Life with a Teenager

My thoughts upon finding the jar of Nutella empty in the cupboard:

In the immortalized words of Forky, "WHAT?  NO!  WHAT?  NOOOoooooo!"

Trees

As long as there are trees, there will be magic in the world.

Dandelions

Dandelions glowing white in moonlight,

brilliant orbs of gossamer seed.

Standing silent, halos shining,

they are the living ghosts of flowers.

They are a thousand wishes to be made.

Dear Liv...

Remember this all your life:  when in doubt, eat.  Feeling sad?  Eat.  Cranky?  Eat.  Lacking energy?  Eat.

Frenchman

One early winter morning in small-town Idaho, I was trudging through the snow on my way to work as a bread baker at our local co-op. Startled by the sound of a voice in the silence of the dawn, I looked up to see a man who appeared to have come straight from a production of Les Miserables. He was wearing heavy work boots that looked as though they were made of hand-tooled leather, rugged canvas trousers, and suspenders over a blouson shirt, and he had a burlap rucksack swung over his shoulder. "Comment ça va, mademoiselle?" he asked in perfect French, as though there were nothing out of the ordinary about it. Stunned for a moment, I stared at him, grasping for words. "Comme ci, comme ça, monsieur. Et vous?" "Tout est bien," he replied, smiling at me. All is well. His eyes were deeply wrinkled, kind, and very blue. He continued speaking, but I could no longer understand - the French was too advanced for me. "Je ne comprends pas," I said. "Vous devez pratiquier, non?" he said, still acting as though this was the most natural conversation in the world. Then he tipped his cap, took his leave, and walked on. I stood for a moment, struck still by the strangeness of this unexpected interaction. Then I turned around to see him again, but he had completely vanished. I felt suddenly uplifted, as though I had been given a rare gift of grace.

Perhaps God knew that I needed to be buoyed up, reassured that all is well, because when I got to work I found out that my beloved littlest sister had come within about five minutes of dying of alcohol poisoning that night, but she had been revived by emergency workers.

I have no idea who this man was. I hadn't seen him before, nor have I seen him since. I like to think he was an angel who had just come from the rescue scene.

Jesse James

My great-grandmother, Daisy Cook, was a schoolteacher in Arizona before it became a state. One day Jesse James attempted to rob her. Yes, THE Jesse James, legendary outlaw of the old wild west. Only, he wasn't able to take her money, because she had hidden it in her bra.

My Outrageous Stories

Well, in honor of Hillary, who always told me I should set pen to paper and write down all my "outrageous" stories, I will post them to this blog, one by one, in no particular order, as they occur to me. I hope I can remember them all, as I have the unfortunate tendency to forget each one as soon as I share it with another person. But I shall do my best, for this blog has lain dormant for far too long. And all of them are 100% true.

Infinity

This is a piece of fractal art I purchased from Dennis Brady. I find it beautiful and fascinating.

Did you know that an entire forest can be mapped from a single tree using fractal geometry? Fractals are commonly found in such natural phenomena as clouds, trees, snowflakes, coastlines, shells and hurricanes. A fascinating look at fractals and the science behind them can be seen in the PBS NOVA special Hunting the Hidden Dimension.

The mathematical formula for fractals is infinity.

Conversation of the Day

Me, lamenting the uniform consistency of the crusty French baguettes I had baked: "There aren't enough holes in it!"

Patience: "What are the holes supposed to be for?"

Me: "Air."

Patience, slamming her fist on the table: "Air is free. I want to buy bread!"

every moment is a new beginning

If we never fell down, we would never learn how to pick ourselves up.

If we never made mistakes, we would never learn how to correct them.

If we never got hurt, we would never learn to have compassion for people who are hurting.

If we never messed up, we would never learn how to start again.

A shout-out to my best (and probably only) reader

Hi, Josh. I miss you. I think of you often, and hope you're well. (smile - I'll spare you the emoticon)

In keeping with the title of this blog...

A few random thoughts:

This has been the perfect kind of autumn day: crisp, cool, clear and beautiful, with a hint of newness in the air. It feels like a fresh beginning.

Typing has ruined me for journaling. (Since I don't have a computer at home.) I can never write by hand fast enough to keep up with my thoughts.

Sentence fragments are more than okay as long as you know the rules of grammar.

I bought a bicycle light and helmet today. I've decided to be safe from now on. You never know what might happen (as illustrated by my recent driving mishap in which I hit a motorcyclist - he's okay).

Given the natural bent humans have for selfishness, why is it so much harder to love oneself than to love others?

Speaking of which, I think that loving someone while having very little hope that he (or she) will ever love you back helps you to understand God a little better.

It's amazing how God can answer the most fleeting of prayers almost immediately while seeming to remain silent and immovable in the face of others for YEARS.

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith is a MUST READ.

That is all for now. I think I was going to write something about bread, but I forget. Sigh.

I ain't a fan

Why I dislike the word ain't: it was originally a contraction of "am not" but can serve as a substitute contraction for several already existing contractions (aren't, isn't, hasn't, haven't).

Multiple contractions are for pregnant women.

Apostrophe's

If the title of this post made you shudder, you might enjoy the following link. If it didn't, you really need to check it out.

The Apostrophe Protection Society

I love this site. I guess I really am an English major after all.

Between Hipsters and God...

Here's a link to an insightful piece on the dichotomy between Sufjan Stevens's spirituality and the cherished non-beliefs often held by those within the hipster culture that is drawn to his work.

Between Hipsters and God, There's Sufjan Stevens

It's well worth the read.

New Favorite Things

Here are a few of my new favorite things:

Jet skiing (this is seriously the most fun thing I have ever done)
Baking
Making sushi and eating it with friends
Menthol Capri ultra-skinny cigarettes
Going to church
Fruitways (little non-dairy, low-calorie, zero fat, zero cholesterol, zero added sugar ice cream thingies that can be found at Subway)
KUOI student radio station
Mochas at Sisters' Brew
Internet cafés
Being a volunteer barista at the Nuart
People I meet in random chance encounters becoming my dearest and most beloved friends
Looking more than a decade younger than I really am

I love discovering new things to love! Life is full of delicious surprises.

Sushi and such

Random update from a friend's computer: I'm making sushi. Mmmm, delicious, with microscopically sliced carrots, cucumbers and avocado. And vegan (yes, vegan) bleu cheese dressing. I should get myself a laptop, a digital camera, and a kitchen, and start posting photos of my mealtime adventures like a real foodie, haha. On another random note, I can't wait to see the new Catherine Zeta-Jones movie, No Reservations.

I like my job

Despite the tone of my previous post, I actually really like my job. Yes, it's true - I do!

Welcome to [insert your favorite sandwich franchise name here]!

Number of hours in shift worked (standing up): 9.5
Number of breaks: 1
Number of minutes in break: 8
Number of interruptions in break by duties requiring immediate attention: 2
Number of dollars per hour in pay for shift supervisor: almost $1 less than the closest neighboring state's minimum wage
Number of employee injuries requiring immediate first aid and sanitation of the area: 1
Number of mustard stains on shirt at the precise location of left nipple: 1

Working at [insert your favorite sandwich franchise name here]: priceless

God is Good

I received the most amazing answer to prayer last night, and now my heart is overflowing. God is good.

Damn It

I hate, hate, hate goodbyes. I also hate not being able to say goodbye. I hate it when people I care about leave or move or go away. Damn it. I hate caring so much.

Newly Discovered Passion

I love baking bread. I love everything about it. I love stretching the dough, and rolling it in herbs and spices, and scoring the loaves, and sprinkling them with cheese, and seeing them rise to the perfect height, and taking them out of the oven when they are the perfect color brown and have just the right amount of crustiness. I love the texture of the dough when it comes out of the refrigerator/ retarder, and the moist heat of the proofer, and the smell of the bread as it expands, and the little plump curves of the finished loaves, and the crackle of the crust. I love baking prayers into the loaves and thinking about who might come along to buy them. I love the very breadness of the bread. And it's so delightfully unexpected to discover something new to be passionate about.

Bread!

High

A few nights ago, I was walking to WINCO along the bicycle path that winds through the sport practice fields at the edge of campus. There was a small group huddled on the lawn, puffing away on what appeared to be cigars but smelled like pot. When I returned along the same path a half hour later, all six or seven of them were hopping up and down, each on one leg, laughing hysterically. It was quite an amusing sight, and it made me smile.

I wasn't smiling anymore when they all suddenly stopped hopping, piled into a couple of cars parked in the gravel parking lot adjacent to the path, and drove away.

Go see Amazing Grace

It's, um, amazing.

Perhaps One Should Not

Perhaps one should not decide on a whim at 2:00 in the morning to turn one's own hair into a piece of expressionistic art with a pair of paper-cutting scissors.

Herstory

It's a word I just don't like.

Storms

Yesterday, it was hot and sunny for most of the day (the temperature peaked at 82 degrees - almost 20 degrees higher than normal for May 8). The heat and intensity of the sunlight were oppressive - I am a person who prefers a coastal climate with moderate temperatures and lots of precipitation. I kept thinking that my town's motto should be "zero to 80 in three weeks or less." That's an exaggeration, of course, but it does sometimes seem as though it's winter 3/4 of the year and summer the other quarter. Spring and autumn, my favorite seasons, get short shrift here.

Anyway, in the late afternoon, a storm suddenly blew in. The sky darkened to a slate gray, fat raindrops splashed into puddles, the branches of trees were shaken wildly about in the wind, and streaks of lightning lit up the clouds. The air smelled fresh and damp and earthy, tinged faintly with somewhere-elseness. It made a wild, exhilarating longing rise unexpectedly inside me.

Almost as quickly as it came, the storm died down and then vanished, leaving the sky a dusky rose-violet. Slanting rays of sunlight illuminated a rainbow that appeared in the east between billowing clouds. White-blossomed plants shimmered with dew, wet pavement shone, the tops of trees glowed as though dipped in gold paint. All I could think was O my Lord, you are glorious!

And then I thought, maybe this is how it is with storms. We need them - the storms in our lives - to cleanse us, to deepen our appreciation of beauty, to awaken our longings for truth, for justice, for mercy, for goodness. Our experience of storms makes it possible to rejoice when things are made new again. Maybe this is why God allows us to suffer.

White

I think it's my new favorite color.

Best Compliments

Every once in a while, someone gives me a compliment that really makes my day (month, year...). Here, in order, are the compliments that have meant the most to me:

1. I was at Fred Meyer browsing in the housewares department while I waited for my then-fiancé (now ex) to finish up some shopping. I was feeling particularly grungy because of having spent the weekend camping without access to a shower and particularly low because my fiancé had just unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse. The weekend had been quite painful, but I was trying hard not to let the degree to which his words had impacted me visibly show. Anyway, I was standing there alone in the housewares department of Fred Meyer on our return home from our camping trip when a handsome stranger who looked like he was in his early forties approached me and said emphatically, "If I were twenty years younger, I would be camped out on your doorstep." My initial reaction was one of hostility at what I thought must be a cheap pickup line, but when I looked more closely, I saw that he had a kind face and was being completely sincere. I simply said, "Thank you," and he smiled warmly and walked away. It cheered me up immeasurably.

2. "You have true grit." My mom told me this, and I like to think that it's true.

3. "You have an ageless face and such a cheerful, pleasant disposition." My friend Sarah, on why most people who meet me think I'm in my early twenties when I am actually 30. This is a much nicer explanation than immaturity.

What are the best compliments you have ever received?

Two Situations

There are two situations in which you can learn a great deal about yourself and other people: being drunk and playing Scrabble.

Dawn

A young dawn
splashes orange against my wall,
blue shadow-dappled.
Soon it will fade
into the bright white age of
day.

A Poem for Academia

This is my not-quite love poem for the sometimes myopic world of academia, my farewell to the Ivory Tower.

Feed me with your words of praise,
your checks, your stars, your penned in As,
and I will gobble down your prose,
gorge myself upon the rows
of letters, yet imagine
my soul to be of greater weight
than all these reams, this feast I ate,
and pray that my heart does not shrink,
that in my veins flows
blood, not ink.

And now for a bit of randomness

I'm a sucker for packaging.
I really like hot pink.
I hate bumming cigarettes, but I love it when people bum cigarettes from me.
Cherry blossom trees and plants with white flowers feel like a great big "I love you" from God.
I should be careful what I say in front of classrooms full of people I respect.
Men should keep their hands to themselves. (Except for hugs from friends. Those are nice.)
Skateboarders are talented. And brave.
Writing is the best.
I miss the rain.
There are too many feral cats in this world.
People shouldn't chase bunnies.
I want a beer. A glass of wine would be nice too. Or a gin and tonic.
I don't care if I flunk a class. Well, maybe I care a little, but not as much as I used to.
I don't want to make excuses for myself ever again.
Friendship is hard. And scary. And wonderful.
I want a boyfriend. I want my next boyfriend to be my husband.
Tallness is an attractive quality in a man. So is kindness.
Time really does heal all wounds.
Sufjan Stevens is amazing. AMAZING!!!
He is also gorgeous.
You are gorgeous.
The world is gorgeous.
I want to read the classics.
I want to read Moby Dick.
American Sign Language is the most beautiful language in the world.
I am looking forward to having a mindless job that involves grunt work.
I hope I don't die before someone kisses me.
I want some summer sandals. Strappy (p)leather ones. With heels. They have to be comfortable.
Cheap shoes suck.
Spring and fall are the best seasons.
I want to watch Fiddler on the Roof.
I would give almost anything to be a morning person.
I respect people who brew their own coffee. I would like to be one of those people. Someday I will be.
One of my life's goals is to be a barista.
I hope I don't die before I travel around the world.
I don't know whether I am a feminist.
I hate saying goodbye. When people leave, they are irreplaceable.
I love church. I LOVE church.
Incense smells like heaven. I wonder if heaven will smell like incense.
I still don't know what I am doing with my life.
I want to eat an omelette.
I think I am going to stop now.

Quote of the Day

When the Stranger says: "What is the meaning of this city?
Do you huddle close together because you love each other?"
What will you answer? "We all dwell together
To make money from each other"? or "This is a community"?

Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.
Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.

There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger.

T.S. Eliot, from "Choruses from the Rock"

A Gift

All through the winter, I've been feeding the feral cats outside my building - a mother and two small black kittens. They, rightfully too frightened of humans to come close, have often watched me with a seeming mixture of fear and curiosity from a safe distance, shrouded by bushes and shrubs. I have considered this my duty - it is not well to leave cold and hungry beings wanting when it is in your power to help them - but it has involved a measure of sacrifice: long walks to and from WINCO in subzero weather carrying heavy bags of catfood at $7 apiece, the possibility of disciplinary action from an unsympathetic housing administration that probably rightly knows that food attracts pests and that well-fed cats are fertile cats and could result in an even bigger problem. (I'll be working with the Humane Society to see what can be done - humane trapping, spaying/neutering and such.) But how often have I longed to gather them inside when the temperature dipped near to zero degrees! How often have I longed to pet them and to see them purr! How often have I wished that I could secure their future happiness by seeing them placed in loving homes! But humans are unpredictable creatures, and they are right to be cautious.

Last night while doing my laundry in the basement, I noticed that one of the cats - a small creature whose fur is shot through with silver, giving it a perpetually frostbitten look - was hovering anxiously near the food bowl, which was not quite yet empty. It was watching me through the glass doors at a closer distance than it had ever before dared. When I went outside to refresh the water bowl and put more food out, it watched me from a mere few feet away, ready to flee at any moment, but waiting with an almost tender solicitude (okay, maybe I am anthropomorphizing a little).

And then I saw it - the gift. A small dead field mouse lay on the ground in front of the food bowl, its tiny body still perfectly intact. Poor little mouse. But I have to admit my heart just melted.

Springtime Pleasures

Today, while I was walking to the library, I saw this guy take off his shoes and socks and dig his toes into the soil and grass of the lawn adjacent to the sidewalk. Carrying his shoes somewhat awkwardly in one hand, head down and grinning, he walked on, obviously delighting in the feel of the grass against his feet, reveling in this small opportunity to break out of the constraints of the artificial world and ground himself in nature. Just watching him made me happy.

Some Thoughts

I think that sometimes women objectify men just as much as men objectify women in our culture. It's just that instead of looking at men as physical or sexual objects, we tend to look at them more in terms of what they can give us emotionally. Sometimes, when we have been hurt, we objectify them by seeing them only as potential dispensers of brutality or oppression. (It is not my intention to reinforce stereotypes - of course there are always exceptions, and a broad spectrum of differences exists in humanity; this is just a generalization, but I have found it to be unfortunately true in the lives of lots of women I know, myself included.) I think we are often not even aware that we are doing it, and it is easier to find this type of objectification acceptable because it occurs in the realm of the mind and emotions rather than in the realm of, say, pornography or sexual assault (which, it can be argued, similarly acts on the mind and emotions, creating a false expectation of complete submission, acceptance, and even affirmation by women, or enhancing a sense of masculinity, power and control on the part of men). But the result is the same: a sort of dehumanization of the other, a utilitarian approach to fellow human beings that sees in them not who they are, but what they can give us or do for us.

Now this is all very subtle. When I meet a man, I have an unfortunate tendency to automatically think, could this potentially be The One? Usually, an instinctual, intuitive reaction gives me a simple yes or no answer within about 30 seconds. If no, I don't necessarily treat him any differently, but I know that I think of him differently. The brutal, honest truth, which I am loathe to accept about myself, is that a man who could be "The One" is both more and less of a person to me. He's more because I am more likely to invest time, care and attention in thinking about him, and he's simultaneously less because he's no longer just a fellow human being in my mind - he is put on a pedestal which both elevates him and restricts him, subjecting him to a silent, internal, invisible critiquing process. Not only that, but suddenly I am subjected to the same critical process - by myself. I begin to think of myself in light of whether or not I would be a compatible partner for this person, whether or not he finds me attractive, etc. I can no longer just be myself around the object of my attention and affection. Friendship goes out the window. I really, really don't like this about myself.

Here's what it all boils down to. I think that, as women, we need to treat men - our fellow human beings - not with hostility, not as though they are guilty of the sins of men who may have treated us badly in the past, but also not with an undue adoration or undeserved flirtatiousness. We need to treat them with a sisterly sort of love, expecting to be treated well and maintaining high standards of behaviour ourselves. They, like us, are fellow human beings - no more and no less. Let's be both respectful and appreciative of chivalrous gestures while firm in asserting ourselves in the face of chauvinism. But every man - not just those who have potential as romantic partners - is fashioned in the image of God and given the breath of life. Our treatment of each other as human beings needs to reflect that.

Men, please do the same and realize that all women, not just your girlfriend or spouse, should be treated with respect and dignity. In certain ways we are vulnerable - physically, economically, and emotionally - and should be treated chivalrously, but also as full human beings who have moral strength, intelligence, and valid goals and opinions of our own. We are not objects created solely for your pleasure, and we are not disposable. We also are given the breath of life, and should be cherished and protected as sisters.

One thing has become increasingly clear to me recently, and it is that how we treat each other as human beings influences our conceptions of God. There is nothing worse you can do to a fellow human being than damage their belief and trust in a loving Creator and Redeemer. And we cannot disapprove someone else into changing in the ways we would like to see them change. Hatred, resentment, and bitterness accomplish nothing. In many ways, people live up (or down) to our expectations. If we want someone to be gentle with us, we must also be gentle with them. If we want someone to be respectful of us, we must also be respectful of them. (That is not to sanction abuse. If you are in physical or emotional danger, get out! Besides, it doesn't do the other person any favors to allow them to continue to put themselves in the spiritual danger of abusing you.)

Ultimately, we cannot change or save each other, we can only love one another.

Candlelight Prayer Vigil for the People at Virginia Tech

Tonight students, staff, administrators and faculty at my university came together to pray and to mourn those whose lives were affected by the tragedy at Virginia Tech. Christian, Muslim, and Jewish prayers were offered up as we all stood together with our candles flickering against the darkness of the night. There were luminaries for each person lost, with names and ages listed. Seeing those luminaries made it feel more real to me somehow, similar to the effect of seeing the acres of white crosses at WW II veterans' cemeteries in France. Each one represented a life, a human being's loves, fears, hopes and dreams. Each one represented a constellation of friends and family members whose lives will never again be the same.

The vigil was sorrowful, but there was hope in it too. I was heartened by the collective response of the university community, and I took comfort in how many people were there to remember those lost and to pray for their families and friends. May their memory be eternal.

Crush not like a fever

Crush (the soda) is nothing like a fever.

Crush Soda

And on a completely unrelated note, I really like Crush. The soda. In all its orangey goodness.

A crush like a fever

Being notoriously crush-prone, I've decided that a crush is like a fever. You have to just let it run its course. Eventually it will burn itself out.

Confession/ Repentance

I remember seeing a rather badly made movie about the life of Joan of Arc on television a number of years ago. I believe it starred Milla Jovovich. The film opens with the young Joan in church at the confessional box. When she has finished her confession and received absolution, the camera begins a long, sweeping pan of the girl running and leaping wildly for joy across a stream and through fields of wildflowers. The scene goes on, and on, and on... and it begins after a few moments to seem utterly ridiculous.

Except...

Except that's how it really feels.

When the worst is over, and whatever embarassment you may have felt at having to say your sins out loud has evaporated, and you no longer carry within you the weight of all that has separated you from God, and you have been granted a fresh start.

You can say with Anne of Green Gables, "Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"

And actually, that "new day with no mistakes in it yet" can start at any time. Each moment, you can begin anew in the grace of Christ.

"It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness." (Lamentations 3:22-23, KJV)

The Chosen Vessel

Author Unknown

The master was searching for a vessel to use.
On the shelf there were many - which one would he choose?
"Take me," cried the gold one, "I'm shiny and bright,
I'm of great value and I do things just right.
My beauty and luster will outshine the rest,
And for someone like you, Master, gold would be best!"

The master passed on with no word at all.
He looked at a silver urn, narrow and tall.
"I'll serve you, dear Master, I'll pour out your wine,
And I'll be at your table whenever you dine.
My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true,
And my silver will always compliment you."

Unheeding, the master passed on to the brass.
It was widemouthed and shallow, and polished like glass.
"Here! Here!" cried the vessel. "I know I will do.
Place me on your table for all men to view."

"Look at me," called the goblet of crystal so clear.
"My transparency shows my contents so dear.
Though fragile am I, I will serve you with pride,
And I'm sure I'll be happy in your house to abide."

The master came next to a vessel of wood.
Polished and carved, it solidly stood.
"You may use me, dear Master," the wooden bowl said.
"But I'd rather you used me for fruit, not for bread!"

Then the master looked down and saw a vessel of clay.
Empty and broken it helplessly lay.
No hope had the vessel that the master might choose
To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.

"Ah! This is the vessel I've been hoping to find.
I will mend and use it and make it all mine.
I need not the vessel with pride of itself,
Nor the one who is narrow to sit on the shelf,
Nor the one who is bigmouthed and shallow and loud,
Nor one who displays his contents so proud.
Not the one who thinks he can do all things just right,
But this plain earthy vessel filled with my power and might."

Then gently he lifted the vessel of clay,
Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day.
Spoke to it kindly. "There's work you must do,
Just pour out to others as I pour into you."