Missing You, Church

I don't have big events happening right now as I wait for our child to be born, maybe this week, maybe today. But I'm dying to write something down, anything, because I go back through my blog every now and then and wonder at the long silences: wasn't anything happening? The truth is, a sea change is taking place, but it's so quiet, there's no event to narrate, no pithy interactions with strangers to laugh at later.

So I went back through my Google Photos and chose a month and year at random to think and write about. From this exercise, February 1, 2015, I found pictures of a baby dedication! It seems fitting.

Maya, Josh, Nora, Andre, and Henry were being dedicated that day. They are all chubby-cheeked and beyond cute. Maya has these perfectly-shaped eyes and she stares off into the congregation from her father's arms, seeing her larger family from a new vantage. Josh, only a few months old, has his thick hair parted in the middle and is dressed in a dapper baby suit, complete with tie and pocket square. Nora looks at the Pastor with some curiosity at his touching her head, but is maybe ready to believe it is a blessing. Andre's mom, Janelle, holds him close and he looks positively angelic, even if half his face is covered by his pacifier. Henry might be the most baby-looking of them all, for some reason. His duck-fluff hair is barely settled on his sweet, round head. He is wide-eyed and alert, but quietly sitting in his father's arms, facing outward. 

These little babies are a bunch of five-year-olds now! I see them on their parents' Instagram and on Zoom and through the occasional email; they're doing wonderful things like holding snakes, going to school, making friends in new places, learning to feed their baby brother. I hope I never underestimate seeing kids growing up close ever again. It broke my heart when I returned from Morocco, the growing I had missed seeing weekly and monthly at church. And now! The pandemic separates us, and our recent move, and several months, and in one case, an ocean, and I tell you, digital messages are something, but they're nothing compared to looking around the room at West End Church, and seeing each little kid troop in from Sunday School with their sticker sheets to sit with their families not quietly. I miss you and your kids, West End. So much. 

The Size of a Baby at 15 Weeks

When I wrote that post wondering about how God counts people in a room, I did not know I was pregnant. I found out the very next day. Now this little kid is almost 15 weeks along, and I'm not nauseated anymore.

The internet has been helpful regarding size. I know that the baby is now the size of...
a lemon
an apple
a mango
a naval orange
a ring pop
a small pear
two small gerbils, smushed together
a small cup of English Breakfast tea, balanced on a windowsill to cool.

A few more things about this pregnancy. I haven't enjoyed coffee for 15 weeks unless it was 92% milk. It's good that our lives will expand into this other life. But we are still somehow our own people, with our own needs. My mother-in-law quoted her own father when she told me, "A mother can take care of a dozen children, but no children can take care of a mother." That'll still be up to me. I might need reminding.

Summer Intermission

Right now, this summer is in six or seven drafts I've only begun with a title or a line or an image. The past month has been so full. Since school ended on June 21, I have seen so much of Morocco, Ireland, Northern Ireland, my own heart, my family. I don't have a mechanism to process all of what I've seen. I like to stare at things long, be in a room for a long time, have long conversations. In this deluge of sensation, where the plan is no more than a few nights in any given place for two months, I worry I will forget.

I do not want to forget a single bit of it, not even the stuffy and smelly queue Rachel and I waited in at the Fes train station: not even that memory.

I do not want to forget the smell of the market around the bus stop between Chefchaouen and Casablanca; dry dirt kicked up by vehicles, tanned leather, and bathrooms...

The relief of my friend's listening ear; my cousin's belief in me even when it seemed I had lost my mind; my aunt's joy in picking out dates and saffron in the market...

The sound of the endless ocean on the cliffs of Castlerock...

The translucent jellyfish on that beach, what the ocean must sneeze out when it's sick with jellyfish...

The sweet and sweaty heat of Washington DC when we came out of the airport and I stepped on my homeland's pavement.

"You're Still Young"

"You're still young. You have plenty of time."

It's a disconcerting thing to hear at the end of a conversation where you've been talking about being single versus being married.

Plenty of time for what? To bear children? To find love and marry? To grow up? Please don't tell me I'm a kid. Even if you think it's true, I'm not having it. Biologically, I'm well into my adulthood, and anthropologically, I'm already elderly.

It doesn't feel like there's plenty of time. Minutes slip by, and some things are no longer an option. There's not plenty of time to become a ballet dancer. That ship had sailed, and I'm literally too old for it.

I'm living my life, and glad I've made the choices I have. My life has been about a lot of things: fear and understanding, estrangement and belonging. There's a list that could go on.

It's clear that my life has not been about getting married and having children. Maybe it will be someday, and maybe not. But I don't see it as my endgame, that's all. I still need love and family, and I'm so serious about this when I say I have found my eternal love, and I have an eternal family. It's Jesus Christ, and his church. 

Your Good Gifts. You're Good Gifts.

Sometimes gifts come at exactly the right time, and make the deepest impression. I usually don't choose the right gifts to bring to parties, and sometimes I give up. I can think of two weddings where I just FORGOT to bring a gift. But I don't want to do without gifts. I need them, and so do you. In celebration of gifts, here's a list of some of the most important ones I've received.

I listened to the Pocahontas soundtrack, and discovered that I loved to sing. Who thought that would be a good gift? An aunt and uncle I haven't seen in 20 years.

I take up this notebook, and realize it, too, was a gift to me. I am so grateful for it. Blank sheets for my pulsing heart to glide along; blue lines to bring its rhythm true. Slow alignment.

An argyle t-shirt dress I wore with tights for two years. I had very few growth spurts. And as ugly as the garment sounds, I can assure you it was totally in style mid-nineties.

A down comforter I slept on before I even reached home.

My current cell phone.

Yesterday's pancakes.

A pair of heart-shaped earrings.

Spontaneously plugging my tire, filling it with air, and telling me it would be alright.

A plastic to-go mug filled with hot coffee when I left your house for a long drive home. I still use that mug.

After moving into the apartment, with far less help that I needed (read, just my mom - her moving help was one of those gifts that you can never repay), the two of you bounded up the stairs with smoothies for my mom and me.

When we were in Vegas over my birthday, you gave me a card with a cat on the front. I'm bound to say no more in public, but I still laugh when I see it on my dresser.

You gave me your bed when you moved out, and it is far superior to my old one.

You, grandma, trusted me with a responsibility recently. It was so small, setting up something decorative. I could have forgotten about it. I have only since realized that you entrusted me with a piece of your happiness.

You took me seriously when I sounded crazy, more than once, and became indignant for my sake.

You gave me some headbands I use all the time.

You trusted me with a secret. I have kept it.

You gave me frankincense, my favorite scent in all the world. Always available to me now.

This list... it's killing me. It's hard to tell where it ends. It doesn't end. I meant to focus this on the material gifts you've given me, friends, acquaintances, strangers! But I cannot separate them from the immaterial that have been so dear to me. Thank you.

Who Teaches Us Not to Cry?

When we were at Grandma and Grandpa's house, there was to be no crying.  I was a highly sensitive child (now I am a highly sensitive adult), and cried when I felt insecure or angry, which was much of the time.

When I was four or five, we went on a family vacation together to the beach: my mom, brother, grandparents. We stayed in their camper. For reasons I don't remember, I was crying one night. Grandma towered over me and said in an almost-growl, "Now stop crying!"

You, reader, understand how, as a human, this approach is bound to backfire, and instead of quieting and assuring the child's soul, it will only ruffle it further. My mother was wisely unwilling to get in the way of my grandmother. Later, though, I asked my mother what had happened. Why had my grandmother told me not to cry when I was feeling upset? And why had she, my mom, not rescued me?

My mom's response was a brief history: my grandmother had told her own children all their lives not to cry. This had wounded my mother, who is also quite sensitive, but she had learned to bear the pain more quietly, or at least not in the presence of my grandmother. From my grandmother, I later learned that her mother had always told her own children not to cry. "And she never said, 'I love you,' your Great Grandmother Mae," explained Mom, "You just had to know it." And so my grandmother had also lived her life, not saying, "I love you." You just had to know it somehow.

-----

I visited my grandmother today. A few minutes into our visit, I said, "I have news to tell you." Her face lightened. I know she was expecting me to tell her that I had found a wonderful boyfriend, that I thought he was the one, and that we'd be getting married in six months, would she be free on October the 10th to play "Here Comes the Bride"?

Instead, I told her the actual news, "I'm going back into teaching this year. I'm moving to Morocco at the end of this July, and I'm staying there for two years."

She stared for just a moment, her face fallen, "I could just cry right now."

But she didn't cry right then.

We talked about Morocco for a little while. Then we spent all afternoon avoiding the subjects of the heart. She is often somewhat belligerent about my opinions and annoyed when I make jokes. And it was all completely worse because I knew she was despondent over my pending departure in July, though she didn't say so. It wears on a person not to speak out their fears and hopes. I felt totally spent when 2 o'clock came.

I began to gather my things, make my way to the door. She hugged me, and with tears in her eyes she held me close to her, "I know you have to go [to Morocco], and I won't stand in your way. But I love you."

-----

When we're born, our very first thing to do is to cry. It means we're alive.

Thanks, Mom

Prompt: Indulge in nostalgia

I don't normally think about the positive things I associate with being a kid. My childhood is filled with half-gratified desires. I often think about how hard I had it. I always had questions that needed answering, and I longed to grow up so I could be taken seriously.

The library. As a child, my room had lots of picture books, and we were always at the library swapping them out. We rented movies from there, too, especially during the summer. I remember the first time I saw Princess Bride. My brother was skeptical that it was going to be "a girl movie" (ha!!). It should go without saying that we were both entirely satisfied by the viewing experience.

Midnight Snack. How it got started, I don't know. And it was never actually midnight when my mother indulged our young cravings for sweets. She put a few Graham crackers out with cups of milk. I became a pro Graham-dunker. Good job, Mom, on not giving us fruit snacks or candy at that hour. She knew nutrition, even if our babysitters were sometimes less than aware.

Reading to us.Why does no one read to me now? It's so comfortable and cozy to sit and listen to someone else's voice, on and on. As I rested my head on her side, I closed my eyes and heard her voice, swallowing my thoughts and spooning a thin layer of honey all over the world. She read to us before bed almost every night, when she wasn't working, of course, and she'd dismiss us to bed with, "first one to bed gets first hugs'n'kisses!" We scrambled for our rooms, and made such a fuss if she didn't judge correctly the "winner" of the game.

"Go outside and play." In my imperfect memory, Stephen always seemed to be outside with his friends, riding bike, or skateboarding, or playing street hockey, or... many other mysteries. None of my friends lived in town for a long time, so I confined myself to the yard, learned nothing there, and felt lonely. But at least I was outside, and so was Stephen, usually. Once, though, I recall he and Logan and Danny (together, the Three Musketeers, but without the noble intentions or code of honor) were playing in the basement. They were there for a long time, and finally came upstairs giggling. They had spray-painted their initials on a yellow, metal cabinet, long unused, in the tiny work room. The fumes had been getting to them, but they also thought that they were the cleverest little rascals to ever strategically spray paint their initials. The "LSD" cabinet remained in the house for a long time.

"Why don't you stay home tonight?" In high school, my mom would tell me that I couldn't go out, just because "you've already gone out three nights this week. It would be a good night to stay in." I so little understood how much my bitter, "But why?!" could have hurt her. My "why?" to the request to stay home implied so much: that I wanted to get away from her and the family, that I didn't think they were worth my time, that I had better things to do, better places to be, in short, that I didn't value my home community and consider it worth my contribution.

I wish more parents would tell their kids to stay in a few nights a week. When I tell it to dorm students, they are frustrated. They say things like, "It feels like I'm in prison!"; "I hate this place!"; "Why do you want to control me!?" But by the end of the year, they realize that the time they spent here was valuable. They wish they had spent more time getting to know the other students and advisers. They realize that this was their home for a while, and wish they had owned it more, contributed more.

Oversimplifying Love, Probably

No Future Together

I found out about their break-up a week after it happened.
He said he didn't have those feelings for her anymore.
After 18 months, and countless little and big decisions to be together,
he saw no future together, after all.

---

Tonight

My grandpa has become a child again.
As my grandma cuts his meat, he looks up at her and smiles.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how they're headed in different directions.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how little she's getting out of the relationship.

---

Love

When is it ever the right time
To stop being selfish, and live for someone else?

I Rock Your Baby Son to Sleep

When you announced that you would be married instead of going to college, I felt giddy with joy. Not, mostly, for noble reasons: it was putting together a wedding at such a young age; I must have seen a hundred movies with weddings and flowers, and rings, and kisses. Part of me was sad, too: we had planned to be college roommates; we would have made friends and histories that entwined forever.

So what would our lives look like at this distance? Occasional visits, always something shared deep down: separating histories, but a wire that kept our hearts moving in the same direction. Praise God! I have not lost you, friend. And I have gained a whole family of friends because you chose so bravely:

--------

I rock your baby son to sleep
Slanted light from the hallway
A CD plays a lullaby
Mellow-sweet, a gentle moment.

Suddenly, a pang tells me
how blessed you are among women;
that even to endure a thousand
crying, up-and-down nights,
bottle-or-no-bottle nights,
is worth his trusting, sleepy heart,
his fingers twirling his cropped, blond hair.
He snuggles into my arm and my side.

If I remain single and childless,
tonight I felt I’d miss
half the stars in the sky.

Never one for greed, I hope,
I delight in seeing your faces as
the skies unfold new grandeur before you:
the word “dog,” learning to run,
then the rock-step, snapping fingers,
sharing toys with his new brother.

How to Break a Legacy

The sun has set long ago,
and 11pm finds us on the back porch: starlight, yes, but mostly the neighbors' floodlight.
I wish we could talk more often: my brother, his wife, and I.

Tonight my brother and I ask, how long did they make it?
-Six years.
-No, they separated after four, divorced after six.
-So they made it six years.
-No. They didn't.

-They made it longer than my parents, his wife interjects.
-How long 'til they divorced?
-Four years, almost.

We stop talking, because we did the math.
And we all know these two have been together for eight years.
And we all stay stopped,
Because our hearts are broken.

We catch fearful gazes: paralyzed
Suddenly faced with a decision to either stop now,
before it gets worse,
or keep going into the unknown.

But we breathe again,
because we all know that quitting was never an option.

Dinosaurs

Me: Dad, I wish I had gone through a dinosaur stage as a child. I was missing out. I really like dinosaurs.

Dad: Well, that's all very nice, but where were you when they were sickly?



I remember one of the most interesting conversations of my life was when Kelly taught me what it is to imagine away boredom. We were maybe 12 years old, and I am sure it was largely motivated by the movie Jurassic Park. As we were in the car headed past fields separated by tree lines, with a forest bordering the horizon, she quietly mentioned, "sometimes, when I'm bored, I picture a pack of velociraptors coming out of the trees."

Ever since, I have often imagined dinosaurs entering into my life. I  especially love the way Dinotopia makes it possible for humans to interact with dinosaurs (specifically the herbivores).

In Which My Phone Teaches Me Humility

Vacation. This time at a theme park, and we had settled in the Best Western across the way. We had spent all of Wednesday at the park, and, weary from roller coasters and sun, had all found our way to napping after dinner. When I awoke at 7pm I sent Dan a text telling he and Mom that I was heading over to the park again to ride some roller coasters. I think it failed to send or something, but Dan, Chelsea and I met outside the rooms anyway, and Dan and I had a super fun time riding rides while Chelsea made friends with people who were waiting for people in line.

When we all got back to the hotel, Chelsea and I both ended up texting Mom to let her know that we were sitting by the pool watching fireworks. Again, I think my text failed to send. So I deleted all my texts, and Mom told Chelsea that she was already mostly asleep and we'd all meet up in the morning.

Early in the morning, 7:40am, I was awakened by a text from Mom, saying "Coffeeeee." To which I responded, "huh?" To which she responded "french toast." To which I responded, "Mom, it's too early for cryptic messages.What are you getting at?"

Suddenly, I received a text from Dan, informing me that "The park opens at 10am." To which I responded, "...OK..."

Then Mom replied to my rude message, "Well, I am going to get breakfast before anything else, and I'm inviting you to come along." I was terribly annoyed.

I woke up Michelle and Chelsea and we all readied ourselves and trudged to breakfast; I confessed to Mom and Dan how it was a little earlier than I had been planning to wake up. But that I was grateful for breakfast.

Mom and Dan looked puzzled: "You texted US."

You see what happened there? My phone decided to wake everyone up with the texts at 7:40am. The most amazing thing is: neither Dan nor Mom told me to take my over-eager self back to bed. Instead, Dan graciously responded with the opening time of the park. And Mom graciously responded with an offer to eat breakfast first.

Plank in my eye.

Advice to Jess

I was recently privileged to be asked for advice from a younger friend for three areas of her life:
1. not getting along with my brother,
2. doing my devotions with God, and
3. talking when it's not my turn to speak.
I share my response here in order to, first and foremost, demonstrate to all how good I am at giving advice. (Ask me anything. I'll change your life.) And secondly, to be able find these thoughts again, for myself, in my own struggles.

To the first, dear Jess, not getting along with your brother, I have to ask: what are you afraid of? I think my sisters often don't get along because they are afraid. One is afraid that the other will ask too much of her, and that by complying with the request (to change the channel, to borrow shoes, to spend time helping with a chore), the one will be left with less for herself. Of course, it's true at first, giving and helping another person can be difficult or exhausting, leaving us with less for ourselves. But loving Christ isn't about what we can hold back for ourselves. By the way, I struggle here, too. I often think my family is an exception to serving others: they'd be so much easier to love if they weren't related to me!

Regarding your second question, doing devotions with God, I have a brief testimony. In high school I was very regimented with my devotional times. I am glad I was so disciplined. I learned much, and I relied on that strength throughout the day, the week, etc. But it became a stumbling block for me. It became a measurement by which I would judge others. Oh Jess, there have to be at least 25 passages in the Bible talking about how wrong that mindset is.

One day, my mentor/counselor friends told me to stop doing devotions indefinitely. Just. Stop. Because my heart was not burdened for others and motivated by love, but I was burdened under an expectation for myself, and obligation to DO in the presence of God. Self-righteousness.

Ever since, I believe I have drawn nearer to the heart of God. I don't mean to say that disciplined and regular time with God each day is bad. It's a wonderful way to live in the light: the structure holds even when our emotions have taken a day off. But for me, the guild of not doing it, the guilt of missing a day was clearly showing me how my devotional time had become a law. And, well, the law is fulfilled in Christ's death. By knowing Him, accepting Him, we're free from that guilt. All that to say, for me, for a while, I had to forget "daily devotion" to remember Christ.

On to your third dilemma: speaking out of turn. I have very little to tell you here. In fact, I might just as well ask you for advice. This is one of my chief difficulties. But, and perhaps this recognition alone is helpful, I think I know why I always want to speak: again, I'm afraid. I'm afraid people will think I'm not following the conversation if I'm not contributing something, or that they'll forget I'm in the room. That is all just pride and fear working together to make me obnoxious. I hope you find your answer, and then share it with me!

Fish, Cats, and Family Vacation

Sometimes, on vacation, a meal out is just another meal. You find nourishment. Maybe you pay too much. And you leave full, but empty. Then there are those special meals out. There's a spark to conversation. The food is better. Commensality.

On our family vacation to Baltimore last weekend, we had a few of those successful, special dinners together. The best was Saturday night. Meg had made the reservations, and she and I had chosen dresses to wear, and Meg and dressed my not-yet-seven-year-old niece Aida in a twirly pink skirt. When Dad saw that Stephen was wearing a collared shirt, he felt under-dressed and returned to the room to change. As we all piled into the shuttle, I wondered why "dressing for dinner" had ever gone out of fashion. It separates the work from the play. I can appreciate people better after I feel I have taken care of myself.

We walked along the piers of Inner Harbor, arriving at the restaurant just before sunset. The inside was inlaid with rich woodwork that reminded one of lavish captain's quarters. Final rays of sunlight peeked through the westward windows, illuminating specks in the air. We all attempted to sit up straight and act as though we always ate in places with multiple forks. I ordered the flounder

We chatted while Aida colored a picture of a shrimp wearing a hat and a hook. (She must have colored ten of these pictures by the end of the weekend.) When we slowed our eating, Dad remarked that we should save the fish that we don't eat so that he could feed it to the starving cat at the hotel. If you don't know my Dad, you'll appreciate that he gave me a little book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat when I was eight years old. But you should also know that I am an avid cat-lover, and he was less than 50% joking about the book.

So when he issued a proclamation regarding the saving of scraps for a cat, one wondered how much he had had to drink. And one wondered a lot more when the honest answer was that he was not drunk; he was serious. Stephen corroborated the story: a skin-and-bones cat had been wandering about the hotel gates, meowing pathetically, clearly the victim of some tragic human.

When the waiter came by, my father asked for a small box, "So we can give the rest to a starving cat."

No. Joke. I was mortified. So was my Dad.

"The food was excellent, though," I tried to clarify, "It's just... we're all full..."

"--and this cat, it really is starving," Dad helped. The waiter seemed to understand.

Megan laughed, "This is something Princess would love to eat, right Aida?" Princess lives across the street from Meg and Stephen. She often wanders into their yard, and is more a community cat than the property of any one household. Everyone loves her as if she were their own, and my niece and nephew especially so. My brother would often come outside in the morning to find Princess on the top of his car, waiting to say good morning to him. "By the way, where is Princess? It's been a long time since she's been around. Have you seen her, Steve?"

"Yeah, she died a month ago. She got run over," Stephen said matter-of-factly. He immediately realized his mistake.

Aida looked up at him, then put her head down on the table, covering her little face in her little hands. When she looked up again, she was close to sobbing, her face streaked with tears, her nose reddening, "P-Princess," was all she could manage. Megan held her as Stephen tried to mend it.

"I'm sorry, Pickle. I meant to tell you better." Dad and I looked at each other, nearly crying ourselves. I mean, we'll all miss Princess, but my young niece experiencing the first death of a pet (suddenly, over dinner) was almost more than we could bear. She pulled it together after being promised candy from some overpriced, sassy shop in the Harbor.

The night was warm and breezy, and filled with a jazz band. The perfect night for dancing under a crescent moon hanging above the skyscrapers.

Interesting fact: The starving cat rejected everyone else's fish except for the flounder.

Fatherless Days

"Take these pieces thrown away

Put them together from night and day

Washed by the sun, dried by the rain, 

To be my father in the fatherless days."

"Always," Newsboys, 1998

I work in a place where I see many kids without parents actively involved in their lives. For the part of the parents, they believe they have done the best thing a parent could do by sending their children to a boarding school. Here they will, in theory at least, learn to speak English, the language of money, and make connections within the United States, thereby increasing the kids' chance of finding a high-paying job and living a life of ease.

In a meeting yesterday, we talked about what our job is as advisers. How much of the students' lives fall on us to care for? The truth? Well, Latin scholars, you tell me, what does in loco parentis mean to you? And how about in loco parentis omni die? Even if we weren't so outnumbered, we wouldn't be able to care for them with the holistic concern and unconditional love of a parent.

On my good days, I have to fight the urge to pity these students. I constantly remind myself that I, too, grew up with a parent in absentia, and I'm okay, aren't I? Because pity only ever reduced me to a victim, when love could have empowered me.

Regarding these lyrics, then, I have been puzzling over them for the past fourteen years. The sun does not wash. The rain does not dry. Except... if everything is backward and upside-down in this world. What's more, most potters start with soft clay, I've heard. But perhaps broken pieces are the only useful form for God to shape? I mean, he raises the dead! (He has strange past times.) He can begin with all these broken pieces, make them soft, and create a thing beautiful to behold in the final light. 

"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (2 Cor. 4:16). Things begin working backward from the time we enter his kingdom at Jesus' invitation. We are becoming children to enter into the Kingdom. And such a Father we have! (I have recently added to my list of things I know about him that he is playful and exuberant, the very definition of life!)

So, I grew up without a dad much in the picture. And I'm only okay insomuch as that lack has made me seek out the true Father. And as I find him, I have plenty of pieces to offer him. I'm thinking we only ever bring pieces to the Lord. I'm hoping this will inform how I see my students: people in pieces, like me, with a Father waiting to adopt them.

June

It's beautiful: being overcome
by simple exhaustion at the end of a school year.

[Breathe.]

It's beautiful.

Possibilities for the Future

My niece, Aida, and I were playing this weekend. She's six. She decided we would play "Mommy's work." My sister-in-law helps people to find suitable jobs. So Aida brought down her kids' program computer, and sat at the coffee table in a folding pink princess chair. She began with some preliminary questions:

[We shake hands]

Aida: How can I help you?

Me: Uh, I need a job right away.

Aida: No problem. I can help you. What do you like?

Me: [in character] I like... to... put things together. And take things apart. And I like the color yellow.

Aida: [typing furiously on the computer] That's fine. Good. I have something for you: a construction worker!

Me: Perfect! But what about how I like the color yellow?

Aida: No problem. All the machines are yellow. I have some forms for you to fill out. [Draws four lines on a sheet of paper] Write your name, date you were born, place, and things you like.

Me: [struggling with "place"] Done.

Aida: Great! You start on Friday. Here's your schedule. [Hands over another piece of paper.] Do you need anything else?

Me: [hesitatingly] A house would be nice.

Aida: Sure. I can help you. [Writes out a "check" for $50 million.] Is that enough?

Me: Yes. I'm sure I can find something for that much. How do you get the money to give people for houses?

Aida: Work gives it to me, and I give some of it away to people.

By the end of our session, I had a huge house filled with a few other families, I had changed careers to become a novelist/baby sitter (her idea), and I had a husband named Tyler. And we were both parrots.

The End.

Fathers

This is a prayer: here it is.
Right here.

From:
The ones who have never known the strong and trustworthy
handclasp goodnight,
who have looked through the window to wish, not know,
that dad was nearby,
who have hoped and failed, or never hoped and still failed,
to gain approval,
who have wondered when they could begin to call themselves
true men and women.

This is a prayer: here it is.
Right here.

To:
Our Father who is in heaven.

Life Tastes Sweet

Funny how tempting it is to blog about blogging or to make apologies for long, informative posts. Ha. This blog is about my life, so I feel justified in a few very long posts now and then that solely relay strings of experiences.

The painfully anticipated break is nearing its end, and I have lots of feelings and few moments to share. But I don't enjoy writing or reading about feelings. And I love to write and read about moments. So here are a few that come back to me, with their corresponding food of the moment.

On Christmas eve eve, I visited Krystle. We baked banana bread and talked and talked. She presented me with a gift of a beautiful hand-made afghan that rests snugly over the shoulders. It reminded me of Joella's grandmother's prayer shawl. I am wearing the afghan even now. Turkey Hill Double Dunker ice cream.

On Christmas eve, Stephen (my brother), my sister-in-law Megan, and my niece and nephew Aida and Holden went to Megan's aunt's house for dinner. Everyone eats and drinks and dodges children in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. One moment, I found myself on a big, well-stuffed chair, with Aida sitting next to me. We were discussing something. Then her cousin Maddy found her way to my lap. Then her cousin Luke found his way up the back of the chair, covering me in children. They fell over and on top of me, a sweet, laughing kid puddle. Orange sherbet punch.

Christmas day, we stayed inside like bums and watched A Christmas Story in segments that amounted to three full viewings. Sweet potato souffle.

The day after, we decided to eat at the Waffle Shop in State College. We waited for 15 minutes to be seated because it was so crowded. I sat between Aida and Holden. A teething Holden was biting the side of the table as our waitress came up. I forget our conversation. But she told us that she had been a waitress for 49 years, and she loved to serve people. Blueberry pancakes.

In Waynesboro later that week, Kelly, Sladana, Jack, Chelsea and I stopped at Sheetz for a snack before arriving at the movie theater. We sat in the round table and chatted about nothing, I'm sure. But the moment was sweet, there on the quiet edge of a spinning world. Macaroni bites.

Chels and I sat down together and watched The Prestige. I took Benadryl for some strange and awful allergy. I shouted out my guesses at the plot. She shouted out how annoying that was. Decaf tea.

Thursday lunch Sladana, BJ, Kelly, Josiah, and I ate together in Chambersburg. We sat in the draughty Subway sharing potato chips and stories and ideas. Sladana had work, so we remaining went to Starbucks. On the drive, we recalled our long and glorious history of loving Homestarrunner. Flurries had kicked up, but we were warm. Grande, soy, no vanilla, Mocha Frappuccino.

Thursday night, I joined Kelly's mom's dinner party out at some barn-like bed and breakfast. We sat with Kelly's mom's friends and chatted the evening away. Her friend Kim was telling us about the Alaskan village where her father lived and died, and their communal practices of supporting families through grief. Meanwhile, a bluegrass band with lovely vocal harmony played just behind us. Peppermint ice cream pie.

I leaned on my mom's bed as she woke up from her evening nap (she works nights) and we chatted before I left for Lancaster again. We talked about the things on our minds that mattered. It's funny, sometimes I wonder if I have anything important to say. But talking with Mom makes those trifling thoughts melt away, and what remains feels rock-solid, like it matters. The cat lay on the down blanket, with an occasional wistful sigh. LifeSavers peppermints.

On New Year's Eve with Joella's family, Anita and I talked in the kitchen while the other young people played a game in which players are "shot" and eliminated one by one. Asher came to join us. Our conversation intensified a bit, as we listed single ladies for him to consider. Then Tobias joined us, also "dead" to discuss the pros and cons of casual dating, if there is such a thing. The conversational intensity grew another notch. By this time we were all seated on the kitchen floor, weary from standing. Then Zion. Then Isaac. Then Tirzah. Then Boni and Joella. The conversational intensity had evened out around the entrance of Tirzah, and dropped off around the coming of Isaac. Olive cheese balls.

Babysitting a McKalips, by Stephen (Part III)

Contact Lists


--(NOTE: We do not have a land line, or "home phone," so it will be necessary to have a cellular phone and charger)

List A: Emergency
Fire, Flood, Loss of Life

#911

List B: Questions
Who, What, Where, When

...Meg
...Steve
...Staci
...Staci Cell

List C: Yellowbook
Food, Fun, What Have You

(Refer to Cabinet A in Fig. 1 Kitchen)

A: Random things, batteries, pens, screwdrivers, phonebooks, takeout menus, misc. medicines
B: Glasses, baking dishes, aluminum foil, plastic wrap
C: Coffee cups (random), measuring cups, random set of old dishes
D/E: Fiestaware (all dishes one might need)
F: Misc. spices, vinegar, oil, baking supplies, extra condiments
G: Snacks, crackers, cookies, poptarts, misc. junkfood, tea
H: Cereal
I: Pasta
*J*: Baby food, canned vegetables, canned soups, peanut butter
K: Broom & Swiffer
L: Toaster, crock pot, extra tissues, paper towels, pots and pans
*M: Pots and pans, *baby formula, blender, strainer
N: Forks, spoons, knives, utensils, pot holders, misc. cooking things
O: Chips, pretzels, misc. junk food
P: Tupperware, plastic food storage containers
Q/R: Swiffer pads, cleaning supplies, trash bags (white and black)
--Coffee filters can be located in drawer under coffee pot.
--Any questions pertaining to Figure 1 (Kitchen), consult Contact List B.