decision

Ah, I've bet you've been restless ever since you heard I'd journal my experience of first-year teaching. Boom, I cast my lots today. I'll reveal on down the entry.

Today I borrowed Ron Clark's The Essential 55 and started reading. It's fifty-five rules that he (winner of the 2001 Disney Teacher-of-the-year award) used in his classrooms. So far it's worthwile: good, solid common sense. I like that he's from NC. It's upbeat but not too, too cheesy. And, I'm taking notes on Harry Wong's The First Day of Teaching. And, I've been reading my teacher's manuals. After all my yapping, they're actually pretty good. I liked some the short stories in the LA one and the SS is covering such great material.

I must look ridiculously stupid and ignorant: after having somebody question my ability to teach 7th grade Language Arts and Social Studies (Do you know anything about Africa, Asia and Australia?), I decided to take the mature route (shocking) and say, "I think I can manage." While thinking, Dude, I took some world geography, Africa and nonwestern lit courses and I have lived in Asia. Plus, I'm smart. Therefore, I'm probably as qualified if not more than most people who teach it around here. So, here's the party line on my qualifications to teach 7th grade SS. I'm not defensive or hyper sensitive.

And, I've started exploring ideas to decorate my classroom. My sister suggested age-appropriate learning centers. I really like the idea, but it's going to take a lot of work. Maybe have a sports center (what sports are hot in Nairobe, Sydney, Bangkok, etc? What sports do people play and what sports do they watch?), a fashion center (fabrics, styles (kimonos, hats, etc), a music center (a pentatonic scale is used in Asia and Africa-- not to mention a different philosophy of music), food center (have pictures of dishes, jars of food, recipes), religion center (have different icons from the different religions some Buddhas, Ishtar, Jesus, etc-- maybe prayers from the different religions and different concepts of piety), a pop culture center. Centers on national holidays, Flags, distinct architecture, Languages, pets, names, sayings from other English speaking countries. I love the idea and have kids make connections. Dear reader, if you have any nifty ideas or concerns, please share.

I went to a cloth store to look at international material available. And, I fell in love with the faux fur; I have to do something with the faux fur. And I went to Home Depot and Hobby Lobby tracking down a terrarium. They've sold out. If you know where to find one, lemme know. I think it'd be a lot of fun... and educational to try to grow some international flowers in my class.

And, I got some school marm clothes yesterday-- four deeply discounted washable, cotton blazers. They do ratchet up a notch my wardrobe of khakis, skirts and t shirts. They'll contribute to me standing up straighter.

I'm so excited and overwhelmed.

Oh, for the decision of HOW to journal my splendiferous ideas: I bought 5 notebooks for fifty cents at Target. I'm gonna journal the old-fashioned way. Cheers. So, hopefully this will be one of the last entries with these kind of exciting details. If you made it down this far, WOW. You deserve a candy bar or beer.

P.S. I'm dogsitting two chill small dogs, Maggie and Murphy. They're low energy, low maintenance or maybe I have a calming effect on poodles.

a fate worse than boredom?

I chatted on the phone with my sister tonight. I have to repeat two of her anecdotes:

S's wrapping up her internship in Richmond. As she was setting up her presentation, a guy asked her, "How did you and H decide who would go first?"

"A cage match," she answered. An awkward silence broke into a few chuckles.

Then after S's presentation, while H was setting up hers, the same guy asked her, "So, H, are you going second because you won or lost?"

"There was no cage match," H responds.

***

Then my sister had to go to an orientation for the internship extravaganza weekend. After she wrote to alert them that she may be late due to her presentation and a staff meeting, she received a rude email that it was imperative that she be there at 5:30. So, she busts her butt to get there at 5:30. She's seated at a table at this very important meeting: damn, if a HR officer isn't at the front reading (verbatim) the packet they'd handed the interns. My sister whispers to the person next to her, "I must be in the wrong room, I'm supposed to be at the orientation for literate interns." Apparently, a HR lackey overheard her and gave her the stink eye.

yowsers

Reality has started seeping into my noggin'. Last night some guy asked me what I did-- he surmised that I worked at a church or was studying. I blurted out, "I teach 7th graders." It was very Rain Man of me. Then, he made it out like I was Teresa of Calcutta. Altruism is an element of my motivation, but I really want to teach. I hesitate to say I'm called to teach. But, then again, I'm really hesitant about God talk: it's not like I answered a phone call from one of God's people or had a dream. Can you imagine filling out an app: God wants me to teach Language Arts and Social Studies? That would rock you all the way to the crazy house.

When you are as silly as I am and slow down to think about said "Language Arts", I think "sarcasm" and "on·o·mato·poe·ia". And for Social Studies, I remember sitting with my best friend's grandmother in the shoe section of Belk's in Carolina Place people-watching-- to me that's the definition of Social Studies. When I got the teacher's edition of the text books today, they made me laugh. It's ironic because I hate text books, especially for English and History. Let's have books about books about books; we'll call them meta-books, I mean, text books (as opposed to picture books?). CSL argues that secondary literature stinks. He says why study about Plato when you could study Plato. You study Plato then you read the stinky secondary lit. That's how my how my high school and undergrad course of study was too.

But, I'm getting really excited. Excitement is invading my body as I write; it feels a little weird but I'm not sneezing like when I get a cold. My out of shape synapses sputter but produce. I'm definitely going to keep a journal of my first official year of teaching. I don't know if I'll start a specific blog or a spiral-ring notebook or just bore my nonexistent readers. (This is called suspense, dear reader. It is an aspect of the art of language.)

woohoo

A principal offered me a job today!! Seventh grade social studies and language arts position. I haven't signed a contract, but the chief and I are headed out to the school tomorrow to pick up the books and check out the classroom. And, our favorite neighbor treated us to a celebratory lunch where I gorged myself on deliciousness. Then we went sofa shopping. She wanted me to mark the day with a happy memory; she succeeded.

The principal called around 11am. She sounded excited and made mention of my enthusiasm. It was odd to hear good news-- odd and welcome. I've grown accustomed and appreciative of people calling to say that they've offered the job to someone else; closure's nice. It's been fun to call, text, blog and email friends who've supported me through this surprisingly long ordeal. And, I know I'll be here through next May, which is clarifying too (I presume it's a one year contract).

More importantly, a fellow Pinkling is giving birth to a wee girl as I write. Say prayers of protection and thanksgiving.

campaign o' cheer

Running helps cheer me.

Rain poured down while I ran tonight. I'm about to reveal why I evade the question: what do you think about while you run? My ideas about the rain progressed something like this:
something wet hit me.
It's way humid and hot for 9:30pm.
several wet somethings touched me.
The Beach Boys make happy music.
the sky is gray, but I don't detect "rain clouds" per se, but it is dark.
i think it's rain. it's definitely raining.
Cross Country flashbacks of rain runs.
feels good.
oh, goody, i remembered to be positive.
but not an annoying positive.

The most bizarre conversations I've had have been on long runs. It's an inhibition free zone-- must be all those endorphins and the rhythm. It's a weird, strong bond to have run over 2 hours in a go with someone. I digress.

"News" makes me happy.
Speaking of North Carolinians evading questions, I admit The National Enquirer breaking a story about John Edwards' alleged affair and love child amuses me. So does the counter-story of Hillary Clinton concocting this story to make Obama's VP short list shorter. This story explains the expensive hair cuts. Once an ambulance chaser... Oh, our idea of news and journalism is so skewed. And, this kind of story proves the total irrationality of politics.

Productivity makes me chipper.
I did a lot of stuff today. I problem-solved and worked efficiently. I was even pleasant on my random telephone conversations.

Phone calls and inboxes are harbingers of cheer too. At least tonight they were.

Even this post's lameness entertains me. La ti da. Ha ha. I'm cheery.

lil ole epiphanies

Today brimmed with little epiphanies that had plenty of foreshadowing. The positive about being a dullard is, that contrary to the term, things are rarely dull. I am one of the most easily entertained people on the planet. I wonder if any employers consider that a skill. I have a proclivity for stating the obvious with relish, which amuses my family-- and has been archived in our oral history. Somehow, I find the obvious quite invigorating. You just never know. Anything can be improved with a bit of wit, emphasis on bit.

For instance, I figured out why I enjoy Flannery O'Connor so much: she agrees with me. I share her world-view and core presumptions about life. As I read Mystery and Manners, I understood some deep-seated notions that I've thought and felt without ever bothering to verbalize. It's good to have somebody explain my ideas to me. You know, clarifying and refreshing like Noxema.

My goal for my writing group for the week is: be positive. I chose it for the sheer originality. And, yes, as a matter of fact we are a progressive writing group who deals with the whole writer. Nobody wants to read doomsday prophecies coupled with litanies of self-pity (imagine their spawn). Nobody. So, my goal is to imitate my friend Marcia's focus: God is good. No tears over spilled milk. focus on the things that I can do. Platitudes help attitudes!

october 7, 1999

I was into dialectic long before I matriculated at Regent. You see, I was a pretentious student of Classics with a minor in Creative Writing and a Division I athlete. I was the only varsity athlete in my department in at least fifty years. In fact, I had more than one prof suggest I couldn't handle being an athlete and studying classics. According to him, the soft sciences were a better fit for an athlete-- he said I should switch majors to sociology, psychology or communications if I continued my athletic career. He suggested that I remain a Classics major and train for a marathon, a club sport or anything less time consuming and exhausting than a team. Classics was a rigorous major plus I had to work out at least 30 hours a week training. This situation explains a) my lack of social life and b) creative writing was a wonderful much needed outlet for me and c) proof I've always taken myself a little too seriously. I loved Classics and rowing-- and I loved the idea of being a classics major and wearing my Nike-issued gear too. But, dude, did I ever enjoy writing... and sleeping. My sister would invite me over for dinner. She'd instruct me to take a nap while she cooked; I was always a wee bit ornery from over exertion.

I've always inhabited liminal space: whether it's being a scholarship kid at a boarding school or a varsity athlete in a plato seminar or a well-read poor person. It's good but hard. Friends, running, reading and writing are my sanctuaries from the necessary awkwardness. And knowing, according to my faith, this isn't my home. I'm never figured out my identity-- I was feel and felt it in contrast.

This is an extremely long introduction to a single sentence from my favorite short story I wrote in college and turned in on October 7th of my junior year. I titled the story, "Sappho's Hypothesis"-- pretentious. But, it was all these snippets of women's lives and their passion. I fashioned it on this french novel I'd just read and fragment 16 of Sappho. Anyway, the snippets were a 8 year-old with her bike, a college student with a pair of jeans, a mother with an infant, etc then I stuck in this death scene. Yea. Awkward. But, it was one of the best scenes, and here's the long awaited sentence: "She spent three weeks in a twin bed with white cotton sheets in which she hadn't had a single dream."

I've decided to rework "Sappho's Hypothesis". I still love that sentence-- I could write a short story and use it as the starting point. Most of the stuff I wrote (in college or last week) makes me cringe. But, this sentence is equal to the three or so photos I have of myself where I look really good. There are thousands of unflattering sentences and pictures out there, and there are the occasional ones that work. Here's to persistence, grace and hope.

golfless course

I've fallen in love with a new running route. I have to use a key to get through the back gate of our neighborhood, run across my old elementary school on the main sidewalk through a duck crosswalk by the golf course. Then, I have options. It's lovely.

I love golf courses not golf. When I was in St. Andrews in Scotland, I gawked with longing at the golf course like a fourteen year-old boy gazing at the head cheerleader. This guy must of recognized the look of longing on my face and said, "Do you like to play golf?"
I answered, "No. I have this incredible urge to run!"
He looked a bit baffled but amused.

Golf courses feel me with the urge a) to run and b) to play capture the flag. The best games of capture the flag happen at dusk on a good golf course. And, now I'll have the duck crossing lodged next to the memory of my brother's keebler elves golf club bag, which was embarrassing for him and hilarious for everybody else. In Vancouver, my favorite trail, Lilly Valley, ran parallel to part of UBC's golf course. Perhaps, if I learned how to golf, I might enjoy the sport they're designed for.

a wise roman said

Let your hook always be cast; in the pool where you least expect it, there will be a fish. -Ovid

it's official

I prefer Captain Wentworth and Colonel Brandon to Mr. Darcy. I just watched the BBC's Sense and Sensibility and have decided I am in dire need of my very own Col. Brandon. I wonder where one goes to order him? Macy's? Barnes and Noble? Probably, the internets would work best... a girl can find anything on the internets.

I had three interviews today. One went exceedingly well, but I mustn't get my hope up. And, I concocted the world's best fruit salad: blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, kiwi, peaches and nectarines. No cantalope and grapes-- the baby's breath of the fruit salad world.

I had a lovely run, but am in desperate need of a chiropracter and masseuse due to my zealous training. No doubt when I locate Col Brandon, he'll crack my back if I ask politely.

persistence

I've applied to another fifteen jobs this week; so far, I've gotten one interview. I enjoyed talking on the phone with the lady. We shall see. And, after that hellish interview that I had the other week, the guy had the courtesy to call and tell me that another person had the job. It's like I was telling the chief, I'm getting far better at reading people in an interview. Most interviewers lack imagination... or are just as bored with the process as I. Why in God's name would you ask a cliche question that demands a cliche answer? Tell me about yourself. "Well, I had blueberries for breakfast, and I really like the word "rambunctious". Billy Collins is my favorite poet. And, I firmly believe favorite colors are situational. I don't have any pets, but I do garden and my plants have names." I would love to be interviewed by Oscar Wilde or Billy Collins. Now that would be fun. I'm really tempted to follow Flannery O'Connor's lead when asked why do I want to teach: "Because I'm good at it." No doubt she delievered the line with a straight face and without a self-deprecating chuckle. One of the many reasons she's one of my all time heroes. Notice that she didn't make my interviewer list; that's because she'd flay people by accident. She was a natural. Well, I'd have to be extremely well-rested and the height of my confidence to enjoy an interview with her. She was smart as hell; and, it's like she said, "The truth will make you odd."

****

So I met for spiritual direction with my monk last night. It's always entertaining and edifying and never feels particularly sacred, but I always leave with my soul a little lighter. I leave with morsels to think about. It reminds me of the desert fathers tradition of going to an elder asking, "Father, give me a word." The old monk would say a sentence and the young monk would go off and live with the word until he had incorporated it into his life. Then ten or twenty years later, the young monk would return to the old monk and ask for another word. I talk about the connections I've made, my ideas and my coping mechanisms. He's very good at telling apropos stories. I think last night could be summed up with reframing vocation from the question of what to the question of who. And, he commended running and reading as a good spiritual exercises.

****

Whoever said anybody has a right to give up? –Marian Wright Edelman I'm adopting this quotation.

contact with mystery

This past week I've been reading some Flannery O'Connor. I'd forgotten how dynamite she is. She's a straight-forward, Southern wit. She's droll and spot on. She conveys the human condition without a drop of sentimentality. Her writing is pithy and weighty. I think of O'Connor and some of her contemporaries when I consider CSL's quotation: "There's no such thing as Christian art only Christian artists." She confronts evil and mystery head on. She doesn't make excuses for her characters, but she offers a larger frame than visual reality. Unlike Flannery O'Connor and the Bible, crappy Christian fiction moralizes. The Bible is full of nuance and ambiguity*, and so is a Christian's fiction. For instance, Judges-- these are the good guys? When writing turns didactic, it ceases to be art.

Here are two tastes of her ideas and style from an essay/lecture, "The Nature and Aim of Fiction", in Mystery and Manners, Occasional Prose.

"The type of mind that can understand good fiction is not necessarily the educated mind, but it is at all times the kind of mind that is willing to have its sense of mystery deepened by contact with reality, and its sense of reality deepened by contact with mystery. Fiction should be both canny and uncanny...." (79)

"A gift of any kind is a considerable responsibility. It is a mystery in itself, something gratuitous and undeserved, something whose real uses will be hidden from us. Usually the artist has to suffer certain deprivations in order to use his gift with integrity. Art is a virtue of the practical intellect, and the practice of any virtue demands a certain ascetiscism and a very definite leaving behind of the niggardly part of the ego. The writer has to judge himself with a stranger's eye and a stranger's severity. The prophet in him has to see the freak. No art is sunk in the self, but rather, in art the self becomes self-forgetful in order to meet the demands of the thing seen and the thing being made.
"I think it usually some form of self-inflation that destroys the free use of a gift. This may be the pride of the reformer or the theorist, or it may only be that simple-minded self-appreciation which uses its own sincerity as a standard of truth." (81-2)


* This is not to say that Scripture lacks authority in a Christian's life or that we're left without any hints to how to love God and each other. I would like to follow Mark Twain's lead in this: I don't have a problem with the parts of the Bible I don't understand; my problem's with the parts that I do. It was last week I was thinking about how the two most detested sins throughout Scripture are idolatry and injustice, which happen to be the inverse of loving God and loving neighbor. Fathom that. Even more depressing, it took me so long to make the connection.

exhausted from beating a dead horse

Perhaps a new approach is called for in my quest for a job, preferably a job that incorporates my education and natural bents. So I'm travelling down two new avenues to see where they lead. One's a little bizarre; the other is reasonable. I have a growing affinity for dead ends. But, God is good: AP came to my rescue. When a Mad girl has got your back, you're covered. Within two hours of our conversation, she had produced results. I like it. We'll see if a job materializes, but her help did function as CPR in my hope department.

My brother framed this segment of my life in terms of spiritual odyssey instead of the frame I've been using: dismal failure. It's beyond cliche to talk about letting go of what you thought your life would look like so I shan't.

I watched two movies AGAIN today. I saw WALL E with the chief in a theater; then we watched Casino Royale. AP laughed when I said WALL E lacked nuance, but it did. It's cute not profound. It's overly didactic: be sure to strap on your metaphor helmet-- it's an avalanche zone. And, I saw Casino Royale in the theater twice when it came out. I like it. The action sequences were amazing on the big screen and lost some of their umph on our TV screen. But, I noticed some connections I missed before.

pink chopsticks*

Tonight you may call me Iron Chef. The only word that could describe my stirfry is "magnificent"! First, I harvested a japanese eggplant and two summer squash from my garden. Next, I added mushrooms, zuccinni, bell pepper and broccoli. I sliced the vegetables and pressed the garlic. I concocted the sauce out of 3 pressed pieces of garlic, dried red pepper flakes, soy sauce, olive oil, sesame oil and molasses. I fried until the color was heightened with the vegetables still firm (about 3-4 minutes on the highest setting). I artfully arranged my beautiful vegetables on a bed of brown rice and served with iced tea. Finally, I ate the meal with my classy pink chopsticks from Japan with one of Schubert's Piano Concertos wafting around the room. Lovely.

I enjoyed my brother's visit so much! He and I used to be super-close, then he went to boarding school and I moved to Canada to become a hippy (that's his version of my life, anyway). Last night, I went downstairs about 1:45 because I couldn't sleep. My brother was sitting in the green chair with his feet crossed on the foot stool. He held a pen poised above the lined pages of a spiral notebook, listening to a U2 CD.

"Whatcha doing?" I ask.

"Writing a sonnet," he answers. Come to find out it was a Shakespearan sonnet because he's afraid that he's getting rusty as a Business major. We discussed Shakespeare's genius and our favorite aspects of that genius. He mastered multiple forms. It's not as if he wrote a really good poem. He wrote hundreds of brilliant poems and plays. It's hard to fathom that kind of talent. My brother's favorite sonnet is #14 and mine is the old standby #116. J-D talked about how the strict form forced Shakespeare into precision; he especially enjoys his synecdoche. We talked about how the Bard not only mastered literary forms but what a keen observer of human nature he was.

My paltry summary of our conversation does the moment no justice. It was magical and edifying to feel our kinship at a truer level than genetics. There are those moments when I'm around my siblings that I feel an incredible bond that defies description. It's more potent than the basic I-thou experience. Similar to Euclidean geometry in which there exists a line between any two points, I believe there exists a connection between any two people. But, it's magic when you feel connection/intersection at multiple points of yourself. During this late-night conversation, I felt I belong and make sense. My family is my home. Humans are the only thing in the world that are made in the image of God. There's something sacred and holy about relational transactions between human beings.








*A great name for a fictitious all-girls punk rock group in the 80's. This phrase might be the inspiration for my November novel.

a two-movie day

Today I ate 5 sausage biscuits: two for breakfast and three for dinner (I also ate some fruit and vegetables: a cucumber, a tomato and a banana split). The biscuits were oddly satisfying. I'd probably repeat it tomorrow except we've run out of them.

Not only have I scarfed biscuit for biscuit with my brother (he can even eat them late night, whereas I have limits), we're haircut for haircut, and movie and movie for movie and movie. Differences: I ran while he watched the baseball game in which the Red Sox lost to the Angels? Come now. He's reading CSL's Silver Chair and I'm O'Connor's A Good Man Is Hard to Find. Different haircuts although it was the same stylist. FYI: we're not identical twins.

MOVIES:

Disclaimer: I'm a movie glutton. I can watch just about anything and like it. To prove my point I'll admit that two of my all-time favorite movies are So I Married an Ax Murderer and Babette's Feast. Heck, I liked Semi-Pro, and I do enjoy a good pretentious film every now and then (Valley of Elah was my favorite for 2007).

My brother and I went to see Dark Knight. It was excellent! I will have to see it again. It's dense. Hype usually ruins movies for me. Example: I saw Shakespeare in Love after it won all those awards, and my response, "This is it?" SIL wasn't bad, but neither was it brilliant. But, this movie is well cast, well acted, well written. And Batman's toys are so much fun. Literary themes of good and evil and questions of human nature and anarchy weave their way throughout the movie. The characters are 3D: good guys aren't sterling nor the bad rotten. It was so enthralling that I didn't mind how packed the house was and the copious amount of popcorn literally in surround sound. (Who deemed popcorn "the movie snack"? If I owned a movie theater, popcorn would be replaced with yogurt, bananas and sausage biscuits.)

Then, we watched Thomas Crowne Affair with Pierce Brosnan. It was good, but suffered from the obvious comparison. The Chief described the "love scenes" aptly with a single word, "crass". The rock-star lifestyle, scenery and clothes were enjoyable. The lovers' testing one another reminded me of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra. And, the plot twists were clever enough to make me grin, but suffer from the comparison with the Oscar Wilde play I watched last week.

st. betty of cartier

I just got off the phone with Betty. We became friends because of Ulysses by Tennyson. When I moved to Vancouver, she had recently embraced the line about "work of noble note" as her life's motto, and she decided I was her work of noble note. She helped me settle in the city and was my Vancouver mother-- I would have had a much different experience in Canada without her. She and my mom even became friends; they'd call each other to discuss me. Whenever I was sick, she would bring me a 2 liter Coke, several bunches of grapes, a block of cheddar cheese and echinacea pills. And, when she thought I was too stressed out she'd bring me a fifth of vodka or gin; she'd bring my roommate Kahlua. She thought our seminary profs worked us too hard. She asked, "Really, how many papers can you write?" She'd offer to have a talk with the offending professors. She was a retired nurse and wasn't much into the esoteric nonsense we messed with. Her question was always, "So what?" And, she became a die-hard Tarheel fan under my tutelage. Most of all, she'd listen to me babble on about Kate Bushnell and even ask questions; she liked Kate. What's not to miss?

We chatted for over an hour about hot weather, our gardens (five days a week she waters illegally), my sewing, our churches, her upcoming trip to England, her friend's knee replacement, another friend's camping trip, Proverbs, Corinthians, watch caps (we don't know what they are), Alaska, moving to CA (she thinks it's a good idea; go Raiders). Conversations with friend are odd because there's a transaction going on far beyond exchange of information. I can tell the subject matters without describing what transpired. I miss her, but she's buying USD for her trip to NC.

PS. My brother's visiting. We're having so much fun. My stomach is sore from laughing too much.

propeller

So, another crappy interview. I cried on my drive home to get it out of my system. Then, I watched some cool kids in the afternoon. My analysis is that they'd already selected someone and were just covering their butts by doing interviews; it felt perfunctory. The same, boring questions were asked in a tired, bored voice. I was overdressed in my suit (and several sizes smaller than the woman interviewing me-- I'm learning the same dread of a larger woman as the dread I feel towards a shorter man. Rarely do things go well for me in those circumstances.) But, at least, crappy interviews no longer shock me.

And, the craptastic interview did propel me to apply to the Oakland City Teaching Corps who are still accepting apps for the coming year. I know some people in the bay area. That could be nice. There's no particularly compelling to stay here. There are far more men on the West Coast, which could do nothing but behoove me. Of course, that's probably one of the worst places on the West Coast for straight men, but it would still be an improvement. Right now, my dream date would be an evening baseball game, say the Oakland Athletics and the Seattle Mariners. That'd be fun. And, there would be lots of art and outdoorsy things. I love the West Coast. Oakland's no Vancouver, but it's still closer. And, I've always wanted to drive cross country; I wonder if my car would make it. There's only one way to find out.

And, a book club was born as of last night. We designated the first two books: Oscar Wilde's Portrait of Dorian Gray and JD Salinger's Frannie and Zoe. We're picking books that you've been meaning to read for a long time. It's going to rock.

Good news: my brother's visiting this weekend. Yay.

it turned into a rant by mistake

Fact: Cool people were born in July. It's a good month. Today's EB's birthday. Friday is AT and MW's. Two of my crazy cousins were born.

I'm in a bit of a funk even though I had an excellent day on the whole. I'm letting little things mar the experience.

I had a discussion with a friend where I felt misunderstood and couldn't find a way to correct her perception of my position. It's a dreadful feeling. Synopsis of my side: I decided not to join my church after the "joining class". My deal breakers are: neither the Lord's Prayer nor the Nicene or Apostles' Creed are said in service-- to me, these say, "basic orthodoxy". I sense that it is a human-centered theology... to quote a Classics prof I had, "now that's looking through the other end of the telescope." And, along the same lines, there's far too much emphasis placed on feeling and desire in faith; I think you're setting people up for failure if they think they'll always desire to read Scripture, come to church and pray. Sometimes you just muscle through it to develop the habit of faith. Yes, one's faith needs to be lived out of a place deeper than a sense of duty, but that's the mystery. Jesus meets us in our striving. The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak... Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. Obedience is a form of grace. Perhaps, I'm too simple and not hip enough to understand the complexities. I've been accused of being plebian before this.

Good things: I got my hair high-lighted and it looks good. I had a lovely outing with my mom and two neighbors; we went to a fancy restaurant and then for coffee afterwards. And, I found a writer in South Africa reads my blog-- it made me happy everytime I thought about it yesterday and today.

I need to go to bed because I have an interview tomorrow morning. I'm trying to be positive without being optimistic, if that's possible.

musings from my fat-girl grind

I just got back from the most uninspired run ever that I actually kept running. It was a fat-girl grind* through-and-through as I waddled up and down hills. I felt one with the ducks huddled next to the pond, deciding their evening's festivities. It didn't look like a late-night swim was in the works. Five 14 year old girls stuffed into a pink golf cart, driving kamikaze-style, provided my other entertainment. Teenage girls baffle me even though I was one; I promise I was a different ilk than this giggling gaggle. Not that my friends and I weren't as annoying, we were just more imaginative (because we had to be). Please, golf-carts are so 80s.

Sometimes I'm a gazelle who's as graceful as a ballerina who thinks poetic thoughts when I run, but not tonight.

Note on word usage: "Grind" in the sense of the Grouse Grind in Vancouver not the Clubbing grind on MTV.

the human race is a great coauthorship

"The problem, of course, is that we are not the authors of ourselves. That we are not is a religious perception, but it is also a biological and social one. Each of us has had many authors, and each of us is engaged, for better or worse, in that same authorship. We could say that the human race is a great coauthorship in which we are collaborating with God and nature in the making of ourselves and one another. From this there is no escape. We may collaborate either well or poorly, or we may refuse to collaborate, but even to refuse to collaborate is to exert an influence and to effect the quality of the product. This is only a way of saying that by ourselves we have no meaning or dignity; by ourselves we are outside the human definition, outside our identity. Mary Catherine Bateson wrote in With a Daughter's Eye, 'it has seemed to me that the idea of an individual, the idea that there is someone to be known, separate from the relationships, is simply an error.'" -Wendell Berry, "Men and Women in Search of Common Ground" p.115 in Home Economics.

divulged secret

Do you know who enjoys my blog the most? I do. So what, if the only other person to have read it today is in Tel Aviv; it simply means I have international appeal. You're probably thinking, "Don't you have friends?" And, I'd respond, "Friends who have impeccable taste, no doubt."

c'est la vie

The French drink red wine, smoke thin cigarettes, nibble cheese, insult foreigners, wear expensive black fashion and invent lovely, depressing sayings. Take for instance Flaubert's Madame Bovary; only the French could come up with such an indurate example of ennui. Whenever I feel like a whinner, I pick up this book to improve my self esteem. She and Anna Karenina are the best wheedlers in fiction.

As I received another two rejections today, I'm realizing that book-reading, thought-thinking people aren't perceived as particularly valuable on the job market. I think that plastic-surgery would have a better return on investment than my education. If I were to have girls, I'd involve them in cheer-leading and getting A's, vastly superior, more useful pursuits to athletics and learning.

Perhaps, I'll become a plumber and mumble my favorite poetry to myself as I unclog toilets. "Life is good" is so damn American.

great find

One of the truest pleasures denied to us as adults is being read aloud to. I do miss story time and bed-time readings. Lament this pleasure no more. Over sweet tea Friday, EB introduced me to The New Yorker's Fiction Podcast. Wowsers! I just listened to one because I'm no glutton. A good friend is hard to find. This is a cache of solid gold, friends.

deep thoughts

Do you ever lie awake in bed in the wee hours wondering: what's my purpose? Sometimes, I do. Then, my aunt brought me a packet and news of a teleseminar entitled, "What's My Purpose? A Journey of Personal and Professional Growth."

Yes, it was actually as hokey as you can possibly imagine. Do you know what "passion" really means? No, it has nothing to do with etymology of the word; rather, you find the hidden meaning by PASS-I-ON. Your purpose is about gracing the world with the true essence of yourself. Now we all need to bow before the Oprah altar. The package and the part of the call I listened to made giggle and want to argue. It was so utterly ridiculous. Wait, that's not genius; that's a cliche. It was as my aunt said, it's a crap shoot as to whether something will be worth one's while. And, all said, it was entertaining.

And, I got my eyebrows assessed by a professional today. Apparently, they're lovely but need a lot of work (that would require me to pay her money, hmm). I came home and plucked them myself.

I've edited two pieces today-- it's a lot of work but fun. There are several pieces I want to work on: one about an old woman and a lottery ticket but I don't know the punch line yet (fiction). One about the Rosary(musings/reflection). One about the lack of intergenerational engagement-- our little decade ghettos (opinion/fact). A haiku dedicated to Wendell Berry. And, some other stuff. This list is to eliminate any doubts, I'm a dilettante if nothing else.

I'm off to sip some wine and read my Sunday school lesson. Nobody likes a slacker.

P.S. I'm digging Madonna's Hard Candy.

exciting stuff

I ate Cajun Fillet Biscuits and drank Legendary Sweet Iced Tea with EB today. I got this call at 11:30 that kicked off, "Where are you?" She was driving from ATL to Duke for a wedding. It was a sweet surprise. The last time I saw her was in NYC in February. The last time I spent time with her in the Southland was in Atlanta in 2004.

Fireflies are the best. I think one of my night runs is going to inspire a fully-formed haiku. Today, there were fireflies, ducks and some kind of water fowl akin to the heron, but shorter and fatter. Oh, and I saw a robin chasing a cat: hilarious. Oh, divine friskiness, how you make me laugh.

I've been short runs every night in an effort to get in shape for the Nashville Marathon.

Last night, I went to Vespers at the Abbey then to chat with my Spiritual Director. But, vespers were super nifty because two guys joined the monastery: they got their robes and their new names. The ceremony moved me because we are new in Christ. And, the robes symbolized putting on the armor of Christ. It was powerful. I love liturgy. EB suggested I find an Anglican church plant.

misflicker

My past two days have been sponsored by frustration and angst (more so than usual). Patience has never been my strong suit. But, the nonchalance and disregard I'm getting from employers has really unhinged me right now. On the phone with my brother, I was estimating how many rejections I've experienced, expecting some compassion. His response was: "It should make it easier to put yourself out there." I've developed resignation but not aloofness. I'm no longer surprised but it still feels personal. It helps me realize how few friends I have-- lots of people have advice and few people listen.

My desolations don't need naming; it just seems that all HR departments are trash heaps for the people who couldn't hack it in other parts of the country.

But, my consolations were tiny and delicate:

1. Helped a friend organize her kitchen cabinets.

2. Watched A Good Woman, an excellent movie with Helen Hunt, based on Oscar Wilde's "Lady Windemere's Fan". It's a play of redemption and the good and evil inside of all of us. And, it's so well-crafted and witty and true. Oscar Wilde is one of my favorite writers. I came away with the idea of hope and self-examination... and how often we settle for the obvious in lieu of the truth. There were numerous quotations noteworthy:

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."


3. I love Wendell Berry. His writing is brilliant, simple and true. Simple in the sense of pure, without dross. Perhaps, I should say elegant. His characters remind of the neighbors I grew up with on the dirt road in Clover, SC.

From "Pray without Ceasing" in Wendell Berry's Fidelity

"'.... I believed then, and I believe now, that he was not a bad man. But we are all as little children. Some know it and some don't.'
She looked at me to see if I was one who knew it, and I nodded, but I was only thirty and did not know it yet." (12)

This fictional grandmother offered me a lot of grace through this scene for me and for others. Sometimes, I'm overwhelmed by immaturity and selfishness and lack of vision and hope, but I'm like a little kid-- it's hubris to be surprised by my shortcomings and get aggravated at others.

"... one of the characteristic diseases of the twentieth century was making its way: the suspicion that one would be improved if they were someplace else." (20)

He makes wander-lust sound abominable, but there's no escaping yourself. I have this disease. It's scary to invest and put down roots. I've gotten used to the student life. But, it is a disease-- it saps joy out of stuff.

4. A delightful email that prodded me to a delightful (and much needed) run.

novel find

I chatted with the Chief about my streak of kid lit. She murmured approvingly about the books and suggested The Lottery Rose by Irene Hunt. This book made me weep; it was so intense that I'd have to get up and take a break. It's rare in that it is enjoyable and profound. The Library of Congress catalogues this book under child abuse victim, but I'd put under beauty, redemption and nature of the human heart: the depravity and resiliency.

Georgie was never given the chance to be human: his mother forgets to feed him and her boyfriend beats him. He's 8 years old and doesn't know how to read. He hates everybody and almost everything. His refuge from a parent who resents his existence, starvation, beating and a school that's deemed him severely retarded is a library book about flowers. He loves roses: beautiful and safe. A rose had never hurt him.

He wins a shriveled rose plant at a grocery store: he finally has an object to pour out all the love, affection and care that was absent in his life. Shortly after winning the plant, Georgie is beaten so badly with a chair leg that neighbors call the police and the perpetrators jailed. The judge sends Georgie and his rose to a boys school run by Catholic nuns. The school he gets the chance to become human after all his years of living as a wild animal scrounging to survive.

I won't spoil it any more, but it's an amazing story filled with pain and suffering that isn't explained away but redeemed. Georgie has the choice of becoming something other than a victim.

I give this book five stars.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I love this book
And you should too.

bellybuttoning

I drank two cups of black coffee today. The first one was at church and the second one was at 6pm at home. This is very exciting because I'm the butt of many jokes in my family because of my sugar and cream dependency.

I've been vaguely annoyed all day (it's either tiredness or church or both).

We've gotten an exorbidant amount of rain this weekend... and my vegetables are loving it. I have lots of little nubs of eggplants and cucumbers. And, the bell peppers have lots of blossoms.

Perhaps there's a metaphor in all this rain and my thriving vegetable plants. In the Bible, rain is a sign of blessing. Perhaps, there's an end to my personal drought. Or I'm delirious. I'm trying not to get my hopes up about the job I'll find out about this week.

My sister treated me to a mani and pedi yesterday. It felt wonderful and my feet are now presentable. I also met this nurse whose aunt was a medical missionary to West Africa in the 1940s-- that's money. The nurse has her aun'ts diaries and letters. Do you know how exciting it would be to have that info. I gave her Dana Robert's name.

I'm getting the urge to write some fiction. Odd.

I'm reading Irene Hunt's The Lottery Rose. I've already cried, and I'm on the third chapter.

I want to see Hancock and Wanted.

political musings

Over breakfast this morning, six of us discussed politics candidly. I agreed with much that was said, including my sister's admission she wasn't following the election. She's not following the election because there is nothing that Obama could say that would convince her to vote for him. I agree. It's not possible to be up-in-the-air this election year. People who claim to be undecided are either disingenious or stupid.

I read somewhere (I can't remember where) that people's political views are more deeply imbedded than their religious views. Politics aren't related to reason but to a deeply ingrained world view that shapes our reason.

Here are quotations from a Sowell article I enjoyed:

"... Senator John McCain could never convince me to vote for him. Only Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama can cause me to vote for McCain.

"What is more scary than any particular candidate or policy is the gullibility of the public and their willingness to be satisfied with talking points, rather than serious arguments....

"Whenever I see one of Barack Obama's smooth performances, it reminds me of a saying from my old neighborhood in Harlem: "An eel is like sandpaper compared to you."...

"There is no question that Barack Obama is a clever and glib fellow. There is also no question that some of the most foolish, dangerous and horrific things done around the world in the past hundred years have been done by clever and glib fellows."

other July 4th news

At our party, a woman I never met before said, "Your eggplant is a lovely plant. I mean, just as a plant." I took a liking to this lady. My Japanese eggplant is charming even if she only has one fruit. Then, I proceeded to tell the lady my favorite ways to cook this elegant vegetable. She listened politely.

Other garden updates, we ate the first squash and tomato on Wednesday. Quite tastey.

Jesse Helms died on Independence Day

North Carolina lost much clout on Capitol Hill when Jesse Helms retired in 2003 after five terms. He started out as a Democrat.
Wiki article on Jesse Helms

2001 NYT article written as a tribute.

Jesse Helms' quotations. He was a colorful, quotable guy. I couldn't find my favorite quote about UNC. In response to a request for funding for the NC zoo, he suggested putting a fence around Chapel Hill.

"I'm the biggest bigot here". More quotations

refugee of deep thought

A pastor at my church asked me what I was reading. I paused because I generally have about five books going at a time. I answered, "Kid Lit."

Then, he repeated, "Kid Lit."

And, I said, "Yep."

I went into this shpiel about they are good, solid stories. There are no high-falutin' gimmicks. These stories have 3-D characters, tight plots and significant themes. Take that, James Joyce and stream of consciousness.

So, here are the books I read this week. I highly recommend them.

The Great Gilly Hopkins

Number the Stars

Pride and Prejudice

sting op

A yellow jacket stung me yesterday! The ring finger of my right hand is still pink and puffy but does not hurt. We were out hiking and I touched my leg and BAM. It's been a really long time since I've gotten a bee sting. I used to get them regularly as a little, grubby kid, and I respected all wasps, bees, yellow jackets. But, I've gotten nonchalant about bees because it's been so long. When I got home, I took some Benadryl and Advil and tucked into a nap. I woke up groggy and without pain. It's good not to be allergic.

The sting reminded me of how easy it is to grow numb to dangers and how easily things can go wrong. I feel entitled to things going smoothly all the time, but it's a silly illusion of control. The yellow jacket was exploring my leg at the same time I chose to rub it-- neither of us were off target. It was even a convenient thing for that type of thing to happen-- I didn't need to be anywhere or accomplish any major feats that afternoon. It was similar to the flat tire I had on Monday, the situation could have been much worse than it was... not that there is an ideal. To quote Sting, "How fragile we are."

today's discoveries

1. How to change a tire. Well, I watched a friend do it. I now know where all the tools are in my car.

2. www.scholar.google.com is amazing! The only glitch: a lot of the journal articles you have to pay $5-$15, but you can read the abstracts for free. But, I'm going to figure out the articles I want and find access to an academic library. Google is evil and convenient.

3. I love Newberry winners. I read The Great Gilly Hopkins yesterday and today Number the Stars. They're beautiful.

4. My projects for my internship are not high priority. Shocking, I know.

5. My blood type.

6. Some excellent quotations:

a. On Augustine of Hippo, Peter Brown comments: "Augustine often uses the word "progress" during his old age. but we have seen, that for him it did not mean the prospect of unrestricted change and adaptation: rather, it implies a consciousness of having left behind the superfluous, and of having become increasingly certain of the essential."

b. "Amor ipse notitia est (love itself is knowledge)" is from a sermon preached by Gregory the Great.

c. In a letter, William Bull comments about John Newton: "He looks very old, and has got exceedingly fat since I saw him last, but he is full of piety, holiness, and heaven-mindliness."

I am a life-long learner.