My IQ

I just found out Ani DiFranco has a new album coming out in 26 days.
Not that I am now counting or anything.
I love Ani.
I do.
Sorry if that bothers you, but chances are, if that bothers you, you probably can't name me two Ani original songs. Try it. Don't look it up, just try it. Can you? The woman has like 17 albums out. In 15 years. 17 albums. 15 years. Talk about efficiency.
Sorry again, when I listen to lot of Ani I get confrontational. She's like "Jock Jams" for the quasi-hippie types, we just get ready for some football, or making hummus or protests or whatever we are planning to do. I just love that she gets me so motivated, to stand up for whatever, in whatever. Whether it's "Face Up and Sing", "My IQ", "Shy", "Shameless", or even "Self-Evident"--wow. Riles me up, makes me want to curse loudly. I love music with a purpose. It's the same reason I love Dar Williams' "I Had No Right", John Prine's "Sam Stone", Indigo Girls' "Philosophy of Love", Sublime's "April 26, 1992"--most about deep issues (and one about looting, but eh). I didn't know about the plight of the Berrigan Brothers until I heard Dar's song and I love to be educated on social issues and activists like that...I mean if two priests top the FBI most wanted list for protesting Vietnam, that is noteworthy.
But Ani? Oh man. God love her. She has such power in her words, can make blood boil and voices shout. And she lives it, that's what I really love. Man. So pumped. Ok I'll shut up now. I'll leave with an Ani quote, it is, after all, my blog.
" 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
And yer done
Yer done for
Yer done for good
But tell me did you?
Did you do all?
Did you do all you could?" -Tamburita Lingua

Liz and Carey, two of DaSpoons trio. That's Liz in the 40ft of bubblewrap Carey got for her birthday. We wrapped Liz in it and rolled her down a hill to see if they'd pop. They didn't.

Roaring Twenties/(Christ)mas/Speed of the Sound...

There are times when I have nothing to say, then I am blinded by everything to say. My life is a fit of feasts and famines. I know its going to be a day of thought when I wake up with a Patty Griffin song in my head. The weekend and holiday we wonderful and difficult simultaneously--I opened the package from my family last night and cried multiple times. The things that hit me today are really three separate ideas and inclinations and thus will be treated as such. I'll split it up into little juicy nuggets for us ADD kids.

(Christ)mas:
I was convicted this morning when I got to work especially early. If I'm opening I can't go in until the second person arrives so I had an extra 15 minutes or so to sit in my car. I keep my tiny bible in there for situations like this. I opened up the beginning of Matthew and read the account of Christ's birth, and I realized I went through the entire Christmas holiday without even really considering what it was all actually about. I got thinking about family, and booyah bowling, and friends, and logistics, and a myriad of other totally inconsequential things. I got distracted. And the greatest trick the devil owns is distraction, no?

Roaring Twenties:
I am still obsessing over my writing samples, as much for myself as for my actual applications. I wonder about telling personal stories, because I sincerely believe that the lives of twentysomethings are glamorous and exciting only to other twentysomethings. To everyone else they are boringly similar to every other fashionably unique twentysomething out there (notice I said 'fashionably unique'--it's impossible to be, but since it is currently fashionable to be unique, I can make statements like that. booyah) and simply a stage that every other person passes through--it's like telling everyone's stories about puberty. Funny but overwhelmingly similar. I'm wondering if all I have to say is like that. How terrifying for a storyteller.

"Speed of the Sound of Loneliness":
If you knew that was a John Prine song, then you are way too cool to be reading this. Regardless, recently I've been rereading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, which has rapidly become one of my favorite books and I'm in love with the author and want to marry him today, but I digress. I know I've been talking about loneliness in this journal a lot and for good reason; I'm lonely. Then I read this today and it convicted me.
"Loneliness is something that happens to us, but I think it is something we can move ourselves out of. I think a person who is lonely should dig into a community, give himself to a community, humble himself before his friends, initiate community, teach people to care for each other, love each other. Jesus does not want us floating through space or sitting in front of our televisions. Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together. Loneliness is something that came with the fall. If loving other people is a bit of heaven then certainly isolation is a bit of hell, and to that degree, here on earth, we decide in which state we would like to live."
Ouch.

It's beginning to look at lot

One really shouldn't work retail too long because they end up with this intense disdain and/or hatred for the holidays. It's your fault consumers, your fault. Christmas this year will be very different than normal--it's my first away from my family and so my traditions and customs are out the window. It's hard because I really don't have the money to buy anyone anything anyway, and I wish I could. It's humbling to try to recieve gifts without being able to give one in return. I guess it's more of this 'understanding where my worth lies' lessons.
After work tonight I"m meeting up with Dylan and Liz in Syracuse for some QT time in ol' Westcott Nation and possibly a stop at Taps! WOOHOO! Then the night of the 23rd bring booyah bowling in Oneida, then Christmas with the Watkins family (shout out Watkins family), then a dinner with my dear Peter in Syracuse on the 26th. I'll try to post when I can. I'm looking forward to basically everything except the actual holiday itself. Maybe I can just sleep through it...

Potsmoking Hippie Alcoholics

The other day I got to talk to my friend Hatcher on my drive to work, all 50 minutes of it.
This was so vital and so so so wonderful. She's my friend, and she rules.
Toward the end of the conversation, I told her that I was going out with my coworkers after work. I laughingly mentioned how my coworkers are potsmoking alcoholics. Hatcher made the observation that no matter where I go, I end up with potsmoking alcoholics somewhere in my life.
This is, indeed, very true.
Except for Hatcher, who is neither a potsmoker nor an alcoholic.
But it's true--I do end up with a disproportionate amount of these people in my life, probably because it feels like a big ol' family reunion, as that is most of my family anyway. Hatcher said, "I don't know too many people like that, probably because I couldn't relate to them--they would distrust me and I wouldn't know what to say to them." or something along those lines. But me (as clearly we all know, this blog is all about me)? Why in a room of my friends, family and coworkers I couldn't throw a stick without hitting one. I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing--they are my friends/family/coworkers, so I love them dearly. But this does seem to be the kind of people I know and am comfortable with. Very strange. It's hard to balance who I am now with the stories of who I was--how does one relate without reliving?
I believe it is so so so important to know what you are saved from. To stand on that line and look in the eye of the could have been and realize just how held onto you are; how the life you live is one of a rescued mess. And to look at others and simply love them where they are and not how you'd want them to be.
I dunno.

Yelling in Cars with Girls

Last night my roommate and I decided rather late to go rent a movie. For some reason, while we were riding in the car we just started yelling. It was hilarious. It felt so good to yell--I don't feel like I yell enough. We were just riding in the car, yelling our conversation. It reminded me to not keep myself so seriously.
We rented "Bourne Surpremcy" and, not gonna lie, I have an irrational crush on Matt Damon. Well I loved the first movie and the second was just as good, and such quality just forces me to have an irrational crush on Matt Damon. Look at that smile! Look at those eyes! There's something else in there; I appreciate that.
It's snowing--hasn't stopped for days and isn't supposed to stop til the weekend or so--just happens I guess.

Baby It's Cold Outside

I have nothing insightful or interesting to say today, so I will give you this. At work today I started to make a list of things that annoy me (it was a slow day) and that's all I have to share with you. Sorry for the scraps.
List of Things That Really Annoy Me:
* People who say, "How are you?" without ever expecting any sort of response, even the lame "Good and you?" that I say instinctively--like some horrid knee-jerk reaction I am powerless to stop.
* Berl Ives. All Berl Ives. Any and all Berl Ives.
* The song "Baby It's Cold Outside." Doesn't matter who sings it; I hate it. Nick/Jessica: This includes you.
* Those people who wait until I fold a stack of sweaters, then decide to unfold the stack I just finished to look at it--"Hey this looks just like a V-neck sweater, but what does the back look like? Oh, it's the same.Wow." Jerks.
* Watching VH1's "John Mayer Show" and the fact that it actually made me like John Mayer. I don't want to like John Mayer, but the bear suit really did me in. Jerk.
* Those people who have to touch EVERYTHING in the store--didn't your mother teach you anything? Look with your eyes, not with your hands, you schmuck.
* That stupid Hummer that was parked outside--what the crap? Hey, want to help support the war on terror? DON'T DRIVE A FRIGGIN' GIANT, GAS GUZZLING SUV, YOU GREEDY HOG.

That's it, that's my list.
I'm having some hormonal distractions right now, so I can't concentrate on anything. I blame all boys.

I heart Jimmy Carter

So last night the great Jen Cash came out for a visit, which was all too brief but chock full o' stories about weddings, bus trips, skinny dipping, Vegas, baking and all that happened in between. Here's to you, Casher! Yay!
I have to admit something: I'm self-conscious about not being funny in my blog. I mean it's meant to be my thoughts on things, and my thoughts tend to be serious (though my stories trend toward funny) so I guess I shouldn't be worked up in this, but my life is super boring so at least its something to be worked up about.
The other day I caught part of a show on CMT featuring Willy Nelson and Jimmy Carter, from Plains, GA. I was blown away by the interview with Jimmy Carter--I don't even remember the question that was asked to him, but his response was, "I serve the Prince of Peace. I am proud to say not a single rocket or missile was fired in anger during my presidency. I promote peace." It was so refreshing to be reminded that Christianity and peace are not mutually exclusive (as a certain current administration would have us forget) but rather that peace is integral in walking in Christ. Here is a man who last year won the Nobel Peace Prize, who started Habitat for Humanity, who is the first American sent into tense situations as a mediator--here is a man who has made his life a life of promoting peace--and he serves the Prince of it. If he has a grandson who's like that and who's single, hook me up.
Anyway, I'm beat. Not sleeping well. It's snowing. Ugh. It's not bad unless I have to drive in it. And I have to drive in it everyday.

The Same Boat

I apologize, I have neglected my promise to give you weird NY towns for the day:
Caledonia
Canajoharie
Canandaigua
Canaseraga
Cattaraugus

Hope that satisfies you for now.
I must also apologize for not being very funny. I don't know why I'm not very funny in my blog, for I promise you, dear reader, that I am funny in real life. Well, in the non-blog world at least. So the other day I talked to my friend from college, the great and delightful Emilie. I get down on myself for not really doing anything spectacular with my life and talking to Em made me feel a bit better, as she divulged that she was working at a French Restaurant and I was, of course, in the high-glamour world of retail. I figure if someone that talented isn't in the "real world" yet then I'm not as far off as I thought. Today I caught up with my fantastic roommate from college, the ineffable Jen Cash, who just finished biking the west coast with my other roommate, Alexis. Makes me feel like I don't do anything my life, but another issue for another time. So Jen is also not doing much and very close to broke. In fact, most of my friends my age are up in the air with everything--it's kind of a relief to realize this boat I'm in is the same one as a lot of my friends.

It's A Hard-Knock Life

Another day off to pour over obsessively this grad school thing.
The problem with creative writing is its so subjective; I'm not even sure what is "good" and what isn't, I just know what I can produce and what I can't. Last week my friend Liz was writing a paper on creativity and it got me thinking about the whole process. To create anything is mindboggling; I don't ever plan to have children, so my writings may be as close as I get (as melodramatic as that sounds). I'm sure ya'll are really sick of me talking about these writing samples I have to produce, but it's all that's in my life right now so it's all I can talk about. Sorry.
First I have the statement of purpose, which is supposed to sum up me, my entire background, my writing experience, why I want to study creative writing and what makes me a good canidate. It's the most important part, and I have to say that I'm so stressed about it I almost don't know how to go about doing it. Today I spent half the day staring at what I'd written so far. I think I wrote maybe one new sentence.
Then there are my short stories. I have to submit two stories. The problem is, I have yet to finish one story. I've started plenty of them, I just can't finish them.
Oh no now I'm having a panic attack, doubting my abilities or my desire to study this.
I want to, I know I do...I just don't know how.
AHHHHHH!
I may rip out all my hair.

Shot for the day: When I was leaving VA for NY Liz and I stopped at the P-vegas McDonalds. We wore hats. We got the guy at the drive-through window to take our picture. He added the thumbs up, which makes it that much cooler...

The Best and Worst of 2K4, version 1.1

So I told ya'll I was working on this list, and now that the end is nigh (of 2K4 at least) I figured I'd post the beta version of the list. It's meant to try to capture the year that was in my life, so if its a wide spectrum that's because the year was crazy. So here it is (I'll probably keep adding to it in subsequent posts...actually, you add to it people. Send comments, changes, your feelings on the purple sweatpants. I want to hear from you):

BEST AND WORST OF 2K4
Best Wedding: Dave and Shelby Boynton, July in Lancaster, NH
Key: Open bar before the wedding, the whole wedding party in chacos.

Best After-the-Wedding Moment: Chris Parcell cuddling with a watermelon in Hatcher's car, June in Purcellville
Key: "I love you watermelon...I do...you wanna see who's gonna die first, watermelon? Cuz YOU'LL LOSE!"

Best Hangover Party: The breakfast after Dave and Shelby's wedding, Lancaster, NH
Key: I think Dan was still drunk...

Best New Scar: Right forarm in the battle of me vs. tray of apple pies
Key: I got it while baking, and I don't bake

Worst New Scar: Accidently burning the tip of my nose while trying to light a cigar and talk on the phone at the same time
Key: Neosporin smells HORRIBLE.

Best Book (tie): Life of Pi by Yann Martel/Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller
Key: 450-lb bengal tiger named Richard Parker/He wants to marry Ani DiFranco

Best New Album: "O" by Damien Rice, January or February
Key: He's Irish...

Best (or Worst) Irrational Celebrity Obsession: Suzy Gilgrist and Liz Watkins, on Usher
Key: It's USHER. He's got some confessions.

Best Unnecessary Event: Dodgeball, Interns vs. Summer Staff, Saranac
Key: My Little Pony and Ninja Turtle balls, Cat Wade in pigtails.

Best Party (tie): David Hasselhoff/"Crabfest!...Now Leave."
Key: Homemade shirts, pinatas and mix cds (and crabs)

Best Reunion: Taps Week reunion, April in Syracuse
Key: Murphy came in a dress!

Best Victory: Red Sox came from 0-3 to beat Yankees in 7 in ALCS championship
Key: Oh yeah, and then the won the World Series. But they beat the Yankees!

Best Girl Moment: Hot tub, ALI ski weekend, January
Key: Bubbly in the bubbly

Best Outfit: Vikings in grass skirts and guard tubes, September in Saranac, NY
Key: Headlamps, pieces and bling-bling as lifeguards for "Slide for the Brave"

Worst Departure (inanimate): Mosby's Tavern, Middleburg, VA
Key: 1/2 Price Burger Night, Pyramid Hefeweizen

Best Upgrade: Roy the Raging Tempo to Rudy the Rugged 'Roo
Key: Only 15 years, ABS, airbags and a working seatbelt

Best Gift: 2ft Dubya Pinata from Caroline, September
Key: Pinata is still smarter than the original

Best Catch-phrase: Dawn of the "LoCo" shirts, Leadership Weekend, Feburary
Key: LoCo makes LoCo sound cool...and no Wal-Marts in Bethesda?

Best Departure (inaimate): My VA drivers license photo
Key: It was so bad even the NY DMV man laughed

Best Showdown: Murphy vs. Spooner, undefeated carbomb champs, April, Planet 505, Syracuse
Key: DEAD TIE! TAPS FOR LIFE!

Best Movie: "Napoleon Dynamite" September with Hatch
Key: "Tina, come get your dinner you fat lard!"

Best Astronomical Sighting: The Seven Moons of Saturn over Saranac, August
Key: The Doc's brother had a telescope...

Best Orginal Song: "If Jesus Were a Sanitizer", by Cris and Spooner, September, Saranac
Key: Cleaning all the public bathrooms at Saranac in a driving rainstorm and the fumes as inspiration

Best Freebie: Bar Mitzvah shirt from 13-year-old boy, Dave and Busters, Bethesda, MD
Key: "Guest List Finalist" on front, "David's Bar Mitzvah" on the back

Best Fest: ODB Fest, Old Dominion Brewery, Ashburn, VA in June
Key: It's a festival for cigars and beer. duh. Prank call to Amy..."NIPPLENIPPLENIPPLE!"

Best Karyoke Moment: "Forever in Blue Jeans" by Erin Hatcher, returning from Campaigner Overnight
Key: We were on a bus full of high school students...

Best Business Card: Grafton DeButts
Key: Grafton DeButts

Best Rock Opera: The August Bakery's Rock Opera, as performed by Beener, Caroline and Spooner
Key: "Things to Do While Beener Poops"

Best Concert (tie): Ani D, 9:30 Club, Live DVD Taping, May in DC/Mindy Smith, Old Towne Theatere, Alexandria
Key: Elena crying and twitching/literally running into Mindy in the bathroom before the show, Amber, Erin and I eating a 17 course meal afterward.

Best Sex Talk: Elizabeth Maskey
Key: "Build a bridge and stand on it."

Best New Extreme Sport: Mattress Sliding, August, Saranac
Key: Hal and JC, the "we can be friends" boob grab--"How old are you guys?"

Worst Reality Check: Cancer scare and bone scan, June
Key: Hatcher and 2 hours at Ikea

Best Nickname: Uncle Jimmycake, Saranac
Key: "I licked your Jimmycake!" "Sweet!"

Best Chase Sequence: Hatcher vs. Lars, Rockbridge in October
Key: the Purple Sweatpants...Maskey's "Awww crap."

Best Gang: BB 1818 at the Brothers
Key: Emil, Marco, Jorge, BB 4 Life!

Best Drink: ODB's Oak Barrel Stout
Key: This one stays the same every year

Best Dance (tie): LoCo Contra Dance, Saranac dance parties
Key: J.Wags, J.Shui, Hot Pat and Grafton/Erin C. dressed as a Twinkie, JC's "A Whole New World"

Best Fashion Statement: Purple Sweatpants
Key: Still trying to figure this one out

Worst Fashion Statement: Purple Sweatpants
Key: I said I was still trying to figure this one out....

Worst Letdown: Twilight Polo rained out, July
Key: Amber and I with wine and cigars, complaining the whole time

Best Job: Assistant Baker, Saranac
Key: Beener, Caroline, Butts, Tex, Jacque, Aaron, Courtney, Lauren, the pits...sneaking tastes behind April's back

Best Real-life Cartoon Character: Kristen Beil
Key: Seriously, who are you right now? I love you times 10 to the 3rd power...


That's it! Add to it if you want!
Here's to 2K5!

Red Ribbon

As it is my day off work I like to lounge, as it should be. On VH1 a special on AIDS and popular culture was on and I guess I just sort of forget it all--like my generation was raised in awareness but I don't think it's something we actively worry about now. We were too young to be shocked by the deaths of Rock Hudson, Freddie Mercury or Easy E--too blissfully ignorant to even know what was happening. Now all we know is "wear a condom" and think of "Rent" when we hear the word AIDS. We kind of dismiss it as the epidemic of the 80s and that we've conquered it now, when in actuality, in 2003 AIDS cases in the US rose for the first time in 10 years, most between the ages of 15-24. WHAT? Last year alone, 42,000 Americans contracted HIV/AIDS. A disproportionate number of new cases are occurring in young, heterosexual women. Now there are 42 million people in the world living with AIDS. A recent statistic said that by 2010, 20 million African children will be orphans due to HIV/AIDS.
One child every minute dies from AIDS.
A child.
I don't tend to get all mushy about things like this, but for some reason this has especially hit me today.
Watching that show I was blown away by the initial protests by the Christian Right about the disease, saying it "Served [homosexuals] right," implying that this horrific epidemic was God's wrath. That took my breath away, because in those faces behind the huge "GOD HATES FAGS" signs, I saw not one ounce of compassion or love. These people are dying, they don't know how or why, and your first reaction is "serves them right?" How do I make sure I never become like that? I am shocked and digusted.

It's World AIDS Day and I'm convicted that I don't do enough if there is even something I can do.
Ugh.

Stats taken from:
www.whatudo.org
www.unaids.org

Shot Down part II

So earlier I posted about being ok with rejection and I mean that. But as I've thought about it more I've gotten just a tad (a smidgen if you will) bitter about the whole thing. I was venting to my roommate about it earlier; how it seems that God almost takes pleasure in watching me get worked up in things and then yanking it away from me at the last moment. How many trips, and relationships, and adventures and hopes have been allowed to grow and feed and mature, only to be plucked on the eve of their blossom? And I pray about it, I really do. I give it up and give it up and give it up only to have it return like an unwanted boomerang. I don't get it. If it's not going to happen I'd like to know so I don't waste my time and energy. If it's God's will that's fine, just a flippin' heads up would be nice. Like right now I've been getting distracted by the same damn thing for a year and a half, and it's just been a drawn out maybe. Every time I try to give up on it the yes door squeeks open just enough to let a little bit through, and I'm thrown back into the wating and wondering. It's like a life of endless yellow lights, where even a red light would be welcomed if only to have something definite. It's getting really old, and it makes me yearn for another time when the only will that mattered was mine.

Shot Down

First off, Weirdly-Named Towns of NY:
Amagansett
Antwerp
Cahoonzie
Asharoken

Anyway, hi kiddies, how are ya. I know that was supposed to be a question mark, but it was said in a manner more befitting a period. So today is a day off (finally) and I'm pouring through all this grad school/GRE stuff, trying to make sense of what the mother I want to do in my future. This whole process (especially in creative writing) is so...vunerable. I'm realizing that my future, in order to get where I want to go, is going to include a whole truckload of rejection. I have said that I'd like to be ok with rejection but I never have been too good at it. I'm so afraid of failure that oftentimes I've turned down opportunities just so I wouldn't experience that potential letdown. How sad. This year I said I was going to embrace sucking at things, and rejection is part of sucking at things, so that's my plan. It's all about worth in its own way. I sincerely want to see my worth in things less ephermeral and more and more in the love I have in Christ; so easily said, so difficultly done. (Is difficultly a word? I just made it one. It's an adverb. Use it today.) With all that said, here's a question: How does self-confidence and worth in Christ intermingle? If I believe that apart from Christ I can do nothing, then what exactly is self-confidence anyway?
Regardless, to sum up: I'm going to put myself out there a lot and get rejected a lot in the coming months. I'm going to go out there, write my best and suck at it most of the time. But my worth will not diminish. I think.
This was a personal peptalk if you couldn't tell. Go team.

Live From Another Weird-Spelling Town

I've only spent one Thanksgiving at home in the past five years, so I really shouldn't surprised in the least that I'm not there right now. I'm in Canastota, NY with my friend's family. (NY has some funny named towns, don't they? One day I'll make a list of them, to make all you VA people laugh. Here's the list for the day: Oswego, Otsego, Owego. Weird).
The logical blog would talk about what I'm thankful for, being that it's Thanksgiving and all, but being one who likes to buck tradition and expectatation I plan to do no such thing. Last Thankgiving (the only one in VA) I was a little bitter about family for some reason and wrote a song about it, and to be totally honest it's not too flattering but now I sing it every time I think about the holiday. See? When I am there I'm unhappy about it and when I'm not I miss them like crazy. Grass is always greener, or the turkey is always jucier or whatever the saying is.
It's starting to sink in that I really won't be home for Christmas and I'm starting to panic in a way. It could be good for me, but at the same time this year has been kinda tough and any sort of familiarity would be greatly appreciated. Of course on the 23rd is Booyah Bowling 2 in Oneida (other funny town!) with Dylan and friends and that promises to spice up the holidays a little bit.
It's always funny going home with friends for holidays, because I genuinely want to help but don't know how or who to ask, so I usually end up watching football with the other exteneded relatives and eating a meal I had no hand in making.
(Chorus of the song, just cause I know you were wondering:
I'll pass the potatoes/I'll pass the stuffing/I'll pass on the option to get down over nothing/but the food will be great and the photos won't show/the places and scars even families won't go.." yeah I was happy.)

2 makes 1

Recently I've been thinking about how my dreams and God's plans never seem to coincide and I'm wondering how to reconcile that. Right now I have a lot of dreams and plans; I'm mapping out the next two, three years of my life and I'm trying to figure out how to see God's plan in it, if it's there at all. He's good at hiding it. I just want the two to become one. How to change my heart...
Today is a day off to try to fix money stuff (as if it could be fixed in a day. Ha!) research grad schools, find out when to take the GREs, work on my portfolio and finish up the "Best/Worst of 2K4" list. I figured it's the easiest way to summarize the whole year, but what do I know. I think the end of the year breeds in me this desire for a better next year, and I hope I'm sincere about my desires for 2k5.

Another Logical Conclusion

First I'd like to apologize for my last post, as it was pathetic, incomplete and disjointed, and henceforth I will only write if I actually think I may have a fragment of a complete thought.
That being said, today I continuted my church shopping quest (today's church was OK, but need better worship, more people my age, and better seats. Bonus: preaching was good, it was very closeto home) and came home, starving. Now church wasn't that long and I had eaten breakfast before I left, but it seemed time for lunch.
So I ate a lot.
Then, since I'm in New Flippin' York and they don't believe in showing the Redskins game (reason #342 I want to move back toward LoCo) I decided to read and take a nap.
Got up at 4, starving again.
So I ate.
A lot.
Again.
Then Suzy decided we should do a puzzle (cuz we are uber exciting, young, single women...) so we sat around and worked on that.
AND I COULDN'T STOP EATING.
Like the list of things I've eaten today is ridiculous and I haven't stopped since 4, and it's nearly midnight.
Wings? yup.
Pizza? uhuh.
Peanut Butter and jelly? check.
Pasta? gotcha.
it keeps going.
So I figured out what it is, a conclusion any rational person would come to: I must have a tapeworm that is eating all my food.
I'm strangely ok with my tapeworm that I may or may not have, but he is rather expensive to feed, so maybe I'm not up to the level of responsibility necessary to successfuly raise a tapeworm. I should start with something a bit easier (and more cuddily) like a dog, or hamster or even a hermit crab and work my way up to tapeworm status.
Anyway, must finish eating

Words to Live By

You thought I was going to say something so insightful and deep that it would indeed be words to live by. Ha! Sucka.
Today's blog is going to talk about the words and ideas that others have said or written that we choose to base our lives around. This thought comes after complaining to Liz that I had nothing to say today because I really didn't do much today. Looked at grad schools online, got a car wash, read stuff, hung my curtain rod...see? BOR-ING.
So back to words to live by.
One of my favorite quotes that I try to emulate is from Emily Sailers of the Indigo Girls: "You have to laugh at yourself, because you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't." It's so difficult to remember to laugh at the struggles you wrestled with at one time, the mistakes you've made or even the outfits you've worn. Verses are good too. I've always loved 1 Thessalonians 4:11
"Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody."
Do I live this? No. I don't know even where to begin to lead a quiet life, but I'm working at it and I'm laughing at myself.
At least I can say I am, for this is a blog and you just have to believe me.
Ha! Sucka.
That's it for my thought. I'm done. I'm spent. I'm sleeping.

Liberal Christian Morals (if that's possible)

The beautiful thing about my ridiculous commute is the time for possible phone conversations. Today I had the opportunity to catch up with my friend Sarah, who just returned from a tour of Europe. I met Sarah at Saranac this summer--she was the one who read all applications and is partly responsible for accepting me onto summer staff. Well in the "Strengths and Weaknesses" section of the application I tried to be very honest and put down as a weakness "Don't particularly like a lot of Christians" which is very true. Well I guess she thought it was hilarious and we've been friends ever since. We're both of the extremely rare "Christian liberal" breed, and were lamenting over our lack of peers in that department. You know, someone I can pray with, then go grab a beer at a local pub and talk politics. I am still trying to wrap my mind around the concept of voting for "morals"--as if voting against someone was voting against morals themselves; as if one person embodied all morals. I am seriously flabbergasted by the notion---I guess I need it explained to me because I am seriously dumbfounded. Like if you have some way to explain this to me, by all means, do it. I give up. I don't get it.
Regardless, it was simply great to talk to another Christian who was as distraught as I.
What are morals anyway?
I vote for caring for the poor, for better education, for jobs for the working class and against unjust war--how does that make me less moral? I love Jesus, work to protect his creation, want equal rights for all citizens and believe that love, grace and mercy can do far more than aggression, rhetoric and fear, but I am less?
How can fear and faith coincide in the discourse of the president?
Enough--my blood pressure is starting to rise...

Enjoy The Veal

Now a guest post from my dear friend Lizzie, who sent me this email as a fake live journal. I shall make all her dreams come true by posting it here:

i am at the library and feel like i want to spit stuff out, but am too lazy/not up for the task of creating a livejournal at the moment for the following reasons:
-should be working on paper
-feel fat
-i hate this paper
-don't have the energy for
-worrying about censoring b/c am in minstry so therefore am an example
-making a name that is clever without appearing to be trying too hard
-nothing clever coming to mind that isn't grotesquely annoying or unoriginal
-examples: nothingclever, an american in london (for future references...that's probably the low point when i realized i was not worthy of a livejournal)

ok, so i was looking into buying a syracuse is oranges shirt b/c in the last year or so i've had more cuse pride than ever in my life. guess it's b/c i'm leaving it. anyways, got looking at joe cassera's website through it and looked at the pics of his girlfriend. i'm sorry if this is getting personal, i just need to vent. it's nothing personal about him, i mean, personally, i don't really know him, seems like a nice guy, am using him to represent all species similar to himself. i know his last 3 girlfriends, before this last one. like, know them well in respects to this one boy they all have in common. the poor girl in the middle i think was a rebound. he hasn't spoken to the first one, who has been engaged since the spring, the last one broke up with him after kissing another boy while she was studying abroad in spain (kudos to kissing in spain...not the infidelity). so there's a little background...here's my beef: Don't people get tired??? Jumping boyfriend to boyfriend, girlfriend to girlfriend. each relationship seems to be just as deep and interesting and passionate as the previous. doesn't their back hurt from the baggage, from having an entire freaking uhaul attached to their butt? do people not see or not care? given, all very attractive people. but what?! do they have chocolate flavored lips and a strawberry tongue? (disclaimer: if they really do, sign me up. also, this whole email is negated b/c that's pretty effin cool and i'd want to use it if i were them too...especially if i could only taste it while other people were. well, i guess you could get sick of it...many flaws....must invest further thought...)

so yeah....that's the thing. does girl #4 feel special? i'm talking #4 serious since college. i'm talking full name (including middle...which annoys me anyways, therefore i will be more harsh) and big color pictures on one's website devoted entirely to this #4. is there something to be said about a person who is never single? what about a person who is always single? can i turn this in instead of my paper? i think i might try.is the big photo mantage necessary? is it a proclamation of affection or merely a tool to bite the thumb at the ex? i mean, how do people get over the past relationship so fast? i don't think they do. it's gotta build up, hence the uhaul. i'm thinking eventually it will no longer be a trailor, but an actual truck that they just drive around in before they know it. lucky that orange is so hot right now. by then is it too late? i think it would need some serious thinking. like, i totally thought i was over eric quickly, but i know if i had dated anyone this summer, it would have totally been bogus (like his rebound....sucka). i have/had more thoughts, but since my head is generally cloudy (i did grow up in syracuse....just thought of that, analogy makes me happy) i have lost most of it.
thanks for coming, enjoy the veal.
(i know, very unoriginal....especially convicted since am studying cezanne and stein currently)

current mood: annoyed
current music: norah jones radio on norahjones.com...discovery of the
week

Three lives, One Day

November 16th is a heady day for three cataclysmic reasons:
(1) Today would have been my friend Jeff's 24th birthday.
(2) Today is the day my dear Sassafras died after nearly 19 years of living with me
(3) Today is the day, in 1996, that I accepted Christ.

See what I mean? A celebratory day for a life lost too early, the end of a great and powerful saga, and the birth of life eternal. Now what am I to say about any of that? It's the very epitome of bittersweet.
I mourn for Jeff and Sassy; I praise God for another year with Him.
What a fragile day.

Just a parting shot for the day...

10 hours, no words

Sometimes I worry that I'm getting too introspective in this blog; that I find these huge, rehortical questions to ask myself and all those reading this and never come up with any conclusions. I worry because that's pretty much what I do. At least I can state the obvious.
So the other day I was complaining about working retail, a job that, I must admit, I really don't like. There is something horrific about being gone for 9-10 hours and having nothing to show for it. An old John Prine lyric asks, "How the hell can a person go to work in the morning/come home in the evening and have nothin' to say?" For example, today I spent at least four hours refolding and resizing a wall of pants, then spent the remaining time folding sweaters that I folded last week. At the same time I need to be thankful for the job God has given me--it pays pretty well, gives me insurance and is easy to get time off when I need it. It is where I'm supposed to be at this time, and I need to stop bitching about wanting to see the next step and simply revel in the miracles and lessons I'm experiencing now.
And why do they call a job "making a living" like it's made out of play dough or something....
Tomorrow my dear friend Raijiv is coming out to stay for the night--he is like my big brother, and the love that I have for him may be eclipsed only by the regard in which I hold him. I look forward to a night on the town with Raijiv and friends, as I have virtually no friends and nothing to do most nights (feel pity for me now....keep feeling it...hold it....ok stop).
Speaking of friends today I got a surprise package from my boss from camp, Anna. Inside was a homemade shirt that says, "I may run with scissors but you voted for GW" and the back reads, "choose risks wisely" I literally fell over laughing. It's genius. Made my day.

Shopping from Hell

One of the inevitable and oftentimes excruciating ordeals one may face after a move is the dreaded "where to go to church" situation. Shopping for a church is not that at all--oh no, shopping would be bliss--it sounds too nice and does not begin to address the countless nametags, bad coffee, handshakes, and bulletins that come with touring churches. And how the heck are you to know what its going to be like? You don't know, it's a big ol' mystery til you're in there. It could be compared to trying to find a new doctor but not being allowed to know what sort of medicine he/she specializes in, or what kind of insurance they accept or how good they are at what they do--you just have to make the appointment and show up. uuuuugh. And of course if you are by yourself so you are just a blaring target for those overly-cheery greeters to attempt the same small talk OVER AND OVER again. It's just all around awkward. I need to do it but I'm dreading it (if this hasn't been evident yet, you are blind). I'm trying to find a way to enjoy it.

I'm Jealous so Should You

My friends Kristina, Erin and Beth, who are all interns for YL in LoCo, have started their own live journal. I feel this may become one of the funniest websites I'll ever see. Ok it may only be funny if you know them, but to me it's already hysterical.
Tres Amigas.
I love you girls and I miss you like crazy!

The Revelator

Working retail has its rewards; mindless tasks create open hours to simply think. Today's thought: It's absolutely amazing how a successful writer can seem to reveal so much about themselves when in reality they reveal nothing. The ability to seem to divulge inner delicacies while never saying enough to be vunerable--wow. I wonder if its something that is done subconsciously or whether it is intentional. I think about this blog journal, two years in the making. How much have I actually divulged and how much has simply been the shavings off a deeper block of truth? I want to be open, I want to be upfront, but I don't quite get what my purpose in that is. Approval? Do I seek to make myself a caricature of myself? I've heard it said that a person is made up of three things: who they are, who they think they are, and who other people see them being. Do these ever coincide? Does time reveal it all? Great, now I've got Gillian Welch's Time (The Revelator) stuck in my head...

Sidebar:
Today I remembered how much I love Austin City Limits. I am a dork that way I guess but holy crap do they have amazing guests on that show.

Other sidebar:
It snowed today. First snow of the season. I hate snow. I hate cold. Why did I move north? (Did you like I started this post being introspective and ended it talking about the weather? Nice touch, eh?)

Pass it On

We got to church a little late this morning--attribute it to a late, lonely night and a sincere desire to not face today. Sat in the very back with the rest of the tardy parishioners...I don't particularly like churches, never have. I get nervous and distracted, and end up leaving more stressed than I was when I walked in--not the desired outcome of time spent in a house of God, but what can ya do. This morning there was this little girl about 3 years old in front of me. During the worship her father held her, so she was staring over his shoulder...right at me. We made eye contact; I smiled. She smiled. As we sat back down, I realized something: as much as I have no desire to have children, nor do I possess any sort of maternal instinct, if I do not have children my father will never be a biological grandfather. My father's gene's will die with me. I do not want kids because they'd be a part of me, I'd want them because they'd be a part of him. It's the same reason I'd want a traditional-sort of wedding: so my dad can give me away. It's a bit cheesy I know, but it matters to me to see him proud and happy. I don't know why this came up today. I mean I still don't want children, but I guess that epiphany adds a bit of sadness to the whole thing.

Ambivelance

Ambivelance

Jotted down in my journal very late last night...
Friend exasperated, "Is there anything you don't have strong opinions about?" Immediate response: Yes there are!!! Actual truth: very little. I am very passionate but that a good thing or not. I get worked up in just about anything. So what are the endearing qualities of ambivelance? There's the the initial and obvious "don't rock the boat" quality, which I see as cowardly, lazy and utterly unpatriotic (not that I have an opinion on the matter). Where is the distinction, I wonder, between open-mindedness and ambilvelance? Mostly in the eye of the beholder; its all about perception....

more to come.

T'was the Night before Chaos

T'was the Night before Chaos

If halloween is the eve of today, and today is the eve of Election Day, what should today be called? Is it absolutely pathetic I'm even thinking of such things?
I am excited to have this election over, but I fear it won't be over for several weeks, like last time. I have to say, the 2000 election was not what one would call a warm reception to the civic duty of voting--if ever it was obvious that the popular vote didn't matter, that'd be it. I've already voted in this election (absentee), so I don't even get a sticker, which kind of makes the process feel a little incomplete. No lever, no booth, no old people, no sticker. I feel a bit gipped.
In the Post today there was an article about faith-based voting, and its place and purpose in our society. The author is a Christian and made a valid point: In the bible, God calls for concern for the poor over 2,000 times, yet scripture mentions homosexuality less than a dozen times. Why is it, then, that gay marriage is the religious election issue this year? It makes no sense, really. Saddens me to think that a Presidental election has been hacked away into something as ignorant as having a canidate more endorsed by "God" than another--how does God endorse someone anyway? Through the church? History will tell us that that's a load of hooey--remember the whole "slavery is biblical" argument, and the "women shouldn't vote", and the "left-handed women are witches" thing? Yeah, there's a reason there's a separation between church and state, people. It's not to protect the churches, it's to protect the state...and voting left-handed black women.
P.S. This past Sunday's game is the only time in history when it's ok to hope the Redskins lose a game. Boys, I'm sorry I cheered against you, but if the prediction is true I'll cheer extra hard for the next 4-8 years. Go Skins!

Trying to Plath it off...

Again with the stops and starts in my postings--I am consistant in my inconsistancy. So what now? I am still here, I haven't abandoned this venture to head back toward warmer and more familiar climates, so I guess I am ok. On time off I've been reading the Plath biography that Lizzie gave me and through that (amidst other events) I've come to remember how much I simply love to write. Her inspiration has give me inspiration, though I hardly plan to end up with my head in the oven or married to a Hughes-type character. I have found my creative candle rekindled. My writing is probably the only behavior that my mother has ever encouraged, so the conversation I had with her yesterday was plesant and almost enjoyable. I was discussing Plath and mentioned that I read "The Bell Jar" last year and she said, quite suddenly, "I read that too--I loved it but I haven't read another word of Plaths; I understood her too well and that frightened me." I was thrown back by my mother's statement; for it was the same reaction I had to Plath. It was disconcerning to think my mother and I have something in common, but in all seriousness it gave me insight into who my mother is as a person. I understand a bit more about that side of her I've never known, and thus maybe a bit of where that darkness in me came from.
(I apologize for the subject's title; it's such a bad pun I had to use it.)

The Future in Hindsight

As I stand on the edge of the future God has made for me I can't help but look back on what I had dreamed about and what was lost. If I didn't have these back problems and back pains, what a kayaker I'd be! I'd own boats and I'd teach--maybe I'd end up managing a company or working for a maker. Where would I live? Who would I know? What stories would I tell? Would I be able to play guitar more w/o those headaches and neckaches? Would I perform again?
God has me where he has me for a purpose and a reason, but tonight I can't see it past my present physical pains as I mourn the loss of What Was.

"Feeeeeeelings, Nothing More Than Feelings...."

Today I had the 6.5 hr drive back to VA to pick up the last of my things and attend a wedding. Driving is always a sort of therapy for me as it forces me to think on things I've avoided. Today's thoughts were on feeling, or more specifically, the heart. How is it that humans have been in existance for thousands of years yet we've only been able to understand the first few inches of a depth of tens of leagues within the human heart? My friend Liz and I were talking about those things that have portions of our hearts, and how reserved we are about confessing that for a multitude of reasons, some well-intentioned but most mere self-preservation. We don't own what is in our hearts. I think on this because I have a sincere desire to give Christ my whole heart, yet if I don't even know what's there, How am I to know what I'm giving over to him? I want to know what I give him--not so I can control and censor what I give, rather so that I may give more freely and willingly. If Christ has my heart and a desire in my heart continues to grow, who am I to supress and deny that desire? We downplay it, we brush it off, keep it secretive under the guise of "making sure it's God's plan" but if you've prayed about it earnestly and you've sought his will and guidance and yet that desire still grows, who are you to quell it? I want to learn to own what I feel; what I am passionate about and what distracts me. In my life it's a person who I've recently realized means more to me than about anyone else on the planet, and his happiness and wellbeing matter more than my own. It has little to do with us being together (though frankly I wouldn't mind); I just genuinely love him for who he is: my friend. I don't think I would be able to own that before now, but if it fails than it fails. If I regret it than I do; if I am broken then I am and I know who will heal me. But if I don't own it, I lose feeling something. Feeling is a gift--both physically and emotionally--it is the difference between bland food and spice, between cloudy days and cloudless skies, stoic faces and wide mouths of surprise--it's like a self-check on living. God gave it to us for a reason and I've sqandered it in the names of strong independence and selfish pride for too long. I want to own what I am.

Next Bold Move

I haven't posted in a while--its not that I haven't had anything to say, in fact it's quite the opposite. I've had too much to say, too much thought, too much action, too much change. I don't know where to begin to wrangle and wrestle such unbroken ideas into sentences or linear thought.
I am in New York now. Wow. I have an apartment. I have a roommate. I don't have classes. I am doing what grown ups do. Overwhelming in its own regard. And what of leaving? Crabfest was the closest thing I may ever come to having a wedding reception--it was some of my favorite people on the planet gathered together to finally meet face to face. It brought tears to my eyes to even consider it a possibility. My sister will be 11 on Friday and I am there no longer. At the time in her life when a big sister may matter the most I am 500 miles away. Do I trust God to love and hold her close as the vines of self-doubt and teenagerdom threaten to strangle her innocence and trust? Oh hold her close, I love that little girl.
It's hard--I go through bouts of lonliness and overwhelming meloncholy--but if this is indeed the place I am to be in my life, then here I will stay, sensitive to the next bold move.

Quicksilver

I don't know what to say; maybe I've forgotten how to say it. Today is the first day I've actually had to myself, off from work, since mid-July. Wow. It hasn't felt that long though--days stretch and coalesce until they form one undulating mess that is time. I guess time is quicksilver.

Faith with Deeds Stinks Sometimes

Well I am back in VA--long drive, numb butt, but I'm back. It's been a huge kick in the stomach being back here--I am always blown away by how uninterested and almost hostile my family is to my walk with Christ. But what has been most difficult and testing is the call to move to Rochester. I am excited to move, but it requires me to leave a job I just got that pays well and promises growth for years to come, in a field I love. I don't really like the job, but i love the organization, their purpose, and where it could take me. However, i feel called to leave it, so this afternoon i'm giving them my two weeks. I just started. they are training me to take another woman's place who is retiring in two months. Ugh. I am excited and terrified--this is the biggest outward test of my faith so far. I know God has something awesome for me down the road, it's just hard to see it in the context of right now--it's not logical what he's calling me to do, and i'm a fairly logical person in my decision making. Part of me says it couldn't possibly be God, that it's the most foolish thing i'll ever do, but the rest of me just knows. I mean, why Rochester? I don't honestly know--it's the same feeling I got when I was called to go to school in Syr and called to go on summer staff--two experiences that changed my life radically. I worry about money, about expenses, about defeat, about my pride--I need to just suck it up, pray for strength and do it, but I'm feeling kind of alone right now. ahhhh!

A Staff Infection

I leave for summer staff in less than a week. Gulp. When I applied, it was begrudgingly. When I was accepted, I was elated (I mean who doesn't get excited when they get accepted into just about anything?) and now I'm in this sort of dreading stage. Somehow I've developed this knee-jerk defensiveness about myself, and I know I need to get it out of my system before I go. I'm kind of using this snooty, prideful, "I'm just going to serve and I don't give a crap if I make friends with everyone or not" way of thinking, and I really do think its reactionary. I'm being told that I won't be able to have a drink or any tobacco products for a month. I can't wear spaghetti straps. I can only listen to "Christian" music in the kitchen? WHAT THE CRAP? I'm 23 years old, I am allowed to do whatever the f--- I want to do--that's the whole perc of growing up. I'm not used to being told what I can and cannot wear, drink, or listen to, thus I understand why my defenses might be up. I want to treat this as a job--I go into the kitchen, do my thing and then go off and have my time. Write letters, chew on a stick for that oral fixation and listen to my discman, consciously separating my business and personal lives. Keep separate things separate, like I do at other jobs.
But that's not what I'm called to do--I'm called to serve, with the full expectation that this can and will occur outside the confines of the kitchen. I'm not ever "off" that job. I am called to go in with an open and humble heart. But how do I get there? I think about all the times I've gone to ALI to start staff work, and how excited I've been to meet new people and share our lives and experiences. Why am I resisting it now? Why do I have such a dislike of Christians? I hope I can contain this festering and kill it before next week rolls around.

The Little Foxes

Yesterday while driving down a undistinguishable town street I almost hit a young fox that was sitting in the middle of the road. I marveled at my proximity to the fox--the details of its red-brown fur, the blackness of its paws--and I realized I have seen more foxes this year than I have in all past years combined. They seem to be thriving. The thought of foxes (you following my thought progression? just pretend) reminded me of Song of Songs 2:15, and a lesson I had heard Seth #2 give on it several years ago.
"Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom."
What is the metaphor? For these lovers, the vineyards appear to be their physical attraction and the foxes are those things that may mar or step between that mutual attraction. I think it's more. What are the foxes that tempt us so strongly and destroy all that has been planted in us? I hate when I start writing in 2nd person. I need to own what I write.
What are the foxes that sneek in during the night and ravage all that has been planted in me?
What are the little foxes?
With this in mind, foxes are such a good metaphor. They are unusually hard to spot when they choose to be, but can be so bold that they become threatening with their mere bravado. They are devious, and are keen to the idea that there are always more ways to do one thing. Foxes are breathtakingly beautiful, yet their luster betrays the dirtiness of their methods.
If I plan to catch the little foxes, I have to see them first.
And they tend to be right in front of me.

Turning up the Heat...

So I saw Fahrenheit 9/11 tonight.
Wow.
I knew much of what Michael Moore referenced, but to combine the facts with a bit of speculation--I think it raises questions that all Americans need to ask, and see answered: Why is it that those who are calling the shots are never in the line of fire (to quote Ani)? Why is it that out of the 535 members of Congress, only 1 has a child serving in Iraq? What is the connection between the Bushes and the Saudi BinLaden group? What did the government know about 9/11, and what did they seek to keep hidden? What was in the 28 sealed pages of the 9/11 commission report?
Why are some people so apathetic about it all?
Those bombs don't just go boom, they blow off arms, and legs, and faces, and children's noses, and husbands, and wives, and children...
after watching this, I would almost advocate a national draft (this is not even mentioned in the film) just because I think it would cause our nation's "leaders" to think twice, as it is their children that are fighting beside those poor enlistees. Want to make all men and women more equal in this country? Try a draft. We'll back down and pacify quickly.
Go watch it, please. Let me know what you think. And listen to his points--you don't have to be a Bush hater to ask these questions. You just have to have a love for Democracy and the openness that should exist between a government and its peoples.

The Book of Ruth

Today I was shocked and heartbroken to hear that the famous (and infamous) Ruth = had passed away due to kidney failure (ie complications and side effects of the chemo and radiation). Those of you who knew Ruth are undoubtly heartbroken; those who didn't know her will wish you did. Ruth had the ability to make it seem that her days were 48 hours long, compared to the measly 24 of the rest of the world. She could raise four wonderful and successful kids, have a loving marriage (34 yrs next week), be active in a church, get Young Life started in LoCo and sit on committee, start "Lifeline" (a line for pregnant women in need of counseling), run my small group, horseback ride regularly, travel the world (doing things like bringing wheelchairs to paralized and disabled people in Romania or ride in a cattledrive in Montana...seriously), read a ton of books and still have 'downtime'. I don't think the woman slept. She was truly the matriarch of all things western LoCo and much more. I saw her on Saturday at Michelle's wedding and talked to her for just a moment--she looked so small and frail, but still had that sparkle in her eye that meant that if you talked to her for too long, you'd invaribly end up doing something for Ruth and totally thinking it was your idea in the firstplace. She had that ability and knew it; she could turn up that ol' South Carolina charm and get an eskimo to by an icebox not just for his family, but for the entire tribe.
I just think about all the thousands--not tens, not hundreds, but literally THOUSANDS--of lives she has touched in her 50-some odd years on this earth. She leaves a legacy and quite an example of what a mobilized christian can do, because there was nothing Ruth couldn't do. She took on Jen, Fran and I when we were 16-year-old punks resenting our small group leader leaving us for college. She worked so hard just to spend time with the three of us, and we never let her know how much it actually mattered. I regret that.
Ruth was not just a friend, mother, wife, mentor, boss, coulselor or gossip queen: she was a force. The woman had a gravitational pull about her; she moved earth in a way I don't know if I'll ever truly comprehend.
And she will be sorely missed.

Saved!

I went and saw the new movie "Saved!" tonight with four of my girlfriends (seeing as there are absolutely no guys my age IN THIS COUNTY, this is how it typically is). All four of us volunteer or work in high school ministry. One of my friends is as liberal as me, so I knew that the two of us would find it hilarious. The other three I wondered about.
I should have wondered.
It is definitely caustic toward the Christian culture in general, and about 95% of the satire is well deserved. And, simply put, much of it is absolutely hilarious. Let's face it, Christians are EASY to make fun of.
But what got me as I walked away from the movie (not making eye contact with some of the girls, as I was afraid of the rage that might be simmering there) was not just the humor and satire, but the truthfulness of some of the characters, and how much I sympathized with the main character, Mary, who falls away from a faith that I'm not sure was ever real to her. She was raised in the church and always surrounded by Christians, thus her faith was more a group march rather than a personal walk. She is confronted with a situation that would cause most to question God's methods or plan, and the judgment and callousness toward her from those 'Christians' around her would make almost anyone walk away. It's simply, "If this is what it means to be a Christian, then I don't want to be a part of it...and I don't know if he would even want me anymore." I wonder how many people, every day, think those very same words. I did.
Mandy Moore's character of Hillary Faye was a caricature of so many people I knew growing up. She epitomized all the reasons I began a life-long aversion to "Christian" types. From the prideful praises to the use of prayer as an excuse to gossip and it is so amazing to see how one person's false walk can harm dozens of true (but tarnished) ones. How someone who may have genuinely wanted to further God's work let it get to her pride, and thus used it as a ramp to get the things she wanted and not remember the rest.
However, the best character by far was the one of Patrick, the pastor's son and new kid in school. His character is a shining example of what a real Christian should (and often does) look like. He didn't come in with any preconceived notions as to who he was to be or how he was to effect lives. He didn't mouth off about his dislikes and gracefully considered each person before deciding his role in their life. When the mistakes and imperfections came out, he was the first to say "I don't care--we all screw up. But I know you, and I won't let that person go just because they aren't perfect." How much more loving and Christ-like can you get? If there were just ten more Patricks in the world, there'd be 100 less Marys.
I almost want more Christians to see it, not for the comedic portions, but for the characters themselves. Really observe their reactions to the people and situations around them, and then wonder if this movie didn't actually do something for the work of Christ: it let Christians know what they look like. On the drive home my friend pointed out that during the 2000 presidential race, both Gore and Bush would watch the spoofs of them on SNL to see how to improve their campaign--they used the footage of people mocking them to see how others may actually view them--and it changed the way they reacted to America.

Bounce

The other day I wrote about fighting the frustration of pain and its control over my life.
Today the struggle was compounded.
As the possibility of a quick-fix dims, the prospect of a long-term rehabilitation becomes the only option to the seemingly impossible conclusion of chronic, life-long back pain. It cannot be door #2, thus it must be door #1. It cannot be door #2 because I cannot handle even the remotest of chances that that could be the only ending. It cannot be door #2 because I am young, and I should bounce back; I am one who bounces back. This is a shot to the pride as much as it is a side-step on my road to recovery, and I am a prideful person. But last night as I was praying, I asked God to take away the pain, and if that wasn't part of the plan, then to give me the ability to work with it and not let it drive me insane. The only thing I know right now is he will be faithful to answer that prayer. It will take more grace than I can fathom to live with this forever, grace that I clearly do not have. I want to be useful in whatever capacity he would have for me.
Thursday I go in for a bone scan, a 3-4 hour process of an injection of low-level radiation and a full-body scan, so as to get a more detailed view of any abnormalities in my body. It will detect tumors, degenerations, hairline fractures or disc problems, and hopefully will shed light on the path of plan B, which I plead will lead to door #1 and the ability to live without pain once again. I am young; I will bounce.

Thirteen Goes On

Tonight Amber and I watched the movie "Thirteen", starring Holly Hunter. Wow. It has drastically changed my idea of what middle and high school students may be faced with now. The whole time I was watching that movie I was struck with how lucky and blessed I was to have had friends and peers that were not into the drugs and sex and piercings that these kids got into. I had mentors and leaders who loved me in such a way that if indeed that was happening at my school (which I don't think it was to any serious degree) I wouldn't have been interested, as I was OK with who I was. I was in 7th grade ten years ago and I have to honestly say I wouldn't have known what drugs looked like if you'd put them in front of me. It was just so desturbing I'm almost at a loss for words--it confirmed some of the problems I've thought existed between girls and guys at that age, but it also painted such a clear picture of what life can be like w/o the knowledge and belief of unconditional love. It's nice to know I've been saved, and its amazing to see what from.

The Butcher, The Candlestick Maker, and Me

So yesterday I got my assignment for summer staff: I'm a baker at Saranac for the month of August. I hope I get a cool baker's hat. Seriously, I am so excited and intimidated by the prospect of serving for a month in that capacity; and in something I only have a vague understanding of is all the more intriguing. Wow. I have a feeling that this experience at Saranac will change my life.

Last night we flaked out of camping because it was forcasted to rain the entire time and my friends are Sallies. But still we had a girls night at Jenny's house, with margaritas, cigars, and kings. It was one of the most fun nights I've had in recent memories. Especially when Grafton said, "I'm a pretty, pretty girl." and meant it as a question. If you see him, ask him if he is, indeed, a pretty, pretty girl.
Tell him the baker sent you.

Cicada it ain't so!

I know it's a terrible pun, and for that I apologize. I just got ahead of myself. Today I was driving home from work down Rt 7, enjoying the sun and stuck in the long caravan of lives at 60mph, when suddenly a cicada flew in my window and struck me in the temple. HARD. I don't know how fast that impact was, but it was enough to make me feel dizzy. It was like being hit in the head with a tennis ball, only with less bounce and a lot more legs. After I regained my self, I realized how hilarious it was; can you just imagine that insurance report? "Lost control of car when large, red-eyed insect flew through window and stuck the driver in the temple, knocking her senseless." Somehow I don't think Geico would find the humor that I do. Oh well. Only me, eh?
Today I got the chance to talk to Dylan and Caroline for over an hour--they are two of my closest friends in Syracuse. The three of us are more like family than many parts of my actual family. We are considering getting a place together, somewhere here in the east--thee was discussion of somewhere in Vermont, or even Charlottesville. I am confident that a place with the three of us would be akin to the home of Pan's Lost boys, only with less children strewn about and probably more alcohol. We want a triple-decker king size bunkbed, if they indeed make something like that...or hammocks. Hammocks would be fun as well. It would be a boisterous rebellion against the onslaught of grown-up-hood that seems to be attacking at every turn. Marriage and buying houses and a 401(k), all things to not speak of in our home. Dylan and I are pretty serious about it, but it remains to be seen what Caroline decides. She is really the one who has more to lose in this deal, being the only one with a career and a boyfriend, so her apprehension is both expected and understandable...
On another note, Amber, Jenny and I are going camping tomorrow night with some of Amber's friends. Amber does not camp. Ever. When she heard it might rain, she asked if she should pack an umbrella. It will be an interesting experience!

Never Come Back

Lately I've been looking hard for reasons to not be frustrated. I'm in a job that leaves me mentally mushy with lousy pay, I live at home, I have a car that's so bad it should be on "Pimp My Ride", I am so single my parents think I'm gay, half my friends have moved on, and my back is so seriously messed up that I have watched a whole year pass without the ability to participate in any activities I love (I haven't paddled since Bull Falls was nearly flood stage last May) or do anything without constant and grating pain. There's a lot to be frustrated about.
But today the prospect of just one of those issues being remedied makes the whole lot seem less daunting. Soon my back may be fixed; I might be healed. I can handle living at home if I don't wake up in pain. I'm fine being single anyway, but even better when I can be comfortable just sitting in a chair. I can deal with a car that breaks down if I can walk without having to lay down for the rest of the day. I'm fine missing an eddy turn and totally getting douched if it means that I can actually carry my boat by myself at the end of the day. I'm tired of being weak and slouched and in pain all the damn time! I'm tired of it! I don't want it! And if they have to give me a friggin' new spine I'll take it! A friend the other day asked if I was nervous or scared about surgery; I honestly hadn't thought about it--the only thought I could imagine was the first one waking up out of a drugged state and not feeling, for the first time in years, back pain. I will cry, simply out of joy. It is a notion that I can only distantly imagine right now. And I don't like to make an issue of it because it's my own personal physical pain, but on the day that I move without back pain I will understand that much more the feelings of the paralyzed man whose friends dropped him through the ceiling before Jesus and who was healed, spritually and physically. Christ has healed me spiritually; now I'm just waiting for him to say, "Take up your mat and go home." I will be a different person.
I'm ready to be different.
My first apt is June 8th.

The Morning After

Last night was the annual Big BBQ Bday Bash, which is my secret excuse to get some of my favorite people into one building and make them hang out together and eat my food. As expected it was wonderful, with some glaring absences making it a little bittersweet. I don't feel any older which is a good thing I guess, but feeling older is also a sign of progress, of moving forward in life and not pretending to stand at one age or in one time. 19 was very different than 21 as 22 was worlds away from 20. I hope that 23 will be leaps and bounds above 22. This past year was a tough one for me on multiple levels. I'm praying that 22 was like getting soil ready for a garden: ripping out the weeds, digging up and turning over to bring to light and air all that was underneath, enriching its qualities with nutrients and testing its properties to find out what it is best suited for. I pray 23 will be the planting of those seeds and the fulfillment of the promise of growth.
After all, it's like my friend Jenny said: 23 is your Jordan year, you get to fly in your own way. I told her I'd learn to dunk this year like Jordan but somehow I don't think she believed me.

Mix Master

This may make me sound like a Luddite, but I love to make mix tapes.
Yes it is the 21st century, but I do, I love mix tapes.
Mix tapes are an art--there must be a flow from one song to the next, the proper spacing between the songs, the levels kept even between the songs, the timing correct so that the last song doesn't cut out, the proper listing on the liner notes, backup songs if the primary is too short (or too long) to end the side properly--there are all very important, and facts I think are lost on burned CDs. In burning a CD, one simply picks the songs, picks the order and hits go; in a few minutes the computer spits out a freshly burned mix.
With mix tapes it's a dedication to whatever amount of time is necessary to create the magic. It is a serious committment!
Today I made a mix tape for my big BBQ (it would have been nice to burn a CD, but I don't have a burner, and I like mix tapes!) So I picked my preferred 30 songs, then whittled it down to 24. Setting up the sides, the flow, the tempo--it's all very scientific.
(I am partly being sarcastic...) My only friend who understands this is the great Emilie, who also is in love with mix tapes. I'm glad I'm not alone.
I think it's a pretty good mix: everything from "Back in Baby's Arms" by Patsy Cline to "Stickshifts and Safety Belts" by Cake, with all kinds of stuff thrown in between. It'll be fun, if only for the tape.

Being

Today I again slept too late to attend church (why is it that I am totally capable of getting up early the other six days of the week, but Sunday seems out of my league? I dunno.) but when I finally did roll out of the bed the Virginia sun was shining through the windows and the mugginess was apparent. I sat with my coffee in my favorite chair and read the Sunday paper--not the whole thing (I'd still be reading it) but enough to get a grasp on how lucky I am to not be anywhere else in the world. I got pre-dressed (the outfit to wear between PJs and post-shower dressing...I just made it up) and sat on my deck, reading more of the paper and my book. It was nice to take my time. Finally I hopped in the shower and headed out to Old Dominion Brewery, home of the best beer in the world, their Oak Barrel Stout. Jen, one of my housemates from college, was biking out from DC to meet me there for the 2pm tour. Knowing Jen, I half didn't expect her to be there, but she was! The tour wasn't the best I've been on (he didn't know much) but Jen and I were too busy talking anyway, so it didn't much matter. Afterward we stuck around and talked for another two hours--and still there was more to say. She's such a great conversationalist and an even better friend. Just love that girl.
I was very tired by the time I got home, so I lay in my room and plodded through my book Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz, a hilarious (and true) tale of one man's trip through the south's unfinished civil war. I may be a huge dork for liking it so much, but it is good.
Later in the evening my father fired up the BBQ and made marinated chicken kabobs and corn on the cob. It was delicious. We watched part of "Bowling for Columbine" then took to the deck to watch the sunset. I sat there in my chair with a quality cigar (CAO Criollo), a Dominion ginger ale and my book, and life was perfect. I wanted my phone to ring, so I could share this with a friend, but at the same time I loved the quiet. I loved the lightening bugs over the field, the spring peepers in their chorus, the cicadas in their maddening drone; I loved the fact that venus was next to the silo on the left, that Cassiopeia was almost directly ahead, that Orion was gone till next winter, that the gateway to the milky way was in view. But I still had this feeling like there was something I should be doing, someone I should be talking to, someone I should be helping or listening to, or a list to be making or something. But then something said, "Wait. Sit. Just be here." I took a deep breath and I was. It was freeing.
The other day I was talking to a friend about how I've felt like a benchwarmer this past year and my friend said something that only struck me later: I may feel like a benchwarmer because I don't have the outward tasks to prove otherwise, but relationally I've been jam packed. I've been busy with people's lives, not just doing things on my endless lists. I was still a tool to be used. God still uses the benchwarmers.

A Most Terrible Dream

Last night I had a dream that was more disturbing than any I have ever had before, and hopefully ever again. It sat me bolt upright in bed, shaking. I couldn't close my eyes again, for the images kept repeating no matter how I tried. I don't know why I drempt this, or what it means. But it haunts my head.
The dream:
I was visiting what I took to be a family with college-aged kids. They were wealthy and seemed fairly normal; I think we were playing board games in their living room. I was a guest, and they were showing me around. They apparently ran an energy plant that also produced salt. It was apparently revolutionary technology. They seemed proud of their work, and volunteered to show me their plant. I visited it, and the plant was this long conveyor belt with large buckets welded onto it, that went almost straight down into the earth. And there were men in big leather gloves throwing small kids aged 2-6 into those buckets, shoving them on top of each other. And there were parents dropping them off there! Down the belt they would go, being sprayed with some flammable liquid, then shot with a flame gun, burning to death (it was this, or they were taken so deep into the earth that they were burned to death by the heat of the magma, I can't remember). And so they were killed, and the energy from their bodies burning was sold as electricity and the ashes somehow created salt. But there were these little kids, screaming in fear and pain, shoved into these buckets on top of each other, and burned. Some escaped and were just sort of laying around in various states of burned or burning and no one took notice. I just remember standing there in a shock as the buckets went down the belt full, and returned empty. I turned to see the family standing there smiling at their success. I want to say that I rebelled against them and killed every single adult that was there with me and saved all the kids I could, but I don't remember what happened next. I just keep seeing those faces.
I hope I can sleep tonight.

Rough Draft

While I was in NY the other week I got into a conversation about the draft with Caroline and her mother. Caroline's brother has just turned 18, so the entire topic of required military service is a rather relevant conversation. I have always had a sort of removed view on the whole thing--I am female, so it is not something I have had to even consider as a possibility--my self-preservation has not had it as a reality, so it's backburner. And who would think there would be any possibility of a draft within our generation? That was our parents, not us.
This was still my subconscious mindset when Caroline's mother brought up some rather eye-opening information. There is a bill in Congress right now to reinstate the draft. If the draft were to be reinstated to provide bodies for Dubya and Cheney's oil protection, there would be no deferments: not for education, not for money; not for gender. Wait, what? Women would be drafted as well?
So all Americans between the ages of 18 and 26 would have the possibility to be drafted?
The issue just jumped to the front burner.
Personally I would not be able to serve, do to my back problems (I hope?) but I worry about my friends and family.
Having listened to my parents talk about losing friends and classmates to an unpopular and dishonest war...if there's any legacy I don't want to carry on, it's that one.

No Kidding...

Well I'm back from the program I worked this weekend w/Anna, Elena and Phil on the mighty Shenandoah River. We had the entire 9th grade of a private school for this two-day program, and Elena, Phil and I ran the same three miles of river three times...gotta love redundancy. It was my first program of the 2004 season, so I was a bit rusty to say the very least. By the second program on Sunday morning I was feeling a bit more into 'shape' to work with kids, and I had forgotten how much I love it (sometimes). It also helps having co-workers who you absolutely adore and who make you laugh so hard you may actually wet yo' drawls, but I digress. Last night when we got back from the program, I watched Anna interact with her daughters: Audrey (4) and Autumn (2) and again was struck by the roles women play in life and how easily they can shift from one to another, and how much more enriching is a life with youth in it. To have that influx of imagination, creativity, wonder, energy, enthusiasm, understanding and awe--it does something for those who are in proximity and to have the opportunity to influence and help guide those lives is intimidating and terrifying, but more gratifying than I could have ever imagined.

Tonight I helped Erin with YL club (guitar player understudies--we are a quality bunch)and again I was struck with how much I enjoy myself around kids, and how much I'd like to get to know these kids better.
For someone who never wants my own kids, I have a grand ol' time with them. Is that strange? I am amazed to be granted the biological tools to have another life created within me, however I don't think I am meant to be a mother. I appreciate what I have, I just choose to not ever use it.
I feeling as if I'm being pulled slowly toward work with youth--this makes me cringe in a way, but I will go where I'm sent. The only issue is my back, as after the latest trip I was having trouble standing straight or sitting for any period of time, and it was low-impact canoeing. ugh.
I am fallible, I am not invincible, I am overwhelmed, I am confused, and I am lacking in the easily-embarassed department...I guess I am older.
I guess I am not a kid anymore.

For the Record(s)

So in the past week or so I have purchased 4 new albums, the details of which I feel I should discuss. The most I have ever purchased at one time was 9, which was just an overload and an experience I do not plan to do again...each album needs its time to be savored and introduced and 9 was just too many. Am I that anal that I keep track of this and even feel that my albums need my attention like a child? Wow I'm weird, and now I'm rambling.
My purchases:
(1) "Impossible Dream" by Patty Griffin
(2) "O" by Damien Rice
(3) "Home" by Keller Williams
(4) "Show" by The Cure

So how's that for diverse, eh? That's one Austin-based singer-songwriter, an Irish pop-folk singer, a solo jam-band, and a live show from an 80s indie icon...I think its funny. I am enjoying all of them in their own capacity, however the album I am most impressed with is Damien Rice's "O", though my expectations were rather low considering I new next to nothing about him, except Paste Magazine liked him. Patty Griffin's latest studio album "Impossible Dream" had considerably higher expectations, somewhere around sounding like the auditory version of a heavenly experience. It is good, just not as good as I had hoped...a little too slow at points.
Has my life really gotten so boring and uneventful that the only thing I have to talk about is my opinion of the albums I just bought?
Wow.
I'm going to end this now, before I quit teetering on the edge of being sad and just fly off into the canyon of the utterly pathetic.

Long Ride Home

Today is Tuesday, which means it's half-price burger night at Mosby's Tavern in Middleburg, which is the greatest addition to a regular event since fireworks were added to 4th of July festivities. I text Hatch to see if she wanted to go (I simply said "Mosbys???" it's brevity at its best) and she agreed to meet me there with two of the high school girls. Leesburg to Middleburg can be quite a long, stop-n-go drive if done by those who are less experienced with the beauty of LoCo backroads. I took 15 to Lime Kiln, and was surprised that it had recently been paved. I also forgot how absolutely beautiful that drive is. The sun was starting to set as I traced the undulating, unmarked country road that so closely follows Goose Creek, which was muddy and swollen within its banks. It was so quiet and solitary and lush and teeming with every native creature that I felt more like a member than a visitor. It actually felt like the LoCo that I grew up with and that I miss so terribly. It was home again. I took Lime Kiln to Snickersville Tpke and in a brain fart, headed south on Snickersville instead of cutting through Mountville. So I decided to make up a route instead of taking the Tpke to 50, so I turned down a one-lane gravel road that sounded familiar and found my way without the hint of a problem. Mosby's was wonderful, except the absence of one specific person was glaringly obvious and a little heart-wrenching. The place is attached to years of memories, however the experiences of last summer solidify as the strongest, due to that person. Driving home I took Foxcroft to 611, the way we'd go last year. And the beauty and familiarity was eclipsed only by that overwhelming sense of absence. It was bittersweet to finally feel home, but have those who mean the most to be long gone.
I miss ya, friend.

Hey Ladies!

Lately its been a lot of thought about ladies. Friday night I went up to camp for a reunion of sorts, and Laura, Elena, Ali and I got into a conversation about the mysteries of women. Elena had attended (and marched in) the Women's March in DC this past Sunday, and was still riding high on the power, beauty and general awe that intelligent, assertive women exude, and this spirit set a tone for the night's conversation.
To add to those thoughts, Saturday I attended a bridal shower for my dear and wonderful Michelle, who is remarrying in June, having been widowed almost three years ago at the age of 31. The shower was almost 50 women, which means there were at least 2 or 3 moments of tears (I've noticed when more than 5 women are gathered who are closely connected, within an hour at least one of them will be crying) but they were all tears of immense joy. I was overwhelmed by those in attendance. Ruth S. made a surprise and celebritory appearance, having been sprung from the Oncology ward of Johns Hopkins just to show her support for Michelle. There were three generations of Sullivan children and Barb B. and her mother and son both had a place. Sisters, mothers, daughter-in-laws, neighbors, housemates and friends made up those attending and again I was struck by the mystery of these relationships. Afterward, Hatch and I met up with Jenny and a friend to see '13 Going on 30' (yes I saw it two prior, but I really loved it) and again I was struck by the power of assertive women. Arriving home I found 'Mona Lisa Smile' to be playing on satellite and watched about 3/4 of it.
In every one of these situations, the support that these women had from other women flat out floored me. Be it your peers (as in 'Mona'), your mother (as in '13'), your friends (as Michelle can attest) or 700,000 strangers, in each situation those who stopped to look saw an experience far greater than themselves, because of those who were around them. Let it be known that I am not male bashing by any means; I am woman praising.
Frankly, I love being a woman. I love being friends with women, and I love that thinking like a woman is something that not even women have been able to fully understand. I love that I can be assertive and outspoken and intelligent and societally to object to that is to be prehistoric and brute-ish. I love that the closest thing I've ever come to seeing something magical happen occured when sincere honesty, love and girlfriends ended up in the same place at the same time. I love that we are so diverse, but there are basic, almost unspoken threads of commonality. I am simply mystified by the creation of woman. I may be in with love men--a little too much at times, I'm afraid--but I simply and honestly love women. I do not think there is a thing in this world that a woman could not do, if she made up her mind to do it (short of biological processes) because I think there is little in the world that could ever withstand the made-up mind of a woman. Women are a force of nature--they are as unpredictable as a tornado, as wide-reaching as a hurricane, as spontanious as a tsunami, as hot as a forest fire and as moving as an earthquake.
And how proud and intimidated I am to identify myself with such demigoddesses.

Listen Up

So I have returned from my trip, no longer on the wear and tear, and relieved that the retracing went as smoothly as it did. A few weeks ago a friend of mine taught my YL Leadership a lesson about listening, and how asking questions and just listening can be one of the most powerful tools to have. Well I tried it this weekend--instead of talking my way into 'proving' I had changed, I simply shut up and listened intently to the people I care so much about. I have to say that it was a miracle how much active listening can do to alter a situation, or change another's mind. It's a tough thing to do, as it forces the spotlight off of myself and onto my friend. To do it consistantly would take self-confidance that I don't know if I possess, but I'd sure like to. Amazing what doors can open and what God can do when one just shuts up and listens.

Another note: Saw "13 Going on 30" today w/Amber and Kristine--I wonder, if I could sit down and talk to my 13-year-old self, what would we talk about? Am I where I thought I'd be? Am I the 'cool' person I imagined myself to be at this age? Would I embarass the crap out of myself? Would I disappoint my dreams? Would I be able to look back on that time and simply laugh?
I wonder how much of our actions today are dictated by events that happened long ago, continually trying to make up for rejections and lost opportunities and hurt feelings and being overly self-aware.

Retracing

Tomorrow I am taking a trip to see friends and relive rather fond memories.
I should be more excited than I am.
Why am I not estastic to see long-lost friends in places that I love?
And love them I do, I know I do!
Maybe I am not the same person as I was. Everybody changes over time, but I hope and pray that I am fundementally different than that person who experienced those memories firsthand. I do not want the same sense of humor; I want a cleaner one. I do not want to talk about hook-ups or breakups; I want to talk about real realtionships. I guess I've gotten used to being around people who see God as more than a curse word, and this trip has a great possibility of being the confluence of past and present.
It has an omnious taste and texture and I am a bit frightened as to its outcome.
Maybe it'll be fine; we will recollect, rehash, relive and reinterate our friendships.
Or maybe this will prove to be the line in the sand.
Overly dramatic I admit, but necessary?
Unrelated note, I was honored to get to be on the guest list as Stephanie Chapman (formerly Schlosser) and hubby Nathan opened for Don Williams at the Birchmere. What a sense of enormous pride to see my friend and guitar buddy up on stage, singing to hundreds of people! Go Steph! God bless that family, they have been nothing but wonderful to me.

Life Lives Again!

It is the day that spring woke up. Today I mowed the yard for the first time this season, and the smell of fresh cut grass awoke in me a long-dormant sense of promise and love and optimism and a general sense of completeness...that is far more senses than the mere olifactory stimulation should awaken, but awaken it did, and said enthusastically, "Yes! Life lives again!"
This emotive quality of spring also blooms memory--good and sweet and pure memory. I am taken back to August of 2000 when I had just moved into the dorm room I was to share with my best friend, Amy. Both of us were drunk on the most beautiful portions of life. This particular memory has us laying on Amy's bed with the windows and curtains wide open and the summer sun pouring in. We spoke of summer jobs and new friendships and then the conversation turned to love. Both of us were experiencing our first true loves, and the innocent naviete that invaribly exists within its seemingly boundless realms. I had Josh, she had Jay and they had us, mind, body and soul. We could see forever--we could go anywhere, do anything--we had a sense of invincibility from just talking about this strong and primal thing we were defining as love. Laying there with my dearest friend, open and honestly speaking from the overflowing of our 19-year-old hearts--it was so pure and innocent and perfect.
Today feels that way: though love fades and friendships flicker, though the most jaded of realities infests with age, it is possible again. All things are possible to she who believes, and today, I believe.