Cover Up

Well, the cover art for my book (Morehouse) is done and I think it looks great! Interestingly, the illustrator, Charles Hefling, is also an Episcopal priest and a theology professor at Boston College. Some people are just too gifted.

Unfortunately they could only fit a picture of one boy on the cover. So now Ben and Zack are arguing about which one of them it is. I’ve recently taught them a new vocabulary word: composite. But they prefer to continue the debate rather than reflect upon my absurd notion. And by “debate” don’t think US Senate. Think more along the lines of professional wrestling.

The book has been given a September release date. You can actually pre-order it from Amazon, and save 20%, by clicking here. I assume it would arrive before September — the release date is more for publicity purposes (I’m told). I may pre-order one just to see when it arrives. Of course I’d give myself a personally signed copy.

Spring Break

Spring Break is getting easier. Even a couple of years ago the mere mention of it sent chills down our collective parental spines. No school, lots of rain, all the boys’ friends in Florida, and me slaving away during Holy Week. Bryna spent the week trapped inside with cranky kids arguing over everything from putting socks on to drinking root beer for breakfast. And no you can’t watch nine straight episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants. What’s left of your brain will explode.

This year has been great in comparison. Besides not overlapping with Holy Week (Easter was as early as it possibly can be), the weather has been fabulous. Which means if anyone gets whiny they’ll receive a quick shove out the door into the backyard. It’s the perfect cure-all for everybody involved.

We also spent a couple of days in Boston which helped eased the everyone-else-is-going-somewhere-why-can’t-we syndrome. We hit some of the old standards and the kids had a great time. While I ran the marathon, Bryna took Ben and Zack to the Museum of Science. The next day I hobbled around after them at the New England Aquarium and Faneuil Hall before heading to Harvard Square for dinner. I was disappointed that my old college haunt Nick’s Beef & Beer was no longer in Cambridge but I doubt they would have had a kids’ menu anyway (cheap beer in a sippy cup?).

Still, I am working this week which the boys don’t really get. They’re off so I should be available to play baseball with them on demand, right? But I did find a great solution to this. We went out and got them a pitch-back. This is basically a metal frame with tightly wound netting. They can throw the ball and it comes back to them. Instant baseball buddy! I thought about putting my face on it so it felt like I was playing catch with them (how’s that for lame parenting?). But then I realized they’d just be pelting my face with baseballs. And enjoying it way too much.

Boston Photos

Here I am grinding it out. Do I look good in a muscle shirt or what? No need to test for steroids on this runner!

 

This was taken just after I crossed the finish line. I’m shaking hands with Tufts University president (and marathoner) Larry Bacow. I’m not sure what I said since I was delirious; hopefully nothing too embarassing.

Mission Accomplished

4:20:12. That’s what I ran in today’s Boston Marathon and it feels great! Well, aside from some very sore legs and a touch of post-race nausea. But that’s just temporary — the memory of completing this historic marathon will endure.

It’s quite a course. The infamous “Heartbreak Hill” is actually the culmination of four hills collectively known as the Newton Hills. Yes, they’re tough but it’s more their placement than the hills themselves — they stretch from mile 16 to 21 which is classic “Wall” territory.

I accomplished my main goal which was to run the entire course without stopping to walk. And when I got to the hills I wasn’t about to let Heartbreak Hill either break my heart or, more importantly, my spirit. The other thing I’ll never forget was the amazing crowd support. People were out in force from Hopkinton to Ashland to Framingham to Natick to Wellesley to Newton to Boston. They were amazing and loud.

For the first time I wore my name on my shirt during a marathon just to see if it would help. You see people do this all the time but I thought people calling out my name might get annoying — especially when I felt lousy and wanted to quit. But I wrote ”Father Tim” on a piece of tape figuring I could always peel it off if it got bad. It was awesome. I heard more calls of “Go Father Tim” than you can imagine and it really helped push me along.

It was most vocal around Boston College. Sure, the students thought I was a Roman Catholic priest but they were rooting hard and I had fun blessing them with my right hand as they yelled out my name. BC is also right along the route of Heartbreak Hill so the timing was perfect.

And in the end I raised over $3,000 for global nutrion through my alma mater, Tufts University. Thanks to my many sponsors and for those who supported me in prayer. I couldn’t have done this without you. Okay, lets be honest, I could have. But it wouldn’t have been nearly the experience it was. You guys are the best!

A Different Benedict

With Pope Benedict XVI in the United States this week, I find myself being a bit defensive. Our eldest son Benedict was not named for the current pope. His birth-date (and naming) preceded the death of John Paul II. Check the papal archives!

Our Ben was, of course, named for the saint not the former Cardinal Ratzinger known to the world as Benedict XVI. Though Ratzinger Schenck has a certain ring to it…

Click here to read an article I wrote in today’s Journal News on Benedict in America from a non-Roman Catholic perspective.

The Glorious Taper

One of the rights of passage for marathoning is the taper. After months of increasingly longer runs (up to 22 miles), you suddenly back off the training quite dramatically. Most marathon programs call for 20 miles three weeks before the race, 12 miles two weeks out, and 8 miles the week before.

In preparation for Monday’s Boston Marathon I ran for the last time this morning — about five and a half miles. Now come the pre-race jitters. Most runners start to go a bit nuts when they can’t run for even several consecutive days. Add in pre-race nerves and it’s a recipe for twitching. Or at least driving your family mad.

Granted it didn’t help that I had three cups of coffee while working on my sermon at Coffee Labs. I was only going to have two mugs of the El Salvadoran blend but just as I was getting ready to pack up the owner, Mike Love, brought me over a free latte. To paraphrase Vito Corleone in The Godfather, it was an offer I coudn’t refuse. But it didn’t help with the whole twitching thing.

This afternoon I’m sitting in my office, getting some work done, and hydrating. This used to be called “drinking water.” Starting tomorrow I’ll pay special attention to carbo loading. Or, as I like to call it, the Anti-Atkins Diet (whatever happened to that?).

I’m still about $450 short of my goal to raise $2,500 for global nutrition programs through Tufts. You can click here to donate. If I don’t get there it’ll come out of my pocket. That’s fine — I was planning to donate something anyway. And, as I told Bryna, they did send me (what might become a $450) t-shirt and hat.   

Flight Time

I’m a compassionate guy. A caring person. Perhaps even sensitive. Okay, not sensitive but definitely compassionate. I said a prayer when I heard that someone on my flight from Seattle to New York was ill and we needed to make an emergency medical landing in Minneapolis. And when the EMTs arrived and wheeled her off the plane I gave her a surreptitious blessing as she went past my seat. She looked like she would be fine — I think it was a diabetic issue with her blood-sugar level.

But boy did she wreak havoc on my travel plans. After landing, the good folks at American Airlines (they had a rough week didn’t they?) detected a maintenance issue with the plane. Shocking. Which led to an unplanned four-hour layover in Minneapolis while they flew in the part from Chicago.

There’s nothing like 13 hours of travel culminating in a late-night arrival at JFK to prepare you for the 8 o’clock service the next morning. You try saying things like “rendering unto Thee most hearty thanks for the innumberable benefits procured unto us by the same” while you’re mind’s still in another time zone.  

I also discovered something else about myself. When the flight attendants made the announcement calling for any passengers with medical expertise I realized I was utterly useless. Unless they needed someone to pronounce last rites. 

 

Safeco Pilgrimmage

Took a tour of Safeco Field in Seattle last night with about 20 fellow Episcopal Communicators. It was arranged by a retired priest whose wife is the Suffragan Bishop of the Diocese of Olympia. Part of what he does in his retirement — besides going to a slew of church events with his spouse — is to serve as a tour guide at the ballpark. What a great gig! Sign me up — when does the Pension Fund kick in?

Safeco is pretty impressive — and with a $520 million price tag it should be. Built in 1999, it was the most expensive sports arena ever built. It will soon lose this distinction to the new Yankee Stadium that’s currently under construction — the House that George Built. Safeco has a fully retractable roof and has aged beautifully. Too bad they house the Mariners.

There’s something amazing about being the only ones inside a 47,000 seat stadium. Slightly eerie but I walked around a bit giddy the whole time. Being in a major league ballpark that stirs my soul — what can I say? I realize no team’s going to offer me a contract at this point — I’m not that delusional. It just feels as if you’re part of something exciting, something larger than yourself. It’s like being inside a giant European cathedral in that sense.

In my next life I hope to come back as a professional baseball player. For the Orioles of course. Oh wait, I don’t believe in reincarnation. I guess it’s just as well. Something would probably get screwed up in translation and I’d end up prancing around as the Phillie Phanatic.

Seattle’s Best

Some stereotypes are impossible to overcome. I flew into Seattle yesterday for the Episcopal Communicators conference (I’m on the Board of Governors of Episcopal Life Media) and, true to form, it was overcast with a slight drizzle. Classic Seattle weather.

To continue my stereotyping of this city that I’d never been to, the the first thing I did when I got to my hotel was get a cup of coffee. It’s not hard to find a coffee shop around here — the home of Starbucks — I swear there are more coffee shops per capita than actual people. Throw a rock in some of these neighborhood like Fremont (which I didn’t actually do but thought about) and you’ll hit seven or eight java joints. I’m pretty sure there are more barristas living in Seattle than there are people employed at Boeing and Microsoft combined.

Following a meeting with the printing partners of Episcopal Life, I got a quick tour of the city with a native. No, I didn’t hold a seance and summon the ghost of Kurt Cobain. One of my oldest friends, Kevin Daniels, has lived out here for twelve years. Kevin and I have been friends since fourth grade and it was great to have dinner and catch up. Nothing beats the company of an old friend even when it’s damp and gray outside. Oh, and if you hate your job and need to update your resume, Kevin’s president of Northwest Resumes. 

I’m looking forward to a good conference. This is my fourth one with this group and it’s one of the most creative and interesting assemblies of folks you’ll ever want to know. Most of them are diocesan communications directors and editors of their respective newspapers. I think it’s one of my favorite gatherings of the year because it’s mostly lay people; I’m one of the few token priests. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers and sisters in ordained ministry – but try being around them in large numbers with an open microphone. Oy. Wait, I think I just described diocesan convention.

Well, it’s 5:00 am here. The jet lag kicked in and there’s no way I can fall back asleep. Off to get a cup of coffee.

Dog Fancy

Bryna’s been dropping hints about getting another dog. Subtle things like bringing up pet adoption websites, clicking on some cute dog with, well, puppy dog eyes and exclaiming, “Isn’t he so cute?” And of course he’s cute — perhaps the most adorable ball of fur I’ve ever seen. But so are the 20 other dogs on the website.  

Her other tactic has been to look at Delilah and say, “Don’t you think she needs a friend?” But wait a minute. I’m Delilah’s friend. Don’t I count? Who takes her to the office with me nearly every day? Who takes her running? Who takes her to her favoirte coffee shop every week? If anything, I’m Delilah’s faithful companion rather than the other way around. Man’s best friend? I’m her best friend.

Bryna’s hasn’t been pushing too hard yet. Just dropping these little hints. I’m worried she’s going to enlist the boys in her campaign. I can withstand one set of online puppy dog eyes but I’m not sure about a dinner-table full of them. 

In some ways it probably doesn’t matter — it’s not as if another dog would add anything new to the already overflowing family chaos at our house. I might not even notice. But I’m trying to stay strong and hoping this second dog idea is just a passing (dog) fancy. In the meantime I’ll just avert my eyes whenever she brings up the online puppy photos. It’s just too tempting.