Idle thoughts as a blanket of snow covers the heartland......
Kansas meets Kansas State at Manhattan tonight in perhaps the biggest game in the heated rivalry since the Jayhawks defeated the Wildcats in the NCAA tournament on their way to the national championship in 1988.
Bramlage Coliseum has even been dubbed "The Octagon of Doom,'' for the size and noisiness of its crowds. It's one of the best home-court advantages in the country, writers (and some coaches) are saying.
Sorry, I don't buy it. Frankly, until this year (and a couple seasons ago, when K-State rode Michael Beasley and Bill Walker to its first NCAA tournament in many years), Bramlage was the Octagon of Gloom. About the only guaranteed sell-out was the KU game, thanks to Jayhawk fans who would venture the 40 miles from Lawrence.
Even this season there have been open seats at many games....and it's not like Bramlage seats 25,000. It's just a bit bigger than Wichita State's Koch Arena, if I remember correctly.
Don't get me wrong: I'm certain the atmosphere tonight will be electric, and the fans will do everything they can to help a strong K-State team knock off a KU team that will climb back to #1 in the polls if they leave Manhattan with a victory.
But I'm not going to buy into the "Octagon of Doom" moniker for another season or two. Such titles aren't earned in a game or three. Like good wine, they need to stand the test of time to wear that label.
* * *
I couldn't help but smile when I was watching an episode of "NCIS: Los Angeles" last night.
Was it just a coincidence that two longtime cast members of the now defunct series "The Unit" were in the same episode? I doubt it.
Audrey Marie Anderson, who played "Kim Brown," and Michael Irby, who played Charles Grey, a member of "The Unit," were both in the episode of "NCIS: LA" that saw Chris O'Donnell's character, Callen, reprise a deep-under-cover personna from years before. Irby's role was a distinct departure from his stint as a counter-terrorism soldier on "The Unit."
I was always a fan of Anderson, and I hope to see her back on television regularly.
* * *
About 6 inches of snow fell in Wichita Thursday night and Friday, and it almost seemed strange. Not that it snowed. But that it snowed so......calmly.
It's not much of an exaggeration to say that snow falls sideways in Kansas. Look no further back than Christmas Eve for the heaviest snow of the season to date that brought with it blizzard-force winds.
This latest snow was a powdery affair, with the flurries casually drifting down and coating the landscape almost aimlessly. It was remarkable to watch, when I had a few moments over the course of a very long and very busy day at work.
Here's to more snowfalls like that.
* * *
No surprise why national media's getting such a bum rap from so many folks I talk to these days.
National Public Radio sent a reporter to town to cover at least a portion of the trial for Scott Roeder, who shot and killed abortion provider George Tiller last May. Yet when they reported on Roeder's conviction on Friday, they repeatedly said the trial was in Kansas City.
Really, NPR?
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Some vegetable stew....
Saw an English teacher tweet "Wendsday" for the day of the week. And I don't think she was joking. Sigh.
****
This may be Wichita State's most athletic basketball team in 30 years....since I was in school there. Jeez, I feel old. But the Shockers this year have the kind of athleticism that reminds me of Antoine Carr, Cliff Levingston, Aubrey Sherrod and Xavier McDaniel.
****
KU has the players to win another national title. It's only a question of whether they will play cohesively enough consistently enough to cut down the nets.
****
This looks like the best Kansas State team since the Hartman era. A strong NCAA run appears likely. Texas looked like a team upon which the crown of "best team in the country" rested most uncomfortably.
****
What a startling start to 2010 for natural disasters and severe weather. A national cold snap not seen in at least 3 decades. A 7.0 earthquake that devastates Haiti's capitol, followed up 8 days later by a 6.1. Hard for me to call a tremblor that strong a mere "aftershock." Tornadoes that rake the Los Angeles metropolitan area. And we're barely past the midway point of JANUARY.
****
A Republican wins a Senate seat in Massachusetts? That hadn't happened in nearly 50 years. If the Democrats don't recognize that as a shot across the bow from voters - an early referendum on Obama's first year in office - the mid-term elections will be painful for them.
But both parties need to wake up. All the squabbling in D.C. sounds like children brawling on the playground...or firefighters arguing about the best way to use the water hoses while the orphanage is burning, with the children still inside.
****
The earthquake in Haiti, the tornadoes in SoCal and now (today) in northern Texas, the traffic pile-up that killed a 3-year-old near Kansas City --- all reminders of how suddenly tragedy can redefine our lives.
It seems so often we get caught up in what we don't have, when we should be focusing on what we DO have - so we can appreciate it more fully. Granted, that's a flaw of human nature, but it's something we should all try to be better at.
The outpouring of support for Haiti is moving, because it tells me that our reservoir of compassion hasn't run dry. If it ever does, we'll be in real trouble.
****
****
This may be Wichita State's most athletic basketball team in 30 years....since I was in school there. Jeez, I feel old. But the Shockers this year have the kind of athleticism that reminds me of Antoine Carr, Cliff Levingston, Aubrey Sherrod and Xavier McDaniel.
****
KU has the players to win another national title. It's only a question of whether they will play cohesively enough consistently enough to cut down the nets.
****
This looks like the best Kansas State team since the Hartman era. A strong NCAA run appears likely. Texas looked like a team upon which the crown of "best team in the country" rested most uncomfortably.
****
What a startling start to 2010 for natural disasters and severe weather. A national cold snap not seen in at least 3 decades. A 7.0 earthquake that devastates Haiti's capitol, followed up 8 days later by a 6.1. Hard for me to call a tremblor that strong a mere "aftershock." Tornadoes that rake the Los Angeles metropolitan area. And we're barely past the midway point of JANUARY.
****
A Republican wins a Senate seat in Massachusetts? That hadn't happened in nearly 50 years. If the Democrats don't recognize that as a shot across the bow from voters - an early referendum on Obama's first year in office - the mid-term elections will be painful for them.
But both parties need to wake up. All the squabbling in D.C. sounds like children brawling on the playground...or firefighters arguing about the best way to use the water hoses while the orphanage is burning, with the children still inside.
****
The earthquake in Haiti, the tornadoes in SoCal and now (today) in northern Texas, the traffic pile-up that killed a 3-year-old near Kansas City --- all reminders of how suddenly tragedy can redefine our lives.
It seems so often we get caught up in what we don't have, when we should be focusing on what we DO have - so we can appreciate it more fully. Granted, that's a flaw of human nature, but it's something we should all try to be better at.
The outpouring of support for Haiti is moving, because it tells me that our reservoir of compassion hasn't run dry. If it ever does, we'll be in real trouble.
****
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Reflections on a glowing moon
When the moon is so full and so bright you wonder if the sun is using a dimmer switch and all other stars have abandoned the evening stage in deference to the lunar magnificence, do you ponder what might have been, or what still could be?
Do you linger on loves lost or lives ended or life yet to come?
When broken wisps of cottony clouds whisk past the vibrant orb so quickly it appears that the Man in the Moon is winking at you, do you wink back?
Do you linger on loves lost or lives ended or life yet to come?
When broken wisps of cottony clouds whisk past the vibrant orb so quickly it appears that the Man in the Moon is winking at you, do you wink back?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Reflections on the wind
I hadn't been to the family farm since Christmas, so when I went out there last week I wanted a first-hand look at what chores had been done - and what work still begged our attention.
Steve, my twin, had done a very good job of clearing brush down behind the shed along the creek that meanders through our homestead. I walked to the Sawmill Creek to see how much water was in it following what sounded like a dry winter.
Not only was there no water in the creek, the bed was so dry the dirt was like powder. I crossed to the south bank and began walking along the trees that had grown up along the edge. A biting south wind slapped my face as I walked, sending a shudder down my spine.
I spotted some trails carved into the prairie next to the trees, and just out of curiosity I began following one to see where it would take me. The ruts were deep and vertical, telling me they had been gouged out by hooves --- most likely deer, since we no longer have cattle or horses on the place.
The ruts carried me close to the water's edge - if there had been water in the creek, that is - and also cut the strong south wind to a teasing whisper. Suddenly, the day seemed transformed. Protected from the worst of the wind, the day seemed pleasant: sunny, with just a touch of breeze.
As the path curled up the slope and away from the trees and the creek bed, the forceful wind made its presence known once again. I was reminded of something my oldest sister, Mary, said as we'd braved a harsh east wind the evening before while checking out the west end of the creek and the small bridges spanning it so an irrigation pivot system could cross.
Even as the wind made us quicken our pace and shield our faces (with her granddaughter tucked inside layers of clothing like a kid in a kangaroo's pouch), she talked about how much she missed the wind when she moved to northwest Missouri. The wind, the prairie, the sky. She talked about how the wind could define a day with its strength, shifting directions, and whimsical whirls. She went on about the subtle beauty of the prairie and how she loved feeling grounded by the soil. And she loved how the undulating prairie gave proper homage to the vastness of the skies, as if it realized what a remarkable stage the heavens could be - whether it's sunrise or sunset, approaching storms or the grandeur of the stars at night.
For true people of the prairie, trees and mountains feel confining. It's as if the sky becomes their compass (as it was for centuries of seafarers), and without it they feel adrift.
The deer tracks dipped down to the creek again, and as I followed them the wind spun around to blow again from the east. Down in the trees, following an east-west stretch of the creek, it was as if there was no wind at all.
By the time I emerged again from the woods, the wind was out of the south again. For me, a south wind symbolizes spring and summer in Kansas. It carries the moisture that feeds the spring storms, as well as the dry air that cures the maturing wheat in the nation's bread basket as summer arrives.
Those characteristics capture the dichotomy that is a Kansas wind. It's such an integral part of what defines the state, at times giving and at times taking away. Even as I shivered at times on that walk in the woods, I remembered all those simmering summer days on this land when it was the wind that offered blessed relief from the heat.
Steve, my twin, had done a very good job of clearing brush down behind the shed along the creek that meanders through our homestead. I walked to the Sawmill Creek to see how much water was in it following what sounded like a dry winter.
Not only was there no water in the creek, the bed was so dry the dirt was like powder. I crossed to the south bank and began walking along the trees that had grown up along the edge. A biting south wind slapped my face as I walked, sending a shudder down my spine.
I spotted some trails carved into the prairie next to the trees, and just out of curiosity I began following one to see where it would take me. The ruts were deep and vertical, telling me they had been gouged out by hooves --- most likely deer, since we no longer have cattle or horses on the place.
The ruts carried me close to the water's edge - if there had been water in the creek, that is - and also cut the strong south wind to a teasing whisper. Suddenly, the day seemed transformed. Protected from the worst of the wind, the day seemed pleasant: sunny, with just a touch of breeze.
As the path curled up the slope and away from the trees and the creek bed, the forceful wind made its presence known once again. I was reminded of something my oldest sister, Mary, said as we'd braved a harsh east wind the evening before while checking out the west end of the creek and the small bridges spanning it so an irrigation pivot system could cross.
Even as the wind made us quicken our pace and shield our faces (with her granddaughter tucked inside layers of clothing like a kid in a kangaroo's pouch), she talked about how much she missed the wind when she moved to northwest Missouri. The wind, the prairie, the sky. She talked about how the wind could define a day with its strength, shifting directions, and whimsical whirls. She went on about the subtle beauty of the prairie and how she loved feeling grounded by the soil. And she loved how the undulating prairie gave proper homage to the vastness of the skies, as if it realized what a remarkable stage the heavens could be - whether it's sunrise or sunset, approaching storms or the grandeur of the stars at night.
For true people of the prairie, trees and mountains feel confining. It's as if the sky becomes their compass (as it was for centuries of seafarers), and without it they feel adrift.
The deer tracks dipped down to the creek again, and as I followed them the wind spun around to blow again from the east. Down in the trees, following an east-west stretch of the creek, it was as if there was no wind at all.
By the time I emerged again from the woods, the wind was out of the south again. For me, a south wind symbolizes spring and summer in Kansas. It carries the moisture that feeds the spring storms, as well as the dry air that cures the maturing wheat in the nation's bread basket as summer arrives.
Those characteristics capture the dichotomy that is a Kansas wind. It's such an integral part of what defines the state, at times giving and at times taking away. Even as I shivered at times on that walk in the woods, I remembered all those simmering summer days on this land when it was the wind that offered blessed relief from the heat.
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