estaminet

dorland bell photos, hot springs, nc, 1920's

2011-04-25T22:22:00.007-04:00

I hit the family archive mother load on Sunday. My aunt dug an old photo album out of a drawer at my grandmother's old house (no one lives there now, but we gathered there for Easter dinner for old times' sake).

Among other treasures were these pictures from my grandmother's girlhood, when she was a student at Dorland Bell, as I've written about before. They are, by far, the earliest pictures I've ever seen of her. I wouldn't have known it was her, except she wrote on the backs of the pictures - thank you, Grandma; I wish everyone was that diligent.

My aunt says the picture below is of Hot Springs; I choose to believe her.

Below is Hattie R. Carter, a classmate, and my grandmother, Linda Freeman, at the badminton net. Grandma once told me that she played a lot of sports at Dorland Bell, including basketball.

Below is Linda and another classmate, Elizabeth Lollan.

The picture below is labeled simply "school friends" on the back. Grandma's in the middle. I actually think this picture and the next are earlier than the Dorland Bell days; she looks very young.

Here are Lois Hill, Elizabeth and Eugenia Lollan, and Linda. I would not believe that were her if she had not written her own name on the back. I cannot trace any resemblance to how she looked as an adult...except she didn't like to smile for pictures then, either.

Nothing was written on the back of this next picture, but my aunt identified the girl in the front row, second from left, as Grandma. My aunt, who was a schoolteacher and later superintendent of schools in Madison County, said that she taught the daughter of the boy in the front row years later. She told me his name, but I didn't write it down, and promptly forgot it.

I love this next picture. On the back is written, "Picnic girls of Dorland Bell Hot Springs N.C. going up the Mt."

And, finally, graduation day at Dorland Bell. I believe this was in 1923 or 1924 (Grandma was married in 1924, and she and Grandpa were a pretty serious item by graduation day.)

I never thought I'd see pictures from this part of our family's history. It's almost beyond words, how much this means to me. Grandma's days at Dorland Bell made her who she was...she learned how to cook (and she was the best cook, the best), how to think about the wider world, how to take care of guests and treat everyone like they were special. She remembered her time in Hot Springs, her education, very fondly.

new game: fungi or not?

2011-04-24T21:22:00.005-04:00

I found these odd pine cone-shaped growths clustered at the base of trees on our property this afternoon. They were scattered in clumps across a few hundred feet. I can't figure out if they're fungi, or somehow part of a pine tree. The biggest I saw was approximately 4 inches tall.

My uncle says that he's seen them frequently, and they always get bush hogged or weed eated out. (I can't believe I just made past-tense verbs of "bush hog" and "weed eater.") I snapped two of these growths off at the base, and brought them home to see if I could identify them. So far, the internet is letting me down.

They have no discernible smell; maybe a little fresh and woodsy if anything (not piney in the least). When I cut them open, the inside was wet and woody.

Any knowledge or pointers to resources would be welcome...

mom on television, 1956

2011-04-19T09:47:00.003-04:00

I love this series of photos: my mother was interviewed on local Pennsylvania television in 1956 about Christian Endeavor, for which she served as regional secretary.

She doesn't remember the identity of the gentleman to her right, but he's wearing a CE jacket.

You can just make out the bric-a-brac on top of the television and shelves in the background.

There are so many wonderful aspects to these photos - Mom's pearls, the man's flat-top, the clearness of the screen contrasting with the ghostly background, and the link to a forgotten bit of family history.

apple butter: pennsylvania, 1945 and 1952

2011-03-22T23:47:00.003-04:00

These pictures are from my mother's family in Lancaster County, PA, on the farm. It's apple butter-makin' time.

This first photo was taken in about 1945, based on the age of the toddler (my aunt). My grandmother is standing in the center of the photo, bareheaded, with clasped hands. My great-grandmother is on the far right, holding a pot. My great-grandfather is seated, his face hidden behind the pot. I can't identify the others in the picture.

The above photo was loose, in a box with others from the same era. The rest of the photos were together in a pack. I was able to estimate the date as about 1952, given the age of the children. The location is the same - the family farm in Lancaster County.

Below is my mom's cousin. He's a retired lawyer now, with 4 grandkids.

My grandfather stands in the rear in the picture below, with the hat. He always did wear a hat well. My uncle is in the foreground. I love seeing pictures of him as a kid - he just died in December, and seeing pictures of his life is sweet. The rest of the people are great-aunts.

Making apple butter like this is quite a serious endeavor. Someone has to stir that paddle constantly, or it'll stick and scorch in the bottom of the cauldron. It's an all-day deal.

Great-grandma checking the apple butter's progress. This picture instills...I don't know...a kind of awe in me. She knew so much that I'll never learn.

My uncle looks like he's asking her a million questions.

There's a secret to making apple butter: a lot of standing around and talking goes on, if you're not the one stirring. My family in NC does it every year (very similar outfit, with big cauldrons and paddles) and it's a very social event.

A close-up of the cauldron. (I keep thinking of calling it a "kettle," but that's such an inadequate word for that behemoth.) Love the corrugated metal heat screen to the back.

The last picture on the roll: you can see more of the creek that runs along one side of the pasture. To this day we drive our cars down there, park and have picnics. I wonder if the cauldron is still lurking anywhere around the farm. I'll have to ask, the next time I visit.

my rant about "winning"

2011-03-06T09:28:00.004-05:00

At the risk of being a buzz kill, I have to say it. It's not okay to makes jokes at - or with - a self-destructing celebrity.

As much as such jokes have been a staple of popular culture in recent years/decades, as much hay as people make from them, it speaks poorly of us as a people. It's poor that we fail to recognize denial and illness for what it is, that we prod on others' madness. Even if we ourselves don't write the articles or link to the videos, participating in the culture of scorn makes us an accessory.

My Twitter streams and Facebook feeds have been filled this week with references to "winning" and "tiger blood." Most of the jokes come from friends of mine who went through seminary, who have degrees in service and compassion. I don't want to judge, but who am I kidding: I'm completely judging. I want to shake my friends. But, for a variety of reasons, mostly having to do with cowardice and what I like to think is humility, I keep my mouth shut. But because I persist in the belief that 2 people, maybe 3 tops, read this blog, here I can vent.

Do we feel that other people are fair game for mockery because they put themselves in these positions? I'm not just talking about celebrities here. We are vicious with strangers in any situation, and for any reason...driving habits, wardrobe choices, public behavior, etc. Even when we never actually meet these people, our reactions to them matter. Every action of compassion spreads and multiplies, as does every action of disregard. We train ourselves in paths of behavior that get harder and harder to change.

One woman told me last week that she's conflicted about praying for the people in the Mideast during these times of rebellion, because that disaster is "man-made." She's much more comfortable praying for the victims of the floods in New Zealand...a simple, natural disaster. She couldn't see that the waves of poverty, oppression and politics have swept over people as surely and irresistibly as flood waters.

There's something wrong when we can't see the strings that tie us to each other, when we see events as isolated, and ourselves as blameless, even as we work together in the same systems as every other person. It's especially bad when we watch TV shows that pay for people's breakdowns. There's something wrong when we can't admit how the lives we lead affect those around us, even in ways we can't imagine. There's something wrong when we think that other people are as independent as we believe ourselves to be, and blind ourselves to the forces that created each moment, each illness. When we can't recognize our own illnesses for what they are.

Even if we're not capable of perfect awareness and compassion at every moment - and I mean, really, who is? I read the tabloid headlines at the grocery checkout, usually with guilty relish - there's something wrong when we stop trying.

Linda Holmes at NPR's Monkey See blog posted beautifully about this phenomenon in entertainment last week. It's a good read, I recommend it. She in turn was inspired by Craig Ferguson, the late-night TV host, who compared our celebrity culture to laughing at the lunatics in Bedlam. There are artists and journalists who are choosing to be compassionate; I wish there were more I could link to.

illustrations

2011-03-03T19:53:00.004-05:00

It's been fun to find random letters and cards among all the photos in the family archives. These are a few of the best. First, a birthday card, from the 1940's or '50's:

Perhaps my favorite - a Halloween card, probably from the 1930's:

Two small, charming note tags:

Last but not least, a post card my great-grandfather sent my mother from St. Louis on one of his many business trips. Monkeys riding ponies! I can't decide if this is awesome, or absurdly exploitative. If so, of whom? If I were a monkey, I'd want to ride a pony.

letter(s) from grandma

2011-03-02T16:35:00.008-05:00

Today, in my continuing slog through my family archives, I found something precious and remarkable: a letter in three parts, from my grandma to me.

The letter is three pages long, each page written on one side of a sheet of stationary, and each page folded into its own small, numbered envelope. ("Read this first," "Second," "Third.") I wish I knew why she arranged it this way; it's whimsical in a way I didn't associate with my grandma.

Grandma (my father's mother) was born in 1905 and lived her entire life in Madison County, NC. She was raised on a small farm, married a farmer, raised a family, and spent her life serving the needs of her community however she could. She always cooked on a wood-burning stove, she taught Sunday school at the tiny mountain Baptist church up the road...she fed everybody she met in more ways than one. I could write a book about her - and perhaps will, someday.

We didn't have a whole lot in common, with me being raised in a suburb in Tidewater, VA. She impressed me terribly, and I was very proud of being her granddaughter, but she wasn't a snuggly sort of person. I knew she loved me, but she didn't dote. (Actually, she doted in her own way: she would always make a cake when we visited, and would tell both me and Dad - separately - that she'd made it just for each of us.)

I think that's why I got so choked up reading this letter today. Given the contents, Dad thinks that it was written soon after my first birthday, a little over a year after my grandfather died. My cousin O. was living with Grandma at the time. Grandma mentions a class she's taking; Dad remembers that she took a short course on the folklore of the Appalachians at Mars Hill College. "It wasn't very successful, for her," he said. "She already knew everything they taught."

My Dear Little E.,

I've been thinking of you every day and thanking our Heavenly Father for sending us a wonderful little girl.
How you are growing up to be a joy to all you come in contact with.
See next page.

The leaves are beginning to fall and looks like a beautiful carpet on a green floor. Then you can imagine the children have been playing and throwing apples and walnuts, since there's a tree on each side.
Today the clouds are all gray and moody looking but, I'm feeling very thankful. There were two little girls here yesterday and one called me Ma Maw.
See next

I know all about your birthday being past but, I'm not forgetting you ever.
Today the man will be here to do a little work on the house and O. will be going to school.
Oh! Yes this brings to mind - I went last Tuesday and will be going back for six weeks if I'm not a drop out. (Just one day a week.)
Hope you are enjoying yours.

Love you ever,
Grandmother

journeys and pilgrimages

2011-02-27T16:13:00.006-05:00

For the past 5 or 6 years, I've been collecting quotations, squirreling them away in a Word document like nuts for the long winters of sermon writing ahead. No rhyme or reason; whenever a phrase or story appealed to me, I'd assiduously copy it down in the .doc. Yesterday, though, in one of the most fantastic fits of writing procrastination I've ever experienced, I sorted all the quotes by topic - 32 pages' worth.

It was fascinating, and gratifying. I was able to pull a really great story to use in my sermon this morning. My favorite topic, I think, is "journeys and pilgrimages." Below are some prime examples. Enjoy!

"And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home." ~ Wendell Berry

"You cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to you." ~ Heraclitus

"Only flatlanders brake while driving uphill." ~ my dad (I find this to be true, and profound, on many levels)

"Never trust a turn signal." ~ my high school driver's ed coach

"Go Godward. You will find a road." ~ Russian proverb

"If you are a creeping thing, then you are a creeper!" ~ my seminary Hebrew professor

"Have you ever seen an inchworm crawl up a leaf or a twig, and then, clinging to the very end, revolve in the air, feeling for something, to reach something? That's like me. I am trying to find something out there beyond the place on which I have footing." ~ Albert P. Ryder

"We do not want to be beginners. But, let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!" ~ Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer

"I prayed for twenty years but received no answer until I prayed with my legs." ~ Frederick Douglass

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away." ~ Thoreau

"A ship is safe in harbour, but that's not what ships are for." ~ William Shedd

sunday afternoon walk

2011-02-24T23:16:00.003-05:00

I can't scan all the pictures I've been finding in my family archives; there are thousands of them and I like to sleep occasionally.

However, I love the narrative told by the 4 pictures below - my grandparents, Herman and Jane, talking a walk along the creek on his family's property in Kinzers, PA on a chilly Sunday afternoon. (Someone had written as much on the backs of the photos.) They were either dating or recently married - I estimate the pictures were taken in 1939 or 1940.

My grandmother Jane, in a spectacular coat. I love that she's climbing on the same retaining wall that my cousins and I dared each other to climb when visiting the family farm as kids.

Herman and Jane. Dramatic action shot. Herman is so nattily dressed!

Here's Herman, Jane, and Herman's brother Harry. I wish I knew who took the picture. Herman and Harry had 8 other siblings, so there were plenty of potential photographers.

Heading off down the creek, eventually back to the house. If Sunday afternoon traditions in our family were the same then as now, a nap was probably next.

A beautiful day.

cheer dessert topping

2011-02-14T23:55:00.003-05:00

I'm still sorting through piles and boxes of family archives in my spare time, and today came across a stack of wonderful old letters and cards in the midst of the photographs. Included was this fascinating recipe and instruction letter for "Cheer," a dessert topping that sounds equally intriguing, yummy and frightening. There were marks next to the peaches and pineapples, indicating that someone in my family actually made this, at some point.

Reading about Cheer, which uses a starter, makes me long for Amish friendship bread, which also requires a friend gift you with a starter. I've had friendship bread at two separate times in my life, and both times had to give it all away when I moved.

The transcribed text of the "Cheer" instructions is below. (I'm a little upset that I can't find a good picture online to go with this. I guess I'm just going to have to make some myself and take my own pictures.)

____________________________________

This delicious dessert originated in Kirbyville, Texas. It must be properly cared for and handled with respect. When start is given anyone, be sure they, in their turn, give a start to none but the worthy.

Cheer has many uses – spooned over ice cream or sherbert, over cakes and cookies, and dozens of other uses. It is an elegant dessert.

When kept in a large, clear apothecary jar, it is suggested it be out in plain sight at all times – even in the living-room, if desired, as it is a wonderful conversation piece. Almost everyone is interested.

Never – never refrigerate. Keep in a warmish place, even close to your oven or range top. And never – never put the lid on tight, AS INTERNAL PRESSURE MIGHT BE TOO MUCH FOR THE GLASS. Apothecary jars are suitable because the lids can lift off with the pressure.

Never let the contents get below 3 cups or fermentation will stop. Every two weeks add one cup of sugar and one cup of fruit in the order given below. Pineapple should be in bits or chunks, apricots or peaches cut up, and maraschino cherries cut in halves.

Do not add oftener than every two weeks, but you can delay a day or two without them. If you delay, change the following adding date a full two weeks. Use calendar below. Stir frequently so sugar will dissolve. Always drain fruit before adding.

When you share with a worthy friend by giving her a start, you must have at least 6 cups on hand, so you give her 3 cups and have 3 cups left for yourself. Division should be just before adding time, then each portion will receive its cup of sugar and cup of fruit.

Another one to start is: canned black cherries, purple plums, and red raspberries.

Hope you enjoy the CHEER and have fun with it too.

Cherries

Apricots or Peaches

Pineapples

vintage family photos

2010-09-24T13:27:00.008-04:00

I've been meaning to post these for awhile, but September has gotten away from me in a major way. It feels like I spent most of the month in the hospital with Dad (he's home, finally; he's better, yay!), which is an exaggeration - it was only half the month. Now picking up projects that were dropped.

When my grandparents were in their last years, I would sit with them and look through old pictures, and try to label them. I recently got some of them out and have started scanning them. This first set came from my mother's mother's mother's family, in Lancaster County, PA. They are in their own group because whoever took the pictures wrote on the backs.

On the back of this is written, "Rather indistinct - a little too far from the camera." I'm trying to figure out what contraption is barely coming into frame on the right - a stroller? A bicycle? The woman under the tree must be a relative or friend of my great-grandmother's, approximately 1910-2.

On the back of this next one is written (in the same handwriting), "Do you know which one is yours truly? This was a crowd that went on a picnic one time." Doesn't the second woman from the left in the center row look like the same woman under the tree in the picture above?

This next one is a postcard, featuring a girl in a spectacular hat. On the back is written, "Sept. 28, 1911 - Dear cousin, please excuse this card how dirty it is but it has laid around so long. I wanted to send it but had forgot about [it]. This was take[n] on my birthday when I was 18 yrs. Sept. 2nd 1911. P.S. Excuse the date."

This last one is a formal portrait; another postcard. On the back are the initials "L.M.S." (my great-grandmother, who we called Nana) and the name "Ruby Stewart, 1912." I love many things about this portrait. I wish I knew who Ruby Stewart was - I'm guessing she was a friend of Nana's, who gave this to her.

I'll try to upload more in the days ahead. Nana was a spectacular photographer, especially when my grandmother was a baby, and I hope to archive and preserve the photos as best I can.

hospital (free association)

2010-09-09T21:54:00.005-04:00

So, Dad's been in the hospital this week. He went in Sunday night with chest pains, and they've been running tests on him every day. It's not fun, but he's a good sport, the news hasn't been awful (no heart damage), and while having a clear diagnosis would be nice, things could be a lot worse.

Hospitals fascinate me. I used to hate them, but then I worked in one for four months, doing my chaplaincy training for seminary. Since then, I've visited a lot of patients, doing pastoral care for the churches in which I've worked. Weirdly, I sort of enjoy hospitals now. I wish I could map out the web of relationships that form between people there.

You can form odd little bonds with strangers in hospitals. While waiting in the catheterization lab on Wednesday, I sat near a pudgy little man in a blue hockey jersey. Today, I saw him on my Dad's unit, hovering outside a patient's room, trying to get a nurse's attention, wearing the same jersey and looking like he hadn't been home since I saw him last. We nodded to each other with that rueful, silent communion, "Yes, my person is still here too."

There was another lady in the waiting room yesterday who, when I asked generally for directions to the restroom, never lifted her eyes from her magazine. "Rude," I thought. But when I returned to the room, she looked at me with a kind smile and a story about how lost she got when she tried to find the restroom herself. When I left the waiting room, we said, "Goodbye," and "Take care," like we were friends.

One of Dad's nurses wears a roller derby pin on her scrubs. Turns out, she plays for the Blue Ridge Rollergirls. I'm going to their next match, for my birthday. We had the most fun today talking about the importance of being badass women, and teaching that respect to the men in our lives, as well as ourselves.

I have a black eye and several bruises, from an argument I had with a staircase last weekend. It's a little weird to watch people at the hospital try to figure out if I'm a patient or a visitor, and to school their expressions accordingly. I'm not used to having something about my appearance invite people to judge me instantly. It's disconcerting, and apparently embarrassing, since I keep having defensive diatribes in my head about it.

The volunteer at the heart tower desk has beautiful dreds, and recognizes me now. She waves me through without making me take a visitor's badge.

I love when Dad gets visitors. You hear that knock on the door, and it could be someone to draw his blood, or bring his meds, or be likewise invasive...or, it could be his brother, or a friend, or someone from church, carrying flowers. Those visits make all the difference. Dad's so pleased when people take time to show they care about him.

Speaking of church, it's in times like these that churches really shine. Flowers, calls, emails, visits, dinners...the community is the best kind of family. I couldn't do without it.

It'd be great if there were some database we could access that kept track of all Dad's test results, with explanations, and schedules (even estimated) for the next tests. It's really trying to have to figure out who knows what, and when they will be by to tell you about it.

Few things mean as much to me as honest, earnest, loving prayer offered by a friend. Our pastor held my hand and Dad's, and prayed, and my breath just whooshed out of me. Something got loosened up and set free.

So yeah, I don't mind hospitals, I guess. At least I get to walk out of them at the end of the day. Hopefully Dad will as well, tomorrow.

mid-century madison county

2010-08-26T11:51:00.010-04:00

I'm slowly scanning photos from old family albums. This first batch comes from my Dad, when he was a college student.

Dad's family grew a lot of tobacco when he was a kid. Here, regrettably blurry, you see some men hanging the tobacco to dry in the barn. The date is 1960. (There's no way to know for sure, but I think the man in the middle - in the overalls - is my grandfather.)

Another view of the barn, with tobacco hanging inside.

At first Dad said that the man on the tractor below was my grandfather, but then he changed his mind - Grandpa apparently never wore hats like that. It is on our family property, though, on what eventually became Rector Corner Road.

Here are two wonderful pictures of Marshall in 1960, the first taken from Rector Corner Road (or maybe Bailey's Branch - I'll have to ask).

I love this picture - taken in 1962, later than the ones above. This is downtown Marshall. You can see signs for GE Appliances, Balsam Tourists, and a Texaco gas station.

I am having fun with this...

ring the keys in lancaster, pa

2010-08-23T14:50:00.005-04:00

I've just returned from a vacation in which I spent several days with family in Lancaster, PA. I've visited there my whole life, but apparently have only experienced a narrow slice of what the city has to offer. Last week, I had the best Pad Thai I've ever eaten, and had brunch at a wonderful crêperie in downtown.

Driving away from the crêperie, my cousin pointed out a painted piano on the sidewalk, part of a public art installment through the city. Donated uprights, brightly decorated, are available for anyone to play. They're open to the elements, which means they're quickly going out of tune, but that's part of the experience - it's temporary, and precious.

Here's a video of the installation:

mountain dance and folk festival

2010-08-08T00:33:00.002-04:00

Tonight, some family and friends and I went to the 83rd annual Mountain Dance and Folk Festival in Asheville. I hadn't particularly looked forward to it, mainly because I was feeling the need for introvert time at home. But, tickets had been bought, so off I went.

I'm so glad I did. This was such a fun celebration. It felt like the best kind of family reunion, where everybody reminds you of the things you like best about yourself, the food is good, the jokes are silly and warm-hearted, and you leave feeling better than you did when you arrived. As a matter of fact, the founder of this festival, Bascom Lamar Lunsford, was a sort of cousin, several times removed (I'll have to check the genealogy). I knew a few of the MC's and performers from various other areas of my life, which was a surprise. Apparently I'm more connected to the community now than I'd realized.

The dancing was mainly clogging and different variations of old mountain circle dancing. The music was mostly bluegrass, with some gospel thrown in. Performers ranged in age from 4 (the littlest clogger) to 90 (the legendary singer Betty Smith).

It's hard to describe the depth of feeling this concert brought evoked. I was moved to tears a few times, especially by the Snyder Family Band's performance of "Little Bluebird." There was lots of laughing and clapping, some sing-a-longs, some sit-down square dances (you don't know what you're missing), some awe-struck leaning forward to watch the fancy footwork on stage.

It just...hit me. I felt like I was in the best kind of church. (Sorry, everything gets compared to church. Occupational hazard.) Full of joy and appreciation and gratitude, loving the people who were there, passing on traditions, but mainly just being squarely in the moment and being completely content there. I'm so glad I went.

that dorotheos, he had a way with visuals

2010-07-06T15:21:00.004-04:00

"Suppose we were to...draw the outline of a circle...

Let us suppose that this circle is the world, and that God is the center; the straight lines drawn from the circumference are the lives of people....The closer those lines are to God, the closer they become to one another; and the closer they are to one another, the closer they become to God." (Dorotheos of Gaza, 505-565)

(image credit: eyewoo.com)

4th of july weekend

2010-07-05T12:53:00.003-04:00

Like others, I've been convicted lately to write more, either publicly or privately. I kind of miss it, but so much creative energy goes into the weekly routine of church work that there's not much left over for blogging. Maybe it won't be a bad thing to just write a little here, a little there...

For starters, it's the holiday weekend. My family, some friends and I sat on our deck last night, overlooking the mountains all the way to downtown Asheville (about 10 miles south) and watched the fireworks displays. There weren't a lot, but enough to light up the sky sporadically and make the air smell smoky by 10 p.m. Downtown especially was a riot of colorful flashes around 9:30. Some of our more enterprising trailer park neighbors pool their money every 4th of July for pretty decent shows, and we get to watch them too. Add to that mix some cantaloupe gelato (my sister-in-law's recipe) and munchies, and it was a really nice evening.

In a few minutes, we're going down to the pond for a family picnic, with aunts, uncles and cousins. It'll be too hot to do much but eat and talk in the shade (because we're old), but I'm bringing my frisbee (because I am not resigned to being old). I'll try to take some pictures.

(Update: pictures!)

I'm fond of this still life.

Please note that my uncle had not, at this point, finished putting all the meat on the grill. There were 8 of us.

Red, black, and green might as well be the official colors of summer.

ash wednesday kairos

2010-02-17T20:44:00.004-05:00

My heart tripped on the way to the communion table tonight, and I fell into καιρός.

I went to the Ash Wednesday service at church feeling pretty drained. This day of the liturgical year is somber, and I was feeling homesick for my friends. Sitting in the pew, I thought about this night last year, when I shared soup around a table, and then foot washing and communion. How close and dear that felt, how personal. I felt as far away from the person in the pew next to me tonight as if we were in different cities.

Communion tonight was served by intinction, where the people walk up to the front, take a piece of bread, dip it in the cup, and eat it while the server utters words of ritual blessing. “The bread of life.” “The cup of salvation.” “For you.” “For you.”

“It’s okay that I don’t want to be here now,” I thought. “I don’t have to feel every service. I’ll be home soon and can put on my pyjamas and relax.”

I took the bread and dipped it in the juice, and met the eyes of the ministers serving, and after the words of blessing, said “Thanks be to God,” the usual response. But as I said it, my breath rushed out of me in a long sigh. In that moment, looking into the eyes of the minister and speaking words of gift and gratitude, I met the eyes of all the friends throughout the country with whom I’ve shared this meal. I was in Granville, Richmond, Boston, Lancaster, Bend. I was both holding the cup and eating the bread. I was so full of the love of God that I felt stretched. And I cried, and felt held and healed and comforted.

This is part of the miracle of God’s time, of God’s presence, of God’s love: I am never alone, and, as the minister reminded us tonight, nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.

i'm not sure which of today's events is most important, so i'll use a lot of italics everywhere just in case

2009-07-31T00:55:00.005-04:00

To start with, I've never baptized anyone, and never said the Big Words at communion. Never at seminary, never at church, never as a kid trying to dunk a cat, which apparently is a rite of passage for everyone else who's ever turned out to be a minister. Probably a good thing we didn't have cats growing up.

In seminary, people frequently groused about the fact that no one really teaches you to do the sacraments. (For Presbyterians, the sacraments are baptism and communion. Everything else is really nice, but not a sacrament.) We read about them and talked about them exhaustively, but there's no required class in which you physically stand at the font or table and pour water or break bread. Nine times out of ten, the first time you do these things, these hugely significant moments in the Christian life, you're going to be doing them in front of a congregation who has just hired you and is watching you like a hawk to see how you do.

Jitter-inducing.

Fortunately, this summer I have a wonderfully intelligent and indulgent mentor-friend-boss, whose wisdom and patience and capacity for making me feel brilliant has led me to think of a trillion questions I didn't know I had. Last week, I timidly asked her, "Can you teach me to do the sacraments? Can we practice?" She immediately made me feel that this was the most strikingly original genius suggestion anyone's ever made, that we can actually practice something fundamentally important in our faith, something that lies at the heart of our most sacred worship, and that perhaps might be important to, I don't know, not botch the first time I do it for real. As I mentioned, she is intelligent and indulgent and patient, and a fabulous teacher.

So today, I practiced the sacraments. I took the Book of Common Worship and she took her plate of corn chips (her lunch) and we went to the sanctuary. We didn't turn on the lights because the afternoon light was pretty, and because it made it feel less formal. I needed that reminder, because:

this was one of the biggest moments of my life.

Wasn't really expecting the emotional oomph. Even in the half-light, with my boss-friend dropping chips on the floor when she wasn't chomping on them, me reading straight from the book, and both of us cracking up because I unintentionally sounded like a yenta ("Take! Eat!"), I still had trouble breathing and not crying. Taking the last few steps until I was standing in The Spot behind the table was almost like walking in slow motion. My boss-friend suggested that I might not want to stand with my weight on one leg, hip thrust out, because, you know, the minister is supposed to embody the priestly role of the church and Christ's incarnation and lead the congregation in reverent worship, and my body language was perhaps less reverent and more punk rock, but that's what I needed to do.

You see, for the past six years I've been looking forward to two moments: the first time I preside at the communion table, and the first time I baptize someone. Those images are my constants. I'm grateful grateful grateful to have had today's practice, but it wasn't real. I said the words (my boss-friend was amazed when I said it was the first time I'd ever even read them out loud; hearing them in my own voice was freaky) but held something back. For when it's real.

Those words.

Even when I pretended to baptize a baby, christened with her dog's name, those words still made me shaky. "How did you feel?" boss-friend asked afterward. I had to think about it for a minute. Overwhelmed. Awed. Nostalgic for my childhood pastor. Unworthy. Humbled. Joyful. A little sad -- I really want to talk to my grandparents and my aunt about this. I think they'd be proud.

Next big thing! I'm teaching a Bible study this summer using Walter Wink's approach, which is less about me standing up and lecturing, and more about the participants talking together and understanding a given scriptural passage with their combined experience and wisdom and embodiedness and critical skill and searching for personal and corporate transformation, which trust me when I say that it's a heck of a lot harder to write a lesson plan for this approach than it is for a lecture.

And yet, it works. I stress and fret and lose sleep, and then something beautiful happens, and the conversation actually evinces tiny bud-like transformations. Those shining pops of illumination and reconciliation, seeing the excitement in everyone's faces, hearing them ask at the end of the class "What are we doing next week?" and then go "Oooooh!" when I tell them, and thinking, "Wow, they're this excited about the Bible, some of them for the first time"...well, it's the reason I'm still awake at almost 2 a.m. The adrenaline. Seriously, they should market this stuff. What's amazing is the transition from last night, when I went to bed in a fit of despair over this whole delusion that I could possibly be a teacher in the church, to tonight, when I felt the Spirit kindly take over, and I remembered for the millionth time that it's not about me.

Six days out of seven, I am unconvinced that the payoff is worth the angst. But tonight, as day seven winds down, I say, it's totally worth it.

The final big thing! I've lived here for how long now? Nine weeks? And I just now found where they keep the wine glasses. And smack me down, they've got pretty glasses for beer too!

surprise painting

2009-07-13T21:16:00.003-04:00

Tonight was my first painting lesson.

I'm participating in a spiritual formation group at the church this summer. The oldest participant is a 90-something-year-old woman who lives at a local retirement facility. She told the group how much she loves to paint (watercolors), and I idly mentioned that I'd like to see her studio. An invitation swiftly followed.

Turns out she's an award-winning artist. How do I fall into these things?

Still, to tell the truth, I went over there tonight reluctantly. I'm overwhelmed by my schedule this week, and am juggling approximately a jillion things. I intended to spend a pleasant evening's visit, and having her show me some basic techniques, just for curiosity's sake. Watercolors have always escaped me. I was more interested in hearing her stories than anything else.

She had the whole thing planned out. She sat me down in front of a tablet with a variety of graphite pencils and said, "Draw lines." I did. She said, "I like your lines. Now draw spirals." I did. She said, "Shade them." I did. She said, "Okay, now do all that with these paintbrushes."

By the end of the lesson, something inside me had burst open. The flower I painted with my right hand looked very little like the flower I held in my left, but when I stood back and looked at the paper, I saw a starburst with wings. That's how my spirit felt.

When I was a teenager, I used to draw, all the time. Hours upon hours would vanish at the points of colored pencils. The older I got, though, as I got ready to go to college/started dating/searched for a career/had my first depression event, the less I felt that impulse.

I missed it terribly. It felt like I'd lost a limb. I'd cry about it, sometimes.

Painting tonight, I felt life in that part of myself again. I couldn't stop laughing.

My teacher understood. "You've got it," she said. "It's inside you," she said. "You have to let it out."

There are no stories without the paint on the page.

4th of july weekend

2009-07-05T21:39:00.012-04:00

That was a crazy weekend.

It all kicked off on Thursday, with the town's annual fireworks show. Pretty much the whole town goes to the park, eats hotdogs, drinks lemonade, and listens to the band. This was my church's house band, which I hadn't gotten to hear yet, since they take the summers off. They're a lot of fun in the classic-rock vein -- they do some mean Pretenders, Bonnie Raitt and Fleetwood Mac covers. I presume they don't play those in worship, although that would be fun.

As the daylight vanished, glowsticks came out. We asked some kids where they'd bought them, and they gave us some. Generous souls.

I started to take pictures of the fireworks, but decided to just watch instead. You understand. It was a really nice show -- about on par with the ones we used to see at July 4th Richmond Braves games. My friends and I were distracted by the music, though. Some of it was hokey fun marches, but they played several "America's Gonna **** You Up"-type country songs, which I could have done without. Why couldn't they have stuck with Neil Diamond and the 1812 Overture?

Starting Thursday, and going through today, there was a street carnival downtown. The main road was cordoned off for three blocks (right by the church, which meant we could hear the rides and screams during worship. Fun!) and pulled out all the stops. This town goes in heavy for the Americana nostalgia.

There were plenty of terrifying-looking rides that, if I were a parent, I wouldn't let my kids anywhere near:

Rows upon rows of vendors, food carts (deep-fried everything, you name it), and games, including dunking booths:

A particularly terrifying portrait of Justin Timberlake (on the side of a fun house):

I love how even the Baptist church steeple in the distance looks like Disney's castle.

I took this picture because I am 14 years old and the word "weenies" is hilarious.

The battering ram. See my above comment on terrifying rides.

I went to the carnival on Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, I missed the annual parade because I was editing my sermon. I'm sorry for that; apparently the parade is THE big thing. There's a Queen of Beef, or something like that.

I did see the egg toss in front of the grandstand, though. I was torn between being hugely entertained by seeing little kids spattered by raw eggs, and thinking, "Wow, what a waste of food while there are hungry people everywhere." My social conscience = buzz kill.

It would have been great if I could have taken more time to enjoy everything. The fireworks and sugar and fried food and tacky clothes were overshadowed for me by sermon-writing. I wanted to write a sermon that would be faithful to the lectionary text, acknowledge the context of the holiday weekend and relate the idealism to the text, and not inspire the congregation to run me out of town for being a liberal commie peacenik.

The real challenge came in making the sermon adaptable to the setting of the four worship services at which I had to preach. (So glad they don't expect me to have a completely different sermon for each one!) Saturday night in the sanctuary is casual and informal, Sunday 8 a.m. in the chapel is intimite and opinionated, Sunday 10 a.m. in the sanctuary is high-church and traditional, and Sunday 2 p.m. at the retirement center is ultra-traditional and short, with communion.

I came through unscathed. The congregation still likes me. And I felt the movement of the Spirit both while I was writing and while I was preaching, which is the only thing that really matters.

This afternoon, I napped hard. When I woke up and looked outside, this guy was giving me the stink-eye. I think he's pissy that I missed the parade.

after michael jackson died

2009-07-04T09:11:00.004-04:00

Like many others, I was surprised and sad when Michael Jackson died. Like many others, I am sad that there are so many problems and horrible things in the world right now that demand our attention and outrage, and spending time mourning a superstar feels superfluous somehow.

But Michael Jackson's life and death deserve our time, for many reasons. He meant different things to different people. But there'll never be a talent like his again, that changed the world in so many ways.

I saw this poem today, and it said it all better than I could. The conflict, the sorrow and the joy that'll still be here because of his music.

After Michael Jackson Died, by Sean Michaels.

how things are going at this point

2009-07-02T10:29:00.008-04:00

My internship responsibilities have picked up in the past two weeks. Visiting people in the hospital, committee meetings, lesson planning, worship planning and leadership, and I'm preaching four times this weekend. (Yes, four. We're doing an extra service at the retirement living facility Sunday afternoon.) I'm feeling a trifle back-of-hand-to-forehead swoonily (swoonily? it's a word now) melodramatic about how this weekend will go. I stress myself out more than these occasions warrant. It's part of my charm, or something. It'll be fine.

That being said, I'm still branching out to explore the area. I love the farmers' markets, which are held every Tuesday and Saturday. Our church sends volunteers around the stalls at the end of the day to collect leftover food that would otherwise be thrown away, and donates it to group homes and food pantries. One halfway house for men got 15 loaves of homemade, fresh-baked bread the other week, and flowers for Fathers Day. The men who unloaded the truck were choked up with emotion that someone had thought of that.

Personally, I'm loving the snap peas and locally made cheeses and bologna. It's also interesting to see how many people I recognize now at these shindigs. I'm starting to consider my social interactions at the farmers' markets as indicative of the progress of my internship.

It all comes down to relationships, in church work. (For me, at least.) Not just how well people know me, and whether I can remember the names of all their kids, but the process of establishing trust in conjunction with my skill in observing and understanding relationship systems. More than simply learning the way things are done, I'm seeking to learn why -- if people can articulate it. (Example: why does the congregation stay seated for the second hymn at the 10 a.m. Sunday worship service? At this point, no one can tell me.)

While meditating on these finer points of congregational dynamics, I'm gazing out the window of my office at church. There are a ton of cars zooming by, which is highly unusual. Even though the church is located in the heart of downtown, not a lot of automobile traffic travels this particular road (foot-and-bike traffic, yes).

However, this is all 4th of July traffic. Most of the street in front of the church is shut down today and tomorrow for a carnival. This is the time of year when everybody comes home. There are rides, parades, vendors, reunions, concerts, and fireworks. It is a Big Deal here. (I promise to take pictures and post them later.)

For now, though, I'm just watching the increasingly desperate drivers zoom past my window in search of parking. It's a little like a spectator sport in schadenfreude. But maybe I'll be nice, and go let someone have my parking space. This sermon feels like it wants to be written from home...

bad veins

2009-06-18T10:28:00.007-04:00

Last night, wearing a tank top, I looked in the mirror and got scared -- and not for any sort of obvious reason. I was scared because I could see my veins.

I'm sporting a pretty odd combination of farmer's and trucker's tans right now, so the skin running from the inside of my upper arms up to my neck is much whiter than the rest of my arms. In that skin, it looked like my blue, huge veins were trying to surge up and out.

I turned my arms and body rather desperately, trying to see if it was a fall of the light, an optical illusion, but no. The longer I looked, the more veins I could see. It was horrifying. Of course, I'm thinking, "I'm about to die from some rare blood disorder," and "Was it something I ate?" and "I don't want to die in Ohio, no offense Ohio."

Then, I thought, "I actually feel okay, so maybe it'll go away if I get some sleep." This is much same thought process as when you half-wake-up in the middle of the night, and think, "Was that a burglar? I'm too sleepy to get up and check, I'll just lie here and he'll go away."

I walked from the bathroom to the bedroom, looking at my arms -- and the veins vanished.

Damn you, fluorescent lights above the bathroom mirror! You and your panic-inducing ways. I never want to see that much of my anatomy again. I should only see that much of my blood if there is something very very wrong with me (beyond the distribution of this tan).

bike riding

2009-06-14T18:50:00.004-04:00

Just got back from my first bike ride in several years. The family in whose home I'm staying this summer left two bikes for me to use, and this area has more bike paths than roads. (I know!)

First bike: serious stuff. I pulled it out of the garage, got on it, sat there for a minute, and then got off it again. I would have killed myself into tiny gory bits if I'd tried to ride it.

Second bike: smaller, higher handlebars, much more comfortable. It even has a basket on it. Aw.

I rode once around the neighborhood to get familiar with the sensation again, and then headed to the nearest bike path. It runs right by my neighborhood, and dives deep into a mysterious, woody grotto, alongside a creek, with fallen mossy trees and dappled things and birdsong and suchlike. It was lovely: not too many people around during dinner hours, so I didn't have to worry as much about causing bodily harm to anyone but myself, although I did immediately get 10x wobblier when approaching anyone else.

Still: I took the first deep-lung-filling breaths I've taken since getting here. I'm finally relaxing, I think.

Also: riding by the creek and looking at the water reminds me of the summer after 6th grade, when I went to marine biology camp (with Mrs. Keefe). That was some of the most fun I've ever had in my life. I miss using dip nets and looking at microorganisms under microscopes! And that is possibly the geekiest thing I've ever written in my life.

i'm still waiting to hear from the girl's parents about this

2009-06-11T21:25:00.003-04:00

Vacation Bible School. Twenty second graders. Five days.

Yesterday's lesson was "God is uncontainable." Not a bad concept to teach kids. They get that God is bigger than huge; it's not something they lose sleep over. So the idea that God can't be trapped in something small or human-made is not a big jump for them. However, the brilliant little buggers' minds were going places I wasn't expecting:

Boy: "God is bigger than the whole planet!"

Me: "That's right!"

Boy: "God is bigger than the whole universe!"

Me: "Very true!"

Boy: "Then why is God going to blow up the sun and we'll all die?"

Me: "...."

Even the kids who were casually pretending to blow bubbles or play tag or punch each other or pick their noses were listening avidly. I saw their darting glances, their "Explain eschatology and theodicy to us now, woman!" expressions. It was a trap. I looked for escape hatches. There were none.

So, I sat on the grass with the 7-year-old and we talked about the Big Bang theory and stellar evolution and black holes and intelligent design. Or, to be honest, he did. I kept trying desperately to assure the girl next to him, with eyes as big as saucers, that God knows about all of this and has everything under control and it's all going to be okay and the sun's not going to explode anytime soon. Of course, Genius Boy knew about this too:

Boy: "The sun'll explode a long time from now!"

Me: "Billions and billions of years from now."

Boy: "So we'll all be dead anyway!"

Me: "Where are you learning this stuff?"

Boy: (smugly) "A book I read."

Me: "Oh, look, it's time for recreation. Go run around for awhile."

first impressions

2009-06-08T13:06:00.009-04:00

This part of Ohio is a very pretty place. It's a little over the top, to tell the truth -- I keep looking around for the grime, and there's very little of it.

Everybody here knows the area's history. The above monument, for example, represents when the first white settlers came to this area. They were so eager to get started with their settling that they had a race to see who could chop down the first tree. (Or something like that.) There are lots of old buildings and carefully intact local-heritage museums. It's charming.

The church where I work has been around for at least 200 years. The heating and AC system attests to that. Otherwise: wow, have I ever landed on my feet here. The people are great.

Below is the downtown area next to my church (one of 4 in the heart of downtown). The shops are bars and bookstores and galleries and ice cream parlors and the like.

Below is a little bit of political subversion, which I like. There were also protesters at the farmers' market downtown on Saturday morning, picketing for better veterans' care and an end to the Iraq and Afghanistan occupations. No one really paid any attention to them, and the protesters themselves seemed pretty cheerful.

This statue is outside one of those local heritage museums downtown. I haven't had a chance to see what it represents, but it's inoffensive and pretty and I like public statuary.

I'm staying in the condo of some congregation members who are gone for the summer. It's a lovely, quiet area, and I feel right at home. I've already got mint (scored from the after-worship plant exchange on Sunday; they love their environmental theology here) growing in a pot in the sun room. I love sitting out there in the evening and watching the locals come by:

Every other Sunday night, the town sponsors musicians to come perform in the Green. It's free. It's lovely. Last night we took subs and cherries and sodas and a blanket and hung out for two hours, listening to the Frank Vignola Band. (Instant fangirl here.) Perfect.

I'll try to keep updating as I can, but it may be sporadic. I'm already pretty slammed. But I definitely want to show y'all what this place is like. I also have a guest room, if anyone wants to visit...

internship, day one

2009-06-05T17:53:00.004-04:00

Current position: supine, w/ laptop on belly. My beer bottle keeps getting in the way of my typing. (Oh, the humanity.)

Today was the first day of my summer internship (my LAST ONE before ordination) in Rassamafraz (not the real name), Ohio. I've never been here before, and took the gig based on two things: the educational opportunities, and outstanding reputation of the head pastor as a mentor. GAMBLE = PAYING OFF.

Despite the fact that I'm too tired to move my legs right now, I'm so enthusiastic about how everything went today that I'm short on superlatives. It kind of feels like I was thrown in the deep end of the pool, but then remembered I can breathe underwater. The morning was full of calendar-filling-up meetings and learning names (Vicki! I'm writing notes! Thank you!), and the afternoon was full of actual church business. I'll be co-creating and leading a technology forum, starting one small-group Bible study, participating in another, visiting members at an assisted-living facility, working with 2nd graders at Vacation Bible School, preaching 5 (yes five, there are not enough words in the English language to make this possible) times between now and July 5, and oh crap I know there's other stuff but I forget.

Okay, admittedly, when I write it out like that it's overwhelming. What makes it great is my supervisor and all the other people I met. Plus, this town is just so d**ned picturesque. I'll try to go around with my camera tomorrow and capture some of it. It's like the best parts of Asheville NC, Lancaster County PA, and Cicely AK got together and had a baby town.

Not that it's completely idyllic -- human nature is often grimier beneath the sheen of quaint small towns, and this place is no exception. But I've already found two wifi coffee shops, a used bookstore, a library, a great bar, a bike trail (and a bike), a farmer's market, and a Thai restaurant. I've got a condo to myself all summer, with a pool. I think I'll survive.

marshall depot

2009-06-01T16:12:00.005-04:00

My grandma, after having spent her young childhood in a small holler in Madison County called Betty’s Cove (off Bear Creek), attended the Dorland Bell Institute, a mission school in Hot Springs, which eventually became part of Warren Wilson College.

Grandma (Lindy to her family) was away at school from age 13 to 17 (1918-1922). She claimed that she learned to cook at Dorland Bell, although she’d been helping out with the cooking at home since she was little. At Dorland Bell, Lindy learned how to cook, sew, and clean, along with neatness, manners, music, and sports. She sang in the chorus and later in the church choir, and played basketball. I love the idea of my grandma playing basketball.

Hot Springs was a long way from Betty’s Cove. Lindy could catch the train at the Depot in Marshall, the nearest town, and ride the rails for the remaining 15 miles. Marshall’s still a small town with only one main thoroughfare; it’s pretty easy to imagine what it looked like in the early 1920’s.

At some point, Lindy met Olin at church (a tiny mountain Baptist congregation). Their courtship mainly consisted of attending school and church functions, and visiting with Lindy’s family at their home in Betty’s Cove. She told me that she went to see his parents’ home only once before she and Olin were married. This was something that just wasn’t done in those days; it was kind of unseemly. She never told her parents she went. She said that she thought Olin’s family was very nice, but more than anything else, the part about that family that won her over was their handsome son.

Olin missed Lindy when she was away at Dorland Bell. He would catch the train at the Marshall Depot to come visit her when they were courting. Lindy never came across as being particularly sentimental, but that Depot held a strong association of her courting days.

The Depot was owned by Norfolk Southern Railroad. As the town dwindled into near-obscurity, the building stood vacant, and in the 1990’s the railroad decided to tear it down.

Lindy didn’t like that. She asked her son, my uncle, to do something to save the building. Uncle F., a life-long railroad man and good old boy extraordinaire, talked and negotiated until a settlement was reached. Marshall now leases the Depot from Norfolk Southern for $1/year, on the condition that the town do something with the building. The town received grant money to restore the structure. It’s now a railroad museum and public music hall, giving the guys who used to pick a little in front of the pharmacy a place to go.

Blue Ridge Music writes the following:

"At this community music and dance gathering‚ local fiddlers‚ singers‚ guitarists‚ and banjo pickers perform old-time and bluegrass favorites. The arrangement here is informal. Some of the groups play mostly old-time‚ some play exclusively bluegrass‚ and others play everything from country standards to the latest country pop hits. While the music is playing‚ mountain dancers do their very best to stomp holes in the old hardwood floors. Dancing is an integral part of the scene at the Marshall depot‚ and the rousing finale of each Friday evening gathering is a "dance-off" -- a full half-hour of continuous music during which each of the dancers on the floor will try to outlast -- and out-stomp -- all the others. With traditional country and bluegrass‚ this event offers good clean family entertainment."

My family loves the Depot. Uncle F. goes there nearly every Friday night that he’s in town, wearing his cowboy boots and hat, and talking large. My cousin manages most of the lights and sound for the performing space. After the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I needed to remember my family’s history and traditions.

These stories help me dig in my heels a little more firmly. I've been here in Madison Co. for a few weeks, in between internships. I've been letting myself steep in family stories, hoarding them greedily. Tonight I'm going over to Uncle F.'s to record some more of them. It feels fundamentally good and right to be doing this now, reminding myself of my red clay heritage before I leave the mountains again for awhile.

what some would call a good day

2009-05-12T23:36:00.013-04:00

It began and ended with fowl. A barking turkey outside my window woke me up at 7 a.m. Seriously, s/he was barking. I didn't know turkeys made noises like that. Incidentally, this is the second morning in a row I've been awakened by livestock; yesterday, a stray dog came to my open window, chain collar rattling, and sniffed for a few minutes. Today I had my camera on hand, ready for a "Turkeys in the Mist" sort of thing.

I spent the morning in Marshall, at a coffee shop I will be frequenting while I'm here. Zuma Coffee kicks ass and takes names. I love it a lot. My mind was blown when they first opened; I couldn't conceive of such a place existing in Marshall. But hey, Marshall's changed a lot in the past decade. Zuma used to be in a different building down the street (the photo I use for my profile is taken from inside their old location); their current location is bigger, open, comfortable, with yummy cardamom-date scones and free wifi. Oh yes, I will be back.

More shots of downtown Marshall. I love this town.

Mom and I went to her book club at the local library. Oddly, it was a first for me. I've done many strange things in my life, but I've never attended a book club meeting before. They had read The Samurai's Garden by Gail Tsukiyama, which I've added to my list of "I'll read this as soon as I find an internship" books.

Later in the afternoon, Dad and I pottered around the yard.

He let me use the riding lawnmower, and yes I realize I'm totally being manipulated into thinking he "let" me mow the lawn, but whatevers, it was fun. There's an element of danger in using a riding mower on a steep slope that you just don't get in central Virginia lawns. He did some landscaping (the azaleas around here are amazing).

I installed a vital bit of home hardware:

After dinner, we went driving through Newfound Gap, in search of an ice cream parlor rumored to exist midway up the valley. We saw the sign and pulled into the parking lot -- a potholed space between a trailer and a small office building. We began to suspect they were not open for business when we saw this gentleman strut through the door:

He was attitudinous. We called it a day. After all, we had ice cream in the freezer at home. The excursion was just an excuse to go outside, because it was what some would call a good day.

kingdom of the happy land

2009-05-11T09:37:00.002-04:00

I'm currently sitting at my parents' dining room table in the mountains of western NC, drinking coffee (fair trade "Love Buzz" from 10,000 Villages, yay) and watching the fog drift across the view. Asheville's pretty much obscured, but I love watching the low clouds rest first in one valley, and then another. There's a plume of woodsmoke coming from two hollers over; it seems like a good idea on a cool damp morning like this to have a fire.

Makes me miss my Grandma. She'd've been up and cooking us breakfast on her woodstove at 7 a.m., making biscuits from scratch in 10 minutes, and frying up an ungodly amount of sausage.

Mom's reading my mind. She just brought her breakfast to the table: fried eggs and leftover steak from our family feast on Saturday night. I might have to join her.

First though, some local history: I read this morning (through Vicki Lane) about the Kingdom of the Happy Land. After the Civil War some freed slaves, as many as 400 at one point, formed a cooperative farm in these mountains (close to the SC border). I like the idea that these mountains promise the fulfilment of dreams. Not without hard work, of course, and it's not true for all people. The bullet dents in the stop signs on our streets testify to that. But still, the promise remains.

At this moment, the promise of breakfast is more interesting...

twitter oops

2009-04-16T21:28:00.003-04:00

Finally looked at my blog layout long enough to realize that my Twitter feed wasn't showing up anymore. I made my tweets private awhile back, and that (logically) means that they won't post on the blog automatically. Makes sense, huh?

The layout's fixed now, in that I deleted that box. The extra privacy is worth it to me. I know some of you who don't tweet but who love me were reading along (hi, Dad!), but we'll have to figure out some other way to keep you updated...like, maybe, getting you your own Twitter account. :)

mom memes

2009-04-16T18:11:00.002-04:00

My Mom wrote this in response to my last post, with the heading, "You can never know too much about your mother." This is why Mom is awesome with a side of awesome. Posted with her permission, blessing, and promise to get her own Facebook account as soon as I can show her how it works. Names are changed because this is the internet.

Current obsessions: Up until Friday afternoon, results of a needle biopsy. Nothing like the possibility of the big "C" to put the fear of God in you. Also obsessing right now about brother and his procedure. May all go well.

Clothes, what am I wearing from closet? Jeans and t-shirts or sweatshirts as the weather dictates. Multicolored socks.

Last thing I bought: Cheese tray and thank-you card for librarians. April 13-17 is Librarians Appreciation Week.

Favorite vacation spot: What is vacation? Since I live in the mountains all the time I would have to vote for the seashore. Love to sit by the edge of the ocean and feel the salty breeze and let my feet splash in the water. I used to love to jump waves, but those days are far behind me.

To Estaminet, who tagged me (by leaving this up on her site for all to see): Hang in there, Kid. All will come to pass in its own time. Keep praying, as will I and all who love you.

Guilty pleasure: Dark chocolate and deep, red wine!

First Spring thing: I have to go along with Peepers, altho they are not always the first to arrive; ditto, the hummingbirds.

Spring flower most anxious to see: crocus. Once you see them, everything else comes along in its good time.

Best thing I ate or drank lately: A good red wine and delicious white pizza at Nona Mia's. Must take you there when you visit.

What's stuck in your head: "Mary ran and told the disciples, that she had seen the Lord." From Resurrection Morning, sung on "when else?"

Care to share some wisdom? Keep your faith in the Lord. Prayers not only come to pass, but praying gives you peace of mind. Not all prayers are answered the way we wish (aka Aunt M.) but you will get an answer.

What are you currently reading: "Arts Blood" by Vicki Lane. Thanks, Estaminet, for introducing her to me.

Four words to describe yourself: Strong, Child of God (alright, that is four words!), Musical, Joyful.

meme for describing cpe life

2009-04-07T22:34:00.004-04:00

Apparently, I'm finding it hard to write much that's fit for public consumption during CPE. It's easier to fit my reflections into the format of a meme. So here goes.

What are your current obsessions?

How much I want deviled eggs (ever since Vicki wrote about them). How mad I am at life that I have no time or energy to make them. I am also obsessed with finding work for the summer, earning money, writing papers, and sleeping. These are often in conflict.

Mostly I am obsessing over the people and moments in my laugh that make me laugh like a hyena. High on the list is the phenomenon known as the "cheese slap" (courtesy my friend's high school youth group's imaginations): you unwrap a single slice of processed cheese product and slap it -- without breaking it -- across someone's face. It would be a delicate and deadly fwap of an insult. I laughed so hard when I heard about this, I had to stop walking. Seriously. People were looking at me. These are the moments that keep me going.

Which item from your closet are you wearing most often?

Land's End Women's Z-strap Terrain Jane Shoes. I wear them nearly everyday at the hospital, and not at the hospital. They're saving my back, and my sanity.

Last thing you bought?

A big bag of organic apples, sushi, and seaweed salad, at Ukrops. Dinner.

Favorite vacation spots:

Someplace big and open, with minimal people (but the right people), no demands, and limitless time. I'm dreaming of mountain tops or high deserts, hammocks and rocking chairs, good conversations and stargazing.

Say something to the person who tagged you.

I've loved reading Vicki's writing since discovering her blog last year. She makes me homesick in a good way. I would love to cook a meal and drink wine with her.

Guilty pleasure:

Saying what I think without self-editing. Hitting snooze.

First spring thing:

Peepers.

What spring flower are you most anxious to see?

Irises like my grandmother's. Double-blooming Japanese cherry trees like we had in Newport News. Buttercups.

Best thing you ate or drank lately?

Almond-stuffed olives with hummus from Ellwood-Thompson's.

What's stuck in your head?

A mashup of "Middle Cyclone":

Oh baby, why am I worried now? Did someone make a fool of me before I could show them how it's done? I can't give up acting tough. It's all that I'm made of. Can't scrape together quite enough to ride the bus to the outskirts of the fact that I need love. There were times that I tried, one for every glass of water that I spilled next to the bed, retching pennies in a boiling well in a dream that at once becomes a foundry of mute and heavy bells. They shake me deaf and dumb. Say someone made a food of me 'fore I could show them how it's done. It was so clear to me that it was almost invisible. I lie across the path waiting just for a chance to be a spider web trapped in your lashes. For that, I would trade you my empire for ashes. But I choke it back, how much I need love.

...and "Favorite," both by Neko Case.

Oh lie, I thought you were golden. I thought you were wise. Caught you returning to the house you caught fire. But I know that I was your favorite, and I said amen. Wise, found favorin' heaven, and I at your side. But I never felt sorry for those shimmering lies when I laid down and cried. I was faking, and I said amen. Last night I dreamt that I hit a deer with my car. Blood from his heart spilled out onto my dress and was warm. He begged me to follow, but legions of sorrow defied me. Oh lie, I thought you were golden. I thought you were wise when I caught you returning to the house you caught fire. But I know that I'm your favorite, and I said amen.

Oh, and when I drive to the hospital in the morning, one of the responses we sing at church always runs through my head. It helps center me, and catch my breath:

Your word is a lamp to guide my feet, your word is the love of Jesus. Light of the world, and the true love of life, you are our music, our joy and our all.

What are you listening to?

Lots, lots, lots of Neko Case (in case you can't guess), whom I saw perform at The National last night.

Care to share some wisdom?

You can never use too much hand sanitizer when working in a hospital. People will want to hold your hands when you pray for them, more often than not. Plan ahead for that.

Four words to describe yourself:

Observing, praying, fretting, perservering.

Rules of the meme: Respond and rework.

Answer questions on your own blog.
Replace one question. Add one question.
You are supposed to tag eight bloggers, but I'm going to
leave this one open to anyone who would like to participate.

despite appearences...

2009-03-15T22:09:00.004-04:00

...this is not easy.

CPE, I mean. Clinical Pastoral Education. I may have a certain flair for poise (or "control issues") but that don't mean I'm not batshit crazy on the inside.

We're supposed to be crazy, which is a little comforting. They throw you in the deep end at a hospital, say "Go be a chaplain," give you some books to read and papers to write detailing your more dramatic screw-ups, and sit you down in group twice a week to discuss how your tendency to screw up relates to your most jealously guarded personality flaws. In the midst of this, you hope and pray that you can actually help people during their lives' most traumatic moments merely by not getting in God's way too much.

Of course I'm being glib and flippant. This (CPE, not being glib and flippant) is an important skill that will help me immensely as I hope to work in the church. I've witnessed my fair share of blessings and one or two moments I'd class as miracles. It's some of the hardest and best work I've ever done and I'm proud to be doing it. I've also been told that I do it well.

It helps that I'm single, childless, reasonably healthy and not taking any other classes at the same time. In one (or two or three) way(s) or another, this is not true for most other people in CPE. I don't know how they do it. People can be really strong.

I'm finding certain coping mechanisms help: reading on the porch swing. Going for walks around the neighborhood. Noticing the sky. Reading the Psalms intentionally. Watching lots of West Wing DVDs. Hot showers. Soft socks at night. Coffee.

I've also started being really, really protective of myself. For the past few weeks I've been what I would call an "emotionally needy mess," since I've found that I can only see so much death a week without wigging out. I'm apt to want too much from other people. I'm afraid of asking for what they're not willing to give. I don't want to reach out to anyone and watch them pull away. The danger, of course, lies in going too far in this direction, and trying to solve every problem myself. Like my friend says, "You can't fix a problem by yourself that you didn't create by yourself." I have to remember to trust.

These are the sort of conversations I've had to have non-stop for the past few months. Riveting, eh? I am teh life of the party.

Hence: Psalms, sunlight, sky, socks, showers, walks, coffee, DVDs. I'd add black nail polish to the list if it didn't break the hospital dress code. And, of course, my own common sense. But, Almighty God, if there were ever a time for black nail polish, this would be it.

delicious links for wednesday

2009-03-04T23:04:00.004-05:00

You may be able to tell that, in my reading, I'm drifting away from front-page headlines lately. Call me escapist.

Bloom County: Amazons

It'd be nice to talk to my niece (or daughter, or granddaughter etc.) someday and tell her about those weird old days when it was thought improper for women to call men; isn't that just hilarious? We didn't have cell phones either! And we liked it! (Well, maybe not so much.)

Pink dolphin appears in US lake

I...I don't know what to say. It's like all my childhood dreams came true. Now I just need Ricky Schroeder to come to my birthday party, and I'll be set FOREVER.

What I learned from reading the entire Bible.

P

Ah, this is good, in that "hitting too close to home" good kind of way. Yes, yes, and yes.

argh i've been reading it wrong:

2009-03-02T23:57:00.003-05:00

From Deuteronomy 8, y'all, today's lectionary:

11 Take care that you do not forget the LORD your God, by failing to keep his commandments, his ordinances, and his statutes, which I am commanding you today. 12 When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, 13 and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, 14 then do not exalt yourself, forgetting the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, 15 who led you through the great and terrible wilderness, an arid wasteland with poisonous snakes and scorpions. He made water flow for you from flint rock, 16 and fed you in the wilderness with manna that your ancestors did not know, to humble you and to test you, and in the end to do you good.

The problem of evil, theodicy, what-have-you: I've heard many times that God brings us trials to test us and our faith. That's not the kind of pastoral care you bring to a patient's bedside, it's bad theology, and experientially I don't believe it anyway. When I skimmed the above passage from Deuteronomy tonight, and read about the scorpions and the wilderness and about it being some kind of bleeding test, I stiffened.

Then, I re-read it, and it's like I read it for the first time. To sum up: God led the people out of one bad place. To get to the promised good, they had to go through more bad places, which were, moreover, full of unfamiliar bad things. Oh, how we hate the unfamiliar bad.

In that frightening bad place, God took care of the people in intensely intimate ways. That caretaking, not the journey through the big bad, was God's version of a test and a humbling. The people show faith by accepting God's inventive and attentive love in the midst of disorienting fear. (And we know by reading the narrative of God's people that, even when the people fail again and again to show faith, God stays with them anyway. Failing the test doesn't mean the end of this covenant.)

Bad things happen. This is a given. But God is there with us in the wilderness, turning rocks into water and creating bread out of nothing. All for love.

In the end, it comes down (like everything) to letting go of our need for control, and opening ourselves to hope.

I don't know about you, but I'm really bad at the control thing. Time to let go a little and open that door, though.

flooffy snow

2009-03-01T23:22:00.011-05:00

Tonight was fun times. One roommate and I went out in the snow to get a jump start on cleaning off our cars, since we both have early mornings. Hijinks and photos followed quickly.

I couldn't get over how fluffy and packable the snow was. Is. You just have to sort of look at it, and snowballs form on their own.

I took a lot of pictures of snow-covered branches against the night sky, experimenting with flash/no flash. I wish I knew a setting to capture the light of the snow in the sky, which in actuality is kind of grayish white. But the contrast here is nice, and the huge flakes were amazing.

Honest to goodness prints in the snow! In Richmond! In March! It's a snowpocalypse. These things only happen in other places, to other people.

After taking this next picture I got back under the eaves, because the trees had turned vengeful (very Wizard of Oz-y) and were dropping gobs of snow down my neck.

We made a snow baby on the porch. He's kind of adorable. His upturned carrot nose is insolent. My friend thinks his olive eyes look shifty and angry, but I think his defensive exterior pose belies his timid vulnerability and need to be loved.

It's kinda stopped snowing for now, but it's supposed to start up again in earnest around 3:30 a.m. I don't care that I have to go to the hospital early while most of my friends have the day off. I had a weekend's recuperation, and feel as ready for the next bit as I think I can be. Plus, there's a certain delight in knowing that a) I do feel comfortable driving in snow, b) I only to drive 4 miles, c) it'll be pretty, and d) I can take more pictures.

delicious links grab-bag

2009-02-28T23:18:00.006-05:00

I've fallen behind in posting my Delicious bookmarks. Here's a few:

Geeking Out With Rachel Maddow Over Cocktails, Lip Gloss & Politics

Rachel Maddow is teh awesome I lurve her yada yada yada. I'm cliche but I have to bookmark it anyway.

Rush Limbaugh calls on conservatives to take back nation

Jaw-dropping in his hubris and hypocrisy, Limbaugh accuses Obama of doing what the Bush administration did in the past 8 years: governing through fear. I do believe in a bigger America than the left vs. right, but these hard line conservatives make me want to run for higher ground.

Mo's Bacon Bar

This is so wrong, and yet, so very right.

A Lebanese Political Satirist With Hezbollah Among His Targets

Makes me wonder if Jon Stewart would still be Jon Stewart in Lebanon.

Deadly Force: a SWAT team destroys a family's life

This is one of the most heartbreaking stories about life in America that I've read in awhile. A must-read.

Republicans Choose First Black Party Chairman

Interesting. The final line of the story, "How do you like me now?", reminded me of Lewis Carroll's poem "The Crocodile." Look it up.

TA

Maira Kalman's "Hallelujah"

One of my favorite artists' take on Obama's Inauguration. Glorious stuff. (Plus, how much fun is it that I'm doing this from an Apple store?)

TA

nothing can separate us

2009-02-26T17:07:00.004-05:00

Saturday was a really weird day.

My presbytery (Google it on your own time, people) held a vote on whether or not to amend our church government to allow people who identify as other than married straight or chaste single to be ordained. (And that's the simple explanation of that process.) It wasn't expected to pass, and it didn't.

At that same meeting, I and two friends received kudos and applause for continuing in the ordination process.

The next morning, I had to look some of my dearest friends in the eyes and receive their congratulations, knowing that I'm free to answer God's call and they're not.

I've made my choice to work for change within the system. That doesn't make it easy.

Worship on that Sunday morning was horrible and wonderful. We were grieving. And yet, my dear friend, with her partner sitting in the congregation, walked up to the pulpit and read the Scripture lesson. I will never know where she found the strength to do that. The depth of her faith humbles and shames me. All throughout the service, I was reminded of the uncountable ways that the dispossessed and marginalized (it hurts to call my friends that) are the truest face of Christ in our world.

At the end of the service, we sang a favorite hymn: "Guide My Feet." It reminded me that there's work to do, and that we cannot achieve anything without God being in us every moment of the way. It reminded me that works without faith are dead and ashes. It made me stand up a little straighter. It made the terrible beauty of our faith as real and present as the skin over my bones.

In the adapted words of "A Brief Statement of Faith,"

In life and in death we belong to God.
Through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God,
and the communion of the Holy Spirit,
we trust that nothing can separate us from the love of God.

reasons why i haven't written a new blog post in a while

2009-02-26T17:06:00.005-05:00

Idea stolen from my friend over at Randominity. Writing lists and memes is so satisfying when you want to produce content but have no energy.

1. CPE. I could stop this list there.

2. Moved from Boston to Virginia.

3. Cleaned everything out of my car after that move.

4. Somehow managed to fill up and clean out my car every week after that, what with getting shit out of storage and then house-sitting.

5. House-sat for two weeks.

6. Started reading a few assigned books for class, which I think will challenge me in good ways.

7. Discovered that I'm developing a cat allergy, like most of my family. Guess I'm not adopted after all.

8. Related item: discovered that it's not a good idea to take Benadryl on a morning when I have to present a case study.

9. Figured out/am figuring out how/if I fit back into the social scene I left when I moved to Boston last year.

10. Finally stopped limping, after having sprained my ankle before Christmas.

11. Cried at least every other day, at least a little bit. For the record, this is unlike me.

12. Am struggling to keep alive a potted primrose a friend gave me when I moved. The health of this plant is absurdly important to me, and I'm worried that it's not doing well.

13. Watched the Super Bowl with friends (yes, it's been that long since I've posted much).

14. Sung at and celebrated at my friends' house blessing.

15. Continuing my Rachel Maddow love. One podcast just about = my commute from home to class.

16. Getting back into the swing of local independent radio in Richmond.

17. Learning to live with people not related to me for the first time in seven years. (Since getting my own place, I mean. If I count the length of time since the first time I did this learning curve post-college, it'd be twelve years. That's not possible. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE.)

18. Met a real-life Gollum.

19. Watched with amusement/resignation/interest the explosion of memes and questionnaires on FB and blogs, some of which are identical to those I filled out eagerly a decade ago.

20. Watched/watching occasional episodes of "Tool Academy" with roommates.

21. Encouraged Mom to get on Facebook.

22. Found a way to webchat with my family, finally. The audio quality is good, but there are occasional video delay issues.

23. Tweeted. And then some more.

24. Upgraded my cell phone, after almost 6 years.

25. Finally got around to learning to use my new cell phone. I can take pictures in sepia tone with it. Oh, and talk on it too!

26. Learned exactly how little I really need of my possessions in day-to-day life.

27. Learned how much I like my possessions, nonetheless.

28. Watched President Obama's first press conference, and then talked about it for two days.

29. Took/taking great pleasure in writing and saying "President Obama" whenever possible.

30. Became a Candidate for ordination.

31. Feel assured that I'm on the right track. And there was much rejoicing.

32. Took risks. Some didn't pay off, some did.

33. Stopped being such a snobby hypocrite about some stuff, like the number of Facebook applications I have and groups I belong to. People who judge me based on such things can suck it.

34. Started reading a stack of books for fun that make me feel like a better person.

35. Saw "Slumdog Millionaire." Also, "Taken" which was not mentioned at the Oscars.

36. Spent way too long organizing my schedule for the next three months, but felt much saner once it was all mapped out.

37. Got hired to work at the campus library part-time.

38. Started reading Scripture regularly again, partly as a Lenten discipline, and partly because I want to. I forgot how funny parts are, like in John 1, when Nathanael meets Jesus.

39. Started planning a baby shower.

40. Started planning a beach trip.

41. Felt overwhelmed. A lot.

42. Did a lot of things I didn't want to, but felt I had to.

43. Avoided doing a few other things.

44. Apologized when needed, at least for some things for which I should apologize.

45. Watched/watching "Dollhouse."

46. Rediscovered a lot of old music that I used to love.

47. Sat with my uncle in the hospital after his near-heart attack.

48. Used the phrase "cognitive dissonance" a lot.

49. Have referenced "Ren and Stimpy" every day I've been at the hospital.

50. Have found absolute joy and comfort in my church life.

51. Mourned/raged over the Church's continued bigotry against my BGLTQI friends.

52. Continued to hate Merrill Lynch for their poor handling of my aunt's estate.

53. Learned to compartmentalize, and to hold off processing things until I have time.

54. Reconnected with friends I never thought I'd see again.

55. Learned to make chocolate cake, in a mug, in the microwave, in 5 minutes.

56. Took several days composing this list in my head.

sunday morning loves

2009-02-15T10:12:00.004-05:00

The past few weeks have gone by so quickly, and been so tumultuous, that I haven't known what to write. In truth, there are many aspects of my life right now about which I can't write. The patients I see in the hospital, the processing I and other chaplains go through in group, the private aspects of life with my new roommates...those topics are off-limits. That's how it should be; I'm not complaining.

But it does leave me little blogging fodder.

This I can say: I love my roommates. I love where we live, and how comfortable I feel here. (I'm currently sitting on my bed, drinking coffee, in the "halfway ready for church" phase of dressing, while they stop by my door and joke and make morning noises.) I love the hospital where I work. I love the chances I'm being given to live my faith and help people. I love the new friends I'm making and the promise offered by those relationships. I love that I get to go to my church every Sunday, and am back in the full swing of congregational life. I love that I'm surrounded by many, many dear friends in this area. (When I had a free time on Friday afternoon, I went over to my friends' apartment and napped on their couch.) I love that I finally found a place with a fast enough wifi that I can use my webcam to talk to my family.

I need to be driving in 9 minutes. Time to move this beyond the "halfway ready for church" phase, and blast some music while I do it. I've got "You Are the Light" by Jens Lekman running through my head; that's first on today's playlist.

home, home in the suburbs

2009-01-31T16:26:00.002-05:00

It's been a nice afternoon, in an non-ironic sense of the word. I feel fully rested after an insane week that included: visiting friends in PA, moving back to VA, settling into my new home, catching up with multiple groups of friends, preparing for my hospital chaplaincy internship (drug and TB tests woo!), and a reformed theology conference. Fortunately I got to catch up on sleep last night, which I desperately needed.

This afternoon I went for a walk around my new neighborhood. I'm living with some very, very good friends in a suburb south of the James River that reminds me acutely of the neighborhood in which I grew up. Big trees, medium- to small yards, reasonably-sized and friendly looking houses, people working on their cars in the driveways, the sound of a hammer somewhere, birds singing, cats darting across the road, faded American flags hanging from flagpoles, a comfortable quiet. The sunlight today is beautiful. It's going to be in the 60's here tomorrow.

It feels good.

getting ready to move, again

2009-01-24T20:46:00.004-05:00

Babysitting night. All is quiet. Toddler is finally asleep, after singing a mash-up of "Angels We Have Heard on High," "All Night, All Day," and "The Wheels on the Bus" for half an hour or so.

On Monday I leave here, and start the move back to Virginia, where I'll interning as a hospital chaplain for 4 months. It's an ordination requirement. It'll be intense. I'm looking forward to it.

I'm not looking forward to how much and how fiercely I'll miss my niece. I haven't started thinking too much about it yet, beyond the initial wince, like you do before ripping off a band-aid. You know it'll hurt, but you're bracing yourself and don't want to dwell on it. We've got to tell her tomorrow what's coming up, though. I don't quite know what to say.

In the meantime, I hope that tomorrow we get to play and be as ridiculously silly as possible. It's what we do best.

obama's inauguration (finally)

2009-01-20T22:14:00.003-05:00

Can't let today go by without writing something about Obama's inauguration. I've felt vaguely detached from everything for the past two days, for a variety of boring reasons. The relevant result has been that, as I told a friend, I feel like I missed out on drinking the same Kool-aid as everyone else. All the flag-wavin', stompin', cheerin', cryin', freezin' masses. It's nice and fun to watch and all, and I'm pleased, but that's about it. Maybe because it's been such a long time coming that I'm exhausted. The clearest thought I had today, while driving to the store, was, "The Bush years are over, and we survived. Thank God."

Upon some reflection, I think what it comes down to is this: the pretty words and pageantry are okay, but let's stop talking about change and actually do it, now, please. Thank you.

obama's west wing

2009-01-15T15:21:00.002-05:00

Yes, yes, I know, this confuses reality with fantasy, the West Wing wasn't a perfect show, blah blah blah. I still like this mash-up.

back to school for the girls in kandahar

2009-01-15T00:58:00.003-05:00

I've rarely wanted to stand up and cheer as much as when I read that the girls who were scarred with flung acid on their way to the Mirwais school in Kandahar, Afghanistan, are going back to school.

Not just a few. Nearly all of them.

Grant them courage, Lord. Grant them hope and laughter. Bless their feet and hands, and the words from their mouths.

delicious links for monday

2009-01-12T23:46:00.004-05:00

Get Afghanistan Right!

From the blog: "From January 12th through January 18th, citizens and bloggers are speaking out against military escalation in Afghanistan. Throughout the week, writers will talk about the dangers of escalation, the current situation in Afghanistan and South Asia, the effects of the war at home, and potential solutions."

Goodnight Bush: A Parody

Product Description: "Goodnight Bush: An Unauthorized Parody is a hilarious and poignant visual requiem for the Bush administration. In it we see a childlike George W. Bush tucked safely away in the confines of his own room with all of the toys he's willfully destroyed, abused, or defaced. Complete with a quiet Dick Cheney whispering "hush," this bedtime story lets us finally say goodnight to the disaster that was the last eight years."

Who Would Jesus Smack Down? - Mark Driscoll, a Pastor with a Macho Conception of Christ

A new, evangelical take on Calvinism reveals what every Protestant seminarian knows: Calvin really, really didn't like women, and codified his misogyny into his theology.

Gene Robinson: Gay Bishop Giving Obama Inauguration Prayer

It'd be nice if a) this were a planned invitation from the beginning, as a balance to Rick Warren, and not a last-minute corrective for public opinion, and b) this were an equally high-profile setting as the Inauguration Invocation.

Playmobil Security Check Point

Read the customer reviews.

The 23/6 Ultimate George Bush Retrospective

The soundtrack makes this video.

robots and worms in love

2009-01-12T00:38:00.004-05:00

I am teh sappy tonight. We watched Wall-E (much easier to keep from sobbing like a baby at the second viewing), and I just remembered about and re-watched this digital short:

Turns out there are several shorts by these artists on yew-toob; I'll see what they're about before bedtime tonight.

the online voice

2009-01-10T22:37:00.003-05:00

I love that my online life is expanding. I feel like I'm part of a moment in history, when the technological promise of teh interwebs is starting to be fulfilled. Various friends and I chat online daily, and my family keeps in touch over video chats. Email is fine and dandy but it's slowly being replaced by Facebook, Twitter and other such sites, and pretty soon I'll be able to whittle my way down from four to only two email addresses (one for online shopping purchases -- stuff that's spam-prone -- and one for personal, "real" correspondance). I can read leetspeak if not speak it (and who does, anymore?) and am fluent in text and LOLspeak. And if you think any of this is cultural minutia, bear in mind that the current head of my denomination was elected to that post largely because of his cross-generational technological savvy.

I love that I'm developing real relationships with people online. Throughout the past decade of my life, I've crossed paths, however briefly, with a lot of people. Facebook, blogs and Twitter have enabled me to explore and develop those friendships in ways that might not have otherwise been possible. Although sometimes this is a little confusing (for instance, what are the rules for wishing a Facebook friend "happy birthday"? Do you leave everyone a wall message? If you send a friend a private message instead of a wall message, what does that say about your friendship? What if you skip the Facebook birthday altogether, and merely call them? Is it too much to call and wall?), mostly it's all really exciting. I like being part of something undefined and constantly evolving.

Of course, when you get to know someone's online presence instead of getting to know them in a series of face-to-face meetings, like, you know, normal people, you can never be sure you're getting to know them as they really are. However, this concern over online identities worries me less than concern over online privacy. Being on the cusp -- the cusp, I tell you! -- of going into ordained ministry, I'm more vigilant than many of my friends about screening what I write. I'm honest with my writing, but I'm not going to tell it all. This search for my authentic online voice is an ongoing process -- I won't say it's completed -- and one over which I've agonized.

If you blog, odds are you do it from some inner compulsion to speak your voice. For whatever reason, you have something to say in a certain way, and it's bursting to get out there. Any necessary editing or infringement on that voice can be painful and confusing.

It's a compromise that ultimately I've been willing to make. I've heard God calling me to use my voice in ordained ministry, and that trumps certain blogging opportunities. I'll never be Dooce. I'll never even use my real name on this site. But that doesn't mean that my online presence is diminished or less authentic. It's just shaped differently than it might have been, in another life.

These thoughts have been swirling in my head for the past few weeks, largely because I haven't had much going on about which I've chosen to blog. I could write reams every day about my niece. She is one of the dearest, engagingest, brilliantest, funniest, lovingest people I've ever met, and every minute I get to be with her is a gift. I'm constantly thinking of ways to write about things she says and does. However, when she was born, her parents wisely decided to respect her right to privacy, and keep her name, image and stories off the public domain until and unless she gets old enough to make that decision for herself. I want to afford her the same courtesy, so, barring the odd story, I vent about her adorableness elsewhere.

Unfortunately, this has left me with little blogging material. I'm reading a ton for my upcoming theology conference (end of the month) and hospital chaplaincy internship (which starts next month), and watching a ton of West Wing DVDs. Until then, I pretty much feel like I'm putting in the days -- except for time with my family, of course. I'm eternally grateful for that.

So, to my online-only friends: I'm glad I've met you, and that you're part of my life. I'm honored to be a part of yours. I hope that we continue to learn from each other and enjoy each other's company. To my friends with whom I mainly keep in touch online -- write me back, dammit. And to my family, with whom I'm currently living, or to whom I talk nearly everyday: you know all this stuff already; I think your time would be better served making me a sandwich.

a daffodil in my forehead

2008-12-24T09:47:00.003-05:00

2008 was a rough year for a lot of people. The news around the world (American elections notwithstanding) was generally morose and horrifying, and the news in my personal sphere was usually not fun. I lost my grandfather, uncle, and aunt in the first half of the year, and the second half of the year saw my friends' 8-month-old baby need a heart transplant, my adopted grandfather have 80% of his stomach removed from cancer, and my mentor in ministry be diagnosed with fast-moving breast cancer which endangers her unborn baby (she's 7 months pregnant).

My insistence to the universe that the bad news stop coming has gone unheeded. In the past 3 days, early in 2009, I've received word that my all-but-sister's asplenic 3-year-old has been hospitalized with pneumonia, and today that my former professor's beloved wife (aside to my family: you don't know her, don't panic) has Pick's disease.

Seriously: what the hell?

Maybe this is part of growing older. Maybe, the more people you know, the more often you hear seriously bad news. Maybe everybody's experiencing this.

On New Year's Eve, part of me wanted to do some great symbolic ritual that purged the atmosphere of 2008's bad mojo, and welcomed in a calmer, more serene future. Unfortunately, the only proper purge I could envision involved fire, and I was staying in a swank hotel without matches or a lighter, and the front desk wouldn't give me any. (Can't imagine why not.) So I had to face the prospect of mental mojo-purging, without any physical symbology.

My belief threshhold for mental mojo-purging is pretty low, anyway. My friend declared a moritorium on bad news on my life midway through last year, and he's the same one who later was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

Of course, the new year is all total crap. The 2008-09 rollover is just one day, and then boom, the next day. Nothing alters in the space-time continuum that isn't wrought by our own machinations. Expecting a great change to happen in your life just because you have white space on your calendar is a little like wishing on the first star. It might make you feel better temporarily, but I wouldn't play the lottery on those numbers.

And yet.

While I don't feel any huge relief, renewal, or jubilation at the prospect of a new year, I'm not crushed or unhappy. Quite the contrary; I'm hopeful. I'm also a little bemused by this hope, as if it were a daffodil growing from my forehead. Hello, you're pretty, but I really didn't expect you. Where do you come from?

Yes, my friend lost most of his stomach, but he's home and recovering. Yes, my friend's asplenic son is in the hospital, and still faces a long struggle with his health, but he will probably come home today. Yes, my friends' baby's heart failed, but he received a new heart, and is smiling again and drinking from a bottle. Yes, my pregnant friend/mentor has breast cancer and will need a double mastectomy, but the cancer is contained, and she may be able to carry her baby to term. Yes, my friend's wife is dying, but he is reaching out in faith and love to his friends for help.

Yes, I lost my beloved family, and I miss them terribly, but I'm still here.

I don't know where any of those gifts come from. I don't know how my grief from last year is turning into a new reality of love and memory. I wish I could believe, like some, that "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" as Paul wrote to the Romans, but that's tricky theology. Who wants to think that God would endanger the life of an unborn baby with his mother's cancer, to prove a point about something? Really, Paul, I have to say, that's kind of crap.

I know, I know, the point's about hope. Somehow, from somewhere, in the midst of torrential bad news, there's still hope. Wherever it comes from -- God's good purpose, New Year's resolutions, karma, mojo, clinging to the silver linings -- it's still here.

Over the past few weeks, in the midst of all the Christmas madness, I kept thinking about the incarnation, through which God poured out gratuitous amounts of love on us thankless mortals. How much does that means to me, in day-to-day life? Hard to say. I've always had a sense of God's abiding presence in my life. But the stories of Christmas still resonate with their messages of love and hope.

So maybe that's a bit of my answer, for now -- that, even as the bad sad news keeps rolling in, God is still abiding. Whatever promises and wishes and prayers we cling to, whatever candles we light and resolutions we make, whatever failures we set ourselves up for, God is still abiding.

From that truth, I can build something, say thanks, and move on.

christmas meme

2008-12-22T23:50:00.003-05:00

Filling this dumb thing out is making me sleepy, as was the intent. Tagging Isis, Jarrett House North, Jamie, Spenge and Oregon Mountaineer. From my sistah The Knitting Nurse.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? I'm a little vain about my wrapping abilities, a holdover from holidays spent working in the Toymaker of Williamsburg during undergrad. Short answer: paper, with pretty ribbons.

2. Real tree or Artificial? I appreciate the real, but everyone else in my family has allergies, so I've become resigned to the fake.

3. When do you put up the tree? As soon to the beginning of Advent as possible.

4. When do you take the tree down? Sometime after New Year's.

5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, although the older I get, the less I like it without rum in it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Strawberry Shortcake gazebo thing, and my dollhouse. Best Christmases ever.

7. Hardest person to buy for? My dad and/or his brother. *@&($&*# impossible, and I refuse to get them socks, which is what Dad always says he wants.

8. Easiest person to buy for? Mom. She and I have such similar tastes that I have to restrain myself from buying a ton of stuff.

9. Do you have a nativity scene? Upon reading this question, I realized with surprise that I do not. I'll have to rectify that. But it'd have to be a special one that I pick out myself...nativity sets are highly personal and individual, if you hadn't noticed.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Mailed, or sometimes hand-delivered. I don't know anyone who emails Christmas cards, although I except I'll receive (and probably send) a fair number of "Merry Christmas"es over Facebook this year...

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I distinctly remember being disappointed by something someone gave me one year (not family, don't fret), but then later I really appreciated it, so...? I kinda don't like this question anyway. It prompts all kinds of ingratitude, which is askin' for it.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? I'm missing all my Christmas movies this year; they're in storage. I find that I regret not watching "It's a Wonderful Life," "White Christmas" and "Muppet Christmas Carol" the most, although the first "Die Hard" is up there on the list. I mean seriously, when they walk away from the building at the end, and it's snowing, don't you get a little choked up?

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Um? I'm not anal enough to have an answer to that question. As soon as I start having ideas for people, and then it gets done whenever.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Only as a joke.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? (Sighs, brings out list) Mom's fruitcake, chocolate-dipped orange peels, Great-Grandma's raisin-filled cookies, gingerbread cookies, Christmas Eve aio e oio with shrimp, family breakfast feasts, anything pork-based, leftovers. This list is not exclusive.

16. Lights on the tree? I used to be staunchly pro-white, but now think that colored lights look better in some rooms, in some houses, in some settings, than white. Bonus points for bubble lights.

17. Favorite Christmas song? "The Ceremony of Carols" by Benjamin Britten (in middle English, please), "John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together," that Julie Andrews album we listen to every year, "Amahl and the Night Visitors" by Gian Carlo Menotti, that Boston Camerata album, basically everything else in my parents' collection, plus some Frank and Bing.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel. Christmas without family is no Christmas.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? If you can't, a kitten dies. I mean c'mon.

20. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? I still kinda want to open them first thing Christmas morning before we're all fully awake, in our jammies...but while the idea is fun, I know that the experience is better with coffee and showers. Short answer: Christmas morning.

21. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? Advertisements/commercials that usurp religious themes and music for capitalistic purposes. I'm looking at YOU, car companies and Wal-mart.

22. Favorite ornament theme or color? I have several boxes of "my" ornaments, collected since childhood, that go on my parents' tree every year. I am very sentimental about ornaments, and the stories that go with them.

23. What do you want for Christmas this year? Be with family, talk to family who's far away, pray, laugh, eat, nap, watch football, and hear on the news that nothing bad happened that day, anywhere. I want my friend M.'s breast cancer to be contained, I want my friend J. to come home from the hospital by Christmas day, and I want my friend B's grandson to be breathing on his own and fully conscious, so his parents can hold him. I want kindness and restraint and generosity and forgiveness.

24. Angel on the tree top or a star? Star.

25. Favorite Christmas dinner? Weirdly, it doesn't really matter to me what we eat. My family usually takes Christmas dinner as a time to experiment with wild new dishes, so it's always kind of a toss-up. You may have noticed that peripheral foods are more prevalent on the list of favorites above; there's a reason for that.

through to sunrise

2008-12-22T07:03:00.004-05:00

Keep the faith, don't toe the line, and watch it through your two eyes
Leave the light still on inside and watch it through to sunrise
Leave the fight and go behind where all the stupid fear dies
Keep the light still on inside and watch it through to sunrise

I'm at my parents' place in Marshall, NC. Getting here felt like an accomplishment -- felt like, hell, it was an accomplishment. I drove 13 hours on Saturday and 7 hours Sunday to get here. The drive was periodically harrowing (snow from Boston to NJ) and periodically beautiful (especially the Rt. 29 corridor through central VA, even though I didn't have cell phone reception, sorry Tim). Hallucinations started in somewhere around hour 14 or so, when I fantasized for an hour about how I'd spend/invest the money from the lottery that I don't play. At least I got some quality music- and podcast-listening time in. What would I do without you, Rachel Maddow?

You know you're home, though, when you can collapse and no one judges you. Dad re-wrapped the ankle that I fell on last Wednesday, we talked to the northern family, and I said goodnight at 7:45 p.m. Sound asleep an hour later. What is solstice for, if not for sleeping and rejuvenation?

Now, the sky is brightening steadily (no direct rays yet), and I've been watching it eagerly for an hour, waiting for day. Haven't felt this way about sunrise in years, maybe decades. Like it's new and fresh, full of hope and possibility, and I'm ready for it.

delicious links for wednesday (posted friday, sue me)

2008-12-19T00:11:00.004-05:00

Never mind the Big Tent...

Oh shit! But it's true, and describes the feeling of a lot of my BGLTQI friends and allies since Obama announced that Rick Warren would be delivering his Inauguration Invocation. What a colossal blunder.

Welcome to WishbookWeb.com

I'm reminiscing hard-core over the Sears Wish Book from 1983. I've already found my Odie and Smurfette stuffed animals in here. My brother and I used to pore over these books -- shame they're not made anymore.

Obama: The College Years - Photo Essays - TIME

The story behind how the photos came to light at this point is almost as amazing as the photos themselves.

Field Guide To Guys: L'Homme Fatal

I abhor stereotypes as much as the next feminist, but I know too many people like this to let it pass by. Many of my close guy friends do fit or did fit this stereotype. It's like watching a train wreck over and over again.

The Adventures of Johnny Bunko

My friend, Ed Brenegar, sent in the idea for Lesson #7: "Say 'Thanks' every day" From the site: "The Adventures of Johnny Bunko is America’s first business book in manga and the last career guide you’ll ever need. The book, which you can read in an hour, tells the story of Johnny Bunko, a beleaguered Everyman toiling away at the Boggs Corp."

delicious links for tuesday

2008-12-16T23:04:00.002-05:00

an eye for an eye

2008-12-16T22:06:00.004-05:00

My friend Jamie asked for me to weigh in on this: in Iran, a sentence has been handed down against a man who attacked a woman by splashing sulphuric acid in her face. She was disfigured and blinded, all because she dared reject his romantic appeals. Now, the Iranian court has decreed (warning: graphic photo of acid victim), in line with the woman's wishes, that five drops of sulphuric acid be placed in each of the man's eyes. There were other options of punishment; this one was deemed the most just.

Jamie raises questions about that definition of justice. It is a shocking situation, from many levels. After reading the story, it shocked me so badly that I had to walk away. Following on the heels of the attacks on the girls at Mirwais Mena, this was difficult to process. Easier to disconnect.

It's madness, all of it. Beginning with the attack: what kind of person thinks that splashing someone with acid is an appropriate reaction to rejection -- and actually does it? That's the part I can't get past. Rejection makes humans all a little crazy, but you have to be more than slightly gone to follow through with thoughts of ill-will. Plus, my kind of ill-will after rejection goes more along the lines of "I hope you regret this some day, in abstract, when you look back on your life," or even "I hope you get cancer of the puppy," but I don't really mean it. I just go eat ice cream for several months.

However, I have the luxury of, well, luxury. I live in safety and plenty. The attacker, the victim (no other way to signify her here) and her family don't. Jamie's right, there does seem to be a culture of extreme physical violence against which this story is set, and without which the judgment seems even more disturbing. However, if you live in a society where people are routinely disfigured as a form of personal and ideological retribution, your mind has to work in a different way. Maybe, in that society, this judgment makes sense. (Because I know nothing about the Islamic code that supposedly guided this sentence, I can't comment on it.)

I can't condemn the woman for approving this punishment. From what I've read, it seems that her goal is for the man to experience some of what he's put her through; for the consequences of his actions to be visited on his head (literally). Who knows, maybe that will deter other men from thinking that this sort of attack is a good idea. Maybe ratcheting up the punishment for such attacks in such a horrific way is the only way to stop them from happening.

On another level, though, if I were in the woman's shoes, I can't say what I'd want to happen. I think I would want the attacker's life, as he knows it, to be over. I would want there to be a fundamental loss in his life -- for everything he holds dear to be taken from him. In our society, we lock people away in prison, and sometimes kill them. We like punishments to be predictable and for there to be a prescribed way to handle every situation. If you do X, you get Y number of years in jail. If you do Z, you die. Humanely, of course.

Maybe what bothers us the most about the punishment here is how seemingly arbitrary it is, how personal. To ascribe to this rule of law, you'd have to individually match the punishment to each and every crime, and to each and every criminal. Every case would be unique. The idea of legal precendent would matter less than it does here. More weight would be given to making sure the victim feels vindicated, instead of telling her when and how she should feel vindicated.

If I were splashed with and blinded by acid, would I want my attacker to be blinded as punishment? I can't say. What if someone I loved were attacked that way? I think I'd be more likely to feel the punishment was appropriate. After the sentence is carried out, the blinded attacker will be a walking billboard. Everyone who sees him and hears his story will think of the consequences of his attack. This will be his social identity. He -- and his crime -- won't be forgotten in a jail cell.

Ethically, that's all well and good. Maybe the pain and disfigurement he'd suffer would be okay with me, too, at that point. Maybe his suffering would help compensate for mine.

I can't say. I've never lived in a world where I'd be faced with this choice. I live in a society in which the choices that result in harming others are more discreet.

delicious links for monday

2008-12-15T23:54:00.001-05:00

delicious links for saturday

2008-12-14T00:06:00.002-05:00

delicious links for thursday and friday

2008-12-12T22:46:00.007-05:00

The fact that I can't post my bookmarks directly from Delicious continues to frustrate me. Till I figure it out, I think I'll start manually copying them over periodically. These are articles/web stuff that impact me, but about which I don't have the energy to blog. Better formatting can wait till some other time...

CNN’s Prisoner of War

My friend called this article "required reading." I don't know but that he's right. What the hell are we doing?

Crocodile (french) - Capucine for Edurelief

Capucine t-shirt: WANT.

"Clean Coal" Carolers from an Industry Run By Morons

Which is more sacrilegious: setting coal-industry slogans to Christmas carols, or the crappy animation?

Perfume vials from Christ's era unearthed in Israel

Cool discovery, shoddy conclusions. Everyone wants their find to be connected directly to the historical Jesus.

Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros

Dammit I have to start watching "Flight of the Conchords" now.

gingerbread house

2008-12-10T21:28:00.020-05:00

My project this week has been to construct a gingerbread house from scratch. Let me tell you, there is a reason that people hold competitions and judge these things, because it's hard.

We started with my sister-in-law's family gingerbread recipe, which is such a closely guarded secret that I'm only now getting access to it, and we've been family for eleven years. (With good reason; I wouldn't trust me with it either. Witness: blog.) The project got its start last weekend when we made several batches of dough (to store and freeze, to make cookies later) and discovered that two batches had half the amount of butter they should. Oops. Ergo, gingerbread house, not cookies. Ingenious, no? Not my idea, much as I wish I could claim it.

We decided to follow a template designed by King Arthur Flour, which popped up first thing with Google when you search for "gingerbread house template." It had easy instructions and lots of pretty pictures -- plus, its recipe ingredients were easily translatable to ours.

The baking took place on Monday, during the day, when we had time to work with it. Since I was new to the recipe, I was kind of incompetent with rolling the dough, which resulted in some puffy walls:

...and some brittle, wonky walls:

I made a few cookies with the leftover scraps, to add as trim (candy canes, hearts, and one person). Also, as my sister-in-law pointed out, we'd want to actually eat some of them (the broken ones -- a beheaded person, a legless reindeer -- and one sound bell).

I was really nervous about working with royal icing, which was recommended as mortar/glue/what-have-you. It's just egg whites, powdered sugar, cream of tartar and lemon flavoring, but it sets up faster than cement. I didn't want to start something and not have time to finish before it hardened, and waste a batch of icing. So, I waited to start construction until Tuesday.

Worrying about the icing was a waste of time, as it turns out. Nothing could be simpler to make, or easier to work with. Fortunately, my sister-in-law has a fancy-schmancy cake decorating kit, with piping bags and tips and brushes and suchlike. I had so much fun.

I made the icing, put it in a gallon-sized ziploc bag, cut a hole in one corner of the bag, squeezed some icing into the piping bag, and then put the ziploc bag into another ziploc bag, and kept that in the fridge. It worked -- the icing in the ziploc bag never got hard, and was just as easy to work with after 24 hours as it was after 1 hour. I am an icing genius.

So, house assembly: a bit tricky, when your walls aren't even, some are puffy, and some are brittle. I glued some of the brittle, broken bits together with icing and let them set up a bit while I did some basic decorating on the walls. I wrapped a piece of cardboard in wrapping paper for a base, as you can see in the picture below. And yes, that is supposed to be a chimney (made of pretzel bites and icing).

Then, I laid a thick line of icing on the bottom of each wall, up each consecutive side as I set up the walls, reinforced them with more icing once in place, propped them up with drinking glasses (not shown), and prayed they'd stay up. They did.

When I was fairly sure the house wouldn't fall down if I sneezed in the same room, I piped more icing along the corners, and put red-hots (or cinnamon hearts, as the freaks here call them) in the icing.

I piped around each window frame and the door frame with icing. The door lintel is a piece of candy cane. I ringed the base of most of the house with more icing reinforcement, and a row of hard candies.

The template had pictured suggestions for making picket fences. I invented my own: more candy cane pieces, cinnamon sticks, hard candies and the ubiquitous icing. Tell me that's not awesome.

Close-up of the crack in the wall, mended with icing.

Sister-in-law had the brilliant inspiration not only to pipe in "tiles" on the roof, but to sprinkle green sugar to look like moss. How weird was it that the sugar stuck to the gingerbread rather than the icing, even when the latter was still wet?

Today: Day 3. We finally finished the whole shebang tonight. I spent most of the afternoon affixing candy buttons to the roof, and trying to get the roof in place and not look awful. Here is where I learned (too late) the value in doing the right-angle thing when you trim the walls after baking them. Eh, it's good enough.

Also, I should have taken a close-up of the front step, which is a graham cracker. This is about the time when I went over to the dark side of decorating. I had to restrain myself from putting anything and everything edible on this house. The only reason I didn't add chocolate chips is because I realized (thankfully) that they'd look like little piles of poop.

Below: the money shot. As you can see, I added some zig-zaggy icing treatment to the window frames, plus more candy. More candy more candy more candy! The candy cane cookies, decorated with icing and red-hots, went in the corners.

The chimney wall turned out pretty well. While I was finishing up with the hard candies, I kept muttering to myself, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall,/that wants it down." Good thing I was alone by that point.

Here's the final of the picket fence wall. You can see the hard candies that went on the eaves, highlighting how crooked the roof is. Still: cute.

This rear wall (along with the picket fence) is my proudest accomplishment. I affixed three heart-shaped cookies, which I had glazed with thinned-out icing and covered in red sugar, onto the house in what Tim called "a hex sign." By this point, I was feeling cocky enough about my piping skillz -- plus I wanted to use up the icing -- that I added some icing doo-dads.

A close-up of Disco Jim, the Gingerbread Man (named for his spectacular pants). I wanted to add a wee mesh shirt, and Tim suggested a collar made from one Cheerio, and we'd set him up at Studio 54. But cooler heads prevailed.

Final detail: the cookie in the corner, flanked by hard candies and cemented with icing. I had tried to stick this cookie up on the roof as a tiny flag-thing (dark side!), but it wouldn't hold. Which is probably just as well.

So, three days later, would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I haven't had that much geeky, obsessive fun with something in ages. It smells unbelievable, and my niece loves it. (Direct quote: "OooooooOOOOOoooo!")

Plus, while I was absorbed in building and decorating it, I relived some of my favorite Christmas memories: decorating gingerbread cookies with our aunt, playing with my dollhouse as a kid, and the good smells and wonderful music with which Mom and Dad would fill our house during December. I got to recreate that this week, and it made me very happy.

ontology of personhood, toddler-style

2008-12-07T14:12:00.003-05:00

Last night, while babysitting, I told my 2-year-old niece (let's call her STB for short) that she was a very nice person. "No," she corrected me. "STB not person. STB is STB." Keeping a mainly straight face, I explained to her that she is, in fact, a person, and so am I, and so are Mommy and Daddy, and so is everyone. She was unconvinced, and I let it drop. I thought it was funny, however, and emailed my family about it.

This morning, STB informed me that she is, in fact, a person. My brother had read the email, and he and my sister-in-law had explained the ontology of personhood to STB before breakfast. Tim was detailing the ethical and metaphysical aspects of the conversation when STB suddenly ran into the room with maraccas.

So we shook the maraccas, persons all.

best dream ever

2008-12-02T13:49:00.007-05:00

This morning I took cold medicine and fell asleep again after watching last night's Daily Show. I dreamed that Stephen Colbert and I were cuddling and giving each other foot rubs. (He started it!) When he asked me out for dinner, I was so congested that I couldn't talk. When I searched for a scrap of paper to write him a note, the first thing I pulled out was my moleskine notebook. I was mortified he would find it too pretentious for words, but it would have to do. But then my handwriting looked like a 10-year-old's, and when I handed him the page he couldn't puzzle it out. Finally I croaked, "Jesus Christ, I'll send you an email." Fortunately he thought the whole thing was adorable. And then I woke up.

I am recording the dream permanently on the internet because it is the closest I will ever come to living that experience in real life.

blog lite (filling in the gaps left by twitter and delicious)

2008-12-01T00:22:00.006-05:00

I have not been so much with the blogging lately, for a variety of reasons.

First, there was the travel. This past week had me back in Richmond for two interviews (both successful) which mean that I will be working in Virginia again for the first half of 2009. Mixed feelings are rampant. Rampant, I tell you. It'll be good to be back in the ol' grounds of stomp, and good to be around a large percentage of friends that spin my little world on its axis, but (and this is a huge but) I will miss my niece like a huge gaping hole in my heart. I've really loved staying with my family here is MA, I feel useful and appreciated, and I will be very sad to leave. And yes Tim I know what you will say but video chats are not the same, noway nohow. I want you to give my niece a cell phone so I can call her at daycare, I don't care that she's only 2. S.T.B. and I are en rapport and it breaks my heart to think of losing that.

As I was saying, I was on the road a lot this past week. Boston to Richmond and back in 4 days. I am beyond grateful that my car (1999 Saturn SL1, first car I ever bought new, and it's still running) is still running.

Then, Thanksgiving! My brother's in-laws have been here, and it's been wonderful to spend time with them and eat all the good food that accompanies such family gatherings. Today, for example, we had lobsters for Sunday lunch. (To be precise, we had mimosas, followed by lobsters and bread and roasted potatoes and salad and wine. And then I had to go out for a triple-shot latte or else I would have fallen asleep standing up. It's all about balance, people.) We celebrated 3 December birthdays, decorated the house for Christmas, and enjoyed each others' company. There really are few better feelings than watching your family members crack up laughing.

These are some reasons for my blog post shortage lately, but there are others: in case you didn't know (or hadn't noticed the link, above left) I've been tweeting for a few months now. You can follow me as asmallcafe, if you're inclined. Incidentally, that's also my user name at Delicious, where I've been bookmarking stuff for about a week or so. I've been trying to get Delicious to post my daily links here, but the interface is all cranky and I can't get it to work. If anyone has insight and suggestions, let me know.

But, you see, Twitter and Delicious make a lot of what I tend to blog here redundant. It's the future of blogging to have multiple online presences -- it just means that instead of blogging random crap, I'll blog more about my personal life and observations and less about cool stuff I find on the intarwebs. Maybe. Maybe not. That's how it feels tonight, anyway.

One sure thing: it feel really nice to write all this, and to think of the friends and family who are reading it. I'm grateful for your love.

where is the "stand by me" for girls?

2008-11-22T16:49:00.004-05:00

An amazing essay in Jezebel today about American coming-of-age movies, and the dearth of good, honest ones about girls. I hadn't thought of it this way, but the author's right: every movie I loved as a kid or teenager was either about a boy or about a girl in light of her relationship with men (I always thought that Nora was much more of an interesting character in Pump Up the Volume than Mark was -- and how ridiculous is it that I go to PUtV when thinking of coming-of-age movies? I am warped). Growing up was such a bewildering, euphoric, wistful, blind process that I can't really say when it started (birth?) and when it ended (not yet?). The movies we watch seem to suggest that it's different for boys, that they can point to a singular event that defined the men they would become. It wasn't that way for me, and this essay poignantly suggests that the same is true for a lot of women:

"Or maybe it is impossible to make a film about us, because it is easier for the world to watch boys come-of-age than to watch girls do it; god forbid we grow up, in this culture of eternal youth and princess glory. But the world, I think, is missing out on something. There was a very quiet beauty in growing up, and though parts of it were awful, and parts of it were strange, I think there is a period in every woman’s childhood that stands out as the time when she began to figure out who she was and where she was going. And though we may not have a 'classic' film to represent or explain that time to others, we wear the scars and carry the lessons always. And whatever we learned on playgrounds or kickball fields or at sleepover parties or roller rinks somehow plays a part in the decisions we make today. You may not be friends with the girls you told your secrets to, or had adventures with, or wondered about the future with, but they are somehow always around, even if you’ve forgotten their names, their faces, the sound of their voices; they were, at one time, the vaults you locked the best parts of yourself in. They were the people who liked you for who you were, even if you didn’t know who that person was yet."

There comes a time in every woman's life when she gets over being a teenager. More important, however, is the time when she looks back on that teenager and loves her, and loves the child she was before that. All the crazy bullshit that happened to the teenager and child (and young adult) is part of who she became. And, for me, even though I won't be making a movie about it, it's alright.

o. winston link photos

2008-11-18T15:31:00.008-05:00

I was recently introduced to the photography of O. Winston Link. A brief biography appears at Soulcatcher Studio:

"Link took it upon himself to record the glorious last days of steam railroading in America from 1955 to 1960. Photographing primarily at night, he would use dozens to hundreds of single-use flashbulbs to create the desired effects. In the process he created some of the most spirited and memorable images of rural American life ever captured on film. He was truly a master of light and shadow."

Trains and steam engines: they're in my blood. My uncle on my dad's side made a big name for himself in the railroad industry, and my great-grandfather on my mom's side founded the Rough and Tumble Engineers Historical Association in Kinzers, PA. Big machines that make loud noises and lots of steam, oh yeah gimme some of that. Of course Link's photos spoke to me. It doesn't hurt that most of his settings are in VA. Below are some of my favorites. (All photos courtesy of Soulcatcher Studio.)

happy birfday, dear isis

2008-11-17T12:05:00.004-05:00

Sending good cheer and virtual beer to Isis, a dear friend and fellow lexophile.

I thought of you when I read this review of Alphabet Juice, Isis love. I think you'd like this book as much as I would. (Isn't that a great capsule of friendship: thinking of friends when discovering something delightful, and wanting to share? Isis does this for me all the time. I'm happy to return the favor.)

attacks at mirwais mena

2008-11-17T11:23:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, when you read the news, and it's bad, you shake your head and mutter a curse, and keep reading. It may depress you for a minute, you may complain about it to someone, but it doesn't reach too deeply.

When I read about the girls at the Mirwais Mena school in Kandahar, Afghanistan, being attacked with acid last Wednesday as they walked to school, something in me shut down. It feels personal. I couldn't deal with it.

Laura Bush put me to shame. She immediately released a statement condemning the attacks, calling them "cruel," "cowardly and shameful." I can only imagine how she, a lifelong proponent of education, felt about all this. I imagine that the words she used were diplomatic euphemisms for her true feelings.

But somehow, I can't blister the internet with my rage about this. Mere blogged words aren't enough...at least on their own. Until more news outlets put this story into their cycles, instead of feeding on themselves with talking head blather, even the harshest words feel empty.

I know there's power in blogging. I've witnessed it, personally and internationally, for good and ill. But the attacks at Mirwais Mena call for something more...a union of those with power in different realms, with the privilege of education and without, voices raised against this hatred and humans rights violation. A union of people joining in prayer for the victims and their families, and that such a thing never happens again. A union of people doing small things, like writing letters to their elected officials.

Thinking about strategies for action is the only way I can carry this with me, at this point. The only way I can live in the same world with these girls and not be crushed with shame.

theology of hospitality/my friends are awesome

2008-11-14T19:47:00.004-05:00

(photo courtesy of Union PSCE)

This month's copy of my seminary's e-newsletter includes an article about three of my very best friends, written by another of my very best friends. The article details the ways in which the former three friends seek to embody hospitality in their daily lives, as well as in their preaching and teaching. Christians tend to get all kinds of bunged up when talking about the theology of hospitality, because it's a fundamentally important thing that Jesus taught us to do.

My friends do it effortlessly. Just being in their presence makes you feel loved and accepted, and makes you feel like the reign of God isn't impossibly unattainable after all. These women inspire me to be a better person. Sorry, I don't know how to write about them without sounding cheesy.

muppets on the today show

2008-11-13T20:31:00.002-05:00

If you know me, you know I love the Muppets. That's why it pains me to write this: they've jumped the shark. They did a bit on the Today Show this morning, and it was just painful. The bit with Piggy and Christopher Meloni? Insulting to pigs and stalkers everywhere, and not in character for Piggy. She's become a caricature!

Is it possible I take the Muppets a wee bit too seriously?

No, I didn't think so.

rar

2008-11-13T20:15:00.000-05:00

So, there's a lion loose in Richmond. Figures all the fun stuff would happen after I leave.

nothing sadder

2008-11-08T21:06:00.002-05:00

My niece didn't want to go to bed tonight.

It had been a very good day...she had her first swimming lesson this morning, and we went to the playground in the afternoon. Mom and Dad are here, and my niece has had a blast playing with everyone, and being the center of attention.

We all ate dinner together: aio e oio with shrimp for the adults, and fish sticks and carrots for my niece (when she wasn't eating off our plates, that is. Girl loves her some garlicky pasta.) We played a little longer and read some more books, and then bath and bed. But then she started crying...not just crying, but sobbing and screaming as if she were terrified and her heart was breaking. She held nothing back. Whenever her parents would try to leave, she'd start up again. Finally, they just had to let her cry it out.

There's really nothing sadder than listening to a toddler cry like that, and know that it's in her best interests to be left alone. I don't know why it got to me so much tonight...of course I've heard her cry before, and have tantrums (rare), and even cry like this occasionally. But for some reason, tonight, it tore my heart out.

It probably has something to do with bad news I got today, that my good friends' grandson (a really little baby, maybe 6 months old) will have to have a heart transplant soon. It's not right. It's not fair. These things shouldn't happen.

It makes me want to hug my niece and let her sleep in my arms and not let go.

from 52 to 48 with love

2008-11-07T22:26:00.004-05:00

There's a new website called From 52 to 48 With Love that features snaps of people trying to rebuild burned bridges, post-election. Some of them express neatly what I've been feeling: fears of civil war, regret for any demonization of the other, second thoughts of virulent election rhetoric, desire to put some of the ugliness behind us. A need to start working. Some of it's a little too "kum-ba-ya," but some of it is painfully real, and poignant, and moving.

The comments, especially, reveal the type of conversations we should have been having all along: each side saying they've been hurt by the other in pretty much the exact same ways, and mostly concluding that it'd be nice to be reached out to and affirmed instead of vilified. It makes me realize that the angry rhetoric from the left during the Bush administration did its own kind of damage to the country, while the conservative agenda did more visible damage, perhaps.

Anyway. I think this is an interesting project. Check it out.

(photo courtesy From 52 to 48 With Love)

let-down

2008-11-07T15:02:00.003-05:00

It's been a good week for many reasons, and it's been a bad week for many reasons. I can't explain how disheartened I've been by the bills that have passed across America, banning gay marriage. Not surprised, but saddened, and angry. It definitely takes away the high-note of euphoria that I had on Tuesday night, after the election. In a way, it cheapens that victory: that people can be so "hopeful" and yet still so discriminatory.

Yup, definitely angry.

As I told a friend, though, I don't know who I'd be if I didn't have something to rant about.

It makes the media Obamagasm a little hurtful -- like no one else thinks there's anything to be upset about. A large percentage of America just had discrimination against them written into law on the same day a symbolic victory over racism occurred. This is not okay. This is not the best week ever.

president barack obama

2008-11-05T01:36:00.003-05:00

Tonight was a good night.

We waited anxiously, and held hands, and rubbed each others' backs.

We jumped, we shouted, we danced, we hugged, we cried.

We listened to speeches.

We felt inspired.

I've meant to stay awake until results from Prop 8 in CA, but can't quite do it...I'll wake up tomorrow, in a better America and a better world, and hope.

Jillian Weise wrote, "Grant us that which we do not deserve." That's how I feel today. Maybe it's okay to hope after all.

in virginia on election day

2008-11-04T13:26:00.007-05:00

After casting my vote this morning, and eating lunch at my favorite coffee shop with a friend, I'm now cruising the internets aimlessly and blogging stream-of-election-day-consciousness.

The friends with whom I crashing had to be at work by 8 a.m. today, so they got up early to be at the polls by 5:30. They still had to wait in line for an hour. The news last night said that 65% of Virginians polled planned to vote between 6 and 9 a.m. today, so I guess that's not too surprising. I just hope other polling places were prepared for the onslaught. I'm really worried about voter suppression.

I waited to vote until 11 a.m., hoping to avoid the lines. Still, I wore my favorite shirt and my made-for-TV earrings, ready to give interviews in case I was turned away from the polls (don't ask me why, my fantasies didn't get that detailed) and had to call voters' rights watchdog groups to come help me. Yes, I had memorized the phone number for the voters' rights watchdog groups.

No TV interviews. I walked right in and voted. My earrings are still nice, though.

Nearly everyone I've seen in the coffee shop in the past 2 hours has worn an "I VOTED" sticker. I'm wearing mine to Krispy Kreme later to get my free doughnut. Mmmmmm.

After this spate of catching up on email, blogging, tweeting and the news, I'm walking away from computers and TVs until tonight. Haven't decided yet how to spend the afternoon: retail therapy? Cooking? Praying? Reading (The Amputee's Guide to Sex: thanks, Isis)? All of the above? Nothing outside, though, it's been drizzling all day. Not enough to deter voters, thankfully.

Did anyone else see Sarah Palin on SNL's election special last night? I think someone insulted her kids, or pissed in her koolaid right before she went on the air, or something, because she read her jokes in an absolutely dead voice, with no pauses for the non-existant laughs, and looked angry the whole time. It was surreal, and creepy.

Tonight, my friends and I will be drinking and eating chili while watching the returns, and then watching the Stewart/Colbert Awesomeathon at 10 p.m. EST. I don't plan on going to bed unless/until someone concedes, and returns come in for Prop 8 in CA.

I'm glad to be in Virginia today. I drove 9 hours yesterday to be here for this. I'm way too paranoid about election fraud to trust to an absentee ballot, and I wanted my little blue vote to be counted. The air in Richmond is very, very, very, very, very excited. People are wandering around with glazed eyes and nervously twitching hands. Everyone's eyes are red from lack of sleep. The first thing everyone asks everyone else is, "Have you voted?"

I heard that Biden's in town somewhere today. The campaign wouldn't say where in advance. It'd be really cool to see him.

Feel a driving need to be doing something. My dreams last night were intensely vivid and strange, and are coloring my mood today. I won't be able to sit here much longer. The free coffee they're handing out here for people who voted probably isn't helping. Nor is my anxiety about the returns, which is, admittedly, lessening as the day goes on. I don't want to jinx anything...I don't want to relive 2004, although it would be a million times worse...my friend and I agreed today that this election is about the soul of this country. Not to cast it in too histrionic a light or anything.

Maybe I should start to relax. Maybe I should take this very good advice:

(Image courtesy of Jezebel)

an open letter to american social conservatives

2008-10-31T00:06:00.004-04:00

Please stop.

Please stop saying that Barack Obama is Muslim. He's not. He, and his family, are faithful Christians, and have demonstrated that in word and deed. (And even if he were Muslim, that shouldn't be a strike against him.)

Please stop saying that Barack Obama is an "Arab." He's an American, or he wouldn't be qualified to run for President.

Please stop saying that Barack Obama seeks to destroy Israel. He doesn't. He, like every other sane-minded person in this crazy world, wants to see an end to violence in the Middle East. In that vision, he supports Israel's sovreignty.

Please stop saying that Barack Obama is the antichrist. First of all, the Revelation of John was written in a literary code, and no one can say for sure what the high-flung, apocolyptic rhetoric of that book really means. Second, one of the main points of the book is that, if and when the end of the world comes, we won't know it's coming. People have been looking for signs for ages now -- since the book was written. You're using the Bible to fit your own fears and prejudices, and that's not right.

Please stop saying that, if Barack Obama is elected President, he'll make everyone in the country do X, Y, and Z. Since when has any President ever been able to make Americans do something? (Not counting the draft for a minute -- let's focus on the so-called "family" issues.) No one will force you to marry someone of the same gender, no one will force you to have an abortion, and no one will force your children to be communist transvestite Phish roadies or whatever. You and your children will have as much ability to intelligently decide your lives' paths for yourselves as you ever did. If other people in America have the freedom to live their lives as they see fit (which is, after all, what America's always been all about), the country will be a better place.

Please stop being afraid of people who are different from you, and thinking that, if Barack Obama is elected President, that "the blacks will take over." (Seriously. I've read that you've said that. I'll look up the source later.) Everyone's afraid, in some way, of everyone else. Let's try talking to each other, and treating each other as people. And, by the way, things are going to change in this country's race relations no matter who's elected.

Please stop objectifying Sarah Palin. Seriously. And yes, you so are. I've spent too much time denigrating her myself, in a mean-spirited way. I'll stop being so mean, if you'll stop fetishizing her.

Please, please, please stop being so afraid. Your anger and fear is scaring me. It makes me afraid for the future of this country, no matter who wins the election. My own anger and fear scares me, too. Can we both stop being afraid? Can we work together?

from the front lines: fighting prop 8

2008-10-30T22:00:00.003-04:00

My friend David sent this email earlier, and I want to share it with all of you. He and I have been friends since I started seminary. His courage and grace in coming out inspired me to make advocacy a center point of my ministry goals, and his work on behalf of the gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and queer communities is affecting powerful change within our denomination. I have his permission to use his name, but all other names are changed. I can't add anything to his appeal; I post it here as he sent it.

"I wanted to give a quick update on the campaign trail in San Diego. I have been here 6 days now and we now are only 5 days away from election day.

"I wanted to share a quick story from today on the campaign. For those that do not know, I am working on the Prop 8 campaign in CA. Our goal is to defeat this proposition to maintain the current reality in California where marriage equality exists for all people.

"Tonight X and I were right out front of the campaign office, working to sign people up to help work the polls on election today. It reminds me of working the HRC pride booth.

"So X, who is only 22, is more than amazing at getting people's attention and then really pushing them to sign up. His aggressive style of trying to recruit people always makes me feel uncomfortable, mainly because the people he is talking to start to get uncomfortable. Midway through our shift he came up to me and asked, 'Do you think I am being too pushy?' And deep down I wanted to say, 'Yes! Leave these poor people alone.' I did not actually say that, but I am sure whatever I said he could tell that I really thought he was being too pushy.

"Tonight when I got home after 12 hours on my feet, I allowed myself some time to process everything that is going on out here. And I kept coming back to X's question, 'Am I being too pushy?' Five days until the most important day in LGBT history takes place, and I am feeling uncomfortable because X is being too pushy to get people to actually do something to protect their rights. X actually gets it, and I think I finally got it tonight. Every poll indicates we are in dead heat, and I will not even mention the horrible ads being produced by the Yes on 8 folks.

"If you have not yet donated, please consider making a donation at www.noonprop8.com."

women's "health"

2008-10-29T13:28:00.004-04:00

Samantha Bee, on last night's Daily Show, does brilliantly angry satire on behalf of women everywhere. In case you don't remember, in the last presidential debate, John McCain used air quotes (which will forever now be known as "dick fingers") when talking about the health of women in abortion.

I'm so grateful that Bee did this piece, even if it was too pointed to get big laughs. Abortion's not a topic that gets brought out often for its comedic impact. But hey, if men think they can legislate women's bodies, then women can joke about it on TV.

Abortion used to be a topic I avoided discussing at all costs. Seriously, I have been known to discreetly leave the room when it (and other sensitive subjects) were brought up. But I can't do that anymore. The possibility of my rights being taken away, in the name of discrimination masquerading as religious piety, is too real.

One of the reasons I think Bee's piece nails the topic so well is that she encapsulates the insanity of the conservative argument. Painting pro-choice women as baby-killers misses the point. It's not like pro-choice women want to get abortions, or enjoy getting abortions, or get abortions with a light heart and have brunch afterwards, or try to convince others to get abortions too. The question at stake is, who gets to decide: the woman whose body will be manipulated, or a body of disinterested (or prurient), mostly male legislators? Obama tried to make that point in the clip above, before McCain cut him off.

Honestly, though, I got angry at Obama too, as another man who thinks he has a right to an opinion in this issue. As Bee politely said at the end of the piece, "F*@k you, Jon." (And if that's how women feel toward feminist advocates on this issue, try to imagine the rage we feel toward the anti-choice men. Jon's frozen, aghast face at the end of the McCain clip made me laugh, because he seemed to be bracing himself for the onslaught.)

But wait! Wasn't this post supposed to be about comedy?

8 ways to survive the next 8 days...

2008-10-29T00:05:00.005-04:00

I know, it's been all politics all the time here lately, which makes Estaminet a dull grrl. I sowwy. I stop after the election. Maybe.

Here is a handy-dandy guide to get us to that point. From 23/6: Eight Ways To Survive the Next Eight Days Without Losing Your Frigging Mind (it came out yesterday; substitute "Seven" for "Eight" and you're right there. Still applies.).

wassup 2008

2008-10-24T19:22:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure it's even the same actors. This is brilliant.

hot joe biden

2008-10-24T12:03:00.003-04:00

Does having a crush on Joe Biden make me sexist? I'm afraid it makes me sexist. And if it doesn't, then posting this macro definitely makes me sexist. But I'ma doing it anyway.

(Courtesy of Not My Gal.)

intelligent design gets a leg up in texas

2008-10-24T11:40:00.004-04:00

Disturbing news from Texas, via the Houston Chronicle:

The State Board of Education has appointed a panel to review proposed new science curriculum standards. Three members of the six-person panel are anti-evolution activists, including a person who is one of the foremost advocates for teaching "intelligent design."

The conclusion of the article nicely summarizes what is at stake in this decision:

"To maintain the state's strength as an engine of U.S. research and innovation, Texas education leaders should stick to the basics. Students need a solid science foundation to thrive in the 21st century. We don't want our children to be stragglers in an age when clear understanding of science and technology are crucial to the economy and to so many issues of modern life."

Last Sunday, the Waco Tribune-Herald published an editorial by members of the 21st Century Science Coalition (including review panel member David Hillis), that clearly laid out the insanity of teaching "intelligent design" in schools side-by-side with evolution. Trust me, I'm as much a Christian fangirl as anyone, but undermining the teaching of a scientific concept in schools with a religious belief is madness. It's pitting two concepts against each other that should be working to inform each other. It's talking apples and oranges and claiming they're both onions.

The problem, of course, lies with fundamentalists on both sides of the argument: those who think that science is godless and those who think that religion is mindless. It's a seismic shift for Christian to try to look at their faith objectively, and for scientists to realize that there's no such thing as true objectivity. But until both sides make these attempts, we'll be confusing our kids with intelligent design in schools. Neither side is going to win this fight decisively, because they haven't even agreed on a common fighting field.

The Clergy Letter Project, which I support, is a step in the right direction, though...

old photos: cross-dressers and bad-asses

2008-10-20T11:28:00.006-04:00

An appraiser came by Mom and Dad's house this morning to look at some stuff that came from Aunt M.'s and Pop Pop's houses. She paused when she walked by a chair that had boxes of old photos in it, and pulled out a few in particular. The most remarkable one, which she said we should try to sell on its own, features men dressed as women:

We think we're related to these people, on my Mom's mother's side, but we don't know exactly who they are. They're great pictures, though, aren't they?

I call this one "man pile":

This next one is part of a series, in which the young women are all carrying parasols. For this shot, however, they put the parasols down and picked up pies. I can hear the photographer saying, "Okay, now for the fun one!"

This last one is my favorite of the set. I liked the women in the photo immediately. I call them "the Bad-Asses." Nice to know it's genetic.

the chunn house

2008-10-19T23:29:00.011-04:00

Tonight, I was thrilled and excited to find another retelling of the Chunn House story. My Uncle F. has told stories of this old drover's inn for as long as I can remember, and in 2006 I interviewed him about it. About 20 years ago, he and Aunt A. visited the site of the house, but he wasn't sure if anything was left of the ruins.

This past Thursday, cousin C. and I hiked along the railroad tracks, looking for the site (you can see one of the chimneys from the tracks). Here is the story, from my interview with Uncle F., illustrated by photos from Thursday.

"Grandpa J. would sit by the fireplace and tell me about when he was growing up and about the Buncombe Turnpike before it was called the Buncombe Turnpike. They'd drive the cattle – horses and hogs, and turkeys, mules – from Tennessee and Kentucky up the Buncombe Turnpike, up the French Broad into Asheville, and then on down into Saluda. From there to Charleston.

Local people would dig pits along the major part of the trail. They would put river canes over the pits, and a little light sprinkling of dirt. Then the main herd, or drove, or flock, would come along, and some of them would wander off and fall down in the pits. The herd would go on, and then the local people would come get them a hog, or a sheep, or a steer, or whatever they were driving.

There were were drovers’ houses about every ten miles, because about ten miles was as far as a herd of hogs could go. They even drove flocks of turkeys. So you had a drover’s house that had big pens to put the livestock in. Some of them had ladies of the night, and some of them had fine brandy. The drovers would try to get to the good houses where they had good food and good brandy and all that.

There was a place at Redmond, North Carolina, on the Buncombe Turnpike, owned by the Chunns: the Chunn House. The chimney still stands. When we retired, we went down there, and I thought about getting some rock in the chimney and putting it in the old log house.

The story was that at night, they had good food and plenty of brandy and female entertainment. The drovers would go to Charleston and sell their herds and horses and mules and whatever, and then try to make it all the way back to the Chunn House to stay overnight. But then a lot of times, there would be a black man that would hold them up and rob them, the next morning after they’d spent the night and left to go on to Tennessee and Kentucky.

The word got out. This one drover thought he was ready. He'd loaded his pistol and had a fast horse, and he said the robber wasn’t going to get his money. One of the guys who worked at the Chunn house, who'd just had his pay cut, said to the man, “You just think you’re ready. You better look at your pistol when you leave here in the morning. ‘cause there won’t be any bullets in it. And you’d better look at your horse’s hocks, because they’ll have silk thread tied around them, and your horse won't be able to run.”

Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened. The man reloaded his pistol, and cut the silk thread from the hocks of his horse, and left.

In just a little while, the Chunn children came back. “Oooooohh, oooohhh, they’ve killed Daddy, they’ve shot Daddy.”

“Oh, no, they didn’t know it was your Daddy, it was a black man.”

Mr. Chunn had blackened his face and dressed up like a black man and done all the robberies, and the man had killed him.

That is the story of the Chunn House."

turtle rescue

2008-10-19T23:13:00.007-04:00

There was this turtle, see. She was making her way down the railroad tracks outside Marshall, NC. My cousin C. and I came across her as we were searching for the Chunn house site (more on that later).

Unfortunately, she was in the tracks, with no way to climb out. I reckon she must have tumbled down the steep slope and landed there, or been carried and dropped by some bird. A really big bird. Or maybe she dropped her pogo stick at just the wrong moment. I don't know. The point is, she was stuck, and was a candidate for getting smooshed by the first train that came by.

After assuring her that I wouldn't hurt her, and would, in fact, move her to someplace safer, I picked her up by the shell, keeping my hands well behind her forearms. Good thing, too, because the little ingrate tried to bite me. She slewed her head around, opened her mouth really wide (all white and gleamy inside), and did that silent hissing thing.

"It's for your own good," I told her firmly. I stepped over the tracks and the gravel, slid carefully down the slope, and put her in the trees between the tracks and the river. Hopefully she's recovered from the shock, had a nice meal, and returned to life as normal. And hopefully she's more careful with her pogo sticks from now on.

i want to know what the conversation's about.

2008-10-16T23:07:00.002-04:00

smart girls at the party!

2008-10-16T22:56:00.004-04:00

I am so far behind on blogging I may never ever be completely caught up. Currently, I'm lying in the sleeper sofa in my parents' basement, in the mountains of western North Carolina. The screen door is open and I'm listening to the crickets and barking dogs in the distance. There are occasionally coyotes, but not close enough for me to worry about them coming through the screen or anything. It's just a nice sound to sleep to, and the fresh air is also nice...although, right now, it inexplicably smells like sweet bologna.

Anyway I do so have a point and it's this: I'm super-psyched about Amy Poehler's new web series, Smart Girls at the Party. Knowing that this is in the works makes me an extra-happy woman reading her laptop in her parents' basement. (self-snark.)

yes we can (hold babies)

2008-10-09T23:22:00.003-04:00

Thinking big thoughts (among them: how awesome was Keenan Thompson on SThursNL tonight?). In the meantime: Yes We Can (Hold Babies).

(Courtesy of a tip from my oldest bestie C., who says, correctly, "If McCain doesn't get one of these, he's toast.")

new england autumn

2008-10-06T15:38:00.002-04:00

I wish I could describe to you how lovely it is in Massachusetts these days. (Last week sucked mightily, with all the rain, but it's better now.) The leaves are changing colors left and right, and are so bright and pretty it's like the trees are preening. Some of the leaves are falling already, prompting some people to moan dramatically at the prospect of raking. But for now, they're just swirly and entertaining. The air smells good, like cloves and smoke and apples. And the people here go all out for fall decorating. It's rare to see a front stoop without a few pumpkins and mums. No garish Halloween displays yet, but I imagine they'll come.

I really, really love this time of year. And I suspect that, after witnessing this autumn in the north, I'll compare all future autumns to it. Seriously, it's like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting or an Inez Haynes Irwin book.

naming the evil

2008-10-03T12:04:00.004-04:00

Here's part of a speech, by the AFL-CIO's Richard Trumka, which says what I've been waiting for someone to say. He calls out the racism that underlies many "average American" voting decisions, and does it in a way that reminds me why I'm voting for Obama in the first place.

Being a white, middle-upper class liberal does not have to be a defensive position. Yes, we inherited $2 in our pockets because of our race and class, but we know it, and it doesn't make us bad people. When we recognize that others didn't get the same legacy, and have their own race and class pain, we can work for change, and start to turn things around.

(By the way, it's sad that so many of the most racist quotes in this election have been coming from Pennsylvania, as Trumka mentions. My family ties there make me wish it were different. But if you want to see McCain/Palin lawn signs growing like grass, go to Lancaster County.)

As Andrew Sullivan says, "To see a white union man take on racism this way is very moving. Something truly profound could happen in this election, if we want it to:"

Thanks to Isis for the link.

just in time for the debate!

2008-10-02T20:39:00.005-04:00

(Image courtesy of Jezebel)

Are you watching? What network/live stream? What snacks and drinks? I'm armed with chocolate pudding, but will probably be switching to Oktoberfest beer before too long. Drink 'em if you got 'em!

kookaburra: fireflies

2008-10-02T16:16:00.000-04:00

Whenever I've been feeling soulless and dispirited lately, I've taken to reading Anne Lamott. Given that I was a female liberal seminarian for 5 years, I came to her kind of late: most of my ilk read her first, and then come to seminary. I first picked up Traveling Mercies last year, and in the past 3 months have worked my way through Plan B and Grace (Eventually), which I finished on Tuesday. Oh, and I heard her speak at the University of Richmond in March.

The last essay in Grace (Eventually), her most recent collection of essays, hit me particularly hard. I read it while still recovering from last weekend, when Mom and I cleaned out the rest of the detritus in Aunt M.'s house. We donated what we could, and hired guys to haul the rest away to the dump. Three truckloads of stuff, added to the landfill. I've heard that that's a small amount, compared to some experiences of death.

I don't know what it was about "Kookaburra," Lamott's last essay, that got to me. There wasn't anything particularly relevant about it: she details a moment of spiritual growth in which she behaved like an adult with baggage and received unexpected grace. But I could hardly bear to read the final words of blessing.

After all, grace is the last word, for all of us. Even when we witness and grieve a life and death as hard as Aunt M.'s, we find grace.

Almost the last thing I'll ever do for you:
I picked the bones up carefully,
smoothed them in their bounds of fur
under thin white plastic
the smell of death long gone.
All that remains are the
clean, translucent claws
that ticker up the backs of my hands
and arms to dig, eternally clenched,
at the base of my skull,
along with the guilt and shame.
This is the most I can do now.
I never could make everything alright
but I helped when I could.

Reach out your finger,
touch my neck,
transform those claws into fireflies
or better creatures, if there are any.

petit four

2008-10-01T22:34:00.005-04:00

My dear friend Jessica Cook is having a show this month. In Petite, she teams up with Natalie Macellaio (shown) to explore a simple, absurd and lovely object: the petit four. And really, what object in our lives is more laden with pretension and cultural implications, while being so small and sweet? I've seen some of the preliminary sketches, and it'll be an amazing show.

If you're in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area this month, go see it at the 500X Gallery. If you're not, go to a bakery and buy some petits fours. If you react to the idea of this show the way I did, you'll be craving them obsessively soon. (Private to Tim: Wilson Farm's bakery sells them. I'm just sayin'.)

If you haven't got a ha'penny, then God bless you...I mean, if you can't do either, then hopefully you'll be graced into a moment of surprised attention to an ordinary object. I'm trying to pay more attention to that creative movement in my life; being friends with Jessica helps.

crepe paper dolls

2008-09-30T23:44:00.025-04:00

On Saturday, my cousin gave me something I've been looking for for nearly two decades.

When I was 14, my grandparents moved from Paradise, PA to a smaller home in Leola. This was a seismic shift in my life: I identified peace and security so strongly with that location and its trappings of family life that the uprooting terrified me.

Of course, after the move I learned about the nature of love and the strength of family beyond geography. I grew up a little bit during that time.

However, I still dream about the old house, and think of it in terms of an ideal. I'm kind of sentimental that way.

Since my grandfather and my mother's sister both passed away this year, the links to that time are all but gone. It's been hard.

As we've spent the past few months settling their estates, cleaning out their houses, and dividing up the property (the logistics of grief), I've had my eyes open for one thing in particular: a box of dolls I remembered playing with at the old house in Paradise.

I'd never seen them after my grandparents moved to Leola, and no one remembered what had happened to them. They became a sort of obsession for me. A lot of my sadness over the closing of an era of my life got channeled into that search.

On Saturday, Mom and I went to visit my cousin C. in Lebanon, PA. She'd been telling me for months that she wanted to show me some things that she took from our grandfather's house.

I almost cried when she pulled out the box of dolls.

She said that they'd been in a closet at our grandfather's house. They could have been easily overlooked; it's a plain cardboard box, wrapped in clear plastic. I'm so grateful that she found them.

The funny thing is, even though she and her sister stayed at the house in Paradise more than I did, she has no memory of these dolls.

When I look at them, however, I'm a kid again, sitting on the floor, lining the dolls up in a row, and staring at them with fascination. They're really unlike anything I've ever seen.

Having them back now is both better and worse than I'd imagined.

Worse, because of course, they don't take the grief away. Worse, because it hurts to see them away from the context of my idealized memory. The last time I held them, I was just starting my teenage years, and could still lose myself in imagination if I wanted.

Better, because the dolls are inherently interesting. All these years, I've been thinking they were made of corn husks. As I took them out of the box tonight, however, I discovered that they're actually made of crepe paper, either braided, rolled, or layered over cardboard or wire. The dolls are decorated with sequins, metallic and paper lace, and cotton, and their faces are hand-painted. The wedding party (at left) have curls made of rolled-up paper.

I did a little Googling, and discovered that crepe paper dolls were a craft phenomenon during the late 19th and early 20th century. While some companies did mass-produce them, mostly the supplies were sold in kits and the dolls were assembled in homes, or sold for party favors. I think the latter is true for our family's dolls: they don't bear a manufacturer's mark as far as I can tell.

There's a fun diversity of style and form in this group: from the wedding attendants to the "gypsies" (or so I used to call them).

I'll keep looking into the craft, and I'll ask some of the older generation at the next reunion.

I'd be interested to figure out where these came from, and if someone in the family made them.

Meanwhile, I have to bloody well figure out what to do with them.

could have been an easier trip

2008-09-30T21:37:00.006-04:00

So, on my drive from Lancaster County to Boston on Sunday, my tire blew out. I was on I-287 N around NYC. I didn't lose control, thank heavens...as a matter of fact, it wasn't even a real blow-out. The tread on my right front tire just stripped right off. In the process, it ripped my splash guard to shreds. The sound was horrendous, and scared the shit out of me.

(Of course I took pictures. I was sitting by the side of the road with nothing to do. What else was I gonna do?)

But the rest of the experience was okay. As a matter of fact, the guy with the tow truck was actually kind of funny. I'd been in his cab for about a minute, making small talk, when (after a few beats of silence) he burst out, "Okay, I've asked all my guy friends, but I need a female perspective." He proceeded to tell me the intimate details of his 15-year friendship with this woman who's been taking advantage of him and taking him for granted, and refusing to actually date him. While waiting in line at the service center, to buy a tire, I told him that he needed to take a stand and show her what she was missing out on. I hope it works out for him...he seems like a nice guy. I was grateful that he stuck around to make sure I could buy a tire and that they'd install it for me. Of course, he did get free relationship advice...no, I paid him to give him relationship advice. He better take it. That's some good shit right there.

But the rest of the trip was uneventful, barring the torrential rain. I was glad to get back to Arlington.

house rejects bailout package

2008-09-29T16:27:00.004-04:00

When I photoblogged about canning the other week, I didn't realize I was being prescient. Putting away food for the winter ahead is a good idea, because we'll be too poor to buy any.

dr. cornel west on colbert

2008-09-29T12:24:00.005-04:00

Words can't describe how refreshed I feel after watching this. It's like someone dipped my brain in an Arnold Palmer. I need to get out my Cornel West reader and immerse myself in hope again. (He spoke at my seminary in the spring, and was utterly transfixing.)

I wish that he'd had more time to speak in the interview...I love when Cornel West starts talking about power. He summed up how I feel, deep down, about Obama, when he said, "I love the brother, but he's on a different path than I am. The commitment to truth is in tension with the quest for power." Not that that's a black-or-white choice, given the need to have leaders of Obama's caliber. It's right that the available power in the world go to someone who can wield it properly...and self-sacrificial types don't last long in politics. I can't find the quote, but I remember hearing it said that Obama chose to enter politics because he realized that he needed power to affect the change he wanted to see in the world. Someone has to do it...but I mind what my middle school civics teacher said about power.

See? This is what happens to me when I read/listen to Cornel West. He makes me think.

canning!

2008-09-27T21:47:00.005-04:00

Chris has some lovely thoughts about canning this week in Little Dee. I like the canned bunnies.

It's the season to think about food, about preparing it and saving it. Or not. Mom and I went to Kauffman's today to pick up the things I have to get in Lancaster County when I visit: ring bologna, PA baby swiss cheese, whoopie pies, local honey, and bread-and-butter pickles. Wonderful, nostalgic stuff. I love waiting at the deli and talking to the Amish woman behind the counter.

Usually, I can just ramble into Kauffman's, buy what I want, and vamoose, but it's apple season, and the market was a madhouse. Everybody buying apples by the bushel, to can and jar and butter and schnitzel and pie them. Mmmm. This, plus the smell of wood smoke in the air, means that Lancaster County is one of the yummiest places this time of year.

disenfranchisement scams

2008-09-25T15:51:00.002-04:00

Lots of election scams going on in swing states, including VA. I've been getting emails this week from a pastor in Richmond, VA, who almost fell prey to one:

There is a scam (verified by the VA State Board of Elections) in which an absentee ballot has been copied and mailed out to people. It is returned to an address which is not the registrar's office. The "right" votes are sent to the registrar while the votes you don't want counted are not sent to the registrar. It may be a group not directly associated or overseen by a particular party, and either or both parties may have instances of this. This is illegal. If anyone gets an absentee ballot that is not stamped with the registrar's address, then it needs to be kept and taken to the Registrar and the State Board alerted. Feel free to pass this around.

A friend posted about another one today:

Tell your college students/anyone who votes by absentee ballot, newly registered voters about this information. Be sure you are properly registered to vote.

Transcript from Ring of Fire on Air America Radio

Bobby: "There are about 30 scams the Republicans are deliberately using, particularly in the swing states to get Democratic voters off the rolls. These scams originate in the so-called Help America Vote Act which was passed after the Florida debacle in the year 2000. It was originally suggested by Democrats and Republicans but it was passed by a Republican congress with a Republican senate and a Republican president. And instead of reforming what happened in Florida it basically institutionalized all the problems that happened in Florida. And institutionalized a series of impediments that make it very difficult for Democrats to register, for Democrats to vote and then for Democrats to have their vote counted.

"One of these requirements under HAVA is called "the perfect match" and what that does is little known but it is devastating. A quarter of the voters in Colorado have just been removed from the rolls because of this - just this one scam. And what it does is they use a computer system to compare your registration application to all other government records of you in the state. So they'll look at your social security records, your motor vehicle records and any time you've had any interaction with the government and if there is any information on your voter registration that is different than the information on another government record that they find they remove you from the voting rolls.

"For example, if I registered as Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and yet my motor vehicle license said Robert Frances Kennedy Jr. I'd be removed from the rolls. If your initial is different, if you leave an initial out, if you leave a "Jr." out, if you leave a hyphen out in your name. And what they've done is a study in New York that said 80% of the errors are errors that were done by state clerks who are taking down this information. And particularly immigrant communities that people tend to vote Democratic, people have names … spell Muhammad with an "o" instead of a "u."

Pap: "Are the Democrats Suing to Stop This?"

Bobby: "No, the Democrats are doing nothing to stop it. In New Jersey, which is a swing state, 300,000 voters in New Jersey were just sent letters saying that they are now ineligible to vote. New jersey is nice enough to actually notify them - most states will not even notify them. And New Jersey intends to send out 870,000 letters so that is three quarters of a million people off the voting rolls in a state that could decide this vote by 50,000 votes. And these are Democrats that are being pushed off the rolls.

Bobby: "Let me tell you about one other of these scams people should know about. If you're a newly registered voter - and of course the Democrats have done these gigantic registration drives - 12 million people on registration - if you're a new voter you MUST include your license or some other state I.D. when you come to vote. What that means is that if you're a college kid (and college kids now - they're sending in absentee ballots - they're not going to the voting place, they do everything online or they do everything remotely - they don't dream of going to the precinct house voting on election day and waiting in a long line) so if they send in the absentee ballot and they don't include a color copy of their license their vote is going to be thrown into a trash can. And none of these people know this because you have had to read the law in order to know it. So there is no notification for when you fill out your registration form, so all of those 12 million people that the Democrats have registered: those ballots are going to be just thrown out.

Pap: "And if Democrats won't talk about this how the hell's anybody gonna know about it? I'm involved with this kind of thing every day - I didn't know that until you just told me. The media is not talking about it. How in the hell is somebody gonna find this out? It's just incredible.

Bobby: "Hopefully - Obama is getting 66 million dollars a month - hopefully somebody in the Democratic organization is going to pay some attention to this before election day."

estaminet

dorland bell photos, hot springs, nc, 1920's

new game: fungi or not?

mom on television, 1956

apple butter: pennsylvania, 1945 and 1952

my rant about "winning"

illustrations

letter(s) from grandma

journeys and pilgrimages

sunday afternoon walk

cheer dessert topping

vintage family photos

hospital (free association)

mid-century madison county

ring the keys in lancaster, pa

mountain dance and folk festival

that dorotheos, he had a way with visuals

4th of july weekend

ash wednesday kairos

i'm not sure which of today's events is most important, so i'll use a lot of italics everywhere just in case

surprise painting

4th of july weekend

after michael jackson died

how things are going at this point

bad veins

bike riding

i'm still waiting to hear from the girl's parents about this

first impressions

internship, day one

marshall depot

what some would call a good day

kingdom of the happy land

twitter oops

mom memes

meme for describing cpe life

despite appearences...

delicious links for wednesday

P

argh i've been reading it wrong:

flooffy snow

delicious links grab-bag

TAG

TA

nothing can separate us

reasons why i haven't written a new blog post in a while

sunday morning loves

home, home in the suburbs

getting ready to move, again

obama's inauguration (finally)

obama's west wing

back to school for the girls in kandahar

delicious links for monday

robots and worms in love

more delicious links (some on back-order)

the online voice

a daffodil in my forehead

christmas meme

through to sunrise

delicious links for wednesday (posted friday, sue me)

delicious links for tuesday

an eye for an eye

delicious links for monday

delicious links for saturday

delicious links for thursday and friday

Crocodile (french) - Capucine for EdureliefCapucine t-shirt: WANT.

gingerbread house

ontology of personhood, toddler-style

best dream ever

blog lite (filling in the gaps left by twitter and delicious)

where is the "stand by me" for girls?

o. winston link photos

happy birfday, dear isis

attacks at mirwais mena

theology of hospitality/my friends are awesome

muppets on the today show

rar

nothing sadder

from 52 to 48 with love

let-down

president barack obama

Crocodile (french) - Capucine for Edurelief

Capucine t-shirt: WANT.