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.
Friday, May 28, 2004
Monday, May 24, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
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.
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.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
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.
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.
Monday, May 10, 2004
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.
Wednesday, May 5, 2004
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 4, 2004
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.
I miss ya, friend.
Sunday, May 2, 2004
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.
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.
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