Friendly Arctic Press

Lent

I have never really done anything. For the next forty days, I am going to get ride of one item of mine every day.

Church.

I have never had to "church hunt" before. Friends and family have always been my guide into the spiritual family. But here, where friends and family have we none, church hunting was...depressing. I dreaded the notion. Growing up, I had been around for various church hunting expeditions. From my point of view, which ever church gave the best goody bag filled with pens and tracks was best.

The object of finding a "good" church was further complicated by my work schedule, having Fridays and Saturdays off, working on Sunday.

Well, this past Saturday, we took the plunge (I admit, although I brought it up, I was very tempted to "not feel like it")

Here is my analysis...

1. The Church was huge, they had their very own sign...and traffic instructions for the parking lot: -50 points.
2. When we walked in, the greeters smiled at us, but did not try to give us anything or engage in conversation: +15 points
3. They had a book store/coffee shop in the lobby, along with an electronic ATM looking thing for giving the church money: +10/-35 points
4. Eisley was playing throughout the church: +59 points
5. Most people there looked to be middle age-well off: -39 points
6. The preacher was not as self-deprecating and sarcastic as I would like: -40 points
7. They had a votive candle prayer table: +60 points
8. I saw a man cross himself during communion: +35 points
9. They let us take our child without DNA scanning us: -20 points
10. They played a movie with a girl doing a poetry/rap thing about poverty etc which made me cry: +30 points

TOTAL: +25 Points

I guess we will go back.

The Friendly Arctic

I worked at a factory in Cleveland Tennessee. Worked long shifts and lived by myself in an absurdly cheap minimalist apartment. Granted, the minimalism came not just from sensibility, but partly from necessity as well. The one room apartment was right in front of a rail way line, and the griping shake that this caused gave me reason to speculate on the possibility of whether or not I could, if necessary, run right through my walls.

I don't remember why, probably welling up from a well bred romantic wander-lust, but I found myself in the local library looking for books on Arctic explorers. On the shelves of a southern library who's local patrons were more concerned with comparing the new Wal-Mart to the old, and finding movies staring Brendan Fraser, I found an old yet strong looking blue bound book titled The Friendly Arctic.

I took the book back to my home, crossed over the railroad tracks, climbed the step hill, sat down in the grass, and began to read. The Friendly Arctic. Filled with the tales of true exploration, beautiful pull out maps, and a healthy supply of bearded men, the Friendly Arctic was a gift from G-d to a heart that had no business hoping for beauty. The Friendly arctic excitedly argued that, while most considered the arctic a cold dead land, it was actually full of vibrant life and beauty. I leave it at that.

When my brothers and I were discussing starting something the might have resembled a record label, we threw around names...The particle factory, trade wind controls, The Friendly Arctic. The name grew and visions have emerged, grown, adapted, changed. To me, whatever the application, The Friendly Arctic has meant finding, and sharing the beauty that lays within much that seems cold and dead. It is a tremendous blessing to know, that while I currently can not fulfill many of the dreams that have been attached to the name, my brother and sister are still using it.

Why am I sharing all of this? This Christmas I was blessed with some money as a gift. Emily inspired me to look at finding a copy of this book ( I still had secret plans to one day return to Cleveland and permanently check out their copy.) I found, for a reasonable price, an autographed and inscribed first edition copy in excellent condition.




The inscription reads:

To Mima J. Weaver:

Katharine and I started out to get a (salt?) collar for you in a jewlary store, but the designs did not suit, so she concluded you would like an autographed book of mine better. I hope she guessed right.

Vilhjalmur Stefansson

Dayton
October 26, 1922

Happy What-a-days?!

Greetings, seasonal of course. It has been a while since I've been a tad on the preachy side (for whom is thar to preachen to?)

My Christmas spirit is still pretty high, despite being flogged repeatedly by sassy assaults from camp Christmas and camp devil. We all, I am sure, are aware of the sinister plot by mr. devil to usurp the Christ himself from this time of year. Honestly, I don't think Christ would mind very much, given the holidays origins...but that is something completely different. Lets just say, that 2,010 years ago Jesus was born on a blustery day in Bethlehem, on the twenty fifth of December. Now, it is certainly a sacred holiday worth keeping, if you believe in Jesus and G-d and all that. Tell me this, if the point of Christmas is to celebrate the birth of our Lord, does it really matter if popular culture does not cheerfully ride along, since they, generally, don't on any other points Christian. I actually find it offensive that Christians get so upset about "taking the Christ out of Christmas."

Now to the general spirit of it all. I love Christmas. I love the winter, I love the warmth necessary. I love the traditions surrounding Christmas, the lights, the trees, the decorations, the warm beverages and delicious baked goods, the demand for family time and general friendliness. It's good for us. And I do personally love sacred holidays which present the scheduled opportunity to slow down and reflect.

I wish that Christians would spend more time practicing these traditions, that is, generally being Christian, and less time sporting smug 'n sassy vigilante bumper stickers... I am pretty sure that Hillary Clinton, George Bush,Santa Clause, and Jesus have an appointment to share a glass of eggnog, lets join them shall we?

Ache in the wondering-want heart.

In 1909, Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton, of Endurance fame, left two cases of Scotch under the floor boards of one of his base camp shacks.

In 2006 these cases were discovered, frozen solid into the the ice and snow.

Currently, the company who originally crafted the Scotch is trying to get rights to retrieve several of the bottles, take samples, and recreate the Scotch that never got to keep Shackleton and his men in good (if not ill placed) cheer. How wonderful is this?

Moon Bean

Hello.