When I go from lightly goosebumped to sun-baked, all in about 90 glorious seconds,
lounging, dock sprawled
after dunking in the lake
On a sun-soaked August afternoon.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Lemonade, Mr. Grocery Man, and Grace
A highlight of the day was that my favorite lemonade, Santa Cruz organic, was on sale for 25 cents at QFC. Normally, it is almost $3, which means it is a rare indulgence. But, the sign said 4 for 5 bucks, plus there were coupons for minus a dollar on each one. Because I am bad at math, I thought for a moment that they would actually be paying me to buy the lemonade. Nope, turns out 5/4-1 is not less than 0. Anyways, I still got them for a steal, even if I did not make a profit.
I walked to QFC three times to bring home my large, summer supply of lemonade; with the help of Stacy and Naomi, I brought home 21 jars. The second time I went I dropped one of the bottles and spilled it all over the aisle, which was particularly embarrassing in light of how I was raiding the whole supply. I know that it sounds terribly selfish, but the sale ended at midnight, so at 10 pm I felt totally comfortable clearing out the shelf. I just could not believe I was the only one who seemed to care about this sale.
The other good part of the whole situation was that Mr. Grocery Man finally cracked a smile. I see him almost every other day (the grocery store is just around the corner, so I frequent it) and he hardly looks at me. I try to be my sunshiny self, and I sense I am bothering him, so I have just quieted up. No asking him how his day is, no sharing how excited I am when chicken fryers are 99 cents a pound. But, tonight, Mr. Grocery Man finally smiled the 3rd time he had to ring up my vast quantities.
I now have 21 lovely jars of lemonade under my bed. Please, come over and we shall share a cold glass. My only hope is now that I have in abundance what I consider a delicacy, that I will maintain my deep joy in every sip, and not take it for granted. I should probably make rules about consumption—sort of ration it out so it lasts until Christmas. But, who wants lemonade in December? No, perhaps I ought to just indulge as much as I want. It is difficult to for me to know what to do with abundance.
Which leads me to a conversation I had today with a professor about grace. I realized I like to portion grace out in very small quantities, living my life as perfectly as possible so I do not need the luxurious abundance of it. I ration grace out to myself, not taking too much, though there is a supply much larger than the lemonade under my bed.
I think I ought to indulge my lemonade supply as a little exercise for myself….
I walked to QFC three times to bring home my large, summer supply of lemonade; with the help of Stacy and Naomi, I brought home 21 jars. The second time I went I dropped one of the bottles and spilled it all over the aisle, which was particularly embarrassing in light of how I was raiding the whole supply. I know that it sounds terribly selfish, but the sale ended at midnight, so at 10 pm I felt totally comfortable clearing out the shelf. I just could not believe I was the only one who seemed to care about this sale.
The other good part of the whole situation was that Mr. Grocery Man finally cracked a smile. I see him almost every other day (the grocery store is just around the corner, so I frequent it) and he hardly looks at me. I try to be my sunshiny self, and I sense I am bothering him, so I have just quieted up. No asking him how his day is, no sharing how excited I am when chicken fryers are 99 cents a pound. But, tonight, Mr. Grocery Man finally smiled the 3rd time he had to ring up my vast quantities.
I now have 21 lovely jars of lemonade under my bed. Please, come over and we shall share a cold glass. My only hope is now that I have in abundance what I consider a delicacy, that I will maintain my deep joy in every sip, and not take it for granted. I should probably make rules about consumption—sort of ration it out so it lasts until Christmas. But, who wants lemonade in December? No, perhaps I ought to just indulge as much as I want. It is difficult to for me to know what to do with abundance.
Which leads me to a conversation I had today with a professor about grace. I realized I like to portion grace out in very small quantities, living my life as perfectly as possible so I do not need the luxurious abundance of it. I ration grace out to myself, not taking too much, though there is a supply much larger than the lemonade under my bed.
I think I ought to indulge my lemonade supply as a little exercise for myself….
Friday, July 27, 2007
Tea time, etc.
I have been so negligent at my blogging responsibilities lately, which I am sure is very disappointing to the 4 regular readers (you know who you are…☺.)
So, here is a quick life update. My new apartment is my heart’s delight, just as I expected. I still get a little thrill when I walk in my front door. The space is conducive to writing, brunches, dancing, and tea parties. I just had the loveliest tea party last night: fine china, fresh raspberries, unbelievable chocolate from Belgium, and a lovely Earl Grey.
I usually do not go to bed without knocking on the window of my dear friends Stacy and Jeremy, who live below me. They have their tea around 11:00 pm, and I like to be part of pj time and debriefing the day. It is like living in the dorms again, and I am having a very hard time focusing on my studies. This is quite unlike myself…I don’t know where my type A, studious girl has gone. But she needs to show up sometime soon, as she has 30 pages to write for school before August 10…I am beckoning her back, but she just wants to play.
Let’s see, in other news…my Thursday creative writing sessions at Pete’s (10:30-5:00 or so) are just heavenly. It is like going to work to the best job ever, only I don’t actually make money. I made the decision in June to devote my Thursdays to personal writing projects, and it has been such a wonderful gift to myself. No phone calls, students, or studies on Thursday until after 5.
I don’t usually discuss such things in my blog, but I will say that I am at a complete and utter dating lull. It is only sad because summer is such a nice time to have romantic picnics and longs walks on the beach… but then fall is a much better time to cuddle, so perhaps I will try again when the weather turns. But, the problem is, I realized I don’t actual like dating. (I feel like it is equivalent to filling out job applications. I would like Gilbert Blythe or Mr. Darcy to just show up without that unpleasant and necessary process of mutual evaluations, rejections, etc. )
Ok, I am supposed to be studying, so I better post this message.
So, here is a quick life update. My new apartment is my heart’s delight, just as I expected. I still get a little thrill when I walk in my front door. The space is conducive to writing, brunches, dancing, and tea parties. I just had the loveliest tea party last night: fine china, fresh raspberries, unbelievable chocolate from Belgium, and a lovely Earl Grey.
I usually do not go to bed without knocking on the window of my dear friends Stacy and Jeremy, who live below me. They have their tea around 11:00 pm, and I like to be part of pj time and debriefing the day. It is like living in the dorms again, and I am having a very hard time focusing on my studies. This is quite unlike myself…I don’t know where my type A, studious girl has gone. But she needs to show up sometime soon, as she has 30 pages to write for school before August 10…I am beckoning her back, but she just wants to play.
Let’s see, in other news…my Thursday creative writing sessions at Pete’s (10:30-5:00 or so) are just heavenly. It is like going to work to the best job ever, only I don’t actually make money. I made the decision in June to devote my Thursdays to personal writing projects, and it has been such a wonderful gift to myself. No phone calls, students, or studies on Thursday until after 5.
I don’t usually discuss such things in my blog, but I will say that I am at a complete and utter dating lull. It is only sad because summer is such a nice time to have romantic picnics and longs walks on the beach… but then fall is a much better time to cuddle, so perhaps I will try again when the weather turns. But, the problem is, I realized I don’t actual like dating. (I feel like it is equivalent to filling out job applications. I would like Gilbert Blythe or Mr. Darcy to just show up without that unpleasant and necessary process of mutual evaluations, rejections, etc. )
Ok, I am supposed to be studying, so I better post this message.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
A New Home
This week I feel like I am opening a beautiful gift. I am moving to Queen Anne on Thursday, saying goodbye to my lovely Wallingford, and waiting for a new season of life. Space is always a significant thing to me: my heart is very sensitive to the spot of earth that I inhabit. There is so much about my new home that thrills me: two dear friends from school (Stacy and Jeremy) will be living directly below me; I get to walk to school and I love walking; I get to explore the alleys and views and coffee shops of a new place; I get to enjoy long dreamed of hardwood floors; my apartment is on the 3rd floor so I can sleep a little more soundly and with the nighttime air drafting in from open windows; it is the least expensive apartment I have ever had.
(Now, if you are members of my family and read that last part, you are probably already worried about the quality of place I am renting. This is not unfounded, since 3 years ago I was renting my urban castle that almost made my father cry when he visited me. What I had seen as charming dilapidation, my father saw as a health risk. In fact, when my sisters visited me last weekend and began to ask for me to “talk about my new place” I was sure my father had planted the evaluative questions, so as to make sure that I would not be calling later and complaining about the rodents in my walls and leaking roofs and kitchen cabinets that succumbed randomly to gravity and fell to the floor. Shannon and Heather, please assure Dad that I will be safe and sound in my new home.)
I can’t wait to decorate my new place. I think I am growing a bit in my tastes: there will be fewer tassels and a bit more sophistication. Mind you, I will always enjoy a well–placed tassel. I hope to have lovely plants that soak in the sunlight of my marvelous windows, cozy rugs to lounge on, and nice splashes of merlot, espressos, and rich greens in the color scheme. I also hope to have many people whom I delight in stopping by and eating my food and reading books and sipping coffee and laughing together.
(Now, if you are members of my family and read that last part, you are probably already worried about the quality of place I am renting. This is not unfounded, since 3 years ago I was renting my urban castle that almost made my father cry when he visited me. What I had seen as charming dilapidation, my father saw as a health risk. In fact, when my sisters visited me last weekend and began to ask for me to “talk about my new place” I was sure my father had planted the evaluative questions, so as to make sure that I would not be calling later and complaining about the rodents in my walls and leaking roofs and kitchen cabinets that succumbed randomly to gravity and fell to the floor. Shannon and Heather, please assure Dad that I will be safe and sound in my new home.)
I can’t wait to decorate my new place. I think I am growing a bit in my tastes: there will be fewer tassels and a bit more sophistication. Mind you, I will always enjoy a well–placed tassel. I hope to have lovely plants that soak in the sunlight of my marvelous windows, cozy rugs to lounge on, and nice splashes of merlot, espressos, and rich greens in the color scheme. I also hope to have many people whom I delight in stopping by and eating my food and reading books and sipping coffee and laughing together.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Naked No Longer
I have always felt twinges of jealousy for the girl with the dangly earrings. I look from afar at silver hoops and funky beaded things and wish I somehow could pull it off for an evening out on the town. Better yet, are the girls who can pull off the jeans and a t-shirt in casual day ware- accented by the perfect earrings with just the right flair.
But alas, my lobes are always naked. I have gotten my ears pierced twice (at a young age) and my holes have closed twice, as I always seem to fail to follow the proper instructions the piercing parlor hands you on the way out the door. After failing twice, I would not allow myself a 3rd go, so I have been pining for decoration on my ears for quite some time. Since 7th grade, in fact- this was the last time I wore earrings before my second set of holes closed.
.
However in the past year, I have taken up clip-ons, which incidentally you cannot find in the stores these days. Instead, I have been going to antiques stores shopping for your grandma’s earrings, because back in WWII they indeed sported clip-ons. I thought I could revive the clip-on look, sort of pretend it was vintage and cool, but it hasn’t really worked out for me. Your grandmother’s earrings tend to be gold and bulbous, and simply do not achieve the sexy, gypsy look I had in mind. So, I was back to pining and looking from afar, realizing I would not be the girl with the whimsical jewelry hanging from her ears.
The reason I am sharing all this is because my friend Erica brought me back the most beautiful earrings from Bolivia, and I was rather distraught. I intended to put them in my drawer to keep company with the diamond earrings my father gave me for Christmas 2 years ago- which of course have also never been worn. But, then, a funny thing happened. On a whim, I decided to just see…how far would they go in those closed holes? What if I was aggressive? I was picturing swollen, bloody earlobes, but could not resist trying.
And the funny part is, both earrings slid right in my ears without any resistance. I mean I have thought for 13 years that my ears were closed. Why had I been believing all these years that I could not wear earrings? I can’t remember the time I started believing that I could not; it’s just what I have assumed for 13 years.
It’s just very odd, and it made me wonder how many other things in life I have been depriving myself of and pining for because somehow, somewhere, I thought I did not have it.
But alas, my lobes are always naked. I have gotten my ears pierced twice (at a young age) and my holes have closed twice, as I always seem to fail to follow the proper instructions the piercing parlor hands you on the way out the door. After failing twice, I would not allow myself a 3rd go, so I have been pining for decoration on my ears for quite some time. Since 7th grade, in fact- this was the last time I wore earrings before my second set of holes closed.
.
However in the past year, I have taken up clip-ons, which incidentally you cannot find in the stores these days. Instead, I have been going to antiques stores shopping for your grandma’s earrings, because back in WWII they indeed sported clip-ons. I thought I could revive the clip-on look, sort of pretend it was vintage and cool, but it hasn’t really worked out for me. Your grandmother’s earrings tend to be gold and bulbous, and simply do not achieve the sexy, gypsy look I had in mind. So, I was back to pining and looking from afar, realizing I would not be the girl with the whimsical jewelry hanging from her ears.
The reason I am sharing all this is because my friend Erica brought me back the most beautiful earrings from Bolivia, and I was rather distraught. I intended to put them in my drawer to keep company with the diamond earrings my father gave me for Christmas 2 years ago- which of course have also never been worn. But, then, a funny thing happened. On a whim, I decided to just see…how far would they go in those closed holes? What if I was aggressive? I was picturing swollen, bloody earlobes, but could not resist trying.
And the funny part is, both earrings slid right in my ears without any resistance. I mean I have thought for 13 years that my ears were closed. Why had I been believing all these years that I could not wear earrings? I can’t remember the time I started believing that I could not; it’s just what I have assumed for 13 years.
It’s just very odd, and it made me wonder how many other things in life I have been depriving myself of and pining for because somehow, somewhere, I thought I did not have it.
Monday, May 21, 2007
On Books and the Thrill of the Re-Org
I recently pulled all my books from their bookshelves and piled them high on the living room floor. It was the end of the semester and time to organize. For those who know me well, it is not news that organizing is one of my secret delights. I can get lost in it for hours, sorting and pondering and moving objects about in a very small circle of space until they are arranged just so. (A counselor might want to point out the OCD impulses of such a habit; I, on the other hand, consider it a harmless practice for a heart needing to pretend she can arrange the world.)
For this particular re-org, I decided my books would no longer be shelved topically as usual, but would be coordinated by the color of their spine (I must give credit to my friend Nathania for this inspiration). Besides the aesthetic delight of such a new arrangement, I was also starting to feel that my novels needed to mingle with the psychology textbooks; my British literature needed the company of the Russian storytellers; my philosophers needed to parley with the poets; and my Bibles certainly needed everyone.
I sat on my leopard print footstool late into the night and stared at spines, trying to determine the shades of the palette. Disheveled groupings of books began to emerge: tangerines, merlots, sea-foam greens, rugged goldens. It was not always easy, mind you. Some particularly subtle shades stumped me for a while, as I decided what spectrum they would join. Where to put the zesty tomato reds? With the merlots or the tangerines? These were the dilemmas I was facing.
Gradually, spine-by-spine, the new sections of the library were created like a painted canvass. I am thankful for the tangerines because they give needed spunk; the merlots are sort of a mature, regal presence; the blues are few but captivating; and the strong showing of blacks and charcoals seems to ground the piece. But beyond the appeal of lovely colors, it gives me great pleasure that my books have journeyed beyond the narrow confines of a Dewey Decimal style assortment. Sometimes when Locke only talks to Rousseau, he begins to forget that Dostoevsky might have something to contribute to his discussion of freedom. Or when the Gospels are not in dialogue with Siddhartha, something gets lost.
When my books are segregated by mere subject, I suspect they have a bent to be pretentious: holding long-winded conversations with similarly minded books using the same worn out lexicon and assumptions. William James was supposed to have said that some people think they are thinking when really they are just re-arranging their prejudices. It seems one has to be quite intentional to avoid this trap of the narrow-minded pursuit. Hopefully, my books as they mingle will inspire my mind to do likewise.
For this particular re-org, I decided my books would no longer be shelved topically as usual, but would be coordinated by the color of their spine (I must give credit to my friend Nathania for this inspiration). Besides the aesthetic delight of such a new arrangement, I was also starting to feel that my novels needed to mingle with the psychology textbooks; my British literature needed the company of the Russian storytellers; my philosophers needed to parley with the poets; and my Bibles certainly needed everyone.
I sat on my leopard print footstool late into the night and stared at spines, trying to determine the shades of the palette. Disheveled groupings of books began to emerge: tangerines, merlots, sea-foam greens, rugged goldens. It was not always easy, mind you. Some particularly subtle shades stumped me for a while, as I decided what spectrum they would join. Where to put the zesty tomato reds? With the merlots or the tangerines? These were the dilemmas I was facing.
Gradually, spine-by-spine, the new sections of the library were created like a painted canvass. I am thankful for the tangerines because they give needed spunk; the merlots are sort of a mature, regal presence; the blues are few but captivating; and the strong showing of blacks and charcoals seems to ground the piece. But beyond the appeal of lovely colors, it gives me great pleasure that my books have journeyed beyond the narrow confines of a Dewey Decimal style assortment. Sometimes when Locke only talks to Rousseau, he begins to forget that Dostoevsky might have something to contribute to his discussion of freedom. Or when the Gospels are not in dialogue with Siddhartha, something gets lost.
When my books are segregated by mere subject, I suspect they have a bent to be pretentious: holding long-winded conversations with similarly minded books using the same worn out lexicon and assumptions. William James was supposed to have said that some people think they are thinking when really they are just re-arranging their prejudices. It seems one has to be quite intentional to avoid this trap of the narrow-minded pursuit. Hopefully, my books as they mingle will inspire my mind to do likewise.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
In a nutshell
At the risk of being narcissistic (can a blog by its very nature ever avoid such a fate?), I thought I would just give a little update into what my life is about these days. Here’s a short list of my life projects as the summer unfolds:
Writing: I am still doing nearly as much creative writing as school writing, but I have waned in my gumption to submit work to editors. So, this summer I need to return to risk-taking and start tracking down magazines. I am currently working on 2 pieces that deal with faith and feminism (one should go up soon on BurnsideWritersCollective.com; the other is part of an anthology and seeking a publisher). I am also obsessively revising an article on Christianity and homosexuality, which my dear friend Andy and I are co-authoring.
In my attempts to pretend I am a real writer, I am also taking my “Second Annual Writers’ Weekend” trip up to the San Juan Islands. This year I plan to not go solo, but take my friends Penny and Lisa; the three of us have been meeting every Thursday morning for many months and working on our writing projects side by side.
School: This summer I am taking only 3 classes, which is a nice, moderate load. I am taking an Old Testament class (actually by the same prof I had in college), but I look forward to grappling again with issues of religion, violence, and gender that seem to always emerge in those ancient Mesopotamian texts. In addition, I am taking a class on sexuality, intimacy, and power. Finally, I am attempting independent research for the first time, which will involve researching how literature can be a tool to teach psychology. I hope to conduct a focus group with practicing therapists where I actually teach excerpts from poems and novels and discuss their relevance in the therapeutic realm.
Work: (Or, how I intend to pay my rent): This is still a bit of an interesting question☺. I have a handful of ESL students (from 7-year olds to adults), but I am hoping to market myself more at UW and get connected with graduate students writing interesting dissertations. I have noticed that ever since I quit my “real job” last August and opened my own tutoring business, I have slowly began to regress again in my vocational dreams. It is time to re-evaluate and dream of how I want to shape my business.
Play: Of course, writing and school is also play for me, but beyond that, I hope the summer is filled with: glorious games of beach volleyball; happy hours with friends; visiting my family in Spokane; lounging on the dock at the lake cabin; twirling on and off the dance floor; preparing for my sister’s wedding; Greenlake runs; and personal retreat/prayer days once a month up at Rosary Heights (a beautiful Catholic retreat center right on the water in Edmonds).
There you have it, my life in a nutshell.
Writing: I am still doing nearly as much creative writing as school writing, but I have waned in my gumption to submit work to editors. So, this summer I need to return to risk-taking and start tracking down magazines. I am currently working on 2 pieces that deal with faith and feminism (one should go up soon on BurnsideWritersCollective.com; the other is part of an anthology and seeking a publisher). I am also obsessively revising an article on Christianity and homosexuality, which my dear friend Andy and I are co-authoring.
In my attempts to pretend I am a real writer, I am also taking my “Second Annual Writers’ Weekend” trip up to the San Juan Islands. This year I plan to not go solo, but take my friends Penny and Lisa; the three of us have been meeting every Thursday morning for many months and working on our writing projects side by side.
School: This summer I am taking only 3 classes, which is a nice, moderate load. I am taking an Old Testament class (actually by the same prof I had in college), but I look forward to grappling again with issues of religion, violence, and gender that seem to always emerge in those ancient Mesopotamian texts. In addition, I am taking a class on sexuality, intimacy, and power. Finally, I am attempting independent research for the first time, which will involve researching how literature can be a tool to teach psychology. I hope to conduct a focus group with practicing therapists where I actually teach excerpts from poems and novels and discuss their relevance in the therapeutic realm.
Work: (Or, how I intend to pay my rent): This is still a bit of an interesting question☺. I have a handful of ESL students (from 7-year olds to adults), but I am hoping to market myself more at UW and get connected with graduate students writing interesting dissertations. I have noticed that ever since I quit my “real job” last August and opened my own tutoring business, I have slowly began to regress again in my vocational dreams. It is time to re-evaluate and dream of how I want to shape my business.
Play: Of course, writing and school is also play for me, but beyond that, I hope the summer is filled with: glorious games of beach volleyball; happy hours with friends; visiting my family in Spokane; lounging on the dock at the lake cabin; twirling on and off the dance floor; preparing for my sister’s wedding; Greenlake runs; and personal retreat/prayer days once a month up at Rosary Heights (a beautiful Catholic retreat center right on the water in Edmonds).
There you have it, my life in a nutshell.
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