This morning before work, I shuffled into the kitchen and set some water for my coffee on the stove. Then I shuffled into the hallway, grabbed a box of Wheaties from the pantry, and shuffled back into the kitchen to pour myself some cereal.

It was a brand new, never-before-opened box of Wheaties. As I prepared to break the seal, my sleepy eyes happened to focus on these words, written on the small tab in the middle of the box top: “To Open, Slide Finger Under Arrows to Left And Right.”

This gave me pause.

Now, I realize that American consumers are becoming dumber. Or, at least, that the companies who offer us products to consume believe we are. So I honestly was not all that bothered by the fact that Wheaties felt compelled to tell me how to rip one piece of cardboard off of another piece of cardboard. The thing that really bothered me—that left me standing there puzzling for a full three seconds before actually pouring my cereal—was why they stopped there.

The thing is, opening the box top has never been the problem for me. Anyone who has been alive for more than four or five years knows that opening the bag is the really challenging part of a new box of cereal.

Maybe I am alone in this, but I just find it kind of disturbing that in this age of “do not insert knife into child”-type labels, Wheaties couldn’t take the time to give us poor bewildered cereal-eaters a little direction when it came to opening that darned plastic bag. It wouldn’t have to be anything fancy—a simple “To Open, USE SCISSORS” would probably suffice. Anything to alleviate those few frantic moments of tugging and grunting and teeth-gnashing and swearing at that stupid welded-together plastic.

After I had given this weighty topic its due consideration (and after I had finally managed to open the plastic bag), I poured myself some cereal.

Then, after stuffing the bag back down into the box, I closed the box top. And that’s when I noticed these words: “TO CLOSE, PUSH TAB UNDER HERE.”

…

I’m just saying…

All of the tutors at Gutenberg College are worth getting to know. In addition to being people of substantial moral fiber with a firm dedication to the truth, they are just plain interesting. Listening to our tutors tell stories about their past is a time-honored tradition here at Gutenberg, and is generally considered an excellent way to spend one’s time.

Charley Dewberry is one of those tutors. He is one of the most unassuming people you will ever meet—but behind his friendly demeanor you will find a treasure trove of knowledge and experience.

One of the great things about Charley is that he doesn’t often come out and tell you about himself; he just kind of lets details about his life slip. You might not know when you first meet him, for instance, that he often gets to school by flying his own small plane from Florence to Eugene. But he does. Or you might not know that he spends much of his time as a research scientist, “diving and counting salmon throughout the Pacific Northwest.” (source) But he does. But even once you know those things, you are only scratching the surface of interesting things that you could know about Charley.

But anyway. Every year, Charley and his wife Susie have a tradition of inviting a group of students who sign up ahead of time to come out to their home in Florence the day after Thanksgiving. This year was the first time I was able to go.

We started off our morning by visiting a stream, where Charley pointed out some large, dark shapes swimming upstream in the water: Chinook salmon. Then we took short walk in a drippy, beautiful Oregon forest, while Charley stopped to explain things like “nurse trees” and lichens to us.

After our walk, we were all thoroughly cold and wet, so we journeyed back to Charley’s house for a wonderful warm lunch and some chatting.

In the afternoon, Charley made good on a promise he had made to take us flying! We drove out to the Florence airport and waited our turns in the homey little office building (complete with resident cat) next to the landing strip.

When it was my group’s turn to go up in the plane, I was honestly a little bit apprehensive. I am not, in case you haven’t noticed, a naturally adventurous person. (Last easter can attest to that.) Flying up into the air in a little tiny airplane is the kind of thing that would usually require large amounts of coercion by friends that I really like for me to even consider doing. But, once again, the idea of being able to take pictures in a place I had never been before convinced me. Maybe this whole photography obsession has been a good thing after all.

I think it probably goes without saying that I am glad I ended up going up in the plane. There was something immeasurably thrilling about soaring over the tiny little cars and seeing the waves breaking on the beach far below. After the first few seconds I forgot my fear and was just able to enjoy myself. (And, of course, I took pictures )

Thank you again, Charley and Susie, for opening your home to us and sharing these experiences with us!

If you are a Gutenberg student, and if Charley and Susie offer this opportunity again next year, I highly recommend you take them up on it. You won’t regret it.

I hope all my fellow Americans had a great Thanksgiving Day. I hope all of you non-Americans also had a great day too, actually. But… you know what I mean.

We had a nice, though low-key, day. Mom and Dad and I started off our day by watching the end of the Macy’s parade and the subsequent dog show, and then we played Myst V together. Dad made a delicious, creamy pasta dish for dinner—not because we had any sentimental notions of sparing a turkey, but because we are saving our real Thanksgiving dinner for Sunday evening, when my brother and his wife can be here. Then we will be having Turkey and stuffing and gravy and rolls and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie yum yum yum.

I would love to expound on some of the many things for which I am thankful, but I have to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow morning. (I’ve never gone shopping on Black Friday before, but I saw some very inexpensive compact flash cards advertised at Circuit City and I want to try my luck at getting some.)

So I will leave it at this: I am thankful for the fact that God is in control of my life, and that He is a good God. I am thankful that I can trust Him through the twists and turns my story takes, and I am thankful for the blessings He has given me in this world (my family, my school, the things I enjoy) and the promise He has given us for the next. Most of all, I am thankful for the mercy He extends to us all.

The Scene: I and two of my friends are walking back to Gutenberg in the steady, blustery, gray rain that has characterized the whole day. I’m enveloped in my puffy blue raincoat (be quiet) and clutching my hood, which keeps threatening to blow back off my head.

(Paraphrased)

N: I think we might actually have a white Christmas this year!

Me: Oooh, I hope so.

J: I talked to my mom last week. She said it was 93 degrees back home.

Me: Wow!

N: We went to Disneyland around this time last year, and they were already getting ready for Christmas. They had these Christmas caroler characters wearing wool coats and scarves out in the bright sun.

J: Yeah… that’s why, in California, we don’t sing “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” we sing, “It’s beginning to feel a lot like it should be Christmastime.”

We all laugh as we continue walking. J and N both have soaked wool coats. Their hair is dripping wet, too. I’m still clutching my hood. You’ve gotta love Oregon.

Wes, our art teacher, started class off on an unusual note today.

“Okay, class,” he said, “I want you to get out a piece of paper. Now I want you to write down one to three words that describe an idea, a belief, or a feeling that has been really important in your life recently. Either something you’re struggling with, or just something that matters to you.”

We were all a little bit bewildered by this.

Wes left the room to let us ruminate. I pulled out a piece of paper and almost wrote down “photography” before I stopped myself. Wait, no, I realized, That’s something that matters to me, but it’s not the kind of “matters” that Wes is looking for. Besides, it’s not an idea, a belief, or a feeling.

Then I got to thinking about what I have been struggling with recently. Images of the mornings that I am always late for school, of the nights when I just can’t get ready for bed, of all the countless times that I just refuse to say “no” to myself flashed through my head. I wrote down “Self-control.”

Five minutes later, Wes walked back in carrying two large brown paper bags. “Do you all have your idea? Good.” He grinned as he began pulling packages of modeling clay out of the bags. “Alright. Now I want you to sculpt that idea.”

So we cleared space on the classroom tables, and for the next half hour or forty minutes we all plied our clay in quiet concentration.

At first, I did not know how to capture “self-control” in clay. But all of a sudden, this image popped into my head: A person standing in front of some larger than life, tempting object blocking his path. I wanted to capture a thin, teeter-tottering slice of time that would leave you wondering: Is he going to move towards the object? Is he going to move away from it? Is he going to reign himself in or let himself go? And I did not want the piece to give any indication as to the answer. As I envisioned it, it would be like a balancing act—a stare down between a person and the decision he has to make.

Now, I don’t pretend that this is the greatest piece of art that ever existed. We only had a limited amount of time, and I am no sculptor. But here is what I came up with:

Part of our assignment in class was to talk about our piece after it was finished. I stumbled through my explanation, feeling frustrated because I did not think I really got across the gist of what I was trying to say.

Classmate Joel, who was sitting across the room from me, spoke up: “From this angle it looks pretty funny.”

“Why?” I asked, worried that he couldn’t see the perspective correctly, and ready to move the figures so he could see them better.

“Well, it just looks like he’s thinking, ‘Man, there’s that damn apple again.”

We all burst out laughing, and my tension was immediately relieved.
I couldn’t have put it better myself.