Small World Wonder

A birthday card blog to my dear friend, Anne.

2011-12-19T09:06:00.000-08:00

Anne,

May your graceful and expansive soul continue to find great joy this year in the God who was both kind and creative (bizarre?) enough to make a woman like you.

Source: geishazs.tumblr.com via Terri on Pinterest

May the small moments of peace and contentment, the bittersweet moments of strain and stretching, and the grandiose moments for remembrance be pieced together in a delicate kaleidescope of LIFE TO THE FULLEST!

Source: kendrascott.com via Margaret on Pinterest

May you find many charming gates to flourishing gardens of both green and soul, and may these hidden places refresh and renew you for the city streets and the hustle of this season.

Source: trouvais.com via Patricia on Pinterest

May sonatas continue to fill your home, and may opportunities abound for us music-lovers to enjoy the sound of Brahms at your fingertips,

Source: media-cdn.pinterest.com via Katy on Pinterest

And may devlicious and beauticious kitchen creations continue to be paired with your long nights of reading, writing, and editing, and result in articles as tasty as your tarts and cakes.

Source: foodandwine.com via Ann on Pinterest

And may the joys of timeless friendship pepper your days with wit and respite and wisdom and generosity. May you feel surrounded by a cocoon of goodness, because of all of us who have come to love you JUST AS YOU ARE.

Source: 500px.livejournal.com via Lina on Pinterest

2011-12-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

Do you REALIZE?

2011-09-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

September in New York (i.e. a walk through the Central Park zoo while being serenaded by jugglers and rollerbladers) is sweatier than DC (i.e. a stroll to Sticky Fingers vegan bakery from your boyfriend's basement). It is especially ablaze in New York City when you are standing in line for TKTS tickets for see Sister Act on Broadway (Spiderman is sold out slash $250) in pants and long hair sans Billy Elliot fan, but you remind yourself the sweat will evaporate after you elbow your way into the red velvety, heavily chandeliered theater and sink into your plush cushions. The playbill will have a funny interview with the principal actors in The Book of Mormon (which is also $250 a ticket and has won an embarrasing number of Tonies). You and your boyfriend laugh out loud at the playbill interview, and strain to read in the dark a second after the lights go down.

September in New York on a certain day of the month is wonderful, except you are more likely to cry than other days. Yesterday it would have been very unlikely you cry, but today it would be unlikely you didn't. There are lightbulbs that burn out after all, plastic bottles that don't get recycled, hands that don't get held, children whose mommies die, couples who cheat, and extremists who bomb buildings and perpetrate genocides after all. Instead of indulging a sudden instinct to write angsty poetry about... what was it? Oh yeah, that 60minutes-Dateline-CSI-type documentary segment on the crack-dealing landlord who killed his tenant, burned down her house, and buried her in the woods... you cry about it all the way to Penn Station on the nasty-roach-rat-dirt NY subway and cling to your boyfriend who has somehow become to you a beacon of light in a world infested with black-hearted sociopaths, but instead of writing flaming arrows and existential nooses to die by and whywhywhy's in some much too self-conscious a rhyme scheme, you spend the 3-hour Amtrak ride back to the District drinking Cabernet Savignon from the bottle and reading so many pages of the Hunger Games (yes, for the second time) over your boyfriend's shoulder. (No, he doesn't mind.) He shares excited and nervous faces with you when the suspense is making your heart beat fast. This exchange is like joy-full lemony daffodils growing from the shit of earlier-evening despair. The pain of bookmarking and closing the page-turner is only alleviated by the sudden realization that "Rachel!" your 9-5 cube-mate is sitting three seats behind you, and "Who's that?!? Bill Cosby?!!!" is not far behind. In the same train car. On the same train. Getting off at the same station. In the same world.

Some things happen that are weird after that. Like outsmarting an hourlong wait a Union Station taxicab - oy vey, the queue in the middle of the night - and some other things. Like almost playing some rap music you(r boyfriend?) had accidentally bought for a Lincoln from a complementary rapper (damn, you better marry her - she fuckin beautiful). This all at Times Square outside the Bare Escentuals store after Sister Act. (No, before Sister Act but after all the chestnut layer cake and jarlsburg cheese and European iced coffee.) Speaking of 30 Rock, instead of rap you turn on the Gabe Dixon Band, which your boyfriend plays often but you pay so little attention to that you have know clue what the band sounds like unless you are presently listening to it. Like right now - you are not listening to it and you couldn't possibly name one lyric, hum one tune, or list two instruments (guitar, obviously) involved in Gabe Dixon's Band-having-musicplaying-noisemaking. That, in fact, is weird. You, in fact, are oblivious. But there were a lot of things you noticed when you were in hot New York with the delis and the knock-off vendors and the skinny girls in neon and zippers. You noticed your boyfriend was a little right about New York sidewalk-walkers not being very good-looking. And Carnegie Hall. Three times. The exorbitant price of cocktails, the nostalgic country paintings in the hotel lobby. And every flavor and nuance of every bite of Bobby Flay-recipe sea urchin, your new favorite mermaid-style snack. Mmm, mmm, better.

Zack's Favey Faves / Tasha's To Read Listey List

2011-07-03T18:00:00.000-07:00

Dune
The Once and Future King
Not The Princess Bride (but he really likes it)
The Wheel of Time Series
A Song of Ice and Fire
Tigana
Ishmael
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Watership Down
Speaker for the Dead (might be close)
The Great Divorce
Memory, Sorry and Thorn
The Last Unicorn
Atlas Shrugged
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

Billy Idol - And So It Goes

2011-07-01T09:14:00.000-07:00

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

A Purple Hooded Sweatshirt is Good to Wear in the Dark Night of the Soul if You are at the Beach

2011-06-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

The night I miscarried my faith in God was a beautiful June night, and the breeze was just enough to warrant a sweatshirt. My bare feet carried me down the two blocks from Aunt Sharyn & Uncle Tony's beach house in Oxnard to a beach glowing under the face of a full moon. I paced in the cool sand for hours, trying to understand what had happened.

The Presence I had always felt in my gut had suddenly expired that day, the way a baby might die inside of its mother. Except there was no blood or fainting to punctuate my loss. I wasn't even sure if it was a loss [maybe rather the end of a blindness?], but it was definitely a shift. What would I do with this life/world/night if I was alone? Cosmically alone. If all I could know is that I am alive and I will die?

In college, when discussing who and what we might be if we were Godless physicalists, my friends and I would spin wild scenarios (and actually believe them to some extent)... but it became clear to me that sandy night that I would not be capable of becoming the "un-Christian" drug-addicted Wiccan prostitute I had intended to be. Even with the hope of God drained from me, a feeling of emptiness making the canopy of stars more desperately beautiful than ever, I knew I could never stop sincerely worshiping Goodness, Truth, Beauty and the Love that is described in that weighty 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians. Even if there was not a God, there were these humbling Platonic ideals that seemed incapable of being ripped from my gut the way He was. It seemed that way. I was glad of that rosy conclusion, though it worried me that a feeling of liberation was swelling heavier than the expected terror. Was that a bad sign? Did I want this new conviction to persist? I couldn't undo it, that was for sure, any more than I could revive a dead body or bench press a semi truck.

And so, I called my roommate Miriam who had been flirting with atheism (regardless of my advice to the contrary) with no avail for months, and I confessed (still pacing in the surf). The timing of this conversation was shortly after our neighbor's similar confession to us. This neighbor was terrified she'd one day have to tell her [pastor] husband that, in the years since their wedding, she had somehow transitioned from evangelical faith to complacent agnosticism. Would he still want her, she worried. I worried too. Could I still respect myself (surely my friends wouldn't - and there was NO way I would be telling my parents) if I lost my resolve to trust in and honor the God of the Bible with my heart, soul, mind, strength?

That disorienting weekend was one of the most significant turning points of my life. The three years that followed were shaped like a question, asking... Can I live with this? What are the alternative approaches to life, if not a disciple of Jesus? If you are real, God, will you please make yourself known to me? In the meantime, I was resigned to wearing the conviction that life is only what a person makes of it - there is nothing to do except try to make this world a better place and find some enjoyment before we die. Motherhood (art?) may be the only point of access for transcendence, but approaching it with that heavy longing seemed dangerous and foolish. Serving and loving people more generally seemed to be the best consolation. But I despaired of the results. It was so difficult to care for people without needing to see the fruits of my labor when there was not a Co-Laborer, making possible joy and contentment when kindness was unappreciated. If my self was all I had, and not a Creator and Storyteller, the weight of the world was heavier to bear. In the end (middle?), it proved too heavy in fact.

But I feared nothing more, in that season, than the possibility of falling back onto the crutch of a false religion for dread of the unknown. My guiding principle was this, by Thomas Jefferson: "There is not a truth existing which I fear... or would wish unknown to the whole world." If the physical world were all that existed, so let it be. If an Eastern spirituality or philosophy was better suited to the human race, so should it be. If the nation of Israel or Islam were truly preferred by Creator over the rest of us pagans, why shouldn't the be. These are not conclusions simple to shake out, and my decisions to date about what realities to lean on remain meager. But whatever it is I believe or don't believe tonight, question or let alone - it is so because I faced the void that suggested, maybe there is no God, and I allowed it to make a case.

Walking on, Walking on Broken Glaaa-aaass

2011-06-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

I set a goal to trim my Facebook friend list down to 50 today... I only made it to 125. Not too shabby, though, considering I trimmed around 700 lovely people. I've decided to try to start using Facebook a little differently, in the hope of becoming less overwhelmed in this overwhelming world, city, life.

It's my nature to try to take in all the information I possibly can (on topics I find compelling, though I need to work on tweaking what I find compelling it seems) - whether before making a decision, for the sheer joy of knowing lots of things, or as a distraction from taking the next step and using the information I've gathered...

And I am a "people person." I find people terribly interesting. More interesting than the newspaper headlines, often. So reading about people, and what they say, and what photos they tag, and where they are going... these capabilities make Facebook compelling to a person like me.

Sometimes I imagine hundreds of life stories are flowing in and out of my periphery, like a ridiculous Russian novel with too many characters' names to remember. But this knowing (imagining) takes up socio-emotional space that I need, right now, for other knowing (imagining).

Next week I will start a job that requires me to research and write all day every day. It's time to redirect my hunter-gatherer nature toward assignments - and away from all the real-life story-book characters whose breadcrumb trails I like to follow. I can only search so much.

I can only search so much.

What am I searching for? Often, my searching functions as a busyness I cling to so I can avoid the silence of searching for something of peace. I ache for an experience contrary to the clamor of this city, but it tends to feel like walking on broken glass to pursue that sanctity. Lewis's The Great Divorce captures the feeling I'm referring to.

This week was meant to be my retreat from work/busyness/schedule. And yet it's Wednesday. And all I've done is chores and errands that I've been putting off for months & watched movies I have been ever so anxious to see. With all I have on my To-Do List, I don't think it will be possible (short of a miracle, which I will now commence praying for) for me to enter next week feeling the refreshment I had hoped for.

I had imagined a 1-week escape from the machine... but it seems I've been tasked with putting all the nuts and bolts back where they belong, so the machine can run smoothly once the new work-life begins. And yet I sense there is a grace to be found in the shape of these last few days - the hospitality this week has shown me, generously assisting my efforts to put my life in better order with its hours.

Striving to have a peaceful week may be less useful than finding peace in a striving week. It's these things I hope to sift through this afternoon and tomorrow, with the help of some fresh vegetables and lots of H2O.

Swan Song

2011-06-23T09:34:00.000-07:00

Today, an assistant in our International Services Office Programming Team wrote this terribly endearing and slightly hilarious eulogy for me... on my last day in the office. This is the closest I will ever come to attending my own funeral, it seems, and I wanted to borrow the memory from our Team's blog & nestle it away into mine for safe-keeping. Kelly Mannes, you will be missed. But not very much. Just a little. Because we will be working across the street from each other...

Well International Student Ambassador’s,

Get out your handkerchiefs. Are you sitting down? You might want to sit down. Unless you’re on a treadmill or walking through a busy intersection. In that case, the fact that you’re reading this is impressive, but finish what you’re doing and then sit down because … I have some bad news.

Our fearless leader, our top dog, our mother of all things programming … is leaving …

today.

Here at the ISO, we take these departures quite seriously, because losing a member of the team is like losing a member of your not-really-family-but-I-spend-more-time-with-them-and-sometimes-think-I-like-them-better-but-don’t-tell-my-mom family. And that’s sad.

So, as we, the programming team, don our black mourning vestments and cover our face in dry erase marker because somebody replaced our chalkboard and now that’s all we have, we shall remember Tasha amidst our piercing wails and steady beating of fist to chest. Wait – no, I'm getting my farewell parties mixed up with my Ancient Mediterranean funerary rights (It happens).

Regardless, we’re still going to wear our symbolic black attire, but instead of tearing all our clothing and covering ourselves with dust, we’ll just listen to some sad songs and make this cheesy tribute.

Here we go. We’re counting on you to pick out your own soundtrack music for this, so make sure it’s really depressing.

Ready?

-----------------------------------------------------------

There is no single way to describe Tasha.

The first time you meet her, you may think: This girl lives in another world.

And then you get to know her, and you realize …

You were right.

But, that hasn’t stopped Tasha from committing herself wholeheartedly to the ISO and the GW community.

When it comes to programming and all the work that's needed to make an event successful, Tasha has never been afraid to get her hands dirty. ... or any part of her, for that matter.

Her dedication and enthusiasm sometimes left her feeling like she bit off more than she could chew …

But even after all of the stress each event would bring, Tasha was always ready to bite into something new.

And when we had problems, who came to our rescue? Tasha. Not just as a co-worker or supervisor, but as a co-person, a friend … a superhero.

Who was always ready to stand by our side …

no matter how embarrassing or ridiculous the situation?

Who greeted us every morning with her smiling exuberance?

And motivated us with her positivity and gentle nature?

Who has always encouraged us to be true to ourselves?

That’s right: Tasha

But the time has come.

She’s moving out into the wider world.

The sun has set on her ISO adventure

But as Ernest Hemingway once penned: “The Sun Also Rises.”

So, go Tasha.

Without sadness or regret.

Keep reaching for that next great adventure.

Don’t let the unknown paralyze you like a deer in the headlights.

And don’t look back.

Because, no matter what happens, we’ll be here.

And we’ll save you a seat.

----------------------------------------------------------

Whew. I don't know about you ISA's, but I'm tearing up.

Isn't that just the saddest thing?

How are we going to survive without Tasha?

(Don't worry: you'll still have me!)

Uh ... I mean ... we'll miss you Tasha. :(

-K.M.

How to Be Intelligent and Well for Dummies

2011-06-13T17:10:00.000-07:00

The 16 Habits of mind

Persisting – Do stick to it.
Communicating with clarity and precision – Be clear.
Managing impulsivity – Take your time.
Gathering data through all senses – Use your natural pathways.
Listening with understanding and empathy – Understand others.
Creating, imagining, innovating – Try a different way.
Thinking flexibly – Look at it another way.
Responding with wonderment and awe – have fun figuring it out.
Thinking about your thinking (metacognition) – Know your knowing.
Taking responsible risks – Venture out.
Striving for accuracy and precision – Find the best possible solution.
Finding humour – Laugh a little.
Questioning and problem posing – How do you know?
Thinking interdependently – Learning with others.
Applying past knowledge to new situations – Use what you learn.
Remaining open to continuous learning – Learrning from experiences.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Habits_of_mind

An Old (Refreshed) List: 'Things I've Lost Along the Way'

2011-06-11T13:19:00.000-07:00

The Things I’ve Lost Along the Way

The key to the GW International Services Office bathroom
13 roommates
A miniature glass bottle full of 14k gold dust on a chain
An iPod
My belief in God
My disbelief in God
The brown diary I wrote in when I was at the rock-bottomest year of my life (it stayed on an airplane when I did not)
My friend Autumn who was killed by her husband
Proximity to the beach
The ability to do a cartwheel or handstand
Papa Newell, the kindest and wisest man I know
The Dell laptop some kids stole from my apartment in South Sacramento
Three childhood homes on Coronado island
My pirouette
A tendency toward sadness and fear
My USB key with all my poetry & Fiona Apple on it
My aversion to unhealthy food
My vulnerability to manipulative people
Cell phone signal
My black leather Rainbows
All the diplomas I was ever awarded
My physical ability to drink coffee like water
Time spent at parties I didn’t want to attend, at redundant coffee dates, on unnecessary phone calls
My neck
$700 of dad’s money during a careless month on an AT&T Family Plan
My understanding of math
The fuses for this apartment’s fuse box
That rouge courderoy jacket I bought in Brea and loved so much
French literacy
10 pounds since the days of college cafeteria grazing
My not-backed-up desktop diary called Life Goes On
My passport
Creative discipline
My precocious ability to memorize every phone number I needed
A tennis game or 300
A willingness to imagine my life without you

A Bread in Belfast

2011-05-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

One of the virtues of being very young is that you don't let the facts get in the way of your imagination. ~Sam Levenson

A child's world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood. ~Rachel Carson

Each man carries within him the soul of a poet who died young. ~Sainte-Beuve, Portraits littéraires, 1862

In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play. ~Friedrich Nietzsche

Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them. ~Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince, 1943

The reluctance to put away childish things may be a requirement of genius. ~Rebecca Pepper Sinkler

He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed. ~Albert Einstein

There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again. ~ Elizabeth Lawrence quotes

Perhaps what we sometimes call 'genius' is simply a refusal to altogether let go of childhood imagination. ~ Michael Cibenko

When childhood dies, its corpses are called adults and they enter society, one of the politer names of hell. That is why we dread children, even if we love them, they show us the state of our decay. ~Brian Aldiss

When you're green you're growing, and when you're ripe you start to rot. ~Ray Kroc

I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then. ~Bob Seger, "Against the Wind"

Courtesy of Lissy Elle
http://www.lissyelle.com/

Take THAT, Boring! POW! P-P-Pow!

2011-05-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

How to anthopomorphize the items on my weekend Task List?

.... I'm feeling like a toddler with lips sealed shut, waiting for mom to realize she ONLY wants to eat green beans that make the noises of choochoo-trains and aero-planes. Well, today I am remembering to be a good mom to the toddler in me - anticipate the stories & promises & scolds that will empower her to Do the Right Thing. (Unfortunately, she was still wearing the pants in this relationship over breakfast... which meant sausage croissant roll for the 3rd day in a row instead of green beans. Or at least Special K Red Berries. Can I go back? Meh, whatever. I will rule lunch tray.)

So back to magical thinking... (as if I'd ever left)

Anthropomorphical Weekend Task List

Attend a Kennedy Center Concert = to have something to finally call Grampa Hank for chatting about

Bust out a 4 pager on Branch Campuses = to improve my chances of every-morning coffee with Rebecca Horton, a friend I love to break bread with

Clean my room = shower love and affection on my bunkmate Hayley, who deserves all my love and affection*

Dry cleaning all the way at Eastern Market = to slay a dust dragon encircling my high-maintenance clothes, including that really sleek work skirt. SLAY!

Ender's Game = to become a space warrior commander (not to be mistaken for space cowboy, my other favorite thing to be)

Fake out the trash, I mean... = to imagine I am Zack and I like taking out the trash (better than cleaning the bathroom at least)*

Gym workout = to hang out with my dad (from a distance) who is likely to be at the gym too. Where else would he be on a Saturday? Hey Dad!*

Hit a gay club/lounge at midnight = to celebrate Robert's debut as a back-up dancer extraordinaire

Ice my shoulder = to invite 23 little fairies to dance on my shoulder, throwing healing darts through my skin into my muscles*

Just CALL Amazon about broken Kindle = to give mom another kiss on the cheek for buying me this extravagant gift (and make up for the slap on her cheek, letting it sit on a shelf for 2 months)

* = done

Do The Right Thing, but not A Spike Lee Joint

2011-05-04T12:58:00.000-07:00

"The Wire: -30- (#5.10)" (2008)

Walon: He's just putting it all out there, you know, the good and the bad.

Reginald 'Bubbles' Cousins: You know what? The bad don't bother me to have out there. Shit, I know the bad. I ain't lying to no one about the bad.

Walon: Scared of somebody calling you good?

Reginald 'Bubbles' Cousins: A lot of folks volunteer places. A lot of folks share at meetings. Plenty of motherfuckers wake up every day and not get high. Man making me sound special for doing what the fuck I need to be doing.

Spring

2011-05-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

The days and the nights beat like wings on a butterfly, like hail drumming down. They beat as paint and glow and fire erupt with the sound of it.

a glimpse of redemption to season the "celebration"

2011-05-02T17:29:00.001-07:00

Death to the Death-Dealer!

2011-05-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

Mourning (rather than celebration) remains my more natural instinct. Mourning that we live in a world in which a man's life, actions, and reputation can become so defined by his evil impulses. Mourning that human society, culture, and religion is capable of taking a beautiful little boy and shaping him over time into a mass murderer whose assassination sparks joy in the hearts of so many good people around the world. Mourning that there IS no justice on Earth for the kind of violence and hatred and ruin that this man effected. And mourning that the destruction of something/someone evil offers me little hope, as I would always choose redemption over this "justice." Such things as redemption rarely make the news, though. Destruction is so much more accessible.

A Banker Painter

2011-04-21T17:23:00.000-07:00

"You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too. No, I think there was too rigid a pattern. You came out of an education and are supposed to know your vocation. Your vocation is fixed, and maybe ten years later you find you are not a teacher anymore or you're not a painter anymore. It may happen. It has happened. I mean Gauguin decided at a certain point he wasn't a banker anymore; he was a painter. And so he walked away from banking. I think we have a right to change course. But society is the one that keeps demanding that we fit in and not disturb things. They would like you to fit in right away so that things work now."
— Anaïs Nin

"I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort I cannot make. Please give me that heavy book. I need to put something heavy like that on top of my head. I have to place my feet under the pillows always, so as to be able to stay on earth. Otherwise I feel myself going away, going away at a tremendous speed, on account of my lightness." -Nin

2011-04-20T06:02:00.000-07:00

Stockings

2011-04-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could lick a song like a stamp and send it on a letter to Santa, and say please? I've been a very very good girl.

Stupid Wise

2011-04-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

A Chinese Proverb
Put all your eggs in one basket, and take very good care of that basket.

A Proverb of Teen Angst
Plug up your heart for it is the wellspring of life. Drink bottled water instead.

Because the Little Mermaid dies in the Hans Christian Anderson version, The Last Unicorn is not quite as scary as when I was 6, and I want to become a pegasus

2011-04-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

To Do:
1) Read Dealing with Dragons
2) Write my dream book about mermaids
3) Raise children with Catherine Woodiwiss

e e cummings

2011-04-15T22:15:00.001-07:00

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

my father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
–i say though hate were why men breathe–
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

Blossoming Cherries and Burning Flesh

2011-04-05T19:37:00.000-07:00

I should be asleep... getting enough rest to be bright-eyed for tomorrow's sunrise over the cherry blossoms, Inshallah. BUT I just read a response to the question that's been fraying the edges of my soul today, and I needed to process.

Mallie and I call days like today Sadness of the World days (when the weight of minor and mass evils haunt and pierce, and the mundane life-as-usual day seems to have a menacing soundtrack. i.e. My mom didn't get abducted out of our kitchen when I was four. But my friend Spencer's did, and today I couldn't stop thinking about it. About how when we were kids his sister couldn't drive past a cemetery without hiding her face in her shirt. I haven't thought about them in years. But today I couldn't stop grieving for their family.) I decided this morning that a day like this should be called a skin-inside-out day. (I've been reading The Hunger Games trilogy which is tres violent. And I watched an episode of House over dinner which involved a burn victim. And it's true that the slightest brush of story against my skin, on a day like this, makes me wince at the pain another person or a people is faced with.) The demanding refrain of the day, Why are we alive? What is the point of all this? How can I live meaningfully into the awful-earth realities I might otherwise close my eyes and ears to for the sake of bliss? Enter Henri Nouwen.

"The more I think about the human suffering in the world and my desire to offer a healing response, the more I realize how crucial it is not to allow myself to become paralyzed by feelings of impotence and guilt. More important than ever is to be very faithful to my vocation to do well in the few things I am called to do and hold on to the joy and peace they bring me. I must resist the temptation to let the forces of darkness pull me into despair and make me one more of their many victims...

I know of few people who have seen as much suffering as the Dalai Lama... Still I know of few people who radiate as much peace and joy.... How is it possible that a man who has been subjected to such persecution is not filled with anger and a desire for revenge? When asked that question the Dalai Lama explains how, in his meditation, he allows all the suffering of his people and their oppressors to enter into the depth of his heart, and there to be transformed into compassion."

While this doesn't solve problems of minor or mass evil, this does offer a strategy for me to use when I feel like I can't bear the burn of a skin-inside-out day. I mean for prayer and meditation to be a more instinctive response, a replacement for the churning of my empathic imagination. And, really, I'm just grateful to have opened a book sitting on at the coffee table tonight that spoke to me as if it had heard my question and didn't want me to go to sleep without an echo from the void. That is grace.

And now I will go to sleep with a cherry blossom scented smile on my lips.

What to Do with Feathered Things?

2011-04-04T19:28:00.000-07:00

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

254

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson

From "Uncertainty Identity Theory" by Michael Hogg

2011-03-31T09:47:00.000-07:00

The key premise is that feelings of uncertainty

about oneself and one’s perceptions, attitudes, val-

ues, and behaviors that reﬂect on one’s identity and

sense of self are “aversive” and motivate attempts

at resolution. Where one believes one has sufﬁcient

resources to reduce the uncertainty, self-uncertainty

is experienced as a challenge that sponsors pro-

motive or approach behaviors; where the resources

are considered insufﬁcient, self-uncertainty is expe-

rienced as a threat that sponsors more protective

or avoidant behaviors (cf. Blascovich & Tomaka,

1996).

Not only can the subjective experience of self-

uncertainty vary to sponsor different general behav-

ioral orientations toward its resolution, but the general

path taken and the underlying psychological mecha-

nism can also differ. UIT focuses on group identiﬁ-

cation through self-categorization (e.g., Turner, Hogg,

Oakes, Reicher, & Wetherell, 1987), which it considers

perhaps the most effective way to reduce and protect

from self-uncertainty. Uncertainty-reduction is consid-

ered a core motive for social identity processes (Hogg,

2006).

Fictional Apocalyptic Poetry Series - Part 1

2011-03-20T22:09:00.000-07:00

With the wisdom of a toddler who

imagines the world is and isn't

when his eyes open and shut,

I imagine - I've been ready for this,

and the timing is good... As if my proclivities pertain

to this matter. Matters of this sort.

A Sun Turned Black. A Sea Made Blood. A Sky Run Dry.

I'd considered these matters in depth

in ninth grade, when I was looking for distraction

from my changing body and my shy lust. Ran my fingers

across the spines of books that worked my nerves.

Whispered my eyes across titles so

charged I could almost feel electricity pumping my heart.

Whore of Babylon. A Holy Remnant. The Beast and the Lamb.

Synthesizing theologies, scanning news for false prophets,

searching myself for certainty; I spun my theories and I spun

my wheels with no where to go - never buying books,

but reading them in store. Five hundred dollars

wouldn't have paid for the volumes my appetite lavished

on me, cross-legged and curious on the carpet.

Postmillenialist. The Thousand Year Reign. Iron Scepter of

the Antichrist.

The Antichrist.

In the corner of the Family Bookstore

I trained my mind, refining my ability to recognize

this man (?) who would conduct a symphony

of slaughter while the world shattered, sure I would be sentient

to his origin before his first appearance onscreen.

It's not as clear as I hoped it would be, though. If this is really
the first of the last days.

The Great Tribulation. The Last Battle. God's Wrath.

But I'm ready to figure this thing out. I have to believe

the year I spent in the stacks will count for something. I'm ready

for tomorrow to be worse than today. And the next

seven years to kill me and mine more likely than not. Because after -

AFTER the wounds of heaven mar the Earth to its core -

I will hear what "sounds like a great multitude,

like the roar of rushing waters and like loud

peals of thunder, shouting: Hallelujah!

For our Lord God Almighty reigns.

Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory!

For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready."

Beef, It's What's for Dinner

2011-03-14T09:02:00.000-07:00

A gem on Pandora today... I think this song is a beautiful homage to the fragility of woman, and a gentle reminder that strength must be woven with vulnerability for the tapestry to be whole.

Be Careful
by Patti Griffin

All the girls in the Paris night
All the girls in the pale moonlight
All the girls with the shopping bags
All the girls with the washing rags

All the girls on the telephone
All the girls standing all alone
All the girls sitting on the wire
One by one fly into the fire

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

All the girls standing by your beds
All the girls standing on their heads
All the girls with the broken arms
All the girls with the deadly charms

All the girls in the restaurant
Pretending to be nonchalant
Funny girls on the TV shows
Close your eyes and they turn to snow

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

All the girls working overtime
Telling you everything is fine
All the girls in the beauty shops
Girls, tongues catching the raindrops

All the girls that you never see
Forever a mystery
All the girls with their secret ways
All the girls who have gone astray

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful with me

Love alone makes death feel less like theft

2011-03-12T22:21:00.000-08:00

You never met them - Marie, Retha, Bill or Carl depending. But what does it matter - you don't like old people anyway. It's safer not to, I suppose. Old people are just waiting to stab you in the back - they all go and die after you got used to them being around.

Bubby was the first in my life. I was nine. The ache that that found me was the sound of my dad sobbing in the parlor. No one ever sat in the parlor - arch-backed chairs with stiff upholstery. It was an alien sound coming from an unfamiliar room. And I could see my mom through the slatted door, seated next to him, hands comforting, the portable phone in their lap. It was odd to see my mom holding not one of her children, but this frail and shaking wreck of a man. I knew what had happened from the sounds he was making. That Bubby died. It was resigned weeping - not like the sounds he would make if a young person had been killed unexpectedly. Bubby was 98 years old.

She had intimidated me. (Though not on family visits. Those were fine, mom allowing me to cling to her skirts no doubt.) Once I was supposed to be spending the weekend with her, but after riding the bus to the grocer's, returning to her studio in a high rise for the elderly, and learning from her veiny and wrinkled hands how to form plum dumplings... I insisted on calling my mom to come pick me up. No thank you, I didn't want to stay the night. To this day I have no idea why. Was she speaking unintelligibly in Czech? Did she boss me around? Was the smell of age so noxious? I wish I could go back and spend the weekend with her. Play checkers and watch soap operas. I regret my failure to squirrel away as many moments with this woman as I could. She was more of a mother to my dad than Grandma, and his face glows when he tells stories about his boyhood with her. That means something - a person like her is important to a person like me. She stopped existing, though. And I didn't really know that could happen. But I suspected as much.

Death made herself known to me since I was too young to understand the rules of probability. She whispered to me late at night when I was 7, 8, 9, face toward the window under the canopy of the antique bed Nana had given me as a birthday present. The voice whispered, "Your mom will be driving home from late tonight. After midnight. So dark. Those curvy Auburn roads. Drunk drivers common on a Friday. The odds are not good - especially because she makes this treacherous drive home from work (surely exhausted) every second weekend. That makes her more likely to... die. On the road. The more one drives the more likely one is to crash - it's only a matter of time for her." [Even as I write this, the old familiar nerves tingle. The irony that I could be invoking disaster by using this condescending tone to name the ancient fear childish.] I worked this fear late at night like a rosary, finding some kind of solace in worry. Preparing for the worst seemed safer than being surprised.

But a fear is different from an event. Insidious whispers different from soundlessness. A death can be like becoming deaf to a sound you once knew. Losing a color. This - a death - is a violent reordering of the insides. A crushing and rebuilding of What Is.

The ripple was even greater when Papa stopped being. He was like home base - as safe as a human presence could be. Like a plant, he consumed all the carbon dioxide of a situation, easily oxygenating the room and making it possible for anyone to thrive. After he was gone, the polarizing personalities in the extended family clashed so much that I eventually reconfigured my holidays to avoid the day before and the day after. But fuck the holidays. What changed was that... well, if I could stop knowing someone I knew as intimately and enduringly as I knew him, maybe there was no God. Maybe my relationship with this God that I had grown up with (who's laughter I had never heard, bear hugs I had not felt, proud gaze I had not enjoyed), maybe that was just as fictional as this dead man now was. The memories of Papa - they were short stories and films. Not a living person. And if something as real as Bill Newell could stop being, then it seemed likely there was nothing Real. Just encounters. Fluidity. Brain chemistry. Days.

Four years later when his wife finally followed him, after she spent years of striving to keep on keeping on, and then years of pining for their reunion... the possibility of a living Reality had managed to reassert itself on me. Nihilism, atheism hadn't made a compelling enough case. And, now guided by the sense that Nana is no less real now that her body was buried, I have been accepting her exit with more grace than I could have asked for. She, who was the Last Unicorn to me - the narrator of my life's direction from birth - the wicked witch whose henchman I loved to be - the blessed woman who took me to pierce my ears when my parents refused to allow it. I suppose I just don't know how to believe she is no more.

At first, I was furious with her. My entire life, she'd never prepared me for the possibility that she would leave - painted herself as a survivor who'd endured the Depression, been thrown from a bull onto a barbed wire fence, fallen out of a second story window, been hit by a car 3x, cancer 4x, a broken back, and surely more threats I am forgetting. Death was not in the cards for her, she intimated religiously. But she left me after all - ME! How could she?????? Why does death feel like such a betrayal?

Ultimately, my anger has relaxed into peace. It must be the conviction that I loved her as well as I could and gave her as much joy that a granddaughter might, that is allowing me to release her. Unlike the ruinous regret of my failures to lavish enough affection on Bubby and Papa. Regrets are what haunt. If I ever loved someone, I know it was Nana. Probably to the detriment of my bonds with other grandparents. And my many acts of treason against her, they elude my memory kindly. I see them there, lurking in the corners, but they are decidedly meager in the looming shadow of our fierce bond.

Each death, I've experienced so differently. But the ache - that is consistent. It's strange that my childhood death fantasies were always about my parents or siblings, never the old people. I didn't know that they would leave such craters in the surface of my heart. It seemed natural that the grandparents would die eventually - only horrifying if someone living in my house were to disappear before their time - but it's not natural at all. Ever. Even if medical miracles have showered on us dozens of years and thousands of memories after someone's natural time of death. Papa had an extra 30 years. Nana, 25. Bubby, who knows? Still it's not natural for them to go.

I almost unconditionally love change, surprise, adjustment, a fresh perspective - for better and worse. But the elimination of a human being is not well with my soul. It is an irreparable emptiness that only faith can calm. I dread the next funeral I'll attend but have desisted in fearing specific deaths now, knowing that preparedness helps none. Only love. Love alone makes death feel less like theft.

2011-02-27T14:23:00.000-08:00

Remembering to incorporate magical realism into my daily life.

Great wild wandering conversations with a children's opera instructor in San Francisco - Lisa Giglio. She has an imagination.

Nyquil dreams about membranous babies morphing into 8 year olds with wings. And aliens bombing the White House during my tour with int'l students.

Those who have eyes: Stay peeled for ridiculous surrealisms around you! Imagine you are 6 and things are as wonky as they might be!

lay down your many arms

2011-02-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

let me be one head and two hands today,
the goddess inside asleep,
tired from conducting so many symphonies

My So-Called Life Statement

2011-01-25T17:13:00.000-08:00

I've been looking for the courage to write a Life Statement for a while. Always come up empty handed. Realized it was hanging on my wall, right in front of me, though. In my journal:

It's a little dated (like 11 years removed). But that was kind of the idea - write something for my future self to cling to when she'd lost her marbles. So, I haven't read it yet, but figured I'd go ahead and add it to my accumulating nostalgia. So here goes:

Notes to Future Self, July 25, 2000

Nehemiah 8:10 Proverbs 15:30
The joy of the Lord is A cheerful look brings joy to the heart.
your strength.

May you never lose the light in your eyes, or the joy that God has given your heart in knowing He loves you, sacrificed for you, and has plans for you in this life and beyond.

Never allow your wonder for life and the amazing world we live in to be contained, solved. Keep seeking Creator, letting your passion for creation and creativity be constantly renewed by the Holy Spirit. Pray hard for that. It's a favorite request of Creator, and he ALWAYS answers it.

Continue to live life to its fullest, and never let complacency or apathy weasel their way in. Find inspiration to live abundantly in Scripture. Whenever you don't feel like having "Quiet Time," DO IT IMMEDIATELY!

Pray for a heart that can smile inside & out when it rains, when you've been betrayed, when you've failed disastrously, when you are dirt poor, in physical pain, lost in the desert & don't know East from West. Pray that your joy will be able to endure that.

Never lose sight of the freedom you feel with everything laid down at Jesus' feet. There are no worries in living life only to love and obey Him and accept the blessings He gives you. Everything is surrendered in prayer to Him. Want to be used by your Creator, and rejoice that He inspires that desire in you generously. Seek the vision by which Jesus sees the world, and allow your identity to be molded in his image. Work hard to know and be known by Him.

Acknowledge your enemies within, and accept the recurring challenges to defeat them. See how joy can be stolen from your friends and family, from you, through the steady wearing down of your faith in God and humanity. How feelings of insufficiency and defeat are conjured in your hearts, awakening jealousy and contempt, an appetite for empty promises. Don't let down your guard or allow these battles to be lost. With all your strength, build others up in joy and in confidence to God's glory, that they might not be another victory for darkness.

There are too many restrictions on our bodies, souls, minds in this world. The freedom you have in answering only to your Lord remedies this dilemma. Your shortcomings, as you see them, lose importance in the unconditional love your Lord provides. Hopeless situations lose their gloom in light of the promise: "My strength is made perfect in your weakness." Beauty is again evident. Again you will get butterflies in your stomach as you breath in the warm spring air, realizing it is merely a gift from the Creator who loves your soul. Each mercy a move to capture your heart more fully, your gaze more intently.

Always feel the thrill when the warm sun casts on your face. Its brilliance is but a glimpse of Glory. Search for glimpses - all kinds - as you move closer to the Other World, where you will one day see more than shadows dancing in a mirror darkly. With those thrills and anticipations scaffolding your mood, you will be able to truly smile 100% and pass your joy to every person you embrace. That is Love.

Nurture love and worship for Creator. Obey His voice and make choices that honor His character. Place your trust in His power & goodness. Do not let go of His gaze, but live practicing His presence.

He
alone
  will
   give
   you
Joy
in the
  morning
   and
   Peace
   at
   night.

The Monk

2011-01-22T12:58:00.000-08:00

should be all eye, like the cherabim and seraphim.

If a man settles in a certain place and does not bring forth the fruit of that place, the place casts him out, as one who has not borne its fruit.

What ought I to do, Abbot? I am in great sadness. The elder said to him: Never despise anybody, never condemn anybody, never speak evil of anyone, and the Lord will give you peace.

Just as it is impossible for one to see one's face in troubled water, so too the soul, unless it be cleansed of alien thoughts, cannot pray to God in contemplation.

-The Wisdom of the Desert, 1960

These are still a few of my favorite things...

2011-01-21T19:38:00.001-08:00

Silence, Communal Lifestyle, Empathy, Spirit-led life, Granola, Holding dirt in my hand, Not getting pop-ups, Long hugs, Evan, Driving with loud wind or My Chemical Romance, Falling asleep quick, Not being lactose intolerant or wearing contacts, Vibrating phone, Betting high stakes with Eames, People who play rugby, Writing stories I would read, Walking briskly, Forever, Orange peels up my nasalcanals. 10/23/2007

From the MySpace Archives...

2011-01-21T19:37:00.000-08:00

Life is Story
The best thing about life is that it's a story. It's filled with main and minor characters who grow and stagnate and affect the plot and react to the environment and make happy and make hurt your internal state. All the good stuff of a story is available to life… its just a matter of whether or not we make a good story out of our lives. Brittany always said she liked to imagine herself watching a movie as she walked thru her life. That's valid. Keeps me from getting buried under the storyboards. Above it all. Outside the maelstrom. I think that's valid. It is motivating to pursue a good story for yourself and others. Life needs to be reminded that it is climactic and poetic sometimes, lest we get petty and sedentary. I want to live a story. So I do.

Good Things
It is good to slow down to a pace in which I can embrace classical music and occasional NPR. It is good to be efficient and accelerated at work, yet able to take in stride laxity and indulgence from co-workers. It is good to fall in love with a puppy– a creature that is humble and devoted and kind. It is good to like the people I spend my time with, rather than to long for picture perfect long distance friendships. It's too easy to fictionalize or romanticize; reality is where I am and I would do well to make the most of it. It is good to wear enough layers and the right fabrics to be comfortable in winter weather. It is good to sleep for 12 hours sometimes and 4 others- rarely 4 though. It is good to get lost in an art museum, and buy tickets to see live music. It is good to become entranced by endorphins and music while working out or dancing. To slip into The Zone. It is good to tolerate the frustrating aspects of others, and to always love them, to show forbearance. It is good to respect God, and ask for forgiveness for how thoroughly I have misconstrued Him. It is good to hope He comes back and shows me who he really is. It is okay to feel that this is a deeply personal interchange, and feel sad that such an experience is overtalked in Christian culture. That most aspects of relating with God are cheapened by their overexposure to fluorescent lighting. It is okay to be me, be here, be now, and have my eyes on the horizon.

Malawi
My Africa was not Peace Corps Africa or village evangelism Africa. It was like moving to NY from Florence and renting an apt in Little Italy. I lived in Little America, Area 49, Lilongwe, Malawi, Central Africa, Earth. The principal of African Bible College Christian Academy let me use a classroom at the school and hang out with Jr Highers from 22 different countries. Lebanese Nadine, Korean Anne, Taiwanese Sandy, South African De-Wet, Nigerian Blessings, Malawian Sithembile, American Jon-Jon, Australian Esther. We read YA novels and painted flowers and danced to Tchaikovsky. For a whole year. Five days a week. I got paid even less than the Peace Corps. But I lived in a house with my own bedroom. Brighton fixed my garden up. With a Ficus and Papaya trees and Maize. Edina cleaned the house which is odd. But she loved me for giving her money every month and I loved her for remedying my non-dishwashered-kitchen. Every Wednesday night the 50 American staff living on campus with me hung out at the Chinchens, eating homemade desserts like NoBakeCookies. We talked about the Old Testament and prayed for dying African babies and families at home in America and ABC college students running out of tuition money. Some nights I played cards with the campus kids. Or ate Kraft MacNCheese with Cari. Or stargazed on the soccer field with Amanda. Or watched Alias with MJ on her laptop. It rained a lot in my Africa. So hard that I couldnt teach over the sound of a monsoon pouring all over the tin roof of my classroom. So we would crowd around the windows and watch the storm. They were beautiful, the storm and the children watching. Once a tiny tornado danced across the roof of our classroom and ruffled everyones papers. I slept with earplugs because the birds called so loudly. And I woke up at 445am to exercise because it was too hot and sweaty to do it at any other time of day. The sun was so hot. I didn't drive. I rode in cars whenever someone would invite me to tag along. We would drive to ethnic restaurants owned by people from India and Ethiopia and Taiwan. Or we would drive to Lake Malawi and swim with fishies or camp. And we went to village churches and orphanages and homes. Sometimes. Not enough. I dont miss Malawi. But I hope one day I will. For now I will learn to be me again.

Drunk on Tears

2011-01-16T23:20:00.000-08:00

Alright, I've deactivated Facebook account again in my quest to bring stillness and order to my chaotic life. Aiming for baseline. I've been reading Thomas Merton's The Wisdom of the Desert (collection of stories of the desert fathers & mothers) - my roommate's. The morals and logic of these devout monks and nuns strike me as potentially insane, but the book definitely falls in the category of Bringing Me Back to Baseline. I should go back to Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation. And some Nouwen must be in store. Dallas Willard is a current go to, with Spirit of the Disciplines. These men. Where are the women? I should read some Nin, but I think she scares me a little right now. She is so woman. I think I am fleeing my fluidity and openness (which she would call female and good) in the structure and routines that are masculine. I am currently on lockdown. Though realistically Merton and Nouwen are about as androgynous as men get, and they are my go-to? Maybe. Deeply masculine just wouldn't make ANY sense to me, I'm sure. Some Kathleen Norris would be a good counter. No poetry though. Too many tissues already used up. I could really go for a Grand Slam Breakfast right now...

Emerging from a Mid-Week Weekend

2011-01-13T12:45:00.000-08:00

In a fog. Steps to clarity...

Freeze for as long as necessary, then move deliberately

Re-establish order in the regions of chaos

Listen for a familiar echo beyond the noise

Avoid ferris wheels

Wake up early tomorrow, and follow a pre-planned morning routine like a Jetson

Jet Lagged & Gazing Toward Circadian Rhythm

2011-01-01T23:21:00.000-08:00

The dryer is going going going, my spandex is sweaty from a late night gym run, Catherine is asleep on the big couch, I just drank a lovely glass of water from the Brita, Justin hasn't called me to verify he completed his P90X workout, I impulsively bought Spirit of the Disciplines by D Willard on my Kindle (no irony intended), the image of black feathers sprouting from Natalie Portman's shoulder keeps coming to mind after an evening at E Street, Christ Our Shepherd starts at 10am tomorrow which means 7 hrs of sleep, and the light at the end of the brightly-tiled tunnel is a string quartet playing Beethoven at the National Gallery of Art the second night of this New Year. This New Year. This New Year.

Does that mean this Last Year can be left behind? Where it belongs? Gz? Gz? Gz?

James Franco's 127 Hours character cut of his arm to escape being stuck. I'm cutting of 2010. With a little help from my calendar. Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Goodnight, California! Goodnight, DC.

Winter's Job: Typing Great-Grandma's Handwritten Memoir!

2010-12-15T17:24:00.000-08:00

Intriguing clips from GG's life:

There are three kinds of marriage: The prize, the surprise, and the consolation prize.

Rockabye baby, please go to sleep. Momma’s a monster & daddy’s a creep. (...Weird...)

There was something almost chemical in my actions and decisions. Now was my kiddoes year to begin to store up fond memories. I had no intention of having examples set and telling them No. It is not wrong for them to follow the lead of curiosity. No! No! makes them less free about reaching out and learning than those raised where No is kept to the necessary minimum.

There is enough grounds for divorce in one cup of her coffee. (Hahaha)

I was a moveable object around which a kitchen was designed.

She galloped past the old maid doom, leaned over backwards in the other direction of double cursedness, and married the first confused young man who looked into her eyes and said, “You remind me of my sister! Be my bride!” The shortage of marriage-minded males for her type made her feel obligated to grab fast and hang on tight, letting the years drop where they may.

One advantage of being married is that I couldn’t make a fool out of myself without knowing it.

“This was not a great union. I’d lost all that made sense in life but the children and acquired a fine bleeding heart for a hoodlum,” all of a sudden a vocabulary of common sense told me in adjectives and emotions all unfavorable.

The height of creation is having a family and helping them develop according to their various talents, after all it isn’t when children grow up to explore an interesting object that mother should worry. It’s when they are afraid to reach out to touch objects that excite their curiosity that we should start worrying.

The fire was out with C and I, but there was enough warmth in the kids to keep us together.

I determined to make my society a touch of privilege, not a burden.

Mayme’s bed of whom I had supplanted was no bed of roses, but an abundance of experience, which no one would either seek or desire. There is nothing more baffling in human relationship than silence. The dark loom of doubt, and ? unexpressed. Only the shell remained.

Kentucky land is the footprints of our past and the hope of our future, even though the truck growled up and hauled us back to the city.

No matter how you slice him, he spelled nature’s blunder, always in debt throughout life and in pawn to the future.

The Emmicks were never friendly to me. They were constantly digging my grave, but I never came to the funeral. And most of them have had to eat their shovels, and I am still chewing up my talent. Fighting to the last ditch for a satisfactory later life.

Her record indicates she does not know much about choosing a mate for keeps. She invents a cure for which there is no disease. Bob Connor, #1, living by his wit, ignorant, shy and brazen almost to the point of blankness, struck one as though he had been bruised by life. Drawing petals around him only strengthened one’s impression. Dismayed false assurance. Seldom said the wrong thing. Seldom did the right thing. Moved around like a sleepwalker. She was very happy with her model husband, until she looked up model in the dictionary and found it meant imitation of the real thing. Then she tried the I’ll show ‘em outlet for her nobly repressed resentment. Divorce opened the way for Bob Connor. Their matrimonial route tilted for taller timber and bowled over completely.

She knew nothing about him and there was nothing to know.

Magical Realism in the Form of Book Review

2010-12-12T22:38:00.000-08:00

"What we think, in the adult person, is very much a matter of what we allow ourselves to think, and what we feel is very much a matter of what we allow ourselves to feel. Moreover what we think is very much a matter of what we wish and seek to think, and what we feel is very much a matter of what we wish and seek to feel."

D Willard
Renovation of the <3:
The book that centers me when I am in a vice tearing my limbs in four directions at once. In the middle of a hurricane. In the Bermuda Triangle. Before there was penicillen. When pirates, vicious not-hot-like-Johnny pirates still roamed the oceans. And underwater dinosaurs still existed entirely to drain the life blood of mammals. This book remains useful in securing my rescue when times are like these, God bless it.

Nin, Nineteen Thirty-Four

2010-12-12T15:58:00.000-08:00

"I saw the headlines, families broken apart by economic dramas, I saw the exodus of Americans, the changes and havocs brought on by world conditions. Individual lives shaken, poisoned, altered... The struggle & instability of it all. I was overwhelmed. And then, with greater, more furious, more desperate stubbornness I continued to build my individual life, as if it were a Noah's Ark for the drowning. I refused to share the universal pessimism and inertia."

Lily Allen

2010-12-10T23:05:00.001-08:00

I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cuz I'm being taken over by the Fear

Words Should be Heated in the Winter

2010-12-08T20:48:00.000-08:00

Diary of Anais Nin Volume 1 words of the week:

"I accept life as it is, the ugliness, the inadequacies, the ironies, for the sake of joy, for the sake of life. It is a comedy. It is slightly ridiculous and full of homelieness... Today I laughed. I let others care. I shift the burden."

"Has pain made too deep a scar so that I do not feel the gentle touch of happiness? The flesh too scarred, too coarse-grained, to feel the softness of the summer? Only another wound can make it tremble. I am not made for happiness. It is like sleep."

"A devouring passion for reality, because me imaginary world is so immense it can never be annihilated. Only it must not be allowed to devour me."

"But from that moment on, I felt my connection with God, an isolated, wordless, individual, full connection which gives me an immense joy and a sense of the greatness of life, eternity. I was born. I was born woman. To love God and to love man, supremely and separately. Not to confuse them. I was born to great quietude, a superhuman joy, above and beyond all human sorrows, transcending pain and tragedy. This joy which I found in the love of man, in creation, was completed by communion with God."

The Disappearing Sabbath

2010-12-08T19:54:00.000-08:00

Tonight, walking -shivering, gloveless in 17* windchill- up Half Street from Navy Yard (which was decorated with Christmas lights??), I decided I'd like to shrug off the 7-day week when I grow up. Because my ideal week would need 9 days. And there would be no such nonsense as "THE WEEKEND!". All days would be created equal. This week would go like so:

Days 1-4: The beginning would be all thinking in rooms and reading every sort of book and writing personal essays and lyric poems and editing original manuscripts and learning French and discussing theories+works and film-watching sans popcorn. Mental exercise. Cerebral procreation. Intellectual intercourse.

Days 5-7: The antidote to all this sinking in thinking would be hands-dirty creativity. One might cook a sixteen-course meal for two dozen of one's closest friends. Decoupage a chest or drawers. Henna one's feet. Trim the Magnolia tree. Photograph fruit. There should be at least 2 completed creative acts by sundown on Day 7 to keep things moving.

Day 8: Brain and soul cared for - time to nourish the body. Adventure and exercise - all the fun kinds of calorie burning. A dance class after morning yoga, followed by a hike through the woods which leads to a waterfall perfect for swimming laps under. After that a hot oil massage might be nice with some green tea and wheatgrass. Bulgur and carrot salad even. Deep breathing would be the constant refrain of the day.

Day 9: This day is mysteriously not experienced, though it does occur in its entirety on a "weekly" basis. It's compressed into a time warp that is unnoticeable to the human sense of time. I have yet to discover the purpose of this odd 24 hour period of time, but I am under the impression that I never will.

Then we start all over again!

Grace, Grace, Free Grace

2010-11-28T18:45:00.000-08:00

Goals, gleaned from an evening with a documentary about Howie Zinn (what a name: "You Can't be Neutral on a Moving Train") and a manuscript about dialogic bi-ethnic history instruction in Israel:

1) "the ability and willingness 'to allow the other to exist autonomously from myself'"

2) "the willingness and ability to revise and change initial perspectives by taking previous utterances of the other into account"

In other news: Why is a table called a table? I mean a chart. I know why a dining table is called a table - it has four legs, of course. But who can eat from a chart?

Now, for a phone call to the boyfriend person.

Apparently a Depiction

2010-11-20T23:00:00.000-08:00

of Depersonalization Disorder, today I Dedicate "The Scream" to Adam Duritz.

Haiku-ing Me Way to Sleeeep...

2010-11-18T23:04:00.000-08:00

had to take a walk
to remember your name is
not grenade or cross

-

my hands look to me
like children asking for what?
a hawk in flight - CAW!

-

winter: walks about
a glass-bottom boat in a
sea of named, known ghosts

The Garden of Words & the Weeds that Threaten...

2010-11-18T13:06:00.000-08:00

"For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind: But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison." James 3: 7-8

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue; those who love it will eat its fruit." Proverbs 18:21

"Getting treasures by a lying tongue is a fleeting vapor for those who seek death." Proverbs 21:6

"Whoever guards his mouth and his tongue keeps his soul from troubles." Proverbs 21:23

"By patience a ruler is persuaded. A soft tongue breaks the bone." Proverbs 25:15

"Where there is much talk there will be no end to sin, but he who keeps his mouth shut does wisely." Proverbs 10:19

"The tongue of the righteous is like choice silver. The heart of the wicked is of little worth." Proverbs 10:20

"The mouth of the righteous brings forth wisdom, but the perverse tongue will be cut off." Proverbs 10:31

"He who has a poor opinion of his neighbor has no sense, but a wise man keeps quiet." Proverbs 11:12

"There is one who speaks rashly like the piercing of a sword, but the tongue of the wise heals." Proverbs 12:18

"Truth's lips will be established forever, but a lying tongue is only momentary." Proverbs 12:19

"The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of fools gush out folly." Proverbs 15:2

"A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but deceit in it crushes the spirit." Proverbs 15:4

"An evildoer heeds wicked lips. A liar gives ear to a mischievous tongue." Proverbs 17:4

"One who has a perverse heart doesn't find prosperity, and one who has a deceitful tongue falls into trouble." Proverbs 17:20

"Even the foolish man, when he keeps quiet, is taken to be wise: when his lips are shut he is credited with good sense." Proverbs 17:28

"The north wind brings forth rain: so a backbiting tongue brings an angry face." Proverbs 25:23

"A lying tongue hates those it hurts; and a flattering mouth works ruin." Proverbs 26:28

"One who rebukes a man will afterward find more favor than one who flatters with the tongue." Proverbs 28:23

"Have you seen a man who is quick with his tongue? There is more hope for a foolish man than for him." Proverbs 29:20

"The tongue like a sharp knife... Kills without drawing blood." Buddha quotes

"There is no evidence that the tongue is connected to the brain." Frank Tyger

"Whatever is in the heart will come up to the tongue." Persian Proverb

"One reason a dog is such a lovable creature is his tail wags instead of his tongue"

"The best time for you to hold your tongue is the time you feel you must say something or bust" Josh Billings

"Before the tongue can speak, it must have lost the power to wound." Peace Pilgrim

"Better slip with foot than tongue" Benjamin Franklin

"At table keep a short hand; in company keep a short tongue." Turkish Proverb

"I prefer tongue-tied knowledge to ignorant loquacity." Marcus Tullius Cicero

"A knife-wound heals, but a tongue wound festers."Turkish Proverb

"A distinguished diplomat could hold his tongue in ten languages."

My Onscreen Debut as Cleopatra, Carver of the Pumpkins

2010-11-11T13:14:00.000-08:00

Writes and Wrongs

2010-11-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

The work of a writer is sweeping, mopping, dusting under trinkets, working with windex. Why did Pablo Neruda write that he never made a broom? He made into a broom himself.

A delightful interview with Philip Roth. How old he is. 77. His new book Nemesis, about polio sweeping the schoolyards. The bio-terrorism of the 30's (?), working the magic of fear into every mind. What might mass media have done with polio? There is no great film centered on the polio plot is there? Who might...

Chewing on an idea for a book... maybe I will notecard this spring and summer... it's building a beloved little nest in my brain.

The Devil Made Me Do It!!!

2010-11-04T20:16:00.000-07:00

My Gut Instinct has had several opportunities to say I Told You So's to my Id this week... Starting with

1) The choice to go to Little Miss Whisky's in the first place. Then the decision drinking two Awesomeness(es) would be more betterer than drinking... one. The surPRIZE was that less Awesomeness is more awesome. They also cost $10 a mug. (Yeek!) Which should imply something specific about a slushy. "Oh, you're that kind of slushy." That's the last time I'll be fooled by a slushy.

2) The choice to go to Zumba on Monday after Intermediate Ballet was cancelled. I knew communication had not been going well between my scapulas and my vertebrae and my abdominals and pectorals, and that they would probably end up not speaking by the end of the class (Ballet is a little more calm and controlled, and I argue that the system might have been able to handle that). But Zumba just sounded like such a party! (That is how they market Zumba - like a workout that feels more like a fiesta than like a treadmill. And it does. Unless it temporarily ruins a lot of relationships in the process. And so it did.) And then

3) I thought it would be (though I KNEW somehow it wouldn't be) smart to take a pain pill on a stomach full of warm blackberries and raspberry juice, which in fact had a similar effect as the double Awesomeness did after two beers. I didn't mention the two beers? Yes, a foolish night from beginning to end. Except the point at which I suggested my cab driver pick up a man flagging us down, a man who ended up insisting on covering both our fares because it's so shamefully hard for a black dude to catch a cab in DC at night and he was a black dude and it was 330am on Halloween weekend. That was the one good choice of the night. The kindness of strangers to strangers is a holy thing.

4) I know there is a multitude of other ridiculous things I've done this week, KNOWING that I was being ridiculous, but they are eluding me. On purpose no doubt. Like naughty little children, hiding under their beds as mommy paces the hallway smacking a wooden spoon on the palm of her hand, an audience of mommy's friends waiting for their shame to be made public. I don't blame them. At least the dumb things are smart. I give them that.

I'm going to listen to my smart voice now and go to bed.

Just kidding.

A TED Video That Made Me Want to Live. Watch it if You Want to Want to Live.

2010-11-04T19:52:00.000-07:00

more borrowed wisdom

2010-11-04T07:36:00.001-07:00

“Since my youth, I think that I have never lost the intuition that community life could be a sign that God is love, and love alone. Gradually the conviction took shape in me that it was essential to create a community with men determined to give their whole life and who would always try to understand one another and be reconciled, a community where kindness of heart and simplicity would be at the centre of everything.”

Brother Roger: “God is love alone”

Simplicity

2010-11-03T20:16:00.000-07:00

The earth produces all that is needed:
Food and Fabrics,
Water and Wood,
Bricks and Clay,
Sunshine and Rain.

The Maker brings these to us as a gift each day
–knowing that we are happiest
when we live close to the soil
aware of our source
consciously embracing all things with thanks.

The secret is that we are fabulously wealthy
Living like Kings and Queens
In a garden of leisure and luxury.
What we have is enoughŠ and more

If we lack anything, it is the simple pleasure
To enjoy what we already possess
–chasing after joyless schemes and business
denying our inheritance
and wanting what can only make us tired, choked and desperate.

Today, let us find goodness
In the small things
Tasting the abundance you have lavished on us
With eager open hands
Giving and receiving
Trusting and Completing
the circle that began
With the gift of life

http://www.sevensf.org/2006/12/04/simplicity/

Rule # 32 for Survival in Zombieland

2010-11-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

Appreciate the Little Things:

A shared pomegranate, a pretty darn sexy fruit
The song After the Storm by Mumford & Sons
Phone tag with Deanna Snyder
Friends making friends with friends back in Kansas
Dark Chocolate flavored tofu
Hanging out with Justin on Skype
Phoebe in Wonderland, how wonderful
Inanimate objects like lamp and vase and stool
A poem or two by Pablo Neruda, The Hands of Day
Zucchini
Rapid Release Tylenol - and the nice colors it is

A lot of sharp object metaphors

2010-10-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

There comes a moment every semester when all the disparate topics of discussion, and nitty gritty readings, and charts and diagrams that elude me - they are all made worth it. My pick-ax strikes gold! (Well, it's gold to me - maybe that makes it fool's gold, but it shines & thrills me and that's good enough.)

Education and Development in Sub-Saharan Africa has been pins & needles in my face. It's convinced me I did the right thing not specializing in development. But today I found an education project in the Philippines that will enable me to fight through our research paper component, and is -I SAY- the sword in the stone that could vanquish Malawi's dragons of teacher shortage, out-of-school youth, budget problems, population growth, AIDS rates, and centralized planning. Just call me Wart! Then again, don't.

Project Impact is clearly and compellingly discussed here. Don't pretend you are anything other than desperate to learn more. Seriously, don't fake ambivalence. It's not cool.

MALAWI --- I'M COMING!!!!

My Fave Father-Daughter Movie Scene Is In...

2010-08-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

Meet Joe Black:

PARRISH:  Do you love Drew?

SUSAN:    You mean like you loved Mom?
PARRISH:  Forget about me and Mom - are you going to marry him?
SUSAN:    Probably
PARRISH:  Don't get carried away.
SUSAN:    Ohhh...
PARRISH:  Susan, you're a hell of a woman. You've got a great career, you're beautiful...
SUSAN:    And I'm your daughter and no man will ever be good enough for me.
PARRISH:  Well, I wasn't going to say that...
SUSAN:    What were you going to say? 
PARRISH:  Listen, I'm crazy about the guy -he's smart, he's aggressive, he could carry Parrish Communications into the 21st century and me along with it.
SUSAN:    So what's wrong with that?
PARRISH:  That's for me. I'm talking about you. It's not so much what you say about Drew, it's what you don't say.
SUSAN:    You're not listening.
PARRISH:  Oh yes, I am. Not an ounce of excitement, not a whisper of a thrill, this relationship has all the passion of a pair of titmice.
SUSAN:    Don't get dirty, Dad...
PARRISH:  Well, it worries me. I want you to get swept away. I want you to levitate. I want you to sing with rapture and dance like a dervish.
SUSAN:    That's all?
PARRISH:  Be deliriously happy. Or at least leave yourself open to be.
SUSAN:    "Be deliriously happy". I'm going to do my utmost.
PARRISH:  I know it's a cornball thing but love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without.If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? I say fall head over heels. Find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.     
SUSAN:    Bravo
PARRISH:  Aw... you're tough.
SUSAN:    I'm sorry. But give it to me again. The short version.
PARRISH:  Stay open. Who knows? Lightning could strike.

Hump Day Resolutions

2010-07-21T19:33:00.000-07:00

I'm going to finish reading Renovation of the Heart this time.

After Last Comic Standing, I will quit TV.

I'm gonna finish all my Kentucky Wedding Biz homework by Sunday.

I will communicate well with my boyfriend, instead of like a raving lunatic.

In September, I will move into a convent for the semester.

I will finish my Motivational Quilt art project before I move.

I'll clock in at 8am tomorrow. The snooze button will not be poked.

I will pray Nana off hospice.

Kindness, gentleness, humility & grace will be my garments.

That vacuum will be used.

Never again will I rub my eyes after cleaning with Clorox.

I will shower more often.

Dust be gone.

Jahari and her daughters will feel welcome in their new summer home chez moi.

This headache will go away.

I will empathize more with cockroaches and rats.

Today's yoga class will be the new leaf.

I'll make a doctor's appointment this summer & a dentist's for September.

I'll stop the negative self-talk.

I won't cry.

My Hallmark Card

2010-06-21T17:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a person just must define: "This is me & that is you, and your problem is not mine."

I don't actually have a problem. I'm well. Even though something in me tries to convince me otherwise, since you are not well. But that's a lie. I'm not you. I'm not i'm not i'm not. I'm Me.

Get well soon.

Dedicated to The Kolars' 70 years of Love

2010-06-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.”
Erica Jong

“We take a risk when we open our hearts because the truth is, if we open our hearts, we will get hurt. You can’t open your heart and not have some hurt because you’re in a human experience. Even if it’s the love of your life and you have many wonderful, deepening, growing, powerful years together, it’s a human experience and that person will pass over. Love takes courage. Be courageous.”
Mary Manin Morrissey

“To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.”

"Love does not measure, it just gives." -Mother T

"If you asked twenty good men to-day what they thought the highest of the virtues, nineteen of them would reply, Unselfishness. But if you asked almost any of the great Christians of old he would have replied, Love- You see what has happened? A negative term has been substituted for a positive, and this is of more than philological importance. The negative ideal of Unselfishness carries with it the suggestion not primarily of securing good things for others, but of going without them ourselves, as if our abstinence and not their happiness was the important point. I do not think this is the Christian virtue of Love. The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself. We are told to deny ourselves and to take up our crosses in order that we may follow Christ; and nearly every description of what we shall ultimately find if we do so contains an appeal to desire." -Clive Staples Lewis

Scratch.

2010-05-21T22:34:00.001-07:00

Working on the story I am telling myself... this rough draft belongs in the wastebasket. Scratch. Kendall Payne, let's start from Scratch.

2010-05-21T05:54:00.003-07:00

So next time you’re reading a religious book and the author says you can be the person God designed you to be, flip to the back cover and look at the author picture. If said author is wearing clothes, put the book back on the shelf. It’s like my Uncle Mosie told us, Never trust a fella wearing clothes. -DM

the perfect bedtime song... i actually dreamed of world peace last night.

2010-05-18T04:16:00.000-07:00

so let it be.

2010-05-09T21:41:00.000-07:00

imagining all my blood running down my vessels toward the floor, this gravity so strong. like a magnet pulling my feet. STAY. this is a good Sinking Into My Soles. not a dread. a calm. the opposite the itchy thin air up by the smoky ozone. it's fresh and oxygenated here. low.

thinking of laurie halse anderson now, and how Catalyst produced a parade of chemistry metaphors to explore coming of age. nobody rocks vehicle like laurie rocks vehicle. truth needs to move. have wheels. gas. merriam webster catalogued the rest.

i'm going to wake up sans furies.

the decaf diary

2010-05-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

sleep is gripping me. it's my vice. but as much as i feel like finals are over, they are so not. tomorrow is a hella big day & i need to work out this paper & that presentation & the late assignment I pretend doesn't exist. so snap out of it, sleeping duty! sloth is not your sin today.

choose your own adventure

2010-05-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

today i told myself a different story. with help from my pet unicorn renee, and the wise old sages who populate my literary memory. there's an ugly subplot in my life that rears its face every once in a while. and it scares the wind out of my sails every time. like "oh shit! this is not ok! shutdown all systems & realize what an epic failure this subplot makes you!"

it's been woven through chapters for years, mostly in paragraphs but sometimes in pages. and i'm not proud of the tone and diction i've chosen for it half the time, or how much space it's taken up (but that part seems nonnegotiable). today, the story cast itself in a whole different light. soft, glowing, ambient light that made the subplot's face look positively ravishing. like an angel, honestly. i almost felt like we might be dear friends after all this violence and name-calling. i love it. today. i lovvvvve it as much as i hate the old way.

the mean reds

2010-05-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

i know "the mean reds" (audrey hepburn's name for angst in breakfast at tiffany's) have anti-communist undertones. so i call them the furies. because it kind of sounds like fairies - but fairies that wield tiny swords that slash you to pieces inside. the furies. and papercuts heal and all, unlike the cold war.

i'm not saying i have the furies right now, but i'm not saying i don't.

who will take me to see the flowers?

2010-05-01T06:50:00.000-07:00

quel pandora station to listen to in the shower is such a big decision.

today the lineup is

I Know You Want Me

Sufjan Stevens

KT Tunstall

i just don't know who i want to draw me into Saturday. what mood. what energy level. maybe a glass of water will tell me.

THEN on to bigger and better decisions. at the national arboretum.

KT?

Blah blah blah

2010-04-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

My stomach and my brain do not speak the same language, apparently. It took the fog of 12 hours without a bite last night to remember - oh yeah, dinner. At 2 am. It's never like this unless I am consumed by my work, body & soul. And this paper is consuming me. Like those little fish that nibble the dead skin off your feet at the fancy pedicurists. I'm in the home stretch, apparently... but haven't begun to Works Cite or write an Abstract or Conclusion. I keep adding a layer or dimension to sections.

"Stop it soon!"

Trying to decide when/if I'm gonna be sleeping in the next 24 hrs. Is it really THAT important? Hmmm...

Back to Mallie's edits. She is like a fairy genius.

2010-04-25T15:02:00.000-07:00

how can i possibly begin to define & give directions about "the kingdom of god" in this paper? jesus himself could only teach about it through parables! it's not a formula, or a school of criticism, or a denomination. it just is or isn't. this is a joke. god, are you laughing? throw a girl a bone!

how are the kingdom of god and global citizenship related? how can christian colleges nurture the two in students? can they possibly begin to move away from portraying jesus' "message" or "good news" (such limiting terms in and of themselves) as merely a truth claim (which is not to be underestimated, of course) but as a mustard seed and portion of yeast? these thoughts are so hard to organize into a treatise...

Donald Miller re: "Are People Good?"

2010-04-23T06:01:00.001-07:00

I’ve always wondered why people who believe in total depravity say things to their kids like “good job” when they catch a baseball. Shouldn’t they say something like you caught the ball, but you still deserve to go to hell?

I’ve never really trusted people who believed we were totally depraved, for obvious reasons. How can their view of the world be trusted? They are totally depraved, after all.

A pastor friend told me recently, though, that the term total depravity doesn’t mean you aren’t a good person, or aren’t capable of doing good, but that you aren’t capable of redeeming yourself. You are totally depraved, he said,at being able to access God.

That made more sense to me, to be honest. And besides, I’ve met plenty of people who don’t even know God who are good people. And I mean really, really good. I mean they love and care about people, they are moral, they are charitable, so the whole idea there is nothing good in them doesn’t seem to jive with reality.

Sometimes I wonder if God has an enemy and that enemy is trying to get us to not like people, because if we don’t like them, they won’t listen to anything we say. And sometimes I wonder if the idea of total depravity has been skewed to get us to not like people.

Ramblings of a Mennonite Anglican

2010-04-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

Professor Matt Williams, with his Jesus Life & Ministry professoring, should have convinced me then that the Mennonite tradition of faith was prettty far out in the Awesome field. Then, Shane Hipps, the new teaching partner of Rob Bell came from his Mennonite Church with nothing but amazing reflections to share on the Anabaptist "way." Now, as I begin to see trends in Mennonite colleges & universities, I am blown away by the priorities of these people. There is such a commitment to peace, social justice, humility, and incarnational ministry. I am like a rat, following the Mennonite Pied Piper's song as I learn more and more and more. Wait, that has kind of a doom&gloom connotation. I don't think the Mennonite "way" leads to death and destruction. It's just enchanting is all.

And the Anglican tradition. Oh the Anglicans. I'm realizing my theology and leanings are so much more Anglican & Mennonite than Evangelical Protestant. How did this when did this happen? (It's always been, though, right? Just unrecognized?) How had I never heard of these streams sooner? God must be responding to my desperate need to be surprised and not-bored by theology, church, faith. He done good! I am FASCinated.

Lately I've been fantacizing about working in international education at a Mennonite college. Or getting a PhD from Duke or Princeton in something related to global citizenship education at Christian colleges & universities (in the U.S.?). I like Duke & Princeton lately. And I also am deeply grateful for access to Emergent Village podcasts! My mental muscles flexed all day on my commute, listening to panel discussions. Such a contrast to yesterday, when the music flowed non-stop & my left brain was choreographing to its hearts content. I NEED that tik-tok back&forth between intellectual stimulation and creative freedom. The more I slalom between the two, the wholer I am. Such a challenge to avoid getting stuck on one side or the other. The balance, the balance.

There is so much grace in the fact that today is merely Day 1 of my hibernation w/ Research Paper #2. I have more days to go. What Day 5 will look like, I fear to ask. I have such high hopes for this paper. But the words don't seem to be coming, not to mention the conceptual vision. I need the patience of an architect, and the fluency of a dancer. In light of God's grand gestures of provision lately, I can't doubt he is kind enough to lead me in this. Particularly as I submit the direction of the paper to him. I think he has something generous to say about this topic, and I would rather put that forth than my stuttering perceptions. (Please speak.)

(why should i try to walk every journey on my hands?)

2010-04-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

1. the vortex is opening its mouth to bite me in half like a hungry hungry hippo does to an oblivious tourist. and whats a girl to do when she's divided in half? twiddle her thumbs and tap her toes? how useless and juvenile.

i am losing it. all of it.

2. it's that i see a destination on the horizon that sparkles pink and i fold & kick into a headstand, walking all spry upside down, thinking, thinking of the vision. (can't see it now the blood cells are all crowding my brainspace, but) i know it's there and it's pink, and are we almost there? when will i ever (?) be there. this is the moment i fear: i decide to stand down, U-turn, and clean the gravel from my palms; orORor i tie my laces, trudge the distance on foot, and hum to pass the time.

how upright & gravitational and not me. can i only move forward if i'm drunk?

your mom skypes

2010-04-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

i skyped with my itty bitty brother tonight for the first time. he's 17 a dealing with as much girl drama as i had boy drama at his age. but the point is, he gave me a laptop tour of the house i haven't been home to in 3 months and it was so nostalgifying. i wanted to reach out and touch items on shelves, and was so struck by the odd reality that - though they were in front of my face, they were thousands of miles away. so dizzying. so. but sweet as well.

mmmkay bye.

Intro Voice-Over in a Disney Movie for Grown-Ups

2010-04-12T16:07:00.000-07:00

There is always a saxaphonist, a Spanish guitarist, a harmonicist, or a bongo drummer when I enter or exit the Farragut North train station. SOMEbody talented rockin out. The minute and a half when there is a soundtrack to my commute is my favorite minute and a half. And then it's over, replaced by sirens & construction. But sometimes a minute and a half is all it takes to remember the magic.

Half Thoughts

2010-04-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

When I woke up & glanced at the clock - "Let the War of 812 (am) begin!"

Was disconcerted when I began writing with my pen & the little rubber ball came off the tip - "Oh no, I didn't know you were a virgin!"

Is there anything more captivating than the silt at the bottom of a coffee cup? ANYthing?

Accidentally typed academic sinstitution. Haha.

Quantify THIS!

2010-04-08T20:09:00.000-07:00

Quantitative research makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Like there's a bunny nesting in my heart. When it wiggles its nose, it tickles, I giggle & make a typo in Excel. Then it goes back to nesting as the magic happens on the computer screen. Bippity boppity BOO!

WTF is wrong with my Blog Post format??

2010-04-04T13:43:00.000-07:00

Adjectives are all I can think in. But when I look back and read a vague post full of adjectives, it does little for me. So I will refrain from sputtering all the words frothing at my mouth ~ grateful, peaceful, resigned, full, joyful, singleminded, small.

The point is, it has been hard lately to completely entrust mi vida to Jesus. The previous season, peppered with disappointments & dead ends, made it easy to perceive His Love as my only hope. But career, friendship, energy, romance - these are all blossoming now in new ways that compel me to trust My Life to sustain me. The compartments that compose me. Bollocks. How can that be? When these compartments are flourishing, they still are just dandelions sprouting beneath a field of sunflowers. They are precious and lovely, but are not the landscape in a nutshell. Not my landscape.

Feel I have finally looked up from the beautiful ground & seen the bright, proud stalks smiling at me. And at last, I can relax.

La-Ti-Dah

2010-03-31T21:57:00.000-07:00

My surrender muscles are getting bootcamped lately - trying to keep them from seizing up like they do sometimes, all Gollum and Middle Earthy. It's ugly. I get the creepy "My Preeeecious" visual & sound byte sometimes when my conscience is trying to squeeze a laugh out of me, because, as all consciences know, the Id don't know how to laugh and the Will don't like a tight-ass.

So tonight, when I was walking home from the Eastern Market, I was listening to a Jonah sermon podcast by Shane Hipps up at Mars Hill Church. And it was bore-ing me. So I turned it off and reached for my cell phone. And immediately I felt like I was letting myself down. Like, "Take your introvert time. Finish the sermon. Be blessed." I played a little tug of war, and then rewarded my Jiminy Cricket for having made me laugh earlier in the day over the Gollum scene, shoved the earbuds back in, and smirked sheepishly at the rebuff.

Shortly after, I found myself laughing aloud the rest of the walk home. Apparently the book of Jonah is a joke. Or comedy rather. At Jonah's expense. I'm too tired to go terribly into it, but basically Jonah runs away, holes up in a whale, finally gives in & turns around, does a terrible job announcing doom to Ninevah in an attempt to prove he isn't fit to prophesy, and immediately the king and entire city "believe God" & repent - a response no other Old Testament prophet was fortunate enough to evoke. Joke's on Jonah. According to Hipps, the narrator weaves this subtle comic relief into the entire script. Who knew?

This is what I love about Mars Hill sermons. They make the neophiliac in me less sad that I grew up hearing Bible stories 1100 times each. There is STILL something fresh to gain from the text, the context, the subtext, the implications (of course there is, but rarely so much as when it comes from Mars. Haha. Mars.)

AND AGAIN, humor. Humor is the way to tickle the rebellious spirit out of me these days. (Though yesterday I definitely cussed it out & it worked. Got that tip from a friend at Intervarsity.) Whatever works. Submission is sublime.

From "Kingdom Leadership in the Postmodern Era"

2010-03-28T12:51:00.000-07:00

This article thrilled me! These are a few chunks that seemed relevant to my online diary.

http://nextreformation.com/wp-admin/resources/Leadership.pdf

"A good conductor does not merely tell everyone what to do; rather

he helps everyone to hear what is so. For this he is not primarily a telling but a listening individual: even while the orchestra is performing loudly he is listening inwardly to silent music. He is not so much commanding as he is obedient. He knows that music is not made people playing instruments, but rather by music playing people."

We can be managers or mystics.

Poets are non-utilitarian. They don’t accept the view of a congregation as a tool for impacting the world. Rather, they see the congregation as the location of God's work of redemption and the incipient presence of the future kingdom.

In the deepest sense, distinction between leaders and followers is meaningless. In every moment of life, we are simultaneously leading and following. There is never a time when our knowledge, judgment and wisdom are not more useful and applicable than that of another. There is never a

time when the knowledge, judgment and wisdom of another are not more useful and applicable than ours. At any time that "other" may be superior, subordinate, or peer.

At a deeper level there exists the unspoken assumption that leaders have more to give than others, and that those who "follow" need us more than we need them. In reality, the strong offer one gift, and the weak another. Until we die to the idea that we are somehow "ahead of" or "above" the community of faith around us, we will continue to be frustrated in our attempts to have an authentic community that combines real relationships with real discipleship.

Jean Vanier writes, We do not want two communities—the helpers and the helped; we want one. That is the theory, but in practice there is a tendency for the assistants to make their own community and be satisfied with that. Truly to make community with the poorest and identify with them is harder and demands a death to self.

All people dream, but not equally.

Those who dream by night,

in the dusty recesses of their minds,

wake in the day to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous,

for they may act their dreams with open eyes

to make it possible.

T. E. Lawrence ("Lawrence of Arabia")

Just What I Needed, Oswald Chambers!

2010-03-25T20:48:00.001-07:00

The Most Delicate Mission On Earth

“The friend of the Bridegroom.”
John 3:29

Goodness and purity ought never to attract attention to themselves, they ought simply to be magnets to draw to Jesus Christ. If my holiness is not drawing towards Him, it is not holiness of the right order, but an influence that will awaken inordinate affection and lead souls away into side-eddies. A beautiful saint may be a hindrance if he does not present Jesus Christ but only what Christ has done for him. He will leave the impression - "What a fine character that man is!" That is not being a true friend of the Bridegroom; I am increasing all the time, He is not.

In order to maintain this friendship and loyalty to the Bridegroom, we have to be more careful of our moral and vital relationship to Him than of any other thing, even of obedience. Sometimes there is nothing to obey, the only thing to do is to maintain a vital connection with Jesus Christ, to see that nothing interferes with that. Only occasionally do we have to obey. When a crisis arises we have to find out what God's will is, but the greater part of the life is not conscious obedience but the maintenance of this relationship - the friend of the Bridegroom. Christian work may be a means of evading the soul's concentration on Jesus Christ. Instead of being friends of the Bridegroom, we may become amateur providences, and may work against Him whilst we use His weapons.

Cathartic

2010-03-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

There comes a point when the whole alphabet and every number down the line raise their chins and mock me. This moment reminds me of the fever-induced delirium of childhood - one time, on Thanksgiving, when I was so disappointingly sick and missing turkey, I remember being haunted by multiplication tables doing themselves wrong in my head. No matter how hard I tried to correct the numbers, they wouldn't submit to math.

The low points come (more sensically, less schizophrenically) from time to time, when every iota of matter seems hell-bent on making me feel invisible & insignificant. Loudly. And my instinct is to react emotionally to all the accusations cast by the walls and doorknobs and picture frames. But as I age I've begun to stop short of that. The emotion, like, asks permission to grip me... kind of diminishing its posture of authority and its power. Is this growing up? Getting to choose which emotions to feel?

The moment is strange, because, although I feel less vulnerable to the darkness, I don't quite know how to find all the light switches that light the place up enough to make me feel safe again. Crazy free and wild with carefree vitality. I know the simple answer is to shed all the shiny identities that promise to define me, and rediscover peace with the only One who can give me a name.

Beloved.

Everything fades with that name. With the grace of that word. And wow. Just like that, the lights are on. Part of me feels compelled to cover all the mouths trying to blow out this light. But I don't think I need to. I think I can just lean into the embrace of Truth, and allow gratitude to grip me.

What Not to Wear

2010-03-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

I'm turning into a never-nude. These knee length black spendex "pants" go under everything! too bad winter is over...

old books and old bacon

2010-03-15T10:42:00.000-07:00

Oh the thrill of researching... and discovering that some of the sources you are peeking @ in the library catalog are from the 1600's. No freakin way.

I found sooo many books thru inter-library loan. God bless Catholic University & their plethora of religious non-fiction. This will make my life easier & reduce my hours camping out w/ text at the Library of Congress. It's time to get my ars in gear and zoom over to that lovely building, though, to request a looksie-loo at the sources that have still managed to elude me.

Sidenote: The blackboard in my room is covered with scribbles from a Shane Claibourne podcast that blew my mind AND related to "My Topic"! I need more blackboards now.

Also, I recommend the vegetarian Chinese Noodle Soup at Teaism. Splendid ginger-flavored broth. Just delightful. Trying to stay strong, but I need someone to eat my bacon ASAP. It's only so long I can wait before I cook it and eat the entire pound by myself. It's taunting me. Come over for brunch, friends. Eat the bacon. Oh no, it's calling...

Commercialism and Faith Pt 2: Paradise Lost

2010-03-15T09:08:00.000-07:00

Commercialism and Faith Pt 2: Paradise Lost

Nerd Alert

2010-03-14T10:16:00.000-07:00

Casting my net wide as I explore my current research topic...

Civic Education in the Private Christian University: American Citizens, Global Citizens, or Kingdom Citizens

Been downloading Tony Campolo, Shane Claibourne, Rob Bell, Dallas Willard podcasts. Compiled a booklist from Amazon keyword searches (which I will need to peek through at the Library of Congress, since my online checkout would be an outrageous $906.48). Maybe I can request some of the books from Consortium schools... maybe.

If you know any resources, individuals, universities, books, podcasts that might be of use - PLEASE share! This is my favorite part- getting my hands dirty! (Wow. Yeah, research in no way involves dirty hands. Sad fact. Need to find time to make mudpies. Soon.)

Globalization, Cellular Terrorism, and Whispers of Utopia

2010-03-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I began and ended a relationship with a book in one day. But Fear of Small Numbers (only 150pgs) screamingly taunted me from the shelf with its conceptual complexity... and I figured, if I didn't consume it whole, I'd get lost in the brain-draining days between chapters. Think I was right. I feel in touch with the contexts and conclusions of Dr. Appadurai... These random phrases from this "Essay on the Geography of Anger" struck me as posti-it worthy:

Modern nation states... like the last dinosaurs, see that they are in a desperate struggle for survival as a global formation (21).

Terror... blurring the bounds between the spaces and times of war and peace.... violence as the central regulative principle of everyday life (32).

... worldwide genocidal impulse toward minorities... (40)

... United States, as an occupying power in Iraq, faces the fear that the small numbers who are continuing to torment and kill its soldiers are true representatives of the Iraqi people, who were originally scripted to greet the Americans as liberators and unfold the spectacle of a civil society underneath the carcass of the dictator (81).

... fearful symmetry between the fear of small numbers and the power of small numbers (113).

... spatialized fantasies that led George Bush and his advisors to try to localize Al-Qaeda in Afghanistan and decimate a cell by erasing a landmass (116).

These cellular organizations.... a full scale alternative global polity.... (130)

SatHereDay

2010-03-13T08:14:00.000-08:00

Not quite up for the intellectual catwalk of a coffee shop today... Considering an afternoon reading Fear of Small Numbers in Union Station. Nostalgic for that travelley feeling. And the cavernous anonymity of those highly vaulted ceilings. If I could choose a venue for a Flying Dream, Union Station would do.

Daylight Savings is going to rape me.

oh the irony of posting this

2010-03-13T07:38:00.001-08:00

A Film More Glaringly Self-Conscious Than a Dostoevsky-Salinger Hybrid Character

2010-03-12T11:33:00.000-08:00

Memoirs of a Pathological Liar

2010-03-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

So, when I work in the Gelman Library computer lab, there is a desk to the left when you walk in. Kind of a private cubicle that seems designed for a friendly but hushed receptionist. Instead of sitting in the barracks & typing next to dozens of people who are mostly surfing youtube & facebook & blogger (damn them all), I sit at the perpetually-vacant reception desk. This means green freshmen often wander up to me awkwardly & ask tech-questions. In the beginning, I would cut them off & explain "I don't work here." The way you must if you oops-a-daisically wear a red t-shirt & khakis to Target. But now, after months staking out this cubicle, I answer their questions. I fake it. I often direct them to tech services. But never do I let on that I. Do. Not. Work. Here. This is my fake work gig. My chance to be a librarian - a childhood dream. And like most of my jobs, the pay & benefits suck. But seeing the relief on faces of aimless young people brings me joy. That and deceiving an entire population of people.

Periods

2010-03-10T19:36:00.000-08:00

They call us "bleeding hearts." And tonight I was reminded that the image of extreme pain is so accurate. Sometimes, I can't help but "feel the sadness of the world," as Mallie & I call it. (Honestly, maybe I could turn a switch and stop Feeling. Could I? Maybe. But then I would morph into a different person, and that is not in my agenda. My name is Tasha.)

We discussed patriotism v. cosmopolitanism in class tonight, and believe it or not - that is a topic that had me teary & sniffling half the time. Researching global citizenship education has had the same effect. The magnitude of The World, the enormous network of humanity, the constant failure of people groups to respect their counterparts in other parts - these things overwhelm me. I taste them, and like bitter berries they leak dark stains in my mouth and I force myself to swallow their juice. The acid gives me heartburn. A "bleeding heart." And that is how it feels to study.

I couldn't love my program more. A program couldn't demand more of my sensibilities. Couldn't leave me feeling more wrecked at the end of a unit. But why am I such a masochistic student. Why do I value this process. Is it the safety I find in uncovering all the scary evil things and naming them. Turning the lights on. Feeling the horror once so completely - does it free me from ever being asked to feel it again. Does my sacrifice of grief alleviate an ounce of the cosmic harm an atrocity has caused. Or compound it. I can't even bring myself to use question marks on these questions. I'm too tired to see those challenging little squiggles, reaching their fingers out to me, "Answer. Figure it out. Well?" Don't ask me to answer. Don't even ask me to question, Punctuation. You have no right. Leave me alone. To my periods.

Hey Asia, Wassup?

2010-03-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

"My country is the world. To do good is my religion." -Thomas Paine

also

"To cause someone to lose face" is a something we talk about in my cross-cultural training class (particularly as it applies to Asian cultures). And earlier this week I believe I caused someone to lose face publicly - not intentionally at all. I was just trying to share my experience & warn this person. But maybe the context was unfortunate. Maybe he's a man who doesn't like to be corrected by a woman. Maybe I said my piece (peace?) abrasively. Not sure. But it was a vivid enactment of this concept we discuss in such faraway language. It wasn't fun, but it also wasn't a big deal.

Sea Monkey Podcasts

2010-03-09T05:24:00.000-08:00

There is little that excites me more than an iPod full of fresh podcasts. It's like a stocking stuffed with little tiny treasures (so tiny you can't even SEE them! no, they are like those little PILLS that you toss into a bucket of water & watch them grow into a spongey sea monkey, a t-shirt, a village right in front of your eyes! ALSO the same, because you move the podcasts into the trash bin the day after you us them, just like the incredible sponge creatures!)

I have an iPod full of new podcasts. Off I go!

But I'm Not Dead Yet! Put Me Back!

2010-03-09T04:30:00.000-08:00

Began my morning half-asleep, thinking through the logistics of an assignment that's been troubling me.

The important thing: For at least ten minutes, I was completely unaware I had a body. Then came the moment I was drawn back into the realization - Oh, I'm lying on my side. Oh, my eyes are full of sleep. My hair is in my face. These are normal waking up thoughts for me.

I can't remember ever having the experience of being in such contemplative conversation with myself for SUCH a long time before remembering my mind is encased in this body & not a stand-alone creature.

It felt almost like an insult, once the realization struck. A surprise if nothing else. Like my mind was floating out above my bed and was suddenly sucked without warning down into me. I wondered for a moment if that's what it'd be like to be dead & disembodied. But decided no. My mind was much too restless & frustrated. I like to imagine it would be more soulful and and at peace if I were dead & floaty.

Now I have to go about dealing with the morning realities of this body. I admit, although my mind felt annoyed to remember its post, the rest of me is rather pleased to know I'm embodied. I can listen to the melodies of Balmorhea, and drink lovely water, and feel the tug of a brush on my hair. It's kind of pleasant to be human, in command of six senses.

Blonde Moments

2010-03-07T18:54:00.000-08:00

Wow, I sound so uptight in my last post. Haha. I think I was hungover from my academic writing of the morning.

It's time for Three Stupid Things:

1. The maintenance guy taped up a wet paint sign in the lobby. To the freshly painted wall. Yeah, that's not gonna come off well.

2. I have started leaving full glasses of water in strategic places around my apartment so that whenever I get thirsty one will be in arms length. Like 5 of them. Now, this is either extreme ambition or extreme laziness in action. Maybe both.

3. This morning I woke up with a Tylenol PM in my hand. I fell asleep before I could take it so that I could fall asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought.

Facebook Fatty

2010-03-07T13:09:00.000-08:00

Unsettled by this new Facebook Abstinence. For Lent.

Living alone was less lonely when there were several hundred people I could communicate with indirectly at any hour of the day or night. My blog network is smaller, but it serves a similar hunger. So I'm over-blogging. Which I'm okay with.

I know I'm developing a reputation as a Facebook Fatty, struggling with yo-yo dieting and binge cycles. I've even been compared to Brett Farve - retiring only to make a comeback. Over and over. But what's the alternative? To quit completely? Don't want to completely cut myself out of social networking. In fact, I will need to do some F-booking for work. Grace.

I would love to find balance. Of course. But this is me trying - repeatedly rediscovering what lies beneath my ravenous appetite for human connection. Often, I believe, Facebook frittering (etc.) is (for me) a high-calorie substitute for connecting with my Self. And with my God. A repellant against stillness and silence and peace. A manifestation of restlessness and unease. TV has a similar function, I expect. And now that I've finished "In Therapy: Season 1" I may limit my TV intake too. Maybe.

Can You Buy Me An Flatscreen? Thanks.

2010-03-07T11:02:00.000-08:00

(excerpt from my Cross-Cultural Training reflection)

There few ways to kill a friendship quicker than to start asking for loans and gifts. In the U.S. that is. In Malawi, financially successful individuals often linger in lower-class living conditions because of family members and friends we might consider “leeches.” These relatives, who can’t/don’t find work, live off of the prosperity of whoever does. It is traditionally unthinkable to progress into a life of moderate luxury when your sister’s family is going hungry or your cousin has hurt his leg and can’t work. So, in a culture where it is natural to assume your success should trickle into the pockets of needy people in your circle, Malawians believe “it can’t hurt to ask. The worst that could happen is they say no.” Well unfortunately that’s not the worst that can happen – an ethnocentric Westerner might feel targeted and actually cut off the relationship in self-defense.

Many of the long-term “American-Malawians” had developed personal financial boundaries that helped them gracefully negotiate the terms of their relationships with their indigenous neighbors. However, most confessed that this dynamic limited the depth and quality of their cross-cultural relationships. “The white man’s burden,” so it seems in this scenario, must be compounded by the fact that these development workers lived in extremely luxurious and spacious homes compared to the average Malawian. Malawians were constantly exposed to their Western friends’ high standard of living, and perceived them to be immensely wealthy (though many were paying only $200/month for 4-bedroom houses).

I am...

2010-03-07T11:00:00.000-08:00

A recent convert to instant Italian Roast coffee.
Relieved to be rid of the "crick" in my neck.

(Definition of Crick: A painful cramp or muscle spasm, as in the back or neck.)

Listening to...

The Show by Lenka

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go I can't do it alone I've tried
And I don't know why

Slow it down
Make it stop
Or else my heart is going to pop
'Cause it's too much
Yeah, it's a lot
To be something I'm not

I'm a fool
Out of love
'Cause I just can't get enough

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out
It's bringing me down I know
I've got to let it go
And just enjoy the show

The sun is hot
In the sky
Just like a giant spotlight
The people follow the sign
And synchronize in time
It's a joke
Nobody knows
They've got a ticket to that show
Yeah

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I dont know where to go I can't do it alone I've tried
And I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out
It's bringing me down I know
I've got to let it go
And just enjoy the show

I want my money back
I want my money back
I want my money back
Just enjoy the show

you're still the one I kiss goodnight

2010-03-06T17:53:00.000-08:00

"The moment" happened - the sudden feeling that everything I want in the world is Here. (Not everyONE I want, but a lot of ones I want. EveryONE I want will never be in one place. Real life tragedy, but unavoidable nonetheless. [I like the word nonetheless - how often do we get to combine three wordsinone?]) The breeze was blowing my now-long hair as I sped past Union Stn on foot. I was on my way to "the office." And that weightless feeling hit. I love my life hereandnow. So much grace. So much opportunity. Those kindreds I wondered if I'd ever find in this city. Fireworks inside my organs kind of gratitude.

So tonight I re-read my first blog entry - September 23rd, 2008. Fresh meat in DC. Homesick and shell-shocked. It made me grateful for the efforts my prior self expended, so that my current self could be "living the dream" these days. Professionally, socially, and spiritually. I am constantly amazed at the beauty of conversation with past and future selves. It's almost trinitarian (little "t"). That sense of community within ones self in three different manifestations, yet a persistent unity in Being.

Anywho, this is my heart on a page those many months ago:

I am TRYING here. Okay?

I'm making friends. I go to Irish Times and Carolina's for happy hour Friday nights. I laugh. I tell secrets. I brush my teeth and wear deoderant.

My eating habits are sub-par, though, I admit. And my sleep schedule is practically religious. I watch at least an hour of... TeeeeVeeee everyday, damnit. And the best part of ANY evening is a phone call or a text from The Sunshine State.

I'm faltering. Wavering. Teeeetertottering. This is not good enough. ROOTS, I say! I need to extend ROOTS. Deep down into the concrete soil of this city- Washington, DC- if I am ever going to last.

But I am tryyying. I promise. Kinda.

Last Night

2010-03-06T05:55:00.001-08:00

"For a woman to dream that her hair is falling out, and baldness is apparent, she will have to earn her own livelihood, as fortune has passed her by."

Could this be my lot? OH NO!!!