Conversation Tips

Example #1
Stacey: What's your middle name?
Carolyn: Grey.
Stacey: I have gray sheets.

1. Nice job! You found something you have in common.

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Example #2
Carolyn: I feel like a cat who needs to be kept in the bathroom for a while.
Stacey: ...

2. This is tricky. You've just said something that your conversational partner will find alarming because it's unusual. First, assume nothing. Don't assume the person is joking just because the thing sounds unfathomable. A smile and an understanding nod go a long way for those in-between moments.

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Example #3
Carolyn: *&%$!!!
Stacey: Maybe hold back on the cursing until the call to prayer is over.

3. It's okay to be angry. Before spouting off curse words, look around for reasons why cursing might be a bad idea. The reason they're called curse words is because they're not appropriate for most situations, during the call to prayer and in front of a mosque, for instance, would be a bad time to talk about something potentially frustrating.

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Example #4
Carolyn: Murder really annoys me. 

4. Remember, when you're annoyed, try to imagine if someone else in the situation might be more annoyed than you are.

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Example #5
Carolyn: I think we're lost.
Stacey: We're not lost, we're just not there, yet!

5. Good work! See how a positive attitude can redirect your anxious thoughts? Keep going!

More Scenes From Single Life

Scene 1, March:
I was washing dishes and singing, "How Deep the Father's Love For Us."

When I got to the line about "the Father turns his face away," Carmen, who had been mopping in the other room, shouted, "That's pretty terrible atonement theology!"

Scene 2, April:
I had plans to stay at home and create a budget, then practice piano, for a job well done. Or, maybe skip the budget bit altogether, actually. Or, maybe go buy some shoes, which was more urgent than it sounds. Then Leah came home and started bringing tissue paper downstairs, and filling up the dining room table with edible things. "Hey, Carolyn! Are you staying for wedding craft night?"

"Sure, but only for a half hour."

Two hours later, I went on a 20-minute shoe mission, loathe to leave a dining room full of wine, good stories, scissors, glue, and bits of paper and wire. (Who am I kidding? I hate crafts. But I love people.) When I returned, Leah was modelling dresses she had purchased for the occasion, and asking for us to pick our top two, so she could return the rest. We convinced her to keep four.

A Texting Conversation, September:
Bethany: Do you know what's on the grocery list?
Carolyn: I think it was just curry powder, which is obviously not a good representation of our actual life situation regarding food.
Bethany: Don't worry! I bought a watermelon!

A Breakfast Conversation, October:
Bethany: Whoa. That's a lot of chocolate chips for 7 am.
Carolyn: grunt
Bethany: Not judging. Just commenting.

The Importance of Herbs and Turn-of-Phrase

Me: I think we should throw away this old dill weed. It's at least three years old.

Joella: I don't think that's a good idea. Old dill is better than no dill.

Me: I guess we should wait to throw it away 'til we replace it.

Joella: Yeah, 'cause you don't know how important dill is until you have none. Then you're really in a pickle.

Scenes From Single Life

Setting: Four women live together in a house on the edge of a small city.

Scene I: The Hallway

The office door is open in the upstairs hallway, casting a rectangle of light into the dark hall. Keyboard tapping is audible, as the first young woman walks up the stairs. She stops in front of the open door to exclaim some news of the day to the occupant. In a few moments, the young woman sits down, and in the office doorway, another young woman, the keyboard-tapping one, leans out. A few minutes of animated conversation pass, and a third young woman joins the two. The orchestra's decrescendo leaves traces of a conversation, "...on NPR today," "...no, not next August, this August!" "...he actually did say that, I promise" before swelling again. Lights darken.

Scene II: The Kitchen

A young woman with a messy pony tail, dressed in professional clothing, enters the shared house. She is clearly withered from the day. She hangs up her coat laboriously, takes off her boots laboriously. Beyond, the light of the kitchen is visible, and laughter between two, now three people erupts from there. The messy-pony-tail woman perks up and joins the kitchen to make four. Pans fly on and off the stove, burners are turned on with a click. The sink is filled and emptied, filled and emptied with dishes: clattering into the sink, running water, steam from a hot pan searing parts of primary and secondary conversations. Two chairs are occupied by rotation at the table; one woman stands and moves about, another sits for a moment on the stair, another gets up to continue the heating of foodstuff; for a moment, all are holding dishes of supper, and seated in various comfortable poses. Then, one must go; two, three. The young woman with the messy pony tail is last at the sink, leaving dishes in the drying rack, hanging up the dishcloth, turning out the sink light with a smile.

Scene III: Cleaning House
A black and white cat is chasing an imaginary thing up and down the stairs. In the bathroom, a young woman in a ragged band t-shirt is spraying cleaner and wiping surfaces. The black and white cat bolts downstairs, scared by nothing, or something, perhaps. The cat's reception is met with no fanfare beyond a harsh eyelock from a young woman wielding a broom and dustpan, tending to the corners and frames of the downstairs.  

Onward travels the cat, into the kitchen, to find a third young woman who, rag and bucket in hand, is giggling to a voice on the radio. This woman appears neither to see nor hear the skiddish cat now skirting the edge of the basement door, descending with speed into its dark depths.

The Latest Transition

It's been hard to find a place in my new domicile in which I feel comfortable writing. Today I cleaned and moved some furniture, and I feel more at home now. But writing requires inward inspection. To turn my eyes inward requires an effort when my outer world is so stimulating. There's a whole kitchen to use, and food to be made out of necessity, not just luxury. There are so many living room chairs to sit in and find the comfortable spot. There are so many modes and tones of lighting to try in each room. It takes time and dedication to know and love a place. As I move into this one, I'm slowly settling in. It'll probably take 11 more months before I feel at home.

I hasten to add that I feel comfortable here on the whole, and am glad to be here. But it's different living with three other people in the same house than having an apartment, as thin as the walls were, as intruded-upon as I was. In this house, it is possible to...

• run out of milk (I was always throwing away 1/3 of the smallest milk containers.)
• stay up talking without having to turn off floor alarms (In a dormitory for high schoolers, you need floor alarms.)
• light candles (Again, it was a dormitory, and an old one, that couldn't be subjected to fire code.)
• wake up at 6 am, and see humans moving (High schoolers don't wake up that early.)
• come home, and find a party is already going on (At the dorm, if there was a party where I lived, it meant someone had broken into my apartment.)
• experience a breeze (In the dorm, I had all West-facing windows, and none too breezy.)
• find no room in the freezer (I generally kept ice trays with water evaporating in them.)
• walk to the front door without passing through your job (And that is beautiful, my friends.)

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush

In their honor, I shall post a note that was forced to write last semester. It was mid-student teaching time. It was late at night. I stuck this to the mirror the next day.

To the Owner of the Blue Oral-B Toothbrush:

My sincerest apologies.

Last night, your toothbrush bore a great resemblance to my own, and was therefore dreadfully misapplied to my teeth.

No more than a moment elapsed before I discovered my error. But alas, germs are faster-moving than the most elastic mind (which I do not claim to be).

The fact having occurred so long before your arrival, and so close to my bedtime, I acted not at all on your behalf, to save you the contamination of the sullied toothbrush. That is, until this evening, when the events of last night came rushing back. I took the more welcome liberty of boiling your toothbrush first, then mine.

Since both are now clean, you may take your pick. And henceforth I, like you last night, will not be the wiser for your choice of toothbrush.

I beg your pardon, however, and never hope to do it again.

Earnestly,
C

Well, I knew this would happen. I miss my housemates here at the dorm.

Themes of Entertainment

How much can the entertainment you choose tell about your personality? I'm guessing... a lot.

I have been using Leah's Netflix for a few months now. It automatically makes suggestions based on an original viewing questionnaire. But after a while, it seems to suggest based solely on your viewing choices. Here are the categories that show up for Leah and me:

1. Romantic Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead

2. Witty Sci-Fi and Fantasy

3. Goofy TV Shows

4. Feel Good Screwball Comedies

5. Quirky TV Comedies

6. Sentimental Children and Family Movies

7. Classic Musicals

8. Foreign Action and Adventure

9. Cerebral TV Dramas

10. Independent Movies

11. Faith and Spirituality

A Full Day (part III)

[If you thought this day was over, you are very wrong.]

2:30pm: Angela, Leah, Joella, and I meet up with Becky briefly, then part to eat lunch elsewhere. We find a Coffee Shop Diner (yeah, weird... the theme of the diner was "coffee shop") and ate (!) and drank a lot of water. We then recollect Becky and leave for Pennsylvania. Becky has had a shower and looks bright and feels sore. I envy her cleanness, and wish to take a shower after those eight miles. I had never before run/walked eight miles!

4:45pm: We arrive in Lancaster in time for showers and brief naps before our dinner plans.

6pm: Carmen comes and we walk to Sukhothai to celebrate Leah's birthday! We are so relaxed at our long table in the middle of that blue and green restaurant, with lily pad-shaped lights above us. We realize that we have much to celebrate: Leah is one year older, Becky finished her marathon, Carmen graduated from her clinical pastoral education and received a position as an associate pastor nearby, I graduated from college, Carmen will be joining the house as I move out, and we are six friends sitting around one table. The last is reason enough to celebrate.

We walk home in a cold rain, the sky still light, the air fresher and scented with invisible honeysuckle.

A Full Day (part II)

7am: The marathon begins! Angela and I see Becky and scream a little.

7:45am: After an ordeal, we find a McDonald's that is open and not corded off for the race. Leah befriends the cashier.

8:30am: We find a good spot for cheering between the 17th and 18th mile markers. We figure we will wait over an hour for Becky to pass by. So we get comfortable, ready to read, making friends with other cheerers: a woman in a wheelchair, and her husband.

It's not long before we put our books away. The runners are passing by, looking sweaty, tired, in need of encouraging words. We begin to clap, loudly pointing out shirt colors and hat colors in an effort to single out the runners, so they know we are encouraging them specifically. This is great fun, by the way! They perk up as we clap and tell them how far they have come. Their posture improves. Their breathing looks less labored. They know they can do it, too.

10:08am: I find Becky. She is looking incredibly tired. She says she has just thrown up all her liquids and she needs water. But she's worried she'll drink too much and throw it all up again. We run past 18 miles. She throws up.

We run past 19 miles and meet up with Joella. Then we begin to ascend a ridiculous hill/mountain. A 70-year-old Polish man comes up behind us. He sees Becky struggling. "I will pull you up this mountain," he breathes, and holds onto her arm, bringing her forward, ahead of Jo and me. We crest the hill/mountain.

10:46am: We pass the 20-mile mark. Becky's new personal record for 20 miles. The last time, it took her four hours and six minutes to get that far. This time, three hours, 46 minutes.

She throws up once more after this. People are concerned, asking a few times if they should call for help or a ride. Jo and I reassure them as Becky shakes her head: she has determined to finish.

11something am: Cathy's sisters (Cath is Becky's running partner) join us wearing bright orange regalia and inflated ducky inner tubes. Their encouragement is so jubilant that everyone around us perks up! One man says to me, "I'm being passed by inflatable animals. Should I be worried?"

At this point, we are headed back down the mountain. Joella and I wonder how we will exit the race and still make it to the finish line ahead of Becky...without getting lost. Is there any chance for us? With less than four miles left of the race, we begin to think we will have to finish with her. Super.

Becky is looking better. She has color. She starts to run with some speed that tires me.

12:01pm: We meet again with the Polish man. He has been ahead this whole time. Becky, Jo, Debby, and Patty pass him. I decide to stay with him (for his sake and for mine). He asks me questions; he can still maintain conversation despite the fact that we're at mile 25! He has run over 230 (yeah, read that again) marathons. Next week he'll run a marathon in Fargo, his 49th state.

12:11pm: Becky finishes her first marathon!

A Full Day (part I)

4:30am: Leah, Joella, Angela, and I leave our house for Wilmington, Delaware. Why? We want to see Becky run her marathon. Ang and I made posters to cheer her on. We brought our lawn chairs and books. If I knitted, I would have brought that, too.

6:15am: We decide we should begin to think about a breakfast stop before getting to the race location. As we are turning onto route 100, Angela spots something out of the ordinary: a girl is lying on her face on the sidewalk next to this high-traffic road, just in front of a pizza shop. "Should we stop? Do you think she needs help?" Angela asks. Of course, as she says this, she is turning off the road, near the sidewalk. Leah is the first out of the car. In our heads, we each think, "I'm so glad Leah is a doctor."

The girl is conscious, trembling, soaking wet from mid-torso down. She has no shoes on, her eyes are open. Her arm hangs out into the street. We can't move her, of course, so we grab two blankets from the car to cover her. She looks so cold. And though it has been raining, it doesn't seem to make sense that she is so unevenly wet. Joella exits the car already on her phone, calling 911. A couple pulls up. The man sits in the road, holding her hand, saying, "you're gonna be fine, sweetie. You're gonna be fine."

Another woman comes up. She thinks she knows the girl. She keeps saying, "are you all right? Is your name Jade? I know this girl!" She is worried; she is overly excited, and therefore not helpful. I am annoyed. Of course the girl is not all right.

When the ambulance arrives, the EMTs check her vitals, brace her neck, move her onto a stretcher, then onto the gurney, into the ambulance, out of sight and away from the loud woman. We stand about waiting for a few moments, in case we could be of any use. Our work is done here, so we leave, praying for her.

6:45am: Breakfast will have to wait until after the race begins at 7am.

Not Honey

I stayed at home for Joella's home church this morning. Three of us lingered in the kitchen getting hot drinks.

One dear soul asked if we had any honey for her sore throat. I noticed the special jar with the amber liquid, sitting on the shelf looking as though it were very dear to one of the housemates, though I knew not to whom. Per our policy, however, it bore no one's name, officially making it free game. I was sure, therefore, that none of us would begrudge a guest using some of the precious honey.

I brought it down, and two of our guests added it to their tea. One had never tasted honey in tea before, and the other, as I said, had a sore throat, so may not have had the full enjoyment of the honey at any rate. They retired to the living room when Joella came into the kitchen and noticed the jar on the table.

"Isn't that Leah's hair-removal stuff!?" she exclaimed with wide eyes.

Startled I whispered, "What?! No. No, what!? It looks like honey! It's on the shelf where the honey goes! There's no label!"

"It's not honey," Joella responded with equanimity and mortification.

"What is in it?!"

"Just sugar, lemon, and water, I think. Maybe they won't notice. Just please don't give any more to my guests," and she placed it high up on the shelf while I stifled the loud laughter rolling upward in me.

Forgive me, Melissa and Shirley.

Student Teaching, Week Six

The free writes I gave this week were not really freeing. I gave a prompt that read, "what was the TV show you couldn't get enough of as a kid? Why was it so intriguing?" By the second period's papers, I had read a lot about the Rugrats. I realized that I should never assign a writing prompt for which I cannot anticipate a wide variation in response--unless I want to stab myself in the fork with my eye.

I took Airborne almost every day this week, from having a sore throat. Talk more, sleep less, go to a high school, and this is bound to happen to you, too.

I have very patient roommates: Washing dishes? Wait, what? I thought we had a little robot maid that just did that while we were away? No, I haven't actually seen her, but... Well, then, who's been...? Ooooh. Thanks, guys.

I really love to listen to TobyMac on my way to school, and Beggar Folk on my way home. Immediately after school, I feel my brain throbbing against my skull. All the thoughts of the day rush in together: Huckleberry Finn, the five-paragraph essay, literary devices, passive voice, job applications, research papers, the CIRQL project¡ai!¡benditoSenor!¿cuándoseterminaestesemestre!? El Cinco de Mayo. Gloria a Dios.

Ask Me Why

Me: Becky, you're so good at asking insightful questions. You should ask me why I made two eggs just now.

Becky: Carolyn, why did you have to make two eggs just now?

Me: Why, I'm so glad you asked this! You see, I was only planning on making one egg. But then... A COCKROACH FELL INTO IT!

Becky: [stunned face] ...That's gross. Ew. That's gross.

Me: Sorry, but you asked.

The New Year

New Year's Eve was the last night that the little restaurant was open. A good night:

Becky, Leah, Kirsten, and Ty came near the end to have appetizers and to see the happening band which they had been promised, but which didn't exist.

But, hark! What was that exciting party going on upstairs? A party for a bunch of Greek people, I said, friends of the owners. Sure, we can go up for a look.

I felt so privileged entering that fun without having to pay.

Possibly the only light-haired people in the room, Leah and I moved toward the front where a group of maybe 40 people were dancing holding hands in a circle--ah, you know, Greek-style, right? Who can resist that? Not us. We joined right in.

We came back to the house to clang pots and pans to ring in the new year.

Resolutions? I want to be fearless.

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

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.

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.

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.

Melange

I just finished Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston. I find that it all blends together. There is no separation between my own thoughts, the book, the music I am listening to (David Crowder, Intoxicating); the people I saw this morning (Joella, Jodi, Becky); the conversations I had, my aspirations, and disappointments. They all blend together.

Imagine, a rabid dog sitting on the back of a swimming cow, discussing death and God's purpose for life, to the sound of a twanging guitar; in the sky, a ribbon of possibilities written on a banner, waving behind a light airplane.

I don't know if it's mentally sound that characters in books should become so real to me. I don't know if it's a mark of soundness that conversations should be repeated verbatim (I really think so...) in my mind. Maybe I've been getting too much sleep. Or not enough.

The Bad Boy Question

Why do nice girls fall for bad boys? I think Jodi and I may have routed out an acceptable, though incriminating answer. We have seen it often enough. It sure looks like a plausible answer to what has plagued onlookers for ages.

It seems to be a latent power struggle. A girl sees a young man who respects no one, has an authority problem, digs "freedom," that is, autonomy. He has ascribed to some number of undesirable trends that make her parents cringe a bit when he enters the room. She just laughs at their galled souls, feeling that she has won her own independence.

But this young guy apparently really loves this girl, whom everyone has always called simply "nice." He hangs on her every word. He promises to change, all for her. And maybe he will. But he probably won't.

The girl will tell herself that she owes it to the world to go on trying to reform the reprobate. It is her duty, after all. She is all that he really trusts, all that he really believes to be genuine.

Then they will argue. And he will not give in. And she will be hurt, unwilling to believe that he would refuse her the only thing that she ever thought she was gaining: ultimate control. She selfishly loves him for how she might wield him, like a sharp knife or a sleek gun.