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.
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