a moment with gwen

In frostproof

2011-09-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I made it. Dad flew in Wednesday at 6 and I picked him up and we pointed the Nissan south and took off. I was pretty much a wreck the whole way down. we drove through the night on Wednesday, and stopped in NC for the night with my uncle. we were both too tired to push through. That night, I remembered just how allergic to dust mites I was, and so mid morning, dad pulled over at a gas station so I could perform the most complicated medical routine I've ever done. something like,Zyrtec, emergency inhaler, then ibuprofen, then regular inhaler, then benadril, then emergency inhaler... last time I felt like this I went to the E.R. but since that wasn't an option, I managed to doctor myself out of it. needless to say, I slept the rest of the trip, till around St Augustine, where we met up with my little sister. I decided that I should live in St Augustine, it's gorgeous, and has many little shops and cafe's. then the three hours to Frostproof. Mom had tied yellow ribbons to all the door posts for me, and I felt very loved. Saturday was spent unpacking, moving beds, getting settled. I had a scare, thinking I'd forgot the pegs for my furniture, but we found them in the end. The room looks very nice and comfortable, and it has closets! something I've not had for years. Sunday I went to church with my parents and was a little overwhelmed with all these strangers being so happy to see me. I am, of course, the only one my age within 10 years, either way. I am going to look into different churches here, and see if there's one that feels like home. the rest of the day I crashed, sleeping fitfully, and unpacking. Today, I pulled apart my air conditioner in the car, but I can't see what's wrong with it. I have an interview for a part time job on Wednesday, which would be in town, 10 minutes by car. I've been feeling pretty rotten, moving, then stopping, trying to get to a point where I feel good enough not to think about what my body is feeling... I also feel surreal, there is no noise outside, other than the generators on the houses, and the occasional tractor in the orange grove, no music, no noise pollution. Mornings are beautiful here, I will try to take pictures and post them, but the day is hot and humid. part of me thinks, oh good, sweating is good for weight loss. The other part of me thinks, oh no, dehydration. I'm not happy, I don't think I will be for a long time, but I am beginning to see that this is just a time in between.
there are some good schools nearby (45 minutes) so in a week or so, depending on job situation, I will start asking around for adjunct positions, and I'll start talking to Iona about long distance school. I would love to hear from you all, whether it's just a note or a letter. Phone reception tends to be iffy around here.

short and garbled

2011-08-31T03:48:00.000-07:00

since the last post, I've been packing, and saying goodbye to people. I've been allowing myself to luxuriate in the company of my friends, shamelessly enjoying them like a long drink of water on a hot summers day. at the same time, I've been crying regularly, mourning like I have never mourned before, in part, because I feel this separation more than any other. All other moves, I had a destination, a goal in mind, and I had the hope that maybe where I was going, I would learn to feel alright, I would be OK. This move, I know I'm not ok, and I know what I'm leaving behind. And oddly enough, in these last few days, I am missing not only Nyack, but the parts of Belgium Nyack reminded me of. I'm going to miss the chocolate shop in Nyack, not just because it's chocolate, but because it has all of my childhood candy in it, and the proprietor speaks dutch. And the packaging is in dutch. It was in Nyack that I realized that although I will never fit in anywhere, I can still be myself and add to the scenery. This post is mostly self analytical, as I look around my room in boxes yet again. I love moving, I love new experiences, but I am afraid of losing what I have here. I woke up this morning singing Dutch songs to myself, desperately missing my language. one I'm not so sure I can still speak. One that won't ship books to the U.S because they know no one here speaks it. My parents were foreigners in my culture, now I'm going to be a stranger in theirs.
Ik kan maar met moeite omschakelen naar het vlaams, en ik denk daarom dat ik aan het zingen was, om de klank en vorm van de taal te vatten. Moet de storm deze weekend, kreeg ik plots enorm heimwee, met all dat wind, en de bomen die omgeblazen werden. Deed me denken aan een storm die we ooit in Belgie gehad hadden. Vlaams is ergens toch wel de helft van mijn moedertaal. Ik weet dat dit nooit gevraagd word op een enquete, maar toch. Als ik mij niet bezig houd met het nederlands dan ben ik minder mijzelf. maakt momenteel niet uit hoe slecht mijn spelling of grammatica is. Ik mis het, ik mis het zo. Ik moest gisteren, toen ik voor het laatst afscheid nam van vrienden, en erger, mensen die vrienden hadden kunnen worden, plots in het vlaams huilen en vloeken. En dan pas kon ik voelen dat ik echt weg was. tja. Mischien moet ik mij meer bezig houden met het schrijven in het nederlands, maar dan moet ik echt weer gaan studeeren. Nyack, ik ga u missen, mischien kom ik terug, maar niet meer alleen. God, kunnen we dat afspreken? Ik ben het zo beu om de wereld door te gaan op m'n eentje. En het is niet meer gezond voor mij om dit te doen. alsjeblieft?

moving

2011-08-10T19:37:00.000-07:00

many of you already know this, but I am moving back to Florida. I know that this is sudden to many, but believe me, it was not an impulse decision. Back in April, when I quite my job, I told myself I had 4 months to get better and find another job. I was functioning under the (now proven delusional) notion that I was suffering from an illness that was temporary, and would go away if treated right. I got my feet back under me, and was heading back into the big bad world of employment and school, and was hit by another wave of sickness. This time it was different, because I was conscious of what was going on every step of the way. I was aware of what I should be doing, and what was taking place in my body. Yet this knowledge didn't help the episode be any less draining, and it didn't stop me from losing a day of training at work, and missing a job interview the next day. With my 4 months up at the end of august, and that ever dreaded word,Finances, looming in the near future, I finally called my parents and took them up on their longstanding offer of moving back to Florida to recuperate. The decision is a sad one, as I have made a home for myself here, with many wonderful friends who know me very well. More than any other place, Nyack has been healthy for me, in all but the physical sense. It is hard, hard, hard to leave, but I am encouraged by these same wonderful friends who have already checked online fares to Florida and are planning mini vacations to visit me. I also am realizing that I leave nothing behind me, I take it all with me. My memories, my books, my projects, my hopes and dreams... I remember a quote I found in Capernwray, although I've never been able to place who and where. " I not leave my heart behind me, as they say in love letter. No, I will carry it with me, over the mountains, because I need it. Always." This is not to say pieces of me will be in Nyack forever, but I will not diminish when I go. I go to become a healthier me, a better me.. anyways, there it is, my update. If you are in the New York region, please schedule a visit before I leave!!! Pretty please, I will beg if required.

God is the way to man

2011-07-26T11:36:00.000-07:00

I didn't mean for this blog to be a religious update.. and I hope it isn't becoming that. It's just that I'm trying to get into the habits of writing more, so as to become more articulate, and having a quiet time. Combining these two allows, I hope, for accountability and engagement (one of these days I'm going to go mad trying to stop alliterating. it's not a real alliteration a, and e, but close enough) but also, writing for an audience allows me to write better.

Today I was reading Karl Adams.

Thus spoke mr Adams:

"The Lover can reach his beloved only through God. God alone can carry him over the dead point which lies between the ego and the alter and cannot be transcended by mere logic... Thus in every genuine, unselfish, serious love belief in God is contained, even really presupposed. No one has expressed this truth with greater profundity than the apostle of Love, St. John: 'Everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God."

I John 4:7-12

God's Love and Ours

7Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 8Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son^b into the world that we might live through him. 10This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for^c our sins. 11Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 12No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

two things struck me when I read this

1) mere logic

I have the hardest time understanding how logic, which is implicit in everything we consciously do, can be considered a slight thing. It is obvious that logic is paramount to survival. It takes logic to make judgement calls, to use memory and experience and shared stories and come up with a sound game plan. It takes logic to fix my car. Logic is the foundation of our modern society, built as it is on technology, which is nothing more than a giant string of intertwining 'iff...then...' equations. It is supporting everything we do. I know my roommate gets off of work everyday at 5 ish. Why? because that is the schedule she is contracted under, and that has been her pattern since I moved it. Without logic our world would be like an episode of Monty Python or the Mighty Boosh everyday. and those shows are as popular as they are because they suspend logic for a moment. that vertiginous feeling of loss of logic translates into humor because we know it isn't so. It we doubted it, those shows would have the same depressing quality as french expressionistic theatre. So, we cannot get away from logic. We function in logic. Yet this love of God transcends logic. There are no arguments to be made against it then. It is a simple 'Yes, I believe', or a 'No, I won't' because there are no arguments for it. Arguments are rational. then does that mean the love of God is experiential? something you must be open to feeling? does that mean that experience trumps logic?

The problem obviously is not to logically disect the verse but to come to a truce in my own life between logic and experience. they are uncomfortable bedfellows at best, oil and water. How does one come to a right understanding about these two? logic and belief? belief cannot be logical, because it wouldn't be belief, yet logic at times helps belief. and humans are not only logical. maybe that's why there are so many depressed people around? we are trained in knowledge but not in intuition, facts not feelings... I could go one, but I would only get more muddled than I already am. It's confusing. perhaps one must really at one point throw back ones arms and say 'screw it. I'm just going to tell myself it's true'

2) 'man is a mystery. he is a culmination point of an eternal love which issues from God; a point in the actuality of the world where, as nowhere else, the love of God burns.'

to love God first, and then love others. that is the order it should go in. I don't have any deeper thoughts on this one. the statement above, from earlier in the same text quoted at the top of the entry, sums it up. It sounds like a Mantra to mention over and over again. how does this fact sink it? how, knowing this, do I go about my daily life? for me, it's easy to love others. the hardest part is to realize that I can say, logically (teehee), that if what is true for 'man' , being a general term for a group, then it must follow that it is also true for every member of that group seperate from the group, ergo: 'Jen is a mystery. She is the culmination point of an eternal love which issues from God: A point in the actuality of the world where, as nowhere else, the love of God burns.' Wow. I wanted to cry a little, but I'm in the public library. I am so far from accepting that statement. but what a goal! What audacity, I begin to think to myself, for me to claim that! but hang on, self. I'm not just claiming that for me. if the predicate stands, then this is true for everyone. and you've already agreed that it is true for everyone else. in the truest logical fashion, if the term man is defined as including everyone that is human, and I find one exception to the statement, then the statement is false. Ergo, I MUST believe that I am the center of this great love or I make God out to be a liar. both logicaly and experientialy..

ok.. so there's my mantra for the day (although it is already 2 pm)

thoughts? caveats? civits?

actual news:

I am in training for teaching the SAT's a good part time job. I'm also hoping to find another part time job to help me out, but in the meantime have had an interview for assistant manager at a small french bakery downtown. the type of job is right, but the hours are not. It would mean giving up the SAT job, and right now, the SAT job would look good on my resume, as well as help me break into teaching. I've received no training for actual classroom teaching. I'm starting to plan for what I'm going to do once I have my M.A and as usual I'm thinking Global. I just don't know if I have the strength to be in a foreign country.

I've given myself one year to train myself in taking care of myself more. unfortunatly I have an artists self destructive temperament, if not the actual work ethic, and I need to train myself in basic selfcare.

I'm learning to do the little things, although I hate them. I was always more of a bigpicture gal, not one who wanted to deal with laundry, food, cleaning, unless it was for at least 5 people..

Humility

2011-07-21T11:11:00.000-07:00

Today's reading came from Jean Nicolas Grou, a man I've never heard of. His views on humility jived nicely with my own, or at least with my wrestling with the concept. I've always seen humility as passivity and have enacted it as such. This is not real humility. Grou begins by asking us to see if we can honestly ask for humility as a virtue, and if so, to ask and it will be surely given to us. so far so good. we've all heard this before. then comes the caveat.. " But many who pray for humility would be extremely sorry if God were to grant it to them...they forget that to love, desire and ask for humility is loving, desiring, and asking for humiliations, for these things are the companions, or rather the food for humility, and without them it is no more than a beautiful but meaningless idea." I forget that faith = trust. and trust is only visible in hardships, confusion, doubt, uncertainty. I forget that faith is a dirty, filthy, earthy thing as well as a divine one. It's a physical thing, enacted in the temporal world and without that, it is just a pretty theory. And by dirty, I mean that learning humility will be hard, hard work, will involve messy situations that will stick with you, coat you with memories. you have to be inherently invested in this world to learn humility. Grou agrees with this. he says that 'if the bare thought of humiliation fills us with horror; if we repel it with out whole strength; if pride and self-love get the better of us on every occasion...the fact is that we dislike it and our prayers are a delusion"

The sentence in bold means prayer is a two step process. I must first recognize that the concept, the verse, the teaching is good. That is has a profound meaning for my lives, that it is something I should implement in my life.

second, that this particular teaching, concept, virtue, is something I can implement. That I am not simply saying, I should look for this, but that I can. Should implies that I haven't allowed my own history, character, situation to be factored in and that is very very foolish. without the immediacy and physicality of my own experiences, the concepts remain esoteric, of no practical import and will do me no good. If however, I don't allow them their intellectual, divine non-physical, eternal existence, they are nothing more than my own attempts to create meaning from chaos.

So reading Grou, It came to me to ask wether humility is something I should pray for. and with all due humility, I think it is not. I find that I have such a poor idea of true humility, that I would be reinforcing a bad humility, a negation of a self that is not yet clearly defined. The irony of course is that once it is defined, I will be ready to pray for humility.

Humility is one of the hardest virtues to have. to easily it is a re-enforcement of insecurity, an inaccurate assumption of worth. Real humility is knowing ones worth, having confidence in ones value, and letting go of the right to demand it be recognized, to instead be a tool for a higher purpose. For those who can do this their "offer is a real consecration. From that moment they should feel they are not their own, but belong to Jesus Christ and are fighting under his standard"

New Beginnings

2011-07-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

hello all you wonderful people!
As the title states, this is a week of new beginnings for me. I have had a rough three months, coping with many life changes. I don't know if i understand clearly the extent of what has happened, but I'm beginning to learn the boundaries to my life.
Today I have spent the morning on the phone with strangers, looking into medicaid, looking into unemployment, desperately fighting for my hard earned dignity. Yes, I quit my job. Yes, I have a condition that is very common. Yes, on paper, it looks like I was being lazy. But, what is it Evita says? "no one can faint quite like I can?" I'm sure those are the lyrics :-)
Only this last week have I been able to see a larger picture of what is going on.

I was thinking about all the emotional turmoil I'm in, changing habits, airing old old hurts, trying to navigate the new currents as I let emotions pass through me, instead of trapping them in a box.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see it's path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing, only I will remain" Frank Herbert, Dune.

and of all the physical turmoil, battling Asthma, and NC and possibly depression although wether that is cause or effect I don't yet know. Realizing that my forgetting to eat is leaving my body weak and hovering on malnutrition, knowing that eating will cause more weight gain. (relax, it's a valid problem)

And above all realizing that this is normal. my normal. Above all realizing that it is happening to me, therefore it is truth, and it is valid. I can't question it away, or study it away. no matter how far I run, all this is running with me. so I might as well bed down with the enemy and make it my friend.

"We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same." Carlos Castaneda
"The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. it kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry" Hemingway a farewell to arms.

I realized that I am uber sensitive. physically, mentally, emotionally, I am rigged with a hair-trigger, feeling everything in multiples of what others do. It took me three months to figure that out and accept it and not feel immensely, deeply, foundationaly broken.

This world is not perfect. I am not perfect. I will get messy and I will get messed up. I will be hurt and I will hurt. that is the framework. only within this framework can I really come alive. I have been trying to live in an idealized world that doesn't exist.

so, thank you all for being in my life in one way or another. the light at the end of the tunnel has drowned out the tunnels darkness for a moment. I hope it continues to do so!

beginning anything

2011-05-18T18:32:00.000-07:00

Ira Glass, sharing good advice on how to succeed in the creative realm. It's hard to remind oneself that it takes work, and lots of poor quality work, to create something worth while, and that the judges in our head will always be more exacting than the work we will produce.

taking it each day at a time

2011-05-08T08:21:00.000-07:00

well, I've made huge strides this last week in uncovering information on my diagnosis. www.dinet.org has a very extensive list.
I stumbled upon the list as I was looking up doctors and possible treatments, and halfway through reading the description of my diagnosis (Neurocardiogenic Syncope or NCS) I started crying hysterically. It shocked me how strongly I was reacting to this, so I made myself think about why it would be so emotional for me.
As I began to think back at all the times I've passed out, or almost passed out, or felt sluggish, or felt like I was swimming through water just getting from room to room, I was overcome with deep loneliness, and with fear. the loneliness and fear, the gnawing questions of wether I was delusional, wether I could somehow control this but wasn't, the sense of alienation (nothing is less cool that blowing your first big concert trip with your youthgroup by being sent to the hospital for 'epilepsy' during the show)
This condition has defined my life in a very scary way. It's hard to describe the sense of futility in going to yet another doctor, or E.R to hear yet again that I probably was just dehydrated. (hmm, even passing out at the dinner table, right after lunch?) It's humiliating to see the doctor start asking questions about your mental health, based on your physical symptoms. You feel very alone and unsafe. I realized I was crying so hard because I had never really thought I was sick. I had always thought I was inadequate. If my roommates could go to work with a cold, why couldn't I? If I pushed myself, I ended up on the floor, sometimes vomiting, sometimes not. I'm very happy with this diagnosis. It's stepping out of darkness into light. It's creating intelligent speach out of rambling sylables. It's allowing me to be a normal person with NCS, it means the insecure, scared little girl, can be insecure and scared and not have to hide it anymore.
It also makes me angry for the years I did lose. Those years are covered in confusion, hurt, and allot of fear. I felt like I was running around with a big OFF switch on me, but I couldn't see it, and I didn't know when people were going to hit it, or life, or...
I spent allot of time working on my self esteem, but now, the things I told myself not to believe ARE true. I am broken. I am limited, I can't do many things I enjoy. And I recognize the maturity in this process, and welcome it, but I also see the time it will take, the hours spent just in removing the bad work, and replacing it with good things.
My personality tends to be all or nothing, I can't live that way anymore. I either exercise hard, or don't. now I need to learn moderation. in everything. at which my mind screams 'BORING!!!' I want to push myself, challenge myself. but now I have to be gentle with myself. I don't approve of gentle. It takes to long.
but back to the blogging: I've already heard from one person who lives in my area and we are trading info. I've found some blogs of women who are in similar situations. all three are unable to work, unless from the home, and then only a few hours a day. I will not be discouraged by this at this point. I've overcome this in the past, and I will in the future. These women are all married and have significant help around the house. I'm thinking of hiring a student to clean for me, considering I also have pretty bad dust mite allergies, and need to be cleaning every week. something I've not been up to yet.

I am working hard on staying present with this, and not panicking. I'm trying to focus my attention on relaxing. Stress is the biggest trigger of all, and unfortunately, I run on stress. I have to retrain myself. I'm learning that I need to let people know what is going on with me, because I need community now. as frustrating as it is, I can't hold conversations on the phone for long, if at all. so blogging is an easy way to communicate.

I know this post is convoluted, I still am not done crying about this. so I'm writing, the crying, then writing. then crying some more.
Some of you have helped me through an episode. could you send me an email with what you remember? it doesn't need to be much, but whatever you have will help. I'm creating a document with my past medical history. and anything is helpfull.
for instance. One of the things to avoid is showering during the day. it drains my energy like noone's business. I never connected that to my condition, but it's one of the big things to watch out for. So now I don't feel bad about taking a shower right before I go to bed anymore. or skipping a day.
These are the things I'm learning to do again, learning to eat differently, learning to check each activity for stress before I do it..
anyways. plenty more to follow. Thank you all for responding to the last post. I can't stress how much hearing from you all means to me, even if I can't always respond.

work and failure

2011-04-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

This is an interesting post to write. but I find myself hesitant to put my thoughts down on paper, because I'm not sure of the medium. I'm writing this blog so that people will read this, so that I can tell allot of people at the same time what's going on so I don't have to duplicate things, yet I wonder how many people really hear me when I write? I write because I'm more eloquent in writing, I've never been good in expressing myself verbally, I suppose I need to reread things to make sure I have the gist right. Are you reading this? are you understanding it?
You know, the worst thing some say is to be alone and to know it. I think I agree. please let me know I'm not alone in this.
and now for the real news: this week, I heard yet again from a doctor. I apparently am allergic to dust mites, and that's it. that would be great news except that I exhibit allergic symptoms to all sorts of weather and to animals. the conclusion is that the vagus nerve is causing this on top of the already acerbated dust allergy and something called seasonal rhinitis. the malfunctioning of the vagus nerve is also what is causing my fainting and my asthma. The news was devastating to me. I hadn't really realized how devastating it was because people were just hearing it and not reacting to it. but what it means is that I will never, from now on, be able to live without taking this into consideration. I should be glad it's not something serious, or immediately life threatening. but I'm not. I'm scared, and angry. I feel like my body has let me down. I feel like all those pep talks about accepting yourself, and that you are a beautifully person, really, were lies. I'm not. my body is actually broken. and it won't be fixed. I need to stop thinking I can make it better, and accept that I am fundamentally broken. my body is lesser than other bodies, and it always will be.
I'm already accepting this, and working out a plan. but it isn't easy. my homework has suffered, I've quite my job, I'm trying to find a balance of right behaviour, and at the same time accept that right behaviour will at times mean jack squat. I'm working on accepting that I will slur words, forget words at times, that I have to plan my movements at times so that I don't collapse, that I have very little control over when these moments will strike. I'm working on listening to myself and not to the advice of others, who over the years have told me to walk it off, brush it off, be tougher. who have told me it was mono, depression, laziness... I have to forgive myself for the opportunities missed, the events cancelled, the friends stood up. I have to figure out what to tell people! do I let them know up front that this body of mine is untrust worthy? that it might let me down in subtle ways hardly noticeable to others... or that it might strike me down in the middle of the road on a hot summers day, to be rescued by strangers? there are so many things to learn too. did I actually have a depression last year, or was it caused by the seasonal onset of all three manifestations of the vasal vascular condition?
In all this, I hope to learn to relax, to accept it, and to live with it graciously. there's only experimental medication available now, and that only linked to one of the manifestations (fainting). it doesn't consider the others (constricted airways, asthma).
ah well.

Why intelligent people take drugs

2011-04-13T11:47:00.000-07:00

A title of an article I was reading prompted me to an anger-fueled rant. see below.
Intelligent people, like me, are always told that we have been given a better chance at life, that we will do well, and be positive. That we have a better chance at succeeding in corporet america, or whatever... My intelligence is something I have been told will propell me to the hights of whatever highest thing I am climbing. yeah, fine and dandy, I hate my intelligence. I hate being smart some days. because when you actually see the world for what it is, it is a cold and lonely icecave of a place. really. people need stupidity just to survive. why do we work the jobs we do? if you think too closely about it, almost every job but those that provide the most basic of lifesupports become obsolete. the arguments circle round and round faulty predicatives. also, most jobs today are helping us run out of natural resources faster than we can count, and provide no real relevance. Our jobs keep us from community, keep us from time with our family and friends, and yet they are the only reason an intelligent person can see to why we get up in the morning at all. An intelligent person can think for themselves, meaning that when someone confronts them on moral or religious grounds, the intelligent person will once again find themselves on the lonely ground of having done enough research to realize that the point is not religious or moral, but social, and that the person making it will never agree to see that. an Intellectual person sees that emotions are dangerous, and will lead to mess and confusion. but they also know that unless they allow the emotion reign they will be isolated from others, and will have to deal with people who don't think things through before saying them.. In short, the article said that intelligent people take drugs because they are bored. I think they take them in order to shut off the thinking. it seems that the only way to fit into the system is to supress the mind. Anyways. thoughts?

Ian Frazier's lamentation of the father

2011-04-02T20:25:00.000-07:00

WNYC was broadcasting the below piece. I've not laughed this hard with the radio for quite some time! You need to read this with a deep voice, and try to think of 1950's religious radio... Let me know what you think!

Laws Concerning Food and Drink;
Household Principles;
Lamentations of the Father

by Ian Frazier

Of the beasts of the field, and of the fishes of the sea,
and of all foods that are acceptable in my sight you may eat,
but not in the living room.
Of the hoofed animals, broiled or ground into burgers,
you may eat,
but not in the living room.
Of the cloven-hoofed animal, plain or with cheese,
you may eat,
but not in the living room.
Of the cereal grains, of the corn
and of the wheat and of the oats,
and of all the cereals that are of bright color
and unknown provenance you may eat,
but not in the living room.
Of the quiescently frozen dessert and of all frozen after-meal treats
you may eat,
but absolutely not in the living room.
Of the juices and other beverages, yes,
even of those in sippy-cups, you may drink,
but not in the living room,
neither may you carry such therein.
Indeed, when you reach the place where the living room carpet begins,
of any food or beverage there you may not eat, neither may you drink.
But if you are sick, and are lying down and watching something,
then may you eat in the living room.

Laws When at Table
And if you are seated in your high chair,
or in a chair such as a greater person might use,
keep your legs and feet below you as they were.
Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table,
for that is an abomination to me.
Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show,
your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke.
Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils,
nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for;
if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away.
When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table,
and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth
hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.
When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed,
and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within;
I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister has done the same to you.
Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food;
neither seize the table between your jaws,
nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips.
I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is.
And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker,
draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, for we do not do that, that is why.
And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees,
do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that,
that is why. Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other,
nor slide down until you are nearly slid away.
Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup.
And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.

Laws Pertaining to Dessert
For we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert. But of the unclean plate, the laws are these: If you have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then you shall have dessert. But if you eat a lesser number of peas, and yet you eat the potatoes, still you shall not have dessert; and if you eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, you shall not have dessert, no, not even a small portion thereof. And if you try to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear you have eaten what you have not, you will fall into iniquity. And I will know, and you shall have no dessert.

On Screaming
Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time. If you are given a plate on which two foods you do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, your voice rises up even to the ceiling, while you point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say to you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct the fault. Likewise if you receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you, and steeped in vileness, again I say, refrain from screaming. Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose. For even now I have made the fish as it should be; behold, I eat of it myself, yet do not die.

Concerning Face and Hands
Cast your countenance upward to the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off. For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, there is rice thereon. And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner wonderful to see. Only hold yourself still; hold still, I say. Give each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb. Lo, how iniquitous they appear. What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go hence until I have done.

Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances
Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time. Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of bath water of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub yourself against cars, nor against any building; nor eat sand.
Leave the cat alone, for what has the cat done, that you should so afflict it with tape? And hum not that humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book. Indeed, you will drive me to madness. Nor forget what I said about the tape.

Complaints and Lamentations
O my children, you are disobedient. For when I tell you what you must do, you argue and dispute hotly even to the littlest detail; and when I do not accede, you cry out, and hit and kick. Yes, and even sometimes do you spit, and shout "stupid-head" and other blasphemies, and hit and kick the wall and the molding thereof when you are sent to the corner. And though the law teaches that no one shall be sent to the corner for more minutes than he has years of age, yet I would leave you there all day, so mighty am I in anger. But upon being sent to the corner you ask straightaway, "Can I come out?" and I reply, "No, you may not come out." And again you ask, and again I give the same reply. But when you ask again a third time, then you may come out.

Hear me, O my children, for the bills they kill me. I pay and pay again, even to the twelfth time in a year, and yet again they mount higher than before. For our health, that we may be covered, I give six hundred and twenty talents twelve times in a year; but even this covers not the fifteen hundred deductible for each member of the family within a calendar year. And yet for ordinary visits we still are not covered, nor for many medicines, nor for the teeth within our mouths. Guess not at what rage is in my mind, for surely you cannot know.

For I will come to you at the first of the month and at the fifteenth of the month with the bills and a great whining and moan. And when the month of taxes comes, I will decry the wrong and unfairness of it, and mourn with wine and ashtrays, and rend my receipts. And you shall remember that I am that I am: before, after, and until you are twenty-one. Hear me then, and avoid me in my wrath, O children of me.

2011-03-30T17:13:00.000-07:00

In the library again. where I live.
I owe everyone a post on the new things in my life, but a very very basic overview is the
1) I'm down to part time at my job. meaning I have more time for school. This was a tough choice made allot easier by the realization that I have too much on my plate for one person to handle. I lined everything up and thought, what is most expendable? At that point, I though, nothing is, I need to fit everything in. my job, my friends, my school. so I tried to pray about it, and realized I couldn't pray. which stopped me pretty dead in my tracks, I mean, that's a clear sign of something, but what? so I prayed about not being able to pray. That prayer went through. the answer back (and I still don't know what else to call it than an answer. I'm using awfully simple language to describe something intensely inexplicable) was something I didn't want to hear, but knew to be true. What use is there in praying if I'm not willing to risk? I looked at my list again, but this time, keeping in mind the idea that if I were to trust god, to trust life, what would that change? the answer surprised me. Without a question, my job. It's expendable. I'd received enough in student loans to keep me safe for a few months, and I only need a year to get my masters.
taking three classes a term will have me done by fall 2012. While I hate being on student loans, truly get sick to my stomach thinking about it, the real reason is that it means that it's beyond my control. I'm not in control, and I owe someone money. two very horrible things to me.
2) I've been offered an opportunity to publish a chapter in a book this may. the topic is J.D Salinger, Down At The Dingy.
its my own chapter. This in and off itself is huge for my carreer.
3) I'm going to the dominican republic for a five night all inclusive vacation. a deal popped up that was so irristable I couldn't refuse. for almost as much as the airfare alone, M and I got an all inclusive deal. And don't worry, we both did extensive research. the place is legite. it's a dead season of the year, they had rooms to fill, and cheaper is better than non at all.
It might be a little indulgent of me, but the one message I keep hearing from people is 'have fun', relax, unwind.. and yes, I've been so uptight and downright scared of things NOT being OK, of being a failure, of losing everything, of losing control, that I've forgotten how to have fun. so I'm going to have a wonderful, carribean adventure for 5 days with a good friend. I'm slowly starting to enjoy the idea.

Well, all said, much change. I'm tracing the outline of the life I want to live, and seeing if I can fit the mold.
next steps, masters thesis, applying for adjunct positions, presenting in kentucky. life suddenly got very full,
but waking up has gotten easier, as I think of the day and say to myself, I have four NEW hours in every day to study in... four WHOLE hours.

hard thing to face

2011-03-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

I just found out that one of the artists I love has announced she's gay, and a christian. I have friends who are gay, and very happy..
I live in a society in which we all hear the news, we all are told so many scary things, and yet no one listens. I almost cried when the barista at starbucks handed me a paper cup after asking for a to-stay mug. he made me complicite in needless waste. I was in NY city and l looked up at the skyscrapers and felt like a prophet of doom. how long? how long do we have?
Wandering through NY, I was constantly being bombarded with advertisement, advertisement, advertisement. I was desperatly looking for Alan Ginsberg's HOLY, HOLY, HOLY, and found only noise and demands.
I looked to the students I was chauffeuring and singled only two out who knew how to converse meaningfully. and even then, only on the topic of ourselves. We are silent when it comes to anything else. We are so bombarded with things and events we do not sift through our own selves and settle down into them. Debate on topics is impossible, because we do not know what we mean when we use words.

I can't leave my house to go for a stroll without meeting with cookie cutter suburban houses, badly made, and larger than necesary. decorated with useless toys and a large TV.
so much of my life is sitting and staring at screens. computers, T.V's .
and When I am done with these questions I still look west and east and south and wonder... if we took all the money in the offering plate, and gave it to the poor. if we took away our church buildings and met in houses. If we threw out our T.V's and put up easels instead. if we remembered how to sing the songs we listen to know. If we all rode bikes and though about what we were doing.

Intent. where has the intent gone?

My friends, forgive me.. I live alone, so these thoughts percolate untill I find an outlet.
At the moment, Diego is begging me to play with him. and as he rarely does that.m, I will oblige him. thoughts are welcome

dove in the shower

2011-03-04T06:28:00.000-08:00

this morning I watched the soapsuds drain down the shower head. They formed the figure of a stylized dove, wings sketched to her side, and her neck stretched out away from her body, reaching for something. As she slowly slipped down towards the bottom of the bath, she began to be pulled by the passing water, and lose definition.
Because I'm a hopeless romantic, I'd like to think things are symbols, that can teach us something. I don't think everything is a message written especially for you in bright happy crayon colours, but I do think that events are such that they collaborate to challenge you, or allow you to take the party going on in your head (worries, conflicts, insecurities) and place them outside, with a visual for you to think about.
The dove had wings, but never used them as she slowly lost definition. stereotypical girl-tatoos aside, wings are a powerful image. They are truly your own (if you're of the avian persuasion) they are a muscle, they take practice. and at one point, you have to jump of off a high place to test them out, not knowing they will actually unfold.
I'd like to point out that trust is a hard thing, because we have so many examples of it going wrong. A bird jumping out of it's nest might be doing so after watching it's brother jump and fail to execute. He might be jumping with the visible remains of the last jumper laying in plain sight below. That's not just trust, but courage, and a dash of recklessness.
but if you don't 'ahem' spread your wings and fly. (yes it hurt to even type that kind of cheese) you'll flow down the drain with the rest of the soapsuds (ha, how's that for mixing metaphors)
It's not the 90 minutes recommended by stephen king for fledgeling writers, but it's pretty much all I have to say about today.

Best quote ever

2011-02-28T08:49:00.000-08:00

you prolly all saw this on my facebook, but here it is again. This is the best advice I could give any guy, because, well it's so applicable to ME!

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
— Rosemary Urquico

Februari update

2011-02-24T06:38:00.000-08:00

so it's time to send out a musing on the last month of my life. That sounds incredibly dramatic, and it has been to some extent. I will update based on area, so skip to whichever you are most interested in.

School.
I'm currently in my third semester at Iona, taking Greek Drama and 14th century litterature. The Greek drama is pretty sweet, and oddly, I understand why it's considered the purest of art forms.(please note we've only done tragedy so far. I'll let you know what I think of the comedy...it's going to be pretty raunchy, so beware!)
The Greeks wrote tragedy to invoke pity/fear in their listeners. pity for the protagonist and fear for themselves that they might be guilty of the same mistakes. Thus the theatre was an educational experience. There are only two students in the class, so if I close my eyes, I pretend I'm in oxford, where they model their courses on the mentor/mentoree model. A handfull of students do the reading, take notes, then meet with a mentor and discuss. This is the most helpfull of methods, and I'm glad I can be a part of it in Iona. My prof has a masters in medieval writing and a phd in 20th century american drama, yet a passion for the greeks, so it's nice to know that you can be well rounded in the field of litterature instead of becoming incredibly specialized in one area only.

the medieval course turned into an independent study, and since my professor is an alumnus from Fordham uni, she's decided to have us meet in fordham's Walsh library, the library of the gods! They serve sushi in the library cafeteria as well as the standard bad coffee, but their genius is in their reference library. It's larger than the library at Nyack, and chock full of very usefull reference books. They also have a bookscanner, which means I can scan in books and use them later on my computer!!!!!
what fun! Dr C. basically threw out the syllabus after meeting with me once, and we're working on a thesis length exploration of flemish influence on english culture, more specifically chaucer in the canterbury tales. It's a very interesting area, and I sort of have an advantage because I read dutch. This has the potential of branching out into my phd work. I hadn't originally thought of myself as a medievalist, mostly because I was resisting the Inklings and their pull, but what better place to begin my studies than at the beginning of the english language as we know it? I can work my way up from there, branching out with more research in different areas later, but in essence, the time period I'm most drawn to-the 1910-1950 english and american writings (which is a huge range of writing) is grounded in medievalism and classicism. It will be satisfactory to my somewhat Khobolt-ish tendencies to bury myself in research to begin at the roots and work myself up. So, last night was my first night in Fordham and I loved it! please make sure to remind me of real life if I become to owlish.

My paper is accepted to the Elizabeth Maddox Roberts conference. now I just have to write it! I'm looking for influences to pull into the paper, as there isn't enough on the writer to use just her own work and commentaries. I am able to go to the conference thanks to my tax returns which, because I'm a student now, are ridiculously high. the four days will be a fun relaxation for me and a chance to meet professors in a field I'm interested in. I'm a little worried about fitting in, to be honest, as I don't know allot about american literature. I hope to find in the conference a group of people who are creating art and literature for the same reason people have been doing it since forever, to understand the world they are living in now. I find I miss that creativity in the research I do. It can be very dry, and I have to keep reminding myself that everything I do has or should have relevance in my day to day life, and in the lives of people I meet. That's the hardest thing to balance, because working a full time job and being in school requires most of my time, and I am relying on the friendships I've already made. I only wish those friends would stop moving away :-( I don't have time to make new friends

Work is continually a challenge. I've made the colossal switch in my mind, that although everything should be done with excellence, not all things will be so. my job is a job, and it can't take over my life. I'm learning the art of good enough. Because in the long run, this is a temp job and I need to learn boundaries. I'm more and more amazed to find how different my missionary trained intuitions are from the real world. growing up, it was all for one, we all pitched in, helping where we could. I felt like I was a fullfledged member of the team, making beds and cleaning (although I prolly did less of that than I remember) working as a volunteer on the ship, for love europe and for de bron. That mindset does not work in the real world where a salary is earned based on a set parameter of effort. going beyond that is danherous to my health and I am the sole protector of my own health. It's a maturity thing

Social life. I get incredibly lonely at work because there is little or no real interaction. it's a series of tasks I need to perform, much like a machine, for other who have the creative imput. I then feel like I MUST have friends to hang out with or else! so I feel a lot less connected to the world than I in fact am.
I had D. come up to stay with me from Belgium for two whole weeks! that's pretty amazing! and I'm heading to Philly on saturday to see M. and I was in the city three days in a row, going to the met with friends, seeing brooklyn with A and J and back to the met with R. so socially, I'm doing ok, I just feel like a zombie after work.

N and I bought a punching bag. I've used it once and it feels wonderfull. I have to be carefull though, because I've gone and damaged my back from prolongued studying and desk-sitting without proper posture. It's pretty painfull right now, and I'm seeing the chiropractor very often :-( (again, yeay for taxes!)

I also, under the influence of R, have bought the bestest cookbook eva!!! How to Cook everything Vegetarian. now, I'm not a vegetarian. I don't like labels, so I won't admit to joining any following, however much I would like to. I like the occasional chicken, and of course, there's sushi. But vegetarian dishes are so Jummy! and, oddly enough, I feel comfortable cooking them. I should have know, because all these years, I've loved reading Brian Jaqcues redwall series, mostly because of his dialects and food descriptions. seriously add nuts or honey to anything and I'm there. I should have seen this coming, because as I look through the cookbook, everything sounds good! it's like those dime novels, I just can't put it down!
I made a cauliflower couscous that is out of this world

1/2 c whole almonds
1/2 c parsley
3 tbsp olive oil
small cauliflower (chopped)
small onion (minced
1 c couscous
1 1/2 c white wine, water, vegetable broth or a mix (I used the wine and it was a bit strong, maybe diluting it with water?)
semi hard goat cheese
2 tsp paprika
salt and pepper

1) in a dry medium, deep pan with lid stir the almonds untill they begin to pop (on medium high)

2) set aside and chop

3) add olive oil and onions, cook till transparent and soft. Add cauliflower, salt and pepper. cook untill coated with oil and soft (5-10 minutes)

4)add the couscous, stir in untill slightly toasted and covered in oil.

5) add paprika and water/wine/stock, stir and cover for about 5 minutes till couscous is cooked

6) sprinkle in chopped nuts and chopped parsley and sliver goat's cheese on top.

it's devine...

ok. enough of an update.
things I want to do for fun very soon. make myself another summer dress and hand stitch it. It's refreshing.

things to deal with in march: still not having a date for 2011. it's my goal to be asked out at least once by a semi reputable person this year. it's not happened yet. but I have faith.

I would love to hear news from all of you!

2011-02-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

I was recommended this poet by a professor at the college I work at. something in it made me want to cry. It's the most hopefull apocalyptical poem I've ever read. Please read the poem now, before reading the rest, because I will spoil the effect of the poem.
I love the strangeness of the horse. it's the common horse that we all know, but when they come again, they are in a different catagory. we let them go because we created our own solution to transportation and agriculture. and we let the horses go. Then when our own world is destroyed by us, the older world begins to reassert itself, but we are not complete. but somewhere, over the furthest reaches of our vision, the horses were there all along.
In a very personal way, I see this the mercy of Gd. What a fearfull word, mercy. there is redemption for choices made. the horses will look strange when they are brought back, but with training and fustration and hard work, they will bring restoration. I don't know if that was too obscure, if so, I hope you enjoy the poem for what it is. I think I'm going to add him to my poetry shelf.

The Horses

Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
But in the first few days it was so still
We listened to our breathing and were afraid.
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day
A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter
Nothing. The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms
All over the world. But now if they should speak,
If on a sudden they should speak again,
If on the stroke of noon a voice should speak,
We would not listen, we would not let it bring
That old bad world that swallowed its children quick
At one great gulp. We would not have it again.
Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep,
Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow,
And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness.
The tractors lie about our fields; at evening
They look like dank sea-monsters couched and waiting.
We leave them where they are and let them rust:
'They'll molder away and be like other loam.'
We make our oxen drag our rusty plows,
Long laid aside. We have gone back
Far past our fathers' land.
And then, that evening
Late in the summer the strange horses came.
We heard a distant tapping on the road,
A deepening drumming; it stopped, went on again
And at the corner changed to hollow thunder.
We saw the heads
Like a wild wave charging and were afraid.
We had sold our horses in our fathers' time
To buy new tractors. Now they were strange to us
As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield.
Or illustrations in a book of knights.
We did not dare go near them. Yet they waited,
Stubborn and shy, as if they had been sent
By an old command to find our whereabouts
And that long-lost archaic companionship.
In the first moment we had never a thought
That they were creatures to be owned and used.
Among them were some half a dozen colts
Dropped in some wilderness of the broken world,
Yet new as if they had come from their own Eden.
Since then they have pulled our plows and borne our loads
But that free servitude still can pierce our hearts.
Our life is changed; their coming our beginning.

2011-01-10T20:46:00.000-08:00

I just sent in my first abstract for a conference in April!
If they like it, I'm going to Kentucky for a few days to present on Elizabeth Madox Roberts "a Haunted Palace"
I don't know when I'll hear from them, but here's hoping. It's a conference a professor at Nyack is influential in organizing and so I'd have help in preparing things to say. I'm very nervous, but proud of myself for getting it done.

The Drawing of the Horse and the Sticking of the Sow: a look at the struggle for Self in “A Haunted Palace”
Elizabeth Madox Roberts's short story “A Haunted Palace” is presented as a narrative of simple people living in the shadow of an older and more refined family, and of the matriarch Jess's confrontation with a different way of life, incomprehensible to her. I hope to argue that the straightforward method of storytelling, the concrete and full
descriptions of everyday objects and animals, and the subjective yet vague narration are skillfully used to probe the concept and the place of Self in relation to the aggregate of other Selves, known variously as history, literature, philosophy, tradition, religion and culture. Further still, Jess is caught between an articulation of Self, represented by the act of drawing the bloodlines of a horse not yet born, and a negation of Self, represented by killing a pig without thought of the future. Roberts's treatment of the subject will be
compared to the views of various other writers and philosophers who deal with the same question, among them Plato, G. K. Chesterton, T. S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and C. S. Lewis.

Other news, I got my fanbelt tightened for, no kidding, a cup of coffee and donuts! If you are ever in Nyack and need a car looked at, see Geno. He's my hero.
I've decided to look for a better car though, because everytime something goes wrong, I realize that at this point, it's not if, but when. If I havn't replaced it in the last two years, it's going to need to be replaced soon. It's a sad thought, I love my little car. but I can't seem to trust it on any kind of trip, and I would like to be able to take it for longer than a half hour drive.

it's snowing off and on, with a snow warning for tuesday night, storm warning actually, so here's hoping I get snowed in. If I do, I'm making aprons for me and R and I'll start working on my Gerald Manley Hopkins documentary.
I'm coming down with a cold, and between the snow days we've had and just coming back from vacation, I can't really afford to take time off.
well. let me end by saying how thankfull I am for friends and family. I'm constanly reminded of the good people (you included) surrounding me!
and in two weeks, Dorien will be here! SO excited!

back home

2011-01-05T05:44:00.000-08:00

well, I made it back to New York safe and sound. After a few days in florida and a week in georgia, re entry was a little confusing, all the people and noise and snow! but I'm happy to be in my own appartment again and snuggling with diego, who burst down the door tp see me this morning. transfering back into my own life after being in family life was harder than I thought. I struggle with the validity of my choices anyways and I don't much like my job. I do enjoy my studies, and my friends. I felt strongly the loss of family this time around. I think because my nephews have grown so much and I know they will grow more without me seeing them, and I have no family of my own. This is a recent development, as I am normally pretty content with the single life, going where I will and seeing whom I will, yet this season, I am coming to terms with loneliness. And it's a good thing. Thomas Merton states that one must push through the dessert of loneliness to reach the garden of solitude. It's interesting how some struggles have evened out for me, but have been replaced with different ones. I have to remember to look for the good in things as well, or I will be an eternal pessimist.
heading into work today is frought with many feelings. I do enjoy the details and finishing projects, but I am forever behind and must struggle to balance my workload with my new assistant's training. oh well. the vacation is over, and I'm back to work.

2010-12-20T21:07:00.000-08:00

'Oh God, You know how hard it is for us, and you will be fair with us. We have seen no visions: we have never heard the audible voice of your son, we have to fight on in much darkness of spirit and mind, both from the ignorance we cannot help and from the fault we could have helped. We inherit blindness from the errors of our fathers; and when fear or the dread of shame or the pains of death come upon us, we are ready to despair and cry out that there is no God, or that if there be he has forgotten his children. There are times when the darkness closes about us like a wall and we can see you nowhere, either in our hearts or in the outer universe, we cry aloud and we listen for any sound of your voice, but we hear nothing. You who know that for which we groan, you whom Jesus called father, we appeal to you, not as we imagine you ut as you see yourself, as Jesus knows you. To your very self we cry-help us! Be our father! We beg for no signs and wonders, but only for your breath upon our souls, your spirit in our heart. We pray for no tongues of fire, for no rousing of brain or imagination or emotion but we do, with all our power of prayer, pray for your spirit. We do not even pray to know that he is given us. Let us, if it so pleases you, remain in doubt of the gift for years to come: but still lead us by your spirit. Aware of only our ordinary movements of mind and soul, may we yet be possessed by the spirit of God, led by your will in ours. For all things in man, even those that seem the most common and the least spiritual, are the creation of your heart, and by the door of our wavering judgement, dull imagination, luke warm love, and palsied will, you can enter and glorify all. Give us patience because out hope is in you, not in ourselves. Work in us and our prayers are answered" Curate Thomas wingfield, 'the lady's awakening' George Macdonald

My friend J. and I were discussing prayer and prophecy and I thought of this quote. I believe there are times G-d speaks audibly, to specific people, but I'm not one of them. I don't know if that will change, I'm open to it, but my rational, European mind understands the above better than moments of rapture. Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you agree or disagree.

Nothing to post about.... JUST KIDDING!

2010-12-17T10:35:00.000-08:00

Quite literally, I was catching up on my blog readings yesterday and thought to myself, I should post, but I have nothing to write about. Well, today, I do!
I received my grades for my first real term in grad school! let me preface this by saying that the final for one class was written in a sundayschool room while my family was in church in florida (only place I had WIFI) and the second on the verge of exhaustion. both classes had late papers from me, and not my best work.
After all that. I received an A in 17th century metaphysical poetry and a B+ in american realism. considering I had to learn allot about american history, not shabby. I'm so happy! I really thought I was going to get C's in some of these classes. Makes me wonder if I'm in the right program, everyone kept telling me that my grades would lower as I continued in education. Teehee, they havn't!
So here's to next term, ancient greek tragedies and 14th century lit. what a change that will be. Besides my grades, I got a haircut the other day. The hairdresser asked if I wanted him to blowdry it into it's natural shape, and I said ok. And then he gave me curls! I did not know I had so many curls. I thought my hair was just fuzzy. Apparently fuzzy is just the unkept version of curly. So now I must arm myself with a diffuser, and hairgel, and curler... " I can do this" she says in a soft whisper, looking slightly overwhelmed.
I went salsa dancing last saturday! it was so much fun! I need to learn some more steps so that I can actually dance instead of frantically counting my steps, but for what it was, it was fun!
I've also decided that since coffee and alcohol are not technically permitted to me, I will become a tea snob, and study up on loose leaf tea. wish I could have you all drop by for a cuppa.

There is christmas in the air!

2010-12-10T08:38:00.000-08:00

Merry christmas season to one and all!
I'm happy to announce, the stuck/berrios household has it's tree up and lit! I think it's proof positive that nellie and I are good roommates (I almost typed Inmates by mistake :-) that our christmas decorations match perfectly. Our tree looks very profesional.
I love this season!
Carol and Candlelight, the anual tour of handbells, women's choir and brass ensemble has been completed! It's my third year doing it, and let me say, they don't get easier. This year, because of Anne's death, we had 5 key performers pull out to attend her funeral which was held during the tour in Buffalo. Knowing this, I had a few interesting moments of panick heading into the tour. But here is the interesting thing; because we lost the Alto section almost completely, I got the chance to sing alto on tour. These songs are some of my favorite christmas songs ever, and I hum along in the audience anyways. But what fun it was to sing on stage. What a challenge too! I had to fight myself to stay loud. I've never sung harmony before, and doing it stone cold and sightreading... who needs a mountain to jump off of? I had my adrenaline right there!
So in short, we had no alto section, the driver of one of the vehicles got pulled over minutes into the trip, the driver of another hit another car, one of the churches turned out to be so small that it held only ten more audience than tour members, one of our students (one of the alto's) got sick two performances into the tour and I spent the night in a bathroom because the host family had assumed the directors where married (although this is nowhere indicated and no one's last name is the same). Little things kept happening during tour as well, adding to our sense of unreality. When we arrived back on campus for our last performance, Jenn Scot, the handbell director, and I lay on the floor and laughed for five minutes straight.
My right leg is still a little sore from driving over 13 hours that weekend. I list the negative first, so that the positive can be emphasised. I learned some very interesting lessons during that tour. I sang in public, as a part of a well trained ensemble and held my own. This definitly boosts my selfesteem to pursue singing lessons.

so much for the tour. work continues and school continues. I've been given a grace period to finish my papers, so I have untill monday. I hope to finish one today, and another tomorrow. It's been a struggle giving up my perfectionism, because I know that my grades will not be stellar this term. It's not the work, but the timing that has been difficult.

In any case. once monday comes, I start my holiday celibrations! It hasn't snowed here yet, but it's getting mighty cold.
I have christmas party this week and one next week, a muppet movie showing and a performance of Handel's messiah! I've booked every evening next week for friends and on friday my friend K is coming!
Love you all!

No fun, I'm afraid

2010-11-24T14:11:00.000-08:00

This is a post not so much to update you but to ask for your sympathy, sim patico or feeling allongside a person.
Some of this news is known by some of you, but the whole news by none in detail, so here it is.
Two weeks ago thursday, my grandfather passes away. It was peacefull and expected and although it was sad, I was happy to see him out of his suffering. I won't say something trite about him being in a better place. The grief I feel is an entirely selfish one and won't be helped by knowing he is sipping coffee with grandma and Jesus. His death was hard because I had lived with him for 3 years, and during that time, my grandmother had died. I'm not only losing a grandfather, but a place to ground my memories of him in. His house will be sold, and all the trinkets they've collected over the years will be carefully divided.
The funeral was last weekend, and I had decided to fly down to be there with my family as we mourn his passing. The day before I fly out, I was woken by the news that my friend Anne Jackson had collapsed during a regular cross country practice. This is Anne in England.

She was healthy, happy, driven, anything positive you could think of for a young woman to be. She was a beatifull singer, highly committed and one of the cheeriest persons you could meet. Her loss the day before I left for my grandfathers funeral was indescribable. She worked with me in the office at times, besides being my friend, so I'm surrounded by memories. I wish you all could have met her. She was one of the good people in life. of which we have far too few.

Yesterday, I went to the doctors to be tested for Allergies. I'm still dealing with health issues, so I decided to keep plodding along to try and find out if it really was all in my head. The doctor administered a breathing test as a precaution, and we discovered I was only using 57 percent of my lungs. I have Asthma, which has been untreated for some time. The good news is, I have a perfectly rational explanation for why my body has been rebelling. The Asthma contributes to the Neurocardiogenic Syncope episodes I've been having. I wasn't able to get tested for Allergies due to the Asthma, but the doctor could tell I was dealing with something. So between the untreated Asthma, the fainting and the allergies I hope to have found all my solutions for my ongoing health issues. The bad news is, I have to take a concentrated dose of medication for a month. I walked out of the office with 6 different prescriptions for medication. all of which should be taken daily. I panicked today, because of all the drugs, and all the precautions I need to take. Now that I know the logic behind what is happening, I worry more.

Good has happened as well these last two weeks. I got to see my two ridiculously cute nephews for three whole days. I got to talk to family members I've not seen in a while. And again, my faith in my friends and family is ever increasing.

2010-10-23T14:38:00.001-07:00

Someone alerted me to the fact that I havn't posted in a while. This is true and I apologize. Life has a way of getting in the way.
I've been pretty hard pressed to get through all my duties for a while now. as I'm writting this I'm fighting something the doctor thinks is either strepp through or mono. let's hope it's the later. As of now, my rent is paid, my car is fixed, my job still wants me, my friends still hang out with me and I'm still in grad school. I have allot to be thankfull for. I believe I turned a corner a few weeks ago in my fight against depression. I made the decision that I would want to make a life for myself. Up untill that point I believe I was simply existing from moment to moment without a clear thought of the future. I don't have a definite moment as to when it changed, it still fluctuates daily. The last few days have been hard, because feeling sick feels very much like the overwhelmed feeling I used to get. By the grace of god, and by the help of some very special people I get out of bed every morning and even look forward to work. the things I've identified as keeping me from health are mainly, my sense of perfectionism, which keeps me from starting things I know I can't finish, and a lack of prioritization, which makes me feel as if I need to do everything now.
I'm pretty behind in my studies, in English. I'm wondering if I really want a masters in English, and what good it would do me. I feel as if I'm not being challeneged to rigourous study, and sometimes the texts don't stand up to rigourous study. I'm not sure what else I would study, and I know that when I teach english, I will do it from a different perspective. I just wonder wether putting up with the masters is worth it, or wether I should switch.
I will post more later. as of now I need to return to work on my paper on whitman.

July 4th weekend

2010-07-05T13:55:00.000-07:00

My weekend really started on the 30th, when T. and E. made it up to Philly, and I down. It was wonderfull to spend some time with them, and see the sights. It struck me that time certainly flies, but some people can change and still remain friends. Driving back up from philly, I had to keep myself awake by singing allong to the sound of music quite loudly.
This last week I've been helping with VBS at another church, and it's been very fun. I miss having children around, as my church has two children in it and they are toddlers.
Then, this saturday, I had brunch with good friends and new friends, did groceries, made lunch for the week, and then packed a picknick and went to westpoint for their annual fourth of july concert. silly me, I had not really thought through how patriotic it would be, being westpoint AND the fourth of july, and I was a little put off by all the propaganda. But then I had a moment of humility where I realized the concert was free, and I could really complain. They played the theme from Starwars as well as the 1812 overture, which piece of sublimity was only marred by the person next to me talking to their dog and then relaying into the phone the dogs reactions... don't worry, I did not kill her. I came very close though. I did role my eyes and glare at her pointily. The fireworks were very beautifull, but we had chosen to sit behind a tree for shade, and so, true to tradition, we missed the larger portion of the fireworks again! I suppose three years in a row make it a tradition for realz. The next day, Jack (codename for Au.), A, and I went to the episcopal church only to find they had changed their meeting times. slighlty crestfallen, but still wanting to attend church, we turned the corner and stepped into the catholic church, (nothing like options on a sunday morning)The homily was actually quite good, barring the use of scripture as "symbols" the 12 apostles as symbols of bishops, priests, pope... The point he made was still valid, which was that the gospel should be spread by all christians, not just the clergy. The building was a beautifull mix of norwegian wood ceiling, painted, classic catholic windows and some very ugly very strange eighties wall coverings. Then Jack and I dropped A of at the coach and we headed for the hills. We got caught in some beach traffic, but once free of that, we soon struck out into the wilderness. (we were only ever 20 minutes from a car road) we hiked and stopped and read and hiked some more. We had Allen Ginsbergs letters with us. very interesting read. We found a very pretty, secluded spot to swim and camp out on the lake. We even saw a bever swim right past us! the night was not so good, as we had forgotten mosquito repellent, I ended up with bites all over my body, over a hundred. I couldn't sleep because we were outside, and because of the mosquitos. We should have brought a tent,and next time we will! The experience, bar not sleeping and being bitten, was very peacefull and beautifull. Although it was only one night, it felt great to have all we needed on our back and to be somewhat selfsufficient. It also felt great to swim in the lake after a long day's hike. Monday we hiked back to the car, made it home and fell asleep for the next 4 hours. I dropped Jack off at the bus station after grabbing coffee and then headed home. I tried to do some sewing, cleaned my room up a little, then took out my receipts and organized my budget. I'm trying to keep track of all I'm spending so that I can see trends in my money habits and cut out some unnecesary ones.

speaking of money, can I sing the praises of my dear grandfather? I asked him for a substantial loan on wednesday, so that I could go to grad school starting in the summer, instead of the fall, and he wired me the money on friday, the day it was due. What a hero! This means I will be starting grad school TONIGHT! I'm so excited for this next stage of my life. I can say now to Langston Hughes, "A dream deferred, my good sir, becomes sweeter with the waiting. And I'll thank you to keep your depressing comments to yourself"
(Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode? )

The one goal I have set for myself this year is to be present in the moment, to look at this life, my life and to live it. whatever it is, not to withdraw from it, or dream about another life, but to live my own. I hope you'll keep me acountable on this?

2010-06-09T06:39:00.001-07:00

Today is NOT a good day. not. at. all.
I'm at my desk at work, trying to get up the something the anything to get going.
I woke up late, and couldn't remember why I should get out of bed before the last minute. Didn't come up with anything, so I slept in untill almost to late. I had one of my oh my god I can't believe I let myself get so big days yesterday, so eating breakfast was gag inducing for me. But I got it down. Lunch will be another fun moment today.
I'm close to tears, probably will be all day.

I fell in love

2010-06-07T06:46:00.001-07:00

So after gripping and complaining about americans not knowing how to make bikes, I find this. at target. I just need to make sure they have it in stock at my target. here's hoping.

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51y7Q-e0wBL._AA260_.jpg

2010-06-06T11:32:00.001-07:00

I spent this morning in bed, sleeping in. I had been doing very well with my new schedule, eating properly and keeping on track with regular everyday things. I even managed to get a run in before the week was out.
All this was to the good, but I could feel a sense of panic welling up in me at how good I was doing. I felt as if my mind wasn't catching up with my actions. My mind still wants to hide with it's metaphoric head in the sand. So I took the day off. This way, I won't be taking a day out of work later, and I won't be as tired going into next week. I'm sitting in the Orangeburg library writing this, trying to keep my mind from wandering into different rabbit trails. I've already made a summer dress I decided I don't like and made pancakes, and cleaned the kitchen. not much by way of accomplismnet but still. I'm focusing on enjoying myself. on doing what is enjoyable for today. I have the hardest time just enjoying myself. I'm hosting a game night tonight, and that is enjoyable. This is a rambling post, but The Goal here is for me to begin to give you all honest updates on what I am doing. And that is a hard enough venture right now. I know in time I will be able to read and edit my posts in a manner more satisfying to me, and probably to you, but right now, I am just forcing myself to keep the channels of communication open.

2010-06-03T19:24:00.001-07:00

Today, I fell of the bandwagon a little. I didn't land on the ground, but I got jostled pretty close to it.
I think it important to let you all know that I am fighting the urge to crawl back into my shell and to stop talking about myself and my struggles. It feels like I'm keeping an ugly sore open by continual prodding even thought I've only put up one post, but I know its more like I'm closing the doors of a house that still needs to be aired out. I think in metaphors, in case you hadn't noticed.
I'm feeling like the limit for tolerance of my "emotional problems" is being stretched and I am afraid of finding out the limit has been overshot. I'm feeling out the edges of this new mindset, and setting it down for you all to read in a moment of -possibly deluded- self disclosure.
I'm on the up, but I still have moments, and I still have a hard time focusing on connecting with people. Conversations can be difficult because I don't want to whine about myself, and yet I still am only capable of sustaining my own thoughts, of policing them, and following them down to their roots. My platform of experience is very shaky, still.

Other than the inside of my mind, my life is pretty good right now. I've officially moved into the new apartment, paid the rent and security deposit. I spent today cleaning the stains out of the carpet in my room, with satisfactory results. I also managed to get in a good workout running in my neighbourhood. It's surprising how little things allow me the courage to push through where I had failed before. The new apartment has a shower head that detaches. This reminds me of home, and the world is set right.
Running in this area reminds me of running in Belgium, and it's easier to push myself with those happy memories in mind.
I still am waiting to hear from Iona on whether or not I am accepted, but I'm fairly easy in my mind on that score.
My car is still running.
The weather is beautiful.
I just got a map of the hiking trails in the area in the mail (I did have to order it )
life is moving up. now if only I could keep these bad days from settling on me.

2010-05-28T19:12:00.000-07:00

This post is one I've been trying to avoid writing for a few weeks. Some of you are up to date on my current situation and others are completely in the dark. To those of you who are, please let me place this disclaimer before all else. you are not less important to me than those who do know. They were simply closer to me at the time, and involved in the events. I've not had the energy or the courage to share much with anyone who did not need to know up to this point. but I have good reasons for sharing now. I hope at the end of this post you will be able to agree with me on that.

After returning from England I found that something in me had, for lack of a better description, snapped. I was no longer able to focus on work, I did not care about my future. Two weeks after being back on the job, I landed in the emergency room for severe stomach pains. Tests were done, and no physical evidence was found to explain these pains. The 4 days leading up to the hospital visit, I had been unable to function. I had a good friend who was watching over me, watching me eat and sleep. These two combined with a year of counseling visits prompted my councilor to recommend I check myself into a hospital. I took her advice, and was admitted to the inpatient unit of a psychiatric hospital. I stayed there for a week. I slept for the first half. The hospital released me into a partial program, which lasted for another week. after that I returned to work full time.
The official diagnosis is I had a major depressive episode, but no history of depression.
In the last months to a year, I have been seeing a councilor, not for depression, but to work through blocks I have somehow placed in my brain. This might sound familiar to you when I say that I have successfully blocked many memories and emotions and even relationships from my conscious mind. I don't know exactly why I started doing this, other than I've been doing it longer than I can remember. Once memories and emotions started coming back, I think it became too much to handle, facing my real life, without my shields. My real life was very empty. I live alone, I work alone, except for my assistant, and many of my friends had been blocked out by my own doing. I was not properly pursuing the goals I had set for myself. I was working in a job I did not like and which was not in my gifting. In short, I was in an isolated, bad place.
I hope in writing this to you, I will be able to take another step away from that place. I want to share with you not just the externals, but the real me. That scares me more than I can say. I have always jealously guarded that person, hiding her so deep within me, I myself don't remember what she looks like. But it start remembering, I need to step out and let you, my family and friends, know where I'm at. I know many of you think well of me, living in New York, on my own, making a life for myself. I hope you will continue to think well of me for being honest in telling you the truth: I ran away to New York, as I run away from everything which required an emotional attachement. But I am determined to stand and face my demons here. I've moved into a much better apartment with a roommate, and am in the process of being accepted into a part time Masters program. I have successfully had some physical conditions analysed and am taking care of those, as I mentioned in previous posts. and lastly, I am stepping out in faith that each one of you who gets this, does in fact care that I am improving, you are in fact, invested in my life. This does not mean I expect anything more from you than what I have now, it simply means a change in my thinking. So this is my way of letting you in, and breaking my isolation. I will not allow myself the luxury of thinking I have to go through this alone. Some of you are actually physically present here, some of you I won't see for years, but I know you are all connected to me in some way. I am thankful for each and every one of you, for what you've done in my life. And I'm sharing this because you have the right to know.
I'm still going to doctors to see whether they can rule out chronic fatigue as another condition, as I am disproportionately tired and still not functioning the best at work. I'm very thankful for understanding bosses, although my work situation is not ideal.
I hope this was enough information, but feel free to ask about anything. I'm trying to be as open about things as possible. I do love you all.

please pray

2010-03-10T05:20:00.001-08:00

Hello all, this is just a quick note to ask you to pray specifically for my health and eating habits. The last two mornings I've had severe pain after I take a few bites from anything. I'm mentally and emotionaly prepared for this trip, but my body seems to be not getting the memo. I'm sorry to rush this, as I need to be out the door in 5, but I will be leading 30 people on tour, and with this kind of pain, I don't know how I will manage that.
Please pray specifically regarding this. I know the Lord will give me the strength to get through this, but I would also like to enjoy this trip.
thanks!

Doctor, we have found the problem!

2010-02-19T17:24:00.000-08:00

update:

I went in to the doctors for my tilt-table test.
Which was reminiscent of medieval torture practices in a friendly way And for an echogram of my heart. The Echo was done by a dickensonian male and took 45 minutes in a dim room. needless to say I fell asleep, only to be woken periodically by the sound of my heart squishing out of the monitor. I think it came up fine, as no warnings were marked on my paper. After the that the cardio center lost me for a while and I was beginning to fret about making it into the city on time, so I reminded the nurse I was still there, and she sent me to the tilt table specialist, who was, in one word, fantabumarvelicious! She had passed me earlier I think looking for me, but I was still in the open fronted gown, from the echo. She performed the immeasurable kindness of adjusting my gown so that I wasn't flashing the department. (I'd already morphed into a sort of swedish modesty, where I no longer cared who saw what as long as I was being seen to)
She sat me down and told me about the test and then we proceeded to talk about literature, the spanish inquisition, travel, adventure, babies and india, all the while she's strapping me into this Iron Maiden contraption, I have an IV in one arm and a blood pressure measurer on the other that was boa constrictor-ing my arm every minute. (mom, you know how I faint with just one of those on/in me) The tilt table test is where they strap you down, hook you up to measurements and give you a pill to increase blood flow to your legs. Since an attack like mine can be so different each time it happens and can take up to 4 hours to manifest, they try to provoke a severe episode within 40 minutes. Mine took about 15. It was the strangest, scariest thing, to feel myself go under. It's not a fainting fit, as my breathing and voice were regular throughout. The rest of my body stopped responding and my stomach started getting very qweesy, and I sagged onto the velcro straps holding me to the table. She leveled the table and propped me up, and talked me down from it. Amazingly, my first thought was not of pain or worry, but something more akin to the hallelujah chorus by Handel.
LAdies and Gentlemen, we have the solution. Vasal-vascular it is indeed. I will be going in to see my practitioner when she gets the results, and she'll talk me through what I need to do, but basically, I need to fidget more, move my toes and hands, get up, sit down and such. I also need to constantly be drinking water, something I find akin to chineese water torture, but will try to get better at, and eat more salt with my meals.
I also have extremely low blood pressure, causing her to think the machine was broken.
but, I am so very happy to have a name for my little condition, and a check positive on the test. I'm also very happy to have a practitioner who is as interested in this case as I am, she even called to schedule a follow up BEFORE the tests were even done.
I'm very excited about looking at how this will affect future attacks. Knowing what I do now, and watching how the doctor responded, I think that if in the future I do suffer another public attack, I will be able to talk myself out of it, or at least be recovered within an hour from it.
With any luck, no more ambulance rides!
And now I'm sitting in a classroom off of broadway, proctoring a class I just tried to teach poetry to. I think it was the worst presentation I have given this year. It was boring and over thought, and I didn't get through all the information. And I didn't have examples. Yet despite this, I was happy to do it, the experience helps.
I still want to teach, more than anything.
thanks for your patience in waiting throught this with me! I could not have done this without my community around me.

2010-02-15T19:02:00.000-08:00

http://www.marksteelinfo.com/writing/default.asp?id=145

Asides from this being about sports, I couldn't agree more with Mark. except that his final sarcastic statement here loses pith, since this type of news dissemination already is taking place. I remember watching the news for 2 hours ( there was about 30 minutes of real news, the rest was commercials, shock tactics, hypothesis's et al) to find out about a baby eaten by an alligator, a news item that was not only frequently touted, but had it's own scroll on the bottom of the screen throughout the news program. At the end of the news segment, they rolled the same thirty second clip they'd been previewing all night, and announced that a toddler had been in danger of being eaten by an alligator, due to the proximity of the alligator to the kids perambulator. Thank you, good night. Relieved as I was to hear the child was safe, and that alligators were not as yet rampaging around the suburbs of Florida, I was appalled by the lack of integrity, and the blatant pandering to viewers shown on a news show!

an update

2010-02-09T05:55:00.001-08:00

These last two weeks have been crazy for me. I know that is a term I (and the world around me) throws around allot, but please believe me when I say, these last two weeks have been crazy. I've not spoken to many of you during them, sometimes ignoring phonecalls, or texts, and sometimes just glad you didn't contact me. I didn't have the energy for anything more than what I had on my plate already this week.
Thanks for understanding:-)

two fridays ago, I was finally going to head to the doctor to have them look at this cronic stuffiness I've been exhibiting. I had called a friend to drive me to the doctor, because although I wasn't feeling too bad, I wasn't sure if I trusted myself to drive. Good thing I called her, because by the time she got here, I was on the floor with another of my usual attacks. Between R. and E.'s ministrations, however (including turning an arizona tea jug into a hotwater bottle) I felt somewhat at ease, through the same old fustration and worry.
R. and I share the same doctor now, so she called her for me (what a wonderful new discovery, you can call your doctor when you're sick)
We called the doctor because previously I had already set up different appointments through her to see if we could make headway with this. At the doctors suggestion, we called 911. This was hard for me, because as most of you know, I've been through this before. It's humiliating and frustrating to have to parade through a host of paramedics and doctors who are looking for a quick fix and who are seeing from my charts that I'm alright now. However, both E. and R. were aware of this frustration and they talked me through it. R. even went to the emergency room with me and ran interference with doctors for me, at times even politily suggesting the doctors do their job and not lecture me based on a supposed hypothesis. They took blood and gave me a drip for dehydration and sent me on my merry way. It was a very frustrating day. monday was also bad, since I had to make the rounds with the faculty and explain why there was an ambulance outside. I've received more medical advise than I can handle, and more pitying looks as well. I had gotten the doctors to look at my congestion, which saved me an aditional trip to the doctors, and they had given me antibiotics. The antibiotics aggravated the symtoms so I actually look like I have a cold now, and need to go in again to get another dose of medication. Poor students wandering into my office, I seem to always be some sort of sick. I also had a doctors visit, cardiologist this time, and it was very nice, took all afternoon for them to tell me nothing but come back for another appointment. What it's narrowing down to is lifestyle changes, so no more alcohol, smoking or caffeine :-( as well as very healthy food and excercise :-)
During all this, I've also been thinking about the future and where I should end up, what my goals should be... These last two weeks have changed allot there as well. I can't explain the ramifications of this completely yet, but I've felt these last two weeks like a"patient, etherised on the table" I've realized that although the combination of events are not anything that breaks a woman, because of my own habits and frame of mind, they came close to crushing me. Maybe they did, in a good way.
Anyways. I didn't want to share allot of that with you, because I was tired of always being tired and broken and whiney, but I then realized how selfish that was of me, to keep from you all something that was forfront in my thoughts anyways. So, don't feel like you have to mention anything concerning this, but I just wanted you to know what was really going on these last few days.

I think these last two weeks have been contrasted by the poem and psalm below:

41. ‘No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief’

NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief 5
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked ‘No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief’.

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap 10
May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Psalm 121

A song of ascents.

1I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
2My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
6the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

strong women

2010-01-19T20:26:00.000-08:00

The notion of strong women keeps popping up around me. I have been called a strong woman, I am surrounded by strong women. I do not feel like a woman with allot of strength in me. In fact I'm learning to live within my weaknesses, to truly live within that, not just mouth it. But I do recognize a strength within me. It's a tiny tiny seed, but it's there.

grad school bliss

2010-01-15T23:30:00.000-08:00

the joy in doing things that you have looked forward to for a long time is that your life is moving forward. So often life tends to be winding paths and suprise discoveries, reevaluations. But occasionaly, the winding road takes you on a turn that lands you out on a plateau from which you can see the whole road behind you for a moment. I had a moment like that today when I mailed out the applications. I could see me reading under the covers at night, trying to finish a book before the morning, learning how to sleep with my eyes open in class so no one would know how late I'd been up, and that memory fit into a pattern I had not seen untill now. I do love to analyse and look and dissect. and to get feedback from people as I'm going through this afirming me in that choice... priceless.
I have two more applications to go. once they are done it will be in G-d's hands. It's in his hands now, but we share the burden of responsability at this point.
And if I don't get in this fall, there is always the spring. and the fall after that. because I now know that this is what I want. I don't want to spend 8 hours out of my day at a job just to make money so that I can have the occasional vacation in mexico. I want to spend my days doing what is intentionaly withing my giftings.
and so.. goodnight. I promise I will turn out the lights on time tonight. It's only 2:30 after all. sleep is for the dead.

The final countdown

2010-01-13T14:49:00.000-08:00

this is it people. the hatches are battned down, the mast is lashed to the deck, al portholes are sealed, and we are heading into the storm.
At this time friday, which is 48 hours from now, you may call me, to find out wether I have survived the storm or wether I have sunk beneath the waves.

ahem. What I mean to say in everyday, grown up english is that the deadlines are closing in, friday being d-day. I found two amazing mac programs to help me with my french entries, but they still need work, and my dutch entry is giving me trouble because I don't trust myself enought to write well constructed sentences in it after the French and English papers.

BUT the good news is I looked at my GRE scores again and this is what they tell me (No, it's not like reading tealeaves. not at all.)

Scores 6 and 5.5:
(for the sake of modesty I will confess that I received the 5.5, not a perfect 6)
sustains insightfull, in-depth analysis of complex ideas: develops and supports main points with logically compelling reasons and/or highly persuasive examples: is well focused and well organized; skillfully uses sentence variety and precice vocabulary to convey meaning effectivly; demonstrates superior facility with sentence structure and language usage but may have minor errors that do not interfere with meaning.

well, that makes me think I can crack this grad apps thing.

but in case, G-d has been VERY (read uncomfortably) active in my life, and allot of things are reaching a culmination point. so my big prayer request is that I can keep my willingness to participate in life and that I can sleep. I realize that my head is so full of things that I don't fall asleep untill two hours after I go to bed, and then I wake up often. Please pray that the time between when my head hits the pillow and when my alarm goes off will be completely taken up with sleep.

2009-12-21T20:15:00.000-08:00

It's 11:15 at night, and I am wearing a white dress, blue scarf and way to much jewelry. My bed is overflowing with clothes and an empty suitcase, I've eaten my way through half a box of chocolates. Yep, I'm packing.
I've been trying to pack all night, actually. I should know by now that I need at least a week to get ready. Instead I'm running on last minute panick, and desperatly trying to remember how I feel about my clothes.
I never seem to hit the balance right, my cloths are good for me and New York, but I always land in Florida and realize, hmmm to bright or something. oh well.

I write in order not to panick

2009-10-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

Hello dear friends!
This post is short and I hope sweet. Tomorrow I have the privilege of teaching 3 sections of College Writing. I've already been grading their papers and I've enjoyed it immensely. I hope you all get this in time to pray for my 8 o'clock class.
I'm really nervous, because this is the test, this is the metaphoric petal hitting the equally metaphoric metal. If I can do this, and if I enjoy this, it's off to grad school, and in this economy, that is a huge faith thing right there. but baby steps, baby steps. I hope I get through tomorrow. and then the next day, which is homecoming and then Monday, when I teach again.
anyways. this is a garbled bit of writing, but I was wondering if I could ask all of you who read this to send me a quick email of why you think I would be a good college professor, I'm in need of some clarity here.
thanks all!

well hello again!

2009-09-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this at 8:3o on a friday evening. I've been at work for 11 hours! wow, I didn't realize how long it was untill I did the math right then.
It's registration week at school, which means things are apt to get a little crazy and buzy. I feel more stressed than I did this time last year because I'm actually trying to maintain good eating habits and such, which is why I'm writting now, because it's relaxing for me to write, and because I'm to tired to call any of you.
Basically, the friday before the first weekend in school is the last chance we have to get students signed up for private lessons, which I then schedule friday night, it's like sacrificing a night to be on track the next week. The only problem is that all of my students were so confusing coming in, that I didn't prepare lists as I should have, so now, the Private Lessons are a little backed up.
I finally understand those emails dad used to send about his work on cars, and no family news. work is the only thing in my brain right now. Let me see if I can shift gears..
My Landlords are amazing. some of you heard they keep me stocked with food. I have a pasta waiting for me in the fridge at home, when I get there. They've given me enough fruit to keep me well healthy this last week.
The appartment is just my size. I have enoug room to not feel like I'm crowded in there, but it's small enough that I don't get overwhelmed with the upkeep. (it takes very little to overwhelm me in that department) AND IT HAS A WALKIN CLOSET!!!
I feel allot better in this place. Last night I talked to my Bro, while sitting outside and the breeze blowing around my little porch area reminded me a little of Switzerland. Me Gusto Mucho!
I'm going to the REN fair tomorrow, and NOT dressing up. I decided I'd like to wear jeans. I am however, strapping on my Dirk I bought last time, and even though I have to keep it tied in it's sheeth, it will be worth it.
I also had people ask about bookclub, which I didn't think I'd do this term, and about Hands of Compassion, which looks like it will be a good year! I'm meeting with McD next week about teaching his courses when he's gone.
Anyways, more (as always) later.

Being mistaken for being pregnant...

2009-08-27T07:07:00.000-07:00

is only really insulting when your stomach has decided to take on NBA impersonations.
When you're leaning out of a car in the middle of the street in a pool of vomit, it's kind of a relief. Since you can't talk, it's nice that you don't have too.
And yes, the above would indicate that I had ANOTHER one of my attacks.
I was feeding cats, and walked out of the house, into my car, and lost it.
Thank God for Vivian, the pleasant German voice, that came wafting over my car door. She was very sympathetic because she has two kids of her own. I couldn't talk more than whisper at the time, so I don't think I purposefully mislead her about my condition (I clarified later) She understood me enough to call L. at work, who came down, but not before Joanna, the neighbour came out and covered me in cold compresses and brought me water. Vivian stuck around too. There is nothing so nice as comforting hands rubbing mine and my forehead as I'm trying to ride waves of consciousness and discomfort.
I spent the morning in my car on a suburban road in Nyack, trying not to panic.
And you know then thing was, that the first moments were the worst, when I was trying to think logically about what to do. Should I go back inside? No, I'd pass out on the ground and throw up inside, where someone one else will have to clean it up. Do I stay in my car, and hang out the side? what if a weird person stops? my purse is right beside me, with all my info in it. It's not safe. which made me upset because, isn't this Loving God supposed to take care of me?
Then I realized that I seem to think that God will always put me in safe areas, to keep me secure. why I think that I don't know. Made sense at the time I guess. But sitting in that car, I though, well, OK. This is not a safe situations. I'm halfway in the street with the car door open and I can't move. (I wasn't thinking THAT coherently at the time, I'm superimposing structure post-incident. I get that from reading too many books) I'm completely vulnerable, through no choice of my own (I had actually taken very good care of myself, and as per previous incidents I should have been fine once I got to the car. I don't know why this time it kicked into hyper drive) Well, no time like the present for God to show up and protect me. That's when I gave up. (OK to be fair, I also didn't much care at that point, as my entire existence seemed to have centered on my breathing.)
And that's when I heard that lovely German voice ask me how I was doing.
Of all the times I've passed out in strange places, this was, I think, my favorite! Everyone involved was truly sympathetic and completely unknown to me, no-one though I was drunk and, my favorite, no one called 911. I was able to talk enough to convince them it was unnecessary.
L. picked me up and tucked me in on her sofa, and I spendt the rest of the day watching movies. but she also found some more leads on what could be wrong with me. so back to the doctor I go armed with another round of names and symptoms.
I think the best part was when Joanna was describing my condition back to me, and she was trying to see how my life would have to be organized around this. And it hit me again, that, wow, maybe, eventually I can take control of this, but in the meantime, I am done feeling as if I'm a weakling for giving into this ( not that I have much choice, but I always assumed, somewhere inside, that if I only had more willpower, I could get through it)
Anyways. the rest of my life continues on. I'm taking my car in to the shop today to get some things looked at. I've decided to take the tiny litte apartment one street away. It will do me well for now, and lets face it, I've got no family, no pets and I''m making pretty basic money. What more do I need?
more later

appartments and the people in them

2009-08-25T05:30:00.000-07:00

Well, I visited two appartments yesterday. what a difference. The first one was very miami beach, a recent divorcee, with the bling and the lips to match the decor. She was very nice, but no legal lease. so, thankfully, there's my easy out.
The second one is a tiny place right down the street, in a much larger house, it has a full bathroom, half kitchen (which means no stove) and small bedroom area. It does have great views and cheap rent. I'm leaning towards this one, but I have to think about it. The couple has two large dogs, whom I love, and they will let me use their upstairs kitchen occasionally. I only use the kitchen occasionally anyways.
I would of course, ideally like a place in wich I could use the kitchen as much as I wanted. but I am thinking about what I can afford, and without a roommate, I can't afford that. and I havn't met anyone who needs a roommate that I would trust so far.
so weighing options. They'll let me move in as soon as possible as well. aagh, I don't know! I don't have to many other options open. I have a studio appartment I'm going to look at, but it's almost over my budget. and it would be a similar situation as this one.
and I like the couple. I think they'd leave me to myself. plus I have my own porch... ok, time to draw up a list of pro's and con's and see where that leads. and look up how many things I can cook with a crockpot and a george forman grill.

Birthday blog

2009-08-17T06:44:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's official. I am a quarter of a century old. and looking for a new place to live. What a jazzy life.
My birthday was spent doing laundry, reading anansi boys and watching TV. That was the morning, the afternoon I had lunch/dinner with a friend, who will appear in my memoirs one day as a split personality caracter, each personality named respectivly Glinda and Gollum.. you do the math on why! Needless to say the conversation was brisk and very benificial. Sometimes I think I should record them. Although it would be akward explaining that, 'no, I hadn't added a laught track, we really were laughing that much'
Evening was spent with friends in a pub like place. Havn't quite found a pub in the area that I like so pub-like is the closest I get.
It was nice. Monday I woke up and couldn't breath well, I was so congested. I finally caved in and realized I needed a new place to stay. Imediatly.
So I called L. and instituted my carefully laid back up plan, which has me and my clothes staying on my old sofa which is now in L. appartment. Feels like coming home. I've slept often on that couch. I feel better already, although the congestion is still lurking around the corner.
I also received my mothers package yesterday! Best package in the world! She'd made two calighraphy plaques and framed them in very sophisticated frames. I'm so in love with them, and they fit very well in my office.
Well, keep me in your prayers as I look for a new place!
hopefully I will be able to find a roommate, or a place cheap enough for me to do without.
Just finished The City and The City, by China Mieville, so very different from his other books! in case I had not mentioned, he's my new favorite living author. Yup, marxist socialist phd holder that he is, and only 33! I can look forward to many more books out of him :-) It's very nice to know that not all men I can admire are dead and mouldering in their graves!
(this one's across a continent and about several light klicks away from my philosophy, but it definitly beats dead. The circles are shrinking)

2009-08-13T16:44:00.001-07:00

August 13, 2009

I know a lot of archivists and one of their most common laments is the disappearance of the distinct draft manuscript in the digital age. Pre-digital, authors would create a series of drafts for their work, often bearing hand-written notations tracking the thinking behind each revision. By comparing these drafts, archivists and scholars could glean insights into the author's mental state and creative process.

But in the digital era, many authors work from a single file, modifying it incrementally for each revision. There are no distinct, individual drafts, merely an eternally changing scroll that is forever in flux. When the book is finished, all the intermediate steps that the manuscript went through disappear.

http://www.locusmag.com/Perspectives/2009/05/cory-doctorow-extreme-geek.html

I like what this says about how we create things nowadays.

Worldcon and mold

2009-08-13T07:17:00.000-07:00

What a title combination. I wish that my week in Montreal could have ended on a much better note than coming home to mold in my appartment, but there it is! I sometimes wonder that being almost (2days left) 25, working fulltime and being fairly frugal I still can't afford a decent appartment. Dust and Ashes. Ah Well.
World con was a Very Interesting Experience. so many, many different things to pick from to write about. I was able to see my former best, now second best, living author up close and in person. Most of my heroes are dead and moldering in the ground somewhere. After a bunch of tearfull moments next to gravestones it's nice to be able to gush over a living author. only that in the weeks before worldcon, I discovered another brilliant man, china mieville, who subplanted Neil Gaiman in my favorites list. Mostly because Gaiman spins stories that are endlessly entertaining, but he never finishes a book! oh, there's an end in which the caracters all bow out, and they are complete novels, but there is no closure. I always get this picture of Neil sitting at a desk, writting and getting nearly done. All the important bits (or the fun bits) are tied up and over with. he's just tidying up at this point, and then suddenly, the doorbells rings and it's a long time no see friend, "Neil! how's it going!" "It's going really well, I'm just finishing up this book for tomorrows deadline" "bugger it, I have this great bottle of port, and a fascinating new art show I wanted to take you too. guess I'll ask someone else" " no.. wait. it's mostly done. I mean, practically speaking, it's done. I, oh for the love of pete, I'll finish it up when we get back" and of course, we know how the story ends. or doesnt't. pet peeve, folks, tiny rant. moving on.
Worldcon... discovered Cory Doctorow. The man's a genius. of course I love anyone who can talk extempora on copyright idiocy for 45 minutes. I love anyone with relevant information and resources. He's one of my favorite people (can't say author, havn't read his stuff, but I did listen to his 45 minute lecture on the history of storing and transmitting data)
My favorite people at the con were the writers. didn't much care for the fans. (excepting the lovely ladies I went with of course)
I am determined to 1) get my PhD and 2) become an expert on something.
so I can have conversations with people about things. It was a sad moment when I realized that I was more versed on the ins and outs of the music department at nyack than on ideas and thoughts that shaped writing. I had to grasp deep in to the recesses of my dark memory to remember why I liked art. Peon of corporate america. that's me.
I'm not writting any concrete facts, I realize that. well, the con started on thursday, we arrived wednesday night. Thursday morning we set up L.'s art and wandered a bit. the three of us split up for the panels the first day and a half. then I realized that I was very much missing human company, and I darn't talk to the people next to me at the cons, because they ran the gamut of every weird and wonderfull, wacky and scary preconceived notion I had. I think next year at Lunacon I will feel more comfortable in approaching people.
My Fantasy/Science Fiction tastes are quite litterary, mirroring the real world, which is oposed to allot of people there who were following battlestar galactica, dr who and other t.v shows. It also differs from comic genres. boy was I glas when I learned of the term Graphic Novel. It really is a necessary term, distinguishing them from different modes of comics.
Anyways, back to facts.
each day we got up, took the metro to the Con attended panels, munched on L's homemade snack bags (sorry, L, for not being more North American in my tasts) meeting for a late lunch and then back to more panels. Evenings we tried to get out and see a bit of the city, which worked once. we ended up in a bar called Yer' Mad. which was a great place! they played a muppet song over the PA system while we were there. can't be too bad. Downed my first guiness. I've sipped, but never finished before. (which leads me to ponder if there is a feminine version of "puts hair on your chest". There should be)
Saturday was the masquarade which was to quote l. "trey Fun" She looked quite regal in her sealy court getup, and the wing mechanism (months of planning, and many hilarious moments for me. such as calling her while she's heating up plastic in a closed environment. "can you get high of of plastic?" "why?" "I've been in my room with it all day and I'm feeling silly") received a round of applause as they went up
All the entries were mindblowingly good. and funny. My favorite was a "public service announcement for the makers of videogames" a stereotypical female video caracter walks out after appearing to escape from a battle and launches into a monologe about the complete freedom from realities tethers that gaming designers (read: men) enjoy when it comes to costume. Cupping the tiny round tin brassiere, she angrily intoned, "this is NOT armour" other points were that if they were going to give her a cape, she would like to be able to cover some point of her body with it, and that 6 inch heels are never, never, ever a good idea for fighting in.
Short skirts as well are equally pointless. There were a number of other good skits.
Sunday night was the hugo awards, at which I learned allot more names of authors I wanted to read.
more later

Paris 2

2009-05-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

So I just got back from my second weekend in paris. D and I had made vacation plans, only not to concrete. upon arriving in belgium, we sat down and looked at where we could go and decided that it would have to be paris or london. since london seemed a little bit of a time problem, we chose paris. again.
This time, however, I felt like I enjoyed it much more. She and I had already seen all the sights, numerous times, so we wandered and talked and ate and looked and explored. It was nice to not have a set schedule. The weather was beautifull and the city was our oyster. The one thought that troubled me was, how do I ever start a conversation in this place? a weekend is all I really want to go without being able to talk to someone new. I did manage to find some very cheap bollywood videos, and since D has never been introduced to the joys of 3 hours of dancing and emoting, we will be watching one of them on thursday.
I've got pictures coming up on facebook, of week two, and I need to take more pictures of the base. most day's I've been cleaning toilets and I think that's it. on wednesday P, gave me the phone and I was on call duty untill I left on friday afternoon. tonight, I'm moving into T and E's place, what fun!
this next week will be full of meeting people and dinners and looking for libraries. I have a dinner date every night. makes me feel important!
one last thought, I was walking down brugstraat last night, coming back from the train station and I looked up at the sky, and realized that it was almost the same angle as from my old window. I used to sit there and pray. I almost cried, at the sense of familiarity and continuety I experienced. I had gotten so used to the feeling of being displaced, I thought I would always feel like that. but now I hope I can remember that there are places I feel at home in.
anyways. more on me later!

paris!

2009-05-18T08:11:00.001-07:00

I survived paris. that should be a bumpersticker somewhere. loads of pictures to follow, but in essence, it was beautifull.

Belgium!

2009-05-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

Well, 9 hours and one lost luggage later, I'm safely ensconed withing the walls of O.M Zav.the airport is of course apologetic and doing all they can. I hope. Talk about language immersion, my first official contact with fellow flemish speakers in years and I'm trying to think of words like luggage claim and carousel. Thank heavens for the flemish allacrity at adopting foreign words into their own vocabulary. I just slipped the english words in here and there.
Trish met me at the airport, to which she had biked, yes, people bike to airports in this country. Or maybe it's just trish. The base looks the same in most things, down to lace curtains in the library.
I'm still getting used to being back. My calendar is filling up nicely though. and my crew got here safe before me. I walked in to find sarah vacuming and Isaac stripping paint of the ceiling in the former garage. good people. I on the other hand got lost trying to find charlie, and had to be shown the way. I also realized that although I had taken into concideration that the plugs are different here, and as such had left the hairdryer and other things at home, I had not remembered that my laptop would also require an american plug. I will have to remember to ask someone about that.
Well, I am off to collect the kids and some bikes and to head over to the Lamoses.. we're hitting the town for kabobs.

switzerland

2008-11-24T17:21:00.000-08:00

so I've been praying in french lately. I think it's because I rarely hear the language, and I don't know the "religous" expressions. I can also pray my little hart out out loud and noone would be the wiser.
I walked out of the door someday last week and the mellow autumn weather had turned suddenly winterish. Huzzah!! I was instantly reminded of switzerland for some reason.

writing

2008-10-26T17:27:00.000-07:00

I was at a bridal shower today and thoroughly enjoyed it, the bride is a beautifull person, her sisters are a delight and her friends were intreguing and commited to both Christ and their carreers. I had a little bit of a quesy moment of ennui with my life, but I've noticed lately that that feeling stems from inactivity on my part than any manner of striving towards goals. I'm a little wary of goals at this point. I rather like reassesing my life and getting into a normal pattern with school over and life before me. It's a different pattern, but one I would like to master. It's hard to be ON all the time. To be so very much in control of my destiny. It's a scary truth. I also realize that I would rather underacheive so that I don't narrow the pool of people I can relate to, than excell in something and make people feel (perhaps rightly) insignifcant. That's a half truth, I also know that the more I acheive, the more will be demanded of me.

On a more practical side, today I pulled appart a speaker set and rewired it so that both speakers work. It was a proud moment when I turned up the music and it came out all beautiful and bold. I like doing practical things.
I also devised a good curtain system for the living room so people in the house opposite no longer can look through our kitchen window into the living room. The people who lived here before us had someone catch them streaking through the living room. that hasn't happened yet, but I want to be proactive in matters of modesty.
Also, the apppartment is going through an upheaval. we've quite the change around. S is moving to cali in less than a month, and the three remaining people will be splitting rent. M worked it out that none of our rent will go up, which is amazing. K and I will move into the bigger room, meaning more space for all of our stuff, which is in typical girl fashion, cloths and shoes.
I would wish it were more art and writting things. but they are there too. I just need to pull them out and use them
I am tentativly looking into grad schools still.

chronicling

2008-10-04T14:15:00.000-07:00

well, today I woke up, took tylanol, went to the city and managed. Got a little disoriented at 12 and told myself to get some food. Coffee and a bagel biscuit. And wonders of wonders, it really helped.
Managed to do quite a few things. Still need to do more things. Right now I'm listening to Neil Gaiman's the graveyard. I'm quite put out that I missed his reading it in New York. I appreciate him posting the readings. It's strange how the internet can bring to people the old traditions, readings of poetry, old books that are out of print.
My roomate helped my coffeepot on it's limping way to the grave, so I need to go shopping once more for a slightly smaller pot. I'm linking things a little better now. coffee in the morning, good. coffee any other time, bad. Food three times a day, good.
I'm still struggling with the concept that food is a need. but maybe this is a wy to force the body to rest from what he's doing.
just some thoughts.

cronicling

2008-09-30T06:12:00.000-07:00

so to keep track of the days. Today my muscles and bones feel tired, and I feel overwhelmed. throat is stilil sore. breakfast was sausage and english muffins and milk, I brought a snack with me to work. should break for lunch.
God help me through this

today is an interesting day

2008-09-16T04:59:00.000-07:00

Friends! I havn't forgotten about you!
This weekend I've had such a turn about from where I was. I was bogged down with allergies or something for weeks, and it affected everything, even my attention span. I tried taking asperine, over the counter medication, nothing seemed to make a difference. I have not been taking my vitamins or eating as I should. About the eating. Here's my dilema. I don't like food, I don't like the process of eating it, I don't like being fueled by it. The whole process seems a little, how shall we say, assenine?
God created human bodies and food to sustain us, and I bow to his supperior intellect in the matter, but I still can't bring myself to like something that takes such an inordinant amount of my time from other things. I can deal with buying food, that is something I don't mind at all! but the cooking and the thinking and the debating and the headaches. blech, not for me. And I've never looked so good! When I used to eat regularly, I was quite rotund and worried about my image. Now I look not half bad AND I don't have to worry so much about what I'm eating.
I do eat, only cause I won't be able to focus otherwise. But that is the only reason I find at all plausible to doing so.
Anyways, these last few weeks have been such a rollercoaster of Go! Go! Go!
student orientation, and student registration, and student private lessons, and professors and assistants who don't seem to stay put and new projects that need to be done, and old projects that need to be finished. this last week I held an artshow in Shuman hall, a beautifull old building on campus. My friend Krissy (www.krissyrandall.com) from texas was kind enough to let me book her before she went and did a show in DC. It was such a blessed time, as we got to hang out around all her beautifull paintings and talk into the night. it was her birthday on wednesday so we went into the city and watched stomp. It was so amazingly mind blowing, and we were all relaxed. Krissy and her husband are two of the most loving people I know, and I really want to learn how from them. they also are some of the funniest and loudest people I know. All in all I am so very much hoping that they will decide to move to NY to be closer to the art scene.
One thing the art show did push me to do was to establish more connections downtown with people. I really feel like nyack town and nyack music school should be working together more on things, also I always liked to know when free shows were given, and Nyack does that all the time. so I don't feel to bad about making things happen.
But in short, this week was crazy busy, starting with a renaissance fair on saturday at which I bought a dagger! yes I did. and the man I bought it from had so many amazing stories to tell about it too.
more on that later, I need to go study arabic, and get my free coffee from a friend.

My library presentation... It's a little wordy but I still agree with most of it :-)

2008-08-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

Is there a place for the Feminine Mind in the 21st century?
By Jen Stuck
Occasion: panel on biblical manhood and womanhood.

Content:
I have chosen to present my paper, not as a definitive, all- encompassing thesis, but as the beginning of a discussion, these following pages illustrate nothing so strongly as my own opinions and contemplations. I was raised in a very cerebral culture, thriving on rationality and logic. I was trained throughout high school to think of myself as occupying a place within a ranking system based on nothing but my capacity for intellectual reasoning. The only concessions made to gender were the separate changing rooms in the gym. Gender was a purely physical, sexual distinction. You, as an individual, were far more than your genital make-up. Your choices concerning sexuality had become as casual and as un-defining as your choices of restaurants. Yet in my home, an ideal more familiar to American Christianity was held up for us to follow. The concept Man and Woman as taught in my culture and school, and the concepts raised in my home were as different as night and day. Upon moving to the states, and interacting with American Christians, I became even more confused. I began to realize that the notions I hold concerning such terms as “man”, “woman”, ‘Femininity” and “masculinity” had never been accurately and thoughtfully defined. Those teaching me about them were simply extrapolating from their own personal worldview, without questioning the validity of their stance. I needed to investigate this topic so as to have a valid opinion concerning it. In essence, I found that I had been filtering what I perceived to be biblical views of gender through my culture. I had to question the foundational beliefs of my own psyche and found that although I had always thought I lived a Christian life, my perceptions of the world around me had been formed in ways contrary to the scriptures both within the church and within the secular culture around me. The conclusions I have come to I hope to accurately convey to you in this presentation. Since I am a woman, I will focus predominantly on femininity. It is, after all, what I know best. The evolution of the thoughts concerning male/female interaction throughout history will serve as my rather long introduction to the topic of biblical femininity. I have focused on a few salient historical points on which to string a thread of cause and effect, acknowledging always that no single cause, outside of God, is responsible for a single effect.

When asking the question “What is Biblical Femininity?” we are presupposing things that we shouldn’t. Are we confident that we know what femininity is, and that there is a clear model for it in the bible? Is it that simple? The 21st century is the first in which even the physical differences between the genders have been called into question. The age of complete artificial environments and stimulants has made the common functions of the body obsolete. Us moderns can now with impunity add or remove any body part we wish, trying on something exotic for size. Yet upon contemplation, as much as we would like to fool ourselves into thinking that the body does not affect the Geist within, that it is a toy we can manipulate at will, we must acknowledge that the body does indeed influence and regulate the mind in myriad ways, some of which we, perhaps, have not yet fathomed. I think that this point is the beginning of all discussion of gender, the human body being the most obvious, as well as the ultimate test of gender. The sparest of definitions of gender will give you that males produce semen and women posses a womb and eggs. There is more of course:
A woman lives cyclically, bound to her menstruation cycle. She lives in a continuing repetition of the same events, her body going through distinct changes with each ovulation, incubation and final expulsion. At the end she knows, no matter how painful, that she will be facing the same events in three week’s time. If she is sexually active, each time she copulates, she stands a chance of spending the next 9 months with symptoms quite similar to suffering from a stomach bug, a fever and allergies all rolled into one. A woman is never free from chemical imbalances stemming from changes taking place within the body. She exists in a repeating pattern, one she learns to recognize and work around. She is at the mercy of her body in a way a man is not. Without this cyclical connection, a man can view his body as a tool, separate and in subjugation to his thoughts, plans and goal. These very different approaches to the body can and, I believe, should be complementary.
Historically, from these differences the classic division of labor springs up. In its basic, primitive stage, civilization has always recognized the complimentary aspect of the male and female. Within sexual relations the female receives, conceives and nurtures, the male approaches and provides. The sheer practicality of this is instinctively felt, as one looks at the needs and capabilities of these people living so precariously in balance with nature. Any disturbance or deviance would result in obliteration. A woman, who will spend most of her active years pregnant or nursing, will take on tasks closer to home, because a large belly or small child would seriously hinder the more active tasks of hunting and defending. The gender roles are based primarily on the physical differences between the genders, and are geared towards satisfying the primary needs of mankind, shelter, food and procreation. Each culture and climate zone will have different roles for the male and female, which may contradict cross-culturally, but within their own community there will be a strong differentiation between genders, with tasks and traditions allotted to one, which is taboo for the other. The concept of a woman being inherently and completely a woman, and as such foreign and incomprehensible to men (and vise versa) can be seen in the many shamanistic rituals and taboos concerning childbirth, placenta, menstrual blood, and semen. This agrarian, primitive pattern continued until the birth of cities and their industries.

The Industrial revolution moved people from the small tradition-filled communities to the cities, transformed them from agrarian to urban. With the institution of the mills and factories, men and women were reduced to workers for the machine. The rapid rate of invention created another, stronger division than the gender division. Man versus woman becomes man versus machine, woman siding with man, united in their sameness instead of in their differences, against the machine. Women not having the same abilities, physically, as men do, combined with their propensity to still beget children, damaged their chances in the new urban work centers. They became relegated to the home, while the man went out to become the principle breadwinner. The complimentary relationship built up in the primitive and agrarian society turns into a dependant one. On the intellectual level, the enlightenment blurs the distinctions between men and women by creating the Human Being, which is defined by one entity, the mind. Descartes introduces his mind/body division. The new age of thinking views the body as something less real than the mind, and in right relations subjugated to it. It becomes a prop, even a mirage, rather than a fundamental part of the whole. As such one should cultivate the mind and discipline the body. Since women have a far more symbiotic relationship with their bodies, they must struggle harder to free themselves. The age of intellectual enlightenment ends with women being both positionally and essentially degraded to the level of a child. In the working class, she is barred from earning the same wages as a man, and is sloughed off to supporting role, adding small earnings to the steady wages of the man. In upper society, if they are inclined to study, they are to assist the dominant men in their lives. To hide their learning and to pretend ignorance is the highest mark of feminine modesty and it would have been expected of her to do so to maintain the dignity of her family. (Incidentally the terms used to praise this false modesty are often the same terminology the modern church unwittingly uses to teach biblical femininity. Serving others, modesty, a gentle spirit, the terms are loaded with years of misuse and misrepresentation and before they are so freely used by Christians they should be unpacked of their historical baggage, considering that the first time these phrases are heard by many is in connection with the suffragist movement)

At this point in history, instead of restoring the balance, by elevating their sex to a counterpart with equal status to men, women chose to assert themselves within a masculine setting. Fixating on the body as the most glaring difference, women began to dress more masculine, tying down their breasts and bobbing their hair. Intellectually, they masked their femininity and joined the ranks of Wall Street and Capitol Hill. Determined to prove their equality, they gave up their uniqueness in the process. With this desperate bid for sameness, women disconnected from their bodies. Contraceptives are created that free women from childbearing, allowing them the freedom to sleep around, again leveling out the playing field. The body becomes fully disconnected from the mind within popular culture, and form no longer dictates function. This creates a homogeny since when creatures are all mind (or all will) the vessels that carry them loose their importance. The human, physical body becomes a thing of shame, not because it is sinful but because it is a reminder of a previous evolutionary stage, it is primitive and crude. As such the only feelings relegated to it are primitive and crude. Having a female or a male body no more indicates capacity, as any other form of physical distinction. The phrase so often repeated today, “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean…” shows that the concept of complimentary gender roles is completely obsolete. In today’s society the gender differences have become so unnecessary to survival or even superficial contentment that they are often forgotten. Any obsolete gesture that would draw attention to it has to be prefaced by explanations and apologies. Since people are thinking from a platform of complete equality the statement weaker than directly translates to lesser than. To today’s woman that statement is unacceptable, woman is no more or no less than the man and no different from him. Gender characteristics are a matter of personal choice and should not be catered to unless the individual has given you permission to. I am not disagreeing with the importance of woman; I am simply trying to readjust the lens through which this importance is viewed.
As much as the rights of the individual should be valued, the implication that each person is completely free to follow his or her own volition in every life choice is a little absurd. However, this is the worldview that is widely held in the west. Without a direct confrontation with this ideology, which is often unconsciously held by many Christians as well, Christianity will only insert it’s worldview on top of this basis, causing confusion and unnecessary, but understandable hurt. The church’s ideas are still derived from a pre industrial society and regardless of the truth value of that position; it does not translate without careful thought into the modern setting.
Traditionally Christianity has held an ambivalent stance on women. From its initial founders, throughout history, Christianity has been identified as a firm proponent of women’s rights. They have found in the church a place to express themselves with freedom, and even on occasion to gain power. Christianity is inherently concerned with liberation and personal growth. Christ died to allow the Godhead to enter into a personal union with the human creature, regardless of sex, culture or political affiliation. Yet why is it that the modern attitude of the church seems to repress women, and hold them back, rather than encourage them in their gifting?
There is a disconnect between understanding Womanhood and understanding its cultural functioning. Our Christian understanding of a woman’s place seems unsatisfactory in the light of the mind-centered, individualistic society we live in today. Yet, as Christians we believe that we are made in the image of God.”Man and woman he made them” indicates that neither man nor woman, but both combined serve as the image of God. In other words woman are made in God’s image in a different way than man is. This gives us validity and uniqueness, in our own right.
The word used for helper used to describe eve is used only for one other character in the bible, namely the Holy Spirit. When we look at the trinity, I can’t help but wonder if we are given Jesus as a masculine and the Holy Spirit as a more feminine character of God. If so then both are equally represented within the Trinity.
I realize that I have as yet to mention a single bible verse in relation to the information I have so profusely shared with you. In truth, I cannot as yet tell you what biblical Femininity looks like. I can only encourage you to question the very premises upon which your concepts of male and female, masculine and feminine are built. The first and fundamental step would be to understand that masculine and feminine are facts. They are truth statements of each individual. They are not relationships. One cannot be feminine in one relationship, and masculine in another. The concept gender involves the whole mind/body spectrum of human nature, experiences, memories and relationships. They are not externals, they influence externals. As such there is no such thing as a man’s job, or a woman’s job. The job might be done 300 times better by a male, the job in and of itself carries no signifiers except those placed there by culture and habit. The question then becomes not “Is this my role?” but “Is this true to my God-given nature?”
Men and women physically different, mentally different, emotionally different, yet equal.
No one in this room would argue against that. Christian community understand this difference, traditionally, yet it often neglects the very pressing reality that our world is not a Christian one, and that the basic premises of equality and value which are assumed by those addressing male and female interactions in a Christian sense, are not understood by my generation. The church is filled with confused people who hold to a post-modern, relational mindset, yet espouse modern Christian ideals. The tension brought on by being so essentially divided is stunting the growth of many Christian women. What needs to happen is a separation of the biblical truths from a framework that is anchored in time and as such obsolete. The roles of men and women in relation to each other have always been culturally defined. We need to form a clear understanding of what exactly our culture is defining concerning male and female. We must each suspend for a moment our preconceived notions and beliefs as we look to map out what exactly these are. As such I believe biblical femininity to be the understanding that as women, regardless of culture, there are strengths and weaknesses we posses innately. It is not our concern as women to look to the men to exhibit godly lives and examples. Neither is it our concern to critique them when these are lacking. Rather, I think it is time for women to understand that they have their own relationship with their creator, for which they are responsible. They are to work out their own salvation in fear and trembling, realizing that there is a pattern, divinely inspired, on which to base their lives. It is not one of competition with or reliance upon the male gender, but one of prayerfully stretching oneself to fit the divine design. Not exploring and understanding my design as a women would be showing a disrespect for my creator. Hence the title of my paper “Is there a place for the feminine mind in the 21st century?” There is if I create it.

arabic

2008-08-20T16:27:00.000-07:00

I signed up for arabic today. I still need to prove that I'm a resident of these parts, but once I do that, I will be free to go and become part of the academic comunity again. S and I are really looking forward to being students again.
The RCC campus is much different from the Nyack one, in that it is new and huge and very much designed for the scholastic functions designated to it. There is also a pool, so I am hoping very much that we will be able to get at least a weekly workout in. this fall I will once again dissapear into business. With working 40 hours a week it will be more difficult to manage, but I also realize that this is real living. this is my life and if I don't take the chances offered me, I will regret it later anyways. So I'd rather regret knowing I tried. I've also realized that I sometimes wait because I don't want to miss the oppertunities that might be coming, by comiting to something now. I am older and wiser and so I would rather have the bird in the hand.
Speaking of older. my birthday was pretty spectacular, especially since I get so down going into them. the whole let's go eat worms thing hits pretty hard. But saturday S, L and I headed into the city and had lunch in grand central station foodcourt. I've never been down there, but the food is excellent. It's a very high end foodcourt type deal. I had a very homemade soup and sandwhich which was very tasty. Then we walked up to central park to meet with friends for a concert. It was a very interesting free experimental concert which meant two out of three of the bands were mostly good. For the first time at a concert I was able to put my head back and close my eyes and just listen and enjoy the experience. (usually I am fainting or something) after the concert the three of us headed towards union square and the belgian dinner I had planned
there's a belgian waffle cart that is actually run by a belgian (although the only times I've been there I've seen a marokaan which is still authentic, I guess) so reall waffles. they were not as good as the ones you get in belgium, but they past muster. we then walked down to Pommes Frites and got belgian frites for dinner. Yummy.
Then S and I took a train to friends of ours and spent the night. well, we stayed up until 2 talking about books and life and music. They are some pretty cool people. We then drove to church with them in the morning and then in the afternoon cleaned the appartment. in the evening friends came over, and since they were on the hallelujah diet, they cooked dinner. beans, plantains, couscous and salade. it was pretty filling. we then sat around and played games and had fun. I played them some Eddie Izzard and we had fun with the La sange est sur la branche!
All in all, a good weekend. I also was taken out to diner by a friend and taken to a thrift store. so much fun!
So I've been reading Carl Jung and about the subconcious and it's taught me a valuable lesson: people project subconciously. I knew this, but the point Jung made hit very close to home. He was describing a patient who had isolated himself from everyone but could only see the world as a cruel place, working against him. I recognized myself in that, quite a bit and it scared me. Especially when he, at age 40, was brought to say that he couldn't admit that he'd been wrong since it meant he'd wasted the best part of his life. I don't want to do that. I want to live life and live it well and full and large.
I want to work hard, but not out of a sense of inadequacy, and I want to enjoy the moment, not just because I'm afraid that the next will cost me. I'm tired of living niggardly ( I wonder what the root of that word is, and if it's PC) because I want to hoard life.
So's that's me at 24.

a week one

2008-08-09T09:35:00.000-07:00

Last night we watched the opening olympic ceremony. I was not even aware that the opening ceremony was that intense. Way to go china! It seems that there was an uneasy tension that everyone was ignoring by being way too happy about little stuff. I'm not up on enough of the world news to really understand the politics, but I was pretty sure china's not number one hero at the moment. When all the countries walked in to the stadium, waving their flags, I wondered what all the pageantry meant. Was it really an oppertunity to extend the hand of peace, in the name of sports? because if it was, then I almost unbelievingly applaud the effort. But I can't help think of all the money and sponsorships that went into it, and all the commercials and "special olympic deals" I wonder if they are trying to merge peace with consumerism. Which is a scary though. Peace can be found more readily in living simply and knowing your neighbours, than in shutting out the world and buying more things.
problem is the pictures to big. There's always justification for different sides.
hmm. anyways.
How was my week?
well. I can't really remember my week that well. I know that last sunday I went to church with a friend other than my roommate, which was strangly enjoyable. I also took a sketch pad with me and crayons (the reasoning being that they don't get on the carpet) and instead of singing, I sat on the floor in the back and drew pictures. I always wanted to draw when I worshiped. I'm not sure why. and I think it's the main reason I enjoy doing it is because I don't question it like everything else. in singing I wonder if I'm hittting the notes right or I'm enjoying hitting them right. In drawing I let go and wonder. It's allot of fun, because often I just queit myself and listen to the song, or just wait, and then I see a colour, or a shape, and I draw it, and move on from there, there's no structure, just a picture and a reason that's not quite clear as I'm drawing. I love looking at the finished drawing and seeing a story there. some of them are inexplicable, some of them are quite clear. Last week I drew a tree branching up into the sky, no leaves and the oceans of the world were pouring down into it's roots. It was at the center of the world with stars in it's branches and the rising sun coming up behind it. Once I saw the finished picture, I knew that this was a promise. (it ties in with biblical promises G-d makes, but it was sort of like the big picture for my personal life)
There were no leaves on the branches yet, but there would be. I like that, when it applies to my life. (although it's not very botanically accurate)
after church I must have talked to everyone, got roped into helping with the costumes for their productions. got talked into going to New York. It was fun.
Then R and I went shopping which was even more fun.
The rest of the week is a blur, I only know that tuesday my computer arrived, my little baby computet that is so addorable and functional! I've been monopolizing it ever since. Which would be a lot more impressive if it wasn't just me anyways. I'm on the porch right now with the trees all around and music playing in the background. I get quite distracted writing these little notes, and I forget that these are for you all to read, not just me talking to myself. I like that I can just ramble on, but I know I should be more sensible as to what and how and where and all that jazz. My friend K from pensylvania came and spent the weekend with me. She and I used to work at Starbucks together and she graduated Nyack years before me.
We had fun, talking to people. dragging her to meet my friends.
You know, I like people one on one. I like groups, but not very often. I like to get to know people on their own. It makes for a much more intesive upkeep program I tell you. It would be easier to have one group and hang out with different parts of it all the time, but I don't think it really gives me the human connection we all so desperatly are looking for. The sad thing though, is when you get people alone, and you spend enough time with them, they let their guard down and show you how confused and worried they are. To much time in that mode, and you need to hang out with a group just to cheer yourself up. I think that's why we're communal people, and why we "should not forsake the meeting with brothers" because in a group we remember happiness and alone, we remember that life is an uphill struggle. hmm.
E told me that the happiest group of people (the most balanced emotionaly) were those who woke up each morning and set aside a time to share their dreams with each other. This gave them an opportunity to share, and it gave their friends an opportunity to comment on what they had dreamed, bringing insights into it that hadn't been available to the dreamer.
I like it. I'd be willing to give it a shot. Anyways, I better post this before it takes to much longer.

teakettles and pasta

2008-08-02T15:18:00.000-07:00

As I was cleaning my room today, (which incidentally, included me installing a shoe rack on the back of my closet door, that can now hold two thirds of my shoes. 18 pairs. you do the math) I was listening to Beck and as I had never listened to them before I was listening more intensly than I usually do. They're pretty good, and slightly odd in an aw, how cute, fashion. At one point I was admiring their seemingly flawless merging of everyday sounds with the customary drums and guitars. I was trying to identidy just how many strange sounds they were creating, when I realized that the striking background violin high notes, were in fact not comming from my stereo, but from the kitchen fornuis, where I had left my teakettle to sing to itself in ever increasing intensity. Unfortunatly for it, it was vibrating on the same pitch as my music of choice at the moment.
Once again I am amused at my fuzzy headedness in the kitchen.

Last night I managed to burn pasta. Yes, I know, this is a new height even for me! It got a headpat and a look of awe from my roommate. Considering how well I've been doing, this is a healthy reminder that I can, when not paying attention, blow the lights out on the microwave and decorate the opposing wall with egg yokes. One of many stories.
Apparantly when one leaves spaghetti sitting half in the water, and half out, the part that it not in the water, will touch the hot metal pan and recoil, but only after it has turned a loverly shade of black.
Didn't affect the tast to much though.
I'm on a big herb kick at the moment, putting fresh basil in almost everything I eat. I bought some fresh fruit at the village market (which is a store. I know, it always sounds like small tents should be involved) and so's I've been quite au natural these last few days.

on the accademic side, I'm debating as to wether to take two classes or one this fall. I want to pursue a second bachelors while I'm here. I could do most of the classes on my free tuition deal from the school, but I don't want to fry my brein. On the other hand, perhaps I could use some stimulation.
I can't wait untill school starts again. The summer has been fun and has flown by. Asides from learning my job as I go, and not feeling at all trained or adeqaute at it, I've had a good time. But I will very much enjoy the people rushing through the building and stopping in to talk and music pouring from all the rooms again.

hmmm

2008-07-31T15:12:00.000-07:00

one of the faculty just walked in as I was winding down for the day and stopped and said with utmost conviction "you're beautifull". what do you do whith that? I've always struggled with peoples well meant comments of that nature. I'm an all or nothing type of girl and most days I feel like an elephant in heels. I'm also highly amused by that image. Part of it is having no butt (thanks, dad) and just a little to much going on in front. it's an akward combination. I'm quite content in being (and let's see who can catch this quote) "Tolerable, I'll admit, but not enough to tempt me"
Some days I rage against the silly rules that made some people with a metabolism that keeps them looking adolescantly thin late into their thirties. Some days, I suck in my stomach all day and hope noone notices. Someone always does though.
Those are the days I feel like a overdose of jello in a small cup ("I've got a piece of loose Jello, ok?")
But then when people stop me and comment on my "beauty" I am seriously taken aback. I wait for the favour they need, or the bit they're going to sell me. Not the best of reactions. I don't believe in the feel good crap that everyone is beautifull. I think every one is intreguing, but ultimatly, some people just have the crap end of the deal. I'm not saying that's me. I'm just tired of the whole "everyone is valid in exactly the same way" line. It's not true. Some people are ugly, and you love them anyways, cause it's not features that matter.
Some day's I hope desperatly that my other talents make up for my lack of beauty.
Some days I just put on the biggest, brightest earrings I own and hope it blinds people.
I'm not having a bad day, I just am tired of keeping up the facade of a well rounded, put together girl. The tired old lines that say " I know I'm special, and that I have my own unique type of beauty" I don't. And I'm fine with that.
I'll be smart instead, or creative. Things I can choose to invest in. Things I can take pride in being, since I worked at them.
ok, rant over.

new york in the summer

2008-07-26T06:19:00.000-07:00

It's been two summers now, living in the big apple. And each summer I forget completely about the absolute styfling heat. The old buildings have the window airconditioners humming away in the window sills, looking like so many beehives attached to the brick outer walls. They drip water on the unsuspecting passing pedestrian.
This summer, however, I'm not just visiting the city in a futile attempt to do something meaningfull, but I'm actually visiting friends.
We went to a small senegalies restaurant where the food was very reasonable and quite african, not the strange mix you can get other places. The waitress herself exuded an air of being in a different place, wearing the cultural outfit of some african country, but she wore it familiar like. This was her clothing of choice, her comfort clothes. I guess she wore them like a t-shirt and jeans.
T and I havn't seen each other since she got engaged. She's married now, has been for a year. What a strangely long time to not see a friend. Luckily we picked up right where we left of. She and I discussed our changes, and our sames. I got to talk to E also and pick his brain on life and future plans.
The City was mostly a blur to me as we wandered around, looking at tourist places, which have become old friends to me.
You know, things are never worth seeing just once. They can't speak to you on just one quick visite. IT's the repeating vieuwings that create the layers and familiarity that cause admiration and understanding. I've seen the statue of liberty, and the staten Island ferry, I've been on one of them. But to wander past it and look up to see it and to feel not excitement, but a quite knowing, and an enjoyement of the fact that I knew what it looked like before I looked up, creates a different exitement, a much quiter one. and deeper
I am enjoying the idea that I am getting to know this city, that there are places that won't dissapoint.
we spent 3 hours in the Met, and I had a better time than all those times I felt like I had to rush through to see it all. we stuck to the modern wing and speed walked through a turner exhibit. over rated. But could that man ever produce!
One of my favorite songs, by Rufus wainright, is about a poor little rich girl who fell in love with her art teacher over a Turner, but I don't see much to spark the romantics in them.
We also went to a belgian frites place, found a belgian beer place and a belgian waffle cart, the only one in New York! real belgian waffles too, not just diner variety limp waffles but the luikse wafel! I could smell it from a block away. Needles to say, we grabbed cards and made them promise they would be in the same place next time we were in town. We also found a hooka bar, that was a first for me.
We own a hooka, but I've never been to a place where they set them up for you.
It was beautifull. The entire weekend was very enjoyable, especially since I was able to convince T to come home with me, and we wandered around my little town for a morning.
Once she left, I understood how much she's meant to me over the years, and how much she and I used to work as a team. I am missing her like crazy now, but she's only a plane ride away.
I am trying to make plans to visit next summer.
such a versatile person... visits from all over and to all over. It's how I was raised I guess.

La Pucelle* - (“the maiden”)

2008-07-16T11:21:00.002-07:00

The flames that lick my feet are cold
As once the flames that fired my heart
Were warm. The starting fire reflected in the
Red robed monks. The soldier’s mocking cry:
“Jehanne, where is your Michael now?”
Careening off the courtyard wall
-Fear of riots kept me from burning in the public square-
centers me, for so they mocked my Lord
As he clung to his tree.
But no lord can match the torment, I think, of
La Pucelle, a woman and a soldier.
I sacked great cities, I the Maid,
I humbled them before the Lord, their walls to rubble
Their wives to widows, all, all fell before me.
And now I succumb at last
By a trick delivered in the dark of night to
My enemy.
The Lord most high, who can know his ways?
I served him well, through lonely wandering
I served him better crowning France a king
And sallying forth to battle for him.
Who knows, perhaps I serve him best with this,
My death.
Who knows, I’ve always been a firebrand,
My faith a hot and searing torch to warm my soldier’s hearts
And burn the English as they sleep.
My standard alone released the longed for patriotism
Dormant then for years in France.
My angels guided me and I the men to fight for
Orleans and Reims and Paris.
Lord, the pain! A crucifix, oh please!
If any here of tender heart, take pity on me-
Let me slake my eyes on a cross before I die.
Before the smoke and flames succeed
And crack this shell of a body,
Thanks, good priest, please, raise it higher?
The smoke is hiding His sweet face from me.
Such yellow smoke I have not seen since
The walls of Orleans were burning.
The smoke smudged like charcoal, obscuring
Foot soldiers, its fingers drawing smudges on the armor.
The arrow winged its murky path through the billowing grey
And struck me. Glory to God!
His angels staunched the blood
As I, screaming, pulled it out.
Now I am screaming again. O God!
Where are your messengers now?
The strength of my right arm
Cannot deliver justice to those Burgundians
-Dogs, licking English heels- tied to the stake.
Lord, if you let me die, what good has my fighting been?
The king is crowned, but weak. My death may topple his fragile rule.
These bishops reek of English bribe, my crime
A trumped-up charge. Three days, and three months more
Though they searched in every crevice they found no heresy
My God, death if needed, but for a lie? The voices spoke of more than this!

Thin tendrils of smoke rising from the strands of wood,
Twisted into a makeshift cross and hung around my neck
By a poor man, his last offering to Jehanne, remind me
That The Maid is more than simple me, she will not die
As I will.
My funeral pyre will light the nights to come and then
One night I will be given to the river and disappear.
That will be the end of me.
But the fires lit for la Pucelle will be passed as batons
Down the centuries, blazing a path through the ages
By campfires in the snow, warming soldier’s hearts, and
Firing the souls of patriots.

* Joan of Arc, called Jehanne, fought for French identity and sovereignty from the English and Burgundians. She was captured and sold to the English, who convicted her of being a witch for wearing men’s clothing after a long trial where they tried to prove her a heretic. She claimed to hear from angels concerning battle strategies and such.

Taxicab

2008-07-16T11:21:00.001-07:00

Long leg flashing out, taxi door ajar,
She leaves him standing on the curb, watching
The rain-freckled light of a moving car.

Three years since first he’d seen his fading star
She had stopped, had spoken low, excusing
The long leg flashing out, taxi door ajar

She had the look of an unfamiliar
Animal, wild and dangerous, hailing
The rain-freckled light of a moving car.

He loved her, the fool, (young men often are),
And frivoled precious years in following
A long leg flashing out, taxi door ajar

Now, on the worn steps of a rundown bar
He throws his dreams at the disappearing
Rain-freckled light of the moving car.

The sky bleeds water as he takes his place
At the bar, nursing his drink and musing
on long legs flashing out, taxi door ajar
The rain-freckled light on a moving car.

The winter of the soul

2008-07-16T11:20:00.002-07:00

The swollen water winds its way around
The frozen flowers dreaming they yet lived
and danced, by spring and summer’s kisses blessed.
Trees in dark, funeral cloths, clutch the ground

The cold, it seeps like rot inside the bone
It slows the pulse of Gaia to a whimper
Gray skies allow the naked earth to shiver,
Shriven, for its warm summer to atone

The ground needs cleansing from the summer’s sin.
Its joys dug deep into the forest floor-
Princely spread- requires purification

So the soul after intense delight turns
Introspective and seeks forgiveness for
Living in momentary abandon.

Tree Learning

2008-07-16T11:20:00.001-07:00

A poem is a tree with branches that point
Skyward and prick the air, its bulk and weight
A point to pin thoughts on and roots that dig
Down deep below and drink of silent, dark
And swirling streams. It sips its meaning,
Sharp as needles, straight from Gaia’s bone and marrow;
Cold and piercing, truth is sent up, veining out
Through bough and branch, leaf and fruit, ever forced
To finer points till, blossoming out
In many hued grandeur, facing the world
Bold and candid, forked lightning in reverse
Trapping the mind and teasing with answers, it leads
You to look for the root in the fruit in your hand.

The corset

2008-07-16T11:19:00.004-07:00

Bright red it circles, like a serpent, around my waist
It encloses, tail in mouth, the center-self of me
It sets a boundary line, this far and not one breath
(Bursting bounds)
Further.
It rams me up, straight as a rod
Forces posture upright,
Smiling, smiling, upright
It delineates,
It defines me,
It silhouettes me up against the light
It emphasizes hips-waist-chest, cinched tight,
It validates my Eve-ness
Hard against my softness
Unyielding to my skin.
A red fist wrapped around the trembling soul of me.
Pain provides definition,
Uncomfortable dilemma:
To live unformed and free, a huge amoeba floating,
Weight-of-world discarding
Or to live looking full (outward-beauty)…

I look damned good in a corset.

The world’s a stage, and we but actors on it.

2008-07-16T11:19:00.003-07:00

They glued me into time, they dressed me up
They made me act a part, life’s jailhouse keepers.
Wrote a script, translated it into three languages
Sent me to two different continents to play the role
Three different countries saw me walk the planks,
And dazzle crowds with lies.
I did it once in costume, once in drag
And once with a gun to my head.

The glue begins to dissolve (I can feel it give a little)
They did not mean for it to hold a human
(Heartmindsoulandmyriadotherbits)
To existence, let alone this human
Or to keep a person, this person, i.e. me,
Prisoner to existence, tied to time’s ticking metronome
Each day I feel it sag a little, bend a little, stretch some more
Like tar on a hot day.

But what happens when the glue, the stage makeup,
The part become unstuck?
What happens when the mirror of reality turns upon itself?
Will all the shattered shards of me
Splinter, splay, fray and fling themselves
(Spring loaded by long repression)
To the very ends of being and
Lodge them selves in, what, the stars?
Or will I fade like the body from the cross,
Fall slow-motion and folding to the floor
To be done with all of it,
Evermore?

Ipsi Dixit

2008-07-16T11:19:00.001-07:00

Ipsi Dixit

The girl with the flowers in her hair
Sits by the big open window in the hallway.
The flowers died on all hallows day,
Sacrificed in memory of the olden days,
The flowers withered and faded away.
The lilies collapsed and the roses are drooping.

The bombs fell on London,
The bombs fell, wounds gouged into collective memory.
The bombs fell on Sarajevo,
The bombs fell, small children watching then, will remember as they grow old.

The girl sits with yesterday entwined in her hair, thinking of air raids.

In the dance hall the dancers warm up for their routine
Their bleeding feet bound tight, pointille.
The stage is set, the crowd awaits
The tour de force, forged on disciplined footing.

A stream of strangers drift past her feet, encased in sensible shoes,
Like petals adrift on the water, each leaf a swirling new pattern of life
Bright and crisp and new in the morning, new every morning.
She reaches up and touches her hair
The dance is pauses, the ship is boarding.

And the newscaster reads his reports from the screen
Africa and AIDS he says.
And Bono in his shades, he says.
Then businessmen and corporate scheming and
Businesswomen and this years dreaming
And local color and touching story, and
Take long walks and
Don’t forget to change the world tonight.
Thanks for listening and goodnight.

And she sits there and ruminates on presidents long dead,
And books over-read,
And heroes and their downfall,
All the while,
Dead flowers in her hair,
And a note in her pocket that reads:

“I shall walk into the roaring torrent of life
With stones in my pocket
And lose my bearings in the roiling waves”

For the rush of existence in her ears is so loud it threatens her with drowning.

* she herself has said it.

Judah muses in his tent alone as his father mourns.

2008-07-16T11:18:00.001-07:00

Many hues instead of one.
Oh brother mine, such hatred had my heart for you
The youngest, but for one.
Oh Should-have-been-first-born, I was made to feel the guilt of birth
I was the first fruit of my father’s loins,
You the first-fruit of his love
I the product of distraction
You the pinnacle of many years devotion.
He loved you, and I loved him, and in my great needy love
I could not see you loved him too.
Blind fools, we.
All feeling about in the dark of emotions,
Yet you were naïve to believe all his praise.
Innocent, you appeared brash,
Trusting, you forged deep-rooted enmity between us.
Our father’s fourteen year passion and pain stood between us,
And you, who had not ever known rejection,
could not fathom the depth of the separating chasm.
Born of a second best mother,
Her sons could not both love and resent you
Though, I did come to love you in effigy.
Not till the blood of the goat stained many-colors red
Did I realize that I, who’s life was spent courting his approval,
Had in my blindness killed my father.

On Climbing the Lion at Waterloo

2008-07-16T11:17:00.002-07:00

On a sunny, sunny day
Bees buzz in the clover, bright white spots of clover,
Brilliant in the light.
Flowers nod in the sun, blissful, quiet and at peace,
Hands lay in the green, green grass, grasping, holding peace.
Birds chirping in the sun, circling, perching peace.
Peace has settled like a vulture to the feast
On the green, green grass

Sound:

Screaming, fighting, blood-noise disturbed the peace
Violent interlude on a sunny, sunny day.
The sun poured down so liquid soft,
Kissing the face of the fighters, blessing.
Between the shuffling feet, the scuffle
The rifle’s crack and the thud of impact.
The cannons saluting across the field
The ripping and the rending
The groaning of the dying.
The flowers strive to see the sun,
The light so bright and clean,
Beaming over bloodshed
On the green, green grass

Green is always greener by contrast.

The sun’s rays touch a face, on that sunny, sunny day
Sweat drips from that face
On that sunny, sunny day.
Sweat and blood, sweet tasting on the lips,
In the sun, on the grass, hands clasp
In the green, green grass.

There is a lone tree in the green, green field.
Its branches framed in sunlight.
A bird sits and serenades the tourists.
There are two hundred year old bullets
Embedded in the trunk.

The Selfish Giant

2008-07-16T11:17:00.001-07:00

The day is filtered slowly down in this dark place,
The walls reach out in the gloom and hoard it up,
The iron bars block all but the most persistent beam.
The table sits beneath the window, and catches a patch
Of the evanescent light, a single sunbeam steady pounds the stack of paper.

You were brilliant, you really were, my darling Oscar
You smote the very heart of convention, with your sparkling wit
Shaking the old whore’s confidence on her throne.
You came with thunder muted in your every footstep
And rattled all the teacups in the room.

An oldish seeming man sits bent over his paper,
Jealous of the pooling light. A pen is scratching
History out into examination booklets.
Venomous jabs and plaintive pleas, bloodlike,
Bleed from the stripe clad arm of the prisoner

You did all this, and yet, what had you actually done
But bugger the son of some rich aristocrat?
What great mountains of disdain, you could have scaled
And snubbed your nose at those crawling ants below
Yet you could not deny the siren call,
The sumptuous and decadent bait dangled before you:
The parties, champagne, the art, the boys.

The gaoler carefully counts the sheets and
Files them away. Wilde, a genius, sits and plays
At Peek-a-boo with sun dust in his cell. Three years of hard labor
Has ruined him for polite society;
Like a diamond, they’ve bent and crushed
The devil from him and he emerges a broken,
Gleaming man.

Qusida

2008-07-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

The kiss of a lover enfolds like a flower
Well, then a lonely bee is soon ensnared

A stranger, passing in the night, can cast a wandering eye
Through a dining room window and be altered, past knowing, by the view

The touch of a hand leaves an indelible mark
On some plant by the road, never to be erased

So, leave no deep footprints as you pass by
And touch only what you wish to keep.

Invocation of the Muse

2008-07-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

In early morning, at first light, sing the praise
Of coffee. Let the song be fresh and bright
To lift the spirits from a sleeper’s daze.

Oh, grinds, infuse the day with smells so light
And burbling sounds of bliss, percolating.
Awake the courage needed for the fight

Against the doldrums caused by the maddening
Repetition, wooden and precise, of rites
Performed by day, bracketed by evening.

Oh, coffee is the only thing that bites
My mind, starts my morning meditation
It sends my faculties flying, high as kites.

So sing, pajama clad, battling exhaustion
As you greet the world through a sleepy haze,
Of its soothing, total, sweet dominion.

2008-07-10T11:03:00.001-07:00

I am so absolutly stoked at this point. Yes, I use that word with care. As in the stoking of a railroad engine, burn those flames HIGHER! Adrenaline and nostalgia and a wiff of some strange strain of home sickness are making me slightly lightheaded as I throw back my inner head as it is proppeled at giddy speeds through the inner landscape of my excitement.
I am going to see one of my closest friends, my sister who never quite moved in with us.
I havn't seen her in three years, in which time she has married a childhood friend. I missed her wedding, because it was a few days after my sisters and I was a broke college student. Paltry exuses now, I know.
I didn't know I had so many memories connected to her, and they are all flooding back. back. back. And oh! the smell of burning in the air.
My eyes and nose are burning, paradoxically with water. I am crying.
I am excited. I am ... so very blessed at this moment.

2008-07-01T15:39:00.000-07:00

sitting at home on my sofa, with it's cover on ( I love living in community, but little things do begin to irk me after repeated conflagrations over it. The sofa has a cover, both mine, and it seems like building a wall out of melting butter to get my roommate to keep them both together.)
So that opening statement contains a vast amount of satisfaction only available to me.
anyways. so we didn't get the house. Which turns out is a good thing, since I was, surprisingly, the most financialy stable person in the bunch. I hadn't expected to hear that, so it was rather a shock to have people pull out at the last minute.
And what does I do when I get a shock?
Correctomundo, I do my whole fainting routine. I've been functioning on sub-normal sense levels.
I know I'm making up terms here, but sometimes I feel like that's what my life is all about

vaak heb ik dan het gevoel dat ik mij termidden van een ocean bevind. maar ik zie de ganse wereld rond mij zich tegoed doen aan lucht. alleen rond mij stroomt er water, maar doorzichtig, zodat ik weet dat ik mijzelf heb afgezondered, dat de wereld rond mij nu alleen gezien kan worden door water, wat alles een beweging geeft dat het niet in zichzelf heeft.
Als mensen soms met mij spreken moet ik mij dubbel zo hard concentreren om hun te horen.

2008-06-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

no house. long story.
nice dream, back to reality

2008-06-17T13:06:00.000-07:00

and the realtor just called again. we're meeting the landlord soon. they seem to like us. I am not thinking about all the things that could go wrong. I am not at all. It seems at this point that things are going pretty smoothly. We might have someone interested in our old place, which means that we wouldn't have to leave it empty, which would make me feel nice about leaving, since the landlord has been extraordinarily nice.
more later

2008-06-17T07:50:00.000-07:00

Here she is.. the realtor just called and we are going over to give our information today. This doesn't mean that we will get it. it just means that the renters are amenable to 4 chicas moving in. The house has a covered porch in the back and a patio area in the front, as well as ... ok. I am just going to stop talking about this right now, as I am getting pretty giddy, and I need to not hope too much. We also need to figure out all our finances. I am good for my share, which is all I can really worry about, right now.

2008-06-16T16:52:00.000-07:00

frustration with suburban stereotypes is setting in. I've spent the day mostly in placating our temporary landlord, and in vieuwing other houses. We are trying to move, since the appartment is pretty cramped and we have an opertunity now with our lease up and some breathing space.
It's amazing what talking can do. everyone we've met face to face has really loved us ( including our current landlord, who slipped into sports annecdotes within minutes) but people don't like the abstract mathmatics of the situation. It's 4 girls ( although we are calling ourselves professional women now, since that seems to make things look better)
I mean, for crying out loud, all we want is a house and a garden to putter in, a kitchen to cook in and a living room to read in. As for me personally, I've gotten to the point where I've decided that if I can't have a family, I can at least have the house and the kitchen set and the little homey touches like a garden and a reading nook. I want some stability in my life at this point. to much change is a bad thing, even though I love seeing things and traveling.
I feel the need to be responsible and to settle down to some degree.
Anyways. the house hunt continues. Right now we're looking at a gorgeous two story 3 bedroom wood burning stove and covered porch beauty that makes me want to cry.
And in my head I keep saying, "I will not want it. I will not want it" but I do. I really do. I would have wished that it was something I could share with my husband and our large troupe of adopted ragamuffins, but as it is, I will share it with my wonderful roommates who are all passionate and amazing women from whom I learn allot. It's not a bad trade off.

The turner prize

2008-06-13T09:32:00.000-07:00

I remember seeing this guy on the telly when they gave him the prize, I thought it was a laugh untill they handed him an obscene amount of money for rewiring the light fixtures. I remember his comment too "I can't really explain it, except that the lights DO turn on...and off" Sheer genius that. I guess it's liberating that we too, in the quite of our own homes, can be cutting edge artists, simply by flipping the lights on...and off. Repeatedly.
Enjoy that thought people.

Turner prize winner 2001:
For the Turner Prize exhibition, Creed has decided to show Work # 227: The lights going on and off. Nothing is added to the space and nothing is taken away, but at intervals of five seconds the gallery is filled with light and then subsequently thrown into darkness. Realising the premise set out in Work # 232, Creed celebrates the mechanics of the everyday, and in manipulating the gallery's existing light fittings he creates a new and unexpected effect. In the context of Tate Britain, an institution displaying a huge variety of objects, this work challenges the traditional methods of museum display and thus the encounter one would normally expect to have in a gallery. Disrupting the norm, allowing and then denying the lights their function, Creed plays with the viewer's sense of space and time. Our negotiation of the gallery is impeded, yet we become more aware of our own visual sensitivity, the actuality of the space and our own actions within it. We are invited to
re-evaluate our relationship to our immediate surroundings, to look again and to question what we are presented with. Responding to the actual condition in which he has been asked to exhibit, Creed exposes rules, conventions and opportunities that are usually overlooked, and in so doing implicates and empowers the viewer.

2008-06-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

hmm. I went in to work at 12 today, and will leave the office at 8. talk about a skewered day. I am having a harder time than I thought with this whole working under my own supervision thing. although I do get things done beter in the afternoon. I feel like I'm going to turn into a version of dad with this blog idea, talking about work all the time. It's pretty much all I do right now. I'm redecorating my office... there's an ugly mural on one wall I can't get rid of so I am trying to work with it. I had my first rude phone call today, actually the person sounded more paranoid than rude, and reaallly didn't want to leave a message.
there should be more updates soon. saturday we're going hicking and then barbaquing, apparantly m's family gave her some venison and we're all doomed to eat it. I'm seeing that I am much more of a chicken type of girl. One of my life goals is still to raise, kill, butcher (do you butcher chickens?) and prepare a chicken. cause then I wouldn't feel so guilty about eating all this meat. Don't try to figure out the logic in that one.
I'm reading Kierkegaard now. Fear and Trembling, which is about Abraham so far and the mystery of it. It's a great book, since I am so used to seeing abraham as a 2-d caracter on the sunday school flanel board. ( I don't think people should knock the flanelgraph so much, it's a pretty wicked storytelling tool) and Kierkegaard paints him in somany different lights.
Well tonight I am going to go home and clean the living room and start some laundry.
If you could think to pray... the temporary roommate we had for the summer decided to move out quite unexpected and so we will need to find a replacement pronto. this is all happening while we are talking about trusting God more in church, so I see the application quite clearly, it's just a little daunting to think of 4 girls living together quite happily. We've all been very happy with each other this last year, so adding a new person to the mix, again is just a little haggarding to the mind.
Anyways.. oh. I went for a run the other day, and it was BEEEutifull. I love the sound of my lungs trying to commite mutany and suicide at the same time... sadistic, I know, but hey! it's good for you.
Except for the truck that decided to park straight across the road, forcing me to run straight up the hill to get around him. 30 meters almost vertical is enough to make the ironman wish for death by fish slaps..
anyways, more when there is more, I guess.

June 8 2008

2008-06-08T18:32:00.000-07:00

It seems a weekly ritual to write something small to those people out there.

I’m looking back at the week wondering what I should write about… I hope my partial amnesia will wear away with time, but as a residue from college, I still have trouble looking back at the last week. Mostly it was work. I’m getting more involved with how things are working, and coming up with my own systems of doing things. Right now I am talking to prospective students, setting up auditions with them. It’s a little intimidating, because I still have only a rudimentary grasp of the different programs and the music program itself is it’s own little world. Students and their mothers who call, are all very nervous about admittance, and everything I say will be used against me at some point J I’ve been coming home quite exhausted, and sometimes with a headache, but this week has been better as I adjust to my work schedule. It helps that my boss, DK, has a very fatherly manner as well as a zany sense of humor. He’s in the office a floor above me and will call occasionally to check on me. Last time he wanted to know if there was anything that needed signed, approved, shot or knifed before he left… I gave him a few names for the later two. Also we’ve convinced E. to come and work for us, she used to be the administrative assistant’s assistant (I love saying that) for four years so she is a wealth of information. It’s good to ask her stuff sometimes because if she doesn’t know I feel less guilty about myself not knowing.. yeah perfectionist. That has been my biggest fear on the job. I am a perfectionist and as such, I will pretend things aren’t there because there is no perfect solution for them. I’m working on it.. I like this job because it does ask me to work on many of those sloppy areas in my life. The administrative side, the calling people out of the blue side…

Lot’s of training for future reference.

I also went shopping yesterday for more professional outfits. I felt very strange in a world of suits and blouses. Apparently I can look a full and ripe 45 years of age in the right ( or probably more appropriate: wrong) outfit. I found lot’s of deals, and it was surprisingly not at all as draining as I thought it would be, since I had a list of things I was looking for. I bought everything at a discount, of which I am a little suspicious. For example: most of JC Penny’s is continuously on sale. How does that work? I think these might be the actual prices and they just mark them on sale. Anyways, normaly the mall drains me in about two hours, but this time, and I hope it’s a one time thing, I actually felt exited about shopping. It’s a comfortable feeling to have enough money in the bank to pay rent and food and utilities and have enough to spare that I can spend money on items that are not necessary to survival, but conducive to life in general (such as dress slacks)

Its also been insanely hot here the last few days. Out of nowhere a blast of infernal magnitude has scorched the land. There are warnings out, and we’ve cranked up all the fans, feels like florida just without the airconditioning in stores.

Hmm.. oh, I watched Blood Diamond last night. It’s very intense, and graphic. There are a few Hollywood touches it could have done without…but wow. It was powerfull. Talk about the human condition. Basicaly it addresses the international forces that help fuel the illegal mining and selling of diamonds to fund the rebel armies linked with childsoldiers. The diamonds are minded using slave labour. The movie shows how everyone in essence is responsible in some small way (is there such a thing as a small level of responsibility?) for the war in Africa, but also that this is the human condition. We are all related by simply existing. I’m also reading a book called the forever war, which askes similar questions at one point. Having a global percpective could be hindering because it paralizes us (or at least me) in the small everyday actions. The larger problems seem so large and complicated that there is no solution and there certainly isn’t one in my lifetime..

Anyways, enough sermonizing.

That is all I can remember from this last week. I hope I get better at mentioning things.

2008-05-31T13:48:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone.. I still wonder sometimes why I can't seem to stick to communicating with people via email like the supposed regular man.
prolly cause I'm not a man. well, the updates to my life are many. I have graduated school, summa cum laude, in English ( and I still can't spell, go figure.. ) and I have finished my first real week of work today. A suprise was how exhausted I feel working 9-5, since I have for the last few years been going to school fulltime and working parttime and been involved in many different side projects.
Since I am now the administrative assistant for the school of music, ( Thank the Lord, it's a small college) I have to lift the weighty mantel of responsability onto my shoulders every morning as well as simply getting out of bed and into class.

Cool things that have occured this week
. My 1000 dollar medical bill has been reduced by 700 dollars. I'm not sure why, but after wrangling with insurance for a little bit, all kinds of charges were dropped and I can actually afford to pay the bills.
. a friend of my roommates is leaving his car with us while he is in Irak, and we are to "exercice" it often. In other words, we have a car and we don't have to pay insurance
. the government decided it wanted me to spend 300 dollars. so it sent me a check... hmmm three hundred dollars. where have I heard that number before? could it be the amount I need to cover medical bills? i think it is! as the Guiness commercials have it "Brilliant"
. Since I am working at the school of music, I get to check myself out a nice guitar so I can start playing me worship songs again. I've missed banging away to myself, and now that I have a yard to do it in, with limited neighbour interference, I think I will help myself to that little perk, thank you!
. I've signed all the forms for my beautifull health insurance. Dad, if I die, you get a years worth of salary, in case you're ever short of cash... and I finally do not have to worry about being sick, since I have both insurance and mode of transportation to the doctors.

bad things this week
. I had another episode. Passed out on memorial day, while feeding a collegues cats. She was gone and I ended up on the bathroom floor too weak to get help. After an hour I was able to call a friend who graciously left work to come baby me. This time I really got scared, since as I'm living mostly on my own (my roommates are in and out all summer) I need to have a plan of action. I wised up and got three of my friends to be emergency contacts, told my co-workers about it, and set about figuring out how I can cheaply stock my refrigarator with easy meals.
I've learned that I need to take extra good care of what I eat, and when. seems 4 years of college have worn down my immunity a little.

Laura and I have been cooking up a storm today. We made white chilli and chicken casarole. Huge amounts of it. there was a moment when I was de-boning the chicken and the carcasses were pilling up, that i felt like i was in a cheap b-rated horror movie. The chickens didn't quite start talking to me, but only because the rational part of my mind wisely flagged me a warning that I would not be able to finish cooking if I began to anthropomorphasiz my food.
And here's the brag sheet: with 20 dollars spent, I have made myself 20 helpings. A dollar meal people, can it get any better than that? and it tastes good. So the projection is that if we do this every month, we should be golden. I'll have easy homemade meals.

spiritually, which is of course the most important update
this year, I've really been through the wringer, and the line that plays through my head ( well two of them) is this "when God wants to make a man, he'll take a man an d break a man and form him to his will" yuppers. change man to woman and that is about it. the other one is Mewithoutyou's lyric "I hear him whisper it'll be alright, it'll be alright. But it's NOT ALRIGHT, NO, I'm NOT ALRIGHT" and yet I can't ask for any other way. The road is tough and it hurts to have Him point and mend and batter and break, but the changes are all ones I am desperate to have made. I've moved from a point where I knew it all and it was boring and dry, life was known and uninteresting to a place where even water tastes like wine, and everything is new. I don't know anything, really, I've only begun to enter into this incredible reality, and as Aslan says, deeper in and further up. It keeps getting more complicated and better.
My roommate told me this last year watching me snivvling my confused way through life was like watching a wild creature being born, which is the best description really. There is a person God had in mind, who is beginning to emerge from the wreckage of who I used to be. It's like I'm coming through in colour.
Anyways, I hope to G-d that I will be better in posting that I have been up untill now.

jane eyre

2006-11-30T12:46:00.000-08:00

Jane Eyre

A very good book. A book so good that it is accepted by all and read by few. Hence the reason for this revieuw. Instead of getting the scoop and the new and upcoming releases, this articles is designed to entice you to rediscover an old friend. Often the tried and true novels are forgotten because they simply are too familiar. However, the endless TV and video versions of this book alone would make it impossible to ignore. There are four versions alone
The story central to this book is familiar to the point of nausea. Young, friendless girl, alone in the world, meets rich older man with shady past. They fall in love, obstacles ensue, long passionate speeches are delivered, eternal love is declared. There is heartbreak, tragedy, but finally a restoration, true love and thirty five minutes of proposal speeches.
Yet beneath all the hyperbole, beneath all the Victorian clichés, one can still distinguish the heart beat of a young girl, friendless and alone in the world. Jane Eyre, the strange waif-like protagonist, somehow manages to worm her way into the hearts of the readers. Her independent mind and her loyalty and devotion to what is right is as uncommon today as it was when Charlotte Bronte wrote her one hundred and fifty years ago yet it is a mixture so satisfying that generation after generation turn to her for comfort.
One could argue that the reason for reading this book is not for the dramatic action, but rather, in a very modern way, for the pauses between the actions. The book moves slowly through time. Very little actually occurs. It is in the absence of action that the true beauty of the book can be found. Jane’s silent soliloquies on love and life, faith and despair, are more vital to the book than her engagement to Mr. Rochester. Her quick wit and her insights into the hearts of the people around her, even if occasionally mistaken, make her an admirable creation able to stand on her own.
Jane is the outsider coming into an already established community. Twice in the story she is the pivotal character, inserted into the lives of the other caracters in such a way that she can , sometimes unknowingly, push them towards their goal in life. She is the life-bringer and the restorer, though she herself is only aware of her role at the very end.
As such her character is forever down on herself while in fact aiding others. She strikes a realistic balance between the overstuffed hothouse beauties and the forlorn lost waifs so common to Victorian literature. She does not need rescuing, because she can earn her own way through life as a governess, yet neither does she exact pity from those she meets because she carries herself very well.
Reading Jane Eyre is about discovering friends. One learns to expect the quirkiness of Jane, and to look for the roughness of Mr. Rochester and StJohn’s perfection is in the end his down fall.
The book is an excellent read, filled with interesting ideas and concepts, some foreign to modern thinking, some strickingly similar. The caracters that populate it’s pages delight and exasperate by turns. Though somewhat longwinded (it is a book that is better the second time around) the story is still densly packed with people and events. It is an excellent book to read with a hot cup of cocoa in one hand, wrapped in a blanket sitting by the fire.

mewithout you new cd revieuw

2006-11-30T12:45:00.000-08:00

Mewithoutyou
“So have you heard about Mewithoutyou?” The question left me feeling hurt and unwanted. I thought he meant him without me, but after the usual miscommunication birthed from ambiguous sentence structures, I was informed that this was a band name, not, as I had thought, a personal insult. The conversation meandered into other avenues after that, but the name stuck in my head. Two days later, Audrey Watne asks me the same question. This time I’m prepared. “No” I respond ‘I don’t think I’ve had the privilege.” To which the usually very articulate Ms Watne responds with “Aaggh, dude! …”
When she had recovered from the shock caused by my ignorance she proceeded to quote me a few lines from “a four word letter”, one of their better known songs. Unimpressed, yet intrigued by the sudden loss of intelligent speech, I politely dropped the subject and moved on, thinking that was the end of it. But fate had something else in store. Mewithoutyou began to spread like a slow but deadly virus amongst my friends. Converts were being made left and right. When the subject was broached they would engage with all the fervor of the Chosen Few seeking to save the lost. Let me illustrate: when asked to explain Mewithoutyou they responded with these choice morsels:
(Let me add that the first reaction was invariably an ecstatic, unintelligible exclamation, accompanied by a hand placed over the heart and an eye gazing raptly off into the blue yonder. After holding this contemplative, worshipful pose for a few moments they released the torrent of words you find below.)

“In the land before time, there was God, and Mewithoutyou.”
“Their Christianity is not just some shallow bumper sticker; it’s branded on their hearts.”
“The depth of their Christianity goes way beyond the superficiality common to Christian lyrics.”
“They just ARE, and they say who they are, and they love animals and they love people.”
“Catch for us the foxes (their sophomore album) deals with unity between the believer and God, but also the choice of God or suicide”
“You passionately love them or you’re like “what is this freak saying””
“They are heavily influenced by bands like At the Drive In and Sunny Day Real Estate.”
“They’re EPIC”
“They’re not just a lame “Christian band”, not just G, C and D and some lyrics.”
And my all time favorite : A friends father, disapproving of his skipping class to buy the new CD, asked him to wait a few days before purchasing said CD. His response? Classic:
“Dad, we wait for marriage and we have no control over it. Mewithoutyou is the next best thing and I do not have to and will not wait for that!”

In the words of the immortal Doors “the time for hesitation is through” With all this excitement bubbling over all around me I knew I needed to listen to this band myself. It seemed to be perfect timing, since their third album had just dropped in stores. Called Brother, Sister, after the Canticle of Brother Sun by Saint Francis, it is the best album as yet from a band not yet confident of its sound. Even the bands most loyal fans agree that they do take some getting used to. Having said that, the CD is an excellent musical experience, with a wide variety of instruments to be heard on the thirteen tracks making up the CD. There are harps, rain, broke bottles, handclapping and chanting in Hebrew, just to mention a few.
Brother, Sister has a fair share of soft songs, like the spider trilogy, which are barely more than musical whispers. These create an atmosphere of intimacy, as if we were listening through a keyhole to a man extemporizing on the meaning of life.

Buying the album online at midnight, I fell asleep to sound of rain rushing down to meet the earth and merging with Aaron Weiss’s vocals on the way. As lead vocalist and lyricist of the band, Weiss is largely responsible for the bands reputation of honesty and self-deprecation. Speaking rather than singing, his style has been described as spoken-screaming. He blends his deepest fears, beliefs and hopes with everyday occurrences, creating an intimate window into his mind using such diverse examples as overdue library books, pumpernickel bread and a broken record player. The end result is that he completely disarms the listener by his unique use of the English language. His choice of words proves to be intriguing and thought provoking. Even so the lyrics are hard to understand the first time through. Weiss’s voice has an odd, almost muted, quality to it, muffling the words. Repeated listening however reveals the true beauty beneath the crusted surface. He reaches conclusions consistent with Christian doctrine, but in such a roundabout why that the truths he sings of seem delightfully fresh, exciting and personal. The songs left me feeling as if someone had removed a blindfold and flipped the lights on in the room so I could finally see the things I had only been able to sense were there. In his own words: “I’m afraid I don’t have any answers for you. I have questions myself, and the suspicion that I will and should never find complete answers in this life, otherwise in arrogance I may think I’ve come to comprehend that which is beyond comprehension!”
In posing these questions, he elicits an answer that differs from listener to listener, allowing the songs to become deeply personal to each individually.
So in conclusion, what can I say about this very unique band that would make you want to listen to them? (Which, by the way I think you should) Well, with a hand placed over my heart and a far-of look in my eyes, I think I’ll say “aah… dude! ...” Because I have too been converted. Brother, sister is an excellent, solid, musically valid work that has the advantage of possessing a deep well of spiritual and personal experiences. After listening to them one want to sit and ponder life for a while.

philosophy paper on art

2006-11-30T12:43:00.000-08:00

Wittgenstein and Co. on Art

The discussion concerning the correct definition of Art has been going on since the first Artist (whatever one means by Artist) displayed his first work in public and opened himself to criticism. What is the function of Art? Does Art elevate or denigrate the human soul? Is there such a thing as Art? Each consecutive age has attempted an explanation for the innate need found within the Homo sapiens to create beautiful and provocative things. In ancient Greece Plato found Art to be dangerous and nothing more than a shadow of a shadow, not to be trusted. In 19th century Germany Freud looked at Art as a way to express the violent and sexual unconscious drives in socially acceptable manners. Both considered Art as an expression of the lower self, the animalistic nature, the bronze souls within humans. Both Freud and Plato were arguing for the value of Art, not calling for a definition of what was considered Art. For centuries the question has always been “What is the purpose of Art?” The definitions of Art and Artist were considered fixed. This is no longer the case, as term Art has become as vague and all encompassing as the term “weather”. It gives no clear idea of what is being discussed. It does not inform us of which mode of expression (i.e. painting, sculpture, drawing, found Art) is being used. Its meaning has become larger and fuzzier than in past centuries. The latest debate no longer focuses on the moral quality of Art, but rather “what is Art?” Is there a clear definition of the concept of Art? Are there boundary lines that can be clearly agreed on? Up until the end of the 19th century the answer to both these questions would have been yes. This last century has seen a drastic shift in philosophical thought concerning. No longer is everything expected to be defined in categories and placed in opposition to all other things. Definitions have become more fluid.
Ludwig Wittgenstein, a prominent Viennese philosopher during the first half of the last century, developed the ideas of open concepts and language as a form of life. Though Wittgenstein never addressed the issue of Art (he simply states that ethics and aesthetics are the same thing and that it is clear that ethics cannot be put into words), his theories in general lend themselves well to the modern discussion. Later philosophers have taken his ideas and embroidered upon them to come up with an adequate modern theory of Aesthetics. Wittgenstein’s idea of open concepts is s response to the idea espoused by Plato, that one could treat all ideas as mathematical concepts. In other words Plato thought that all definitions would fit into precise, exhaustive and sufficient boxes. Each concept could be defined in it’s entirety as different in it’s entirety from any another concept. Plato thought all concepts could be treated this way, whereas Wittgenstein pointed out that this only works in the mathematical, logical realm, but hardly ever in day to day life or even with more abstract concepts like love and friendship.
Concepts are rarely defined by names that are necessary and sufficient. Wittgenstein chose the term family resemblances to explain how things are categories into concepts. A term such as “work” is hard to describe. Both a janitor and a lawyer work, but are their respective work schedules at all comparable? In some areas similarities will be found. They both wear a uniform of sorts and they both receive money for work rendered. But what of the man who volunteers and rebuilds houses for those who can’t afford it? Would it not be considered work because he draws no salary? In each case we find either general or individual similarities with a number of related activities, but no overall overarching principle that could be used to define the concept. There is a complicated network of similarities overlapping and crisscrossing, much as family traits appear at random in humans. Wittgenstein therefore chose to call Work a family, under which he files the different concepts with enough similarities to be recognized as Work. An open concept is one in which one can conceive of a situation in which one would be forced to make a decision on whether to enlarge the family to include the idea or to form a separate group. Wittgenstein would then say that work cannot be defined because it is an open concept.
Morris Weitz took Wittgenstein’s ideas and applied them to Art. He claimed that the question “Is it Art?” calls for a decision to extend the idea of Art to include the piece or not. He would argue that if the piece had enough of a family resemblance to the body of work already considered Art it should be included. In this way Weitz sidesteps the debate on modern Art, whether or not it undermines Art in the past, because the concept of Art is allowed to grow and expand as seen fit.
George Dickie contests the idea that Art cannot be defined. Using Wittgenstein’s own arguments, and a quote by Arthur Danto, Dickie comes up with the institutional theory of Art. Danto had said that to see something as Art calls for a background already prepared in which to place the piece, an Art world. In order to construct such a mental background one needs an idea of the history and theory of Aesthetics. In parallel with Wittgenstein’s idea that language is a social activity, Art too is a social institution that can be defined by the culture and era in which it is produced or judged. Much as the society confers the status of winner to the one who succeeds in being the first to cross the end line, though it could have chosen instead to give that title to the one who ran with the most style, Art receives its status by the society it is produced in. B.R Tilgheman pointed out that in that case whatever the Artist says is Art, must be received as such. The issue of understanding a work and appreciating its message is not even brought in question. Timothy Binkley uses a much simpler tactic to refute Dickie. He simply calls everything Art. If everything can be defined as Art, which it can be by the Artist according to Dickie, then it becomes unnecessary to have a definition for Art.
Binkley wishes to return to Weitz’s interpretation of Wittgenstein, with the distinction that Art is even less definable than other open concepts. Whereas in terms such as work and games there is a clear distinction between what is accepted in the idea and what is not, in Art it is much harder to distinguish the Art from non-Art.
The Wittgenstein point of view states that Art is a radically open concept and that it is intricately bound up in the fabric of the society and culture in which it is produced. It is constantly being added to and indefinable.
Though interesting this view in my opinion fails to take into consideration a few things. It fails to consider the difference between an Artist and an Artisan. It does not discuss the use of Art, only its place. It assumes that Art is something to be compartmentalized, an aspect of life instead of a companion or mirror to life.
The first objection I have to this idea of Art as an open concept is that subconsciously a piece is judged by certain standards that remain constant throughout changing cultures. A piece is judged according to execution. A badly done work, unless intentional, does not get displayed. Art is always produced by an Artist, someone who has made it their purpose to voice to their imaginations. Why else is it that we say that Gaudi built la Sangria Familia when in reality it was a small army of painters, sculptures, carpenters and stone dressers. It is understood that Gaudi was the Artist because Gaudi was the man with a vision. An Artist seeks to share with the world some truth he or she thinks fundamental. An Artist is someone with a passion to say something, to praise or disparage something. An Artisan is someone who has the skills of an Artist, but not his social burden of ideology. Michelangelo’s passion was to picture man as divine, to show the world that man was something worth looking at. His ideology, humanism, drives his work. The men who worked in his atelier, replicating his work, lacked that driving force and therefore their reproductions, though well-done, are not art. The pre- Raphaelites in 19th century England set up a manifesto of their beliefs and convictions before they painted the pictures now considered masterpieces. For all Art there is an idea that pushes at the Artist for expression.
Which begs the question; is there a purpose for Art? Wittgenstein does not consider that Art is a mirror to society; rather he treats it as a subcategory of culture. However Art is not defined by the society surrounding it but rather Art is a product of the society it is in. The difference is that there is no time limit placed on Art. It survives its own creator, the social culture it was born in. Great Art will always be those images or sounds or writings that throw open a window into the heart and soul of their time and culture as well as transcend them. Art performs a very useful function in society. In a sense it is its conscience. It brings people to an AHA-erlebenis by contemplating the purpose behind the work. Take for example the Mona Lisa and a piece exhibited at the Musee d’Art Moderne in Brussels. One was a flat painting of a woman done in oils. The other was a broken and burnt violin encased in clear plastic resin. As far as the family resemblance Wittgenstein looked for goes, they had nothing in common except that they both hung on a wall. Yet both were well executed. There was skill involved in the crafting of the remnants of the violin as well as knowledge of the techniques needed to encase it in plastic. While the violin is meant to symbolic the silencing of Art by force ( the government) and the Mona Lisa is a painting of a lady, carrying scenes in the background praising the government and the innovations it has agreed to make, they both are offering the viewer a choice, whether to accept their view of life or to reject it. So even though there is much openness left in defining Art, it is not radically open or completely indefinable and even in it’s changing there are things that remain constant.
There must be some clear, consistent definition of Art, otherwise a painting is no more Art than the frame it is in, and the frame no different from the wall it hangs on. Since we do acknowledge there is such a thing as Art, we also must acknowledge that there are certain criteria a piece must adhere to in order to be labeled as Art and distinguishable from non-Art (the painting from the wall). Rather than agree with Dickie that those criteria depend solely on the cultural context, I suggest that they are as follows: 1) a specific, informed commitment to a particular school of thought
2) The ability or talent to reproduce the thoughts and feelings provoked by it.
These need not be negative or revolutionary works, they could simply be the beauty of a landscape captured by the English painters. Neither does the statement need to be objectively true. It suffices that it confronts the viewer with an ideology. There for Goya with his sketches of poverty was an Artist while Kinkade was not. Art fashions a world which is other than the material world we live in. When placed side by side, it provokes a response. It can provoke change, as Marcus wanted and as Rainer Maria Rilke experienced after viewing a statue of Apollo in a museum. It has to have the intent to move the audience and the success of doing so. As in all things the mirror reflecting reality can be cracked and twisted. By defining Art as fluid and a radically open concept Dickie and Weitz are looking only at the trappings of the thing. Their definition of Art is like defining Winston Churchill by describing him: he was a fat man in a bowler hat who liked to smoke cigars. That may describe the shell of the man, but it goes nowhere near laying the finger on the brilliant political mind Sir Churchill really was.

2006-06-29T11:34:00.001-07:00

These are some sketches I did for school.

2006-06-28T21:58:00.000-07:00

I feel as alone as a leaf on the glassy surface of the stream
Afloat, no power to direct, or allay the fear of nameless deepest depths
or things that lurk within
I have successfully cut all ties from my past all loves I once had all hope have I lost
sit with me or since that cannot be sit by my and watch my misery,
puddle on puddles I seem to build gingerbread houses and match stick men too
oh, none of it real or lasting or fair, or something I wish to be remembered for
remembered, if only I could have that hope.
That I to would one day fade, brown tinted behind the glass and smudged by awe struck pudgy fingers as they learn my litany by rote,
to die is nothing, but I wish it were, I wish I could feel terror not hope.

What is this screaming harpy in my brain?
She is solitude, the one I cannot ever forsake,
she is my single fate my bitter flame.
I find myself floating in nothingness.
I know the answer,
to once again stretch out my arms in surrender,
to take a step and be met there.
But I am tired of stepping out.
I dig my trench here.
I will not hang my dirty laundry out of every window to dry.
What sap, what rot, rot to the bone,
flesh infested because pride will not ask for help.
I will live, and cry and die alone.
Why? Because men are not what they should be
and I too star struck to see

2006-05-22T19:06:00.000-07:00

Media as the Lorelei

The doer of good

2006-05-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

The original story "the doer of good" by oscar wilde (http://www.planetmonk.com/wilde/poemsinprose/doer.html)
was excellent but only told half the story. I decided to write the other half to make up for it.

It was night time and He was alone. And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards the city. And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the feet of joy, and the laugh of the mouth of seeming-gladness and the loud noise of many lutes. And He knocked at the gate and certain of the gate-keepers opened to him. And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of marble before it. The pillars were hung with garlands, and within and without there were torches of cedar. And He entered the house.
And when He had passed through the hall of Chalcedony and the hall of jasper, and reached the long hall of feasting, He saw lying on the couch of sea purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and whose lips were red with wine.
And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to him, “Why do you live like this?” And the dolor in his eyes dimmed the beauty of the palace.
And the young man turned around and seemed to recognized Him, and made answer and said, “But I was a leper once, and you healed me. How else should I live?”
He spake not a word but sought out a chalice of deep red wine. And He dipped His finger in it and did make with it on the ivory table some short marks, and, lo, the wine did turn to blood and root itself firmly in the table, so that no man could remove the writing.
And the young man did rise with composure to read what He had written. And he did blanche and tremble forth with at what they signified.
And He passed out of the house and went again into the street.
And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were painted and whose feet were shod with pearls. And behind her came, slowly as a hunter, a young man who wore a cloak of two colors. Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol, and the eyes of the young man were bright with lust. And He followed them swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and said to him, “Why do you look at this woman and in such wise?” And the young man turned around and seemed to recognize Him and said, “But I was blind once, and you gave me sight. At what else should I look?”
And He touched the cloak of two colors and, lo, it came undone at the seams and fell in two ribbons at his feet. “Verily unto you I say, dawn of sun over night I have given you without seeking your gainsay, but this my next gift is for you to keep an you chose. Be no more known by your cloak of duplicity and be whole.”
And he leaned and whispered in the ear of the young man such words of wisdom as did make his eyes start and fall in thought.
And the young man remained in pensive stance as He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and said to her, “Is there no other way in which to walk save the way of sin?”
And the woman turned and seemed to recognize Him, and laughed and said, “But you forgave me my sins, and the way is a pleasant way.”
And He knelt at her feet and grasped a pebble in His hand and showed it to her and wiped it clean and threw it into the mud anew. Then He took her hand and touched the pearls and spoke, “The pearls I meant for you were not of this ilk, indeed this would not bear up in the company of even the least of them but would have been placed in the street to keep proper company.” And He bent her head and bestowed on her forehead the blessing-kiss
And he passed out of the city.
And when He passed out of the city He saw seated by the roadside a young man who was weeping.
And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and said to him, “Why are you weeping?”
And the young man looked up and recognized Him and made answer, “But I was dead once and you raised me from the dead, what else should I do but weep?”And He responded “Why what else but dance, laugh, sing, shout, for you and I alone among men have seen past the dark shroud and know the bright beauty of the unknown! Speak of what you have seen to no man, for it is useless. But live the life you glimpsed past the great divide and draw the denizens of this world into the next, for we must strive to live in both worlds.”
And the young man made answer, “But I weep because I am mortal and will forget, The sins of my past will regrow their old luster as this new world becomes a distant memory than present fact to me.”
And He threw his arms around him in comradely fashion and spake unto him, “But I will visit you often as I do now. I have many babes here in this valley that need my teaching. You will not always recognize me, but I am there al the same. What say you? Thrice have I met with disappointment and vanquished it by planting the seed whose flower blooms eternally. But they have need of the water of your testimony. Will you weep and despair, or will you hope?”
And the young man threw of his cloak of mourning and sped towards the town with the light of day on his countenance.

And it happened that he met one dressed in simple garments sitting at the gates of a large house. And he heard the sound of joy coming from the house and he saw dancing mirth in the eyes of the young man. And as he walked by the young man called out to him and beseeched him to stay and take council with him.
And he stayed and they took council together. And the one with red lips spake unto and said, “It has not been many nights since I took up my vigil here. The Lord of this house is expected to return at any time and I do not wish to be taken by surprise a second time.” And he said unto him, “But surly this merrymaking will not be to your masters’ taste, if he returns and finds the household in the throes of celebration and not in preparation?”
“Verily, I say, he has already come and done so. Much to my shame he appeared but a fortnight ago and found me in the midst of all those luxuries whose innocence is their danger. I recognized Him but knew Him not. And He asked of me wherefore I lived in the manner I did. I made answer and spake that it was because He had healed my of my malady that I now partook of all that was pleasurable in the world. He spake not a word to me but drew on the table these words in His very blood: Now that you know the truth, your sins be upon your own head. Friend, I trembled at the sight of my doom, and hastened to make amends. I have been sitting here ever since, hoping I might catch Him as He passed by. But find Him I could not, and the food and wine I had prepared as my atonement feast were going to waste. And it happened that a beggar, being exceedingly exposed to the elements, passes by in such extremities of cold that I hastened him to my table and had him fed. And then I reasoned it would be for naught to turn away any who seemed so distressed when I had plenty, and that tainted eternally by the memory of the sins I committed with it. And so the beggars and the destitute and the paupers have been eating and drinking my food and wine, and they have been dancing my dances, to the accompaniment of my musicians, for I have had enough of such things for now”
And the weeper asked him fervently if he too could enter in and see such a thing.
And the one with vine leaves in his hair answered him that he could.
The doors were held open for him and he entered into the courtyard of fountains and his eyes fell on a beggar dressed in tattered robes. And the beggar raised his head and, lo, it was He and his eyes sparkled with merriment.
And the weeper left the house of rejoicing and made his way into town.
And it came to pass that he was assailed in the streets by ruffians and a stranger rescued him from his plight. And the stranger wore a green coat all of one color.
And the stranger would accept nothing for his deed and laughed that he had all he needed, speaking “I have seen the dawning of the day to the soul as surly as I have seen the dawning of the sun. And what could you possibly offer that can compare?” And the weeper looked behind the stranger and saw Him smiling as he walked past.
And he left the stranger in the street and ran to follow Him.
And the weeper continued though the town and saw coming toward him a woman of surpassing beauty, her face shone liken to that of a pagan idol and the beauty of her was terrible to see. And the weeper looked on her and was distressed, for her eyes were milky stone and no life was in them. He looked and trembled for here was one who had seen and heard and understood and yet chose a path of a different nature to walk. Truly, the weeper though unto himself, here is reason for weeping indeed. And he walked past her with a sadness in his heart.

An excerpt on eating out

2006-05-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

Monday

He walks into his diner. His because it owns him... It is where he has deposited all of his memories. Hidden in the warped windows and bent cutlery, stashed away in the regulars who listen to him when it’s his turn to share.. He confides in them, tells them of meeting Julie, of wooing Julie, marrying Julie. Now he comes to finish the story. Its 8.00 o’clock in the morning and business is slow, the silence emphasized, not softened, by the soft tinklings and gurglings coming from the kitchen behind him. He’ll have time to think and plan. He sits down, third booth on the left. His favorite spot, his trusted friend, a loyal companion, with him through good times and bad. He orders a cup of coffee, an omelet, no onions, no peppers, but plenty of seasoning. He pulls out the newspaper folded in his coat pocket. Routine stuff, really, he’s been doing it for ages, but today it feels alien, wrong, as if he has stolen another man’s ration of hours. The morning sunlight, too bright and too cheerful. The coffee tasted too much like coffee, not enough like comfort.
“Today is a first”, he thinks. “A miserable first in a long list of miserables” The next first would be walking out of here, out of this diner, this bomb shelter, and walk past the little hardware store, to survey the damage done by the bomb that was Julie. Walk past it, not to it, not kiss Julie goodbye as she went to work. That would be miserable. He sits and talks to his memories, a broken man in a lonely booth.
“Come back, come back to me” he whispers. But he’s not so sure he wants her back now.
The coffee has gone cold, he puts it down. The diner is deserted. His mind is deserted. He wishes he had kept more things to remember. Written things down. Now he tries to remember who he is and what he does and why he does it and Julie has taken it all with her. The memories are burned out, the section of his mind cleared by a burning brand. All he can find is scorched space and a name emblazed over and over again, in endless repetition. What had she done to him? She had loved him and then stopped. That was all. That was everything and he can’t get past it. He gives up on the coffee and reaches for the omelet. No use, it’s too much like all the mornings they used to spend together. He gives up and reaches for his wallet. Which he left in the car. His head needs examining. A tired man rises from his booth.
“Burt, I’m going to get my wallet from the car.” He raises his voice but not enough to be sure he has been heard. “Sorry, I can’t seem to keep track of things lately.” Burt nods his head and smiles. He hears the actions if not the words. Burt understands because his Julie left him years ago. He sees Burt’s offered comfort and flinches because it is a blow to his pride. He can’t stand Burt’s attempt at brotherhood. “Be right back” he mumbles and leaves. Another miserable in a long line of miserables. It would be an eternity of dull agony locked in a day. And then another and another. Long years stretched barren before him.

Tuesday
She stands alone at the bus station in a crowd of people. “I am an island in the middle of infinite seas” She thinks. Don’t look; don’t look at me she silently intones to the people milling around her. Walk through me, look past me, I am not here.” Her bloodshot eyes are staring hard at the large broken tile she happens to be standing on. If only, If only I could shrink down into that crack. If only I could make my home in there forever, and say goodbye to this world of cold metal and colder hearts. I could live of off crumbs dropped by birds and unknowing travelers. She smiles to herself, and the red of her lipstick makes her mouth look like her hand had slipped in applying it and sliced her mouth open, exposing the bleeding gums. It veered of to the side. All her makeup seemed to have been applied with a shaky hand. It made her look as if she wasn’t quite there, a ripple in the air, a mirage from another world and if you didn’t stare straight at her all the time she would disappear. Her eyes are live coals burning, burning and she is struggling to free herself from the source of the blaze. A bus rolls in between the yellow markers, she glances up, tightening her grip on the imitation Dooney and Burkes traveling bag she holds prisoner between her shoulder and chest. It is battered and the edges show the plastic through the thin sophistication. “Like my life” She sighs, and exhales hope. The bus opens its doors with a sudden increase in noise.
“Bang”
It startles her and she begins to move, her balloon of warm illusions popped. “This far I get and never farther” Again she finds she cannot make herself take that great step into the unknown. Back to her half life she must go, back to the night and all that it chooses to shelter, the half formed, misshapen people. Insides rotten away. Back to the streets tinted red and the ladies tainted blue. Back, back, back, back, a rhyme begins in her head, rolling the words around and around in her head, until they form a heavy pendulum in her brain, crashing and hurting and mocking as it swings along its cumbersome way. She grabs hold of the pole standing behind the bench, just to keep from falling as she stumbles away from freedom. She knows there is a line as impassable as it is invisible stretched across the pavement between that door and her poor soul. “Why would this time have been any different? Why can I only get this far? Oh someone help me, please, you must reach out to me and save me, pull me out across that line…” Shrugging her shoulders she puts these thoughts forcibly from her. It is not easy. Hope, despair clinging to her still, she starts to walk away, taking short, clipped steps. Her eyes cloud over as her steps become stronger. The burning is driven deeper into the hidden alleyways of her soul. Banked, but smoldering, waiting. Soon her hips begin to swing and her arms relax their iron grip. She is in focus now. In control, saucy and confident. The rhyme in her head has slowed to an almost imperceptible whisper “ coward, coward, coward, coward” She can hear it always, wispy strands floating through mind and soul, reminding her of all those times she could have ended it. She promises it things, extravagant things, if only it would be quiet. Her hand moves from her side, to her bag where she feels the hard outline of a small medicinal bottle through the cloth. See, she intones, see what I keep there always? I will use it one day, the great day, the day I fly away”

A striking woman dressed in short skirt and high heels walks away from the bus stop, cool confidence, she is in control. The same women, suddenly fragile, turns and in all desperation runs to the bus as it rolls away. Stumbling, hurrying the child is revealed. The passengers see her but do not realize the importance of this action. Their eyes slide past her and consigned her to oblivion. The bus driver sees her and stops. She walks in as if propelled by a mighty wind, all stiff and wood like, out of breath and almost out of courage. The doors close behind her with a bang and she grips her bag with both hands, tight.

Wednesday
“Do you know what love is?” Said she, as he walked into the diner. She was sitting in his usual spot by the window, coffee and omelets replaced with tea and buttered bread.

“Err... What?” He said, flustered. He’d never seen this woman before. Must have come in on the bus. He’d watched it pull away as he’d backed his pickup in.

She stopped her private thoughts long enough to look at him, for the first time. He’s local, and confused, but a man and she needs to know. The answer is important. Key-to-the-future important, only she doesn’t know why.
“Well, do you? She said, wiping the crumbs of her meal from her lap. She blinked rapidly, and her head jerks to the side as she speaks.

He’d once come upon a nest of baby birds, they’d bobbed their heads the same way, displaying such vulnerability. He smiled gently, as he had done with the birds, and spoke “sure I do” He says. Somehow he feels the same need to protect this strange woman, unknown to him. Even if it meant lying to her. No... No lie. He does believe in love. He lives in too much pain to deny the existence of love.

Her hand strays from her lap to her eyes, brushing something hard and sparkling from them. She purses her lips and glances up.

Her face looks hazy, he thinks. He sees the makeup that has become undone. He’s sure she has heard him. “Look” He starts; his hand is on the back of the seat, fidgeting nervously with a long tear in the black plastic covering. He smiles as he remembers how it got there… Julie, slipping, two years ago and when he was still … He smiles at the memory.

She sees him hesitate and smile, and connects the two in the only way she knows how “Oh, no...” Her heart stops for the longest of seconds. Not another one, not another out to prey on her mind, feed on her body. Not another one to use her just to scratch an itch. Not now. Not again. Not ever! She feels the tears rise out of the emptiness gaping inside her. In her mind she is holding on to the edge of sanity, teetering on the brink. A whisper, the faintest breath of air would push her over the edge. Her hand falls to her bag and the outline of a small bottle. End it. End it now. There is nothing new, you fool. All is the same. All is pain, just escape, make it final, do it NOW!

He must have said the wrong thing. He used to be so much better at this. Julie had paralyzed him. Julie’s leaving had finished him. He sends out a yearning call to her, wherever she was. “Julie, Julie come back. You’ve taken too much of me with you” He tries to make it up. He could see she was about to cry . The darkness of the smeared mascara made her eyes look big and sad. With a start he realizes she is frightened. Funny. She’d seemed so confident when she’d spoken first. He notices how her bare shoulders were hunched together and her hands had begun to fly up and down her pale arms. Or maybe she was just cold? Suddenly he starts. An epiphany. . The clothing, the mask of makeup, the question. It makes sense to him now, as it should have as soon as he walked through the door. If she hadn’t startled him by being in Julie’s usual chair, he would have figured it out. He’d done it again, made a fool out of himself. She didn’t want his help…she wanted his business, didn’t she? Isn’t this what they are supposed to look at? HE didn’t know. Julie had always mocked his naiveté. He feels embarrassed, tongue-tied. But she’s staring at him now. What to do? What to do? He reaches for his coat pocket and removes his wallet.

She sees the wallet in his hand. Her eyes deaden, losing the sparkle the tears had lent them. Her face, deathlike, freezes. All except two small teardrops that slice like knives down her cheeks. Would she never escape? Never be seen as anything else? Her resolution was slipping away. Her plan, like her makeup was starting to run together. Dripping down her mind and running out her eyes. She remembers the first liar she knew, how he had promised and lied and quoted and cajoled and lied, lied, lied, lied… She could not hold back her tears. They course down her cheeks, faster and faster, years of pain all in a puddle on the table.

He frowns as he sees her cry, black streaks running down her cheeks. If only he knew why she was crying, was she really what she seemed? What if she wasn’t? A moment of doubt assailed him. The picture matched, but the voice, so hopeless and forlorn! And her hands, clutching her battered purse, as if in hope of salvation. She’s looking around; maybe she really does need help. Oh well. He might as well make a complete fool out of himself. Forcing his nervous hand to move steady, he places the wallet in his back pocket, and takes of his coat, shacking it out as he does. It was large and utilitarian, patched in one or two areas, his trusted work coat, old, loved and not very clean. Hesitantly, he offers it to the quivering girl.
“You look cold” Is all he gives her with it. He sees her struggle, hears the voice so desperate and small, so fading as if her own true self was speaking through the layers of hardened cynicism: “It would have been kinder if you had just offered to pay me”

It would have been, it truly would have. It would have given her the change to make it feel as if it were just another business transaction, supply on demand. She wouldn’t be tricked again; she wouldn’t believe again that kindness needs no other motive. “ It would have been fair” No illusions, what you see is what you get, don’t trick me, don’t treat me like I’m normal, I’m not, I’m a.. What am I? A drug? An addiction? Is there really a me, or just my body, just a product to use and discard? Suddenly she wants very much to be overweight, to be plain, and to be prudish, anything but what she is.
She is weeping freely now and her face is a mesh of prison bars, keeping him out behind the waterfall. She keeps the coat. Resolutions flown, reality accepted. There is no second chance. Just her body and the pain in her heart. And the bottle. The bottle will always be there, waiting.
Then she realizes that he hasn’t made a move since she spoke. How long had she been crying? She shivers because she is cold, cold as the wind in winter and chilled both inside and out. She shrugs the coat on. At least she can warm some of her.

And he is standing there, Just looking at her. For the first time since he walked through the door he notices her bruises, the paleness behind the makeup, He sees the artificial structure of her clothes, giving her body a shape that was not naturally hers and therefore unpleasant. He pictures her briefly in jeans and a tee, compares her to Julie, and is surprised to find he made her quite attractive, in her suburban makeover. He smiles, has a plan.
“ Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on, but I do know that you need help. I’ve been there, well, not there really, but…” he stalled but she had tilted her head to the side, a tired and confused bird. A bird, now there was a good description. Small, fragile, elusive.
He took a deep breath. “Well, I just think that this town could use a fresh face, and it’s as good a place to start over as any…” He’s babbling, watching his plan become garbled as they pass from the realm of thought into the world of too many words. He stops and looks at her, watching for the effect of his words. Did she understand that he was trying to throw out a rope to her? “What are you good at? I mean as a marketable skill?”

She laughs, a harsh cold knife thrust, and waves a hand over the painstakingly crafted artwork that was her body.
”You’re looking at the only marketable skill I’ve got”. There. She’d said it. Killed it. This crazy hope she had let build up for to long. She hears the siren song of hope he is holding out, but it is too late. She is too tired to find new things to believe in.

It makes him pause for a second, this open despairing confession. It wasn’t her words, but her tone, her laugh, shutting out all she was hearing. Her own words were the gates slammed down on the phoenix rising from the ashes deep in her heart. He plunks down opposite her, forgetting that he had vowed never to sit in that seat again. He looks her straight in the eye and laughs right back. An eager laugh that was the morning to her night.
“Well, we all have to learn somewhere, right? Pete Selders is looking for a cashier, he owns a tiny little shop, sells mostly nuts and bolts, just him and his kids there now since Pam died. I could put in a good word for ya. No questions about past jobs, I promise!” He stares straight at her, his chin in his hand and dares her to swat that away, to resist the urge to grab on with all her might and save herself. He feels almost jubilant, confidant for the first time in months. He watches the battlefield with interest. He is helping someone else and is delighted to find that it is himself being healed.

She’s drowning. No, surging up through and over and out of this suffocating river. The struggle is hard, she keeps fighting the undertow. But the movement is upwards, and the fight is exhilarating. It is life! She breaks the surface and laughs, in surprise at this hope that burbles and gurgles in her, so strong, as if each temporary death has doubled its strength. She is reaching, reaching…
She can feel air again through her hair, the brassy kiss of freedom and turning to the east she sees the sun resplendent over the gloom that had been her life. She looks up and laughs again,
The whisper floating to the table from her lips has all the triumph of the trumpet blast over battle victorious
‘Sure, I’d appreciate it”
And her hands relax their grip on her bag and all it contains. Freedom.

They meet, occasionally. He goes in to buy some supplies and he makes sure she’s o.k. She goes into the diner once or twice a month to check up on him. She’s married now, has a few kids. Her husband doesn’t know what she had to do to survive before the cashiering job, and she’ll never tell him. In that way she’s not entirely free, but she’s satisfied. She threw away the medicinal bottle.
He has a job, he has friends, he has her. He gets invited to Sunday diners at her house every two months or so.
They never talk about that day he met her or the changes it brought about in their lives. They don’t need to. Just knowing the other knows is enough. They just sit in the window booth and talk and laugh. She sits in Julie’s place all the time now, and he doesn’t mind. Because he’s making new memories now, good ones. And, when she finally had a son, she named it after him.

the start.

2006-05-09T13:04:00.000-07:00

I realized that I've been out of touch with so many people for so long that I don't even know where to start in catching up. So I thought I would try to set up a site where friends and family can catch up and read the latest as it happens. Mostly then I won't be in the akward position of forgetting to tell important people about important events.