There's nothing quite like forty days of sacrifice to drive home the significance of Easter.
I've got to admit, it feels great to be able to read and talk about Harry Potter again. It feels so great that I've already re-set my IM and xanga pics to Hermione, spent some time reading Harry-related articles on Wikipedia, and have again watched the trailer for movie # 5. Maybe I'll even put a couple of lines from "Weasley is our King" (Gryffindor version) or some random Luna Lovegood line up as my IM quote tomorrow.
Before I get accused of blasphemy, though, let me hasten to explain that while Harry has certainly brightened up my work week, Easter itself meant so much to me this year that I can hardly find words to express it. I've always liked the holiday anyway--belting out the good old hymns like a proper Baptist in a packed-out church, spending time with family in the afternoon.
This year, I attended the Easter Triduum service--split into three parts over Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil (Saturday). All three sessions carry so much symbolism as to make themselves extremely powerful; so much so that I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't attended one and might someday. I'll just say that I was deeply moved; moved to tears several times on Easter Vigil night. That service began at 9 PM, well after dark, and my favorite part was when the music began to brighten and swell, the lights came on in the church, and the church bells--silent since Thursday--rang out in the fullness of Easter joy.
The rest of Saturday and Sunday were so well filled with happy time among my family and Lou's (that's the Saint's real name) that I never managed to blog. All in all, I had a truly blessed weekend. I hope the same for all of you.
P.S. ...Can anyone top this record? I finally took my Christmas nativity scene down... today. I've heard of Christmas trees on Valentine's day, but crèche on Easter is a new low for me.
4.10.2007
4.01.2007
Gotta Say This...
Brief explanation: The Lenten fast does not apply to Sundays. It's not cheating, I promise... ask your local priest :-)
Anyway, I'm taking a Sunday break from my Lenten fast not to tell you that the new Harry Potter cover has been announced--everybody knows that--but just to say that this looks great:
Anyway, I'm taking a Sunday break from my Lenten fast not to tell you that the new Harry Potter cover has been announced--everybody knows that--but just to say that this looks great:
3.26.2007
Well Worth Reading
The Saint posted this article yesterday, and I am still pondering through the ideas. He put forth a very clear picture of what real Christianity is up against in America (or anywhere in Western society, really), and he did it from a perspective I don't often hear.
Here's a sample:
"Liberal democracy allows you a great deal of freedom to practice your religion according to the dictates of your conscience, but, in the end, you must do so alone. You can have a family and a church, but they must remain collections of autonomous individuals. The right of an individual to practice his religion has seldom been under question, but the right of a family or church to educate its children, to define acceptable moral behavior for its members and choose its clergy often seems to be only grudgingly granted."
In a world where individual satisfaction is valued over morality and virtue, where suffering of any sort is considered the single greatest evil, and where the passions of youth are glorified and gratified in utter disregard of the wisdom of the aged: this is a radical concept.
I doubt even a large part of Christianity would be willing to agree fully with the ideas in this article.
Anyway, the post comes highly recommended from this direction! Enjoy the reading.
Here's a sample:
"Liberal democracy allows you a great deal of freedom to practice your religion according to the dictates of your conscience, but, in the end, you must do so alone. You can have a family and a church, but they must remain collections of autonomous individuals. The right of an individual to practice his religion has seldom been under question, but the right of a family or church to educate its children, to define acceptable moral behavior for its members and choose its clergy often seems to be only grudgingly granted."
In a world where individual satisfaction is valued over morality and virtue, where suffering of any sort is considered the single greatest evil, and where the passions of youth are glorified and gratified in utter disregard of the wisdom of the aged: this is a radical concept.
I doubt even a large part of Christianity would be willing to agree fully with the ideas in this article.
Anyway, the post comes highly recommended from this direction! Enjoy the reading.
3.25.2007
It was Good Enough for Aretha…
While goofing off on my computer the other day, I ran across this article by Martha Brockenbrough. As it referred to movie princesses, I could hardly resist reading it… there’s still a lot of little girl in me :-D
Normally Martha Brockenbrough’s work makes me laugh, and I got some chuckles out of this piece. So I won’t criticize it thoroughly, although it’s clear she’s either never seen The Princess Diaries (first or second) all the way through or she’s mixed it up with another storyline.
But, while the probably-innocent-but-rather-drastic misinterpretation of one of my favorite movies annoyed me mildly, the question that has haunted me ever since is one that, if spoken too loudly, could easily draw a fair share of feminist ire. I’m not normally fond of being intentionally and overtly controversial, but this one just bugs me.
Here’s the question: What’s so bad about a girl wanting to be rescued?
The obvious answer given, of course, is that a woman should be capable of taking care of herself and confidently in control of her own destiny. The problem is that reality limits the practicability of such things.
No, I’m not advocating ignorance, stupidity or inanity for women. I happen to like being sensible and educated. Part of any decent education for girls, however, is an understanding of vulnerability: feminine, as well as human, vulnerability. Every daughter should be taught keen character judgment and an eye for what sort of man is worth investing herself in, as well as which girls make good friends. She should also learn of the danger of going certain places alone; that it’s a good idea for a girl to keep her head up, her eyes open and a can of mace at close command when walking from house to car in the dark, and that it’s even better in certain situations for her to have a man walking with her.
That, however, just begins the issue of feminine vulnerability. Women are, and always have been, susceptible to attack in ways men are either not or are less so. Not simply physically, but emotionally as well: with the strength of a fine-tuned sensitivity to feeling comes the dangers of too-natural tendencies toward overdependency or tolerance of abuse.
The feminists and I agree that abuse and chronic neediness should not exist. But the feminists go wrong in propagating the idea that a woman can become whole by entirely throwing off the ‘shackles’ of patriarchy. While a woman can (and should be able to) live unshattered without the presence of husband or father or brother in some immediate form of protective role, women who choose this or do it too well usually lose something of the feminine softness and sensitivity that portrays grace to the world.
Centrally, that softness has nothing to do with the stereotypical doormat-submission or wilting-flower mentality, nor any reference to the clichéd comparison between the tree-climbing tomboy and the parlor-dweller. It is, however, an indispensable part of woman’s beauty. And real possession of that female grace depends on a girl’s acceptance of her own vulnerability.
With few exceptions, the single women I’ve known either hold out the hope for a man to come through for them (with varying degrees of realistic expectations) or bitch with the other gals about how men have let them down.
The idea that a girl should kick down every door in her path and save herself by herself is standard Hollywood idealism nowadays, marketed generally to girls old enough to have tasted some bitterness in relating to men. While most women want to show off some toughness and independence—along with stunning beauty—the whole girl-to-her-own-lonely-rescue ideal just doesn’t fit fully with the girl heart, and it doesn’t replace what a girl loses in refusing to accept the strength of masculinity that offers her protection.
Like it or not, a woman’s heart contains the desire to be fought for and rescued by a man. And without that, a woman is—quite simply—missing out.
“…Unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor!
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads…”
–Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew
Normally Martha Brockenbrough’s work makes me laugh, and I got some chuckles out of this piece. So I won’t criticize it thoroughly, although it’s clear she’s either never seen The Princess Diaries (first or second) all the way through or she’s mixed it up with another storyline.
But, while the probably-innocent-but-rather-drastic misinterpretation of one of my favorite movies annoyed me mildly, the question that has haunted me ever since is one that, if spoken too loudly, could easily draw a fair share of feminist ire. I’m not normally fond of being intentionally and overtly controversial, but this one just bugs me.
Here’s the question: What’s so bad about a girl wanting to be rescued?
The obvious answer given, of course, is that a woman should be capable of taking care of herself and confidently in control of her own destiny. The problem is that reality limits the practicability of such things.
No, I’m not advocating ignorance, stupidity or inanity for women. I happen to like being sensible and educated. Part of any decent education for girls, however, is an understanding of vulnerability: feminine, as well as human, vulnerability. Every daughter should be taught keen character judgment and an eye for what sort of man is worth investing herself in, as well as which girls make good friends. She should also learn of the danger of going certain places alone; that it’s a good idea for a girl to keep her head up, her eyes open and a can of mace at close command when walking from house to car in the dark, and that it’s even better in certain situations for her to have a man walking with her.
That, however, just begins the issue of feminine vulnerability. Women are, and always have been, susceptible to attack in ways men are either not or are less so. Not simply physically, but emotionally as well: with the strength of a fine-tuned sensitivity to feeling comes the dangers of too-natural tendencies toward overdependency or tolerance of abuse.
The feminists and I agree that abuse and chronic neediness should not exist. But the feminists go wrong in propagating the idea that a woman can become whole by entirely throwing off the ‘shackles’ of patriarchy. While a woman can (and should be able to) live unshattered without the presence of husband or father or brother in some immediate form of protective role, women who choose this or do it too well usually lose something of the feminine softness and sensitivity that portrays grace to the world.
Centrally, that softness has nothing to do with the stereotypical doormat-submission or wilting-flower mentality, nor any reference to the clichéd comparison between the tree-climbing tomboy and the parlor-dweller. It is, however, an indispensable part of woman’s beauty. And real possession of that female grace depends on a girl’s acceptance of her own vulnerability.
With few exceptions, the single women I’ve known either hold out the hope for a man to come through for them (with varying degrees of realistic expectations) or bitch with the other gals about how men have let them down.
The idea that a girl should kick down every door in her path and save herself by herself is standard Hollywood idealism nowadays, marketed generally to girls old enough to have tasted some bitterness in relating to men. While most women want to show off some toughness and independence—along with stunning beauty—the whole girl-to-her-own-lonely-rescue ideal just doesn’t fit fully with the girl heart, and it doesn’t replace what a girl loses in refusing to accept the strength of masculinity that offers her protection.
Like it or not, a woman’s heart contains the desire to be fought for and rescued by a man. And without that, a woman is—quite simply—missing out.
“…Unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor!
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads…”
–Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew
3.18.2007
Ramblings of the Week
Today, having forgotten some of the blogging-inspiration that hit me often during the week but never near available time, I asked my sister Beth what I should blog about. She reeled off quite a list, including experiencing writer's block, the coming of spring, my favorite-song-of-the-week, and her own sense of losing her mind due to the impending arrival of finals week. "Or you could write," she said, "about how you've always wanted to get onto a rowing team, and how you didn't know how to get onto a rowing team because you couldn't swim." I had opened my mouth to protest that I actually do have some rudimentary swimming ability when she added "And by you, I mean me."
She can swim as well as I can. And rowing could be fun. You get to be in a boat, much like raft guiding (which I have done) but you don't have to worry about what moving water does when it hits rocks, submerged train cars and low-head dams. Not being much of a thrill-seeker, I like the sound of that.
Beth is right about spring coming, and it makes me happy. The early-blooming pink and white trees, which people tell me are cherry trees, are blossoming extravagantly right now. Other signs of returning warmth have appeared as well. The Saint and I took a walk up into the forest today, and I found leaf-buds poking their way out of the end of branches. A robin hopped along the side of the path and watched us, too. Robins mean spring generally, although the Saint says they never really go away around here. I like that about Washington.
Beth is also right about me and writer's block. One song has me stuck now, trying to arrange my ideas; other emotions have so far totally refused to submit to the form of words and melody. I'll corner them yet.
As for a favorite song of the week, I'll just say that after ten years of reigning as my favorite female vocalist, LeAnn Rimes has to make some room at the top for Hayley Westenra. Hayley deserves congratulations for being the first artist to make me buy two CDs at once. I particularly love the "Prayer" off of Odyssey and... well, most of the Pure CD. When she got around to singing "Heaven" on Pure, I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes. Right there at my desk at work.
Speaking of music, we sang Amazing Grace in church today. Five verses. Though twenty-nine years of being a Baptist had taught me to belt out four verses with my eyes closed, I hadn't heard this one since childhood:
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
I liked it. And I liked singing it with the Saint, on our knees. Or maybe we'd just stood up out of kneeling... anyway, it was good.
As to whether anyone can lose their mind, over finals or anything else, and still find the wit to make me laugh out loud... I leave it to yourselves to determine.
She can swim as well as I can. And rowing could be fun. You get to be in a boat, much like raft guiding (which I have done) but you don't have to worry about what moving water does when it hits rocks, submerged train cars and low-head dams. Not being much of a thrill-seeker, I like the sound of that.
Beth is right about spring coming, and it makes me happy. The early-blooming pink and white trees, which people tell me are cherry trees, are blossoming extravagantly right now. Other signs of returning warmth have appeared as well. The Saint and I took a walk up into the forest today, and I found leaf-buds poking their way out of the end of branches. A robin hopped along the side of the path and watched us, too. Robins mean spring generally, although the Saint says they never really go away around here. I like that about Washington.
Beth is also right about me and writer's block. One song has me stuck now, trying to arrange my ideas; other emotions have so far totally refused to submit to the form of words and melody. I'll corner them yet.
As for a favorite song of the week, I'll just say that after ten years of reigning as my favorite female vocalist, LeAnn Rimes has to make some room at the top for Hayley Westenra. Hayley deserves congratulations for being the first artist to make me buy two CDs at once. I particularly love the "Prayer" off of Odyssey and... well, most of the Pure CD. When she got around to singing "Heaven" on Pure, I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes. Right there at my desk at work.
Speaking of music, we sang Amazing Grace in church today. Five verses. Though twenty-nine years of being a Baptist had taught me to belt out four verses with my eyes closed, I hadn't heard this one since childhood:
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
I liked it. And I liked singing it with the Saint, on our knees. Or maybe we'd just stood up out of kneeling... anyway, it was good.
As to whether anyone can lose their mind, over finals or anything else, and still find the wit to make me laugh out loud... I leave it to yourselves to determine.
3.11.2007
Another Good Chesterton Quote
...not from Orthodoxy this time, although there's about half a chapter of that I'd like to put in here, if only I had the time and space...
I came across this, rather randomly, in a book by John Stott the other day, and liked it too much not to share it.
"You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera,
And grace before the concert and pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
Quoted in Dudley Barker, G. K. Chesterton, A Biography (Constable, 1973), p. 65, from unpublished notebook jottings.
Stott, J. (1996; 2007). The Message of 1 Timothy and Titus (115). Inter-Varsity Press.
I came across this, rather randomly, in a book by John Stott the other day, and liked it too much not to share it.
"You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera,
And grace before the concert and pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
Quoted in Dudley Barker, G. K. Chesterton, A Biography (Constable, 1973), p. 65, from unpublished notebook jottings.
Stott, J. (1996; 2007). The Message of 1 Timothy and Titus (115). Inter-Varsity Press.
Of course, Chesterton, a Catholic, said grace before meals too... just in case anybody wondered :-)
3.04.2007
This Week 3/4/07
Numerous times this week I have found myself thinking "Oh, I should post that..." Posting, however, or even catching up with the internet, has not made it from the "want to do" list to the "have to do" list (about half of which has not been done, either.) Here, though, are the things I have thought of posting, in chronological order:
Tuesday: A pound of butter fell out of my freezer and landed on my foot. As to why that amused me enough to want to tell everybody, however, I have no idea.
Thursday: My inner child and I are in close touch. I can tell, because this, which I found in the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha*, makes me snicker:
"25 [Ben Bag-Bag said: Turn it, and turn it again, for the whole is in it, and the whole of thee is in it; and from it swerve not, for there is to thee no greater good than it.]
26 [Ben He-He said: According to the toil is the pay.]"
Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. 2004 (R. H. Charles, Ed.) (2:710). Logos Research Systems, Inc.
* pseud•epig•ra•phon noun plural pseud•epig•ra•pha 2. any of various pseudonymous or anonymous Jewish religious writings of the period 200 b.c. to 200 a.d.; especially : one of such writings (as the Psalms of Solomon) not included in any canon of biblical Scripture — usually used in plural
Merriam-Webster, I. (1996, c1993). Merriam-Webster's collegiate dictionary. Includes index. (10th ed.). Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.: Merriam-Webster.
Friday: Spent an hour in silent prayer at one of the most beautiful old churches in town. The importance of beauty in church design is a topic for another post; about this evening, however, I will simply say that on my knees before Christ I felt more strongly than I have in three years like I stood on solid rock in my faith. Feeling (by itself), of course, while it guarantees neither reality nor future perseverance, does matter and does help. God forbid that I underrate the power of a sense of confidence in Him when, since the close of 2003, faith has too often been a matter of desperate and almost hopeless clinging. Friday night I felt like that lackluster determination had finally been reinforced by the brilliancy of sincere and unclouded hope and trust. All I can say is Thank God.
Saturday: Beth and I watched Stranger than Fiction, and I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I saw a new romantic comedy that good. Maybe not since Return to Me. Be forewarned, ye who would watch: there's about thirty seconds of time dedicated to achieving its PG-13 rating. Get past that and you've got a great story: artistically and mentally interesting, hilarious, and poignant--I don't often catch myself caring so deeply about what happens to a character. You'll love Harold Crick too; you don't have to be a Will Ferrell fan to do so.
Sunday: Celebrated the birthday, though a few days late, of one of the greatest and humblest men on earth; a man who has lived and worked quietly, selflessly, faithfully for God and his family through the course of many years; a pastor at heart, a fireman and EMT, a wealth of skill towards house and home, body and soul--my father. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Tuesday: A pound of butter fell out of my freezer and landed on my foot. As to why that amused me enough to want to tell everybody, however, I have no idea.
Thursday: My inner child and I are in close touch. I can tell, because this, which I found in the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha*, makes me snicker:
"25 [Ben Bag-Bag said: Turn it, and turn it again, for the whole is in it, and the whole of thee is in it; and from it swerve not, for there is to thee no greater good than it.]
26 [Ben He-He said: According to the toil is the pay.]"
Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. 2004 (R. H. Charles, Ed.) (2:710). Logos Research Systems, Inc.
* pseud•epig•ra•phon noun plural pseud•epig•ra•pha 2. any of various pseudonymous or anonymous Jewish religious writings of the period 200 b.c. to 200 a.d.; especially : one of such writings (as the Psalms of Solomon) not included in any canon of biblical Scripture — usually used in plural
Merriam-Webster, I. (1996, c1993). Merriam-Webster's collegiate dictionary. Includes index. (10th ed.). Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.: Merriam-Webster.
Friday: Spent an hour in silent prayer at one of the most beautiful old churches in town. The importance of beauty in church design is a topic for another post; about this evening, however, I will simply say that on my knees before Christ I felt more strongly than I have in three years like I stood on solid rock in my faith. Feeling (by itself), of course, while it guarantees neither reality nor future perseverance, does matter and does help. God forbid that I underrate the power of a sense of confidence in Him when, since the close of 2003, faith has too often been a matter of desperate and almost hopeless clinging. Friday night I felt like that lackluster determination had finally been reinforced by the brilliancy of sincere and unclouded hope and trust. All I can say is Thank God.
Saturday: Beth and I watched Stranger than Fiction, and I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I saw a new romantic comedy that good. Maybe not since Return to Me. Be forewarned, ye who would watch: there's about thirty seconds of time dedicated to achieving its PG-13 rating. Get past that and you've got a great story: artistically and mentally interesting, hilarious, and poignant--I don't often catch myself caring so deeply about what happens to a character. You'll love Harold Crick too; you don't have to be a Will Ferrell fan to do so.
Sunday: Celebrated the birthday, though a few days late, of one of the greatest and humblest men on earth; a man who has lived and worked quietly, selflessly, faithfully for God and his family through the course of many years; a pastor at heart, a fireman and EMT, a wealth of skill towards house and home, body and soul--my father. Happy Birthday, Dad.
2.23.2007
One Year
This blog is one year old today!
By-the-bye, I wonder how many of my posts, percentage-wise, have talked about milestones... probably a pretty high number there. Ah well.
One year with this little online journal, and today I enjoy it just as much as at the beginning. It keeps me in perspective, somehow; forcing myself to write and think through things keeps my mind from getting caught in analytical whirlpools :-)
At any rate, it's a good thing for me, and now and again someone tells me there's something good about it for them as well. Here's to many more years of blogging!
By-the-bye, I wonder how many of my posts, percentage-wise, have talked about milestones... probably a pretty high number there. Ah well.
One year with this little online journal, and today I enjoy it just as much as at the beginning. It keeps me in perspective, somehow; forcing myself to write and think through things keeps my mind from getting caught in analytical whirlpools :-)
At any rate, it's a good thing for me, and now and again someone tells me there's something good about it for them as well. Here's to many more years of blogging!
2.22.2007
My Sister Blogs
...shocking, for those of you who know Beth :-P
Anyways, she posted a blog on her Myspace tonight and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it. Click here for Beth's thoughts on listening to music.
Love y'all!
Anyways, she posted a blog on her Myspace tonight and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it. Click here for Beth's thoughts on listening to music.
Love y'all!
2.20.2007
First Lent
Having grown up Baptist, I understand Christmas and Easter and know a little bit about Palm Sunday and Advent. Lent, however, as the acknowledged territory mainly of liturgically-driven churches such as Catholics, Anglicans, and Lutherans, has always been a bit of a mystery.
This year, therefore, I’m celebrating my first Lent, which starts tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. I'm pretty excited about it; there's an incredible awe and joy in taking a physical step intended to express and nourish spiritual devotion. I've fasted before, of course, so I'm at least familiar with that concept.
For my first Lenten season, I am giving up… dun duh dah… Harry Potter. Hopefully that doesn't sound blasphemous to anyone! I can understand concern about how Harry Potter takes a position in my life strong enough merit fasting from, though, so let me explain my rationale here :-)
I am choosing to go forty days without Harry Potter (except Sundays, which are free from fasting) because reading the Harry Potter books, as well as talking and thinking and reading about Harry and company, is for me a mode of relaxation and enjoyment. Some people play computer games, some people watch this or that TV show, some people eat chocolate. I thought about giving up chocolate, actually, but every girl does that; besides, chocolate for me ranks not in the category of mere wants, but basic needs :-P The point is, anyway, that I read Harry Potter for uplifting and an antidote to stress when my brain won’t handle much else. I go get a laugh at the exploits of Harry and friends or borrow some inspiration from their courage. I have also read the books quite a bit in the year and a quarter since I first brought home The Sorcerer's Stone, so a break seemed like a good idea.
While I could have chosen fiction in general as my sacrifice, that seemed more likely to accentuate stress rather than spur on devotion for me. Since I rarely watch movies or television, reading fiction is almost my only means of complete relaxation. And probably if this were not such a big year for Harry—with the release of movie #5 and the final book coming in July—the series’ effect on my life wouldn’t really qualify for sacrifice over such a limited time.
As it is, however, from Ash Wednesday to Easter I am not reading any of the books, following news (anything big that comes up can be reviewed on Sundays only), looking Harry up on Wikipedia or fan sites, or initiating conversations about the series. I will also remove Hermione from my IM pictures and should probably take her off my Xanga, too, come to think of it. If all this proves ‘too easy’ for me, I’ll add to the sacrifice for holy week.
Anyway, here’s to my first Lent. God grant that I find more of Christ through it…
This year, therefore, I’m celebrating my first Lent, which starts tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. I'm pretty excited about it; there's an incredible awe and joy in taking a physical step intended to express and nourish spiritual devotion. I've fasted before, of course, so I'm at least familiar with that concept.
For my first Lenten season, I am giving up… dun duh dah… Harry Potter. Hopefully that doesn't sound blasphemous to anyone! I can understand concern about how Harry Potter takes a position in my life strong enough merit fasting from, though, so let me explain my rationale here :-)
I am choosing to go forty days without Harry Potter (except Sundays, which are free from fasting) because reading the Harry Potter books, as well as talking and thinking and reading about Harry and company, is for me a mode of relaxation and enjoyment. Some people play computer games, some people watch this or that TV show, some people eat chocolate. I thought about giving up chocolate, actually, but every girl does that; besides, chocolate for me ranks not in the category of mere wants, but basic needs :-P The point is, anyway, that I read Harry Potter for uplifting and an antidote to stress when my brain won’t handle much else. I go get a laugh at the exploits of Harry and friends or borrow some inspiration from their courage. I have also read the books quite a bit in the year and a quarter since I first brought home The Sorcerer's Stone, so a break seemed like a good idea.
While I could have chosen fiction in general as my sacrifice, that seemed more likely to accentuate stress rather than spur on devotion for me. Since I rarely watch movies or television, reading fiction is almost my only means of complete relaxation. And probably if this were not such a big year for Harry—with the release of movie #5 and the final book coming in July—the series’ effect on my life wouldn’t really qualify for sacrifice over such a limited time.
As it is, however, from Ash Wednesday to Easter I am not reading any of the books, following news (anything big that comes up can be reviewed on Sundays only), looking Harry up on Wikipedia or fan sites, or initiating conversations about the series. I will also remove Hermione from my IM pictures and should probably take her off my Xanga, too, come to think of it. If all this proves ‘too easy’ for me, I’ll add to the sacrifice for holy week.
Anyway, here’s to my first Lent. God grant that I find more of Christ through it…
2.17.2007
Schrödinger's Bedroom
Calling all AI fans! Even if you're not a regular American Idol watcher, though, keep reading--I've still got something for you.
FOX Network welcomes its new show, On the Lot, in the spring. Formatted just like American Idol--I wonder, by-the-bye, who they'll get to make offbeat analogies and harsh "realistic" comments, since presumably Simon Cowell won't be one of the judges--this talent competition will be for movie directors.
Which brings me to my friend Chris Knight, whose movie-making credentials include a hilarious 50-minute Star Wars fan film called "Forcery" and several school-board campaign commercials, one of which included a scene of a Death Star blowing up a schoolhouse and which got him in the New York Times for creativity.
Chris is auditioning with a five-minute short by the title of "Schrödinger's Bedroom" --a piece which he wrote, casted, shot, edited, and submitted in only a month. If you want a laugh, go over and check it out. If you're an AI fan (or movie fan, for that matter) and you think On the Lot might be interesting too--since I don't mind shamelessly plugging for friends with talent, I'll suggest you watch for Chris there, too :-)
And just in case you don't feel I've given you enough reasons to see this little movie yet: for those of you who tell me you read this blog, at least, I can guarantee that someone you know made a cameo appearance :-D
FOX Network welcomes its new show, On the Lot, in the spring. Formatted just like American Idol--I wonder, by-the-bye, who they'll get to make offbeat analogies and harsh "realistic" comments, since presumably Simon Cowell won't be one of the judges--this talent competition will be for movie directors.
Which brings me to my friend Chris Knight, whose movie-making credentials include a hilarious 50-minute Star Wars fan film called "Forcery" and several school-board campaign commercials, one of which included a scene of a Death Star blowing up a schoolhouse and which got him in the New York Times for creativity.
Chris is auditioning with a five-minute short by the title of "Schrödinger's Bedroom" --a piece which he wrote, casted, shot, edited, and submitted in only a month. If you want a laugh, go over and check it out. If you're an AI fan (or movie fan, for that matter) and you think On the Lot might be interesting too--since I don't mind shamelessly plugging for friends with talent, I'll suggest you watch for Chris there, too :-)
And just in case you don't feel I've given you enough reasons to see this little movie yet: for those of you who tell me you read this blog, at least, I can guarantee that someone you know made a cameo appearance :-D
2.12.2007
Not Posting about Not Posting
Standard operating procedure for bloggers who don't post faithfully is to put up a post about not posting faithfully, so I'm going to be a bit of a rebel, and post about something else.
For tonight, considering the current proximity to midnight, I don't have much to offer beyond the weather; so I'll just say that after ten Washington winters, I would not have expected pleasure at the sight of rain. This year's two full weeks of snow, however, binding me to the (albeit generous) WTA schedule for work, confining the Saint and I in different parts of town, and forcing me to get creative with canned chicken and tomato sauce, have given me a new appreciation for the normal 'rainy season.' I can drive my car without fear for either its or my own safety in the rain. And I have to admit that this beautiful little corner of the country even looks good in gray--gray with a green cast along the lawns and among the conifers, and occasional cream-colored scoring in the clouds.
I'm still holding out for summer, though. We had a glorious weekend--so warm that I took a walk in the sunshine without a coat. Spring is coming! 36 days and counting...
For tonight, considering the current proximity to midnight, I don't have much to offer beyond the weather; so I'll just say that after ten Washington winters, I would not have expected pleasure at the sight of rain. This year's two full weeks of snow, however, binding me to the (albeit generous) WTA schedule for work, confining the Saint and I in different parts of town, and forcing me to get creative with canned chicken and tomato sauce, have given me a new appreciation for the normal 'rainy season.' I can drive my car without fear for either its or my own safety in the rain. And I have to admit that this beautiful little corner of the country even looks good in gray--gray with a green cast along the lawns and among the conifers, and occasional cream-colored scoring in the clouds.
I'm still holding out for summer, though. We had a glorious weekend--so warm that I took a walk in the sunshine without a coat. Spring is coming! 36 days and counting...
2.04.2007
2.01.2007
We've Got A Date
At eleven, he learned who he was, made friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and faced again the man who, ten years earlier, had killed his parents and tried to kill him.
At twelve, he won a battle with a basilisk and saved the life of his best friend’s sister, Ginny.
At thirteen, he learned to face his own fears and saved the life of his godfather.
At fourteen, he jumped out from behind a tombstone to face a battle he knew he would probably lose—and lived to warn the world.
At fifteen, he taught self-defense to his classmates in secret, against the rules of the wicked usurping headmistress.
At sixteen he saved Ron’s life, realized finally what Ginny meant to him, and received the knowledge of the plan of action from Dumbledore, practically as an inheritance.
What will Harry Potter do at seventeen?
We’ll find out July 21, 2007.
(Thanks, Chris, for letting me know! I would have been shamefully behind the times if you hadn’t.)
1.27.2007
Thoughts of Summertime
During my childhood, it used to bother me that my birthday came in winter. This may have had more to do with schoolwork than weather; nowadays, though, around here at least, the typical chill gray of the season could be considered a negative factor.
Today, however, I walked out my door to find bright summer sunshine, despite the frost on the ground. I drove up to the DOL to get my driver's license renewed, since it expired today (I procrastinate a lot, in case any of you didn't notice), and though the DOL wouldn't be my usual favorite choice of locations to kick off any special day, Joe at the counter treated me very kindly and I got a picture that won't disgrace me horribly for the next five years.
For some reason I'm in a happy mood. No, not for some reason, but for many reasons: sunshine and laughter and hope and love and peace, a riotously funny evening with a pack of great girlfriends last night, time set aside to spend with my family and the Saint this afternoon, simple prayers and blessed joys.
The day is young, and for some reason I find myself haunted--as often happens when the purest happy moments come over me--by the fear of its being marred or shattered as I know can happen in a matter of seconds. Everybody has their besetting sins, I guess; fear is mine. "Do not worry," Jesus said, "because who of you by worrying can add a single cubit to his life's span?"
So I'm going to stop. And I will go put my sheets in the wash and play my guitar or piano a bit and enjoy the fact that, after three weeks of having a cold, I can finally sing again. The return of my voice is no small gift to me; I've missed it dreadfully.
This prayer--perhaps my favorite of all the new little rites of Christian worship that I've learned in the past two months--speaks my thoughts beautifully today. I am overwhelmed by thankfulness.
"Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now and ever shall be,
world without end,
Amen."
Today, however, I walked out my door to find bright summer sunshine, despite the frost on the ground. I drove up to the DOL to get my driver's license renewed, since it expired today (I procrastinate a lot, in case any of you didn't notice), and though the DOL wouldn't be my usual favorite choice of locations to kick off any special day, Joe at the counter treated me very kindly and I got a picture that won't disgrace me horribly for the next five years.
For some reason I'm in a happy mood. No, not for some reason, but for many reasons: sunshine and laughter and hope and love and peace, a riotously funny evening with a pack of great girlfriends last night, time set aside to spend with my family and the Saint this afternoon, simple prayers and blessed joys.
The day is young, and for some reason I find myself haunted--as often happens when the purest happy moments come over me--by the fear of its being marred or shattered as I know can happen in a matter of seconds. Everybody has their besetting sins, I guess; fear is mine. "Do not worry," Jesus said, "because who of you by worrying can add a single cubit to his life's span?"
So I'm going to stop. And I will go put my sheets in the wash and play my guitar or piano a bit and enjoy the fact that, after three weeks of having a cold, I can finally sing again. The return of my voice is no small gift to me; I've missed it dreadfully.
This prayer--perhaps my favorite of all the new little rites of Christian worship that I've learned in the past two months--speaks my thoughts beautifully today. I am overwhelmed by thankfulness.
"Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now and ever shall be,
world without end,
Amen."
1.17.2007
The Wonders of Air Travel... and other stories
"Arthur, is that you?"
"Yes", came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"...All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how airplanes stay up."
I personally don't fully understand how airplanes stay up, but nonetheless I enjoy flying. It amazes me that two hours in a plane can take me from this state that has been my home for over ten years and put me back in the town in which I grew up, which I've seen only once in all that time. Just two hours, and I stand beside she who has been the truest of friends for nineteen years, and the family to which I could always turn if something happened to my own--people whom I rarely see because of the seven hundred miles between us.
Normally one should choose summer, not winter, to visit Montana. Last time I flew in, a blizzard came with me; this time, I rode in on the wings of the coldest spell they've had probably since I left. At below-zero temperatures, the very oxygen seems to freeze and the skin inside of noses crinkles in disgust. But since it had snowed--again--in Bellingham, snow and cold in Montana didn't seem such a big deal. Snow in Bellingham stops life. Snow in Montana is just part of living.
Cold or not, though, the wedding for which I made the trip was beautiful, and the visit with my friends thoroughly precious to me. Even though Briana and I can pick up the phone after weeks or even a couple of months and talk like we'd never left off, getting to see her in person is better yet. Five days, blessing though they were, were not long enough.
They did end, though, and another two hours of airplane ride brought me back to Washington and the Saint, whom, I must confess, I missed rather constantly; and my parents, whom I still miss because this dadburn cold I've got has prevented me from making my regular trip to their house for two weeks running.
For now, I'm tired and going to bed. Before I do, though, here's what happened with the snapping turtle, for all of you who asked:
My family used to live next to a lake in Florida, which was great until the alligators set up housekeeping in the cattails. We used to fish the lake a lot, and one day Dad and my uncle caught a snapping turtle. Beth and I, aged about three and five at the time, were playing in the yard. Dad and my uncle chopped off the turtle's head and the turtle took off running right at Beth and I. We ran away from it, shrieking, and both of us will swear that it followed us in a circle. That may be purely coincidental, of course, but I dare anyone to hold their ground under similar circumstances :-)
"Yes", came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"...All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how airplanes stay up."
I personally don't fully understand how airplanes stay up, but nonetheless I enjoy flying. It amazes me that two hours in a plane can take me from this state that has been my home for over ten years and put me back in the town in which I grew up, which I've seen only once in all that time. Just two hours, and I stand beside she who has been the truest of friends for nineteen years, and the family to which I could always turn if something happened to my own--people whom I rarely see because of the seven hundred miles between us.
Normally one should choose summer, not winter, to visit Montana. Last time I flew in, a blizzard came with me; this time, I rode in on the wings of the coldest spell they've had probably since I left. At below-zero temperatures, the very oxygen seems to freeze and the skin inside of noses crinkles in disgust. But since it had snowed--again--in Bellingham, snow and cold in Montana didn't seem such a big deal. Snow in Bellingham stops life. Snow in Montana is just part of living.
Cold or not, though, the wedding for which I made the trip was beautiful, and the visit with my friends thoroughly precious to me. Even though Briana and I can pick up the phone after weeks or even a couple of months and talk like we'd never left off, getting to see her in person is better yet. Five days, blessing though they were, were not long enough.
They did end, though, and another two hours of airplane ride brought me back to Washington and the Saint, whom, I must confess, I missed rather constantly; and my parents, whom I still miss because this dadburn cold I've got has prevented me from making my regular trip to their house for two weeks running.
For now, I'm tired and going to bed. Before I do, though, here's what happened with the snapping turtle, for all of you who asked:
My family used to live next to a lake in Florida, which was great until the alligators set up housekeeping in the cattails. We used to fish the lake a lot, and one day Dad and my uncle caught a snapping turtle. Beth and I, aged about three and five at the time, were playing in the yard. Dad and my uncle chopped off the turtle's head and the turtle took off running right at Beth and I. We ran away from it, shrieking, and both of us will swear that it followed us in a circle. That may be purely coincidental, of course, but I dare anyone to hold their ground under similar circumstances :-)
1.09.2007
Five Things
Chris Knight tagged me with this game. As required, here are five things you probably didn’t know about me:
1. I have been chased by a headless snapping turtle.
2. I have never conquered my irrational childhood fear of swimming pool drains. The same fear even niggles at me around hot tub jets and bathtub drains.
3. The author’s genes kicked in early for me. When I was about 5 or 6, I used to do my own narration in 3rd person, for instance: “She walked down the stairs and turned on the light.”
4. Instead of taking a teddy bear to bed with me as a little girl, I used to take my Breyer horses.
5. The first two songs I ever wrote were both written solely because someone else I knew had written a song, and I figured “What the heck—if they can do it, so can I.”
Now, who can I tag?… or rather, who would probably actually do this? I’ll tag Briana and Tina.
1. I have been chased by a headless snapping turtle.
2. I have never conquered my irrational childhood fear of swimming pool drains. The same fear even niggles at me around hot tub jets and bathtub drains.
3. The author’s genes kicked in early for me. When I was about 5 or 6, I used to do my own narration in 3rd person, for instance: “She walked down the stairs and turned on the light.”
4. Instead of taking a teddy bear to bed with me as a little girl, I used to take my Breyer horses.
5. The first two songs I ever wrote were both written solely because someone else I knew had written a song, and I figured “What the heck—if they can do it, so can I.”
Now, who can I tag?… or rather, who would probably actually do this? I’ll tag Briana and Tina.
1.05.2007
Readings
My favorite part about bad head colds is the amount of reading I can accomplish when forced to lay flat on my back for two days straight. I have been known to read a full-length Jane Austen novel in a day and a half of sprawling on the couch with hot tea and Kleenex.
Excluding the couple of times when I felt well enough to crawl over to my computer and look at the Internet or my Libronix, I’ve spent most of the past two days in bed. For that purpose, I armed myself with far more books than I could read in a week, but managed to get through at least a little of each: Orthodoxy by Chesterton, The Confessions of St. Augustine, my Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, A New Song from the Mitford Years series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and Jane Eyre.
That sort of list, folks, is much of the reasoning behind my always having pictures of Hermione Granger on my MSN Messenger and my Xanga.
Speaking of Harry Potter, and thinking of the newly-revealed title of book 7: I seem to have a vague memory of hearing the word “Hallows” used to mean ‘salutation’ or ‘greeting’ somewhere. Did I dream this, or has anyone else heard of such a thing? My dictionary gives me no such hint. I thought I’d read it in Jane Eyre, but couldn’t find it by reading the pages of that book where I thought it had been.
Anyway, that booklist has kept me busy. I have laughed, pondered, worked on my predictions for HP book 7, researched the concept of purgatory, wrestled with philosophy, and when the inevitable head-cold fog descended too heavily on my brain, dropped it all to just to read the stories I’ve read and enjoyed over and over again.
I devoted much of today to Chesterton, seeing as how I got distracted from him some weeks ago. I read about a third of the book, and if laughter is the best medicine, he contributed towards my recovery nicely. For instance:
“Mr. McCabe thinks me a slave because I am not allowed to believe in determinism. I think Mr. McCabe a slave because he is not allowed to believe in fairies.”
The humor, however, goes along with some very important points, of which this was a favorite of mine:
“…what we suffer from today is humility in the wrong place. Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed.”
That very error is how I once nearly lost my faith. He could not be more correct about the dangers of such misplaced humility. God grant me the courage and grace to remove every last remnant of that mistake from myself.
Books… how I love them. What would I do without them? No, don’t tell me: I don’t even want to know the answer to that question.
Excluding the couple of times when I felt well enough to crawl over to my computer and look at the Internet or my Libronix, I’ve spent most of the past two days in bed. For that purpose, I armed myself with far more books than I could read in a week, but managed to get through at least a little of each: Orthodoxy by Chesterton, The Confessions of St. Augustine, my Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, A New Song from the Mitford Years series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and Jane Eyre.
That sort of list, folks, is much of the reasoning behind my always having pictures of Hermione Granger on my MSN Messenger and my Xanga.
Speaking of Harry Potter, and thinking of the newly-revealed title of book 7: I seem to have a vague memory of hearing the word “Hallows” used to mean ‘salutation’ or ‘greeting’ somewhere. Did I dream this, or has anyone else heard of such a thing? My dictionary gives me no such hint. I thought I’d read it in Jane Eyre, but couldn’t find it by reading the pages of that book where I thought it had been.
Anyway, that booklist has kept me busy. I have laughed, pondered, worked on my predictions for HP book 7, researched the concept of purgatory, wrestled with philosophy, and when the inevitable head-cold fog descended too heavily on my brain, dropped it all to just to read the stories I’ve read and enjoyed over and over again.
I devoted much of today to Chesterton, seeing as how I got distracted from him some weeks ago. I read about a third of the book, and if laughter is the best medicine, he contributed towards my recovery nicely. For instance:
“Mr. McCabe thinks me a slave because I am not allowed to believe in determinism. I think Mr. McCabe a slave because he is not allowed to believe in fairies.”
The humor, however, goes along with some very important points, of which this was a favorite of mine:
“…what we suffer from today is humility in the wrong place. Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed.”
That very error is how I once nearly lost my faith. He could not be more correct about the dangers of such misplaced humility. God grant me the courage and grace to remove every last remnant of that mistake from myself.
Books… how I love them. What would I do without them? No, don’t tell me: I don’t even want to know the answer to that question.
1.03.2007
Transparent Angling Ferrets
In case you couldn't tell by the title, this post is for amusement only.
I bring this topic up because Beth texted those words to me today, in this sentence: "How 'bout them transparent angling ferrets?"
Perhaps some of you may remember my commenting here once about my frequent mis-hearing of song lyrics. In case you don't, let me repeat: I have always had a problem hearing lyrics and getting them correct. It's better if I just look them up.
The above line, for instance, comes from the Alanis Morissette song "Thank You" and what she really says is "transparent dangling carrots."
In reply to Beth's text message, for anyone who wants to know, I said "They go well with ghosts and gravy." "Ghosts and Gravy" for a long time was all I could make out of the song "Constant Craving," which I didn't like much anyway. Hopefully it doesn't run through my head all night now.
My most recent lyric mistake has occurred listening to Celine Dion sing Ave Maria. She performs that beautiful hymn fabulously, but she can't possibly be saying "The monkey caverns, they're so happy."
*sigh* ...there's nothing like a little creative listening :-)
I bring this topic up because Beth texted those words to me today, in this sentence: "How 'bout them transparent angling ferrets?"
Perhaps some of you may remember my commenting here once about my frequent mis-hearing of song lyrics. In case you don't, let me repeat: I have always had a problem hearing lyrics and getting them correct. It's better if I just look them up.
The above line, for instance, comes from the Alanis Morissette song "Thank You" and what she really says is "transparent dangling carrots."
In reply to Beth's text message, for anyone who wants to know, I said "They go well with ghosts and gravy." "Ghosts and Gravy" for a long time was all I could make out of the song "Constant Craving," which I didn't like much anyway. Hopefully it doesn't run through my head all night now.
My most recent lyric mistake has occurred listening to Celine Dion sing Ave Maria. She performs that beautiful hymn fabulously, but she can't possibly be saying "The monkey caverns, they're so happy."
*sigh* ...there's nothing like a little creative listening :-)
1.01.2007
Anno Domini 2007
[Sweet... I do know some Latin!]
Upon welcoming in a new year, I find myself looking back over the old... nothing so uncommon, I suppose. Even if the traditions of Jennifer didn't dictate such a thing, though, I would have to look back over 2006 and wonder over the things it held for me: my first full year living on my own, the start of this blog, new work, some intensive rebuilding of the foundations of my faith, a number of little lifetime milestone 'firsts', and new experiences of loss, finding, love, and hope.
I rang in this New Year in true American and Washingtonian style: in the presence of friends, blowing on a noisemaker, sipping champagne, watching the televised fireworks off the Space Needle, and praying. Next to me stood the Saint, with whom I have so recently begun learning of the old truths of love and faith in new ways.
A whole new year always brings me an odd mix of hope and fear, which has only grown over the last several years as I've learned how quickly life can change either for joy or for sorrow. Still:
"...in Thy book they were all written,
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them."
--Psalm 139
I hope many things for this year. I hope to see my beloved friend and her family in a couple of weeks in attendance at her sister's wedding. I hope to meet Chris and Lisa Knight, who have somehow managed to find their way into my circle of close friends despite our geographic separation. I hope to read the final chapter in the Harry Potter series. I hope to find my faith at the end of this year yet more built up and solid. I hope for God's continued work in the Saint and I and our relationship. I hope to keep blogging here, at least as faithfully as this year. And I hope for many things for those dear to me as well.
So... to all of you, and especially to those of you whom I know and love, Happy New Year of Our Lord 2007. I am not wishing you too little when I wish you as blessed as myself.
Upon welcoming in a new year, I find myself looking back over the old... nothing so uncommon, I suppose. Even if the traditions of Jennifer didn't dictate such a thing, though, I would have to look back over 2006 and wonder over the things it held for me: my first full year living on my own, the start of this blog, new work, some intensive rebuilding of the foundations of my faith, a number of little lifetime milestone 'firsts', and new experiences of loss, finding, love, and hope.
I rang in this New Year in true American and Washingtonian style: in the presence of friends, blowing on a noisemaker, sipping champagne, watching the televised fireworks off the Space Needle, and praying. Next to me stood the Saint, with whom I have so recently begun learning of the old truths of love and faith in new ways.
A whole new year always brings me an odd mix of hope and fear, which has only grown over the last several years as I've learned how quickly life can change either for joy or for sorrow. Still:
"...in Thy book they were all written,
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them."
--Psalm 139
I hope many things for this year. I hope to see my beloved friend and her family in a couple of weeks in attendance at her sister's wedding. I hope to meet Chris and Lisa Knight, who have somehow managed to find their way into my circle of close friends despite our geographic separation. I hope to read the final chapter in the Harry Potter series. I hope to find my faith at the end of this year yet more built up and solid. I hope for God's continued work in the Saint and I and our relationship. I hope to keep blogging here, at least as faithfully as this year. And I hope for many things for those dear to me as well.
So... to all of you, and especially to those of you whom I know and love, Happy New Year of Our Lord 2007. I am not wishing you too little when I wish you as blessed as myself.
12.25.2006
Holiday Post
Nine P.M. on Christmas Day, and here I sit at my parents' computer. I am taking advantage of the sudden silence to post a little holiday blog.
Family tradition usually--if you don't count the year we all slept through our alarms--decrees rising at six on Christmas morning, but traditions change when children grow up (and stay up till one-thirty in the morning, etc.) and today we got up at 7:20. From then on, feeling more rested, we enjoyed a little normal fun: the reading of Luke 2 from the Bible, opening of stockings and gifts, and late breakfast.
The briefness of time in which life changes struck me today, as it often has before, when a routine holiday call to kinfolk in Florida transformed my family's mood from relaxed and celebratory to pensive and tearful. The health of one of my close relatives has declined so quickly that Mom bought a ticket this afternoon, packed a bag, and got Dad to drive her to the airport just an hour ago.
I don't know what will happen. All I know, amid the surprise of sadness, is that the prayers of this strong woman have meant a lot to me all my life. And that whether she recovers or goes to be with Christ, her soul is at peace with God--I believe it wholeheartedly.
So here I sit, Christmas night; though temporarily alone in this house except for God and the puppy, I feel myself surrounded by many a blessing and joy--joys long-known and comfortable, joys young and tremulous and delightful--yet here and there a very real sorrow.
Perhaps among the things the mother of Christ pondered in her heart were the ultimate reaches of both joy and sorrow meant to be carried and fulfilled by the child she cradled in her arms.
Family tradition usually--if you don't count the year we all slept through our alarms--decrees rising at six on Christmas morning, but traditions change when children grow up (and stay up till one-thirty in the morning, etc.) and today we got up at 7:20. From then on, feeling more rested, we enjoyed a little normal fun: the reading of Luke 2 from the Bible, opening of stockings and gifts, and late breakfast.
The briefness of time in which life changes struck me today, as it often has before, when a routine holiday call to kinfolk in Florida transformed my family's mood from relaxed and celebratory to pensive and tearful. The health of one of my close relatives has declined so quickly that Mom bought a ticket this afternoon, packed a bag, and got Dad to drive her to the airport just an hour ago.
I don't know what will happen. All I know, amid the surprise of sadness, is that the prayers of this strong woman have meant a lot to me all my life. And that whether she recovers or goes to be with Christ, her soul is at peace with God--I believe it wholeheartedly.
So here I sit, Christmas night; though temporarily alone in this house except for God and the puppy, I feel myself surrounded by many a blessing and joy--joys long-known and comfortable, joys young and tremulous and delightful--yet here and there a very real sorrow.
Perhaps among the things the mother of Christ pondered in her heart were the ultimate reaches of both joy and sorrow meant to be carried and fulfilled by the child she cradled in her arms.
12.21.2006
Harry Potter's Final Title
I know perfectly well that everyone else has already posted about this, but how can I resist? You're reading the words of one very-much-in-love fan.
Anyway, Chris Knight broke the news to me this morning: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (not the Deathly Hollows, as MSN had accidentally posted today) has been confirmed by J.K. Rowling and her publishing company. So if you were one of the three remaining Americans who didn't know that: now you do know.
Ahhh... now for the speculations. I need much more time to process this. The word "Hallows" intrigues me, though, as it refers to things sacred. And in America--I can't answer for England--"Hallow" is generally used as a verb or adjective, not a noun, so "the... hallows" interests me grammatically as well.
My first question: What in the Harry Potter books is held sacred? The traces of religious practice associated with 'magic'--traces which range in origin from alchemy to Zoroastrianism--have been stripped out of the books, far too cleanly to suggest that Ms. Rowling had any desire to do less. No, I doubt we'll find sacred items or rituals in the seventh book. If I may venture my opinion, those things which the great characters of Harry's story do venerate are principles: hope, friendship and loyalty, compassion, trust and honor; and, as is revealed clearly to Harry at the end of book 5--amid shattered silver instruments in Dumbledore's office, and in the agony of loss--love.
Make of that what you will.
Needless to say, I'm fascinated, and like children everywhere, am hanging on J.K.R.'s words. I've noticed that if I say on this blog that I'm going to post something, it'll never happen (still haven't reviewed Ender's Game, or Clay Aiken's latest CD, or that Over the Rhine concert) so I won't make too much of a comment about having a whole list of predictions to post the day before the release of book 7, or about my intention of putting aside my introverted tendencies and attending the nearest Midnight Madness to get one of the first copies out of the boxes.
Anyway, Chris Knight broke the news to me this morning: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (not the Deathly Hollows, as MSN had accidentally posted today) has been confirmed by J.K. Rowling and her publishing company. So if you were one of the three remaining Americans who didn't know that: now you do know.
Ahhh... now for the speculations. I need much more time to process this. The word "Hallows" intrigues me, though, as it refers to things sacred. And in America--I can't answer for England--"Hallow" is generally used as a verb or adjective, not a noun, so "the... hallows" interests me grammatically as well.
My first question: What in the Harry Potter books is held sacred? The traces of religious practice associated with 'magic'--traces which range in origin from alchemy to Zoroastrianism--have been stripped out of the books, far too cleanly to suggest that Ms. Rowling had any desire to do less. No, I doubt we'll find sacred items or rituals in the seventh book. If I may venture my opinion, those things which the great characters of Harry's story do venerate are principles: hope, friendship and loyalty, compassion, trust and honor; and, as is revealed clearly to Harry at the end of book 5--amid shattered silver instruments in Dumbledore's office, and in the agony of loss--love.
Make of that what you will.
Needless to say, I'm fascinated, and like children everywhere, am hanging on J.K.R.'s words. I've noticed that if I say on this blog that I'm going to post something, it'll never happen (still haven't reviewed Ender's Game, or Clay Aiken's latest CD, or that Over the Rhine concert) so I won't make too much of a comment about having a whole list of predictions to post the day before the release of book 7, or about my intention of putting aside my introverted tendencies and attending the nearest Midnight Madness to get one of the first copies out of the boxes.
12.16.2006
Here
I am here.
A faithful blogger, having disappeared from the face of the blogosphere for two complete weeks, should probably at least post some kind of excuse for the absence.
That, however, constitutes far more than I can manage right now. The hour is late, and sleep I must have. But I will be back, oh yes. This little space has not been neglected out of lack of love.
12.03.2006
Snow and Musings
Victory at last! Even in the winter of '96, when we got two feet of snow in Anacortes, it only lasted a couple of days. Today, though, for the first time in a week I actually got to drive my car. The snow has finally gotten itself under control and mostly off the roads. Honestly! I thought I'd left Montana over ten years ago, but Bellingham this week felt just like good ol' Bozeman of a January.
The drama of being snowbound has for me included riding the WTA buses to and from work, creative cooking with canned chicken, lots of MSN Messenger and telephone conversation (most other social interaction having been circumvented by the snowplow shortage), and lots of reading. Fortunately, I've had plenty of reading material.
The Saint lent me Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton, whose work I have heard quoted often but never read. Nor had I ever heard what a hilarious man Chesterton was. In the introduction, for instance, he writes "...There is in everything a fair division of labor. I have written the book, and nothing on earth would induce me to read it." That made me laugh so hard that my roommate, who was upstairs, wanted to know if I was all right.
Another quote, just a few pages in, surprised me with a perspective I'd never considered. He had been talking about the logic and reasonings of minds gone mad, and said this:
"...[The insane mind] moves in a perfect but narrow circle. A small circle is quite as infinite as a large circle, but, though it is quite as infinite, it is not so large... A bullet is quite as round as the world, but it is not the world. There is such a thing as a narrow universality; there is such a thing as a small and cramped eternity."
Perhaps this spoke to me because, as someone naturally and rather desperately analytical, I can look back over my life and see times when my own mind got caught up in an ever-narrowing whirlpool of twisted logic. None stands out to me more clearly than the time I nearly lost my faith; the sense that God might not exist, or might exist only in a less truly good form than I had believed, took me nearer clinical depression than I ever hope to be again.
If I may be allowed to meander so far into philosophy, I may admit to realizing through the above experience that the narrowest of the circles of reason is that which fails to include God--closely followed by that which attempts to strip God of His mystery and confine Him to an orderly little box.
God, however, has spent my lifetime slowly and carefully broadening my circles of understanding. I'm not talking about letting go of truth or becoming "so open-minded that the brains fall out;" I'm talking about learning that God is, and that He--not to mention His gifts of faith and life and love--is more than can be comprehended by even the incredibly complex human brain.
That's enough of my soapboxing. Whenever God shows off a bit of His infinite mystery to me, all I can really do is respond--like He did when looking over all that He had made--with this: "It's good."
The drama of being snowbound has for me included riding the WTA buses to and from work, creative cooking with canned chicken, lots of MSN Messenger and telephone conversation (most other social interaction having been circumvented by the snowplow shortage), and lots of reading. Fortunately, I've had plenty of reading material.
The Saint lent me Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton, whose work I have heard quoted often but never read. Nor had I ever heard what a hilarious man Chesterton was. In the introduction, for instance, he writes "...There is in everything a fair division of labor. I have written the book, and nothing on earth would induce me to read it." That made me laugh so hard that my roommate, who was upstairs, wanted to know if I was all right.
Another quote, just a few pages in, surprised me with a perspective I'd never considered. He had been talking about the logic and reasonings of minds gone mad, and said this:
"...[The insane mind] moves in a perfect but narrow circle. A small circle is quite as infinite as a large circle, but, though it is quite as infinite, it is not so large... A bullet is quite as round as the world, but it is not the world. There is such a thing as a narrow universality; there is such a thing as a small and cramped eternity."
Perhaps this spoke to me because, as someone naturally and rather desperately analytical, I can look back over my life and see times when my own mind got caught up in an ever-narrowing whirlpool of twisted logic. None stands out to me more clearly than the time I nearly lost my faith; the sense that God might not exist, or might exist only in a less truly good form than I had believed, took me nearer clinical depression than I ever hope to be again.
If I may be allowed to meander so far into philosophy, I may admit to realizing through the above experience that the narrowest of the circles of reason is that which fails to include God--closely followed by that which attempts to strip God of His mystery and confine Him to an orderly little box.
God, however, has spent my lifetime slowly and carefully broadening my circles of understanding. I'm not talking about letting go of truth or becoming "so open-minded that the brains fall out;" I'm talking about learning that God is, and that He--not to mention His gifts of faith and life and love--is more than can be comprehended by even the incredibly complex human brain.
That's enough of my soapboxing. Whenever God shows off a bit of His infinite mystery to me, all I can really do is respond--like He did when looking over all that He had made--with this: "It's good."
11.27.2006
Hands Down Please: Weirdest Movie I've Ever Seen
Harold and Maude. Apparently it's a '70's "cult classic." Which makes some sense, especially since Cat Stevens did all the music.
Despite the fact that Cat Stevens has done some good music, if you haven't seen that movie, I don't suggest bothering. Unless, of course, you happen to like straaaaange.
Cheesy, I can often enjoy (The Russians are Coming, anyone?) Silly, I can take rather well--Dumb and Dumber was funny, as was Shanghai Noon. Bizarre, however... I've never quite gotten used to that genre.
If you liked Arsenic and Old Lace, then Harold and Maude, its somewhat poignant cousin, is the movie for you.
Call me a wimp, but I think I'll stick with Surf Ninjas.
Despite the fact that Cat Stevens has done some good music, if you haven't seen that movie, I don't suggest bothering. Unless, of course, you happen to like straaaaange.
Cheesy, I can often enjoy (The Russians are Coming, anyone?) Silly, I can take rather well--Dumb and Dumber was funny, as was Shanghai Noon. Bizarre, however... I've never quite gotten used to that genre.
If you liked Arsenic and Old Lace, then Harold and Maude, its somewhat poignant cousin, is the movie for you.
Call me a wimp, but I think I'll stick with Surf Ninjas.
11.26.2006
Baby, It's Cold Outside
[...but weren't the couple in that song in the same place while it was "cold outside"? Darn.]
If a picture's worth a thousand words, then it's really too bad that I don't have a digital camera.
Having grown up in Montana, I can remember when eight inches of snow didn't make that much difference in everyday life. Here in Bellingham, however, where I live on the side of a very steep hill and have armed my car for 'the weather' with no more than a frost scraper, eight inches of snow means "snowed in." The bravest and best, attempting the roads around my place right now, would like as not find their cars propelled ditchward by forces outside the control of man.
Despite every danger and disappointment involved in such weather and its effective prevention of any going out or coming in, there's something lovely and peaceful about looking out at a snowstorm from a warm room. Right now, outside the window by my computer chair, the snow is alternately drifting and driving down in dime-sized flakes, and gusts of wind occasionally come by and sweep clouds of it rather gleefully from rooftops and tree branches.
It reminds me of a Thomas Kinkade painting... only it's the wrong time of day for that kind of lighting, and Thomas Kinkade doesn't normally punctuate his sylvan landscapes with cars, wire fences and concrete abutments... but it's beautiful nonetheless.
Well. Since I am snowed in, I think I'll fix something warm to eat, talk to my best friend, do some reading, and play the piano. Maybe see if I can find some candles and pull out my creche. I feel like Christmas :-D
EDIT: But I sure wouldn't want to be traveling right now, like half of America is doing... My parents have already paid a visit to a ditch along I-5, along with half the other people attempting that road anywhere near Bellingham. They weren't hurt, thank God, but they tell me the current traffic speed on the Five is about 10-15 miles per hour, and traction is nonexistent. No good!
If a picture's worth a thousand words, then it's really too bad that I don't have a digital camera.
Having grown up in Montana, I can remember when eight inches of snow didn't make that much difference in everyday life. Here in Bellingham, however, where I live on the side of a very steep hill and have armed my car for 'the weather' with no more than a frost scraper, eight inches of snow means "snowed in." The bravest and best, attempting the roads around my place right now, would like as not find their cars propelled ditchward by forces outside the control of man.
Despite every danger and disappointment involved in such weather and its effective prevention of any going out or coming in, there's something lovely and peaceful about looking out at a snowstorm from a warm room. Right now, outside the window by my computer chair, the snow is alternately drifting and driving down in dime-sized flakes, and gusts of wind occasionally come by and sweep clouds of it rather gleefully from rooftops and tree branches.
It reminds me of a Thomas Kinkade painting... only it's the wrong time of day for that kind of lighting, and Thomas Kinkade doesn't normally punctuate his sylvan landscapes with cars, wire fences and concrete abutments... but it's beautiful nonetheless.
Well. Since I am snowed in, I think I'll fix something warm to eat, talk to my best friend, do some reading, and play the piano. Maybe see if I can find some candles and pull out my creche. I feel like Christmas :-D
EDIT: But I sure wouldn't want to be traveling right now, like half of America is doing... My parents have already paid a visit to a ditch along I-5, along with half the other people attempting that road anywhere near Bellingham. They weren't hurt, thank God, but they tell me the current traffic speed on the Five is about 10-15 miles per hour, and traction is nonexistent. No good!
11.23.2006
All I Can Say This Thanksgiving...
...is that I am simply, and deeply, thankful.
Custom, I suppose, dictates the writing of a list of reasons for being thankful. But today, these words are good enough for me.
"Every good thing bestowed and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow." James 1
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you :-)
Custom, I suppose, dictates the writing of a list of reasons for being thankful. But today, these words are good enough for me.
"Every good thing bestowed and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow." James 1
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you :-)
11.16.2006
Stop the Wind, It's Going 60 in a 25 Zone
The one thing about working with computers is that... well, if the power goes down, you might as well stay home. Hence my unusual ability to blog in the middle of a Thursday.
I looked outside yesterday at the wind, blowing red and yellow leaves horizontally--at eye-level--down the street. Then, as several of my coworkers and I finished up lunch, the lights went out.
Since I knew my computer had been on, I ran into my department to shut it down so it wouldn't drain the backup power supply. The usual quiet electric hum over there had been replaced by the beeping of a clear jillion power boxes... :P It took us awhile to shut those down to a manageable auditory level.
May I just say that I love my coworkers? They amaze me. Finding ourselves out of regular work, we pulled our chairs together in groups. Several of us from my department started on Christmas decorations, and we kept lively conversations going for the hour and a half we had till our department head came in and told us it didn't look like we'd have power anytime soon, so we could go home. People that normally talk little at work joined in, making for a spontaneous group-bonding session.
My apartment having maintained power, and a few of us being originally set to leave the company at 5 PM for a concert in Vancouver, I invited said concert-goers over to my house. "It's an adventure day," one of them proclaimed in my living room. We played Apples to Apples, drank tea and ate peanut butter cups, watched the wind go by and enjoyed the unexpected holiday.
All I can say is that I needed what yesterday became. I love my company and my job--it's not that I'd want work to cease every day, but since the outage did happen, maybe it's all right to admit that the impromptu fun totally made my week. And hey, at least it was just wind... it definitely did some damage, but we also had a tsunami alert out yesterday, which, thank God, never materialized.
And I'm definitely going to have to write up that concert... one of the best I've ever attended. If any of y'all have never heard of Over the Rhine, you should really check them out.
I looked outside yesterday at the wind, blowing red and yellow leaves horizontally--at eye-level--down the street. Then, as several of my coworkers and I finished up lunch, the lights went out.
Since I knew my computer had been on, I ran into my department to shut it down so it wouldn't drain the backup power supply. The usual quiet electric hum over there had been replaced by the beeping of a clear jillion power boxes... :P It took us awhile to shut those down to a manageable auditory level.
May I just say that I love my coworkers? They amaze me. Finding ourselves out of regular work, we pulled our chairs together in groups. Several of us from my department started on Christmas decorations, and we kept lively conversations going for the hour and a half we had till our department head came in and told us it didn't look like we'd have power anytime soon, so we could go home. People that normally talk little at work joined in, making for a spontaneous group-bonding session.
My apartment having maintained power, and a few of us being originally set to leave the company at 5 PM for a concert in Vancouver, I invited said concert-goers over to my house. "It's an adventure day," one of them proclaimed in my living room. We played Apples to Apples, drank tea and ate peanut butter cups, watched the wind go by and enjoyed the unexpected holiday.
All I can say is that I needed what yesterday became. I love my company and my job--it's not that I'd want work to cease every day, but since the outage did happen, maybe it's all right to admit that the impromptu fun totally made my week. And hey, at least it was just wind... it definitely did some damage, but we also had a tsunami alert out yesterday, which, thank God, never materialized.
And I'm definitely going to have to write up that concert... one of the best I've ever attended. If any of y'all have never heard of Over the Rhine, you should really check them out.
11.12.2006
True, That
Naomi handed out little cards at small group some weeks back. The cards contained this passage, of which I had only ever read the second half. The first half filled out the picture for me, and today it fell out of my Bible as I was reading. I need add nothing to these words.
"If you asked twenty good men today 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 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.
If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
--C. S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"
"If you asked twenty good men today 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 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.
If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
--C. S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"
11.11.2006
Pointless Brainwaving
My mind, right now, contains a perfect jumble of thoughts, all sort of tangled up in each other, and each too scattered to expound upon with any depth.
Anyone who so chooses can blame this fact on my having slept in, and slept hard, till eleven A.M. I normally don't do that, but since I started off this past week tired and never managed to recover, extra sleep had become necessary.
Here, then, are some of the random waves floating around in my head:
1. I'm mainly choosing to post at this particular minute because that celebrity lookalike thing is messing up my sidebar, which annoys me terribly. The faster I can write it off the front page of my blog, the better.
2. One of my coworkers told me the other day, as we crossed paths in the lunchroom, that he enjoys reading my blog, so hi, Dave! Honestly, I’ve been writing since I grew old enough to tell which end of a pencil makes the black marks, so it always makes my day when someone says they like to read my thoughts.
3. This post will probably not be a great example of good writing.
4. After waking up this morning, I finished reading Sense and Sensibility for probably the third or fourth time in my life. It had never been a favorite of mine among Jane Austen's books, but this time I thoroughly enjoyed it.
5. My family laughs every time we watch the movie Sense and Sensibility (the Emma Thompson version is a family favorite.) They say I am just like Elinor. I couldn't ask for a better compliment. I love her. Jane Austen said, in writing Elinor's story, that she had created "a heroine whom no one but myself will much like" but perhaps she underestimated her own flawless ability to create a likeable character even around traits such as reserve, seriousness, and carefulness in judgment. Or maybe she underestimated the likeability of such characters :-)
6. Three or four trips cover-to-cover through a book (not counting partial re-readings) sort of hits a median point for me. The book has passed acquaintance and early friendship, reached good friendship, but in most cases has not quite made it to full emotional intimacy.
7. That measurement can be misleading, though, as I've really only Genesis-to-Revelationed the Bible three or four times despite its many years' residence in my (almost) daily life. My shortest trip through the Bible, however, took me a year and eighteen days, while Sense and Sensibility took me less than a week. I've also had free access to Sense and Sensibility for several years, while my ten months' relationship with Harry Potter has, in its romantic fervor, inspired me to at least three or four trips through books 1, 3, 5, and maybe 6, and two trips each through two and four.
8. If 'they' (meaning whoever does these things) would make a Jeopardy! game show with only two categories, The Bible and Harry Potter, I'd stand a good chance of winning. Most people, not having been raised homeschooled and Baptist, tend to get a lot of the Bible's secondary characters and events mixed up. It always amuses me when the Bible comes up as a category, because I did grow up homeschooled and Baptist, so the conversation tends to go like this:
Contestant: "I'll take Bible for $400, please."
Alex Trebek: "Answer: 'He was the father of Gershom, Kohath, and Merari.' "
Contestant: "Who was Methusaleh?"
Alex Trebek: "I'm sorry, that is incorrect."
Me: "Levi! Sweet! I actually know the right answer to a Jeopardy question! ...or is it 'the right question to a Jeopardy answer'?"
Of course, the proverbial tables are turned as soon as Alex Trebek starts talking about the Simpsons, or Ancient Egyptian History, or... pretty much anything else.
9. No, I am not putting the Bible and Harry Potter into equivalent rank, either in my life or anywhere else. They're just the only two subjects I can think of right now on which I know decent amounts of useless trivia.
10. Cool Harry Potter trivia I learned in a recent re-read through book 1: The inscription over the Mirror of Erised, "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" is actually an English sentence written backwards. Can't believe it took me so many re-readings to notice that :-)
11. When you wake up at eleven A.M. in November at the 48th parallel (I did have to look that up), you have approximately six hours of daylight. This makes it feel like the sun goes down just after noon.
12. Those eleven hours of sleep have apparently addled my brain, because at this point I'm even running out of random thoughts. Ah well.
Anyone who so chooses can blame this fact on my having slept in, and slept hard, till eleven A.M. I normally don't do that, but since I started off this past week tired and never managed to recover, extra sleep had become necessary.
Here, then, are some of the random waves floating around in my head:
1. I'm mainly choosing to post at this particular minute because that celebrity lookalike thing is messing up my sidebar, which annoys me terribly. The faster I can write it off the front page of my blog, the better.
2. One of my coworkers told me the other day, as we crossed paths in the lunchroom, that he enjoys reading my blog, so hi, Dave! Honestly, I’ve been writing since I grew old enough to tell which end of a pencil makes the black marks, so it always makes my day when someone says they like to read my thoughts.
3. This post will probably not be a great example of good writing.
4. After waking up this morning, I finished reading Sense and Sensibility for probably the third or fourth time in my life. It had never been a favorite of mine among Jane Austen's books, but this time I thoroughly enjoyed it.
5. My family laughs every time we watch the movie Sense and Sensibility (the Emma Thompson version is a family favorite.) They say I am just like Elinor. I couldn't ask for a better compliment. I love her. Jane Austen said, in writing Elinor's story, that she had created "a heroine whom no one but myself will much like" but perhaps she underestimated her own flawless ability to create a likeable character even around traits such as reserve, seriousness, and carefulness in judgment. Or maybe she underestimated the likeability of such characters :-)
6. Three or four trips cover-to-cover through a book (not counting partial re-readings) sort of hits a median point for me. The book has passed acquaintance and early friendship, reached good friendship, but in most cases has not quite made it to full emotional intimacy.
7. That measurement can be misleading, though, as I've really only Genesis-to-Revelationed the Bible three or four times despite its many years' residence in my (almost) daily life. My shortest trip through the Bible, however, took me a year and eighteen days, while Sense and Sensibility took me less than a week. I've also had free access to Sense and Sensibility for several years, while my ten months' relationship with Harry Potter has, in its romantic fervor, inspired me to at least three or four trips through books 1, 3, 5, and maybe 6, and two trips each through two and four.
8. If 'they' (meaning whoever does these things) would make a Jeopardy! game show with only two categories, The Bible and Harry Potter, I'd stand a good chance of winning. Most people, not having been raised homeschooled and Baptist, tend to get a lot of the Bible's secondary characters and events mixed up. It always amuses me when the Bible comes up as a category, because I did grow up homeschooled and Baptist, so the conversation tends to go like this:
Contestant: "I'll take Bible for $400, please."
Alex Trebek: "Answer: 'He was the father of Gershom, Kohath, and Merari.' "
Contestant: "Who was Methusaleh?"
Alex Trebek: "I'm sorry, that is incorrect."
Me: "Levi! Sweet! I actually know the right answer to a Jeopardy question! ...or is it 'the right question to a Jeopardy answer'?"
Of course, the proverbial tables are turned as soon as Alex Trebek starts talking about the Simpsons, or Ancient Egyptian History, or... pretty much anything else.
9. No, I am not putting the Bible and Harry Potter into equivalent rank, either in my life or anywhere else. They're just the only two subjects I can think of right now on which I know decent amounts of useless trivia.
10. Cool Harry Potter trivia I learned in a recent re-read through book 1: The inscription over the Mirror of Erised, "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" is actually an English sentence written backwards. Can't believe it took me so many re-readings to notice that :-)
11. When you wake up at eleven A.M. in November at the 48th parallel (I did have to look that up), you have approximately six hours of daylight. This makes it feel like the sun goes down just after noon.
12. Those eleven hours of sleep have apparently addled my brain, because at this point I'm even running out of random thoughts. Ah well.
11.07.2006
Because I Found it Amusing
Having never been told I looked like a celebrity (probably because Emma Watson doesn't totally exhibit Hermione Granger's "bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth"), curiosity made me try this:
Left to right, top to bottom: Lisa Kudrow, Audrey Tautou, Norkys Batista, Jodie Sweetin, Woranuch Wongsawan, Hillary Clinton, Alexis Bledel, and Gong Li.
Generally speaking, I'm flattered; there are lots of beautiful women in that collage. But Hillary Clinton... well, it's not that she isn't beautiful. I guess as long as I don't wind up with her politics, or her taste in men, I'll accept that ;-)
Left to right, top to bottom: Lisa Kudrow, Audrey Tautou, Norkys Batista, Jodie Sweetin, Woranuch Wongsawan, Hillary Clinton, Alexis Bledel, and Gong Li.
Generally speaking, I'm flattered; there are lots of beautiful women in that collage. But Hillary Clinton... well, it's not that she isn't beautiful. I guess as long as I don't wind up with her politics, or her taste in men, I'll accept that ;-)
Simon Cowell Goes to Seattle
I picked up a newspaper at work today and read this comment, made by acerbic American Idol judge Simon Cowell in regards to the recent AI auditions in Seattle:
"Seattle is going to be known for something other than coffee this year. They had the worst bunch of miserable singers I've ever seen in my life. It was two days of total misery. And the weather was bad, too."
Gotta know Simon would have something cheerful to say :-D I personally laughed out loud, even though I generally like and respect Simon. I know perfectly well that if they'd screen out all the terrible and deluded hopefuls that make 'good' TV... and awful noises... Seattle could hold her own. But perhaps the rain put all the screeners in a bad mood. He might have a valid point there.
American Idol, coming in January. You'll hear about it all here... provided Mom tapes the Gilmore Girls.
"Seattle is going to be known for something other than coffee this year. They had the worst bunch of miserable singers I've ever seen in my life. It was two days of total misery. And the weather was bad, too."
Gotta know Simon would have something cheerful to say :-D I personally laughed out loud, even though I generally like and respect Simon. I know perfectly well that if they'd screen out all the terrible and deluded hopefuls that make 'good' TV... and awful noises... Seattle could hold her own. But perhaps the rain put all the screeners in a bad mood. He might have a valid point there.
American Idol, coming in January. You'll hear about it all here... provided Mom tapes the Gilmore Girls.
11.05.2006
Because I Needed Another One
Some people collect stamps. Or china. Or memorabilia. Or those state-depicting quarters.
I, apparently, collect personal web pages. First the Blogspot (that's this one, in case anybody didn't know), then the Myspace. Now I have a Xanga, too.
The basic conundrum I faced is that if you want to comment on your friends' sites, and they don't use Blogspot, you have to have a login. When I created my Myspace login, I didn't realize it had made me a whole page (duh) till my best friend sent me a Friend invitation. And hey, if it's already creating a page, well... I figured I might as well get creative too :-D
This week, I finally decided I had too many Xangad friends to not have a login on that Cyberspace planet. So, "Library Lily" joined the Xangan ranks.
Fear not, however, fellow Blogspot-ites. This planet is still my home base and central communication port. You'll hear it all here first.
...sheesh... could I sound anymore dorky?
I, apparently, collect personal web pages. First the Blogspot (that's this one, in case anybody didn't know), then the Myspace. Now I have a Xanga, too.
The basic conundrum I faced is that if you want to comment on your friends' sites, and they don't use Blogspot, you have to have a login. When I created my Myspace login, I didn't realize it had made me a whole page (duh) till my best friend sent me a Friend invitation. And hey, if it's already creating a page, well... I figured I might as well get creative too :-D
This week, I finally decided I had too many Xangad friends to not have a login on that Cyberspace planet. So, "Library Lily" joined the Xangan ranks.
Fear not, however, fellow Blogspot-ites. This planet is still my home base and central communication port. You'll hear it all here first.
...sheesh... could I sound anymore dorky?
Just Finished Reading: Dickens' "Christmas Carol"
As a normal twentysomething American woman, I naturally love reading the British writers. I read them a lot: Dickens, Austen, Brontë (Charlotte), Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott, Rowling (of course), etc.
I have also seen multiple versions of A Christmas Carol, including Bill Murray's and the goofball play Scrooged. The memory of Jacob Marley dancing, chains and all, to ATC's "Around the World" still makes me laugh. As does the ditzy Ghost of Christmas Present slapping Bill Murray in the face while saying "Sometimes the truth HURTS!"
But... I'd never managed to sit down and read the actual book itself. Maybe because I generally think of it around Christmas, but not until someone else has checked it out from the library.
This year I managed to think of it early. And now I know why it's a classic.
It's just the sweetest, loveliest, most charming little story... ever. Just a simple redemption story of one man's soul. Just a word-picture of the difference life and hope can make to the coldest and bitterest of hearts. And to do Charles Dickens credit, knowing the basic progression and ending of the story didn't spoil it at all for me.
Yes, I do know that the Ghost of Christmas Present showed Scrooge many a merry sight of what Christmas ought to be, not what most people have. But if forever we sentimental fools try to scatter simple, honest happiness wherever we can, no one will be the worse because of it.
I have also seen multiple versions of A Christmas Carol, including Bill Murray's and the goofball play Scrooged. The memory of Jacob Marley dancing, chains and all, to ATC's "Around the World" still makes me laugh. As does the ditzy Ghost of Christmas Present slapping Bill Murray in the face while saying "Sometimes the truth HURTS!"
But... I'd never managed to sit down and read the actual book itself. Maybe because I generally think of it around Christmas, but not until someone else has checked it out from the library.
This year I managed to think of it early. And now I know why it's a classic.
It's just the sweetest, loveliest, most charming little story... ever. Just a simple redemption story of one man's soul. Just a word-picture of the difference life and hope can make to the coldest and bitterest of hearts. And to do Charles Dickens credit, knowing the basic progression and ending of the story didn't spoil it at all for me.
Yes, I do know that the Ghost of Christmas Present showed Scrooge many a merry sight of what Christmas ought to be, not what most people have. But if forever we sentimental fools try to scatter simple, honest happiness wherever we can, no one will be the worse because of it.
10.31.2006
Finally: A Good Movie
After a year and a half, nearly, of mediocre stuff in the theaters--much of which didn't even catch my attention on the Blockbuster shelf--I have finally seen a good movie.
All right, Pirates II was pretty good. X-3 was okay. Neither of them quite lived up to the earlier series installments. I liked Elizabethtown; still haven't seen Cars, much to my chagrin. Failure to Launch and Queen Latifah's Last Holiday were both enjoyable chick-relaxation watches, as was The Lake House, once I managed to understand what was going on in that story.
Overall, though, Hollywood has had such a lame stretch that I've seen only maybe five movies in the theater since June of 2005. If that.
Saturday night, I bottled up my old fears of water and saw The Guardian.
Ashton Kutcher, who usually annoys me endlessly, showed a strength to his acting ability that I've never seen out of him before. Maybe I've watched the wrong movies; Newlyweds just didn't thrill me (actually, I thought it was boring, a bit disgusting and rather less than believable), and of course he played an idiot in Cheaper by the Dozen. This time he actually had a character, and he made something of it.
Kevin Costner did credit to the role of the weathered, tough-but-good, legendary-in-life Senior Chief. He played a man who had both great strengths and weaknesses; a man who had already learned to maximize his gifts and was now learning to minimize weakness and make good on mistakes, all the while dealing with loss.
The story brought out themes of honor, hope, greatness with humility, and the value of life... and besides that, it was just a good story. Well worth the watching.
All right, Pirates II was pretty good. X-3 was okay. Neither of them quite lived up to the earlier series installments. I liked Elizabethtown; still haven't seen Cars, much to my chagrin. Failure to Launch and Queen Latifah's Last Holiday were both enjoyable chick-relaxation watches, as was The Lake House, once I managed to understand what was going on in that story.
Overall, though, Hollywood has had such a lame stretch that I've seen only maybe five movies in the theater since June of 2005. If that.
Saturday night, I bottled up my old fears of water and saw The Guardian.
Ashton Kutcher, who usually annoys me endlessly, showed a strength to his acting ability that I've never seen out of him before. Maybe I've watched the wrong movies; Newlyweds just didn't thrill me (actually, I thought it was boring, a bit disgusting and rather less than believable), and of course he played an idiot in Cheaper by the Dozen. This time he actually had a character, and he made something of it.
Kevin Costner did credit to the role of the weathered, tough-but-good, legendary-in-life Senior Chief. He played a man who had both great strengths and weaknesses; a man who had already learned to maximize his gifts and was now learning to minimize weakness and make good on mistakes, all the while dealing with loss.
The story brought out themes of honor, hope, greatness with humility, and the value of life... and besides that, it was just a good story. Well worth the watching.
10.25.2006
Wednesday Nights
"I love this town," Naomi said to me tonight.
She might as well have read my mind just then. "Me too. The whole Bohemian, funky, offbeat soul of it."
We were standing in the wind and the dark downtown, waiting for a light to change. Our small group had spent the past fifteen minutes walking around in pairs, praying over the city. Praying aloud doesn't come naturally for me, but somehow conviction came over me in the act. Not simply conviction as in knowing what I believe, but conviction as in knowing that I fail in this town--fail to see the needs of others, fail to overcome my innate hesitations and act.
I'm not sure exactly what that means.
After prayer, we all headed into Stuart's at the Market, where I discovered they make superb hot chocolate and we hung around for a spoken-word-only open mic session.
This being Bellingham, I was prepared for pretty much anything, especially politically speaking. Although anyone supporting Bush probably would have been chased out of the market in a storm of fresh produce.
To my surprise, though, the participation didn't really come from the stereotypical angry twentysomething poet, twisting rage and obscenity into tortuous lines of chaos-themed free verse. Justin got up and read a couple of beautifully-worded pieces on the value of a human life and worship. Erland recited "The Road Less Traveled". A mother with her four-year-old son in tow read some of her own work on different themes, as did a girl of about eleven. One neatly-dressed man, obviously experienced at the whole open-mic thing, did offer a piece he'd written about refusing to pledge allegiance to "our blood-stained flag." Another girl, just a few years younger than me, spoke into a microphone for the first time in her life.
Generally speaking, I enjoyed it far more than I'd thought I would. And that piece Justin read called "She's Beyond All This" connected deeply with my heart. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the evening, though, and one of the most powerful moments for me, came through the words of a gentleman named Gary Wade, who recited a poem he'd written called "I am War."
I will clarify here that I am not a pacifist at all costs. I do believe that there is a time for war--despite the fact that the whole idea of shedding blood is absolutely foreign to me, heart and soul. But this poem spoke to me because it captured, better than most Christians have ever put it, the "wages of sin."
Gary Wade was kind enough to give me a booklet he carried of his poetry afterwards, and it contained the poem. I won't quote all of it (that probably transgresses copyright law), but here's a few lines:
"I am War!
I am the fruit of injustice
sown on fester-ground
where you had not the courage to weed...
I am your reward for tolerating tyrants
and disarming yourselves in front of them.
I am War!
I am your price for greed,
for hate,
for disdain,
for revenge,
and for not caring..."
He pointed at the audience as he spoke. Pointed right at me when he said "For disdain." Do I disdain? Sometimes. Perhaps more as a sin of omission, rather than commission. Perhaps I should have been angry, like a Pharisee, when he pointed at me. After all, he has no idea who I am, or what I've done. But it didn't matter. He might as well point at me; I'm human, I'm guilty as the next man, or woman.
Later, I drove past the Western campus. That school calls to me, begging me somehow to participate in it--the whole aching, rebellious, idealistic soul of it--bringing with me, of course, the Christ who died for every aching and rebellious and idealistic soul in town, starting with this one. And again, I haven't figured out entirely what it means to do anything about that. A lot of my feelings come from my own romantic reverence for the halls of learning.
Not having practiced much today, I had started singing "Panis Angelicus" in my car. As I drove by the school, the words struck me. I don't know Latin, but have researched enough to know that, roughly, part of the stanza works out to "Bread of angels, given to men... Oh, wonderful that the Lord becomes the food of the poor, the servant, and the lowly."
I'm not an evangelist. I can't go to school right now, and have no idea where to start in this town beyond what I already do. But if Jesus is the food of the poor and lowly, God grant me the wisdom and courage to serve to them. In whatever ways he asks.
She might as well have read my mind just then. "Me too. The whole Bohemian, funky, offbeat soul of it."
We were standing in the wind and the dark downtown, waiting for a light to change. Our small group had spent the past fifteen minutes walking around in pairs, praying over the city. Praying aloud doesn't come naturally for me, but somehow conviction came over me in the act. Not simply conviction as in knowing what I believe, but conviction as in knowing that I fail in this town--fail to see the needs of others, fail to overcome my innate hesitations and act.
I'm not sure exactly what that means.
After prayer, we all headed into Stuart's at the Market, where I discovered they make superb hot chocolate and we hung around for a spoken-word-only open mic session.
This being Bellingham, I was prepared for pretty much anything, especially politically speaking. Although anyone supporting Bush probably would have been chased out of the market in a storm of fresh produce.
To my surprise, though, the participation didn't really come from the stereotypical angry twentysomething poet, twisting rage and obscenity into tortuous lines of chaos-themed free verse. Justin got up and read a couple of beautifully-worded pieces on the value of a human life and worship. Erland recited "The Road Less Traveled". A mother with her four-year-old son in tow read some of her own work on different themes, as did a girl of about eleven. One neatly-dressed man, obviously experienced at the whole open-mic thing, did offer a piece he'd written about refusing to pledge allegiance to "our blood-stained flag." Another girl, just a few years younger than me, spoke into a microphone for the first time in her life.
Generally speaking, I enjoyed it far more than I'd thought I would. And that piece Justin read called "She's Beyond All This" connected deeply with my heart. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the evening, though, and one of the most powerful moments for me, came through the words of a gentleman named Gary Wade, who recited a poem he'd written called "I am War."
I will clarify here that I am not a pacifist at all costs. I do believe that there is a time for war--despite the fact that the whole idea of shedding blood is absolutely foreign to me, heart and soul. But this poem spoke to me because it captured, better than most Christians have ever put it, the "wages of sin."
Gary Wade was kind enough to give me a booklet he carried of his poetry afterwards, and it contained the poem. I won't quote all of it (that probably transgresses copyright law), but here's a few lines:
"I am War!
I am the fruit of injustice
sown on fester-ground
where you had not the courage to weed...
I am your reward for tolerating tyrants
and disarming yourselves in front of them.
I am War!
I am your price for greed,
for hate,
for disdain,
for revenge,
and for not caring..."
He pointed at the audience as he spoke. Pointed right at me when he said "For disdain." Do I disdain? Sometimes. Perhaps more as a sin of omission, rather than commission. Perhaps I should have been angry, like a Pharisee, when he pointed at me. After all, he has no idea who I am, or what I've done. But it didn't matter. He might as well point at me; I'm human, I'm guilty as the next man, or woman.
Later, I drove past the Western campus. That school calls to me, begging me somehow to participate in it--the whole aching, rebellious, idealistic soul of it--bringing with me, of course, the Christ who died for every aching and rebellious and idealistic soul in town, starting with this one. And again, I haven't figured out entirely what it means to do anything about that. A lot of my feelings come from my own romantic reverence for the halls of learning.
Not having practiced much today, I had started singing "Panis Angelicus" in my car. As I drove by the school, the words struck me. I don't know Latin, but have researched enough to know that, roughly, part of the stanza works out to "Bread of angels, given to men... Oh, wonderful that the Lord becomes the food of the poor, the servant, and the lowly."
I'm not an evangelist. I can't go to school right now, and have no idea where to start in this town beyond what I already do. But if Jesus is the food of the poor and lowly, God grant me the wisdom and courage to serve to them. In whatever ways he asks.
10.24.2006
Artistic Responsibility
Normally, I do not criticize the use of exaggeration in art; at least, not if it has some sort of meaning.
Advertising has become an art form, and I can understand that as well. To a point.
Mom recently emailed me a link to this short video on YouTube. As a teacher, she had taken it to school and shown it to her class. The video speaks for itself, so I won’t add to it, except to say as my mother did to her students: She does not exist.
The woman we girls compare ourselves to does not exist. The girl staring seductively out of the glossies into the mind of a man does not exist.
I knew there was tweaking going on, but I had no idea how much, despite having seen Photoshop and similar software packages at work in other situations.
Ladies, if you liked the Evolution video, check out this one too. Mom and I both cried.
Advertising has become an art form, and I can understand that as well. To a point.
Mom recently emailed me a link to this short video on YouTube. As a teacher, she had taken it to school and shown it to her class. The video speaks for itself, so I won’t add to it, except to say as my mother did to her students: She does not exist.
The woman we girls compare ourselves to does not exist. The girl staring seductively out of the glossies into the mind of a man does not exist.
I knew there was tweaking going on, but I had no idea how much, despite having seen Photoshop and similar software packages at work in other situations.
Ladies, if you liked the Evolution video, check out this one too. Mom and I both cried.
I Stand Corrected
They're not jokes. They're facts.
No, not the ones about brunettes. The ones about Chuck Norris. And I have to say that the reigning king of the roundhouse seems to have both a sense of humor and a good heart, as evinced here.
So, does he pass on his skills? No girl likes walking to and from her car after the sun goes down. I could definitely use someone the dark was afraid of :-P
No, not the ones about brunettes. The ones about Chuck Norris. And I have to say that the reigning king of the roundhouse seems to have both a sense of humor and a good heart, as evinced here.
So, does he pass on his skills? No girl likes walking to and from her car after the sun goes down. I could definitely use someone the dark was afraid of :-P
10.23.2006
Almost as Good as Blonde Jokes
...with due apologies to all my blonde friends; the brunette jokes I've heard have been even less flattering to us than the classic blonde jokes are to you...
Chuck Norris jokes.
My personal favorite: "Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs."
What do you mean, you want to hear a brunette joke? If you must know, they range from standard retaliation (What's black and blue and brown and laying in a ditch? A brunette who's told too many blonde jokes) to rather creative (Why didn't Indians scalp brunettes? The hair from a buffalo's backside was more manageable... oh wait, that one might be true) to downright ugly, and as even I have to admit, funny (Why are brunettes so proud of their hair? It matches their mustache.)
Hah, well. "What do we live for," says Mr. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, "but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?" I like laughing. Which is good, because I'm too tired to take anything seriously. I'm going to bed.
Chuck Norris jokes.
My personal favorite: "Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs."
What do you mean, you want to hear a brunette joke? If you must know, they range from standard retaliation (What's black and blue and brown and laying in a ditch? A brunette who's told too many blonde jokes) to rather creative (Why didn't Indians scalp brunettes? The hair from a buffalo's backside was more manageable... oh wait, that one might be true) to downright ugly, and as even I have to admit, funny (Why are brunettes so proud of their hair? It matches their mustache.)
Hah, well. "What do we live for," says Mr. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, "but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?" I like laughing. Which is good, because I'm too tired to take anything seriously. I'm going to bed.
10.21.2006
Something to Dance About
Ring the bells! Part the clouds! Strike up, ye minstrels!
At long, long last, I have home internet again. I can blog! And to put the proverbial cherry on top, I have a working soundcard on a home computer, after going without for at least a year and a half.
I thought about titling this post "It TOOK Long Enough" but there's probably enough impatience in the world.
And, were I not so thoroughly tired, I would probably try to stay up and write something. For now, though, the many blog ideas I've had since posting my last have jumbled inside my head, their clarity hazed over by my own personal internal drill sergeant, who is shouting gleefully in my ear "Get your sheets out of the dryer and go to bed, Olwin, that's an order!" I have no choice but to obey.
Ah, but I've missed this little journal. Be not alarmed. I shall return.
At long, long last, I have home internet again. I can blog! And to put the proverbial cherry on top, I have a working soundcard on a home computer, after going without for at least a year and a half.
I thought about titling this post "It TOOK Long Enough" but there's probably enough impatience in the world.
And, were I not so thoroughly tired, I would probably try to stay up and write something. For now, though, the many blog ideas I've had since posting my last have jumbled inside my head, their clarity hazed over by my own personal internal drill sergeant, who is shouting gleefully in my ear "Get your sheets out of the dryer and go to bed, Olwin, that's an order!" I have no choice but to obey.
Ah, but I've missed this little journal. Be not alarmed. I shall return.
10.07.2006
So, The Past Three Weeks...
I still do not have home internet. At all. The cable modem is supposedly coming soon. If it doesn't come by Wednesday, I'll call customer service at the cable company and ask about it (nicely, of course; I know what CS reps suffer at the mouths of impatient people.) The seven to ten business days they told me to wait have not gone fully by yet. But I feel like Inigo Montoya. I hate waiting :-D
Tonight, however, my parents have generously opened their home to me and my WorldWideWeb addiction. And my heart.
In the past three weeks, I have attended both a funeral and a wedding. Attended isn't the right word--I was involved. The grave holds the body of someone dear to my family and myself (I have been asked not to share details publicly) and I stood up as candlelighter eight days later at the marriage of a good friend.
I cried at the funeral and laughed at the wedding. Which might seem normal. But the terms are misleadingly dull. At the funeral, it took all the strength I had to merely stand still. I wanted to run, hide somewhere where I could burst out crying and not be a distraction or an object of pity or something that needed to be brought under control. Instead, I stood in place, able to keep from running or sobbing aloud, but not able to stop the tears from flooding down my face--highly unusual for me, as I rarely cry. And at the wedding, despite my love for my friend and her husband and my joy at their love together, I spent most of the ceremony choking back an untimely shout of laughter at the whole candlelighting experience, which is a great story. Maybe not quite as funny as the time I fainted off the back riser in the choir during the first performance of a passion play, but funny nonetheless.
What a strange, hilarious, terrible, beautiful world.
The sun shone with all its might today, turning the sky a rich blue. The fall crisp held in the air, and the flame trees have reached the height of their color--brilliant red with a few green leaves left on the lower branches. I couldn't stay inside today. I took a blanket out on my front lawn and read for hours.
Then, I went to see my boyfriend, and we broke up. It wasn't nasty, it wasn't a matter of overstressed emotions or problems with each other. It was the act of two people who cared deeply about each other, loved each other, really--loved enough to be honest and say "This isn't the right thing for us."
There's a strong tenderness in loving someone enough to freely let them go. It sustains me tonight; I know this will get harder before it gets easier. I don't look forward to that, but I know God has good plans for him. And I can't believe that for him without understanding that it must also be true for me.
And I have a rare gift: the ability to throw my laundry in a bag in my car, pack my toothbrush and drive less than an hour to my parents', where welcome unfailingly awaits. Tonight, I definitely needed my mommy and daddy and their newmanic furball puppy. Seriously. That eight-week-old bundle of spastic energy disguised as a baby poodle reminds me of little children buzzed on sugar, or Mark Lowry's old song "Hyperactivity:"
"They can tame the wind, they can calm the sea
But they'll never harness my energy
I'm the poster-boy for hyperactivity
It's not my fault the world's not keeping up with me!"
So, the past three weeks... a lot of living for little Jennifer (whether or not a 28-year-old woman nearly six feet tall can be described as little.) I'll take things rather calmer in the next few, thank you very much.
But, given the option, what would I trade? Certainly not the moments of having loved what I have lost. As a Christian, I believe firmly that God wastes no experience, that it all "means something."
Nor have these weeks been all hard. Kathy got married, and I got to be there for her. I got to spend some time with Donna and Tracy, whom I love dearly and haven't seen in months. My small group has started up again, and we're reading Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz; I adore that book. I've spoken on the phone with a new friend, leaving me with the impression that I just might have a lifelong friendship building with two amazing people. And, spastic energy and all, it feels great to have a dog greet me at this door again.
I also have to admit that it felt great to have my hair done prom-queen style for the wedding. It took sixty-four bobby pins and an ungodly amount of hair product. It looked absolutely fabulous. If anyone ever needs a good stylist in the Edmonds area, Bree at Bellissimo knows her stuff.
How very odd... that sounds just like my recommendation line for photographers in Montana :-D
Tonight, however, my parents have generously opened their home to me and my WorldWideWeb addiction. And my heart.
In the past three weeks, I have attended both a funeral and a wedding. Attended isn't the right word--I was involved. The grave holds the body of someone dear to my family and myself (I have been asked not to share details publicly) and I stood up as candlelighter eight days later at the marriage of a good friend.
I cried at the funeral and laughed at the wedding. Which might seem normal. But the terms are misleadingly dull. At the funeral, it took all the strength I had to merely stand still. I wanted to run, hide somewhere where I could burst out crying and not be a distraction or an object of pity or something that needed to be brought under control. Instead, I stood in place, able to keep from running or sobbing aloud, but not able to stop the tears from flooding down my face--highly unusual for me, as I rarely cry. And at the wedding, despite my love for my friend and her husband and my joy at their love together, I spent most of the ceremony choking back an untimely shout of laughter at the whole candlelighting experience, which is a great story. Maybe not quite as funny as the time I fainted off the back riser in the choir during the first performance of a passion play, but funny nonetheless.
What a strange, hilarious, terrible, beautiful world.
The sun shone with all its might today, turning the sky a rich blue. The fall crisp held in the air, and the flame trees have reached the height of their color--brilliant red with a few green leaves left on the lower branches. I couldn't stay inside today. I took a blanket out on my front lawn and read for hours.
Then, I went to see my boyfriend, and we broke up. It wasn't nasty, it wasn't a matter of overstressed emotions or problems with each other. It was the act of two people who cared deeply about each other, loved each other, really--loved enough to be honest and say "This isn't the right thing for us."
There's a strong tenderness in loving someone enough to freely let them go. It sustains me tonight; I know this will get harder before it gets easier. I don't look forward to that, but I know God has good plans for him. And I can't believe that for him without understanding that it must also be true for me.
And I have a rare gift: the ability to throw my laundry in a bag in my car, pack my toothbrush and drive less than an hour to my parents', where welcome unfailingly awaits. Tonight, I definitely needed my mommy and daddy and their new
"They can tame the wind, they can calm the sea
But they'll never harness my energy
I'm the poster-boy for hyperactivity
It's not my fault the world's not keeping up with me!"
So, the past three weeks... a lot of living for little Jennifer (whether or not a 28-year-old woman nearly six feet tall can be described as little.) I'll take things rather calmer in the next few, thank you very much.
But, given the option, what would I trade? Certainly not the moments of having loved what I have lost. As a Christian, I believe firmly that God wastes no experience, that it all "means something."
Nor have these weeks been all hard. Kathy got married, and I got to be there for her. I got to spend some time with Donna and Tracy, whom I love dearly and haven't seen in months. My small group has started up again, and we're reading Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz; I adore that book. I've spoken on the phone with a new friend, leaving me with the impression that I just might have a lifelong friendship building with two amazing people. And, spastic energy and all, it feels great to have a dog greet me at this door again.
I also have to admit that it felt great to have my hair done prom-queen style for the wedding. It took sixty-four bobby pins and an ungodly amount of hair product. It looked absolutely fabulous. If anyone ever needs a good stylist in the Edmonds area, Bree at Bellissimo knows her stuff.
How very odd... that sounds just like my recommendation line for photographers in Montana :-D
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