The Bare Minimum

On the bus a few weeks ago, I sat with some friends and we talked about the bare minimum requirements for living. Melody and I came to the conclusion that we could survive on coffee and sunlight. I think I can safely add that we were taking the Lord's grace for granted as we made our lists.

I'm in Waynesboro and have just enjoyed a lovely cup of coffee. It's time to show my face to the sun. And it is a-shinin'!

Christmas Break

Hustle and Bustle
and
breathe.
Hustle and Bustle
and
breathe.


Finals claimed my last three weeks of this semester. I am so grateful to the Lord that I had the chance to focus completely on my schoolwork. I was only distracted by meandering thoughts and the insatiable desire to make things rhyme, or put words to cadence. My winter break will include: another go at the Lord of the Rings, a visit to the Fulton Theater, a visit to the Vietnamese restaurant down the street, dusting, some working, talking on the phone, and some quiet contemplation.

Teaching vs. Apprenticeship

I have not even finished reading this article, but I have to stop and wonder at these bits. It is taken from an article on Wishtank.com, "From Schools to Learning Communities: A Historic Shift" by Dr. Ron Miller.

"During the past 25 years, education has become ever more standardized, ever more mechanical, as it serves a political and economic agenda of competition, production and corporate profit. Young people in the present system are not perceived as growing, active human beings who seek meaning and connection to the world, but as units of production whose academic achievements contain primarily economic value. The age of modernity has reached its zenith, so that now even first graders — six year old children — are rigorously tested to ensure that they fit into the system, while those who resist mechanistic discipline are sedated with powerful drugs."

http://www.wishtank.org/magazine/commons/from_schools_to_learning_communities_a_historic_shift/

A Deli Christmas

First things first: this is finals week, and the week before Christmas, and there is a lot to do. But at work, there is not a lot to do. By what evidence, you ask? Wayne was inspired by the muses this afternoon and rewrote the Twelve Days of Christmas for me, complete with props, it was beautiful.

an old moldy wedge of brie cheese
two chicken breasts
three french fries
four thawing burgers
five onion rings!
six geese have laid these [eggs]
seven olives swimming
eight pints of milk [that's one gallon, to the layman]
nine honey mustards
ten leaves of lettuce
eleven peppers pepping
twelve hashbrowns browning

Also today, Bill got locked inside the ladies' room for over ten minutes. He always uses the ladies' room, see. And the lock had been finicky for months. But, o fates!, the door has always managed to open in the past, despite great difficulties that the poor customers suffer. He called Leonardo, the prep guy, from his cell phone. Leonardo, doubtless, recognized on the caller ID that it was Bill calling. But he is kind of vindictive. So he let it ring. Finally Gary came to the rescue and opened the door. Bill then posted a sign that read something like: You may enter, but good luck getting out, the lock is broken.

Something to Begin

Please write a poem ending with these words:



those indifferent stars.

My Thanksgiving

Ride the train to see your friends. Let them pick you up.
Have a seat in the living room. Sink into the familiarity.
Do not take it for granted.

Enjoy the trees without their leaves. Meet the gray sky with
steely resolve to be happy no matter what,
As you glide along the highway.

Enter a warm house and start right in.
Don't expect the red carpet,
For it wouldn't be home that way.

Go to the church service in the passenger's seat.
Experience the strangest sensation to be driven by someone you
Used to take to school.

Look at faces so dear, that used to fill your heart
So full that they still do. But it's not the same.
And you don't take them for granted.

Feast.
Laugh.
Walk in the blurry four o'clock, almost snow, almost rain.
And do not take it for granted.

Muppet Christmas

Beginning in last October, when I would think about winter coming, I would have brief flashes from A Muppet Christmas Carol. It has been over ten years since I have seen that movie, but it must have made quite an impression on me! Being opposed to cold in my life, it is perhaps my only happy association with the cold. Plus, the city is so innocent and filled with joy. Very soon, I expect to walk out of my front door in Lancaster, and join in with a line in a song spanning the entire neighborhood.

Wayne will step out of the deli's door, saying something about there being "one more sleep til Christmas."

Jonathan and Lis will have a duet in the street, playing with the other children, keeping time by bouncing their kickball off the side of the theater building.

Justine and Jake will sit out on their porch with their huge dog and sing, "we're always much warmer, this time of the year!"

Linda will stroll toward Harrisburg Avenue, holding a cigarette, whistling in cadence while

Charlotte will hold out two Turkey Hill iced teas, spinning on the corner of Mary and Pine, "we cannot wait til Chriiiiistmaaaas!"

I am almost afraid to see the movie now, for being disappointed.

Reasons to Stay up Late on a Saturday Night

1. waiting for your casserole to bake for the fellowship meal in a few hours
2. getting ready for your Sunday school lesson
3. looking at bridal magazines and wedding websites
4. tuning and re-tuning your guitar
5. waiting for your laundry to finish
6. talking about culture, the prevalence of evil, sources of identity, and lies we've believed
7. rating professors online
8. homework
9. homework
10. homework
11. listening to the neighbor's dog run up and down the hall
12. homework

A Deli Tale: John O'Hurley

Bill was not at work on Saturday. He and his family took a one or two night vacation in Philly. He still called the deli a few times to check up on everything. Around eight on Saturday night, the following conversation took place, to the best of my memory:

Me: Campus Deli, how can I help you?
Bill: Carolyn? Hey, it's Bill. How are things goin'?
Me: Pretty normal.
Bill: Good. Hey, do you ever watch Seinfeld?
Me: Yeah. I used to watch it all the time.
Bill: What was the name of Elaine's boss? The gray-haired guy.
Me: Do you mean his real-life name? Or his character name?
Bill: Either.
Me: ooh, Bill. I really couldn't tell ya. Hey Wayne, Todd, did you guys ever watch Seinfeld? [Wayne and Todd being my co-workers, and who had not seen an episode in recent history]
Bill: Peterman! ...Peterman! J. Peterman, right?
Me: Yes! I think that is right. Nice job. But what was his real name?
Bill: Jacobo, wasn't it? Something like that. [The actor's name is John O'Hurley.]
Me: Why did you ask, exactly?
Bill: We're at a restaurant in this hotel, and he just walked by! Oh man. Oh man! I hope I can get a picture with him and the girls! [Here, Bill asks the waitress if that was the guy from Seinfeld, and if he was a nice customer]
Me: So, is he a nice guy?
Bill: What? Oh, yeah. [Did he forget I was on the phone?] She said he's, like, a really nice guy. I think I'll go ask him if we can get a picture! He's really a handsome man.
Me: Yes. He is a handsome man.

In This Lifetime

1. go whitewater rafting
2. go deep sea fishing
3. watch North and South with Wayne and Todd
4. go skydiving
5. read all of George MacDonald
6. then read it all again
7. write a book (another list will eventually contain ideas)
8. visit every continent (using the seven-continent division theory, this includes Antarctica! (I had better make that visit sooner rather than later.))
9. be extraordinarily courageous
10. make perfect crepes
11. explain Jacques Derrida to a classroom...successfully (ok, that may be going a bit overboard)

this list has the potential to be severely long

Sublime, Second Grade

I burst through the metal doors into the sunlight. There were four or five or six or seven of us, depending on the day of the week, depending on our behavior during lunch, depending... And we were FREE! Free for thirty minutes. Free to run directly to the jungle gym and not look back.

This day there may have been five of us, or just two of us, or just me. I don't remember. Because I climbed to the top of my favorite set of climbing bars, and sat on the top bar, hooking my sneakers beneath the second-to-the-top bar. I swung my head down and SKY.

Sky all around me. I was floating in it. I was only shakily hanging to the earth by my new sneakers. (And you don't know if you can trust new sneakers.) And when sky is on at least three sides of you, maybe all four, gravity itself seems to be only on the verge of loosening its grip ever so slightly. And with the gentlest breeze I was sure I would begin to float away: away, away. Sailing over surprised teachers and friends and Fairview Elementary, and Fairview Avenue, and all of Waynesboro. I would reach just past the YMCA on the other side of town before I would begin to feel very lonely.

So I swung my head upward and lifted myself to the top bar of the jungle gym again.

To Bless

I hope this verse speaks to your heart. It sure speaks to mine.

"Be merciful to me, O God, for men hotly pursue me." Psalm 56:1a

Fiddler on the Roof

Don't ask me when I get time to watch whole movies. But this one deserves to be a priority. Here are the things I like about Tevye.

I love the way Tevye speaks with God right out loud, in conversation.

Upon hearing of their eviction, one man says they should fight back, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" And Tevye, though he is a man of the Good Book responds with, "very good, then the whole world will be blind and toothless."

As the town reconciles itself to leaving Anatevka, a townsman says that the Jews have been uprooted many times in history. Tevye says, "perhaps that's why we always wear our hats!"

At the very final moment, the enigmatic fiddler follows Tevye and his wife and their two remaining daughters. Tevye stops, puzzled to find the fiddler still there amidst their muddy grief. Surely they carry all the heaviness, regret, and insecurity of any displaced people. The fiddler looks back, as if to ask permission to follow after them. And Tevye nods. He has not done with life yet. He will not give up. The fiddler may follow.

At the outset, Tevye tells us that their fragile lives are balanced on tradition just like the fiddler is balanced on the rooftop. But Tevye shows throughout the movie that his life is not just balanced on tradition. His life is also balanced with humor, love, patience, kindness, an appreciation for life (l'chaim!), and faith in God.

Thinking About Church Membership

I don't think I get it. Insofar as church must handle sums of money and decide what to do with it, I understand having official members. But what makes me a member? Is it attending a class and standing in front of a group and saying out loud that I am one of them? It seems to me the very moment someone quantifies this answer, the Holy Spirit has moved beyond it.

How do I recognize a church member? I want to equate "church member" exactly with "Christ-follower". Why would these ever be separated? I recognize Christ-followers most when they're interacting with one another, praying or singing or serving someone in need. I can recognize a Christ-follower when he/she is accountable to a group, under someone's authority, patient in affliction, joyful in hope... In order to be continuous and consistent in our lives, I think believers must live accountably as part of a church. I advocate that we continue to meet together, and all the more, as we see the Day approaching! But I am more than a little confused as to qualifications for church membership. What is more, official church membership seems superfluous after having been baptized into Christ's body.

I suspect that membership in a particular part of the body of Christ (a local church) is really recognizable by relationships. But I feel I am treading on ground too high for me when I think about the Church.

I asked my housemates about official church membership. Joella's response: "The devil is in the details."

Lupita Mañana, by Patricia Beatty

I'm reading an especially difficult book right now for a class on teaching literature to young adults, Lupita Mañana by Patricia Beatty. It is written in English, and Beatty is not of Hispanic descent, although she lived most of her life in California. The book is written for young adults. But it leaves an ache in me.

A brother and sister are forced to travel northward from the Baja peninsula into the United States. They are taken advantage of at nearly every turn, and the only thing that saves them from falling completely into the hands of robbers, liars, and killers is an amount of common sense. These children are not extraordinary in any way. They have no special intuitive powers, no special intelligence, no special savings account waiting for them. They are folks. Just folks. And I sympathize with them something awful! I am stunned by the reality of their situation. I am sure I've read half of this book with my mouth agape.

A Place to Match

Grace sits at a clean window. She has time to pray as she knits
blue, green, purple together.

Carla bellows to the boys to keep it down, and sighs
cream, lavender, cream, lavender crochet.

Lilly has her papers before her, memorizes the next week's case studies
bright orange, light orange, bright orange, light orange.

Rhoda sits up in bed this week, finally able to contemplate her dying sister
royal blue straight through.

Kim adds white rows between each woman's strand, yarn to tie life to life.
And they give the blanket to Hazel, who feels gentle hands, soft threads.
Hazel is blind now, but she sees Grace at a window. Carla with her three sons. Lilly at a work desk. Rhoda in a sickbed. Kim in a rocking chair.

And they all dance with Hazel as she sits back finally, wrapped in precious, quiet actions which pass through time.

As the family divides her treasures one month later, the blanket does not match any room of any house. It comes to rest in the mismatched house on Pine Street, on a used couch and an armchair worn out by other owners. The blanket wraps anyone who wants it, anyone who will consent to be blind for a moment. And it warms neatly to tense shoulders; hands holding hot tea and books, in a cold room.

Of All the Times When I Ignore my Homework...

this weekend proved to be the most worthwhile substitution! Friday after Biology, I started for Houghton College, arriving in the evening, just in time for a lovely barbecue party. Friday evening was general outbursts of joy (especially from me!) at just being in the same room as my good friends. I've longed for them all fervently, and my cup is overflowing!

Christine, Sheri, Shulan, Ashley, Erin, Bethany, Lydia.

Saturday was a mixture of meetings with friends, most notably the surprise party at Bethany's townhouse which I almost missed, negligently planning a low-key, on-the-fly trip to Letchworth park. It didn't pan out to go to Letchworth due to some lucky eggs... but so much the better! (Thanks go to Kevin here!) I walked in to Bethany's living room to find most of my friends from freshmen year seated about, shouting "surprise!"! This is the very kind of moment we all dream about! (Thanks go to EVERYONE here!) Drs. Woolsey and Mills-Woolsey were even able to come and we discussed some interesting ideas for developing the London program.

Liesl, Ben, Eric, Kristen, Megan, Megan, Kristina, Lydia.

Following the party, Bethany, Ashley and I went to Letchworth. We even brought along books, with the mistaken idea that we would sit quietly on a sunlit patch of grass and wait for the sunset to tell us to leave. But it was waaay cold. So we walked around, talked about the future, the past, the present, and made for the car when we couldn't feel our arms anymore. Also Saturday: Chinese, bonfire, s'mores, dancing, laughter.

Brett, Ren, Debbie, Cecily, Sally, Olivia, Rachel, Rachel, Laura, Sarah, Emily.

Sunday was even colder. We went to the Salvation Army church in Wellsville. That was made especially memorable by the two new[born] members of the church: Graham and Chayse.

Pam, Hillary, Matt, Keith, Keith, Erica, Katrina, Laura, Susanna.

On Monday, I attended Dr. Woolsey's literature class called "Fantastic Truths" in which they pull foundational truths out of fantasy literature. Monday was The Fellowship of the Ring. Wow! So many students participated in the discussion--and not simply at a rudimentary level, but insightfully, I daresay prophetically! Monday I also met up with Eric, Olivia, Zan, Dara, Sheri, and several other people. It was a full day. In the evening I attended the lecture given by Stanley Hauerwas. I will devote time to describing that lecture at some other point.

Dara, Maddie, Ashley, Kristina, Amanda, Amy, Connie, Mark, Sophie.

These lists of happenings are not terribly interesting for someone not in the know of how influential each of the names mentioned has been in my life. My aim in acknowledging them here and now is to somehow not forget that we can come back together as if time and space had not separated us very far. We have already done it once.

First, Second, and Third Languages

I just finished an English "lesson" with Yazmin. We had a wonderful conversation, explaining "was," "would," contractions, the third person singular, and the varied cultural treatment of language learners. We agreed that many people in the U.S. seem to believe English to be the language that God speaks. For that reason they may become impatient with those learning English--and this often without thinking about why they are impatient. Their mindset is different. They will give up on the conversation more easily, deciding that it is not worth the embarrassment for both parties to keep trying.

We agreed that the same puzzlement exists, for example, in Mexico, where people may also expect their conversational partners to speak perfectly. But instead of impatience with the learner, the native speaker in Mexico will usually exhibit curiosity at the learner, thereby aiding the conversational transaction.

I see more and more that a dignified and determined attitude toward language learners is most likely to instill confidence in speaking. I think the main impediment to language learning is fear of making mistakes and sounding stupid. Learning is first admitting that we don't know something; and secondly forming that knowledge, usually by experience. The implications for this are as follows: we shall make mistakes. Praise the Lord. What better way to remain humble than to be continually frustrated in our attempts to communicate even a basic idea?

I have a wonderful example of humility. On our way to Tapatios on Sunday, Kevin was explaining to Yazmin, Kiko, and Moises his understanding of American Sign Language. He has had two years of college Spanish, but he still lacks some confidence, and it had been some time, he said, since he had practiced. He was explaining his second language in his third language! A few times he looked to me for help, using a sign and a questioning face, as if to say, "how do I say {insert sign} in Spanish?"

How do I tell you? You had to be there to laugh with us--to know with us that we don't know. I remember those moments with a new affection, a renewed vigor to go and do what seems at first to be uncomfortable, and therefore unnecessary. Perhaps that is what makes the reward so great.

Grocery List

• chocolate
• 
  

Helicopter Season

Jadyn and Luke climb up the ladder and bounce up and down on the trampoline. Jadyn shouts, "I didn't know it was already helicopter season!" "Helicopters!" they join. Luke's big eyes brighten with each bounce.

I hardly know what they are talking about as I try to extricate my ankle from the tiny jaws of the most annoying puggle the good Lord ever allowed man to create. The rat-thing has an uncouth fascination with anything below the knee. His sharp puppy teeth razor through most types of denim, dignity, and shoelaces.

Having distracted the varmint with something slimy and throwable, I finally make it to the trampoline. "Helicopter" seeds cover the jumping mat, freshly fallen from the trees. Helicopter season. We gather them up and throw them in the air and try to catch them with our hands, though our hair does a better job.

This is the first time I have babysat in five years. My favorite part is reading on the big couch with Jadyn and Luke, the youngest of the four children. We make it through The Ugly Duckling, and Why the Sun Was Late. Apparently, it is impossible to sink into the couch the whole way to China. Although, tigers may feed on pineapples, grass, zebras, Jadyns, and hippos.

Settle Down

I may have been a bit hasty about my family size. Twelve does sound excessive, even if God doesn't see a person as excess. At work tonight, my boss made an interesting comment: a couple can have as many children as they like, provided they have a big enough family already to help raise the children. He was talking about extended family, and how we need each other. It surprised me, because he often gets comments about how four children is an abnormally large number. I'm glad to hear he disagrees.

12

Jodi, Joella, and I were talking about families. It made me miss mine. And it made me think about my future family. Oh, the possibilities of the future! It makes me smile!

I want 12 kids. Running all around. All the time.

You Got No Room To Talk!

Answers in song titles. All answers/titles belong to one band, though several albums. Don't think too much about these answers; I sure didn't.

Your Artist: The Elms

Are you male or female: She's Cold!

Describe yourself: I am the World

How do you feel about yourself: I Left my Body and Never Came Back

Describe where you currently live: The Towers and the Trains

The first thing you think of when you wake up: Nothin' To Do With Love

If you could go anywhere, where would you go: Go Toward the Glow

Your favorite form of transportation: Lifeboat

Your best friend is: The Downtown King

Your favorite color is: Black Peach

What's the weather like: I've Been Wrong

If your life were a TV show, what would it be called: Hey Hey

What is life to you: All the While Having Fun!

What is the best advice you have to give: Let Love In

If you could change your name, what would it be: The Big Surprise

Your favorite food is: Bring Me Your Tea

How I would like to die: Through the Night

My soul's present condition: You Saved Me

The faults I can bear: Speaking in Tongues

How would you describe your love life: Here's My Hand

What are you going to post this as: You Got No Room to Talk!

"Driving"

Abbreviated adaptations from my journal:

This fourth day in Mexico, I spent at the Soto homestead. I wasn't feeling well, and I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go, not having followed with the children to their aunt's house the previous night. In the morning a man dropped off five two-month-old pigs. Apparently the family raises and sells pigs. Just a few at a time, enough to fill comfortably two small corrals. We fed them and watered them, and I handed water to Doña Delfina to clean the corral. (I am never, ever donating blood.)

In the afternoon, Chepina, one of Doña Delfina's younger daughters, came to visit. We took a trip into town to inquire after the pig feed, and returned Doña Delfina home. But Chepina asked if I would like to go with her to darle una vuelta. I was ready to get out. So the two of us headed away in the '94 Golf belonging to Rogelio, just for a spin. She texted him for permission and as I understand it, she received permission to go as far as Atotonilco, but not as far as Pachuca, which is where we were unmistakably headed. When I questioned her, she did not bother lying: "I'm going to introduce you to my boyfriend."

I thought I must have heard her wrong when we had first met. I had been sure that she had filed herself under single just days earlier. And so it was. She had been lying to her family about her boyfriend in Pachuca. She was trusting me with this secret which she had held since January. When we arrived, he certainly appeared to be much older than her. He also has two kids, making Chepina even more shy of the commitment. We went together to ice cream and had a fine conversation.

On our way out of the parking lot, he took the driver's seat. But the car refused to go into reverse. We just kept inching toward the pole directly in front of us. Even the savvy Chepina could not make it budge backward. So Francisco, the novio escondido, had to push us out of the space. We had no more reverse trouble once we were going again. But after leaving Francisco behind, we began to climb a hill. While merging with some heavy traffic to the left, directly around an accident of some sort to which police were attending, the car sputtered a bit, and refused to move upward. She applied the e-brake, and a police officer was with us shortly. Then he left and was replaced by another. Many people who drive in Mexico do not have their licenses because it costs a good deal to obtain one. What's more, if pulled over, it may be cheaper to simply pay off the officer. Chepina was in this category of unlicensed. She was anxious as they questioned her about the situation. And I'm sure poor Chepina told the story three times until together they decided to push the car over the hill using the police car. Ever so gently, the police car behind us nudged us up the hill where the clutch finally seemed to grab the gears. It was a smooth ride from then out.

A song I like

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjRALTGI5nE&feature=related

Mach & Daddy, "Te Extraño Tanto"

I'm not really a reggaeton fan

"Tamales"

Abbreviated adaptations from my journal.

Day three: I still don't feel sick.

Today Doña Delfina, Graciela and two of her kids and I went to the plaza to buy tamale ingredients. We ended up with bags so full that I had to rest them on my legs and sort of waddle between the stalls of the market. While there, I continuously heard the name "güera." I thought they were telling me "fuera," get out. But Graciela explained that it was a term of affection, meaning something like "blondie." No surprise, really. Everyone and everything in Mexico has a nickname. I never once heard gringa.

I made my way to the combi (the taxi-van) to wait for Doña Delfina while she got the masa for the tamales. She came back 15 minutes later with a bucket filled with a sandy white substance made from corn, the foundation of the tamales.

She showed me how to soak the dried corn husks and sift the masa before adding the anise, the lard, the oil, and other ingredients that make the bulk of the tamal. Simultaneously, she was making salsa verde and cooking chicken to be used to fill the tamales. Then she showed me how to wrap them all together in the corn husks! We ended up with a small army of tamales, waiting to be boiled for an hour. In the meantime, family members were arriving. Tamales are an occasion. Although, for the Soto family, they hardly need an excuse to come together. The eight children return frequently to the ranch, just to sit on the kitchen benches and platicar, pass chisme.

Felipe, one of the Soto brothers, was excited to practice his English with me. But Rogelio took special offense at his forwardness, reminding everyone that I knew Spanish. He also felt it was rude for his family to address me as güera instead of Carolina. I told them I didn't mind güera. But I didn't tell them that I will always prefer Carolina.

The tamales were a success. We had enough for dinner that night, breakfast the next morning, and lunch in the afternoon.

"No Idea"

Abbreviated adaptations from my journal. As promised:

bañarse: bathe
nadar: swim

Spanish 101; there's a difference between these two terms, except in the following situation: Los Bañarios de Pachuca. They're thermal springs. Okay. But I didn't know that. So I packed for swimming, and for a bath, because it sounded public. It certainly was. Los Bañarios are a public swimming facility, and we stayed outside all day. One thing I forgot to bring to Mexico: sunscreen. I burnt myself rather nicely. But even so, I am sure that God protected my body from worse. Plus, as I passed by a family applying sunscreen, I asked to use some. They were confused. Everyone is confused when I speak. I am confused when they speak. It is a different vocabulary here than any I have studied. But I don't claim to have studied hard.

"Arrival"

Abbreviated adaptations from my journal. As promised:

The first flight: fine.
The second flight: late. By the time we were off the ground, the kids had worn themselves out. They had asked every question imaginable. Seriously. They expressed interest in every single aspect of their adventure: how does a plane fly? what are those green things? when will we eat? what does your bracelet say?

The bracelet says, "Cristo Vive," and the story of Jesus' death and resurrection took their attention for a longer time than most adults, to the endless fascination of a kind-looking woman sitting nearby.

I began to get nervous as the second flight departed and then my million ridiculous questions started, just as the kids fell asleep: what if they don't meet us? where do we go in the airport to meet them? who will carry our bags? what will immigration say about our travel situation? why did I wear stupid flip-flops, after all? will they like me?

When they did find us, we were on the move. I turned around when I heard, "Carolina!" and found a matronly, sociable Mexican woman. We embraced as if I were her lost grandchild, so great was my relief! I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day. I even gladly ate a meal at McDonald's, (noting the irony of the spotlessness of the place). It may have been better for me had I not eaten at McDonald's, though. Because as soon as we arrived at the house, Dona Delfina gave us more food. I should mention that Dona Delfina came to meet us accompanied by Mauricio, a cousin and the driver; Rogelio, her son and now my boyfriend; and Francisco, a cousin. Somehow it was possible to fit us all and our six bags into an Eddie Bauer edition Ford Explorer.

Mexico

Ya´ll, I´m in Mexico. Good times. I´d like to update. It´ll happen, possibly in the following order: Arrival, No Idea, Tamales, Driving.

A Rather Dull Update

Minimal pizazz, and certainly nothing in the way of bells or whistles.

My birthday was a series of three days this year! Monday, Mom, Chelsea, and Michelle visited me, bringing the long-in-the-way cedar chest. I suppose it is time it passed on to the next McKalips lady. We went to Macaroni Grill where Chelsea played entertainer by questioning the waitress in the least mundane terms. August 11th dawned sultry and... well, I'm not sure. I slept in and went to work for the whole day. Becky found me at work and delivered a bouquet of picked flowers which still sit in the dining room, cheering the world. In the evening, Lachelle, Adriane, Joella, Angela and I went to the Dispensing Company for my first public drink! A white Zinfindel--as girly and flowery as they come, so I'm told.

On Wednesday, Joella and I used the gift that Lachelle and Brian had given us as thank you's for helping with the wedding: an hour-long massage at the Lancaster School of Massage. Oh my. Praise the Lord. Just thinking about it straightens my posture and helps me to breathe more easily. In the evening, Kelly and Sladana came to celebrate with me. We met BJ and Brian at Quips where I ordered the hot wings (on a five-heat scale: mild, medium, hot, ____, hari kari). It turns out the hot wings are extraordinarily hot. It is BJ's custom to order a half dozen hari kari wings for the purposes of torture to all newcomers. I was compelled to eat one. The burning began as I finished it. Then it moved through my whole body. My lips swelled up. My eyes teared uncontrollably. The nail beds under my fingernails that had touched the cursed sauce hurt until the following morning. My stomach was in ruins on Thursday. But all this and, more, all of you, have made my 21st birthday the best one so far! Thank you!

Tomorrow, Tim, Adriane, and their son Elisha and I are headed to Ohio to attend Kara's wedding on Sunday. This will be the first time that my team from Honduras will have been together since we left Harrisburg in 2007! Then, Tuesday of next week, I'll be headed to Mexico with my friends' children. I'll be there until August 30th, and consequently unreachable by phone. But I'll find a computer.

Last Names

Gary, a coworker at the deli, and I often talk about his obsession with baseball. He declares he would marry baseball, if only it were legal, or even possible. Today we were talking about women taking their husbands' last names. I proclaimed my unwillingness to completely retire my last name. I would rather hyphenate or simply have two last names. He firmly believes that it is the wife's responsibility to take on her husband's last name, since, "she belongs to him!"
"And who does he belong to?" I asked. "To baseball," he responded.

Around this time, two of my friends entered, bringing some sanity to the conversation. I asked their opinion on the subject. Carrie said that she intends to take her husband's last name, and gladly, because it is "a special way to honor him." Becky thought something similar, describing a relationship in which it only made sense that a woman would abandon her last name and willingly give her husband the honor of having her be called by his name. That was a nice way to put it.

Rejected Civility

When you come off of the subway
off of the tube
Do you wish for a natural disaster?
Something to break through?

For ears that hear engines grinding and buzzing,
never branches, never bees.
For skin that feels metal gripping, rubber turning,
never treebark, never seas.

Begone, you heathen senses! You do not know your Maker!
We may yet return to our mother's bosom.
Else clouds shall whip and wail
And break through the skyscraping prison bars
to finally touch our longlost faces.

_______________________________

We call it "shelter" where we live, and "fast" how we get there.
Was the earth ever so inhospitable as all that?
The wild is not so savage as we would like to think,
Unless it be from rejected civility:
Going in the back door to rob the house
which we may have lived in.

The Black Thing

One day, my neighbor and I were talking on the phone. We often speak Spanish on the phone, and she was asking if I would like "un mueble." After ascertaining that it was an object upon which one places one's television, I decided that, certainly, un mueble could be of use to our household. I had seen a smallish sort of desk on their porch not long ago, and quickly assumed that it was to this piece of furniture that she was referring.

Upon returning home from a walk later that day, I saw on their porch a different piece of furniture. A hulking, black entertainment center with three large shelves to the left side of the largest compartment (which was still too small for their TV), and three smaller compartments besides. Did I mention that it was massive? And this was what I had agreed to. Though cheaply made, this 55"x60"x30" skeleton weighed enough to cost four people a sweat while moving it two doors down. To our house. I felt as if it would be impossible to say no, and we paid the price in inconvenience.

There was no way for us to accommodate such a beast in either living room or dining room. And having minimal entertainment to begin with, there would be no cause if we did have the space. So the Black Thing, as we began to call it, remained in our entryway for nearly a month. Every time a friend would visit, we offered the Black Thing. We offered the Black Thing as a party favor, a keychain, a wedding gift, a birthday present; no takers! Finally Joella found a friend at her work who was interested, but in need of shipping. Joella's family agreed to use their truck, and Sunday was the appointed moving day. The only time we would have enough people was before church, however. The only difficulty was that it was raining. Hard. By the end of the loading process, we were all sufficiently wet. Joella and I, having re-secured the tarp, were drenched. After church, she and her family took the Black Thing to the friend's house. They moved the Black Thing inside, and Joella glanced around the living room, "which corner would you like it in?"
"Oh, let me show you," she replied, and took them through the whole downstairs to the narrow basement, around another corner to a small den. "Right here."

Right there. They received $10 for gas money. And nothing but the satisfaction of having removed the growing tumor of our entryway. I must repeat: this was my fault. It would have gone over much more easily if I had simply rejected the Black Thing to begin with. Yazmin would have understood. But no. Nooohooohoo. Oh no.

"It is what it is"

What does that really mean? Nothing. It's an excuse to stop talking to me. An excuse to stop thinking about what's right and what's wrong. When all the while, the reality is that it can be what you make it. But no one has ever told you that. No one has ever told you that you are capable of good. Or maybe you just never listened. I wish you'd listen now.

Keepin' it Real

Well, how do I keep my faith real? What do I keep believing in? And when do I ever need to "keep believing," anyway? I am not faced daily with the notion of needing anything. It is easy sometimes to hide behind my physical needs: as long as I am rested and fed, I am somehow complete. But it's not the whole truth, and this complete feeling is sometimes a delusion that masks the reality of my needs. I need need need Christ's assurance of my ingrafted status as a Child of God. I need it tangibly and I need it every day. I need Christ's definition of my identity again and again, solid reminders that I am full of value, enough to motivate his dying on the cross for me.

Somehow, hearing it isn't enough; it takes more to realize my identity and my dependency. And though I don't mind admitting that I am pretty thick-skulled, I've noticed that plenty of people have difficulty understanding the day-to-day implications of actually believing that what Jesus said is real: that he is the light of the world, that he gives living water, that he has come to heal the sick, that he has made the last to be first. You know what keeps it real to me? Asking Jesus to help me when I have a need.

Today I asked Jesus to calm my heart down. I was in deep need: I kept thinking about a situation that worried me, and I couldn't muster a good attitude while I was at work. A good attitude is half the reason I was hired, so it is, in a sense, my bread and butter. I went to the back hallway and paced up and down, praying for something to help--anything at all. God changed my attitude. I didn't just put on a brave face: I was transformed, I turned a corner, something... I have no idea, because it was a miracle. But that's not all. This miracle today, while it may sound minor now that I've written it down, was a pretty big deal to me. The thing is, it's just one of a lot of things the Lord has done for me! I'm serious! He's reassured my heart about an upcoming trip to Mexico, too. Mid-August, I'm planning to take two of my neighbor kids to Mexico to see their family for 10 days. I wasn't sure how I would ever be able to afford the time off work, let alone the spending money it may require. But I'm going to do it. And I feel complete confidence that it will all be fine. The Lord knows exactly what I need, and before I see it, it is good to know that He's already allotted a way to meet my needs. How does he do that? When I reassure myself with the fact that he is indeed my Provider, I wonder why are there some people starving? How can I claim this promise when others have more faith and still don't have what their bodies need? Are their hearts full?

__________________________


Poverty sometimes comes and sits beside me.
Sometimes at dinner. Sometimes as I walk to my house.
She has come to my place of work, stood in my alleyway.
She has looked into my windows, standing on the porch.

Poverty sometimes comes and sits beside me.

And sits silently. Letting me look at her eyes, sunken into a skin-covered skull.
She does not resist my kindness: she accepts my rations.
She sucks them clean to the bone.
And still she is not filled.
Her hair grows thin and wispy above temples exposed to the sun and baked dry.

She cannot be pacified with mere anything.
She must be rebuilt: refreshed with rain and rekindled with mirth.
And maybe she will show her sisters that she has been made new.
And maybe they will never go thirsty again.

Weddings are Exciting

Right now Lachelle and Brian are sitting in the middle of the living room surrounded by table placements and little nametags. Both of them are talking with their respective mothers on their mobiles, discussing guest placement.

Brian: "I thought about putting J___ in that table.... well no, because he lived in Bolivia..."
Lachelle: "If I had known M___ beforehand I would have put her next to T_____..."
Brian:"Do we need an extra spot for them? What if they bring their kids? Do they have two kids?"
Lachelle:"I was going to put Aunt G____ with R____, but she won't be with family, then. Wait 'til I tell you about my week..."

If you can, imagine it all simulataneously taking place.

To my right are lots and lots of boxes and things without boxes, waiting patiently in the queue to be moved across Lancaster to their new home. The mountain grows. Lachelle's to-do list grows, and can be found in small segments in any room of the house. One on this table reads:

--Ask Mom
--Cheese
--Song
--Ages of Kids

Haha! If there was ever any doubt, I have a pretty cool life, with pretty cool people in it.

The Fourth of July

My dad turned 50 on the fourth of July, and everything worked out to visit him and my brother, Megan, and Aida. I have to give a shout out to my fruit salad, as I had never successfully made one before. If you've never tried it, don't say it's easy. All kinds of fruits don't mix together well, and who would have thought that orange juice from concentrate is the best base mixture? Not me; that is to say, allrecipes.com has sort of bailed out all of my cooking events.

My brother manned the grill, and Aida did her best to keep herself posted on all the goings on in all the rooms of the house while still watching Phineas and Ferb. She's nearly four. But she acts and speaks like an older child. I often feel that she sort of skipped toddlerhood in favor of childhood; and I wonder just as often if that is a healthy thing for a person. Either way, she's adorable and more interesting than ever. She's at the time in life when she has a working understanding of most conversations and can participate in them to a fair degree. Yet she still manages to ramble on about E.T. and Elliott, her imaginary friends who are, by turns, her fiance or her brother, or non-existent even to her, making you out to be the insane adult.

After dinner I presented Dad with his card and a print-out of "Every Season" by Nichole Nordeman. I have loved that song for a long time and decided that Dad's gift would be an experience rather than a thing to fill his apartment. So I sang it! I've rarely performed alone, and never for a close crowd like that. It felt like I was holding my heart outside my body for a minute and a half. But as I finished, I felt like it didn't even matter if they had liked the song or not. I think I was real. And I now think that that is more precious than I had ever suspected. I see now what George MacDonald was talking about as he repeated that the Lord is not a harsh taskmaster: He teaches humility in creative, not torturous, ways.

For Lachelle: A Dirge and a Dance

Today I ended the hallway in your room instead of mine.
My thoughts danced in there like we danced
through the living room and into the kitchen,
making shadow puppets on the walls!
In your room singing and strumming,
papers flying from a wellworn desk between
open windows. So much daylight!
And a Saturday morning of sitting and talking.

Now as "miss" turns misnomer
and maidenhood ends, I see the lustrous leaf
which will shoot upward:
the orchid in the dining room window:
this bloom is over and done.
The leaf promises a more beautiful one!

For you, so unhappily close to your birthday that I hope you never see it

Watch this, Dad!
I can hang upside down for a whole minute!
I can run faster than yesterday, and braid a knot of twine into neat rows.
I can say whole strings of sentences backward without ever looking at a page!

And you can send my words back to me without ever looking at them: change the subject to something that interests you.
And I will still wonder if you will make it to the banquet
Through the snow and the ice
And the deer that haunt the roads and keep you from getting here tonight.
And I will still believe that you really wanted to come, somewhere inside.
But couldn't. But couldn't.

20 Miles Later

I have a few blisters on my left foot from the last part of the hike. But the first 17 miles went really well! Becky coordinated a backpacking trip with Katie and Mindy (professionals compared to me!) and myself this weekend. On Friday afternoon we were just getting our bags packed, and my Friday evening we were still crawling along in traffic making our way to Port Clinton. We did not start hiking until 8:30pm! A thunderstorm had just finished, and the sky was clear as could be as we made an ascent up switchbacks to inaugurate our fresh beginning. Two miles later, headlamps illuminated and sweat pouring from...everywhere, we set up camp at the top of the ridge, a mile before the next spring. Becky managed to get a modest fire going after struggles. Later, we packed the food in the bear bag, only then realizing that we had far more than enough food for four people and three days. We needed two bear bags. And we were too tired to actually hoist them. So we set them far off, and laid down beneath the stars. Becky and I hastily set up the tent beside our tarp, just in case someone might chicken out through the night, and seek more secure lodgings.

Saturday was beautiful. The breeze blew as we made our way out around 9:30. It was a good thing we got moving that early, because we had a pretty strenuous hike ahead: at least 10 miles (we never were quite sure), and lots of it uphill. The trail grew rockier and rockier. We stopped at Pulpit Rock. I thought it was the Pinnacle at first, not sure how anything could be grander, but no: the Pinnacle and our lunch stop still lay 2.4 miles ahead, according to the other hikers about. And there were plenty of other hikers around on Saturday and Sunday. I don't know if ya'll have noticed, but it's been raining nonstop this June! This was the first suitable weekend for backpacking, and everyone and their dog was taking advantage of it. Having reached the Pinnacle, we stopped for an hour's rest to eat lunch. I pulled out George MacDonald for the first time on the trip. What a lovely hour. Hawks soared at my feet in a blue sky that reached the whole way to another range of mountains. The sun warmed my back after the breeze had chilled it, and I guarded my peeling (no longer red) legs in the shade of the protruding maze of rocks, trying not to think much about the rattlesnake spotted just down the trail. After the Pinnacle, Saturday ended in a beautiful three miles of spacious trail with few rocks. Katie was relieved most, having only brought trail runners. Her feet were howling and we were ready to eat again. That night we ate as much of our supply as we could: rice and beans, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, s'mores, I'm not even kidding.

Sunday, we had little idea what the trail looked like ahead. The guidebook became somewhat more vague, and the mileage ahead was also questionable. Even so, we did not leave our campsite before we had consumed a multi-course brunch: oranges, muffins (baked in the orange rinds), oatmeal, pudding (made with french vanilla creamer and water), granola, this is not a joke.

Sunday's first miles were smooth. Then we climbed steeply, not descending often, but coming to ridges only to ascend again. Soon my right knee started to be painful during descents, a dull aching at first. I am mostly convinced that it was just tired. But we were not simply going to set up camp; we were going to keep going, and so was my knee. It only grew angrier, though, apparently deaf to all inner pleading, so I began to plead outwardly. I'm sorry to say that I started to cry during our last descent. We took a break, and my companions all took various objects from my pack, and the pack itself. During this interlude, a fellow about our age was climbing up the same trail, a guitar visible from his pack. We all had enough time to joke about him playing me a song to make me feel better before he was within hearing range. Upon seeing our distress, he offered whatever help he could, his hand down the mountain, reassurance that our goal was not too far; even his mobile number, in case we should suddenly have need of it; he offered everything, that is, except to play a song. In the end, Mindy and I headed down the mountain arm in arm, Becky and Katie gerryrigged my pack to Becky's pack, and the mountain minstrel continued on his kind way up the mountain. He had lifted our spirits; just what we needed. The way up the River of Rocks trail was arduous, I daresay a good deal more arduous for my companions with the added weight. I limped blithely along, admiring the river bed that was made of nothing but large rocks. I kept thinking about what it would be like to encounter a "river" actually made of moving, flowing rocks. Painful, probably. We played the word association game. We counted steps. We counted rocks. We drank water. And more water. And still we had more up to go. When we saw cars above us, we took heart. With more water and one last, steep push upward we arrived at a third lookout (not rivaling the Pinnacle, but probably worth the seven bucks they charge at the entrance, through which we left, and so were not charged.) Our elation was visible. It may have scared the little children, actually, with their kind parents, out to enjoy the Sunday afternoon, to be set upon by four boisterous, unshowered hikers who had never been more satisfied to reach their destination.

A few minutes later, our packs safely smelly in Mindy's trunk, rain began in a short, earnest burst. Thank you, Lord, for holding onto the rain's tail just long enough not to endanger our adventure!

Boston in June

I left early Friday morning, the 12th, and drove to BWI and flew to see Lisa and Chris in Boston. I haven't often had the opportunity to travel alone, but I prefer it to the larger group traveling I've done. This is so much less complicated, and there's less cushioning--the insulation of a group can dull the experience of travel. I took the T into the city, that is, the Boston public transportation system, specifically the subway, I think. I had no trouble finding their office building near the Massachusetts Institute of Technology campus. I took the elevator up 12 floors, carrying my backpack, dressed in a purple sweatshirt, sneakers and jeans with holes. As I tried in vain to fix my hair in the reflective walls, the guy in the elevator asked if I was going to an interview. "Dressed like this?! I would hope not!" I replied. Lisa and Chris said that that is normal attire for the people in their building, and the interviewers in the vicinity don't look more favorably on less comfortable, dressier interview outfits, so it's just as well to dress casually. Culture.

I spent the morning finding breakfast around Northeastern University, and the afternoon in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Most of the artwork in my art history textbook from last fall was taken from the BMFA, so I had a certain familiarity with the works. It was like seeing old friends, whose names I mostly didn't remember...

After four hours in the museum, I had seen most of what there was to see, and I was tired. So I searched for a nice bench to nap on in the warm sunlight. I found a beautiful rose garden instead. Dozens of rose bushes in full bloom. Dozens. The rain had just ceased an hour ago, and the sun shone bright on the wet petals, filling the air with perfume that is not for sale.

I slept on a bench later, near Lisa's office building, in the midst of a Filipino cultural celebration. Great music. I explored the MIT bookstore then met up with Lisa for coffee. We waited for Chris then headed all together to Wellesley, two train rides outside the city. We ate Thai Friday night, and I enjoyed Thai iced tea (!).

Saturday, I added another state to my "visited" list: we drove to Connecticut for their haircuts and a visit to Chris' parents. It just so happens that Connecticut is absolutely beautiful, like Massachusetts, although my acquaintance is still limited to what I could see from the highways, between sunny naps and intriguing conversation. The rest of the weekend was peppered with watching Firefly episodes (I admit it! I'm a fan. A big fan. There.) and eating Chris' gourmet cooking. Their church was beautiful and pristine, built in that square meetinghouse fashion that I will always associate with New England. The parishioners were kind, and the service was short.

On a walk, we talked about the Twilight series, which I have not read yet, and Chris finally vocalized what I have suspected for some time: the books are compelling, but not particularly well written; Edward Cullen has every quality of an emotionally abusive boyfriend; Stephanie Meyer might do well to examine her ideals in relationships, as she seems to write unaware of Edward's frightening qualities, vampire-status notwithstanding.

It was so good to talk to Lisa face-to-face.

Together

Your hands look like they could use the company of my own.
I will bring them from your sides and hold them.
Then tell you to hold me tight.
Closer than you think you should.
Doesn't that fit just right?
I could get used to this, if you could.
Maybe forever.
Is this a bad time for such words?
With so many places to go, things to see, yourself to learn?
But I think it will be just fine
to keep
these hands together,
as we wander together.

Red Legs

Monday, my housemates and I went to Cape Henlopen and thoroughly loved every minute of it! That is, excluding the scalding showers. I mean, children were crying, they were so hot. But the beach is beautiful, and the sky was blue and clear. We saw dolphins just yards from where we were swimming, and the waves were the unexciting type, like those of a smallish lake. We tossed frisbee in the water, and played paddleball on the sand. We ate hummus (yummus!) and took naps.

It was during these naps that I overexposed the backs of my legs, which now refuse to bend without crying out in pain. I have used several ounces of aloe lotion and plan on using several more before I can jog or crouch again.

But it was worth it. I love the ocean. Especially when it seems to love me back.

Belleville

On Memorial Day weekend, I visited Stephen, Megan, Aida, and my Dad in Burnham. I had such a good time playing with Aida (nearing four years!) and her two friends, Braden and Cameron. I just loved rough-housing with them and pretending to be fish! On Monday Stephen, Meg, Aida and I spent the day in Boalsburg, the "birthplace of Memorial Day." They have lots of events and a carnival and vendors galore for Memorial Day--in all of the U.S., it was the place to be! My Dad couldn't join us because he wasn't feeling well, but we got to hang out together in Stephen's garden next to the creek below their house (prepositional overload!: out, in, next to, below). We didn't talk about anything new. My Dad likes to talk about guns, my brother likes to humor my Dad, Aida takes her mother's attention. I looked at the sunset as it shone golden and splendid through the trees just above us. Then the gold melted through the lowest-hanging branches into the dark trees lining a meadow across the creek. Creeks gurgle. They really do.

Driving out of Burnham an hour later, I decided to follow through with the plan inside my head since the night before: I would visit Belleville before turning home to Lancaster. Belleville is where I lived with Stephen and my Mom from ages one to six. I still remember the outline of the little town, although it's been over ten years since I last saw the place.

I wish I could better describe the reasons I had for visiting Belleville. I wanted to see Belleville with that self-conscious desire we all have to reread our favorite book as a kid: will it still be funny? will it still make me cry? will I still worry about the dog finding its real mother? I guess I wanted to check to make sure that there was indeed a reality at the center of the memories I retain of my first few years of life. I have a surprising number of memories for a child under the age of seven. I'm told we don't remember our experiences much before age seven. But I do! Sometimes I remember whole conversations. Off track.

I parked at Union Elementary and got out. I turned toward the school and to the area near a tree that the first grade girls used as stables for their My Little Ponies [TM]. I remembered a moment from first grade when I had brought my ponies to school to play with these girls. I came over with my tattered ponies, and asked to play with them. They refused, "No. You can't come play." I don't remember my reaction exactly, but I think it was shame and anger. I may have told them I would make them play with me. But instead I took my ponies and my heavy heart to the playground. Looking back at six-year-old me was strange. That hesitation and insecurity is not gone entirely, but what do I have at age 20 that I didn't have then? The ability to forgive those girls. So I did that, and committed to keep on doing that as I continued my walk through the past.

I went down the little hill of the school toward the lane leading to the Orchard Apartments. There was a stable (a real one) at the corner where I had always been so thrilled to see the head of an old gray horse protruding from a small window on the corner of the building. I walked around the building in the twilight, searching with a sense of eeriness for a phantom horse to pop his head out of one of the windows on the side of the stable. As I turned the corner, I gave a jump! A tall chestnut horse leaned her long head out of the window, nostrils at my eye level. It was the same jump as 14 years ago! She even consented to letting me rub her head as she licked my open palm, wondering where the food was.

I walked around little Belleville in the dusk, seeing only one other person the whole time. The town seemed to be deserted at only 8:30 in the evening. I headed back to my car as I noticed the baseball fields past the school. I headed up the footpath and watched the mountain pull down the very last remnants of color from the sky. But the only song I could think of was about a lakeshore, not mountains. So I sang it anyway, and headed to the car, and to 322 Eastbound, and to Lancaster, and my feather comforter, and statistics homework.

I've been working on this thought for a while now, and it's so simple. Life is building. Each day adds another brick to the structure, and only repetition will create something, good or bad. But how quickly we find ourselves in a whole other wing of the building that is ourselves! There's an uncontrollable continuity of the bricks: each day is 24 hours. And sometimes it seems as though whole months are exactly the same, one after another. But we are moving very quickly, I feel. Even if the scenery looks the same for a while. This may not make sense yet, due to the conflicting metaphors that I have tried unsuccessfully to avoid. But I may revisit this "aloud" in the future. In the words of my stats teacher, "this is just something I love to think about!"

Time for a Survey

Name one thing you worry about running out of. Patience.

Do you wear your seatbelt in the car? Always.

Is there anybody you just wish would fall off the planet? No one should be that special that they can defy the laws of gravity.

How do you flush the toilet in public? I don't understand the question.

Do you have a crush on someone? I don't think so. No. I don't. Thanks for asking. That's all cleared up.

What famous person do you (or other people) think you resemble? Reese Witherspoon's face, and only sometimes. I've also gotten DJ from Full House. And once Topanga from Boy Meets World.

What is your favorite pizza topping? Sauce.

Do you crack your knuckles? No.

What song do you hate the most? I don't want to think about that question.

Did just mentioning that song make it get stuck in your head? Ha! There ya go.

What are your super powers? Making faces, counting letters, spelling.

Peppermint or spearmint? Peppermint.

Where are your car keys? Keyrack.

Whose answers to this questionnaire do you want to hear? Anyone's! I love reading these more than I like to do them!

What's your most annoying habit? Talking. Or leaving my laundry in the basement. Or double-booking. I have a lot.

Where did you last go on vacation? North Carolina. I am still cold.

What is your best physical feature? My ears or my feet, who can choose!?

What CD is closest to you right now? "Winter," by Jon Foreman

What 3 things can always be found in your refrigerator? Fish sauce, because no one eats it. A can of vanilla pepsi, because no one likes soda. And cream cheese, because we rarely eat that. Everything else comes and goes; these just stay forever.

What superstition do you believe/practice? When I become aware of believing a superstition, I try to stop immediately.

What color are your bed sheets? White and blue.

Would you rather be a fish or a bird? A bird.

Do you talk on your cell phone when you drive? On occasion, it's true.

What are your favorite sayings? I'll answer this elsewhere.

What song(s) do you sing most often in the shower? "When You Believe," from Prince of Egypt, and "Tu has venido a la Orilla."

If you could go back or forward in time,where would you go? I prefer moving forward in time only, at the speed of 60 seconds per minute.

What is your favorite Harrison Ford movie? Star Wars: Return of the Jedi.

What CD is in your stereo? "Winter," by Jon Foreman... seriously.

What CD will be in your stereo in a few minutes? I'm not listening to it. So it will still be there.

How many kids do you plan on having? Maybe lots. Maybe none. Unless this is a spiritual question.

If you could kiss anyone who would it be? Just my husband, please.

What do you do when no one is watching? Mostly the same stuff, only more gracefully.

If they made a movie about your life, what actor/actress would be you? Will Smith. ! I have no idea. But I like this question.

Would you rather die in a blaze of glory or peacefully in your sleep? I'll take the blaze of glory.

Coffee or Tea? Coffee, one cream, no sugar.

Favorite musician(s)/bands you've seen in concert? Newsboys, back when their giftings and my taste coincided more.

Have you ever been in love? Yessir.

Do you talk to yourself? Sometimes. But mostly I direct those mental wanderings to the Lord.

A Deli Tale: Birthday Candles

Tonight a group of high school students were studying for an IB exam for a few hours at the deli. Their teacher dismissed them to get food and come back after an hour of study, at which point I was bombarded with "zillions" of orders for french fries and brownies. One boy was especially excited about receiving the brownie, "Do you have any birthday candles back there?"
"Birthday--no. No, we don't have candles at all."
"What about a match?"
"Hey guys, do we have any matches?" I asked the cooks, who only gave me puzzled looks and a tentative "no?".
"Sorry, no matches either."
"What about a stick?" he asked, clearly desperate now. I thought about our assortment of utensils and brought out the party toothpicks.
"Do you want the red top or the blue top?"
"Red," he responded, "it looks more like a flame."
"Well anyone would be honored to have such a birthday brownie, I'm sure."

For 1am there sure seems to be a lot to think about

I have to remember that this time last year I hadn't even begun to work at McDonald's yet. And McDonald's consitutes an entire lifetime. So, I have lived more than an entire lifetime since last year. But I get impatient. And I begin to involuntarily grind my molars as I think about where I will live. Will we get a roommate in time to renew the lease? Will I still be able to get transportation from wherever I live to school? To work? I am waiting for the next step with impatience. Somehow this space looks an awful lot like the drawing board.

Easter Sunday

Voices awaken me. Whispered words in the dark blue dawn. Or is it still night? I strain to hear.

Easter morning, 2009. Micah Berthold had died just three days before. My new pastor and his wife were struggling to bear the weight of this burden. Struggling to know what their good and gracious Lord would do with them now, so broken.

One man's whisper, just audible, "empty," he says. The horizon is just visible, the grass still does not shutter, thick with paralyzing dew.

We brought our praise to the Lord, offering him our thoughts, even our vicarious grief. We thought of sin and love's sacrifice. And we sang through throats choking on sobs.

I raise my head, still bleary from confusion and crying that had taken up the days since His death. No comfort came in sleep, just a place to lay the profound heaviness. We had entrusted all our hopes to Him. The loss we felt was more than that of a friend, or even a brother. We had lost the one who held the sky.

How did Pastor Josef do it? I don't know how he and Brenda bore greeting so many people. They remembered. I don't remember the song we were singing when one man said what we were thinking, "We love you, Josef."
"We love you, too, Bill," responded Josef as he and Brenda held one another's hands. Weight. Glory. Grief and pain were weight in our hearts. And God's glory was turning that weight into something somehow more precious than breathing.

More than one person now is talking, word is spreading. Something has changed, "Empty," "With their own eyes!" "She thought He was a gardener at first." Dawn is full blown day, and the word escapes every person's lips with more emotion and incredulous hope than I can bear, "ALIVE..."

"We shall not die," goes the song. And we sing it. And we believe it. Soul-cracked glory, the weight of the sky presses in. And we still believe it: we are ALIVE because He is also.

The moment when all fear is enveloped in hope--when you finally know you have seen the worst of it--it begs pause. And then, knowing, believing, seeing the promises of life unfold in the presence of my Lord, whose face I had despaired of ever seeing again--the soul leaps to joy.

Quote

From Don DeLillo's White Noise

" 'I'm ultrasensitive to many things.'

'Sunlight, air, food, water, sex.'

'Carcinogenic, every one of them.' "

It's pretty true, living causes cancer. Alright, back to work.

Dear Literary Criticism Paper,

Right now you exist only in faith. But in a matter of four days, I will see you face-to-page. I await that glorious day with thoughts of uninterrupted slumber and an impatience with that part of my mind which is responsible for feeding ideas into a word processor. It is gone and is demanding a higher wage.

Your Expectant Slave,
Carolyn

Some George Carlin Quotes

When someone is impatient and says, "I haven't got all day," I always wonder, How can that be? How can you not have all day?

When you step on the brakes your life is in your foot's hands.

In comic strips, the person on the left always speaks first.

Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.

Frisbeetarianism is the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck.

When Thomas Edison worked late into the night on the electric light, he had to do it by gas lamp or candle. I'm sure it made the work seem that much more urgent.

Some people see things that are and ask, Why? Some people dream of things that never were and ask, Why not? Some people have to go to work and don't have time for all that.

I found all of these here:
http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_carlin.html

From the rest of his quotes, I imagine that Carlin was a pacifist, atheist, libertarian. I also get the distinct impression that he thought a lot. Good comedians always do. Good comedians are a way of keeping humanity humble, I think. So much of what we do, the way we think, is truly stupid. We need someone to call us out on it. And the only way for us to get the point is to laugh at ourselves. Comedian Louis CK makes some similar points:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus

Some Friends

My friend, Rogelio was taken into custody last week and is being held indefinitely for a court hearing. Yazmin and I tried unsuccessfully last week to visit him in prison. Today I saw him through that ridiculous glass as we spoke on the phones. The woman next to me was shouting so loudly at her boyfriend for stealing from her and doing crack, that I could hardly understand his dispossessed sorrowful words, "Es muy feo aqui. Muy feo. Se pelean por todo, por javon, por espacio, por nada. Pero yo he conocido a un dominicano que tiene una biblia. Leyemos juntos y oramos. Y regresamos a las camas. No tenemos mucho de comer." I taught him an English phrase, "this sucks." But he's had more time with the Lord this week than I have in perhaps the entire year...

I'm blessed by my neighbors. I had the most incredible conversation with Yazmin at Waffle House. For some reason, I couldn't communicate much of anything in Spanish today. But she didn't mind. We talked about her history. She told me how she left home at the age of 15 and married her husband-- no one from home knew for several months. He is eight years older than she, and they had some really rocky times in their relationship. She has always been honest with him, though. And she said often between 17 and 20 years old that she wanted to leave, that she didn't love him. But she had nowhere to go, and he did not force her to stay. But he lovingly talked her down when he could. When he couldn't talk her down, he waited.

It's been two years since she's spoken that way to him, especially not in front of her children. She became a Christian two weeks ago, and things have changed in her heart. She's been increasingly aware of how her negative talk about her situation has affected their children. I asked her if she loved Rudolfo. She said she thinks so. But she's not sure, even though she feels grateful to the Lord that he's a good man, and that they are good friends. She is confident that she will love him increasingly as she prays to love him.

My heart exalts in victory. A victory for my God. Praise the Lord.

Future Self: have mercy. All is done except
today. Look not so harshly on the person
of your youth, of your middle age, of your
elder years. Understand ignorance as a
seed, a sappling, a living thing pushing
up and letting change blow over it,
around it. Only you can understand the
journey to now. Sever not this tie!
Call me you! I am! I am!
Own me as you own yesterday, as I
own tomorrow, even owning myself.
And look to Him for the mercy I have
not. Look to Him, self, for the grace to
own the journey.

Lightyears Beyond Me: Derrida

The readability meter that Microsoft Word uses is Flesch-Kincaid grade level. Most of what I write, I've noticed, rates right around grade 9. The Flesch-Kincaid grade level for Jacques Derrida is 14.8.
Assuming my reading level is at most equal to my status as second semester college sophomore, I am still not quite old enough to read him. The fact is, I don't think I'll ever be old enough to read him. Average words per sentence = 41.

Spring Break Events: elongated laundry-list style

• Mom, Chelsea, my grandma, and I went to dinner to celebrate my grandpa's 77th birthday Friday night.
• Then I drove Mom and Chelsea home through a blinding rainstorm.
• Saturday and Sunday I visited with Stephen, Megan and Aida who came for the weekend! They are such a treat. It's true.
• I then crashed an ultimate frisbee game with people very much not my age. I miss playing regularly.
• And Kelly and Sladana and I had coffee and lovely conversation Sunday night.
• Mom and I returned to Lancaster Monday through the snowstorm.
• Joella, Rachel, Jess and I left Tuesday morning for North Carolina Beach State Park.
• Every night we froze and every day we slowly enjoyed our leisure. Notably, cypress trees are very beautiful, and Venus Fly Traps are not in season in early March. An RV camper walked by our campsite one morning and complimented our "heartiness" to sleep in a tent in such weather. Tuesday night was 22 degrees and our tent was of the summery, meshy version. Oh, Lord, thank you for the bathhouse! Rachel and I slept there that night.
• Today as I walked in the beautiful, 72 degree Pennsylvania weather, I met a lady named Valerie who was sitting and enjoying the weather, too. We talked for over an hour. She has lived an incredible life.
• Now, the rest of Spring break, I hope, will consist of finishing a paper, starting another, finishing a book, studying for Political Theory and working.

A Deli Tale: Steelers and Iron

Ferguson is the greatest living Steelers fan. He is also the drunkest living Steelers fan. He comes in most Friday nights, drunk, to order a cheesesteak. But he does not order just any cheesesteak. It is a "Steelers'cheesesteak!" He usually calls out "Go STEELERS!" several times after entering the deli. And the cooks in the back respond with a jovial, "Yeah!" "Steelers!!" or "That Roethlisberger!" When calling out his order, my coworkers have compelled me to call, "one Steelers' cheesesteak for here!" If one does not specify, he will not respond, or so I'm told.

Now, Andy and Cody come in at any time of the day or night to simply annoy us. They are my neighbors and my boss has made various deals with them which sort of exchange work with indefinite amounts of food. In keeping with this, they consider themselves borderline employees and take extra liberties as such. They make a racket while waiting for food, talk with customers with whom they are not acquainted, sell items from their school fundraisers, and generally disregard all of our censures when not given in an iron tone.

One night, Andy and Cody were waiting for their order of cheese fries. After twice telling them to keep away from the cash register, and step back from the ordering line, I was ready for more drastic measures. It so happened that Ferguson was preparing to order when I found Cody and Andy smugly angling near the register. That was it, the iron entered my voice, and I sternly called them out, "boys! If you continue to disobey my instructions I will call security! You are in a public place and you need to act like it!" They stepped back.

I looked back at Ferguson, ready to take his order, with an apologetic half-smile. He looked down, his scruffy beard wrinkling over his double chin. His bloodshot eyes looked a little shocked as he quietly ordered "just a cheesesteak." That was all. He did not yell toward the kitchen, he simply took his seat quietly, waiting for me to call out his order, at full attention.

I think Ferguson mistook my iron tone for scolding him instead of the boys, of whom he may or may not have taken notice. He has always been more subdued with me since then, though his jolly manner was greatly helped by the Superbowl results. In fact, he stopped ordering cheesesteaks after their victory, and has ordered grilled chicken sandwiches, to the great heartbreak of the cooks.

What to do on a Saturday night?

After work early Saturday evening, I was confronted with a mass of homework left undone for just that moment. So, naturally, I called Adriane and Tim to see if they were interested in going to Franklin and Marshall to watch Six Characters in Search of an Author. It's a really wonderful play that I've read and discussed--and is there anything better than going to see a play with which you're the least bit familiar? No. No there is not. But they were quite spent and couldn't come. So I asked another friend, who had in mind a quiet movie night at home, instead. So we watched a movie and I walked back late, half asleep, still thinking about having missed the play.

It's important to find people who will go to see thinking-type plays with you at a moment's notice. But if they're not available, it might be a better idea to just go alone, and not wish you had gone.

Dear "O": Wish you were here.

What happened to the "o" in manoeuver? We can't decide that some words will change for the sake of efficiency and others will remain uselessly difficult. Through and though come to mind. Superfluous letters are a mark of the English language. I embrace them. I miss them when they're gone.

Educatin' and Mackin'

I have begun my field experience through my education class. I get to spend time in a REAL middle school in Lancaster, with REAL teachers and REAL students. The thing is, I'm paired with the school librarian. She is a wonderful person, truly. But her time with students does not overlap much when I am there. Also, I do not want to be a librarian. Not at all. I dig the Dewey decimal system and all. I dig books. But I have never been on good terms with large-scale research or large amounts of paperwork. Not surprisingly, Research + Paperwork = Being a Librarian.

This experience taught me a few things already, though. Teaching does not solely involve students. It comes with other teachers, too. And teachers all have opinions. All of 'em.

In other news, last night I was preparing to close around 8:30 at the deli. A guy came in who had called in his order, which was not ready at the time he paid. Assuming Gary would bring out the completed order when it was finished, I resumed sweeping in the dining room. Soon, the customer and I struck up a conversation. We talked for several minutes, 'til I had finished sweeping the entire room... Still no food. I thought maybe it was time to check on it. The order had been ready since (Gary claims) "just after the guy arrived." Mortified, I handed the guy his order with a smile, "it just came up!" ...Gary was sure that I would have checked for the order already, so he had assumed I was just "mackin', looking for a Valentine's date." No. No I was not.

The Happiest People in the World

Here is a selection from Dorothy Osborne's Letters that I found in Woolf's A Room of One's Own.


"The heat of the day is spent in reading or working and about sixe or seven a Clock, I walkeout into a Common that lyes hard by the house where a great many young wenches keep Sheep and Cow’s and sitt in the shades singing of Ballads; I goe to them and compare their voyces and Beauty’s to some Ancient Shepherdesses that I have read of and finde a vaste difference there, but trust mee I think these are as innocent as those could bee. I talke to them, and finde they want nothing to make them the happiest People in the world, but the knoledge that they are soe. most commonly when we are in the middest of our discourse one looks aboute her and spyes her Cow’s goeing into the Corne and then away they all run, as if they had wing’s at theire heels."

The happiest people in the world, "but the knoledge that they are soe." It makes me wonder, am I in that category as well? I think so. And the more so, because I know it. But I cannot allow fear of diminishing happiness to darken my happiness:

"What though my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Savior liveth! / What though the darkness gather 'round? Songs in the night He giveth! / No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that rock I'm clinging! / While love is Lord of heav'n and earth, how can I keep from singing?!"

Maybe Christians are the happiest and solemnest people on earth.

There has to be something poetic about wearing university sweatpants at the same time as a seventh grade t-shirt. Have you ever felt like that girl? You know, the stupid one? She is sort of flirty and sort of silly, even though she displays an aptitude during class. She has difficulty understanding even the most rudimentary of concepts regarding social interaction, let alone putting them into practice. And, you know, it's not that I'm afraid I've become her... it's just the questions that I must now work through, eventually leading to a conclusion, please Lord.

This moment of recognition may just be a symptom of reading Plato, or maybe of living. But I fear that I have neglected a core portion of my morality: that is to say, when and where did I form morals? "The Bible" isn't the whole answer here, but wouldn't that be nice? Where does my work ethic come from? Am I patriotic? Those questions alone are enough to keep me thinking for several weeks. Unfortunately, those were only from one of my four probing classes. Who knew higher thinking could be so draining?

Almost one week later, I still wonder why
you have read The Catcher in the Rye
So many times.
Is it because you sympathize
with emptiness just behind the eyes?
Bloodshot and remarkable, they hold my attention.

Hace dos años

Y todavía te recuerdo bien, niño. Viniste a mi lado, habías estado borracho o algo. Me preguntaste, "?me quieres?"
Te dije, "no. No te quiero." Pero esto fue antes de saber que significaba 'te quiero' y como se relataba al frase 'te amo.' Niño, te amo como Cristo me ama. Lo siento que no podía decirte en tu propio idioma. No se donde estas. Pero si estés en la calle todavía, que el Señor te contara de su amor. Es suficiente aun para ti. Y testifica mucho mejor que yo.

Sitting on a Radiator

Because with the wind chill it's 9 degrees outside. Yesterday I had all five classes, excepting my bio lab. This meant that I was on campus from 8am to 9pm. Tuesdays might be rough. In my educational foundations class, our first assignment is to write about our "touchstone." ...? Seriously? What? I have no idea. I wish I could say by what standard I measure my own teaching values... but I don't have teaching values yet. I've never taught anything. The second assignment is to write our goals for becoming better educators? The only problem is that I have no idea what those goals are and I have no idea how to fudge this. A new problem entirely, for me.



My evening literary research class is already interesting. Questions I would like to have answered: Why have you read The Catcher in the Rye so many times? Why did you leave so early? I'm pretty sure that Lyle Hall is not open past 8pm.

A Politically Correct Little Red Riding Hood

http://www.averyhillarts.com/rrh_pc.html

I have very little against being PC, except when it begins to trifle with the actual meaning of tolerance... But this is one of my favorite versions of the tale.

Looking Forward

Today our newest roommate arrives. Simultaneously, I go to work where I will inevitably stand around for inordinate amounts of time with very little to do. When does school begin again?