... went something like this:
* Make and send wedding invitations. Lou and I spent all of our spare time for a week doing this.
* Move my parents.
* Find a place for Lou and I to live after our wedding.
* Move Lou into that place.
* Move all my stuff into that place.
* Move me and my clothes into my parents' new place.
* Fly to St. Louis for the baptism of our beautiful little goddaughter.
* Spend a weekend in Canada at a group premarital counseling event.
* Attempt to act sane and tolerably focused at full-time job.
It doesn't seem like a long list, somehow, looking at it. And a lot of it I simply wouldn't have missed. It's just that, mathematically speaking, all of that adds up to more days than short little June possesses.
Halfway through July, I finally have time to sit quietly for more than half an hour at a time. It feels strange and wonderful.
7.16.2008
6.05.2008
Notes
At about a minute per, making wedding invitations takes what might be casually called "a flipping eternity." I now know from experience.
* * *
J.K. Rowling gave an excellent talk at Harvard today. Both of her main points--the benefits of failure and the powerful importance of wise (and moral) use of imagination--were well expressed and applicable.
My favorite line, perhaps because I know this truth somewhat from experience: "I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters."
* * *
I'd like to write more, but it is 11:16 and sleep calls.
* * *
J.K. Rowling gave an excellent talk at Harvard today. Both of her main points--the benefits of failure and the powerful importance of wise (and moral) use of imagination--were well expressed and applicable.
My favorite line, perhaps because I know this truth somewhat from experience: "I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters."
* * *
I'd like to write more, but it is 11:16 and sleep calls.
5.28.2008
A Friend Goes on CNN ...
5.21.2008
Things I Have Done
Everybody makes a list of things they want to do, or need to do. But this savvy commenter over at Shannon Hale's excellent blog suggested making a list of things one has already done. It's good for the whole sense-of-accomplishment thing.
Here's my list of Things I Have Done. This is not exhaustive--in fact, I may have to add to it in the future, as I'm too sleepy to be confident in my memory tonight.
I have:
Here's my list of Things I Have Done. This is not exhaustive--in fact, I may have to add to it in the future, as I'm too sleepy to be confident in my memory tonight.
I have:
- Been to Canada.
- Flown in an airplane.
- Ridden a horse (and taught it a thing or two.)
- Completed the first draft of a juvenile novel.
- Recorded, at last count, about 13 of my own songs—and written over 100. Most of which the world will never hear, thank God.
- Journaled thousands of pages, also not for public distribution.
- Been asked "Will you marry me?"
- Said "Yes".
- Worked potato harvest. (Loudest job I've ever had.)
- Guided a raft through a class IV rapid—and for the rest of a six-day trip down the Salmon River.
- Swum a class III rapid. In April. It most resembles being knocked off one's feet and hit in the face multiple times with five-gallon bucketfuls of ice water.
- Climbed rock walls and rappelled off the top of them.
- Taught a high-school girl to rappel, and watched her conquer her fears in the process.
- Been the teacher's partner during a swing-dancing class at a wedding.
- Read most of my favorite novels at least five times apiece.
- Maintained two blogs (one for over two years).
- Been kissed in the rain by a handsome man wearing a fedora. (How much more romantic can you get?)
- Been homeschooled on a farm in Montana (seriously, how many people do you know that can say that?)
- Graduated high school with "very high marks in English" (watch me make a typographical error in this post!)
- Stayed up all night to read a book (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; 1 AM start, 7:30 AM finish.)
- Carried the gifts forward at the cathedral in Seattle. On my first visit.
- Gone to Regionals in the spelling bee in fifth grade.
- Accidentally spelled "mirror" with a "w" in the spelling bee in sixth grade.
- Sheared a sheep.
- Milked a goat.
- Assisted at the birth of lambs and goat kids.
- Read the Bible through in a year and 18 days. Didn't quite make the one-year goal, but shot close.
- Gone deer-hunting.
- Attempted to learn four languages at once. I still remember the two words of Arabic I learned (it was the fourth.)
- Flipped a canoe in the Puget Sound, along with three other girls. We had to get rescued by a fishing boat.
- Played guitar, piano, and sung in front of hundreds of people. Nobody threw tomatoes.
- Took on the adventurous job of worship leading at about age 19.
- Sung lead and baritone parts in a barbershop choir. (Also did "Singing Valentines" ... interesting work.)
- Been chased by a headless snapping turtle. (I believe I've mentioned that before on this blog.)
- Participated in practical-joking the youth pastor's house.
- Grown my hair out to past my waist.
5.13.2008
Curtains, Greeting Cards, and Other Notes
This past Sunday was Pentecost. I love Pentecost, which commemorates the gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church (for anyone who didn't actually know that); it's the grand finale of the Easter season, it's exuberant and happy and full of life, and it happens in the spring so I feel great anyway. The whole church gets decked out in red and I joined in, wearing a bright red skirt and top.
Funny Pentecost memory: Last year Lou and I were at friends' for a baptismal celebration. It being a beautiful sunny day, we all sat around outside, still dressed in Sunday best. Most of the men wore white shirts and red ties, and they all looked quite sharp. I remember thinking of how I used to favor the grunge look in guys and how much I really admire--and prefer--my handsome, neatly-dressed man. Part way through the afternoon, some young hoodlum in a T-shirt and backwards baseball cap drove by, hung out of the car window and yelled "Nice shirts! You all look like curtains!" We laughed shamelessly as he drove out of sight.
* * *
Sunday also being Mother's Day, I had a good time celebrating with the many mothers in my life. Unfortunately, I could not avoid the word "special" on all of the greeting cards. That word needs outlawing in the greeting card industry--that and "wonderful". Greeting cards seem to be growing steadily cheesier over the past few years; usually I won't buy anything with either the word "special" or rhyming poetry, but for Mother's Day I had to compromise my principles.
* * *
The return of greenery and bloom--especially the leaves on the trees--makes me so happy that the other day I mentioned it twice on one short walk. That made Lou laugh. But I miss green leaves every day in the winter, and spend all of March through May taking delight in every sprig of new growth.
* * *
I recently assigned myself one task which I keep forgetting: write a little something every day. The "something" can be a blog-post, a comment on someone else's blog or forum, at least one stanza of a song, or a journal entry. Despite my non-dependable short-term memory, which is presently overloaded with wedding and work projects and other things, something seems to come about at least most days, of its own volition.
* * *
Having this much going on makes my brain feel like exploding with unprocessed writeables. Some of my wedding-related thoughts, however, managed to make their way into my very-late Silhouette article for this season. I had told Justin I could only do a guest post for this four-month session of the blogazine; as it turns out, even that took unusual effort. It did happen, however, and has been posted here. Feel free to check it out :-)
Funny Pentecost memory: Last year Lou and I were at friends' for a baptismal celebration. It being a beautiful sunny day, we all sat around outside, still dressed in Sunday best. Most of the men wore white shirts and red ties, and they all looked quite sharp. I remember thinking of how I used to favor the grunge look in guys and how much I really admire--and prefer--my handsome, neatly-dressed man. Part way through the afternoon, some young hoodlum in a T-shirt and backwards baseball cap drove by, hung out of the car window and yelled "Nice shirts! You all look like curtains!" We laughed shamelessly as he drove out of sight.
* * *
Sunday also being Mother's Day, I had a good time celebrating with the many mothers in my life. Unfortunately, I could not avoid the word "special" on all of the greeting cards. That word needs outlawing in the greeting card industry--that and "wonderful". Greeting cards seem to be growing steadily cheesier over the past few years; usually I won't buy anything with either the word "special" or rhyming poetry, but for Mother's Day I had to compromise my principles.
* * *
The return of greenery and bloom--especially the leaves on the trees--makes me so happy that the other day I mentioned it twice on one short walk. That made Lou laugh. But I miss green leaves every day in the winter, and spend all of March through May taking delight in every sprig of new growth.
* * *
I recently assigned myself one task which I keep forgetting: write a little something every day. The "something" can be a blog-post, a comment on someone else's blog or forum, at least one stanza of a song, or a journal entry. Despite my non-dependable short-term memory, which is presently overloaded with wedding and work projects and other things, something seems to come about at least most days, of its own volition.
* * *
Having this much going on makes my brain feel like exploding with unprocessed writeables. Some of my wedding-related thoughts, however, managed to make their way into my very-late Silhouette article for this season. I had told Justin I could only do a guest post for this four-month session of the blogazine; as it turns out, even that took unusual effort. It did happen, however, and has been posted here. Feel free to check it out :-)
5.06.2008
Nonsense
The usual shame belongs to me for having not checked my email in a week. What's a girl with five email addresses, two blogspots, a Facebook, a Xanga, and a Myspace to do? Stop signing up for so many accounts, I guess :-)
Anyway, Chris sent me this link a week ago, because I happen to be very fond of both of these authors. And frankly, I thought what Orson Scott Card had to say about J.K. Rowling was both presumptuous and nasty. Presumably he's being facetious about the comparisons between Ender's Game and Harry Potter; both derive from the same standard, widely used situational plot formula based on archetypes, etc. That formula is no more original to Card than it is to Rowling, but her interpretation of it is every bit as original as his.
As to the suit by Stouffer, it's utterly ridiculous to think that the woman capable of structuring an incredibly thick, layered story based on literary alchemy (like that used by C.S. Lewis in the Space Trilogy), with character names more carefully and creatively linked to the story than any I've ever seen in fiction, ripped off a word and part of a name. It didn't happen. If nothing else, I know enough about the writer's consciousness to understand that sometimes there is no knowing whether or not the names and concepts being used are drawn from things heard of in the past or from thin air--although to be totally fair, accidental plagiarism is just as punishable by law as the intentional sort.
I don't know enough about copyright law to know how much of The Harry Potter Lexicon actually breaks the fair use laws, nor whether it actually does. But I wonder to whom Card has been listening. Melissa Anelli from The Leaky Cauldron said the other day that as a journalist, she is completely frustrated by media coverage of the Rowling/Warner Bros. suit against RDR Books. She says that every time she sees the headline "J.K. Rowling Sues Fan", she knows that person has never read a court document from the case, because they wouldn't find Steve Vander Ark's name there.
People listen to the news because they have to, I guess. I, however, have decided that the most generally accurate part of the daily news reports is the weather forecast. But that's a rant for another night.
Anyway, Chris sent me this link a week ago, because I happen to be very fond of both of these authors. And frankly, I thought what Orson Scott Card had to say about J.K. Rowling was both presumptuous and nasty. Presumably he's being facetious about the comparisons between Ender's Game and Harry Potter; both derive from the same standard, widely used situational plot formula based on archetypes, etc. That formula is no more original to Card than it is to Rowling, but her interpretation of it is every bit as original as his.
As to the suit by Stouffer, it's utterly ridiculous to think that the woman capable of structuring an incredibly thick, layered story based on literary alchemy (like that used by C.S. Lewis in the Space Trilogy), with character names more carefully and creatively linked to the story than any I've ever seen in fiction, ripped off a word and part of a name. It didn't happen. If nothing else, I know enough about the writer's consciousness to understand that sometimes there is no knowing whether or not the names and concepts being used are drawn from things heard of in the past or from thin air--although to be totally fair, accidental plagiarism is just as punishable by law as the intentional sort.
I don't know enough about copyright law to know how much of The Harry Potter Lexicon actually breaks the fair use laws, nor whether it actually does. But I wonder to whom Card has been listening. Melissa Anelli from The Leaky Cauldron said the other day that as a journalist, she is completely frustrated by media coverage of the Rowling/Warner Bros. suit against RDR Books. She says that every time she sees the headline "J.K. Rowling Sues Fan", she knows that person has never read a court document from the case, because they wouldn't find Steve Vander Ark's name there.
People listen to the news because they have to, I guess. I, however, have decided that the most generally accurate part of the daily news reports is the weather forecast. But that's a rant for another night.
4.29.2008
Pizza for Dinner
... because Lou's pot cooked little pieces of itself into our pasta tonight.
I tried to wash off all the black bits, but it was penne pasta, and the pot-shards just wouldn't come out of all those little tubes.
On the bright side, we threw the pot away:
... along with the pasta, as you see.
I tried to wash off all the black bits, but it was penne pasta, and the pot-shards just wouldn't come out of all those little tubes.
On the bright side, we threw the pot away:
... along with the pasta, as you see.Lou also has a woodpecker that has drilled its way into the siding of the house, a skunk in the neighborhood, and a beginning drummer downstairs. I am marrying a very patient man. We won't be living here.
4.24.2008
Double Check
I just edited my last post ... shouldn't have attempted blogging at 11:30 PM the other night, while feeling way overtired and frustrated.
In bringing up my "conversion", for lack of a better word (I don't like that one because it implies a change of religion, which is false), my whole desire is to share the overflowing joy I feel in Christ and His church. Instead, I came across as defensive, which is the last thing I wanted to do, and I apologize.
Time to start working now ... I'll be back soon. No more six-week blogless stretches for Jennifer!
In bringing up my "conversion", for lack of a better word (I don't like that one because it implies a change of religion, which is false), my whole desire is to share the overflowing joy I feel in Christ and His church. Instead, I came across as defensive, which is the last thing I wanted to do, and I apologize.
Time to start working now ... I'll be back soon. No more six-week blogless stretches for Jennifer!
4.22.2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
During the deeply symbolic service that is an Easter Vigil mass, the Catholic church this year received me as one of her own.
Albeit difficult to describe my array of new joys to a mostly Protestant readership ... if I still have a readership after six weeks of silence ... I couldn't go on with this blog without admitting openly that I am, now, Catholic. I would like to write out the whole story sometime, but the mental image of reader after reader staring horrified at their computer screens reminds me that Rome isn't generally forgiven in a day, however long it took to build her.
But the deluge of ideas, the thoughts and influences, hopes and fears of the months it took me to reconcile myself to the ancient Church beg me constantly for expression. This little blog of mine isn't going to turn into an extensive list of arguments for Catholicism, but parts of my thought and experience will work their way into these pages now and again.
This may naturally be hard for Protestants to take. But my hope is still "built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness." Don't give up on me, folks.
I'd like to ask one tremendous favor of all of you: Don't take everything you read/hear about the Catholic church at face value, especially if it comes from either the news media, evangelical books/commentaries, or ex-Catholics. The media has told three major, outright lies about the Vatican in the past ten months. Commentaries and other non-Catholic books have been responsible for some hilarious mistaken notions of what we believe (did any Catholic anywhere ever believe that papal decree could make fish 'not meat'?) And the sad, simple truth nowadays is that most ex-Catholics are ex-Catholics because they had no idea what they believed.
"There are not a hundred people in the world who hate the Catholic church, but there are thousands who hate what they mistakenly believe the Catholic church to be."--Archbishop Fulton Sheen
Catholic or Protestant, you all are my friends and I love you.
Albeit difficult to describe my array of new joys to a mostly Protestant readership ... if I still have a readership after six weeks of silence ... I couldn't go on with this blog without admitting openly that I am, now, Catholic. I would like to write out the whole story sometime, but the mental image of reader after reader staring horrified at their computer screens reminds me that Rome isn't generally forgiven in a day, however long it took to build her.
But the deluge of ideas, the thoughts and influences, hopes and fears of the months it took me to reconcile myself to the ancient Church beg me constantly for expression. This little blog of mine isn't going to turn into an extensive list of arguments for Catholicism, but parts of my thought and experience will work their way into these pages now and again.
This may naturally be hard for Protestants to take. But my hope is still "built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness." Don't give up on me, folks.
I'd like to ask one tremendous favor of all of you: Don't take everything you read/hear about the Catholic church at face value, especially if it comes from either the news media, evangelical books/commentaries, or ex-Catholics. The media has told three major, outright lies about the Vatican in the past ten months. Commentaries and other non-Catholic books have been responsible for some hilarious mistaken notions of what we believe (did any Catholic anywhere ever believe that papal decree could make fish 'not meat'?) And the sad, simple truth nowadays is that most ex-Catholics are ex-Catholics because they had no idea what they believed.
"There are not a hundred people in the world who hate the Catholic church, but there are thousands who hate what they mistakenly believe the Catholic church to be."--Archbishop Fulton Sheen
Catholic or Protestant, you all are my friends and I love you.
3.09.2008
The Best
"Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her."
"You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last.... I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh."
"Pa laid down his fiddle when Laura came in. He looked at her hand where the ring sparkled in the lamplight. 'I see it is settled', he said. 'Almanzo was talking to me yesterday and I guess it's all right.'
"You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last.... I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh." "The mass had barely begun when Peregrino saw the Speaker enter at the back of the Cathedral. [The Speaker] paused a moment, then found Novinha and her family with his eyes. In only a few steps he had taken a place beside her."
" 'I have a dream,' [Gilbert] said slowly. 'I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends--and you!' Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.... But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer."
"Pa laid down his fiddle when Laura came in. He looked at her hand where the ring sparkled in the lamplight. 'I see it is settled', he said. 'Almanzo was talking to me yesterday and I guess it's all right.' 'If only you are sure, Laura,' Ma said gently. 'Sometimes I think it is the horses you care for, more than their master.'
'I couldn't have one without the other,' Laura answered shakily.
Then Ma smiled at her, Pa cleared his throat gruffly, and Laura knew they understood what she was too shy to say."
" 'Ah, Jane! But I want a wife.'
'Do you, sir?'
'Yes; is it news to you?'
'Of course; you said nothing about it before.'
'Is it unwelcome news?'
'That depends on circumstances, sir—on your choice.'
'Which you shall make for me, Jane. I will abide by your decision.'
'Choose then, sir—her who loves you best.'
'I will at least choose—her I love best. Jane, will you marry me?'
'Yes, sir.'
...'Truly, Jane?'
'Most truly, sir.'
'Oh my darling! God bless you and reward you!'
'Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life—if ever I thought a good thought—if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer—if ever I wished a righteous wish, I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on earth.' "
* * *
Being an insatiable reader and something of a daydreamer as well, I've thought surprisingly little about what it would be like to get asked the Question. I suppose that depends entirely on who does the asking.
Lou asked me to marry him down at Boulevard Park last Saturday, looking out over the steel-colored bay with a little stretch of the boardwalk all to ourselves.
I said yes as quickly as I could, though unfortunately not before managing to use the word "booger" in a sentence. That little faux pas did not change his mind, however, and as we put his great-grandmother's ring on my left hand, I felt myself very much the happiest creature in the world.
After waiting thirty years--not always patiently--for 'the right one', I have to say that what God had in mind went well beyond everything I ever dreamed of for myself. Of all the "godly young men" I've ever known—and I've known some—he's the best, the kindest, the most truly Christian. Forgive me for rhapsodizing, but to me he rolls Harry's pure heart, Mr. Darcy's sound judgment, Gilbert's intelligence, Ender's sharp, solid grace, and Almanzo's hardworking nature all into one.
He will probably laugh loudly and turn eight shades of red when he reads that, but this is my blog and I'm allowed to brag on him :-)
"An excellent wife, who can find?" says Solomon. "For her price is far above rubies." True as that must be, coming from the Bible, I think an excellent husband is worth just as much—and is at least as rare. I can only thank God, in His wisdom, for Lou. The gift of this love, from this man, could have come from no one less.
2.16.2008
Experiences as a Pro-Life Protester
Bellingham 40 Days for Life:
As part of the Lenten preparation for Easter, I've been taking part in the Bellingham chapter of this national vigil.
For several years, I've struggled with the general idea of demonstration--that is, standing on street corners with signs; the more, I suppose, as there is no escaping it in activist Washington. Downtown Anacortes, for instance, hosts an amusing setup every Sunday afternoon: the anti-war protest gathers on three corners of the Commercial St./12th St. intersection, dressed in jeans and frowning, and the "support the troops" group holds the fourth corner, wearing just-won-the-lottery smiles and as much red, white, and blue as they can muster. I'll drive blocks out of my way to avoid having to pass between those two groups.
The average posterboard sign doesn't do much for me, perhaps because so many of them come equipped with spite, nonsense, and poor spelling. Of course, in this part of the country, I generally disagree with them.
Signs or no, I found myself attracted by the fact that this around-the-clock, forty-day vigil came with the mission of intentional, specific prayer. It also pleased me by its focus on faith and life rather than mere politics. And once I got down there, even the signs won me over, though I'm still kind of picky about which ones to use.
For at least an hour every week, then, I've been standing on the corner in front of Planned Parenthood, holding a sign that says Women Deserve Better than Abortion, praying, and smiling at people in cars. It is always an interesting experience.
I prefer the quiet shifts because confrontational face-to-face debate makes me incredibly nervous and emotional. So far, I haven't had to hash over things vocally yet; people who drive by and yell mainly want to vent their ridicule, and I can handle that well enough. If they really upset me, I can think "I will eviscerate you in fiction ..." like Geoff in The Knight's Tale, but I haven't had to go quite that far yet :-) Anyway, none of them come back around the block for an answer.
"Read a book!" one of them shouted during my first shift, hanging out of the passenger window. I have, I wanted to say. Starting with the Bible. But even Harry Potter should be enough. Maybe I should get a sign that says Harry Potter Stood for Innocent Life and So Should We :-D
I would like to propose to some of the drive-by shouters that profanity is actually not a logical argument, but shouting anything back doesn't seem like a good option. This is, after all, specifically a peaceful vigil. But I did laugh at someone who flipped me the bird the other day; I had thought they were waving, so I went to wave back, and then laughed when I realized they only had one finger up.
Not all of the opposition comes from moving vehicles. "You have no right to be here," said a rather pretty--if over-pierced--young female pedestrian to my boyfriend last week, presumably because he doesn't have a uterus. Had I realized in time what she'd said, I would have liked to say "He's with me", accompanied by a look all women would understand. Lou said, simply, "I was a fetus once."
Now and then, we get a counter-protest across the street. One such personage was present during my last shift, equipped with Sharpie and reversible markerboard, sometimes dancing on the corner like one of the kids Domino's Pizza hires for advertising. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up and his hair all in his face, and I'm afraid I rather naïvely thought he was a woman until Lou corrected me. One side of his sign said "Great Idea: Let's Add to the 40,000,000 Living In Poverty". Lou and I had a lively and excellent discussion about poverty and the sort of ideology that considers any form of killing a good answer to such a question.
It seemed rude to stare, but that guy certainly drew the gaze. Lou held a sign that said "Smile: Your Mother Chose Life", and whenever I looked across the street the guy made a point of turning his sign so I could see the side that said "Frown: Unfortunately Yours Did Too". That made me laugh. Also, whenever someone waved at us while driving his direction, the kid got on the edge of the curb and forced his sign into the notice of the oncoming car.
It amazes me that the Christians are the ones that get accused of hate. I guess I'm just still not accustomed to the ways of the world.
But not all the reactions are nasty. One woman came by twice within two hours. "I was raped years ago," she told me, "and my son's in his teens now. He's the light of my life. You guys keep doing what you're doing." And Kathy spoke with two women, one of them four months pregnant and considering abortion:
A lot of the bad rap pro-lifers and other "culture warriors" get is an idea that we're just about getting political power, that we want to bring about a theocratic rule with the intention of oppressing anyone who disagrees. No. That is not what we are about. Doubtless there are oppressors in every philosophy; but we are there to support the good of women and children and men and families and society as a whole. We just disagree strongly with the office behind us, and the guys across the street, about what really is good for societies and individuals.
There is room for disagreement. There is not room for slaughter of the innocent, in any stage of development. So we stand and pray.
"This spring over 50 communities around the country will be praying, fasting, and holding vigil for the unborn from February 6th through March 16th. Our community will be joining in the unprecedented national movement.
40 Days for Life is a focused pro-life campaign with a vision to access God’s power through prayer, fasting, and peaceful vigil to end abortion in America.
The mission of the campaign is to bring together the body of Christ in a spirit of unity during a focused 40 day campaign of prayer, fasting, and peaceful activism, with the purpose of repentance, to seek God’s favor to turn hearts and minds from a culture of death to a culture of life, thus bringing an end to abortion in America."
As part of the Lenten preparation for Easter, I've been taking part in the Bellingham chapter of this national vigil.
For several years, I've struggled with the general idea of demonstration--that is, standing on street corners with signs; the more, I suppose, as there is no escaping it in activist Washington. Downtown Anacortes, for instance, hosts an amusing setup every Sunday afternoon: the anti-war protest gathers on three corners of the Commercial St./12th St. intersection, dressed in jeans and frowning, and the "support the troops" group holds the fourth corner, wearing just-won-the-lottery smiles and as much red, white, and blue as they can muster. I'll drive blocks out of my way to avoid having to pass between those two groups.
The average posterboard sign doesn't do much for me, perhaps because so many of them come equipped with spite, nonsense, and poor spelling. Of course, in this part of the country, I generally disagree with them.
Signs or no, I found myself attracted by the fact that this around-the-clock, forty-day vigil came with the mission of intentional, specific prayer. It also pleased me by its focus on faith and life rather than mere politics. And once I got down there, even the signs won me over, though I'm still kind of picky about which ones to use.
For at least an hour every week, then, I've been standing on the corner in front of Planned Parenthood, holding a sign that says Women Deserve Better than Abortion, praying, and smiling at people in cars. It is always an interesting experience.
I prefer the quiet shifts because confrontational face-to-face debate makes me incredibly nervous and emotional. So far, I haven't had to hash over things vocally yet; people who drive by and yell mainly want to vent their ridicule, and I can handle that well enough. If they really upset me, I can think "I will eviscerate you in fiction ..." like Geoff in The Knight's Tale, but I haven't had to go quite that far yet :-) Anyway, none of them come back around the block for an answer.
"Read a book!" one of them shouted during my first shift, hanging out of the passenger window. I have, I wanted to say. Starting with the Bible. But even Harry Potter should be enough. Maybe I should get a sign that says Harry Potter Stood for Innocent Life and So Should We :-D
I would like to propose to some of the drive-by shouters that profanity is actually not a logical argument, but shouting anything back doesn't seem like a good option. This is, after all, specifically a peaceful vigil. But I did laugh at someone who flipped me the bird the other day; I had thought they were waving, so I went to wave back, and then laughed when I realized they only had one finger up.
Not all of the opposition comes from moving vehicles. "You have no right to be here," said a rather pretty--if over-pierced--young female pedestrian to my boyfriend last week, presumably because he doesn't have a uterus. Had I realized in time what she'd said, I would have liked to say "He's with me", accompanied by a look all women would understand. Lou said, simply, "I was a fetus once."
Now and then, we get a counter-protest across the street. One such personage was present during my last shift, equipped with Sharpie and reversible markerboard, sometimes dancing on the corner like one of the kids Domino's Pizza hires for advertising. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up and his hair all in his face, and I'm afraid I rather naïvely thought he was a woman until Lou corrected me. One side of his sign said "Great Idea: Let's Add to the 40,000,000 Living In Poverty". Lou and I had a lively and excellent discussion about poverty and the sort of ideology that considers any form of killing a good answer to such a question.
It seemed rude to stare, but that guy certainly drew the gaze. Lou held a sign that said "Smile: Your Mother Chose Life", and whenever I looked across the street the guy made a point of turning his sign so I could see the side that said "Frown: Unfortunately Yours Did Too". That made me laugh. Also, whenever someone waved at us while driving his direction, the kid got on the edge of the curb and forced his sign into the notice of the oncoming car.
It amazes me that the Christians are the ones that get accused of hate. I guess I'm just still not accustomed to the ways of the world.
But not all the reactions are nasty. One woman came by twice within two hours. "I was raped years ago," she told me, "and my son's in his teens now. He's the light of my life. You guys keep doing what you're doing." And Kathy spoke with two women, one of them four months pregnant and considering abortion:
She was curious about how big her baby would be now. Since I had left my bag of brochures and handouts in my car, due to the rain, I invited the women to follow me to the car and there I gave the pregnant mom one of my little “Precious One” babies (a rubber-like model of a 12-week pre-born baby) to hold and keep, along with the little card that tells the week-by-week developments. She was surprised at how tiny and yet how well developed it was, and she said, “My baby would be a little bigger at four months.”
Her friend chimed in that she still thought an early abortion would be okay since “it” was so small. So I gave the friend the “First Nine Months” brochure so that she could see for herself how fast the baby develops even though so small. And I gave her the “Precious Feet” pin that depicts the exact size and shape of a 10-week unborn baby’s feet.
I encouraged the pregnant mom to return to the Pregnancy Clinic for an ultra-sound and maybe to join the Earn While You Learn program, where she could receive parenting help and earn all her baby’s material needs.
Both women seemed pleased and they thanked me. As they walked away the pregnant mom said, “You saved a life today.”
A lot of the bad rap pro-lifers and other "culture warriors" get is an idea that we're just about getting political power, that we want to bring about a theocratic rule with the intention of oppressing anyone who disagrees. No. That is not what we are about. Doubtless there are oppressors in every philosophy; but we are there to support the good of women and children and men and families and society as a whole. We just disagree strongly with the office behind us, and the guys across the street, about what really is good for societies and individuals.
There is room for disagreement. There is not room for slaughter of the innocent, in any stage of development. So we stand and pray.
2.05.2008
Lent, Weather, and Thirty Years
We had sunshine this past weekend as I completed my first week "in my thirties". Being sick all week seemed an inauspicious beginning, but that will probably not prove typical for the entire decade.
Thirty does and does not feel different from twenty-nine. In health and personality I still feel very much the sometimes-childlike twentysomething that I have been since I cut my hair at 22, or whenever that was. But the number feels different. The number has overshadowed me for long enough to have realized the intangible change that happens between twenty and thirty--the shift from looking at one's life as "the future" to feeling it as a very present thing.
At present, it seems to be raining: standard February fare for Washington state. I want spring.
* * *
While sick, I read the thousand-plus pages of the Sigrid Undset novel Kristin Lavransdatter. Until Lou gave it to me for my birthday, I had never even heard of it, but it proved to be a well-told tale, although so sad at times that it turned me into a sobbing wet heap of mush. It also contained such thorough and excellent depiction of the consequences of sin and bad decisions that I think I may have spared myself the necessity of reading Anna Karenina.
But it was not untouched by grace, and it is particularly for the last few pages and a spot in the middle that the book still remains in the book stack under my bed. I want to re-read a couple of segments before it goes up on my shelves.
* * *
After a thousand pages of that book, though, I actually began to think in the old-fashioned language of the translation; obsolete words and all. At times I actually had to translate to normal modern English in my head before saying anything.
* * *
Lent begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. This year I'm giving up the free coffee/soda/juice at work. Also, I'd like to make prayer a more regular part of my evening routine, so faithful Vespers are my goal. Those are built on readings from the Bible, especially Psalms--my favorite.
* * *
I put drum set on a song the other day. This was an especial achievement because I ... *sigh* ... don't play the drums. But I do have a reasonably good idea of how they work, so me and my keyboard went on a little sound adventure together and the result impressed even me, all things considered. Sure, the kick track needs redoing because I got slightly off time at the beginning of the second chorus, and I plan to improve a couple of the cymbal accents, but it works.
Coming soon ...
* * *
I should probably try to slow down on the ellipses. Using them as often as I do is either my trademark or bad form; I don't know which.
Thirty does and does not feel different from twenty-nine. In health and personality I still feel very much the sometimes-childlike twentysomething that I have been since I cut my hair at 22, or whenever that was. But the number feels different. The number has overshadowed me for long enough to have realized the intangible change that happens between twenty and thirty--the shift from looking at one's life as "the future" to feeling it as a very present thing.
At present, it seems to be raining: standard February fare for Washington state. I want spring.
* * *
While sick, I read the thousand-plus pages of the Sigrid Undset novel Kristin Lavransdatter. Until Lou gave it to me for my birthday, I had never even heard of it, but it proved to be a well-told tale, although so sad at times that it turned me into a sobbing wet heap of mush. It also contained such thorough and excellent depiction of the consequences of sin and bad decisions that I think I may have spared myself the necessity of reading Anna Karenina.
But it was not untouched by grace, and it is particularly for the last few pages and a spot in the middle that the book still remains in the book stack under my bed. I want to re-read a couple of segments before it goes up on my shelves.
* * *
After a thousand pages of that book, though, I actually began to think in the old-fashioned language of the translation; obsolete words and all. At times I actually had to translate to normal modern English in my head before saying anything.
* * *
Lent begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. This year I'm giving up the free coffee/soda/juice at work. Also, I'd like to make prayer a more regular part of my evening routine, so faithful Vespers are my goal. Those are built on readings from the Bible, especially Psalms--my favorite.
* * *
I put drum set on a song the other day. This was an especial achievement because I ... *sigh* ... don't play the drums. But I do have a reasonably good idea of how they work, so me and my keyboard went on a little sound adventure together and the result impressed even me, all things considered. Sure, the kick track needs redoing because I got slightly off time at the beginning of the second chorus, and I plan to improve a couple of the cymbal accents, but it works.
Coming soon ...
* * *
I should probably try to slow down on the ellipses. Using them as often as I do is either my trademark or bad form; I don't know which.
1.24.2008
Ten o'Clock Ramble
After almost a month of not blogging, it begins to sound like an excuse to say that I'm busy or haven't finished my recording project. So I'll just say that music is coming, yes, eventually, but I'm tired of waiting for completion of certain goals there to post to my blog.
Recording is a long, fun, exhausting process. I could easily spend a day and more on a song ... it probably wouldn't be a stretch to spend two or three. And I keep learning. Last week I scrapped everything I had on a piece; the vocals were really good, but the beat was too slow, so I started over. Ditched guitar for my Korg Triton, and that beautiful thing gave me santur and Taiko drums. It's my favorite recording yet, except for the vocals, and those need to be scrapped and redone. Again.
It's hard to fit that kind of quality-and-quantity time into the random Saturdays I have available.
And of course I'm trying to be a good girl and prioritize the songs that should be done, but I made a Christmas filk out of a Britney Spears song and am totally itching to make a good recording of that too :-D ... the slapped-it-together-in-two-hours version made back then just does not quite reach my standards of perfection.
Ah well ... in other news, I'm about to turn thirty. That feels weird ... Somewhere in the past decade I went from feeling like my whole life was ahead of me to realizing that life is right now, every minute of it. Probably I take this a little too seriously for my own good, at least mentally.
The kid in me lives on, though. I've decided that with the exception of Austen and Dickens, the best novels are all juvenile fiction. The other day I went into Target and couldn't resist picking up a book called "Princess Academy" (Shannon Hale) and flipping through it. A week later, I went back and bought it, brought it home and read it several times. There's a lot to be had in children's books, and they don't rule out real hope like so many of the adult novels do.
It's almost bedtime, but I'm going to go spend a little time with my beloved boyfriend before heading into the freezing outdoors for home. 'Night, everyone.
Recording is a long, fun, exhausting process. I could easily spend a day and more on a song ... it probably wouldn't be a stretch to spend two or three. And I keep learning. Last week I scrapped everything I had on a piece; the vocals were really good, but the beat was too slow, so I started over. Ditched guitar for my Korg Triton, and that beautiful thing gave me santur and Taiko drums. It's my favorite recording yet, except for the vocals, and those need to be scrapped and redone. Again.
It's hard to fit that kind of quality-and-quantity time into the random Saturdays I have available.
And of course I'm trying to be a good girl and prioritize the songs that should be done, but I made a Christmas filk out of a Britney Spears song and am totally itching to make a good recording of that too :-D ... the slapped-it-together-in-two-hours version made back then just does not quite reach my standards of perfection.
Ah well ... in other news, I'm about to turn thirty. That feels weird ... Somewhere in the past decade I went from feeling like my whole life was ahead of me to realizing that life is right now, every minute of it. Probably I take this a little too seriously for my own good, at least mentally.
The kid in me lives on, though. I've decided that with the exception of Austen and Dickens, the best novels are all juvenile fiction. The other day I went into Target and couldn't resist picking up a book called "Princess Academy" (Shannon Hale) and flipping through it. A week later, I went back and bought it, brought it home and read it several times. There's a lot to be had in children's books, and they don't rule out real hope like so many of the adult novels do.
It's almost bedtime, but I'm going to go spend a little time with my beloved boyfriend before heading into the freezing outdoors for home. 'Night, everyone.
12.27.2007
Music and Christmas
For the fact of hardly blogging in two months, I have a very good excuse: the fact that almost all my free time for said months has been spent recording. Music, that is.
The tricky part was that I meant the music for a Christmas gift for my parents ... it's really my first time behind a studio mic, with the exception of one quick demo several years back ... and since it had to do with Christmas, I couldn't just get on my blog and explain why I wasn't posting, because that would have informed my parents.
Christmas Eve came, and I played the disc for Mom and Dad, and they liked it :-D
Since some of the music is of my own creation--i.e., not bound by copyright to others--and since it's not half bad, if I do say so myself, I'll be posting a few songs to the web soon. Not tonight, but maybe within a couple of weeks here.
Stay tuned ...
The tricky part was that I meant the music for a Christmas gift for my parents ... it's really my first time behind a studio mic, with the exception of one quick demo several years back ... and since it had to do with Christmas, I couldn't just get on my blog and explain why I wasn't posting, because that would have informed my parents.
Christmas Eve came, and I played the disc for Mom and Dad, and they liked it :-D
Since some of the music is of my own creation--i.e., not bound by copyright to others--and since it's not half bad, if I do say so myself, I'll be posting a few songs to the web soon. Not tonight, but maybe within a couple of weeks here.
Stay tuned ...
12.11.2007
Thoughts of the Month
Sometimes the human brain gets so full that it might consider reversing Number Five's cry of "Input, Stephanie, input!" to "Output!" I hit that point about two weeks ago. Too bad it wasn't tonight, as I might have had more mental energy that way.
***
Bella came to town last week and Lou and I saw it. It made me cry. It took me about three hours afterwards to figure out what all was going on, as past and present and future appeared intermittently throughout the story. But it was a good story, and well acted. I really have to compliment the cinematography too--I loved the way they filmed it. As a drama, I found it pretty emotional and one scene was really hard to watch, but I'm glad I saw it. At some point I'll have to watch it again; it seems like the kind of thing that one gets more out of with a second viewing.
***
Dan in Real Life made me snicker, but if I wasn't the only one who caught the Harry Potter reference, then at least no one else snickered aloud. It's in there. I promise--you can look for it. But if you have the choice whether to see Dan or Bella, see Bella, because that's a better movie. I liked Dan in Real Life, especially since it was part of a hang-out afternoon with Dad. But seriously--when did tempestuous, tantrum-throwing, nonsensical teenage infatuation become the standard for romance? I'm not talking about the precocious adult-in-a-teen-body thing that Disney usually tries to pass off as reality. I'm talking about a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old acting like a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old and getting held up as a good example. That just did not seem believable to me.
***
Usually I try to read one book at once and read it through. But lately I've had far too tall a stack to plow through it rhythmically and methodically, one at a time. This might have something to do with joining a book club. Or it might have more to do with the fact that not only did I join a book club, I asked my boss for recommendations, decided that I shouldn't own a Dickens book that I hadn't read, got intrigued while looking over Lou's shoulder at his book, got a book I'd long wanted to read as a gift from him on the anniversary of our first date, ordered two books from Amazon and swallowed them whole (not literally) ... and that doesn't include all the basic stuff that I might pick up just because I want to. The floor of my room now looks like a library exploded.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill, a Chesterton novel, made some hilarious and bizarre--but interesting and accurate--points about humor, passion and Chesterton's favorite target for his satirical efforts: the materialist philosophy. I love the way Chesterton writes. Every time I read him, I think "There goes a man who loves the English language as I do."
The Story of a Soul, autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, brought tears to my eyes about every third page. She was a little, cloistered Carmelite nun who begged the pope to let her enter the convent at a very young age--fifteen or sixteen--and she lived only to the age of 24. The simple pouring out of her heart into a few pages took her posthumously from unknown to international appeal; and reading it, I can see why. Her words continue to come back and convict me of my own selfishness and coldness. She expressed a love for Christ that one rarely sees the likes of in this world.
Dickens' Great Expectations left me with alternating opinions of how much I liked it. I wanted to smack the main character far too often for ease of reading. But he did eventually become the man he ought, and that helped. The "happy ending" that Dickens finally went with was certainly better than the original he penned, but I would have liked a little more of it :-)
***
A few years ago, the understanding of the awful realities of uncertainty and suffering hit me at the very center of my heart. It wasn't a cataclysmic or tragic event, but I remember the day--a cold March or April day, gray and drizzly, floating in an orange raft on the Wenatchee river just above the low-head dam at Dryden. I never went near that dam--we were taught how to stay well away--but I knew the theory of what would happen to anyone or anything trapped in its power, and somehow the knowledge of the dangers of moving water connected in my mind with the fragility of life. It sounds clichéd to say that I have never been the same after that moment, but it is the truth of the matter.
A Dominican priest named Fr. Vincent Serpa, who appears now and then on one of the podcasts I listen to, recently prescribed a few minutes' daily meditation on the crucifix for help in the growing of faith. The thought of the crucifix often comes to mind since then. Yes, we need the empty cross, the knowledge that Jesus is risen. But nothing reminds or inspires me to accept my own suffering like the sight of that wasted, beaten body hanging by nails on wood.
***
It's ten o'clock--time to give my unfortunate wrist a break and go read. Good night.
***
Bella came to town last week and Lou and I saw it. It made me cry. It took me about three hours afterwards to figure out what all was going on, as past and present and future appeared intermittently throughout the story. But it was a good story, and well acted. I really have to compliment the cinematography too--I loved the way they filmed it. As a drama, I found it pretty emotional and one scene was really hard to watch, but I'm glad I saw it. At some point I'll have to watch it again; it seems like the kind of thing that one gets more out of with a second viewing.
***
Dan in Real Life made me snicker, but if I wasn't the only one who caught the Harry Potter reference, then at least no one else snickered aloud. It's in there. I promise--you can look for it. But if you have the choice whether to see Dan or Bella, see Bella, because that's a better movie. I liked Dan in Real Life, especially since it was part of a hang-out afternoon with Dad. But seriously--when did tempestuous, tantrum-throwing, nonsensical teenage infatuation become the standard for romance? I'm not talking about the precocious adult-in-a-teen-body thing that Disney usually tries to pass off as reality. I'm talking about a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old acting like a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old and getting held up as a good example. That just did not seem believable to me.
***
Usually I try to read one book at once and read it through. But lately I've had far too tall a stack to plow through it rhythmically and methodically, one at a time. This might have something to do with joining a book club. Or it might have more to do with the fact that not only did I join a book club, I asked my boss for recommendations, decided that I shouldn't own a Dickens book that I hadn't read, got intrigued while looking over Lou's shoulder at his book, got a book I'd long wanted to read as a gift from him on the anniversary of our first date, ordered two books from Amazon and swallowed them whole (not literally) ... and that doesn't include all the basic stuff that I might pick up just because I want to. The floor of my room now looks like a library exploded.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill, a Chesterton novel, made some hilarious and bizarre--but interesting and accurate--points about humor, passion and Chesterton's favorite target for his satirical efforts: the materialist philosophy. I love the way Chesterton writes. Every time I read him, I think "There goes a man who loves the English language as I do."
The Story of a Soul, autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, brought tears to my eyes about every third page. She was a little, cloistered Carmelite nun who begged the pope to let her enter the convent at a very young age--fifteen or sixteen--and she lived only to the age of 24. The simple pouring out of her heart into a few pages took her posthumously from unknown to international appeal; and reading it, I can see why. Her words continue to come back and convict me of my own selfishness and coldness. She expressed a love for Christ that one rarely sees the likes of in this world.
Dickens' Great Expectations left me with alternating opinions of how much I liked it. I wanted to smack the main character far too often for ease of reading. But he did eventually become the man he ought, and that helped. The "happy ending" that Dickens finally went with was certainly better than the original he penned, but I would have liked a little more of it :-)
***
A few years ago, the understanding of the awful realities of uncertainty and suffering hit me at the very center of my heart. It wasn't a cataclysmic or tragic event, but I remember the day--a cold March or April day, gray and drizzly, floating in an orange raft on the Wenatchee river just above the low-head dam at Dryden. I never went near that dam--we were taught how to stay well away--but I knew the theory of what would happen to anyone or anything trapped in its power, and somehow the knowledge of the dangers of moving water connected in my mind with the fragility of life. It sounds clichéd to say that I have never been the same after that moment, but it is the truth of the matter.
A Dominican priest named Fr. Vincent Serpa, who appears now and then on one of the podcasts I listen to, recently prescribed a few minutes' daily meditation on the crucifix for help in the growing of faith. The thought of the crucifix often comes to mind since then. Yes, we need the empty cross, the knowledge that Jesus is risen. But nothing reminds or inspires me to accept my own suffering like the sight of that wasted, beaten body hanging by nails on wood.
***
It's ten o'clock--time to give my unfortunate wrist a break and go read. Good night.
11.25.2007
I Am Not Gone
I have not died. Nor have I forgotten my blog, or lost interest in it. It's just that not all of life's moments are bloggable, and the last several weeks have been composed of a lot of unbloggable moments.
Life is good, but thoroughly busy right now--this last week, for instance, encompassed two birthdays and an anniversary as well as Thanksgiving.
I can't promise to blog in the next few days. I will not promise not to, either.
Life is good, but thoroughly busy right now--this last week, for instance, encompassed two birthdays and an anniversary as well as Thanksgiving.
I can't promise to blog in the next few days. I will not promise not to, either.
11.08.2007
Random Note
Somehow, yesterday, I managed to kill a spider with my elbow.
I have no idea when or where. There wasn't much left of it when I found it.
Gross.
I have no idea when or where. There wasn't much left of it when I found it.
Gross.
10.27.2007
A Couple of Movies
Really, I should have put my computer in a more convenient place. This room is so consistently chilly right now that I have a hard time convincing myself to enter even for the internet.
That aside, there are a couple of movies I've heard of recently that look really interesting. Bella isn't making it to a theater near me ... yet ... but it won the Toronto Film Festival People's Choice award, and--if the radio station on which I heard about it has their facts straight--the last time that award was taken by an indie film, it was Chariots of Fire. Right now they're trying to get wider distribution on it, as it was just released in limited form yesterday. It's supposed to be an excellent story.
Expelled has an agenda, and it's not attempting to hide that at all. In this film, Ben Stein challenges the teaching of Darwinism as incontrovertable fact. As someone who doesn't think Darwinism is incontrovertable fact, I'd probably go see it anyway, but with Ben Stein and his smart-aleck sense of humor doing the talking, well ... it ought to be hilarious. It comes out in February of 2008, and after seeing it I'll have to post a review.
If any of y'all see either, let me know what you think.
That aside, there are a couple of movies I've heard of recently that look really interesting. Bella isn't making it to a theater near me ... yet ... but it won the Toronto Film Festival People's Choice award, and--if the radio station on which I heard about it has their facts straight--the last time that award was taken by an indie film, it was Chariots of Fire. Right now they're trying to get wider distribution on it, as it was just released in limited form yesterday. It's supposed to be an excellent story.
Expelled has an agenda, and it's not attempting to hide that at all. In this film, Ben Stein challenges the teaching of Darwinism as incontrovertable fact. As someone who doesn't think Darwinism is incontrovertable fact, I'd probably go see it anyway, but with Ben Stein and his smart-aleck sense of humor doing the talking, well ... it ought to be hilarious. It comes out in February of 2008, and after seeing it I'll have to post a review.
If any of y'all see either, let me know what you think.
10.16.2007
This Post Courtesy Of ...
The cable guy ... I mean the real cable guy, the one who comes, hooks up the cable system, and leaves again without doing anything Jim Carrey-like ... and Florence from Comcast, who spent half an hour on the phone with me and is one of the best CS reps I've ever talked to, and my blessed roommate and her boyfriend, who drove out to the Comcast office with me last week, and my dad and my boyfriend, who set up my computer after the move.
I am back online, and the "D" in ":-D" is just not big enough to match my grin right about now.
The move is complete, other than figuring out where my bookshelves go so I can unpack the books instead of having to box-dive for anything to read. It took me four hours to move, and about three times longer to go through several years' worth of junk mail mixed with things that might have my social security number thereon. I hate sorting mail. I have a similar distaste for scrubbing baseboards and window-locks, but it is done, on the old apartment at least. Now I just need to give back the three keys, which will reduce the number on my keychain to nine.
The new room has a little less view from the window, but what falls within sight is pretty. The room itself is still light and has its own baseboard heater (which means I can get one place in the house just as warm as I like it, although that comes with the fear that I may kick off my comforter in the night and set the house afire.) It feels like home in that room, with my closet all clean and my bed made, the nightstand replete with lamp and Bible and assorted other books, the painting Mom gave me--in which she made me look like the da Vinci portrait of Danielle de Barbarac in Everafter--hung on one wall, and my blessed old Guild in the corner.
Here in the "office", surrounded by an unreasonable number of cords, I also feel quite at home. My synth wants warming up and one weekend is long enough to be without the internet.
As I have other things to do on the internet before wrapping up tonight, this is all for now. But I shall return, oh yes.
I am back online, and the "D" in ":-D" is just not big enough to match my grin right about now.
The move is complete, other than figuring out where my bookshelves go so I can unpack the books instead of having to box-dive for anything to read. It took me four hours to move, and about three times longer to go through several years' worth of junk mail mixed with things that might have my social security number thereon. I hate sorting mail. I have a similar distaste for scrubbing baseboards and window-locks, but it is done, on the old apartment at least. Now I just need to give back the three keys, which will reduce the number on my keychain to nine.
The new room has a little less view from the window, but what falls within sight is pretty. The room itself is still light and has its own baseboard heater (which means I can get one place in the house just as warm as I like it, although that comes with the fear that I may kick off my comforter in the night and set the house afire.) It feels like home in that room, with my closet all clean and my bed made, the nightstand replete with lamp and Bible and assorted other books, the painting Mom gave me--in which she made me look like the da Vinci portrait of Danielle de Barbarac in Everafter--hung on one wall, and my blessed old Guild in the corner.
Here in the "office", surrounded by an unreasonable number of cords, I also feel quite at home. My synth wants warming up and one weekend is long enough to be without the internet.
As I have other things to do on the internet before wrapping up tonight, this is all for now. But I shall return, oh yes.
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