ood conversations these last few late nights, but reminding me of the everyday miracles we've learned to take for granted, and which my nieces will just assume as a matter of course. First Kate, sitting in her bathrobe in front of the fireplace, having our first face-to-face chat since I visited Victoria in the summer of 2004, but this time now enabled by her and Paul having finally hooked up the house to the internet and the two of use talking via our new computers' webcams and videoconferencing capabilities. I did an image capture of her laughing at one point (but, as I said, in her bathrobe having just gotten out of the tub before I called and before we switched over to the computers) and threatened to post it here, but I'm opting on the side of kindness/fear of her one-upping me sometime farther down the line. Her new job as the Executive Director of The Queenswood Centre for Spiritual Growth
was one major topic, and I spoke to little three year-old Sophia before she went to bed, who is much less shy about talking on the phone than my own nieces, and she told me important things about frogs. Islam, multiculturalism and Kate's scheming to get me a teaching position in British Columbia all made an appearance in the conversation, too.
And then tonight there was a long conversation with Kevin, who is currently on vacation with the family, all of whom had already gone to bed. He was talking to me with crystal clarity on his BlackBerry from Seven Mile Beach on the west coast of the Grand Cayman Island, sitting out on his balcony overlooking the ocean. I could hear the waves in the background. And we laughed about family, culture psychology and theology in his current project and in my research, the feelings of new love, and old memories of hanging on another beach – double-dating at the Indiana Dunes after he had passed his doctoral exams. We're both wired with anticipation for gathering a crew together in May for our latest do-it-yourself men's retreat, with steaks, music, conversation and prayer, although he broke the news to me that Camille is leaving Nani's
before I arrive, and since we're opening our gathering with dinner there before heading out to our cabin near the southern gates of Yellowstone, I'll have to hope that the new chef is as good as she is, even if not as hip. McGlinn is bringing some kind of portable recording rig, and so the jamming will be immortalized: it's the best inspiration for practicing guitar that I've had in a while....
And thus my miracles.
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
– Paul Simon, "The Boy In The Bubble"