Results of Ruminations

A good break Thanksgiving has come and gone. The pervasive stench (a delectable one, mind you) of turkey still seems to linger here and there, particularly at the parents' houses. We had an enjoyable time of it, what with the family from many sides here, in large part because of Grandpa's recent passing. The funeral was on the 22 nd , and a great many people stuck around for Thursday. It was really swell to see aunts, uncles, and cousins, though I admit that I am still slightly weirded-out by some of my relatives. But, hey, that's what family is for! The results of my recent ruminations run along several lines—as is often the case—insomuch that I am paralyzed by what I'm trying to express. The odds that this particular blog (still hate that word...so uncouth) will be brief are high. Apostasy and the darkness beyond That's a dreary subheading, isn't it? Well, it's typed. That makes it permanent, I suppose. And even if it doesn't, how am I supposed to ...

I still get a little teary-eyed when I mention how close we came to losing Peter. Twice. I was talking to a coworker in the hall today, after hearing good news that Peter's clubbed foot is doing just fine. I mentioned such that Peter was well and why we're happy for him today, which lead to a reference to the fact that I was glad the trip to Primary Children's Medical Center ended up being so fast easy, since there have been times when it wasn't. My coworker looked a little confused, so I asked if she knew of Peter's condition. She said no, so I briefly explained. She, curious science-type lady that she is, asked additional questions. The brief but colorful history of Peter was then related. During the part when I recalled the unknown future Gayle and I considered around two years ago, when we first realized the gravity of Peter's condition but knew nothing of what it might mean, that I may take my son for granted. We knew him not at that point, but wept to thin...

The entire purpose of this blog is for me to write when I want to write but don't know about what to write. Right? Right. Two things preoccupy me, the resulting clash of ideas being the reason for my blog's name and this particular blog's title: This is what comes of Steven Dowdle meditating. I can't tell if I irritate myself with the audacity of assuming that my thoughts are worthwhile, or if they simply irritate me because I have no audience to validate it. At least, with a blog, I can pretend that someone reads. So far, no one has. But enough wading through the pity pool; on to the preoccupations, both of which are related but come from different spheres. The first is my maternal grandfather, who is burning up with a fever at UVRMC in Provo right now, held in the cusp of life and death by the skilled nurses and doctors and surgeons who are trying to find out what is infecting him, and how to rectify the situation. The second is a line I just read from the incredibly ...

Okay, I know no one looks at my blog. That's not really the reason blogs are written. But I did what the narcissist inside me demanded I do and 'googled' my name to see if this blog shows up anywhere on the world wide web. It didn't show up in the first couple of links, so I 'gimaged' (that's Google Image searched for those who don't know) my name instead. The first shot is of me from my profile on Suite101.com , a nifty little website that I wrote a little for. The rest of the pictures were of fellow Suite101 writers. Then, on the second page, there was a picture of Will Smith as Hancock from the movie of the same name. I thought, "That's weird. I don't look like him." So I went to the site that had Will as Steve to see what was up. I found this blog . It's pretty much just a blog from what I could see, so I did a search/find for my name. Sure enough, this chap from the Philipines had copied my essay about Christ from Suite101.com...

My main reason for writing a blog came out of wanting to discuss MGS2 in a defensive, vindicating light. Really, that was all. I can't really see a reason for writing anything else, what with much more interesting things out there, and since I can't write anymore (at least, that's what it feels like), it seems foolish to even try--particularly in a forum of instantly published potential embarrassment like the Internet manages to provide so readily. But here I am anyway, pretending to write, pretending to be profound. My class is really cool. I have 21 kids, which is just right for me. I have their names memorized, I know whom I'm worried about, and we're finishing up Beowulf on Thursday next. The school is fun, small, and I have a job satisfaction level that I've never felt before. I finally feel like a contributing member of society, rather than a warm body cog that is adept at mediocrity. One of the saddest, most frustrating parts about me, though, is that I ...

I have a job now. Two jobs, as a matter of fact. I am now employed by Karl G. Maeser Prep Academy, and Meridian Prep High School, teaching (in the former) a variation of world literature (from Beowulf to the French Revolution) and (in the latter) an enhanced 10th grade honors curriculum. The two curricula are kicking my butt right now...recommended reading lists combined offer over 70 (!) titles that I have to read before the end of the school year. You do the math, and you'll see that's almost two titles a week...to say nothing of the time to prepare, grade, and fine-tune each lesson plan. A lot of people have rough firts years. A lot of people have multiple preps. A lot of people do a lot of different things. I can't say that this is harder than someone elses...I'm still only part time, when you look at the numbers (and am being paid accordingly, I might add), so I am struggling a bit with the remuneration per my effort. Still, I'm happy to have the job–especiall...

I'm jobless. Okay, that isn't perfectly fitted: I have a job. I just don't work at the job. My boss is in Africa (!) right now, on a humanitarian trip with her daughter. But, with my boss gone, the work can't really go forward. I haven't worked for months now. It's starting to wear at me. There are a number of considerations to compute, so many that listing them seems mundane and bootless. I'm actually ranting in this post, as a matter of fact. I have no thesis, I have no point... ...and it feels as though that's the point. That's my frustration. That's my worry. That's my fear. I feel as if I am a barnacle on my family. Isn't that a sad confession? The worth of souls may be great, but the worth of Steve? Well, not so much. Sure, I provide emotional support to my wife through my presence. Precious Peter gets another pair of hands to change diapers and pick him up when he gets fussy. But there's no remediation for my situation...it all...

Two thoughts intersect, and they fit...to a point. It's that area of friction that I'd like to uncover, but I don't know if I'll get to it or get it out. Right now, my baby is screaming his head off because I'm not patting him on the back so that he can fall asleep. Ah, the joys of parenthood. "We're Only Human" The current song that's stuck in my head comes from Jason Mraz 's latest offering, We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things CD/album (CD is too specific of a term for the release of music these days, I suppose). The song is called "Only Human" and deals a bit with the idea of humanity and what that means. Taming of the Shrew The Utah Shakespearean Festival has just launched its summer season, and my wife and I–as we are wont to do for the last three years–have just finished enjoying three of the six plays offered by the festival. It was wonderful, amazing, and all of the other superlatives that you could expect from a Bardolator li...

Initial Capitulation It's truly official now: I'm part of the odiously named "blogosphere," a place where I can sign on, think aloud, and general feel like I'm intelligent because I'm on the internet (where anything therein is automatically true). So that's my initial capitulation: giving in to the trend of writing a web log. Well, if nothing else, it'll have correct spelling in (almost) every post, and the grammar will make sense to normal folk–none of this "it's the 21st century, who needs rules?" garbage. So on to my current thoughts. Metal Gear Solid Any gamer who deserves the monikers of 'gamer' is at least vaguely aware of Hideo Kojima's latest installation on the immensely popular Metal Gear Solid series. I don't doubt that it will be a huge commercial success, will help salvage Sony's flagging PS3 sales, and simply and thoroughly kick butt. In a lot of ways. That being said, I've been meaning to post small ...