Every Footprint Left a Mark

It was middle school the first time I went into the house.

The drive to and from home took us down a winding, unmarked paved road. That house sat a few hundred yards off the road, down a lengthy driveway long overgrown and a rusty chain discouraging visitors. The roof and part of the attic were the only visible parts, the window in the attic tiny and shattered, a black scab on the chipped white clapboard exterior. I made up stories about that home for years. Its only neighbor was another ancient farmhouse, home to my friend Althea.

Althea’s house was creepy anyway. It was from the 1920s and had an elevator that ran up its 3 floors. It always had a sense of chilly dampness. One night Althea and I were there alone and we made the mistake of playing the video game “Doom” during a storm with all the lights off. We scared ourselves so badly we slept with the covers over our heads, frightened of every noise.

When we were 13 we decided it was time to see the abandoned house. We crossed the fences that lined the abandoned driveway and walked through the overgrown field, down to the front of the house. It sat on the side of a creek with deep banks, and the ground around it was a marsh. Every footprint left a mark in the mud. It was two stories tall, wooden, with a brick chimney at one end. The front door was broken open and all the windows were smashed.

We went in anyway.

The house was full. There were records in their sleeves in the cabinets, dishes in the sink, a moldy couch in the living room, knickknacks on the shelves. The living room had bright pink paint peeling off the wall. There were photos strewn on the floor; I was scared to look at them. Some of the stairs leading to the second floor were missing so I didn’t try to go upstairs. Althea did. She said it was the same as downstairs: as if a whole life had been left. I felt like I was both spying on a life and being watched.

We got scared and walked around back of the house, where it looked like the trees were slowly marching through the mud toward the house to take it back. I stepped on something soft and it popped up. It was a teddy bear with one eye.

I’ll never forget that teddy bear.

(not the actual house; it was bigger, more wooded and scarier. But very similar feel.)

More Thoughts on the Barn

The time at the Big Blue Barn blessed on many levels.

It reminded me how much I love my friends; how they let me be my nerdy self and just accept it; that they too are nerdy and highly intelligent but still can sing all the words to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” and will willingly spend at least an hour racing along a hardwood floor in socks, seeing who can slide the farthest.

It was carte blanche to temporarily be the Lost Boys from Neverland. We ate what we wanted, didn’t go anywhere, invented games and adventures and knowingly threw ourselves down steep icy hills toward fences and cows. We slept where we fell when we grew too tired to move.

Most of the time, I want to feel more grown up. I want my own place; I want to nest and shop for the week and make dinner for someone I love. I want to be part of a pair (2010 is the year of finally admitting this).

But during that snowstorm I got to live in a little microcosm of community as part of a posse—I wasn’t a single entity on my own—I was standing with loves. It was fleeting but so sweet to me and will be a time I recall fondly for years to come.

(photos stolen from Jenna, who, unlike me, has actually uploaded her photos)

Speak Through the Snow

I’m from Virginia and I learned from an early age that snow was God’s sign you stay home.

No exceptions.

If there is snow, God gave you a bonus Sabbath or two—take the time off, read a book, sled, nap; it’s a gimmie day. Don’t drive, don’t move too quickly; don’t attempt anything that could be construed as chores.

In New York, snow isn’t a sign of anything but a season. God didn’t speak through snow. Life doesn’t slow down, schools don’t close; offices stay open and work keeps happening. My years up there taught me how to drive in snow but made me lose some of my love of the fluffy white stuff. The common things lose their wonder.

This winter has changed and brought a bit of that love back; this past weekend helped.

The snow started on Friday afternoon. There were threats of 8 to 12 inches and the whole area was buzzing with anticipation. Grocery stores were selling out of eggs, milk, bread and beer; liquor stores did business like it was the holidays. I left work at 3, jettisoned home to quickly pack and begin the trek to the Big Blue Barn, a converted barn that is now a beautiful apartment housing three brave friends.

It took me one hour to go 8 miles.

8.
Miles.
GAH.

I was joined at the barn by the usual suspects of Doug, Justin and Tara (who brought her 3-month old puppy, Rooney) and with barn residents Jenna, Betsy and Emily (and a few other characters who popped in and out) and we settled in for our own version of a winter wonderland in a landscape covered in 12” of snow.

We cooked huge meals of spaghetti, pizza and lasagna. We had bacon and eggs and cinnamon rolls and knockoff captain crunch; we ate way too many cookies and chips and dips and we drank leisurely.

We watched movies. Lots of movies. And TV.

We played games like Scattergories and Farkle. We made unreasonable consequences for losing.

We went sledding. A lot. We injured ourselves in the process. We laughed so hard we snorted. We chased the puppy through the house and through the snow and gushed over him when he’d pass out from exhaustion.

Saturday night was the full moon and when it would pop out from behind the clouds the sledding track would be lit as if a spotlight had been shone upon it.

As if God was enjoying the snow right along with us.

Of Light and Color

Last year I changed my religious views on Facebook to say “kaleidoscopic”. I’ve only been asked about this twice and thought I’d explain it, because as I’ve let it sit and simmer, it’s made more sense.

Sir David Brewster, the inventor of the kaleidoscope, called it “the observer of beautiful forms”. The word kaleidoscope comes from the Greek kalos, meaning “beautiful” and eidos, meaning “shapes”. A kaleidoscope is made up of three essential parts: a tube, a few mirrors and small colored beads or objects.

These three things, when left alone, aren’t much. And put together they aren’t much, until light is presented. Then the whole becomes beautiful.

I think of my heart, in terms of spiritual/relational views, like this. God is my light. Without him, the pieces are boring, lifeless and useless. Love is the mirrors. The mirrors turn an arbitrary and banal strewing of pieces into a beautifully symmetric wonderment. They turn what is a mess into loving art. No matter how those pieces fall and swirl and change, those mirrors keep them beautiful, that light keeps it worth anything. It is only when I see my life with the mirrors of love and an eye toward God that I see beauty in my pieces. I don’t see my changes and falls as setbacks but as changes in my understanding of God, of light. I am my pieces, but with God I am new every morning, every moment.

Those patterns of light and color take me to a place of reverence. I think of stained glass and church walls; seeing the falling of dust through the cascade of colors that stream through the windows. When I had the opportunity to sit in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, I was blown away how that place rendered my heart. The north window contains a rosette that is as if one is looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. It was then I knew.

(I do not own the above image)

"Hello Help?"

I love Facebook; I have a lot of fun on Facebook. One reason I have so much fun on Facebook is because I entertain myself so easily and I have friends who are exceptionally good at it as well. A few months ago, I made my status into a game (it’s a favorite thing of mine to do), the category being “Movie Plots Made Irrelevant by the Advent of the Cell Phone” and asked friends to chime in. It is as easy as it sounds. Here are a few of the submissions, as well as reasons why they wouldn’t work anymore had a cell phone been part of the plot.

Kujo. "Hello, 911? Yes, I'm stranded in my car on a country road and there is a mad crazy dog outside trying to get in. Already killed someone. Could you send a squad and some big guns? Thanks."

An Affair to Remember. "Hey I was on my way there but I got run over...meet me at hospital and we'll chat?"

Misery. “Trapped by Kathy Bates. She has hammer, I have ankles. Come quick.”

Every single Batman movie, they don't need the sign in the sky. Then AT&T would know who Batman is.

Into the Wild. “Yo! Need sandwich. I’m in the bus. There’s a bridge ½ mile upstream? Really? Shoot…my bad.”

The Little Mermaid (texting of course): "Eric, I'm a mermaid and if you don't kiss me, crazy sea lady will kill us all. U R cute. Love Ariel."

Pretty Woman. "Hey Lawyer-guy/future George Costanza, I can't drive your bloody Lotus like a man, so could you come pick my weak ass up before this really tall girl from Mystic Pizza pseudo-hooker tries to pick me up?"

Seven. "Honey if Kevin Spacey knocks on the door DO NOT ANSWER IT."

Titanic: "I'm the freezing chick in the water who just let go of Jack (over here where the sad music is playing). Please get your damn boat over here now! I can’t yell but I’ll play my ringtone really loud for you.”

Every horror movie EVER: "Hello? 911? There is some psycho something about to chase me. I am going run outside, screaming, looking behind me the whole time, and then I am going to trip. Come find me before it's too late."

Fight Club. "Why is it every time I try to call Tyler Durden I get my own voice mail? Hmmm...."

Labyrinth. "Mom? Can't find little bro. Think Bowie kidnapped him. Call cops?"

Jaws: "Hello, there is a huge-ass angry shark headed towards our boat and he's been chasing us for a couple of days. We tried to kill it ourselves, but have recently deemed ourselves idiots and decided that might not be the best option."

Silence of the Lambs: "Hello, 911? Some hella creepy dude is trying to make a size-14 skin suit outta my ass. Send help immediately to 421 Scary-Torture-Pit-In-The-Basement Way."

Citizen Kane: "BTW, Rosebud was my sled. Ya'll kiss it."

Forrest Gump. "Hello Jenn-ay? You are around the corner? I'm at the bus stop. Be right there."

Robin Hood: "Hey, Richard? Yeah, that Nottingham guy is acting like a giant douche. Screw the Crusades, get back here and get your sh*t straight."

Every James Bond movie ever: "Hey Henchman? Yeah, it's the Head Villian Dude. Change of plans: shoot the British guy in the face."

Sleepless in Seatle. Meg Ryan: I'm on the Empire State Building.....you? Tom Hanks: See ya in a minute.

The Notebook. "Hey, you get my letters? No? Your mom is a B. I love you, bought us a house. Check it out."

The Shining “Come freaking rescue us from the middle of nowhere. Some psycho is cutting holes in doors of the hotel room!

Princess Bride: "Buttercup, I am not dead - I have become the dread Pirate Roberts and am plundering the sea so that I can save money for us to get married.... well I would have called earlier but I’ve been mostly dead all day.”

Memento. Daily text to self: "You lost your memory, nut job. You killed wife."

Gone with the wind. "Scarlett, you are a crazy B. Not coming back."

Crimson Tide: "hello headquarters? Our telegraph machine from 1953 got broke on our nuclear submarine here and damn if we can't read your last message. Are the Russians still trippin? No?! Okay well, could you tell that to Gene Hackman over here? He won't believe what my black-ass has to say and is just ITCHIN to blow shit up.”

Crying Game. Solved with one text: "Dude, chick is a dude."

Romeo and Juliet. "Hey Romeo, ya Jewels here. Look I'm drinking something that will make me LOOK dead. So don't freak out or anything. I'm not REALLY dead. See ya soon. LUV U :)

Hope that entertained you; I think I speak for all my friends when I say we had a great time doing it.
I promise a real and more substantial blog post soon!