Word of advice: if you can structure your life in such a way that you never have to try to get passports for a family of six, do so.

Stuff that went wrong:

• First Visit:
  • We didn’t have a checkbook along. (I thought you could pay for everything with credit cards these days. Or, for heaven’s sake, at least cash. What does “This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private” mean, anyway?)
  • I took time off work based on the hours posted for the City Clerk’s office on the State Department’s website. They were, of course, wrong.
  • I did the photos on a camera at home, and in spite of doing my darndest to follow the instructions, they didn’t pass muster. (My headshots were, evidently, too close and detailed.)
  • The previous fact was, of course, only discovered after Kathy left the City Clerk’s office to go get our checkbook. And encountered a train on the way. Which was not moving. For 30 minutes.
• Second Visit:
  • We went to Walgreen’s to have the photos done by a professional. They pulled out a handheld digital camera, took the photos, and then printed them on the dang photo printing machine that’s open to the public! Well, I could have done that, you muttonheads!
  • At the City Clerk’s office again, we discovered that we didn’t have the kids’ social security numbers. (I was sure I had written them on the forms, which must have had a visit from the White-Out Fairy or something.)
  • When I got back from retrieving that information from the house, the lady at the City Clerk’s office took my driver’s license for ID purposes (again), and then informed me that she couldn’t use it because it expired back in March. I made a lucid, if slightly loud, defense of the idea that I am, regardless of when the license expired, still the same person I was two months ago. We eventually decided that the license, combined with my University photo ID, combined with my old passport was enough to verify my identity.

All of this, of course, was preceeded by Emily’s official adoption, which we were trying to get completed before submitting the passport applications. This too was a comedy of errors, which included the firing of a lawyer, the last-minute hiring of another lawyer, confusion about homestudies and their necessity, a trip to the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Austin to get an updated birth certificate (which, of course, they couldn’t do, since Emily wasn’t born in Texas), and much more.

Anyway, I’m frightfully glad to have this hurdle cleared at last.

This morning on RealLivePreacher.com, Gordon references The Saint John’s Bible. This stunning project, the brainchild of calligrapher Donald Jackson, aims to handwrite the entire bible with illuminations and illustrations done in a beautiful hybrid of medieval and modern styles.

I’m just in awe. The artwork is wonderful, the lettering lovely, the scope of the project magnificent. Spend some time on the site, and be sure to see the prints in the online gift shop, where some of the best examples of the art are available in the Featured Prints section. Many thanks to St. John’s University for commissioning this project.

I’ve just added a new sidebar to this weblog. It’s called “Do Some Good”, and is devoted to links where you can help with a variety of important and worthwhile causes. (I figured these things are at least as important as the blathering I do here on a regular basis and therefore deserve top billing.)

I’m opening it with three links: the first is to Seth Dillingham’s fund raising page for the 2005 Pan-Mass Challenge, a biking event that raises funds for the Dana Farber Cancer Institute.

The second is to Mercy Corps’ Sudan Page. This part of Africa has seen an enormous number of people killed and displaced over the past several years, and is one of the worst humanitarian crises of our era. Mercy Corps is providing food and basic sanitation for refugees who have been driven from their homes.

Finally, for those of you who may not have any disposable income, I’ve included a link to The Hunger Site. Merely by clicking a link, you can provide a cup of staple food for the relief efforts of Mercy Corps and America’s Second Harvest.

Thanks for visiting and helping with some of these efforts. I’ll be adding to these links as time goes on, so keep an eye on this space.

John Rogers, a friend of a friend and a busy screenwriter, wields the mighty power of the pen this morning, turning his acerbic wit toward the Newsweek scandal. Quite a piece of writing, regardless of whether you agree with his conclusions.

A few months back, a gaggle of middle schoolers gathering up canned goods for a food drive showed up on our doorstep. “Hang on a second; let me get you something,” I told them. When I returned from rooting around in the pantry, I found them staring quizzically up at the top of the doorframe, where we have inscribed “Esse Quam Videri”.

“What’s that?” one of their leaders asked.

“It says ‘Esse Quam Videri,'” I told them. Blank looks.

“It means ‘To be, rather than to seem,'” I further explained. The blank looks didn’t budge.

“It’s Latin for ‘Don’t be a poseur,'” I elaborated.

Comprehension dawned. “Oh, that’s cool! Thanks!” she said, and marched on down the street with her canned corn in hand.

Today is Emily’s 13th birthday. We celebrated last night with a small-scale party at The Zone, our local skating rink cum arcade. (Our usual procedure for family birthdays has been to invite lots of people and celebrate in the back yard. After having a great time at friends’ skating parties, Emily decided that this year she’d rather do that, even though we had to severely curtail the guest list to keep it affordable.)

Everybody seemed to quite enjoy themselves. Emily was very happy with and grateful for the gifts she was given; the rest of us enjoyed zooming around the skating rink and playing Galaga and The Simpsons.

Happy birthday, kiddo. We’re awfully glad you’re a part of our family.

Since Chris is getting married this summer in Merry Old England, we decided that a stateside bachelor party would be a good thing — both to send him off into matrimony with suitable well-wishing and to afford those friends who won’t be able to make it overseas an opportunity to be a part of the celebration.

We decided to stage a camping trip in North Carolina, at Davidson River Campground, nestled snugly in the Pisgah Forest. The site was lovely, separated from the river only by 50 feet of pine trees, and capacious enough to handle the dozen people descending on it handily. Most everyone rolled in Friday, set up tents, and then went to Hawg Wild BBQ for some dinner. (Here in Texas, BBQ is all about beef, with some sausage, chicken, and turkey sometimes thrown in for variety. In the deep south, BBQ is much more pork-intensive, and uses a tomato-based sauce for western style, and a vinegar-based sauce for eastern style. While I maintain that Texas’ version is the One True BBQ, the pork varieties are a nice change of pace.)

After a late night around the campfire, we took to the trails the next day, going for a hike around some nearby falls. We had lunch in the nearby city of Brevard, and then went back to the campground for a full afternoon of whiffle ball. (The rules of whiffle ball are very similar to those of baseball, with two exceptions: 1. you can get a runner out by hitting him with a thrown ball. 2. the field should be small enough to allow everyone to drive one over the fence at least one.)

We wrapped up the afternoon at Hawg Wild BBQ once again, and settled in around the campfire once more for visiting and quality male bonding (the details of which are probably best left to your imagination).

The trip was a super one, and seemed a very fitting way to send Chris off into married life. The less incriminating photos are available for perusal here.

On Tuesday morning, we had the singular pleasure of going by Hernandez Intermediate School, where Emily attends, to see her play the title role in her choir’s production of “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” (No, she wasn’t the chocolate factory.)

Because the challenges of live audio in a gymnasium are nigh-insurmountable, the performers had prerecorded all of their dialogue and singing, lending the whole affair an entertaining “Reading Rainbow meets Kung Fu Theater” feel. In order to trim the plot down to its 30 minute time slot, much of the dialogue was ruthlessly abbreviated, furthering the dizzying nature of the span.

Emily was, to my paternal eye, the best thing about the show, doing some nice emotive acting, and having one of the most tuneful voices of the singers. It was a joy to see her have her first experience with musical performance, and one I hope will be oft-repeated in the future.

The kids and I made it through our single-parent weekend without too much difficulty, thanks to the help and support of friends.

The band played at Quail Creek Country Club on Friday night. After talking with one of the folks in charge, Grant was impressed enough with the place that, as we ate from the plates we’d loaded up at the catfish buffet, he said “If one of the wait staff offers me tea or water with our food, I’m going to join.” The wait staff then proceeded to walk by our table seven times without so much as looking at us as they attended to other diners, thus costing the club a membership. (I’d already decided not to join after the staff didn’t even bother to look amused when I’d asked what a golf-cart-racing membership would cost.)

On Saturday, the kids and I did a little bit of gift shopping after our original plan to go up to Hamilton Pool to swim was foiled by the weather. We also took a walk through the San Marcos Cemetery, which is only a few blocks from our house. We were intrigued to discover headstones for individuals born as early as 1815 and saddened by the plots of children who hadn’t lived long enough to see their first birthdays. We then went off to some friends’ mortgage-burning party, where they celebrated full ownership of their beautiful hill-country home with lots of BBQ and more music. Liam enjoyed playing croquet late into the evening with anybody he could rope in, while Maggie and Emily ran around with friends, eating, drinking, and being merry.

On Sunday, we enjoyed church in the morning and a visit from Austin friends in the afternoon. Later, I played at Cheatham Street, affording an opportunity to celebrate Carl & Carolyn Taylor’s 51st anniversary with them, as well as to stretch out my birthday celebrations just a bit longer. Meara even managed to guilt Dad McMains into getting out on the dance floor with Lana — the first time I can remember seeing Dad do so. After the kids had been in bed for an hour or so, I got a call from Kathy, who was getting back from Mexico sooner than expected. She had a great time, really enjoying her trip and the people she spent it with.

So it was a good weekend all around! Again, a hearty thanks to those of you who helped these past few days. We’re constantly grateful to be surrounded by such good, supportive friends and family.

I encountered a few thoughts on faith this morning I thought worth sharing.

• Gordon Atkinson returns from a month-long writing hiatus with a nice little piece called The Dignity of Children. After a weekend with Kathy away, the balance between caring for the kids and “getting things done” looms large in my mind. This one was a good reminder that my illusions of control are — or at least should be — secondary to the importance of loving and enjoying these little people who have been trusted to me for a too-brief time.
• Hans Anderson has a piece up on Public Radio Exchange called God is Talking To Me, a meditation on why God works as he does cleverly disguised an an amusing and engaging fictional narrative. Well worth a listen.