A Plea

Oh come, come, Emmanuel.

I think I need you more and more the older I get.

I need you, Jesus, more than hot cocoa, fake snow, real snow, a good show, caroling, stockings on the mantel, and tea lights in the window.

What perverse part of me ever supposed that those things matter, that without them, I am somehow missing out on Christmas?

No, what I need and what I got was dirty hay, a draughty cave, and the Savior of the world.

Come, Emmanuel.

Hijacked from my Journal: November 9, 2010

Bless Mick, driving the bus.

He and his wife are splitting up: irreconcilable differences.

Over the past month, he's grown his hair out

drunk too much

worked too much,

because he's free.

A new man,

without a wife;

torn up and convincing me that he's not

bleeding,

while he tells some college student on the bus about the heart's greatest failure:

a failure to strive.

Hijacked from my Journal: September 10, 2010

On my way to the bus, I saw a man carrying a giant green duffel bag on his back.

(Maybe it mattered solely because I've been reading Kerouac, and maybe it was the disheveled hair and three of four days' growth of beard on his chin that made him look travel-worn.)

He turned the corner of Lemon and College,

several yards in front of me.

A few houses down, he climbed the steps slowly, to the front door of a nicely-kept house.

It was a place where a family, maybe older, certainly rich, would live. But his door was the smaller front door, where he was probably renting from the nice family.

No stir was perceptible as he entered, late morning.

I thought, "he is coming home after a long journey. And I am the only one who knows."

Wine Terminology

I'm learning about wines. I never know how to describe them. Joella's advice? "Just think of a person you know, and describe them."

Me: So, this wine is lanky, freckled, curly...

Joella: Not so much physical characteristics, like, say, "this wine is creative..."

Me: it likes to be around people...

Becky: You're not getting it! Give her another example, Joella.

Joella: This wine is delicate and thin...

Me: ...it gets sick easily, can't stand the sun.

Other descriptors we decided might be useful:

sincere, vibrant, fat, sunsetty

Oh! the Places You'll Miss!

Is it a curse of getting older that you begin to miss people and places no matter where you are and how good a life you have? Does it keep piling up, the people and places you love and therefore miss?

Facebook has not been helpful here, really. I see my friend list, and think about Fairview Avenue Brethren in Christ, the first place where I felt as though God were my Father. I miss my mentors from there: I had six that I can count off, no problem.

And it was at FABIC that I learned the book of Hebrews as few have had the privilege of learning the book of Hebrews: forward and backward and forever.

And it was at FABIC where I made so many friends: irreplaceable, good people, who were too young to pretend to be something they weren't.

Let's face it, geography means an awful lot. You have to make local friends, though you keep less local ones forever.

My conclusion before I started was that missing people and places is not a curse at all, really. But an aching blessing.

Dear Space-Time Continuum

Not that the space-time continuum has paid much attention to this plea in the past, but here goes another rendition:

Dear Space-Time Continuum,

Please, won't you slow down? When I looked at my Facebook profile, I saw my last status update, a book I had just finished. I thought, "man, that was just late last night." NO. It was Monday. Today is Wednesday. I'm dropping days! And suddenly I'm putting on chapstick and wondering, as I walk in cold rain, when it became so gray and wintry and where I put my warm socks. Waking and sleeping are blurs. I slept at my school placement during our planning period. I opened my book and slept like a baby.

I'm not blaming you, Space-Time Continuum. I'm begging you, would you find it somewhere in your stagnant, existential "heart" to either slow down time, or clone me (like in that movie, Multiplicity) so that I have a chance at writing and reading and thinking and maybe, just maybe... sleeping?

Forever Yours (if not by choice, by divine decree),

Carolyn

Fire!

Me: There was a fire in the library today! [Insert more detailed story.]

Joella: There was a vole in the office today. [Insert less detailed story.] It was about the size of a mouse.

Me: That was about the size of the fire.

Joella: Maybe. But a fire grows much faster than a vole.

Evening

A phone call for solidarity.

Do you still love me?

I thought I could make it in this big, big pond.

But my voice is quavering as I ask you

a question about something trivial.

Whatever you say, I will only hear:

you will make it, dear one; you're fighting against the tide.

You don't need one single thing.

You're mine, mine, mine.

Or

Your time is not now, your welcome worn thin.

You certainly lack what it takes.

How dare you bring home your wealth of mistakes!

Answer me as if I were bleeding.

But do not let me know that it is your compassion that speaks to me, heartsore.

I would rather believe it is the truth.

Literary Accountability

Instructions: Have you read more than six of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here.
Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Bold those books you've read in their entirety. Italicize the ones you started but didn't finish or read only an excerpt. Tag other book nerds.

Who can resist the occasional literacy accountability from the BBC? Not me. (I snagged this from Kendra Gehman.)

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma -Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Inferno - Dante

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Morning

Lord,

I am so profoundly grateful for the bus that is on time, Author of Order out of Chaos.

I am so grateful for the coffee in my hand, the book on my lap, Author of Comfort in time of Distress.

I am so grateful for the hair that blows in the wind, feet that move in rhythm, Persistent Giver of Life in the face of Death.

I am so grateful for the clothes that more than cover my body--even fitting, hugging my waist, draping my ankles, You who give all that I can't believe I had the nerve to ask.

In Pakistan, are the floods receding?

In New York, will the homeless find warmth?

On this bus, will the travelers go home to a garden?

The sun is shining golden, making the sky blue, in Pennsylvania in November.

If gold can make blue

in Pennsylvania,

in November,

then perhaps we have reason to hope.

Beginning

Oh boy. I just spent my first day at the alternative school where I'm placed for this month. Oh boy. More to come. So far, I think I would like to teach there. The kids are quick. I saw a small altercation. I played two truths and a lie with twelfth-graders. They thought I had two kids and wouldn't believe that I had five stepsisters...? Most everyone guessed my age correctly. But they'll never know it. Everyone wanted to know if I was married. I tried to think of a witty response, but nothing came. They are so curious about your personal life!

Something Old and Something New

The New comes first:

I just finished the Praxis II test. It was so dang easy that I shouldn't even devote time to it in even this most casual of published media. However, it marks a movement forward in time for which I am very, very grateful.

I may not always be in search of part-time jobs. One day I may have a classroom where challenges will take place on a different level than those which I have faced this week. I just got a new job. Did you know that? I started this week. And it's over this week, too. They are closing. I'm back on the hunt. But the real tragedy has little to do with my job search. I may now be in competition for the same part-time job as the people who paid me just two days ago. Disappointing. But not a strange tale for our times.

Now, for the old. These are some poems I had written and first published on my xanga. (I haven't linked my xanga to this blog. I don't think I will.) I occasionally revisit it to see where I've come from.

Modern English

Fragmented.

Or poignant?

To Our Father in Heaven:

From what depths You cry!

Have cried to reach me!

Suddenly I am awake.

I have been crying too!

Awareness crashes in.

A child crying after a great fall.

And You. Emerge out of the darkness,

Calling my name.

It is my name because You have called.

I have heard it.

You have taken me in Your arms

And You have spoken it. Are You crying

With

Me?

Such tidings You bear!

Comfort and joy!

Bagel Shop

I work at a bagel shop. You hear strange phrases in any workplace which become commonplace.

"We have lots of everything. But we're running low on everything else."

A Student in Fall

Here is a writing exercise for creating smaller, more provocative prose. Think of a place, a time. Take all the words you need to create the picture in your own mind.

Here's mine:

Widget the cat

hot chocolate

sofa chair, striped

purring

peace

wishing for a snow storm

Now, add as few words as you can to create a picture of the moment for another reader.

Here's mine:

Short days have come with fall. I stay inside when the sun is out. I sit with a book, the cat, hot chocolate, and wish for a snow storm to give me peace.

While in Chicago

I had two mid-terms to send in to my professors on the Thursday that we arrived in North Chicago. One was based on a book mentioned here already, On Being a Teacher. The other was comparing Jack Kerouac and Saul Bellow. I sat in the lobby of the Comfort Inn with my headphones in my ears, listening to Shawn McDonald as I fought to regain my consciousness. I was exhausted from the drive.

I had some reflections of value from the books. But in the end, I emailed my professor for an extension. So, do I recommend On the Road or Herzog? Meh. Not really. On the Road is good to know historically. Plus, it has the ring of some deep truths: the infinite search for purpose, and the imminent failure of it all; the likeliness of disappointment; the feel of connection to one's surroundings; what it takes to be human. But it surprised me with its sadness. Maybe it is worthwhile.

Herzog was not very reachable for me. The book is comprised of the hilarious and wordy ramblings of a highly-trained academic. I could identify with him at the strangest moments. His perspective is rather childish for a man with so much learning. I'm making it sound like I had fun reading the book. I didn't. I laid on the couch for two and a half hours and got bloodshot eyes, a strained neck, and a soppy brain out of the deal. I did, however, find this to be beautiful:

"There is a distant garden where curious objects grow, and there, in the lovely dusk of green, the heart of Moses E. Herzog hangs like a peach."

What is the difference between an event and an experience?

My Niece

Me: Aida, wanna hear some of my really-boring paper?

Aida: Sure.

Me: K. Just say "stop" when it gets too boring for you, alright?

Aida: I will.

Me: "Both Saul Bellow and Jack Kerouac are writing in the post World War II era--"

Aida: STOP. That was really boring.

____________________________________

Me: Aida, I have a question.

Aida: What?

Me: Is there a story about why your dad calls you "Pickle"?

Aida: Sure.

Me: Is it a secret story?

Aida: No. It's 'cause he loves me.

Boot Camp Graduation

On Friday, Stephen graduated from naval recruit training. My sister-in-law, niece, baby nephew, and I sat through lots of drills which seemed very meaningful to the audience around me. I wasn't overly impressed. I was impressed, however, by the number of flags which his division had earned. Out of a possible ten, they had earned nine while setting multiple records. Yay!

When the commanding officer said "liberty call!" the whole room moved forward. The recruits were inundated with family. We forsook the room in a rush, all contained energy. We spent our afternoon in the hotel talking and napping and hearing about how everyone at boot camp gets sick at some point, and only "the wusses" go to medical. During these stories, Aida crawled up on her father's lap. She looked up at him and said any time she felt like it, "Daddy, I missed you." She kept his face in her field of vision at all times, soaking him in. As he told stories, moving his hands, she moved hers in the same way, imitating him exactly.

After we returned from dinner in the evening, Aida, Holden and I said goodbye to Stephen for the evening. He had to be back on base by nine pm, and he and Megan wanted an hour out together.

Oh, my. If you could only have seen her tears when she hugged her daddy goodbye. She wanted to be left alone then, with just her thoughts of her dad and the promise of seeing him in the morning. I cried, too. They've been best friends for so long.

When Cat Fell Out of the World

Cat sat at the window inside the world. She looked at the picture that changed.

But today the screen was up. Cat was suddenly out of the world! The ground smelled like living bugs. The air was achingly close, in her fur, through her whiskers.

The neighbor's calls and sirens and carhorns could touch her pricked ears! Her tail dipped and touched the grasses moved by the wind. She crunched leaves under her paws.

Cat gave a cry. She missed sitting under the table and dodging moving legs in the world.

You, Jesus

It was You

when the floods rose

It was You

when the sun rose,

You who taught the winds to sigh,

Who taught the rose to bloom

and die.

Balance in Autumn

Study has intensified. It's no longer a matter of my own education. The education of others seems to be hanging in the balance of this semester. I grasp wildly at information, hoping to commit it to memory. Giving up hope. Straining. Rededicating my hope to Christ. But then grasping again.

I am reading On Being a Teacher: The Human Dimension. It says the most important characteristics of a teacher are charisma, compassion, egalitarianism, and a sense of humor. I think I really agree. My favorite teachers have displayed these traits.

It talks about how teachers must live a balanced life. Our lives are on parade at all times. We have the duty to be the most well-adjusted people possible. That means, occasionally, setting down the book in hand, and going to greet fall. Unfortunately, all caveats from my professors regarding balance seem to be aimed at a time in the future, not the present. They set up a useful conundrum: maintain balance, but most of your life should be comprised of schoolwork. One might as well pay to learn the lessons of balance.

It's not their fault that I swim in books. There is probably no shortcut to understanding the lesson plan, or to creating an effective, safe classroom environment. It begs to be studied. And I feel that I am studying for dear life!

________________________

I watch from the center of an indifferent crowd, each one a mandate to give or take.

How important we all are in our glorious busyness!

Rusty fall comes in, beautiful, a friend from ages past,

magnanimously bowing boughs, dipping her head at each guest.

But I cannot move to greet her, disturbing all these guests.

I must not go to greet her, although she is my friend!

She smiles from a distance, a look of understanding.

Dear friend, mentor, forgive me!

We cannot talk for now.

I'm confined to entertain a host of urgencies.

George MacDonald Narrates Life

A poem out of Diary of an Old Soul, a meditation for September.

13.

'Things do go wrong. I know grief, pain, and fear.
I see them lord it sore and wide around.'
From her fair twilight answers Truth, star-crowned,
'Things wrong are needful where wrong things abound.
Things go not wrong; but Pain, with dog and spear,
False faith from human hearts will hunt and hound.
The earth shall quake 'neath them that trust the solid ground.'

Machetes, Mission Bamboo, Family

Why was my forearm hurting on Tuesday? Why was my hand cramped? Because I was wielding a machete all Monday. At Joella's family's home, affectionately called The Hideaway, some of her family, Becky and I worked at landscaping. We hacked at weeds and poison ivy, growing in large, jungly ropes up the sides of trees thick and tall. Some of the vines were so hefty that they were suitable for Tarzan-style swinging.

After the larger part of the work for the day was finished, it was decided that some of us should go find bamboo to be assembled into an archway at the end of the lane. The only problem was that no bamboo grew on their property. Normally, this is a blessing, for bamboo is invasive, as Asher pointed out, and Joella, and Zachary... "but the old place has bamboo!" "But we can't just go creeping around there. It's too visible. Plus that'd be weird." "There's some bamboo down the road at the neighbors'!" "Yeah!" "I'll go along if we can sing the 'Mission Impossible' theme!"

And so, Becky, Joella, and I took Snickers bars and the family pick-up down route 441 to a stand of bamboo on the shoulder of the road. We clambered out and hacked away, no doubt to the bewilderment of all passersby. But, I ask you, what would you do if you needed bamboo RIGHT NOW? That's what I thought.

We worked quickly, and I sat in the back of the pick-up with the 12 green stalks, my legs and arms around the bases of the stalks, foliage flying. Joella did not go slowly the half mile down 441, and several times the stalks wrenched almost free of my grasp, and out into the wide world. At the end of the lane, we deposited the bamboo and went flying up to the house to "get into our party clothes" for a picnic with Jo's family.

The Garbers are so sweet. The celebration began in a circle of lawn chairs, with Jared and Sarah, in unintentionally matching shirts, introducing the strangers to the family. Then we ate, and I drank up the atmosphere of family. Joshua, the one-year-old, was all the centerpiece anyone could wish for. He played alone in the middle of this circle, with the occasional family member stopping by to help him play his colored xylophone.

In little time, the circle had divided into three groups: the men, the women, and the youth, with Joshua, of course, on the outer edge of all three of these. I remained a member of the youth group for the purposes of this gathering, for even some of the young married folks found themselves still in the youth group. We told jokes and chatted about the silliest things. Haha, running barefoot...

It made me wonder what my family would do on such an occasion (if, say, we were ever to have one). Would there be outsiders? Would there be awkwardness if we were to so align ourselves in time and space as to be together? Would the men find a common interest? Would the women? Would there be pettiness? Probably not much, pettiness takes a certain level of comfort... I don't know. But I want to find out someday. I miss what I know of my extended family.

Geese and Work

I sat on the steps near the duck pond, reading J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories. Friday was hot, you'll recall, but dry. It reminded me of Arizona, where the wind and the heat hug your body. Class was in session, so the campus was quiet. The benches around the pond were filled with students not earnestly doing work. Peace reigned in this liminal space that marked the start of class, but not the end of summer.

Then goose honking filled the air. Fast-approaching, an air raid of geese swarmed overhead, flying in three close, lopsided V's. They normally inhabit the surface of the pond and surround it with wispy white feathers, causing some commotion which fades into the background. They are the hosts of the pond, really. And yet, I did not even know they were missing until they touched down in the middle of the pond, fully exploiting their rights as both denizens and hosts of the pond.

At first, they clustered in their flying groups and faced each other, West Side Story style. Then they became one large flock once more and faced the fountain on the eastern side of the pond. Little by little, their honking ceased. They were paying obeisance to the great fountain, which kept their water from stagnating and smelling. I half expected the fountain to talk, for it seemed as though they were all waiting for something. The geese held their positions in the turning waters, for a breeze had kicked up, and their own flapping had caused the water to stir.

As slowly as their honking had stopped, they turned to their different poses of life, as if suddenly remembering this was their home and they had housekeeping, after all. They preened and squawked a little, and dived down, and pecked one another, and forgot the fountain and their warlike entrance.

I turned to work. I have two jobs right now: The Cove at Millersville, and College Corner Cafe (fondly known as The Bagel Shop) at Franklin and Marshall College. It will probably get a little complicated to work out my schedule if I keep both jobs all semester... and goodness knows what next semester will hold in the way of work, for I'll be student teaching. I'm praying now. Pray, too, for provision that I might not have to work so much.

Pakistan, Canadian Donations

Oh God, do something for these people.

Flood in Pakistan.

People like me, with nowhere to go.

They need everything.

I groan with them.

Oh God, do something for these people.

__________________________

Here's some of what BBC has to say about it:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-11105165

Here's what Mennonite Central Committee has going on:

http://mcc.org/stories/news/race-against-time-pakistan

In Canada, the federal government is matching private donations on behalf of Pakistan. Whoa. You can donate at the bottom of the page.

Trees, by [Alfred] Joyce Kilmer, 1914

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me;

But only God can make a tree.

Grand Ohio: A Narrative Tapering Into (surprise!) a List

I arrived in Ohio on August 12th, around 3am. I was so dazed, that as soon as the train was stopped, I proceeded to attempt to exit the train. I did not notice that we had not yet pulled into the station. The conductor man held my arm, keeping me from walking a good eighth of a mile on stones with two pieces of luggage, amusing as that might have been for him.

It was so good to see Ivana! We talked until six in the morning, naturally. Thursday was over before it began, and we never fully recovered from the all-nighter. (We discovered that we particularly have a need to sleep in the nighttime; day simply won't do.)

In the late afternoon, we met up with Kara and Rick, a 3/5 STEP team reunion! At Kara and Rick's wedding last summer, Rick called us his STEP team-in-law: precious. We had such lovely conversation Thursday evening. Every time I see these girls, I feel as though our bond has grown deeper, as we see each other in new environs. We talked about changes, God, education. I played with their miniature dachshund.

On Friday morning, Ivana took Philip and I through a workout at a nearby gym. I was sore until yesterday. Also, I had the chance twice in five days to sport my summer-camp-special knowledge of the Hoedown Throwdown, to undeserved applause.

Afterward, Ivana, her mom, Dawn, and I toured Harry London's chocolate factory. Chocolate. Chocolate...

We then met Ivana's childhood friend/brother at the airport where he works. It was tearful and difficult, as he had removed himself from them two years before and Ivana had missed any chance of seeing him in recent history by being out of the country. We left with a promise from him that he would visit soon: breakfast, if he was able to wake up for it.

Quickly recovering equanimity, we went to see the last three quarters of the movie Ramona and Beezus at a $1.50 theater. The best part was the man who had come alone, sitting behind us, laughing hysterically at the funny parts, and repeating his favorite lines throughout. As a movie-talker myself, I sympathized deeply, enjoying the experience all the more for the joy in stereo quality.

And so Friday ended with games and fun at the DuBose house, and a late night of talking, I am pretty sure.

Saturday contained a DuBose family reunion. How lovely to see them with family! And a lovely family, at that. We stayed in the kitchen for hours, talking and feasting. In the evening, Ivana pulled out canvases and paints and we set to work on being creative!

On Sunday we attended church. The pastor spoke on I Corinthians xiii, substituting “Love” for “Jesus.” “Jesus is patient, Jesus is kind. Jesus does not envy, he does not boast...”

We made enchiladas for lunch and ate together. The DuBose manner of table conversation goes like this:

Person 1: Did you guys see Linda at church today?

Person 2: Who's Linda?

Person 3: She's the lady with the loud dog!

P2: Oh! You mean the lady who carries the huge red purse?

P3: No, that's Mrs. Simmons. Linda's the lady with the curly hair who lives on Grant.

P4: Amy Grant was on TV last night with P. Diddy. They were singing together!

P2: You lie!

P3: [Insert Amy Grant impression].

[Laughter, all.]

P1: [quietly, unheard] I have Linda's bowl from the church picnic still.

Monday. Ivana and I agreed that my stay had not been long enough. We still had not completed all the requisite activities that Canton had to offer, including passing by the football hall of fame (not even going inside, really; and merely because it exists, not because I have any care for football), going shopping,...other stuff. We visited the Warther's museum. What can't a person do who doesn't watch television!?!

In the evening, we attended the O'Jays' (they sing “Love Train”) scholarship banquet. A reception took place in the Football Hall of Fame, then we moved outside into a tent for the meal and the speakers. The food was lame. But we looked good! And we had a good time talking with the people at the table. The speaker was some guy from CNN. When we got back home, we were exhausted. I was pensive and ready for sleep. But we stayed up til 3 am to wait for the train.

Booklist

Hey everyone, if you have any of these books, and you'd like to give them to me, I'll reimburse you for postage! Also, this is what is in store for me for the next semester, holla!

21st Century Skills (Trilling)

Doing School (Pope)

On Being a Teacher: Human Dimension (Kottler)

What Every Teacher Should Know About Classroom Management (Levin)

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Diaz)

Herzog (Bellow)

Hours (Cunningham)

Let the Great World Spin (McCann)

Mrs. Dalloway (Woolf)

Nine Stories (Salinger)

On the Road (Kerouac)

Returning to the Earth (Harrison)

Song of Solomon (Morrison)

Surfacing (Atwood)

Differentiation (Wormeli)

Bridging English (Milner)

Birthday Freedom

Back in the city.
22 years old.
On the move.
I missed the transformative sunrise.
I did not create anything new.
I did not, in fact, even try to find a way to celebrate.

Do you know why?

At 22 years, one should feel free from expectations like that.

If I want to create a ritual, well, I may.

But if I want to sleep on a mattress in the middle of someone else's floor,

and wake up at eight am to do laundry

to pack a bag full of clothes ruined by camp

so I can catch a day-long train to Ohio to visit some friends, well, I'll do it.

Suppose that were my birthday ritual?

That'd be weird.

How Shelby and I Met: A True Story

Shelby's grandmother is beset with Schloppinger's disease, a debilitating, strange disease, which has caused her to lose the use of both arms. Her greatest joy amidst her biplegic life is calling in to win radio contests. Of course, she can't dial, so she has a caretaker make the calls for her. Her whole family scoffed at her silly hobby until she won two tickets to visit Northern Ireland. She was delighted to invite Shelby, who had dialed many a call-in radio program for her. What's more, one of her good friends lived there, whom she had not seen in ages: a Mr. Rochester.

Meanwhile, I was studying in Northern Ireland for my doctoral thesis on bedflies, also known as noctororum scoliorum. I was hiking with my handicapped friend, also a sufferer of Schloppinger's. We were headed to Mussenden Temple to explore the ruins of the burnt castle which an older, insecure bishop had built for his young, beautiful wife. The ruins of the castle are surrounded by a large ditch which had possibly served as a moat in the past.

While exploring, I began to need a bathroom urgently. The only thing to use was the moat. I looked about for a person on patrol who might deter the necessary act. The only thing my eyes lit upon was a battered sign that read: BEWARE, SHEEP GRAZING. I knew, just as I'm sure you do, that certain breed of sheep can spell peril to those who are so unfortunate as to be caught staring upward into their eyes. Looking down upon a sheep means little, however, for they assume you to be their superior. Due to my weighted bladder, I meant to risk it, whatever the cost.

Just as I emerged from the wide ditch, there was a girl of about my age, staring in disbelief at my impertinence. She assumed, quite correctly, that I had used the moat as a bathroom. "Didn't you see the sign?!" She pointed, eyes wide. I tensed immediately, on guard for the sheep attack. She saw my look of panic and assumed a fighting stance as well, believing me to have seen some raucous sheep activity headed in our direction.

Seeing nothing, she saw the root of our misunderstanding, and pointed to the sign of which she had meant to accuse me. Directly beside me was a sign which read: ABSOLUTELY NO PEEING IN THE MOAT. We both laughed, eased by our mistake, and made introductions. We were mutually impressed by our immediate fighting reactions, but our conversation was cut short by the needs of our handicapped companions.

Some days later, we were destined to meet again! While studying, I was staying at the home of a friend named Jane. She told me of her admiration of her employer, a man named Mr. Rochester; indeed, the very same Rochester with whom Shelby's grandmother was so closely acquainted. So it fell that at a dinner party hosted by Rochester, Jane and I were to be in attendance. Who else should grace the table but Shelby and her biplegic grandmother!

While taking a tour of the large Rochester mansion, a castle, to be sure, Shelby and I finished the conversation from the moat days earlier. So deep in our thoughts were we that we became dreadfully lost in the place. We headed eastward in the mansion, toward voices which we supposed to belong to our friends. How wrong we were!

We trod up a staircase, much worn and quite small, believing it to be the servants' entrance to the hallway near the dining room. We heard laughter: at times faint, then quite loud, then a good deal of talking. But as we approached, all seemed to be coming from one voice, and that not of our friends at all. We assumed our sheep-fighting stances, and tried the door, only to find it locked.

At this, disappointed and relieved, we decided upon an alternate route which finally brought us to our friends who had hardly noticed our disappearance. Rochester was the exception, for he seemed to note our pale faces and breathless entrance. He kept a close eye on us for the rest of the evening, fidgeting more than before, and ushered us out long before the appropriate time of departure for family friends.

With these two singular experiences behind us, Shelby and I were forced to part once more. She and her grandmother were headed back to Pennsylvania, while I stayed in the area for some months more. When I returned to Pennsylvania, Shelby and I met up again at Millersville University: I with my doctorate, naturally, and with a slightly redder haircolor, a common effect of working with bedflies, the notable result of my research.

Wouldn't you know it! We read in the paper just days after meeting again that our friends, Jane and Mr. Rochester had been in love. But those strange voices we had heard in the night had belonged to MRS. Rochester! Mr. Rochester had married a crazed woman many years ago, and had kept her in the far east tower all that time!

Now, just as we told our group of nine middle-schoolers on camp-out night, if you google "Jane and Rochester," you're sure to find the newspaper articles which we found to be so disturbing. For our part, Shelby and I are still divided as to the appropriateness of the relationship which Mr. Rochester had allowed to ensue despite his lawful marital status.

Two Lists

Things that are the same:

God is good.

My head is full.

Things that are different:

My heart is not worried, just broken.

My cabin is so diverse! I know that we will be working through lots of difficulties this week. I'm exhilarated by the possibilities.

Camp is quickly coming to an end.

I'm headed to Ohio on my birthday!

Squirrels make me downright uncomfortable.

I am super emotional. This is rare. Normally my emotions are a few levels down. Just look at me wrong and I might cry.

Outpost

We play a game here called Outpost. Red flag belts versus blue flag belts. Each team is searching for the other teams large flags, and pulling opposing colored flag belts. There are four ranks: one general for each team, five lieutenants, colonels, privates. All are worth a different number of points if captured. The lieutenants, for example are 25 points, the privates are 5 points. The best strategy for lieutenants is to simply hide and try not to be captured. Then there are flag-bearers; assassins who don't wear belts and pull only the flag-bearers; then mercenaries who the generals buy to pull flag belts.

The privates and colonels stay together to pull flags and to scout for the flag-bearer.

Easy? Sure. EXCEPT that it takes place at night! I was a lieutenant whose ankle hurt. I ended up running stealthily through the woods, falling into a ditch, and remaining hidden there for the last 25 minutes of the game. While in hiding, I let my imagination take over and I tried to remember all the war stories I had ever read. I thought of Born on the Fourth of July, and All Quiet on the Western Front. And you know what? I can see how little boys love to pretend fight.

From the First Teen Week

From Monday morning, I was pretty certain that each of the nine girls in my cabin were leaders, "Gamma Girls" as one article calls them: young women who do not need the approval of their peers to know and do what is right; they are happy, interesting, busy, involved. They are less susceptible to peer pressure due to their own self-control and inner contentment.

All nine girls led the way in everything. We danced, we laughed, we had generally the best week of my life. They loved worship time and decided to be the last ones dismissed each night if we could do it.

During my last one-on-one time late Friday night, we walked around the main camp area. Aubrey had not spoken much of her own accord throughout the week. She mostly relied on her best friend Kari who was also in the cabin. But when we were alone, she finally had a million questions. She wondered about Satan and his fall from heaven (a strange, sticky story, if you ask me); she wondered how she could be right with God. She had kept all her precious thoughts to herself all week. Many of her questions had been addressed during our evening services or during our cabin discussions. But the answers had gone over her head.

I tried to bring the gospel down from its lofty heights to the very ground we were now sitting on. Every time I explain God's love for us in Jesus, I get butterflies. The concepts of grace and justice and forgiveness had been fluttering over my head, too. And when I finally took them down to hold them, they became dear and real again.

Aubrey recommitted her life to Jesus on Friday night. She wants her Sin to be Forgiven. She had asked Jesus into her life before, but she has not been discipled in the interim, and she didn't understand anymore. I wish I could say that my head wasn't drooping before the end of our conversation. She had so much more to tell me. She is a writer. She's in the midst of authoring a mystery novel. She is an adventurer. She is not afraid of anything the ropes course can throw at her, she is not afraid of new places, of new people. She loves to tell stories. She loves to be in theater.

I say "Weekend" you say "WooHOO!"

Middle schoolers came this past week. I had a cabin who didn't enjoy discussing deeper subjects. It was so difficult to draw them out, that I almost cried after our evening cabin time on Tuesday night! By campout night on Wednesday, I made a few discoveries: they just weren't the kind of people to talk about their hearts in a big group. They just weren't. And I couldn't make them fit a mold of my expectations.

So we went star-spinning in the ballfield Wednesday night. We laughed til we were tired, then walked through the darkness back to our campsite. Some of the girls were so scared! I loved it.

During our one-on-one times, away from the group and their stilted dynamics, I felt that I really began to know them; and they are such precious girls. I wish even now that they could return next week. This is notable, because for all other weeks, I felt no such inclination of actual friendship developing. Our relationships til last week were something like maternal leadership.

On Thursday, during my first game of Drop Zone, I rolled my ankle. It's still swollen and angry, but I think it'll be ready for running by mid-next week. That is, after the mini-week campers (second- and third-graders) leave, of course. Oh, how I love the weekend!

Forging a Life of Less Sleep: Fourth and Fifth Grade Weeks

Camp moves quickly. Builders for God were here this week. They did so much, almost imperceptibly. The camp looks so beautiful. Time for a visit? Think about it.

A full quarter of the staff are feeling ill in some way or another. I have a persistent cough. Some of us are fatigued. I can tell that I've given it my all, and I am proud of it. This afternoon I slept for three full hours and awoke to Becky standing in my doorway! A lovely surprise.

My two groups of girls over the last two weeks could not have differed more. The first week, they were mostly all 11-year-olds. They were boy crazy, self-conscious, self-aware, hesitant to get too deep in a group for fear of being called weak for vulnerability. Individually, they were able to get a little deeper. The girls with whom I had one-on-one time all come from difficult home lives. Kay's father left them on her birthday this year. She has night terrors if she doesn't journal before going to sleep.

Four years ago, Kira found her newborn sister dead in her crib. She has been in counseling ever since. She and her mom go to visit the baby's grave every month. Every month! I was crying by the end of her story. But she seems to be unaware of her stinted healing. She is not moving on.

Reilly is one of ten children. She is right in the middle and proclaimed by all to be the most mature of all the kids. She cleans constantly for fear that she will lose her standing as the most behaved child.

It's difficult to get serious with people who are eleven years old in a group. But they sober right up when it's just the two of you.

This week, my cabin was all ten-year-olds. They did not sober right up when we were one-on-one. Some of their stories were challenging. But they as a group were the challenge. They had constant energy. When Christyn and I would wake up for our personal devotion time at 6:30am, we saw six or seven heads pop up and look about. They ran on less than seven hours of sleep every night. (Note "ran"). And we both went to bed later and woke up earlier than they. Not. Fair.

Middle schoolers come next week. Pray that the coughing will end and that we'll be ready to give a new set of everything.

Special Week

I get blogging opportunities far less here at camp than at home. Last week was special week, people with special needs, all with mental disabilities. Here is an excerpt from my journal:

"How do I record so many new experiences? Lana is an adult with Down's Syndrome. She is so quiet and full of sweetness. It's as if she knows all the secrets of the Kingdom, all the secrets of happiness.

"She speaks softly. She lets the leaves on the bough above her dance. And dance. And in her heart, I think she is dancing, too; because her smile is wonder to me. Her hugs draw me close and she plants a kiss on my cheek. She is trusting me with all she has.

"Linda mutters during naptime. She has multiple personalities and maybe Down's Syndrome. She knows how to o everything regarding her own hygiene and she keeps track of others' whereabouts. She can understand various, more complex subjects. Her conversation tells me this. Yet--where is her peace? Oh Lord, she does not have the same apparent simplicity as Lana. So where does she rest?"

This Summer

Maybe you've heard, though I decided only about a month ago. I'm at Black Rock Retreat for the summer. I am happily a senior camp counselor until August seventh.

For mailing purposes:

Carolyn McK

c/o Black Rock Retreat

1345 Kirkwood Pike

Quarryville, PA 17566

We're Going to the Beach

and we're going to bring:

an Apple

a Bag for the apples

a Carabiner

a Dog

Extra oil

a Fart("uh... I mean... a Frisbee")

a Great blue heron

Hummus

an Ibis ("to keep the heron company")

Jokes

a Kite ("Not the bird!")

a Loser

M&M's ("oh! oh! Or MadLibs!")

Nectarines

Oreos

Peaches

Quilting Needles

Rum!

Strawberries

a Tacklebox ("We're done here, aren't we?" "Yes." "Oh, definitely.")

I'm compiling games to bring along to camp. This is one of them. I'm tempted to be the mean counselor who brings a verbal riddle, like the elephant game. I still hate the elephant game.

Notebook Exploration

These are from fall of 2007, my one semester at Houghton College.

I found this haiku in the front of my notebook for advanced composition with Dr. Susan Bruxvoort Lipscomb:

If at first you

Can't count to five syllables,

You're probably me.

I found this letter to God in the back of my notebook for English literature survey with Dr. Wardwell. That was the best class I have ever taken. During finals, I was pacing the lengths of the bookshelves memorizing slices of poetry and their authors. When I wrote this letter, I had just taken a long look at Gulliver's Travels and was about to move on to The Rape of the Lock. But my mind stopped. So I began:

I want to tell You all about it by a shimmering stream, beneath a cerulean sky. But I have a light brown study carrel with a light that hums next to a window and a heater. And I have a very serious amount of studying to do for my final in two days. But, God, I'm just so SO--! I want to tell You under a starry sky, with the world beneath You and I together. We'd watch each star as it watched us, and You'd tell me a secret and I would make You laugh.

But I have a hundred (or two dozen) goodbyes to make. And who knows for how long it will be? One year? This lifetime? All eternity? Jesus only You could know... I'm just so--! So mad and clueless, expectant and helpless. So scared and tired, excited and weary. And not busy. Like I should be.

Even though I walk the shores, all the mountains, town after town, one city, then another, even though I see Your creation right beside all that of man, I will always listen for Your voice. It always calls me here. To begin again at the beginning, while I'm in the middle of everything busy, getting ready to make a change. I'll start with You. And I'll end with You.

Reality

is boxes lining my left wall. Time for moving.

I will be spending this summer at Black Rock Retreat as a senior counselor. The first time I saw the place was the day of the interview. As I described it to the camp director, it was my "last-ditch effort at being obedient." I would be glad to see you if you decide to retreat there this summer!

Things I Learned

today:

1. Mulan was a real person

2. I am tired of writing.

3. I may get to be a camp counselor at Black Rock Retreat this summer...

Seagull Staredown

I ride the bus.
Lately I've noticed the seagulls at the shopping center.
They are a flock!
All at once they rise as the bus passes by,

to the right near the guitar store.
They are a ruckus.
They settle on the other side of the central parking lot.
Here we come--the bus monster!
They are mad, fat beach pigeons.
As we pass by the grocery, one stares at us: eyes wide, beak working.
He curses us in seagull.

You Want to Play Cranium With Me?

I can spell "delicious" backwards, I do a mean Eddie Murphy impression, and I can draw a toilet with my eyes closed.

Weekend Ends

Church last Sunday was especially wonderful. Jewel Showalter spoke and she tells the most engaging stories! BJ and I met up with Steve and Meg outside my house where Joella was in the midst of her home church luncheon. They welcomed our entrance to their party; but our mutual space and discreet goals complicated our desire to eat lunch and leave for Denver quickly. The four of us hurried off to Chestnut Hill Cafe and sat freezing outside in the sunlight of the blustery day. That place gets crowded of a Sunday afternoon!

We talked about city vs. country life. (Interesting, a similar topic occupied the conversation of many Arcadian writers and romantic poets.) Stephen believes firmly that Burnham, Pennsylvania, specifically the "Burnham Riviera," is the best town the world has to offer. So why, I wonder, does he seek a life in the navy? Possibly, home is most dear when we gaze at it from a distance.

We traveled to Denver, (close to Ephrata, non-locals) to attend our Uncle and Aunt's open house. Four birthdays (ages 20, 40, 50, 52...?), Abby home on leave, and a beautiful April are more than enough reason to celebrate with the Buckles family. Steve and Meg were fawned over for several reasons: our family is not accustomed to being in the same room with one another, they are having a baby (a BOY, in SEPTEMBER!), and they are just so good-looking.

Abby is radiant, despite days and nights spent training in a submarine. Nicole is a wonder-person--anyone will feel comfortable in her presence, what a gift! Mom came, dressed in magenta. Grandma and Grandpa came, full of new experience. Their hearts go so deep now, I wonder if I will ever know them. Uncle Ralph showed all the newcomers to the food table, happy enough to direct the friendly chaos. Aunt Lisa held a little baby most of the time, flitting about through hall, living rooms, and porch, the kitchen her constant center.

Camera flashes and goodbyes later, Mom and I returned to Lancaster. She settled into a "nap" while I drove to a frisbee game. Loss, 8-5. We had a Bob Evans breakfast in the morning, but my mind was already turning to my English Portfolios.

No time, no time to reflect. The garden winds that remade me, the family that I treasure, the breathless motion of springtime... little by little I remember to live. Two weeks until the end of junior year.

Weekend Continues

Last weekend was so packed that it merits three separate posts. Steve and Meg and I left Lancaster with our packed lunches and some non-specific directions. The day's goals: Longwood Gardens and the Brandywine River Museum. The day was windy, and clouds moved quickly in large mounds across the sun. We wanted to see everything. We started with the outer perimeter of brand new treehouses and the hourglass lake where catfish swarmed from under the bridge to gulp at the tulip petals I dropped. Those hideous beasts. If they were any bigger, I am sure I would have felt some fear.

We visited the DuPont house where a very large kitty was reclining on some cacti. Visitor after visitor stooped and petted her; the only indication that she was still alive was the rhythmic rise and fall of her massive belly.

We passed through the tulip beds: squares of the densest tulip patches humans can manage. A block of bright orange, a block of streaked yellow and red with fringes like leather jackets; a block of sedate and orderly small-headed purple; a block of magenta; light pink; large white-petalled towers over tiny violas.

At the far end of the tulips, a cat slept on a bench near a sign which told us of the important role the cats play in the garden: they catch rodents in exchange for (a seemingly endless supply of) food, shelter, and more loving tourists than Cinderella at Disney World.

We traveled into the trees near the belltower. A limby North African tree stood at the bottom of the hill near the Magnolias lining the road. Oh, that tree needed a friend. Sometimes fathers will build jungle gyms in their back yards so their kids can climb all around and see the world from a thousand different angles and turn upside down and look up into the sky. God built this one. I climbed high up into it. There were no signs. I am pretty sure I'm insured.

Our legs were getting tired. We could use a rest. We passed through a side door in the wall of apple trees at the edge of the vegetable gardens and found three chairs around a little garden table. I half expected wood elves to come serve us cider and honey wafers to restore our energies. After a brief respite, we turned the corner out of the alcove to find that we were right back in the action of the gardens.

We went into the conservatory where we experienced the perfume exhibit. Wow.

As we walked down from the bonsai room, there was Kelly Neibert. Just walking along alone. "Kelly!" I thought. But in reality, I just stared into her face as intensely as possible, so she would be sure to notice the stranger to her right. We talked precious little. She was busy. We were leaving.

We braved the long lines at the gift shop to buy Aida a mini gardening set, and an African violet for my aunt. The Brandywine River Museum was closing when we arrived. We went to a Thai Restaurant and loved it. We were tired. We rested in my living room where I watched and they made fun of the new Twilight movie, New Moon. Really, Twilight, guys? Yes, really. When we see the next one (and we will!), we plan on muting it and adding our own dialogue. You're invited to come see the magic.

Weekend Begins

[The part of my brain which communicates immediately and thoroughly through the written word is broken. I want to tell you about my weekend. But...? Why is it so difficult to move beyond the garbled nonsense? You know, good writers begin with this crap, just to get their minds on the plain of the page, then erase it afterwards. Well, I believe I'll retain it somehow. There has to be a way to work in matters of such delicate transparency as the true beginning of a piece...]

I was excited for work to end on Friday, because my cousin, on leave from the navy, was coming to visit. And not only that, but Stephen and Megan, too. And if that were not enough, Sladana was in town to visit with BJ. They were on their way for dinner, as well. Oh! What fun times!

First in the kitchen, some heart-filled, informative conversation ("how have you been?" "it's been so long!").

Then, the party expanded to the dining room, with common ground, exclamation, and triumph ("I just finished that book!" "we're five months pregnant").

With the shining promise of renewed aunthood, we moved to the living room, where the party continued to expand ("is there a smily face on that snow-covered mountain?" "it's a tattoo").

Houses may be a convenient place to keep the things of life; a good place to sleep. But probably the primary purpose of a residence is to laugh with people you love.

Looking to Summer

April and December are my low-volume blogging months. The reasons? An abundance of schoolwork and a lack of sleep. In response to the increased demands on my time, here is a brief list of things/thoughts that made me smile this week, with explanations.

Cherry blossoms: they cover the far edge of the pond at Millersville. Huge catfish wag their fins just above the surface, flicking away the blossoms to make little, moving chasms.

George MacDonald: whom I read in the summertime.

Breezes through my third-floor bedroom

Tiki time: tiki torches, back yard, "how was your day?"

Fresh asparagus: fresh anything, actually.

Bright purple clothing

A haircut: but I'm waiting til July to go above the chin...

Making my point in a paper: Auteur Theory. It can ruin a Michael Bay film without even trying.

Choosing a new book to read
Choosing an old book to read: these two acts will not happen for another three or four weeks.

Family visiting: Mom, Dan, Michelle, and Chelsea visited last Monday for lunch. We played storybook pictionary at Lindon's diner. Next week, Stephen and Megan will visit! We're headed to Longwood Gardens.

Road trip: I'm ready for one! Anyone with a sunroof is welcome to take me anywhere without notice after May eighth. All unauthorized trips subject to the whim and care of Thomas Campus Deli, the availability of this author, and the weather. See terms and obligations listed elsewhere for details.

Philly Trip

No way should I be writing this right now. I have homework like I can only imagine. But it's going on a week,and my dear little bloggie has no idea about actual life events! Just snippets of thoughts, and, let's be honest, that's nothing to chew on!

Last Wednesday, Daniel, Todd, Wayne and I headed to the train station to catch the 9:30 train to 30th Street Station. Todd brought biscotti. Todd wins.

Daniel gave a brief (and enlightening, as always, Dan, (no sarcasm here, I promise!)) music-genre study on our ride. Shortly thereafter I fell asleep. I dreamed of homework. Then we were in Philly! Todd brought a map. Another win for Todd.

The day was beautiful and breezy. We walked in the historical district on our way to find cheesesteaks (one word, Google, don't you give me that red underline!) in South Street. Gianna's Grill is a hole-in-the-wall spot known for its vegan cheese steaks. Daniel's opinion: vegetarians should stick to creating their own menu instead of imitating meat--nasty.

Later, the Franklin Institute, where they are featuring Body Worlds 2. That was crazy weird. Real bodies, preserved through plastination. Instead of calling them people, the placards called them "plastinates." It was interesting to me in a morbid way. I was pretty disturbed when we got to the fetuses. The human body is miraculous, certainly. I saw an eight-week old embryo already identifiable as a human, but the size of a dime. Dude. But those little humans did not sign up to be put on display in the Franklin Institute.

We walked through the heart. I saw a brain shriveled by Alzheimer's disease. We played with airflow and inertia and camera angles and got hungry again.

Dinner was Reading Terminal Market, formerly the inner city train station before 30th Street was built. I ate sushi which I thought to be fish-free until I found an auspicious tentacle in the maki roll that fell apart. Also, Bassett's ice cream is everything Bill said it would be.

Back to the Franklin Institute for the IMAX showing of Avatar. We had to switch seats to keep everyone from straining their necks and/or throwing up. The screen fills one's field of vision to the point of certain nausea. Avatar is a wonderful movie, a powerful message about the environment, imperialism, selfishness, [loss of] culture... go see it.

Then the late train back to Lancaster. I slept again. This time I dreamed of Avatar.

Oh, to know!

My small group just returned from visiting a man in the hospital. He's well known around here, but I had never met him before tonight.

His wife is lit up from inside. She rubbed his back as she stood beside him, a smile on her face. The room was full with ten people, sitting and standing, all more or less at ease. Clearly, this was not everyone's first visit to a hospital. But even more apparent, they were visiting their close friend.

We tossed a balloon around, then a football. His motor skills were improving, though his speech was mostly garbled. His wife spoke to him directly when she failed to understand his meanings, "I'm sorry, sometimes I don't understand still. But I want to. You're making such a good effort!"

We prayed before leaving. An hour with ten people is long enough to exhaust some healthy people. We first prayed for him. Then for her. As we prayed for her, I noticed him nod his head, his heart in full agreement with the blessings we spoke over his wife: strength, peace. I don't know if anyone else saw, but I was honored to see what he couldn't say in words right now: how he loves loves loves the hands that held his foot, lighting rubbing his sock as we stood around him.

She told us that the last time he was speaking with fluency, the doctor had asked him how he was. "I'm praising the Lord," he said.

It must take a lot of time to become so lovely. It's a stretch for me to realize right now, that God loves me, this man, and his wife with the same love. I had a rare glimpse into the precious heart of suffering.