Yesterday I was recounting to a friend how I had talked with the home office for the volunteer gig I want to do next year in Tanzania and how it was really coming together that I would probably be there for 10 weeks starting in January AND how I had been accepted by the ESL certification program and would start 9 to 5 days M-F in November for four weeks AND how one of my instructors is from the one country I know I want to try and teach in and probably has the connections I will need to make that happen.
After the bubbling brook of information and enthusiasm for my initial days of my great adventure subsided she said, "I would say how great it is that it is all working out for you but that sounds like it's just happening and you've put a lot of work into making this 'just happen.'"
I love this friend.
She sees things like that and doesn't let them go unsaid. I have researched and called and networked and am continuing to do so. Lots of folks just observe the outcome and don't recognize the foundation on which its built.
She does.
May her tribe increase ... and may she herself get some good news this weekend!!!*
*Even though many of you don't know her and I'm not using her name, just say a prayer, ok? She's one of the good ones who loves deeply and one she loves is waiting for some good health news.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
A Rainy Night in Houston and I'm Standing in Line with THE List
I heard the words that my friend, a mother of three who is in the midst of a move and starting her own new school year as a high school teacher, was saying. But I didn’t grasp the real meaning until I was standing at a ransacked shelving unit in Target asking complete strangers if they had, as yet, found college ruled notebook paper. Discovering that, yea verily, Super Target was not so super as to have ordered enough of that particular product to satiate the masses who were set forth, lists in hand, by our educational system the first week of school. Neither, I discovered, was Office Max and they topped off my buying experience by having a credit card machine breakdown in the line I had carefully chosen because it didn’t have three weary mothers with carts overflowing with book covers, 2-inch (not half inch!) binders and multi-colored highlighters.
I never knew.
I’ve lived this long and was clueless that such a ritual existed. “They” have The List. But “they” don’t divulge it until the children/youth are seated in their classrooms and thus a system is born.
I’m thinking it’s a Wal-Mart-based conspiracy.
I also suggested that with the one package of 150 sheets of aforementioned college rule paper that my 15-year-old charge found tossed in a bin of writing utensils, we could have perhaps had an auction right there in Office Max and perhaps paid for her first semester of college.
I’m just saying.
I never knew.
I’ve lived this long and was clueless that such a ritual existed. “They” have The List. But “they” don’t divulge it until the children/youth are seated in their classrooms and thus a system is born.
I’m thinking it’s a Wal-Mart-based conspiracy.
I also suggested that with the one package of 150 sheets of aforementioned college rule paper that my 15-year-old charge found tossed in a bin of writing utensils, we could have perhaps had an auction right there in Office Max and perhaps paid for her first semester of college.
I’m just saying.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Faith Wow!
This weekend the big news was that Mother Teresa had doubts. In fact, she spent most of her ministry wondering where God was.
When I read the account, I had two reactions. First, I thought, "My God, I finally have something in common with Mother Teresa!"
My second was a bit startling. Since she really didn't want her letters of confession published it hit me that she could have possibly lacked in a community who would accept her in her unbelief, a community who gave her the freedom to doubt.
"I have that!' I thought. "I never doubt that I have room to doubt and still be loved by my friends. . . Wow . . . I'm one up on Mother Teresa!"
Wow.
When I read the account, I had two reactions. First, I thought, "My God, I finally have something in common with Mother Teresa!"
My second was a bit startling. Since she really didn't want her letters of confession published it hit me that she could have possibly lacked in a community who would accept her in her unbelief, a community who gave her the freedom to doubt.
"I have that!' I thought. "I never doubt that I have room to doubt and still be loved by my friends. . . Wow . . . I'm one up on Mother Teresa!"
Wow.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Perhaps I'm Smiling TOO Much!?
Today I had to fill in for my boss who was filling in for our other boss but who had to take care of family business so she wasn't there for my organization's quarterly business meeting.
Still with me?
So I pinned up my dress so I was somewhere near conservative in the cleavage department, reviewed all the Powerpoint slides she'd prepared for a state of the union address and called upon my incredibly gifted co-workers to be ready to fill in the blanks should I stumble with facts and figures -- not my strong suit. I'm all about the story, remember?
But before the report, I had to play her as interviewer. We wanted to feature this incredible pastor who maintained his successful export business while pastoring a church that in the last year or so has started 18 churches which in turn have started 6 more. He's also been "detained" in North Africa when he was picked up on the street because he'd openly answered a woman's question about his faith, and his network of small churches have raised thousands of dollars (and they are mostly churches of immigrant Hispanics) for wells in Mexico. I LOVE this guy!
I also interviewed the co-worker I bragged on in an earlier blog entry.
They were great and I was almost giddy.
I think people suspected I might be a bit toooooo happy about the resignation letter they were also seeing for the first time!
That announcment was in their package of papers but came later in the meeting. Nice things were said about me and I smiled.
After a few more announcements and updates, the rest of the staff and I went to the front of the room to fill in the blanks of the slides. I called on each one of them at one point or the other and they made the stats come alive with stories of what those stats translate into.
I smiled.
I also encouraged, challanged, and declared that since I was leaving I could take a personal point of privilege and say that this staff was one of the most incredible group of consultants I know doing what they do in this country.
I smiled as I acknowledged that I would probably never again work with a group of this caliber.
I smiled when I asked the folks in the room to support the efforts of this staff.
I smiled when we concluded our time with one more pat on the back to those who were there and those who helped to move toward the organization's vision every day.
I smiled when some pastors I've met through the years came forth to hug me.
And I smiled when I walked away, got in my red VW, and saw that location that has housed this meeting for most of my nine years of quarterly meetings in my rearview mirror.
I am, in fact, still smiling.
Still with me?
So I pinned up my dress so I was somewhere near conservative in the cleavage department, reviewed all the Powerpoint slides she'd prepared for a state of the union address and called upon my incredibly gifted co-workers to be ready to fill in the blanks should I stumble with facts and figures -- not my strong suit. I'm all about the story, remember?
But before the report, I had to play her as interviewer. We wanted to feature this incredible pastor who maintained his successful export business while pastoring a church that in the last year or so has started 18 churches which in turn have started 6 more. He's also been "detained" in North Africa when he was picked up on the street because he'd openly answered a woman's question about his faith, and his network of small churches have raised thousands of dollars (and they are mostly churches of immigrant Hispanics) for wells in Mexico. I LOVE this guy!
I also interviewed the co-worker I bragged on in an earlier blog entry.
They were great and I was almost giddy.
I think people suspected I might be a bit toooooo happy about the resignation letter they were also seeing for the first time!
That announcment was in their package of papers but came later in the meeting. Nice things were said about me and I smiled.
After a few more announcements and updates, the rest of the staff and I went to the front of the room to fill in the blanks of the slides. I called on each one of them at one point or the other and they made the stats come alive with stories of what those stats translate into.
I smiled.
I also encouraged, challanged, and declared that since I was leaving I could take a personal point of privilege and say that this staff was one of the most incredible group of consultants I know doing what they do in this country.
I smiled as I acknowledged that I would probably never again work with a group of this caliber.
I smiled when I asked the folks in the room to support the efforts of this staff.
I smiled when we concluded our time with one more pat on the back to those who were there and those who helped to move toward the organization's vision every day.
I smiled when some pastors I've met through the years came forth to hug me.
And I smiled when I walked away, got in my red VW, and saw that location that has housed this meeting for most of my nine years of quarterly meetings in my rearview mirror.
I am, in fact, still smiling.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Every Change Changes Everything
I'm a big fan of systems thinking. Once again, while reading The Week, I was rewarded with a wonderful illustration that serves to unpack this complex subject. The piece, written by one of my favorites -- William Falk -- also prompts the question . . . so what? we do nothing???
On my Saturday shopping expeditions, I've noticed a change over at the Whole Foods. A new sign has popped up here and there amid the heirloom tomatoes, specialty cheeses, and fresh-roasted coffees, bearing the single virtuous word: "Local." It's a wonderful salve to the conscience: My fellow shoppers and I live amid such embarrassing abundance, yet simply by paying $4 for a head of local lettuce, we can do our part to save the planet from global warming. Or so it seemed, until some scientific spoilsports at Lincoln University in new Zealand ran all the numbers. To accurately calculate a product's cabron impact, they found, you have to go beyond "food miles" -- the distance that kiwi or artichoke-flecked sausage traveled before reaching your table -- and figure in how much fertilizer, transported water, electricity, and other energy was used to produce it. Lamb raised on New Zealand's sunnier, grasier hills and hipped 11,000 miles to Britain, the study found, produced a mere 1,520 pounds of carbon emissions per ton. "Local" British lamb, which requires more intensive ccare, prodcued 6,280 pounds --- four times as much.
As if that heresy were not upsetting enough, a British scientist has calculated that walking to the store contributes more to global warming that driving a car. Walking, it seems, burns calories, which have to be replaced by eating food. And producing food -- especially beef and dairy products -- is more carbon-intensive than burning a smidge of gasoline, particularly since ruminating cattle emit so much methane. Now does this mean we can do nothing to slow global warming? No. It only means that the world is enormously complex, and that simple soulutions to big proplens--solutions that make us feel comforted and virutous -- are almost always illusory.
On my Saturday shopping expeditions, I've noticed a change over at the Whole Foods. A new sign has popped up here and there amid the heirloom tomatoes, specialty cheeses, and fresh-roasted coffees, bearing the single virtuous word: "Local." It's a wonderful salve to the conscience: My fellow shoppers and I live amid such embarrassing abundance, yet simply by paying $4 for a head of local lettuce, we can do our part to save the planet from global warming. Or so it seemed, until some scientific spoilsports at Lincoln University in new Zealand ran all the numbers. To accurately calculate a product's cabron impact, they found, you have to go beyond "food miles" -- the distance that kiwi or artichoke-flecked sausage traveled before reaching your table -- and figure in how much fertilizer, transported water, electricity, and other energy was used to produce it. Lamb raised on New Zealand's sunnier, grasier hills and hipped 11,000 miles to Britain, the study found, produced a mere 1,520 pounds of carbon emissions per ton. "Local" British lamb, which requires more intensive ccare, prodcued 6,280 pounds --- four times as much.
As if that heresy were not upsetting enough, a British scientist has calculated that walking to the store contributes more to global warming that driving a car. Walking, it seems, burns calories, which have to be replaced by eating food. And producing food -- especially beef and dairy products -- is more carbon-intensive than burning a smidge of gasoline, particularly since ruminating cattle emit so much methane. Now does this mean we can do nothing to slow global warming? No. It only means that the world is enormously complex, and that simple soulutions to big proplens--solutions that make us feel comforted and virutous -- are almost always illusory.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Gotta Love the Irony
I'm on hold with the Baptist-based financial organization that has collected my retirement funds for the last 20 years. I'm sitting at my desk. I'm waiting to ask questions related to how I can get my money out of their hands and into the hands of a not-tied-to-the-denomination financial group.
The "on hold music" is a rousing piano solo of some old time gospel song. Meanwhile, my office radio is blasting away with Tim McGraw's "I'm gonna live like I was dying."
I'm thinking, "I'm working on it, Tim, just give me time!"
The "on hold music" is a rousing piano solo of some old time gospel song. Meanwhile, my office radio is blasting away with Tim McGraw's "I'm gonna live like I was dying."
I'm thinking, "I'm working on it, Tim, just give me time!"
Learning Takes All Forms
Cross cultural work begs the metaphor. Some have suggested that diversity is like a patchwork quilt. Others say it's more like a stew. Still others have claimed the mosaic. As with most comparisons, the similarities eventually leave us at loose ends, blend into mush, or crack in some way.
But I love that we strive to connect something visual and artistic with the joys and struggles of communicating across/around worldviews and cultural beliefs.
I also love when the work creates in us the possibility of something heretofore unimaginable.
One of my cohorts at work is, by appearance, the least likely cross-cultural guru one could conjure. She looks dowdy. She dresses economically (which means that long skirts with shirts tucked into her rounder than her bustline waistband are her preferred uniforms ... with good shoes or flip flops). Her haircut is one that she could get at a barber shop since it's so short. She doesn't look her age (older than me) nor does she look young. She's timeless in her appearance ... pretty much the same woman I saw the first day I came to work here over a decade ago.
I made the mistake of initially judging this book by its cover. DOH! What an idiot I am!
She has transformed herself in the time I've known her -- not once but over and over again. She doesn't have a degree, yet she can now stand before thousands (and has) and speak to them of orality and how to address cultures who don't think in outlines and arguments. She doesn't capture your attention when she walks into a room because she's shy enough that she's usually looking for a space in the back where she can blend in. But the moment you offer up the floor for questions, she has them.
She spent much of her early adulthood raising two children as a single then remarried mom voluteering at a church as a preschool teacher. Now she uses experiential learning better than any education professor I ever had. In fact, she may be better at it because she doesn't rely on theory but her own experiences and she doesn't bother with trying to convince you of anything. She trusts the experience to do her teaching for her.
Recently she spoke of a small group she's brought together around the Russian language (a locale she's adopted and now helps to develop evangelistic strategies for) and scripture. Only most of the group aren't believers. And she's cautioning the one who is to keep it in check and allow thought-provoking questions just hang. (Challenging I'm sure to the the former Pentecostal who might usually have jumped on opportunity to provide THE answer.) In this group, she's got a physicist who knows three languages, an aging Ukrainian, and an atheist . And she speaks of their journey with more joy and enthusiasm than I've ever seen come out of a revival speaker.
Her latest tale involved them talking about the animals affected by the fall. Using her best take on scientific lingo, she asked, "Since we've spent some time on the assumption that the creation and fall of man stories are not true, let's give some equal time to the assumption that they could be true. If so, what about the animals who -- without sin -- had to die to cover the nakedness of Adam?"
When your audience has just spent several discussion minutes laboring over the animal kingdom, that kind of question is going to stop them in their over-analyzing tracks!
She's come a long way from home living centers in Sunday morning classrooms with fake kitchens and baby dolls. And yet she hasn't. Because for her, it's always been about learning and still is.
I'm going to miss all this woman has to teach me. I can't wait to see who will fill her shoes (flip flops) in my life.
But I love that we strive to connect something visual and artistic with the joys and struggles of communicating across/around worldviews and cultural beliefs.
I also love when the work creates in us the possibility of something heretofore unimaginable.
One of my cohorts at work is, by appearance, the least likely cross-cultural guru one could conjure. She looks dowdy. She dresses economically (which means that long skirts with shirts tucked into her rounder than her bustline waistband are her preferred uniforms ... with good shoes or flip flops). Her haircut is one that she could get at a barber shop since it's so short. She doesn't look her age (older than me) nor does she look young. She's timeless in her appearance ... pretty much the same woman I saw the first day I came to work here over a decade ago.
I made the mistake of initially judging this book by its cover. DOH! What an idiot I am!
She has transformed herself in the time I've known her -- not once but over and over again. She doesn't have a degree, yet she can now stand before thousands (and has) and speak to them of orality and how to address cultures who don't think in outlines and arguments. She doesn't capture your attention when she walks into a room because she's shy enough that she's usually looking for a space in the back where she can blend in. But the moment you offer up the floor for questions, she has them.
She spent much of her early adulthood raising two children as a single then remarried mom voluteering at a church as a preschool teacher. Now she uses experiential learning better than any education professor I ever had. In fact, she may be better at it because she doesn't rely on theory but her own experiences and she doesn't bother with trying to convince you of anything. She trusts the experience to do her teaching for her.
Recently she spoke of a small group she's brought together around the Russian language (a locale she's adopted and now helps to develop evangelistic strategies for) and scripture. Only most of the group aren't believers. And she's cautioning the one who is to keep it in check and allow thought-provoking questions just hang. (Challenging I'm sure to the the former Pentecostal who might usually have jumped on opportunity to provide THE answer.) In this group, she's got a physicist who knows three languages, an aging Ukrainian, and an atheist . And she speaks of their journey with more joy and enthusiasm than I've ever seen come out of a revival speaker.
Her latest tale involved them talking about the animals affected by the fall. Using her best take on scientific lingo, she asked, "Since we've spent some time on the assumption that the creation and fall of man stories are not true, let's give some equal time to the assumption that they could be true. If so, what about the animals who -- without sin -- had to die to cover the nakedness of Adam?"
When your audience has just spent several discussion minutes laboring over the animal kingdom, that kind of question is going to stop them in their over-analyzing tracks!
She's come a long way from home living centers in Sunday morning classrooms with fake kitchens and baby dolls. And yet she hasn't. Because for her, it's always been about learning and still is.
I'm going to miss all this woman has to teach me. I can't wait to see who will fill her shoes (flip flops) in my life.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Ever Happened to You?
Sooooo . . . I'm all about living as honestly as possible, allowing folks to be who they are, hoping that they grace me with the same gift, and earnestly seeking to be mature in the practice of being a human.
Here's the rub . . . I recently spoke up and said what I needed from someone. Healthy, right? I offered that I had no expectation that just because I said it that it would now translate into reality and acknowledged that my need to set a boundary wasn't to be taken as a demand for them to honor it. I simply needed to say aloud what I needed. The problem is that after this very healthy exchange where no one got defensive, emotions were expressed but not projected, etc. etc. etc., I wanted to call later and say, "Are you ok? Because really, if I hurt you, just forget it."
I'm thinking the road to emotional health is filled with just such speed bumps as these.
Here's the rub . . . I recently spoke up and said what I needed from someone. Healthy, right? I offered that I had no expectation that just because I said it that it would now translate into reality and acknowledged that my need to set a boundary wasn't to be taken as a demand for them to honor it. I simply needed to say aloud what I needed. The problem is that after this very healthy exchange where no one got defensive, emotions were expressed but not projected, etc. etc. etc., I wanted to call later and say, "Are you ok? Because really, if I hurt you, just forget it."
I'm thinking the road to emotional health is filled with just such speed bumps as these.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Sailing, Sailing
He held out his hand and I took it, wondering if he could guess the strength of my grip was only a suggestion of the power of my soul. Our eyes met . . . and that was the last time they would that day.
I wasn't what he expected and I knew it. He'd seen photos. He'd heard stories. But he was obviously disappointed and it showed.
After the obigatory toast when we boarded the 70 ft sailboat, he directed all his monologues towards Gary and Traci. I use the term because he wasn't really engaging anyone in conversation. I wanted to stop him at some point and suggest that he could breathe, that I got the message, and that I had no intention of jumping him -- physically or verbally -- in the next three days we'd be together.
We soon learned that the ship had much in common with an aging drag queen -- somewhat spectacular from a distance but upon close inspection the cracks were not only showing but affecting performance. They had been hit by lightning a few days before and the rainy summer had not been a profitable one for charters so money was tight and repairs were still on the "to do" list. Batteries were the big loss so we couldn't flush after each use, the showers worked only after the motor had been running a while, and the speakers for the promised music were iffy as well.
As soon as I learned what we had boarded, I made a slight adjustment in my thinking and had a great time. Luxury charter? No. Camping out at sea with an incredible view no matter which way I turned? Absolutely!
The first mate made me laugh and that made up for the silent treatment I was getting from the captain who was almost twice the young man's age. He had a way of telling a joke that was almost as amusing as the punch line. He would grin, announce that he had a joke, pause, grin again, and after a few moments when I came to realize he was retelling it in his head first, laugh aloud before launching into the telling. I laughed every time.
Gary asked the 28 year old what he had done in high school (because he truly looked like that was only a few years before) and he replied, "Drugs." Traci asked what kind. He said, "Uh yeah."
Should give you some sense of the cadence of the guy's stories.
While I was obviously not the captain's choice in the looks department, I did seem to be his therapist of choice. Granted, I'm all about questions so after the dead silence of the early morning with him three feet away smoking the first of his pack of cigarettes for the day and me writing in my journal whenever he made noises that his personality was now fortified enough to emerge, I would start simply.
"Your neck still bothering you?" this came after I had offered up massages all around and he had noted that he carried his tennsion there.
And he would begin ... I learned his work background, his Navy career, how many times he's been to the doctor this year and previously, how much needed to be done on the boat, how little he had with which to do it, his plans for the future, his regrets from the past and much, much, much more.
Reminded me of the time I hit the jackpot on a penny slot machine and how the $800 payoff I won after only two tries made itself known with a droning tickety tick sound that just kept going and going and going. Only this "payout" wasn't going to buy me dinner or cover the cost of a show.
I finally told him that I understood why he liked to shoot craps for his gambling of choice. He did it every day he sailed.
I had inquired about working on the boat prior to seeing the captain or the ship. He said he had a full crew for the fall. At the time, I was slightly disappointed that my year of adventure wouldn't be launched as dramatically as I thought. Now, I'm quite content in knowing that my three days on board made for a beautiful vacation (you should have seen the full moon reflecting off the water as the breeze blew over the deck) and will leave chasing that dream to a captain whose eyes can't see what's right in front of him.
I wasn't what he expected and I knew it. He'd seen photos. He'd heard stories. But he was obviously disappointed and it showed.
After the obigatory toast when we boarded the 70 ft sailboat, he directed all his monologues towards Gary and Traci. I use the term because he wasn't really engaging anyone in conversation. I wanted to stop him at some point and suggest that he could breathe, that I got the message, and that I had no intention of jumping him -- physically or verbally -- in the next three days we'd be together.
We soon learned that the ship had much in common with an aging drag queen -- somewhat spectacular from a distance but upon close inspection the cracks were not only showing but affecting performance. They had been hit by lightning a few days before and the rainy summer had not been a profitable one for charters so money was tight and repairs were still on the "to do" list. Batteries were the big loss so we couldn't flush after each use, the showers worked only after the motor had been running a while, and the speakers for the promised music were iffy as well.
As soon as I learned what we had boarded, I made a slight adjustment in my thinking and had a great time. Luxury charter? No. Camping out at sea with an incredible view no matter which way I turned? Absolutely!
The first mate made me laugh and that made up for the silent treatment I was getting from the captain who was almost twice the young man's age. He had a way of telling a joke that was almost as amusing as the punch line. He would grin, announce that he had a joke, pause, grin again, and after a few moments when I came to realize he was retelling it in his head first, laugh aloud before launching into the telling. I laughed every time.
Gary asked the 28 year old what he had done in high school (because he truly looked like that was only a few years before) and he replied, "Drugs." Traci asked what kind. He said, "Uh yeah."
Should give you some sense of the cadence of the guy's stories.
While I was obviously not the captain's choice in the looks department, I did seem to be his therapist of choice. Granted, I'm all about questions so after the dead silence of the early morning with him three feet away smoking the first of his pack of cigarettes for the day and me writing in my journal whenever he made noises that his personality was now fortified enough to emerge, I would start simply.
"Your neck still bothering you?" this came after I had offered up massages all around and he had noted that he carried his tennsion there.
And he would begin ... I learned his work background, his Navy career, how many times he's been to the doctor this year and previously, how much needed to be done on the boat, how little he had with which to do it, his plans for the future, his regrets from the past and much, much, much more.
Reminded me of the time I hit the jackpot on a penny slot machine and how the $800 payoff I won after only two tries made itself known with a droning tickety tick sound that just kept going and going and going. Only this "payout" wasn't going to buy me dinner or cover the cost of a show.
I finally told him that I understood why he liked to shoot craps for his gambling of choice. He did it every day he sailed.
I had inquired about working on the boat prior to seeing the captain or the ship. He said he had a full crew for the fall. At the time, I was slightly disappointed that my year of adventure wouldn't be launched as dramatically as I thought. Now, I'm quite content in knowing that my three days on board made for a beautiful vacation (you should have seen the full moon reflecting off the water as the breeze blew over the deck) and will leave chasing that dream to a captain whose eyes can't see what's right in front of him.
Magical Sunday
I'm overwhelmed when I least expect it. Today, I watched the movie Practical Magic with Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman and one of my favorite actresses -- Stockyard Channing. The movie is more than a story of spells of course. The real story is the power of hands held tightly together in love.
Something in that film made me know that the time has really come for me to leave. Perhaps the focus on finding one's heart's desire prompted it. Maybe it was the lessons learned even in the mistakes made (and Nicole's character was a definite screw up). Possibly, I longed to believe in something again with the absolute "rightness" that the "aunties" believed in themselves and the power of their family. Or maybe I just want to find my own Aidan Quinn!!
What I know is that you can't truly leave by running away and for the most part, I'm not. I also know leaving wouldn't be possible for me without the promise of arms outstretched to embrace me at each return. Those arms are not the arms of a lover, partner, husband or anyone committed to me by words. But each day, I'm reminded that I am not alone. And that un-aloneness makes the idea of a few goodbyes so much more bearable.
If I could conjure some magic, I would cast a spell so that every time I thought of someone I hold dear, they would smile. Then we could share that moment no matter how many miles separate us.
Smiling even now . . . .
Something in that film made me know that the time has really come for me to leave. Perhaps the focus on finding one's heart's desire prompted it. Maybe it was the lessons learned even in the mistakes made (and Nicole's character was a definite screw up). Possibly, I longed to believe in something again with the absolute "rightness" that the "aunties" believed in themselves and the power of their family. Or maybe I just want to find my own Aidan Quinn!!
What I know is that you can't truly leave by running away and for the most part, I'm not. I also know leaving wouldn't be possible for me without the promise of arms outstretched to embrace me at each return. Those arms are not the arms of a lover, partner, husband or anyone committed to me by words. But each day, I'm reminded that I am not alone. And that un-aloneness makes the idea of a few goodbyes so much more bearable.
If I could conjure some magic, I would cast a spell so that every time I thought of someone I hold dear, they would smile. Then we could share that moment no matter how many miles separate us.
Smiling even now . . . .
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Happy Bday 2 Me! Happy Bday 2 Me!
WARNING: You may tire reading this birthday account. Perhaps you should sit down. Breathe. Now hold on ....
My friends really came through for me this weekend. Miss "e" worked on making me a pretty girl all Friday afternoon. After she got through with me, I had a new color on my hair, my eyebrows and CURLS!!!!
I went home and slipped into the most cleavage-bearing dress I have ever worn in all my 46 years!!!!
Then Shane and Brit escorted me to a downtown restaurant where about 25 folks showed up to wish me well. Most of them were shocked that I'd gone the girly route. I must admit to varying degrees of amusement watching their reactions!
After good eats and conversation, we walked over to the Alley where we saw a play called The Gospel According to Tammy Fay. She was an icon in the AIDS community and among gay folks since she was so accepting early on when many in the church were more focused on condemnation. We found out Sunday that she died the night we saw the play! Wish I could brag on the play but what I can do is not pick on it so I'll just tell you that several of us (we'd lost a few and gained a few more at the theater) went on to the Chocolate Bar after the first act of one hour and forty minutes was over.
At this point, my wonderful escort Shane also took me to get jeans casual. A woman of my age can go the girly route only so long, you know?
Now back to the evening ... Imagine if you will a place where vanilla doesn't belong, isn't even allowed to enter! Candies, cakes and ice cream all featuring chocolate -- ahhh!
Chatted there a while and lost a few more but gained a few too and soon we were headed for a country and western dance place. Not much dancing going on there however because there weren't that many people either. So we packed us up and tried another locale. FUN TIMES!!!
We actually closed that place down or close to it and Brian was gracious enough to offer his place as our next stop. He's got a pool, hot tub and extra suits. We agreed and ended our "night" around 4 a.m. on Saturday morning.
Saturday was all about getting ready for a more intimate dinner party Roger and Brit were throwing at my place. Since I like to cook I served as her sous chef. Mostly that meant I chopped.
I left the premises at 2 p.m. for errands and to allow my humble apartment to be transformed by Geary, Bob and Roger. When I re-entered, they had created a bistro! Four linen clad tables with linen napkins, centerpieces that stood at least four feet tall with white flowers and a single butterfly in each (because Dian said that was the perfect representation of my new life), candles, and lanterns softened the room. We even had a cocktail bar where my dining table usually sits and my leather sofa made for a warm cozy corner.
Geary was also the culprit behind some yummy mojitos. Brit had worked on some olive stuffed cheese balls and also had out edamame and cheese and nuts.
First course was two salads -- grape tomatoes with mozarella and basil in a balsamic vinegrette alongside one of my concoctions of English cucumbers and red onions with champagne vinegar over avocado.
Next came a cold pasta dish with Asian dressing and shrimp and vegetables.
After that we paused for a bit. The next course was butter chicken with Indian spices and vegetables over basmati rice.
Dian and Cyndi cleared plates each time and kept the kitchen tidy. Brit and I plated. The conversations kept going as we occasionally mixed up the seating.
Dessert was Stan's famous carrot cake with cream cheese icing (he even brought me my own container of that yumminess) and Brit's family recipe for an almost flourless chocolate cake that would just make you cry if you weren't so happy to indulge in it!
Several wanted to return to the country and western place and so some did and this time I got in at least three dances! Woo hoo! and Yee Haw!!
Sunday we restored my apartment to its sanctuary status and I drove out to Tomball to do something I've wanted to do for quite a while -- give my friend Becky the massage she was due back when she helped so much when my international friends were in town. She's down 30 pounds so we celebrated with my longest massage to date and some of the best conversation we've ever had.
AND I had a very, very, very happy, happy, happy birthday weekend!!!!
*We even shared in the festivity by calling my mom on Saturday during the dinner and singing to her for her 77th!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Happy Birthday to ME!!!! (and my twin brother and my mom and ...)
Kelly came out 20 minutes earlier than I did so someone's been around me from pre-emergence into this world. May explain my love of a good party. I have a feeling he and I may have had a little cake in the womb before we decided to say hello to the rest of the world.
My mom's birthday is the day after ours. At no point growing up did I ever have a non-shared birthday.
As an adult, I was amused at the idea that finally I would know what it was like to be the center of attention ... until I started working my very first job post-seminary and the executive director of the more than a million strong organization had the exact same birthday. Ahhh ... thanks to buddies I really never suffered from a lack of a good time at the mid-July point when we were usually traveling with workshops but still ...
Last year, I was once again on the road for the actual day. And as I sat and chatted with the young man who had been such a terrrific host to a bunch of would-be emerging leaders, he revealed that he was having a birthday ... at the exact same time that I was.
Sooooooo .... (looking around for any evidence to the contrary) .... I think .... that I am actually celebrating without anyone else to share the limelight. And you know what? I'm nervous!
But tonight I plan on sharing good times with a loads of folks I love as we eat, drink, laugh and then make our way to a production on the life of Tammy Fay (yep, that one) that will help support one of my favorite local AIDS support networks. Who knows what will follow? And tomorrow we're going to keep the party going with a smaller dinner at my house.
Today, I woke up to torrential downpours and darkness. I decided then that I was going to be the warmth in people's lives today that we've been missing in these parts. I've shared my birthday wishes with those who have sent any kind of acknowledgement and I've fashioned each wish for the person who sent me their good thoughts. I figure that if I'm getting older there has to be some benefits and wishes to share is one of them.
So here's wishing you warmth, friendship and the joy of knowing there's always someone to share your birthday with.
My mom's birthday is the day after ours. At no point growing up did I ever have a non-shared birthday.
As an adult, I was amused at the idea that finally I would know what it was like to be the center of attention ... until I started working my very first job post-seminary and the executive director of the more than a million strong organization had the exact same birthday. Ahhh ... thanks to buddies I really never suffered from a lack of a good time at the mid-July point when we were usually traveling with workshops but still ...
Last year, I was once again on the road for the actual day. And as I sat and chatted with the young man who had been such a terrrific host to a bunch of would-be emerging leaders, he revealed that he was having a birthday ... at the exact same time that I was.
Sooooooo .... (looking around for any evidence to the contrary) .... I think .... that I am actually celebrating without anyone else to share the limelight. And you know what? I'm nervous!
But tonight I plan on sharing good times with a loads of folks I love as we eat, drink, laugh and then make our way to a production on the life of Tammy Fay (yep, that one) that will help support one of my favorite local AIDS support networks. Who knows what will follow? And tomorrow we're going to keep the party going with a smaller dinner at my house.
Today, I woke up to torrential downpours and darkness. I decided then that I was going to be the warmth in people's lives today that we've been missing in these parts. I've shared my birthday wishes with those who have sent any kind of acknowledgement and I've fashioned each wish for the person who sent me their good thoughts. I figure that if I'm getting older there has to be some benefits and wishes to share is one of them.
So here's wishing you warmth, friendship and the joy of knowing there's always someone to share your birthday with.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Actually Happened
Waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to drip its last drip this morning, my boss asked the office manager how the switch to the new database was going. Good news was not forthcoming.
"I can only see one envelope when I open the program."
"Maybe there's a glitch and the others just aren't visible but there."
"I don't know"
As they begin to explain the scenario to me, I semi listen, recognize a response is in order and say:
"Oh ... sorry ... and I realize this is totally inappropriate but while you guys were talking I just realized my toenail polish totally matches one of the colors in this blouse."
I am sooooooo outta here!
"I can only see one envelope when I open the program."
"Maybe there's a glitch and the others just aren't visible but there."
"I don't know"
As they begin to explain the scenario to me, I semi listen, recognize a response is in order and say:
"Oh ... sorry ... and I realize this is totally inappropriate but while you guys were talking I just realized my toenail polish totally matches one of the colors in this blouse."
I am sooooooo outta here!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Big News! Big Changes!
I'm leaving my job ... and in many ways, my career.
There! I said it. Whew! I feel better.
Actually, I feel great. Those who know me well know that for the last couple of years, I've struggled with feeling somewhat like the proverbial fish out of water. I loved the work environment that I was able to enjoy every day. I was good at my job. But the idea of working for institutional church life and especially working somewhat closeted about some of my convictions that would just not please those who I serve ... well, that troubled me.
I kept waiting for something to be "done unto me". I thought that the next right job would come about because of my connections with charities or organizations with which I easily agree.
Nothing.
Then I realized that I wasn't really that interested in simply changing my environment. I already had a great one. I realized that I couldn't fathom doing yet another newsletter.
That's when the convergence became noticeable. My lease on my place was about up. I was planning a short trip on a sailboat with friends and one of them mentioned rather playfully that I should just take off and work as the ship's cook for a while. I was asked to fill a very public volunteer slot with a very public organization that my place of employment would not be pleased if I accepted.
And I knew.
So I have no plan other than take a year and see what happens. Ok, I actually have several plans. (Again those who know me will appreciate the emphasis on options that continues to be a theme in my life!)
I may work on this boat at some point. The captain and I will chat in detail when we set sail at the end of July.
I am checking on doing some work with AIDS orphans in Africa.
I know when the two courses that would insure I have the proper certification for ESL occur and have all the paperwork at hand for applying.
And several friends have already offered their guest rooms. Since these friends extend from California, to Washington, to New Mexico, to Alabama and right here in Houston, I feel fairly sure I'll have a place to put my pillow.
I would love to see a novel come out of all this. I'm already writing much more than previously. Feels as though the freedom has unleashed a bit of creativity as well. I need to explore what it would take to make a living as a writer for magazines and such. I need to "try on" some roles and see what works best on me.
My stuff goes in storage to wait patiently for my return at the end of the year.
I tell the leadership at my work (my bosses and co-workers already know) in less than an hour. So I thought I would tell the folks who sometimes read this blog the news first.
Big news, right? Big changes? Definitely. Let the adventure begin!
There! I said it. Whew! I feel better.
Actually, I feel great. Those who know me well know that for the last couple of years, I've struggled with feeling somewhat like the proverbial fish out of water. I loved the work environment that I was able to enjoy every day. I was good at my job. But the idea of working for institutional church life and especially working somewhat closeted about some of my convictions that would just not please those who I serve ... well, that troubled me.
I kept waiting for something to be "done unto me". I thought that the next right job would come about because of my connections with charities or organizations with which I easily agree.
Nothing.
Then I realized that I wasn't really that interested in simply changing my environment. I already had a great one. I realized that I couldn't fathom doing yet another newsletter.
That's when the convergence became noticeable. My lease on my place was about up. I was planning a short trip on a sailboat with friends and one of them mentioned rather playfully that I should just take off and work as the ship's cook for a while. I was asked to fill a very public volunteer slot with a very public organization that my place of employment would not be pleased if I accepted.
And I knew.
So I have no plan other than take a year and see what happens. Ok, I actually have several plans. (Again those who know me will appreciate the emphasis on options that continues to be a theme in my life!)
I may work on this boat at some point. The captain and I will chat in detail when we set sail at the end of July.
I am checking on doing some work with AIDS orphans in Africa.
I know when the two courses that would insure I have the proper certification for ESL occur and have all the paperwork at hand for applying.
And several friends have already offered their guest rooms. Since these friends extend from California, to Washington, to New Mexico, to Alabama and right here in Houston, I feel fairly sure I'll have a place to put my pillow.
I would love to see a novel come out of all this. I'm already writing much more than previously. Feels as though the freedom has unleashed a bit of creativity as well. I need to explore what it would take to make a living as a writer for magazines and such. I need to "try on" some roles and see what works best on me.
My stuff goes in storage to wait patiently for my return at the end of the year.
I tell the leadership at my work (my bosses and co-workers already know) in less than an hour. So I thought I would tell the folks who sometimes read this blog the news first.
Big news, right? Big changes? Definitely. Let the adventure begin!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
7 on 07-07-07
While someone has already suggested that this was just a bit too dorky for their taste, I have to brag on my buddies and I for how we chose to recognize the numerical phenomena of the past weekend.
Having planned on an hill country exploration for the post-July 4th weekend, we gave up when the hills were alive with the sound of rushing floodwaters! Then after checking out our options, we discovered that the Austin area stood a better chance of being dry than any other drive-to locale near Houston. So we decided to pack the blow up bed and descend on our friend Geary who is studying in our capitol city.
Roger, Brittany and I made it over on Friday night and on Saturday morning over coffee, Brit, Geary and I determined that we should somehow observe the day's significant 7 nature.
"Let's do at least 7 things," I think our Austin virgin Brit was the first to say that one.
"And each thing has to have 7 in it."
"Like we'll see 7 major sights."
"And each of us have to do 7 things we've never done before."
"How about 7 meals?"
"As long as they're small ones."
"And we talked about going to a winery so we'll taste 7 wines."
"We are also going to Pedernales Falls so we'll take 7 photos there."
"And I want 7 trashy souvenirs," again this from our virgin.
"And then at 7:07 tonite we'll do something related to 7, ok?"
So the plan was set. Roger, who had been in the shower, had no argument against it and we set off.
The Magnolia Cafe was our first stop and there I did something I have never done before. I engaged Brian our waiter regarding his tatoos (that I have done) and then requested his help in accomplishing our goal by assigning him the task of locating 7 things in his kitchen that he could give me (that I've never done). He willingly and thoughtfully complied with a to-go box that even included a pink crayon because the cafe used to be known for the pink flamingos the staff wore on their shirts.
We had made our first 07-07-07 convert.
By the time the day was over, the two waitresses in the wine bar had come over to our side as well. Lisa changed the way they do wine flights at Cliffords outside Dripping Springs to comply with our request for 7 tastes. And when the alarm went off that 7:07 p.m. was approaching, Jessica let Roger leave without signing the bill so he could join in our recognition. When she heard what we were doing, she asked to join us (bringing the credit card slip) and her own word to add to the seven words of kindness we were speaking into the universe on a Texas hillside.
"Grace."
"Peace."
"Gratitude."
"Passion."
"Forgiveness."
"Friendship."
"Us."
And, Jessica added her favorite, "Love."
Mt. Bonnel, the capitol, Lake Travis, The Drag, UT campus, Amy's Ice Cream, and the State Cemetery were the sites we chose to note as our 7.
We didn't quite make 7 meals but since the last stop was a 7/11 just before midnight and we were at number 6 by that point we thought we would give ourselves points for the location alone!
Asking folks to get involved with our little project on at least three occasions was totally outside of what I might have done once upon a time. Eating at the South Congress Magnolia Cafe and standing in the waters of Federnales Falls were also first-time events for me. The Mansfield Dam, which I'd never seen before, had four flood gates open to deal with the rising waters that had so threatened this area. And I saw at least 7 famous Texans graves in the State Cemetery. Ann Richards still doesn't have a stone by the way!
When I shared the story with e, she pointed out that by the time we had enlisted the help of others, our merry band of 4 had become another complete 7.
Call it "cheesey" or me a dork, I love that we took a holy number and made a holy day of it!
Having planned on an hill country exploration for the post-July 4th weekend, we gave up when the hills were alive with the sound of rushing floodwaters! Then after checking out our options, we discovered that the Austin area stood a better chance of being dry than any other drive-to locale near Houston. So we decided to pack the blow up bed and descend on our friend Geary who is studying in our capitol city.Roger, Brittany and I made it over on Friday night and on Saturday morning over coffee, Brit, Geary and I determined that we should somehow observe the day's significant 7 nature.
"Let's do at least 7 things," I think our Austin virgin Brit was the first to say that one.
"And each thing has to have 7 in it."
"Like we'll see 7 major sights."
"And each of us have to do 7 things we've never done before."
"How about 7 meals?"
"As long as they're small ones."
"And we talked about going to a winery so we'll taste 7 wines."
"We are also going to Pedernales Falls so we'll take 7 photos there."
"And I want 7 trashy souvenirs," again this from our virgin.
"And then at 7:07 tonite we'll do something related to 7, ok?"
So the plan was set. Roger, who had been in the shower, had no argument against it and we set off.
The Magnolia Cafe was our first stop and there I did something I have never done before. I engaged Brian our waiter regarding his tatoos (that I have done) and then requested his help in accomplishing our goal by assigning him the task of locating 7 things in his kitchen that he could give me (that I've never done). He willingly and thoughtfully complied with a to-go box that even included a pink crayon because the cafe used to be known for the pink flamingos the staff wore on their shirts.
We had made our first 07-07-07 convert.
By the time the day was over, the two waitresses in the wine bar had come over to our side as well. Lisa changed the way they do wine flights at Cliffords outside Dripping Springs to comply with our request for 7 tastes. And when the alarm went off that 7:07 p.m. was approaching, Jessica let Roger leave without signing the bill so he could join in our recognition. When she heard what we were doing, she asked to join us (bringing the credit card slip) and her own word to add to the seven words of kindness we were speaking into the universe on a Texas hillside.
"Grace.""Peace."
"Gratitude."
"Passion."
"Forgiveness."
"Friendship."
"Us."
And, Jessica added her favorite, "Love."
Mt. Bonnel, the capitol, Lake Travis, The Drag, UT campus, Amy's Ice Cream, and the State Cemetery were the sites we chose to note as our 7.
We didn't quite make 7 meals but since the last stop was a 7/11 just before midnight and we were at number 6 by that point we thought we would give ourselves points for the location alone!
Asking folks to get involved with our little project on at least three occasions was totally outside of what I might have done once upon a time. Eating at the South Congress Magnolia Cafe and standing in the waters of Federnales Falls were also first-time events for me. The Mansfield Dam, which I'd never seen before, had four flood gates open to deal with the rising waters that had so threatened this area. And I saw at least 7 famous Texans graves in the State Cemetery. Ann Richards still doesn't have a stone by the way!
When I shared the story with e, she pointed out that by the time we had enlisted the help of others, our merry band of 4 had become another complete 7.
Call it "cheesey" or me a dork, I love that we took a holy number and made a holy day of it!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Yep .. what he said ...
William Falk in the July 13 issue of The Week writes:
It's such a reassuring notion. Imagine a Supreme Court in which the justices do not make their decisions based on partisan biases, personal whims, or constitutional "penumbras" and "emanations" perceived by the justices alone. "The Constitution means what it says," says Justice Antonin Scalia. "You figure out what it was understoond to mean when it was adopted and that's the end of it." In practice, this philosphy of "originalism" or "strict constructionism" sometimes proves more vexing than it sounds: Did the Framers understand the right to bear arms to mean that every citizen could own a musket, or were they also guaranteeing the right to wield semiautomatics with 50-round clips? How about machine guns? Bazookas? When the Framers said Congress could not infringe on the freedom of speech, did they really mean "speech," as in words, or does speaking freely include the right to hand a 6-inch-thick pile of $100 bills to senators to do your billing?
Being human, you and I might succumb to the temptation to answer these questions to suit our own desired ends, and then reason backward to create a constitutional justification. (That's how justices get "penumbras" and "emanations.") But not Scalia and the orignalists. They know what the Framers intended. In its rulings thus far, the new Supreme Court has sided with religious groups, corporations, developers, the current president, and the white males, and against students, women, blacks, and atheists. Now, this is a wholly legitimate change of direction: The Constitution empowers presidents to appoint judges who share their political prejudices. Pretending that the court's rulings -- or for that matter, the rulings of any previous group of justices -- represent anything but a raw exercise in power, however, is transparently silly.
Can't help but read this and think about those who say the same kind of things about interpreting scripture . . . how they somehow also know what was intended . . . how equally transparently silly that idea is.
It's such a reassuring notion. Imagine a Supreme Court in which the justices do not make their decisions based on partisan biases, personal whims, or constitutional "penumbras" and "emanations" perceived by the justices alone. "The Constitution means what it says," says Justice Antonin Scalia. "You figure out what it was understoond to mean when it was adopted and that's the end of it." In practice, this philosphy of "originalism" or "strict constructionism" sometimes proves more vexing than it sounds: Did the Framers understand the right to bear arms to mean that every citizen could own a musket, or were they also guaranteeing the right to wield semiautomatics with 50-round clips? How about machine guns? Bazookas? When the Framers said Congress could not infringe on the freedom of speech, did they really mean "speech," as in words, or does speaking freely include the right to hand a 6-inch-thick pile of $100 bills to senators to do your billing?
Being human, you and I might succumb to the temptation to answer these questions to suit our own desired ends, and then reason backward to create a constitutional justification. (That's how justices get "penumbras" and "emanations.") But not Scalia and the orignalists. They know what the Framers intended. In its rulings thus far, the new Supreme Court has sided with religious groups, corporations, developers, the current president, and the white males, and against students, women, blacks, and atheists. Now, this is a wholly legitimate change of direction: The Constitution empowers presidents to appoint judges who share their political prejudices. Pretending that the court's rulings -- or for that matter, the rulings of any previous group of justices -- represent anything but a raw exercise in power, however, is transparently silly.
Can't help but read this and think about those who say the same kind of things about interpreting scripture . . . how they somehow also know what was intended . . . how equally transparently silly that idea is.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Clicking My Heels ...
"There's no place like home."
'Course for folks like me, just exactly where "home" is poses a dilemma. When I'm in Houston, I speak of going "home" to Tennessee to visit my family -- as I did this past weekend.
When I'm in Tennessee, I look forward to returning "home" to Houston where my other family -- the chosen one -- primarily reside.
Today, I landed in the Houston home after an extra night in Nashville due to bad weather and/or questionable practices of my favorite airline (c'mon, TWO plans had to cancel because of weather that no one on the other end of my cell phone said was really all that bad????).
As we touched down, I exhaled -- that soothing sigh that comes when comfort and joy are within reach -- comfort in the form of people who know and accept me in all my eccentricities just as I do them ... joy in the utter surprise each day holds as you brave I610, discover a new ethnic edible, watch God's great diversity actually reside side by side and revel in the enormity of a urban center that feels so much like the small town I just left behind.
No matter how far I roam ... Houston is definitely one of my best-est homes.
'Course for folks like me, just exactly where "home" is poses a dilemma. When I'm in Houston, I speak of going "home" to Tennessee to visit my family -- as I did this past weekend.
When I'm in Tennessee, I look forward to returning "home" to Houston where my other family -- the chosen one -- primarily reside.
Today, I landed in the Houston home after an extra night in Nashville due to bad weather and/or questionable practices of my favorite airline (c'mon, TWO plans had to cancel because of weather that no one on the other end of my cell phone said was really all that bad????).
As we touched down, I exhaled -- that soothing sigh that comes when comfort and joy are within reach -- comfort in the form of people who know and accept me in all my eccentricities just as I do them ... joy in the utter surprise each day holds as you brave I610, discover a new ethnic edible, watch God's great diversity actually reside side by side and revel in the enormity of a urban center that feels so much like the small town I just left behind.
No matter how far I roam ... Houston is definitely one of my best-est homes.
Monday, June 25, 2007
If You Had a Convertible, Wouldn't You Be Smiling?
And if your friend has a convertible, you might muster up a grin as well, don't you think???
Come one, come all, 'cause night time in Houston is the time to use this little Beetle!!!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
I Forget
Why don't I remember . . .
the name of the first boy to ask me out on a real date, where we went, and if I enjoyed him as much as I did the idea that I was on a date,
the literature I read in college and what did and did not move me (other than the frustration I felt at Sozenhitzen's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denosovitch upon realizing it really was just about ONE day),
every vacation I have ever taken . . . in detail and including the views I knew in that moment I'd never forget?
Why don't I remember . . .
movies that brought me to tears,
those after school TV shows that were supposed to teach me moral lessons,
the reason for each time I walked the aisle and rededicated my life at First Baptist in Greenfield,
how it felt the first time I was truly loved?
Why don't I remember . . .
a night of wining and dining has a morning after,
would-be lovers say things I want to hear and real loves don't always hear what I have to say?
Why don't I remember . . . that I don't always remember?
NOTE: If you like poetry -- and even if you don't like mine -- check out Ellen Bass. Her Pray for Peace rocked me!
the name of the first boy to ask me out on a real date, where we went, and if I enjoyed him as much as I did the idea that I was on a date,
the literature I read in college and what did and did not move me (other than the frustration I felt at Sozenhitzen's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denosovitch upon realizing it really was just about ONE day),
every vacation I have ever taken . . . in detail and including the views I knew in that moment I'd never forget?
Why don't I remember . . .
movies that brought me to tears,
those after school TV shows that were supposed to teach me moral lessons,
the reason for each time I walked the aisle and rededicated my life at First Baptist in Greenfield,
how it felt the first time I was truly loved?
Why don't I remember . . .
a night of wining and dining has a morning after,
would-be lovers say things I want to hear and real loves don't always hear what I have to say?
Why don't I remember . . . that I don't always remember?
NOTE: If you like poetry -- and even if you don't like mine -- check out Ellen Bass. Her Pray for Peace rocked me!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Coming Soon to a Dream Near You
Early this morning in that space between the end of the dream and the reality of the clock glaring its get-up message at me, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. Usually, I make myself conclude the dream, resolve the story line. But today . . . I realized I just didn't care.
The locale of my slumber-induced experience was something like a seminary classroom. I did mention this was a nightmare, right? I was taking over for a professor and using Powerpoint to teach the class, except the presentation was giving me trouble. So much trouble, in fact, that I had lost my place and was scrambling to multi-task -- fix the slide order issue and keep the class engaged in conversation.
But mostly, I was filling time. I knew it and soon enough they did too.
Some distant part of me wanted to give those preacher boys their money's worth, challenge them with the news of the changing environment they were planning on serving. But mostly, I wanted the commitment to end, the class to be over, and me to be free.
Can you say "foreshadowing"?
The locale of my slumber-induced experience was something like a seminary classroom. I did mention this was a nightmare, right? I was taking over for a professor and using Powerpoint to teach the class, except the presentation was giving me trouble. So much trouble, in fact, that I had lost my place and was scrambling to multi-task -- fix the slide order issue and keep the class engaged in conversation.
But mostly, I was filling time. I knew it and soon enough they did too.
Some distant part of me wanted to give those preacher boys their money's worth, challenge them with the news of the changing environment they were planning on serving. But mostly, I wanted the commitment to end, the class to be over, and me to be free.
Can you say "foreshadowing"?
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