A Few Things About Architecture And Urban Planning

I. Tolkien's buildings

II. The California bungalow

III. The Arts and Crafts movement

IV. The Sears Mail-Order House

V. The 15-Minute City

VI. Bad Urban Planning

VII. Old Byzantine Architecture

IIX. New Byzantine Architecture

IX. Zoning in America

Max's Diner

Back in the 1990s and 2000s, when I worked in the advertising industry, I used to eat pretty often, maybe twice a week, at Max's Diner on Folsom Street in San Francisco. I always had what they called the "mini-Reuben" and a Martini. The "mini-Reuben" is just a Reuben sandwich cut into 8 bite-sizes pieces and held together with toothpicks. It was perfect: A bite of of sandwich, a sip of Martini.

Max's Diner did not survive the stupidity of our government's response to the Wuhan disease, but some of Max's resuraunts did survive. Among them Max's Opera Cafe. The mini-Reuben is not on their menu but, if you ask nicely, they will make one for you. A fun thing about Max's Opera Cafe is the singing. They have a grand piano and all the waiters and waitresses can sing. One tme, many years ago, a waitress there let me join her in a duet of The Way You Look Tonight. Neither of us was as good as Faith Hill or Tony Bennet, we were more like Ethel Merman and Buddy Hackett, but it was fun.

Christmas, Birthday, the Boys, and the Garden

Christmas was pretty busy.  I did manage to find the time to go up the mountain to get Christmas trees.  It was, probably, the last time Anselm Samuel will do it.  I expect next Christmas he will be off in Alaska or Texas or South Dakota working as a welder.  I didn't find the time to make the Christmas sausage or go to any services at the Cathedral, but I was able to go to the Divine Liturgy at St. Nicholas on Christmas morning and the boys went to vespers at St. Stephen with their mother on Christmas Eve.  I was surprised by that.  I didn't know she still went to church.  About the only things I remember from Christmas this year are the party at my sisters house, going to church, and going for a walk along Fulton Street in Palo Alto with Kathleen and her kids.  Unlike the crazy, crowded, loud, over-the-top decorations in Willow Glen or some other parts of the bay area, Fulton Street is quiet and quaint.  You just walk along in the cold, looking at the houses.  It kind of evokes the feeling Rat and Mole had experienced when they were walking through a human village on Christmas Eve.

January is kind of a blur.  All I did was work.  Everyday.

In February I began taking a class on wastewater management.  It is something I have always been interested in but I never knew how to get into it.  I tried to get into it about 10 years ago but the nearest school for it was in Los Angeles.  In January of this year one of my co-workers at Bass Pro Shops told me that her other job is for the City of Palo Alto and that she works in drinking water but knows all the people in waste water.  I mentioned to her that I was always interested in that but didn't know how to get into it.  So she told me.  Then I told Kathleen about the conversation and the next day she emailed me a flyer from the school where she teaches.  The flyer said that at the request of several local governments they were offering a course that meets the legal requirements for someone to take the waste water treatment plant operator test.  So, I signed up for the class and the test.   I am very excited about this opportunity.

My 51st birthday was on the 4th.  Kathleen and the boys threw a little party for me.  I had Rocky Road and Jamocha Almond Fudge ice cream from Baskin-Robins.  Those have been my favorites since I was a little boy.

Basil and I went fishing at Lake Amador a couple of days ago.  We had fun but caught no fish.  He is still doing high school and college concurrently.  He got straight As in high school last semester and a B in his college class.  This semester he is taking another class at Evergreen Valley College: intro to philosophy.  So far, he is enjoying it.  I love that he is spending two nights a week with me.

Anselm missed a dead line for Eagle Scout so he won't be getting it.  I don't think it matters to him.  He just likes going on the camp outs.  Him getting Eagle was always more important to me than it was to him.  Besides, he is more involved with his Venturing crew and Order of the Arrow  lodge than he is with his Boy Scout troop.  He has finished his welding training but is still to young to get a job as a welder so he is working full-time at Starbuck's and trying to get into the apprenticeship programs at either the pipe-fitter union or the sheet metal union.

The garden.  Not to scale.

The garden is doing okay.  The garlic we planted in the fall is ready to ready to harvest.  It isn't the typical big-bulbed garlic you see in stores.  It is tender flavorful spring garlic.  I've been cooking with it for a week.  On Monday (today is Thursday) we built a new planter box.  So now we have four 4'x8' boxes and a bunch of pots.  We planted a lot of tomatoes, some bell peppers, pumpkin (from seeds we saved from our favorite pumpkin last year), some early squash, and a lot of flowers.  As soon as all the garlic is harvested we'll plant cucumbers and zucchini.  The garden always makes me happy.  Yes, we still have grubs, but not as many as last year.  And more nematodes are being delivered today.

Vespers and Matins

I still don't understand why we shift the times on all the services for Holy Week, but it was very conventient for us this year.  Yesterday, Great and Holy Friday, were able to get to Vespers of the Deposition at St. Nicholas Church in Saratoga at 3 p.m. and then drive to San Francisco for Matins of Burial at 7 p.m. at Holy Trinity Cathedral.

This was my first time to go to Vespers on Holy Friday.  It was surprising to see the priest and deacon take the Icon of Jesus down from the cross and wrap it in a shroud.   Sometimes, I think the troparion for this day, "The Noble Joseph" about Joseph of Arimathea burying Jesus is the most beautiful song in the Church.

The noble Joseph, when he had taken down Thy most pure body from the Tree,
wrapped it in fine linen and anointed it with spices, and placed it in a new tomb.

He loved God, and took care of his body, even when it looked like God was dead.  That is faith.  (You can here a sample of the music here.)


Summary of Fr. Basil's homily:  Though Jesus was resting inthe grave on this Most Blessed Sabbath, it was a very active rest. Jesus went to hades and searched out our first Adam and Eve.  Even when the situation looks hopeless, He never gives up on us.


We met our friend Alison at St. Nicholas and gave her a ride up to San Francisco.  I sat in the back seat with the boys, while she and Athanasia sat in the front and talked on the way up.  I couldn't hear most of what they were talking about so I just sat in the back seat thinking about the service we had just expereinced.


When we got to HTC Bishop Benjamin, Archpriest John, Deacon Brendan, and all the choir and altar servers were in the kitchen.  The bishop had made a pot of beans and baked bread for all of them to eat between services.  (He is a very thoughtful pastor.)  We had about 1/2 hour to visit with everyone before the start of Matins.   It was really nice to see old friends again.


I stood by the choir so I could hear the singing of the 118th/119th Psalm, a Psalm that we cant at all funerals.  Because this is Jesus funeral, and because we are Orthodox think the Psalm isn't long enough even though it is the longest Psalm in the Bible, we add extra verses to it.  In between verses of the Psalm we stitch in other verses called praises.  It goes like this:

Verse 1 . Blessed are the blameless in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord.

In the tomb they laid you,

you, O Christ, who are Life;

in amazement angel armies lift up their song

as they glorify your self-abasement, Lord.

Verse 2. Blessed are those who search out his testimonies, they will seek for him with their whole heart.

Life, how can you perish,

or how dwell in a tomb?

Yet the royal hall of Death you now bring to nought,

and from Hades’ realm you raise the dead again.

Verse 3. For the workers of iniquity have not walked in his ways.

Now we magnify you, 

O Lord Jesu, our King,

we pay honour to your Passion and burial

for from foul corruption you saved us through them.

But as the Psalm progresses the prases grow shorter...

Verse 174. I long for Thy salvation, 0 Lord, Thy law is my delight.

The mind is affrighted at Thy dread and strange burial.

Vesrse 175. Let me live, that I may praise Thee, and let Thy ordinances help me.

The women with spices came early at dawn to anoint Thee.

Verse 176. I have gone astray like a lost sheep, seek Thy servant, for I do not forget Thy commandments.

By Thy resurrection grant peace to the Church and salvation to Thy people!

I don't know how it is sung by other parsihes, but at Holy Trinity Cathedral the tune for the prasies is dfferent from the tune for the Pslam verses and it is sung at lightning speed.  It can be overwhelming.  I, because of my poor hearing was only able to understand a little of what was being sung.


Singing the Praises was, next to Bishop Benjamin's short homily at the end, my favorite part of the service.


Oh, Wait!  How can I say that?  There was the Canon.  I won't relate the whole thing here because most of you already know it and will hear it again tonight, just before the Paschal Liturgy begins but WOW! what an ending?!

Let the creation rejoice excedingly, let all those born on earth be glad: 

     for hell, the enemy, has been despoiled.  

Ye women, come to me and meet me with sweet spices: 

    for I am delivering Adam and Eve with all their offspring, and on the third day I shall rise again. (The last little bit of the Ninth Ode of the Canon for Holy Saturday).

I know, I'm silly, and on Pascha I'll say the Paschal Canon is my favorite, but the few lines of the Canon for Holy Saturday I was able to hear (You might have read that I've lost quite a bit of my ability to hear.) were amazingly beautiful and right now that Canon is my favorite.

Then there was the procession.  That is Basil Wenceslas' favorite part of any service.  I don't really understand what a lot of processions are for.  I guess, the one on Pascha is in rememberance of the Myrrh Bearing women, but I don't really know.  I should look it up.

Except for a little bit of the Gospel I couldn't understand any of the Bible readings.  

Today we didn't go to liturgy.  The boys, Anselm and Basil are at a Giants game with their uncle and aunt. (I think it's hat day.)   Athanasia is making kulich. It's on the second rise right now.  I got some carrots a dill in the CSA box.  I think I'll pickle them before I have to get ready to go to Paschal Matins and Liturgy tonight.

Four Weddings and a Funeral

Do you remember that movie from about 20 years ago, the one with Hugh Grant and that heartbreaking poem?  Well, this has almost nothing to do with that.  (You should watch these in order.)


Come Forth!



One of the best wedding homilies I've heard.

Sad because it's real.

Hillarious because it's just pretend.



When I lived in S.F. I heard them lead funeral processions past my window all the time.

Advent, work, and other things

We have been so busy.   Yesterday and today we delivered Christmas wreaths Anslem sold for his Cub Scout Pack.  He sold more, by far, than anyone else in the Pack, and that is really great for him and the Pack.  But the downside is having a house full of boxes of Christmas wreaths and delivering them all over the place. Oh, there is also a nice feeling when we drive up and down the streets of our neighborhood and see the wreaths on front doors.

Anselm has been busy with school in addition to Cub Scouts.  He made a diorama and wrote a report about oceanic life.  He did a good job.  It interesting to me how things change.  When I was in the third grade my big report was on WWII in general, and the Battle of Britain in particular.  I'll never forget what the Queen said when asked if her children would be evacuated during the blitz: "The children won't leave without me, I won't leave without the King, and the King will never leave."  Such bravery.  They whipped the Nazis in 6 years.  We haven't defeated the Taliban in 9.  Something is dreadfully wrong.

We drove to SF tonight.  Had to deliver some Christmas wreaths and we got to have dinner with my God daughters' family.  That was much fun.  The kids made ginger bread houses.  They are so cute.  The one Anselm and Basil made even has Hansel, Gretel, and the witch.

I've fallen behind in my Advent reading.  I only just finished Mark.  I need to catch up.  Hmmmm.  I havn't noticed these fasts making me any better or stronger or spiritual, just more aware of the fact that I really need improvement.  I guess that's something.

Last Night

My friend Jeff and I got together. I think it might have been the first time since the Trisagion prayers for my son, Billy. On the way to San Francisco where we were to meet at Sam's Grill (It's the oldest restaurant in S.F., established just after the Civil War.) I was able to read much of one of my textbooks. That is, I think my favorite thing about the train: An hour and a half of near quiet, in a reasonably comfortable chair, and a good book.

When I got to San Francisco I got on the 30 to head up to Bush Street. I hadn't taken the 30 in a few years and wasn't entirely certain it was the right bus. I thought maybe the 45... Anyway, I asked the driver, "Does this bus go to Bush?" She slowly turned her head to look at me with her misshapen eyes, one lid almost closed. She paused to licked her lips - her tongue sliding over cobblestone teeth - and said in a whisper "All buses go to Bush". Then she turned to face the front of the bus, laughed, and floored the accelerator pedal. I fell over into an empty seat but righted myself before the next stop. And that is where - surprise! - my friend Anastasia got on the bus! We had a short but fun conversation about our books (we are both writers). Short because she had to get off at Market Street but fun nonetheless.

I got off near Bush and walked over to Sam's where I drank Wild Turkey on the rocks until Jeff got there. For dinner he had sole. I had veal. I really wanted the calf liver but felt it was overpriced. After dinner, which was very good, we walked up Belden Place to pine and the Occidental.

The Occidental is one of the few places in California where you can smoke inside without breaking a law. They are able to allow smoking because the owners are the only people who work there. It was a great good time. Barman Jake was really happy to pour samples. I tasted a 50 year old Irish Whisky (I forget the name now) that was the best whiskey I ever tasted. It is my opinion that most whiskey is too sweet and that sweetness smothers all the other flavors, but not this one. I tell you, I could taste the dirt of County Cork in that glass!

After a Fonseca 10-10 Maduro (very nice, good spice, a little dry) I took out my pipe and filled it with bourbon soaked burly leaf. Jeff had a Fonseca 10-10 Maduro and a lonsdale size Arturo Fuente natural. He said he liked the Arturo Fuente, which I thought was nicely aromatic, more than the Fonseca. Then something interesting happened.

The Canadian man to my left, dressed like million dollars, said to Barman Jake,"want to trade me for a Cuban hand-rolled?" Jake took a look at the cigar. He took a step forward. He looked around the bar."What is it?" he asked, half to himself. The man to my left, a Canadian, quieted his voice answering, "it was made by a roller in a state factory from his own daily ration. Do you want to trade?" Jake looked around the bar again. Looked at the cigar again, and said,"I can't but maybe one of my guests would want to trade you." The Canadian glanced at me, and I offered, "I'll trade you an Arturo Fuente" and the deal was done. I have to admit that until last night I thought the Cuban cigar legends were exactly that, legends. I always thought they couldn't be that much better than Honduran, Dominican, or Jamaican cigars. But I was wrong. What I had last night was the most expertly rolled cigar I have ever smoked. It was like the ocean and soft leather and chocolate and caramel and cinnamon and warm Caribbean breezes and fresh coconut juice and the brown thighs of Cuban women. I wish I had the vocabulary to describe that cigar. All I can say is that the Cuban cigar I smoked last night was the telos of the tobacco leaf.

The last thing I drank while at the Occidental was a glass of the best rum I have ever tasted. Now Bacardi used to be a client of mine back when I was an ad man, and I have been loyal to them, only drinking their product on those extremely rare occasions when I drink rum. So, as I was smoking a Cuban cigar I thought I'll have a Cuba Libre, but Barman Jake had other ideas. He said, "Why would you want to ruin rum with sweet soda?" and I didn't have a good answer. He asked what rum I'd like, and I said something about only drinking Bacardi. Now, as I mentioned above, Barman Jake enjoyed offering samples. So it seemed only right that I taste every sample offered. I tasted many before I tasted the best rum ever and ordered a glass of the best rum ever. Zaya. It is from Trinidad & Tobago and it is excellent. It was like drinking a chocolatey cane syrup, but it wasn't syrupy.

After we left the Occidental I noticed we were on Kearny Street, home of my fave Vietnamese place (It is one or two doors down from the House of Nanking and 10,000 times better). The most amazing imperial rolls I have ever tasted. I am not kidding about this. They are amazing! And super inexpensive. I implored Jeff to go get some with me, but he begged off, claiming work the next morning. So, he hopped on BART and went back to the East Bay,and, well, I didn't want to eat imperial rolls alone, so I walked down to the train station (Oh! I walked by the Hotel Utah on my way to the train station. So many good memories of that place.) and came home. It was a good night. I haven't done anything like that in a couple of years. Didn't really have the time or money for it last night, but it was fun, and my grades this semester are good enough that I can risk one wild-ish night.

Oh! News: Jeff changed churches. He is CMA now (Yes, he does change denominations often, but they are all very like each other.) and is pursuing ordination. And I think he is going to go duck hunting with me. He has a boat!

Grad School, Volunteering, and Other Stuff

Beginning last week the amount of work I am doing in grad school has increased dramatically. For example, since last Sunday I've written a 6 page paper on the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus, 3 pages on Athenian ostracism, 3 pages on the role of the Roman army in the enculturation of conquered peoples, 6 pages on the the 1st and 2nd century B.C. stresses on the Roman constitution, and still have due (on Sunday evening) an assignment on Greek drama during the age of Pericles. This is in addition to 400 pages of assigned reading. I am having a blast! I'm thinking about applying for a fellowship so I can work on a Ph.D. Oh, wait. There's no money in this. What am I thinking?

Today I volunteered to serve on my city's Independent Police Auditing Commission. Essentially, the commission advises the judge who investigates police misconduct and makes recommendations to the City Council and Chief of Police. I don't know how many people have volunteered but the judge will only pick 10 people. I hope she picks me. It sounds like a very fun job and I have a feeling it comes with doughnuts and coffee.

I sent a book proposal to an agent a couple of days ago. I keep checking my email but haven't heard anything yet. Almost as soon as I sent the proposal I thought of a dozen changes I should have made. O well, if this agent doesn't like the proposal, I'll make the changes before I send it to the next agent.

Well, I have a door jamb to repair and kids to take care of tomorrow, and won't have time to write those pages on Greek drama tomorrow, so I better get to work on it now.

Oh, one more thing. I took Basil Wenceslas and Anselm Samuel to Powell's late in the afternoon today. Anselm got something very strange. It was a soft drink with the following name: "Looks Like Orange Tastes Like Grape". It lived up to its name.

Home

Athanasia, Basil Wenceslas, Anselm Samuel, and I arrived at home about 5 hours ago. Several days ago we departed on a northern heading. We traveled up the Juniperro Serra Highway from San Jose to San Francisco (I love all the Spanish names in California.), where we crossed to Golden Gate Bridge, motored through the Rainbow Tunnel, and continued north on the Redwood Highway.

When we got to Cloverdale, which is one of the Best Small Towns in America, we spent the night on the worst motel bed ever. The mattress kept slipping off the box springs. I'm not kidding. Other thanthat it wasa pleasant stay and a treat for the boys, who love motels. We woke up late and when we gotin the car we adjusted course to the northwest and drove through the Anderson Valley on State Road 128. We stopped at Booneville for breakfast/lunch and encountered many wanna-be Rastafarians who had descended on the little town for a Raggae festival at the Apple Show grounds. (I wonder how many of those kids knows Bob Marley turned away from Rastafarianism and died an Orthodox Christian.) After a pleasant and leisurely drive through the Hendy Redwods and along the Navarro River we reached the Pacific Ocean and turned north on the PCH.

Along the way we took a short detour at the Philo Apple Farm and took a walk around. We met a very big friendly dog that wrestled the boys to the ground and decided I was his best friend. We saw an interesting, and rustic (it was made from old barrel hoops) oil lamp chanelier that might have applicationin the Orthodox Church. I hada short conversation with the farmer about diesel engines. She says she would like to run hers on grease from resturaunts but there is a bio-diesel company in the county that has contracts with every single resturaunt along 128. He buys it all.

We reached Russian Gulch about 2 p.m on Saturday and began to unpack all our supplies. Athanasia noticed I forgot to pack some essential cooking items, such as a knife and tongs. So she ran into a market in Ft. Bragg to buy them. While she was gone I set up the tent and got the campsite organized. That's when I noticed I forgot to pack my sleeping bag. So, when Athanasia returned to the campsite it was my turn to go to Ft. Bragg.

That night we read to the boys, and I read much of one of my school books. It was cold and foggy. I was glad I had a sleeping bag.

Sunday morning we said morning prayers (The long ones from the Jordanville prayerbook) and were joined by a Polish Catholic man who was camping near us. After prayers we ate breakfast, cleaned up after breakfast, and then I went into Medocino to an internet cafe to do homework. (I wrote and submitted a review of this book for my Roman history class.) While I was doing homework Athanasia and the boys were at the beach at the mouth of the little river that runs trough the gulch.

While they were at the beach and I was in Mendocino doing homework, the rest of our pary arrived. My god daughters and their parents came to spend a couple of days with us. It was muchfun to get to spend so much time with them. Anselm and basil play well with them. That night, when everyone went to bed, I did more reading for school beside the fire, while Athanasia read Ozma of Oz to the boys in the tent. When she grew too tired I took over for her.

On Monday I slept in and did not get out of bed. I was whiped out from lack of sleep the night before. I had two large lattes while doing my school work at the internet caffe. Each of them had 4 shots of espresso. I keep forgetting that I am not 20 anymore and caffiene really does a number on me now. So, Sunday night was miserable for lack of sleep.

WHile I slept on Monday morning, everyone else went to Glass Beach at the north end of Ft. Bragg. They came back to camp with lots and lots of sea glass. My god daughters' father found a collection of tiny blue glass beads. In the afternoon, we walked up to the beach at the mouth of the gulch again. That night we made smores. Actually, I think we made smores every night.

Tuesday morning, we went to Potuguese Beach (AKA Driftwood Beach) at the bottom of the Medocino Headlands. We had a nice lunch on the beach and the kids all played among the giant driftwood logs. Many years ago, when I was 12 years old and my nephew, Daniel was 9 my parents took us to that beach and we erected a wall of logs. The boys and my god daughters were too small for that kind of exhausting work, but theyhadfun nonetheless. Except for when Basil was stung by a jellyfish. But it was a mild reaction, causing only a scream and a rash on his leg. He had me make the sghn of the Cross on it ("Heal me, Daddy!) and he was back to playing in no time at all.

My god daughters' and their parents left for home after lunch but Athanasia and the boys and I stayed there by the water for a while longer. Then we went back to the tent for our last night. More reading to the boys. Sweet sleep.

This morning we broke camp and I took my first shower since Cloverdale. The north coast does not ever suffer water shortages, thus the shower at Russian Gulch State Park was like a warm hurricane. There was no flow governor on the showerhead so the water shout out of it like nothing I've seen in years. It was wonderful. I was not alone in the shower, though. An ariolimax columbianus. But he/she didn't bother me and I didn't bother him/her.

We drove back the way we went, mostly. We stopped at the Floodgate, a really good Mexican place just northwest of Philo for lunch/breakfast, and we stopped in Boonville so Athanasia could buy a 6-pack of her favorite beer at the brewery.

We stopped at Cloverdale for fuel and coffee and got back onthe Redwood highway, headed south this time. But we didn't take it all the way in to San Francisco. On other drives along this stretch of 101 we had noticed a giant building off across the Alexander Valley (at the Geyeserville exit) and had been curious about it. So today, we decided to drive across the valley and find out what it was. It was a beautiful drive through Geyserville and all the small wineries, but we were very dissapointed when we ascended the hill and discovered that the huge building was just an Indian casino. We didn't bother getting out of the car. Instead, we drove down to Healdsburg and got back on the Redwood Highway there.

When we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge heading into The City the fog was comming in and we couldn't see the tops of the towers. The boys thought that was very cool. We took another detour from our route in San Francisco and and stopped at La Boulange in Cole Valley to get the boys a little treat. Then we just drove on home to San Jose, where I was greeted by a tennant with a leak in her kitchen drain.

A New Blog I've Been Enjoying

I know now, at 41 years, that I'll never be a city planner. But I still am interested in cities and land use. I recently have become a fan of this blog named Planning Commisioners Journal. Maybe you'll enjoy it, too.

The Unexpected

(Some details in the following story have been changed to protect the innocent.)

A few weeks ago Athanasia and I were having a beautiful brunch with some friends and friends of friends at a place up in Napa. One of the couples turned out to be a former pastor of mine and his wife. He knew we had lived in San Francisco and asked if we had ever attended a certain famous Protestant church. As it so happened we had attended that church, and was shocked and saddened when we confirmed what he had heard about it. Then he asked how we became Orthodox. I told him and he told us about his experience in eastern Europe as a short-term evangelical missionary, and how he wished he had been more sensitive to the Orthodox Christians there. He was very full of regret.

After our time together I began to feel kind of bad about something. When a Protestant asks me "Why did you become Orthodox?" it is really hard to answer that in away that doesn't sound like "because Protestantism is wrong and Orthodoxy is right", especially when I only have 5 or 10 minutes to answer, and am experiencing some of the best food and drink ever. (Say what you will, the Ramos Gin Fizz is the best way to have your eggs in the morning.) So, for a couple of weeks I've been feeling bad about pretty much telling my former pastor,to his face, that he is wrong.

A couple of days ago, while waiting to talk to a loan officer about financing on a tri-plex, who should walk past me but that same former pastor of mine? We greeted each other and I took the opportunity to say, "I'm glad we ran into each other. I've really been feeling bad about what I said the other morning. It's hard to answer that question you asked in a way that isn't insulting to you. I'm sorry and I want you to know that there is nothing in my heart but thanksgiving for my Protestant up-bringing..."

Here he interrupted me and said," Oh! No, no, no. You didn't offend me at all, and besides, Protestantism isn't the destination. It's just the stepping stone to where you are now. I didn't say this the other morning, but the main reason I resigned from my position at the church is that I just didn't believe what they believe anymore. I would be sitting in the leaders meetings and be asking myself, 'are we even a valid church body?' And you can't be a pastor of a church if you have doubts like that."

I was astounded. I said, "No, no you can't. You really have to be on the same page as the other leaders.

"Yes, yes you do. Well, the people in the pews don't. They can go to church Sunday after Sunday for years and not really know what about the doctrinal...

"Right. The average church goer doesn't know about the doctrinal positions. No one takes out the Statement of Faith and preaches..."

"Right. But in the leadership doctrine is very important, and... Well, I really have to run. I'm glad we ran into each other. Pray for me."

"I will. I do."

And with that he walked past me and out the door of the bank.

Only later did I realize he was holding a book the whole time we were talking. I think it was Adversus Haereses by St. Irenaeus of Lyons.

Is my former pastor becoming Orthodox? Roman Catholic? I am amazed by the whole thing.

Cities make people smarter and richer

Traffic Planning

This film was made during a cble car ride up Market Street toward the Ferry Bldg, in the days just before the 1906 earthquake.



Here is the same trip in 2005, but this time on an electric street car. There are no more cable cars on Market Street.



The 1906 film looks like a lot more fun with much more energy, doesn't it? It is too bad planners try to streamline the flow of traffic, as though getting from A to B is the most important thing. The wonderful thing about city life is what happens between those points.

San Francisco At Christmastime

Gretchen Joanna reminds me why I love San Francisco.

What I learned in Historiography today.

Here is an interesting fact. Xenophon was the inspiration behind one of the most important movies (along with "Fort Apache the Bronx" and "Escape from New York") about New York made in the dark pre-Giuliani days of the 1970s-1980s!

Xenophon wrote two major historical works called Hellenica (or Greek affairs) and Anabasis (the long march up country). The Anabasis is about his long march with Greek mercenary soldiers through Persia around 400 B.C. But the totally cool thing about it is that it was used by New York author Sol Yurick as the main theme of the story that was made into the 1979 film "The Warriors".

A Building Design Company After My Own Heart

Anyone who has read this blog for very long knows I have strong New Urbanist tendencies, that I love the architecture of old buildings, especially the arts & crafts style used by a lot of depression-era builders in California. I especially like I'On, even though the City wouldn't let them do mixed use. Recently, I came across a link to the website of the designer of the little Orthodox temple in I'On. All I can say is WOW!!! I bet you'll say wow, too. You'll love the pictures, but make sure you read the two essays on their website, too.

Compromise

What I really wanted was to study at SVOTS. But to what end? Canonical barriers keep me from ordination. Then there is the expense and the hardship on my family. So, that isn't going to happen.

If not theology at SVOTS then the next best thing is a masters degree in city planning from Berkley. It would have placed me right in the middle of the policy debates swarming around land use, city shrinkage (as in Detroit, Cleveland, Toledo, and Flint) and the New Urbanist movement. And as a pre-professional program it would have qualified me for a good paying job. But it was in Berkeley; far from where I live. Then I thought, if not the M.C.P from Berkeley why not the the technically equivalent M.U.P. degree from San Jose State, where the highly respected and vibrant Asha Argawal teaches. But, the idea of sitting in a classroom 4 hours each night, 4 nights per week, keeping me away from my family and managerial responsibilities prevented my attempting the M.U.P. program. (Though I did write a fun essay during the application process.)

So, no theology, and no residential programs. Were there any any distance City Planning programs? Yes. There is one. But WOW! What cost! It would have cost three times what the Berkeley degree would have cost. So, no master in city planning for me. I was very sad.

So, then I thought, why not just get an M.A.T. and teach social studies in public schools? So I looked into that. I found Western Governors University. I was all set to start, but California started laying off teachers. Thousands of them. And then there was the question of the teacher's unions, which I hate. But I was still going to go through with it, but they gave me grief over my foreign transcripts, AFTER I WAS ACCEPTED!!! Even though I have a B.A. from the University of Massachusetts which is ranked #45 in the WORLD by the Times (London) and enough American credit hours for 2 bachelors degrees, they wanted me to pay a third party to evaluate my 25 foreign credits. So, I thought to myself, "I don't think being a high school teacher is worth this hassle."

So what to do? Well, i don't know how I found it, but somehow I stumbled across American Military University. It was originally founded as a distance graduate school for military officers but has branched out since then. And guess what. They have a program in Ancient and Classical history. Now you might be wondering why I would want to study ancient history. Two reasons: I love the subject, and every college student in California has to take a course in it. What does that mean? It means when I finish the program I will be qualified to talk about Josephus, Herodotus, Livy, Plutarch, and Eusebius to my hearts content and get paid for it! Now get this, when I was a teenager I used to fantasize about studying western civilization and ancient history. I never thought I would have the opportunity or, if I did have the opportunity, that it would be practical.

I am astounded that at the end of a long line of academic compromises (even my undergraduate major was a compromise) I finally get to do something I really want to do. I start classes in August. God is really very kind to me.

A Long Walk

Today the boys and I walked a long way. We walked over to our little "down town" area of willow glen where I bought us two donut holes each. That was only 300 yards and 10 minutes, tops. Then we walked up Lincoln Ave toward San Carlos. And we saw some interesting things.

This area was once all farms. And for the most part there is no trace of that agricultural heritage left. But as we were walking we passed an abandoned warehouse, and next to that warehouse was a yard with a chain link fence wrapped around it. Inside the fence was rusting old farm equipment. Diskers, an old Fordson tractor, some mechanical fruit sorters, etc. But the neatest thing was an assortment of old nut and fruit crates. If you haven't seen them it is difficult to describe them, but I will try. They are about 4 feet cubed and made of sturdy plywood with metal fasteners along all the edges and corners. Nothing about them would make you thin they are disposable. When I was a boy, when there were still walnut orchards on McLaughlin Avenue, my cousin Bryan and I made forts out of these kinds of crates. The crates Anselm and Basil and I saw today still had the brand names on their sides where they were stenciled 40, 50, or 70 years ago: Libby, JackFrost, Dole, Heart's Delight, Mission, and others.

As we were walking up Lincoln we passed a building that houses a law firm. We've motored past this building hundreds of times but while walking today we saw that there was a historical marker burrieed in the shrubs in front of it. Then I looked at the building more closely and saw that it looked really old, though well maintained, and just barely visible from where I was standing on Lincoln, around the corner of the house, I saw a much older looking building. Then I moved some of the shrubs to read the marker. The building is one of the oldest remaining in the county; the Sunol-Roberto Adobe, built in 1836.

We kept walking north on Lincoln, cut through a corner of a fruit warehouse turned into a furniture store liquidator, and turned toward the east on Auzerais. We walked by what 10 years ago was the last fruit packing plant in San Jose, the big Del Monte plant #3. The location is now a condo development by KB Homes. It is really nice but, unfortunately, it is only residential. There are some other lots around this new development that look ripe for redevelopment. Let's hope they are mixed use with retail/office/light industrial on the first three floors and residential on the top 5 to 20 stories.

We crossed the Los Gatos Creek a couple of times and the Guadalupe River once. At each crossing Basil insisted that I pick him up so he could look over the concrete rail and down to the tree covered waters. I bought the boys ice cream from a man with a push cart. Anselm is still surprised when I talk to people in Spanish. Its funny to me.

We stopped at a taco stand on San Carlos Ave. and had pineapple drinks and flautas de pollo. While there I told some youthful campaign workers that they should be ashamed of themselves for trying to get Prop 8 overturned. They seemed shocked when I told them they were destroying civilization. It was like no one had ever told them that before. What are they teaching kids in school?

When we got into downtown San Jose the boys played in the fountain in front of the Performing Arts Centere. They played in the fountain in front of the Fairmont Hotel. Then we walked up Paseo de something or other to the Camera 12 Cinemas, where we saw "Up" and shared a large popcorn and Milk Duds and root beer. All together we walked about 2.5 miles in 4 hours. We took a cab home.

The boys just got out of the tub. Athanasia just walked in the door from her day at school. I'll end this post now.

More on what I've been thinking about

A while ago I wrote about my thoughts concerning the Bayview and Lower Fillmore neighborhoods. I've decided to start praying to St. Moses the Black about it. But not for the reason you might think. It is true that the help of St. Moses is often sought by those evangelizing people of African ancestry, but that is not the reason I have decided to seek St. Moses' intercession. Rather, I am seeking his help so that I can pray more effectively. You see, St. Moses was someone who was often disappointed by his lack of spiritual progress, but who also was quick to accept people where they were. From Wikipaedia:

"Moses was zealous in all he did, but became discouraged when he concluded he was not perfect enough. Early one morning, Saint Isidore, abbot of the monastery, took Moses to the roof and together they watched the first rays of dawn come over the horizon. Isidore told Moses, 'Only slowly do the rays of the sun drive away the night and usher in a new day, and thus, only slowly does one become a perfect contemplative.'"

"When a brother committed a fault and Moses was invited to a meeting to discuss an appropriate penance, Moses refused to attend. When he was again called to the meeting, Moses took a leaking jug filled with water and carried it on his shoulder. Another version of the story has him carrying a basket filled with sand. When he arrived at the meeting place, the others asked why he was carrying the jug. He replied, 'My sins run out behind me and I do not see them, but today I am coming to judge the errors of another.' On hearing this, the assembled brothers forgave the erring monk."

I do not imagine that anything I do or pray will be sufficient to meet the need I see in those two neighborhoods. So, like St. Moses, I am likely to be discouraged by slow progess. I will need his prayers to see it through to the end like he did.

Much of my problem in befriending the people in those neighborhoods, even if only in prayer, is that I see their sin, and much of it is cultural. The horrible thing about it is that my sins are just as bad if not worse, because I have been joined to Christ. Like St. Moses' sins in the basket on his back, they are a weight on me even though they are mostly out of sight. More than I wish, I am more like the Holy Prophet Jonah, who saw a wicked society and hated it more than he hated his own self-centered orientation. (See Jonah chapter 4 and consider that this man is a Saint. I don't know about you, but this gives me hope for myself.)

So, right now this is my prayer: "Lord Jesus, through the intercessions of St. Moses the Black, help me pray more effectively for the people of Bayview and the Lower Fillmore and for the expansion of your kingdom in those neighborhoods."

Two Things I OftenThink About

In San Francisco there are a few really bad neighborhoods. One is Bayview. Bayview has several congregations of the "Black Church" denominations, but is still plagued by crime, loitering, poverty (spiritual more than financial), public drunkeness, etc. Maybe, the black churches are too close to the culture to reach the people who lie drunk on the sidewalks. They have heard the message of the Black churches so often, presented in the same way so many times that it just rolls off of them. I'm not being racist. The same thing can be said about White pentecostal and baptist churches in the American South. Church is just part of the culture, not a life changing soul saving experience. So I wonder, could a group of Orthodox Christians in that neigborhood make a difference? If we just met in one of the abandoned houses or store fronts for two hours a week, put up fliers offering "life transforming encounters with God", set up some icons, prayed vespers - if we did that would any of those angry, suffering, poor, people walk in the door? Would they be saved?

The other neighborhood I think of is the Lower Filmore. There is an abandoned church building - with the door on the west and the altar at the east, the way Orthodox Churches are oriented -right on the main street of the neighborhood. The building is fenced in and boarded up. But is is well-made, and after years of neglect is still beautiful. It is across the street from a notorious housing project. I often wonder, would the trustees of that church let the Orthodox have it to start a mission to the people in that spiritually suffering neighborhood?