that place and that moment. Now this time seems more the substance of a legend or fairytale I’ve heard far too many times - a day spoken of an pondered longer than it was actually lived. Captivated by the sweetness of reminiscence, I strain back and hope to find what those two happy people were thinking on that sunny afternoon in Paris.

But that’s the crux of the photo, and perhaps the only sacred part of an image like this… although anyone can gaze at this portrait of our smiling faces, they’ll never be privy to the thoughts, the emotions, the love that we shared in the instant that the shutter oscillated open and closed.

Snow

There's something melancholic about snow when it falls on the city. Its presence creates immediate wonder and fascination, stirring children out of their homes and into tundra gear as quickly as their feet can carry them. The known world is gone, covered deep under a new layer of adventure. Lawns, streets and trees that never garner more than a moment's notice suddenly seem alive with the mystery and intrigue of an unfamiliar city or a new love. This is a joy unparalleled by any other form of weather, yet it's also unlike any other form of happiness we experience as children. In this part of the world, every one of us is acutely aware that the object of our excitement will quickly be retreating to the gutters and storm drains, revealing the world as we know it - yet somehow it seems a little less special an slightly duller than our memory holds. Sure, some may remain piled in parking lots and side streets for a few weeks, but those filthy, skeletal remains will pay no homage to their ancestors. So our exploits and shenanigans proceed with haste and a fear of stepping inside the house even for a moment. Anxiously we wonder, "Could this could be the last good trip down the hill?" and fret, "What if it's gone before I can get back out to it?" In a way, the snow teaches us when we're still children how to make the most of our time with a deteriorating loved one, how to cherish each moment and prolong the magic, even as we see the fatal signs: Blades of grass poking their heads above the fray in the yard. The distant thunder of wet snow falling from the boughs of far off trees. Wet shoes as we trudge back up the hill for another run. These things serve as warning signs that change is near. A good thing is drawing to its conclusion, and now we must prepare to return to life as we know it, yet with a sense that something is missing now. And lo, when the snow falls again, we're somehow both eager and apprehensive simultaneously - dreaming of the fun to be had, but carefully aware that it will too soon be snatched away.

...and It Wasn't Easy

I, like many people I know, was enchanted with outer space as a child. I dreamed of being an astronaut and braving the horrible, frigid vacuum of space for the sake of science. One of the first stories I ever wrote is entitled "We're Going to the Moon, and it Won't be Easy," a fascinating tale that follow the exploits of my then-best friend, Tim (a stuffed tree frog) and me as we voyage to the moon and are met there by strikingly retro-styled alien life forms, who (obviously) have an ax to grind with human folk. One might say I was not a kid with his head in the clouds, but rather a child with his mind stuck on the Sci Fi Channel. Unlike most people, however, my love of cosmology did not dwindle and fade as I grew to adulthood. I exhausted the University of Oregon's offered astronomy courses. I've spent countless hours watching "The Universe" on the History Channel (now in HD!). Hell, I have even read books by Carl Sagan. As obtuse as all these things may be, in my opinion the strangest thing about all of this behavior is the fact that virtually no one knows about it. In short, I'm a complete closet nerd.

All of this is to serve as only a brief precursor to the short vignette I'd like to share: On Wednesday night I was trying to convince myself to go to the gym - or rather, I was laying on the couch watching Mythbusters thinking that an evening of exercise would be a more astute (yet far less satisfying) way to spend my evening. This particular episode focused on all the ludicrous conspiracy theories posed over the last 40 years that claim NASA never made it to the moon. Test after test categorically debunked the theories, and as they did so I found my self cheering for the side of NASA.

I've come to realize that when someone claims the moon landings were all just an elaborate masquerade, I am personally offended as a member of the human race. Sending Neil and Buzz (and all ten other men) all the way to the moon, and then bringing them back safely is in my opinion the most difficult endeavor and greatest achievement in the history of engineering, mathematics and physics that humans as a species have ever successfully accomplished. On top of that, it speaks volumes at the strength and determination of the human spirit of adventure.

After thousands of years wandering around by the light of the moon and the stars and wondering what was really up in the sky, we were able to go there not even 70 years after the Wright Brothers' first successful airplane flew across the sands of the Carolina coast. To ignore all the evidence or our success and try to cheapen the awe and wonder of what we've actually done as a species is simply insulting. To claim humans have never walked on the moon is beyond simple ignorance, it's to spit in the face of all the brilliant men an women who designed the Saturn V rocket that took us there, a slap to the families who lost loved ones in our attempts to get off the ground, and a sucker punch in the gut to our species as a whole.

From Turkey With Love

Hey all! I've finally arrived in a hostel that has free Internet! Sorry I've been incommunicado for so long, but the bill really starts to add up when you've got to pay Euro for blogging privileges. Life's been awesome - Oktoberfest, Prague, Vienna and Salzburg were all delightful in their own rights, and I can fill you in on them later. But all that can wait, because yesterday we arrived in the crown jewel of the trip - Istanbul.

The world's greatest (and only) intercontinental city and not ceased to delight me since the moment we made it through customs. Even before touching down on the runway I got shivers of excitement down my spine as the approach to the tarmac revealed a massive city peppered with countless minarets rising from the ground like arrows caught just before their vault into the sky. Our hostel is situated only a few blocks from the Aya Sophia and the Blue Mosque (more on those later) and from the rooftop bar we can see across the Bosporus to Asia. Today we went to the former Ottoman Topkapi Palace and took a stroll through the Emperor's old harem. The beautiful women are gone today, but the gorgeous frescos, mosaics and furniture have survived. After a Kebab lunch (awesome, cheap and incredibly unhealthy) we ventured into the subterranean Bassilica Cistern built by Justinian in Roman times to hold the city's drinking water. It's not a reservoir any longer, but instead a massive underground room with a ceiling 30 feet above the floor held up by more than 300 columns. As we walked along the catwalks (there's sill a few feet of water kept down there so the carp and trout can stay alive) I could hardly believe my eyes. To finish the day off right, we went to the Aya Sophia, an almost unfathomably large cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum. Inside her massive belly, I filled my mind (and SD memory card) with gorgeous frescos, calligraphy, columns, arches and domes that I truly hope to never forget. This building is without a doubt the most impressive place I've ever been. If you don't believe me, google it. The photos might help you understand a little, but in all honesty you should probably just fly over here at some point in your life.

More later, time to grab a drink and play cards on the roof. Cheers!

Czeching In

Hey all,

Sorry it's been so long since I've posted anything! We've been having a great time in Eastern Europe and there are loads of stories to share, but the internet's been a little dodgy here, so I've got to be brief. Hopefully tomorrow or Sunday I'll have more time and a better computer to use, but know that we are all loving life and having a ball in Prague. Off to Vienna on Sunday!

Cheers.

Money For Nothing

Our first day in Berlin was absolutely spectacular. We slept in and awoke to a crystal-clear sky. After sipping coffee and taking our time to get ready, we hopped on the metro line and rode down to the Brandenberg Gate. From there, we met up with a free walking tour that took us through the city for more than five hours, explaining the significance of each special building and location we came across. In a word, it rocked. Afterward, we wandered the city streets (as is now habit) and eventually came across a pub that promised "Live Music Tonight @ 22:00." We decided to duck in and check it out. In no way was this worth the wait. Eventually, two men stood before us with guitars and a bass/drum track player to lead each song for them. The opening song on the setlist was an overly cheesey and canned version of "Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits. The lyricist sounded as if he knew the way the song sounded, but was not actually aware of what any of the sounds (words) he was singing meant. Aaron and I could not stop laughing - in fact, it got so bad we had to leave. Horrible music, but great times. Love you all!

I thought our flight left at 8:45...

We almost got to spend another night in London.  The story is far to long and complicated to adequately convey here, but know that we somehow made it onto a train that delivered us to the airport 5 minutes before check-in closed, ran through the terminal, got hasseled by security, I got lost and stranded (literally) in a part of the airport that had no public exit and had to be shuttled across the tarmack by security in a van, and still made our (thankfully delayed) flight to Berlin.  I woke up this morning and remembered immediately that I was in Germany when I saw the framed David Hasselhoff album hanging opposite my bed.  Delightful.  That's all for now, but I'll try to type up the whole Stansted Airport debacle later today.  Cheers!