In these days of packing, I feel like I've not much to say. I fear that if I attempt to tell you much about life this week, my words will pretty much consist of packing, packing some more, and ... yep, still packing. Why is it that things multiply when you pack? What's up with that? I think it must have something to do with Einstein, and time, and relativity maybe.
So, at the risk of boring you by rambling on about moving, I've made a list. Lists are always good, right?
Seven Items Within Eyesight As I Type:
1) Top Paw Oatmeal Pet Shampoo, on the floor, next to a box of thank you notes.
2) A large box of stretchy kitchen trash bags, perfect for sweaters and blankets and other squishable items.
3) Bags of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters ... sorted and counted when I got tired of packing.
4) The Paper Pile (does everyone have these, or is it just me?)
5) A bottle of Sarah Jessica Parker's "Lovely" perfume, given to me last year on my birthday after my sister advised me -- that when it comes to birthdays -- to always ask for something nice that I wouldn't normally buy for myself.
6) a bag of cashews, cranberries, and almonds ... my attempt at healthy snacking.
7) A cowboy barbie sewed onto a bandana. It's for this upcoming Saturday. It's gonna be good times. I'll take pictures and post them on Sunday, and then #7 will make sense. Promise.
Night all!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
A Moment From My Day
I got totally stopped in my tracks today ... by the color green. It was a leaf. A green leaf. It's funny how the most unexpected things can catch you sometimes. For me, today, it was a leaf. I was out on my morning walk, and my head was in a million places ... which happens when you move. Or, I should say, when I move. When I move, I usually find that I'm not totally present where I am, and yet, I'm also not present where I'm going to end up. And my head seems to compensate for that lack of presence by being in all the space in between the two.
So, there I am, walking, with my all over the place head, and I notice a leaf as I walk past. And there was just something about the green of it ... it was this very alive, vibrant green, and it was just THERE, BEING. And it literally stopped me, that color, and I just stood there for a minute, looking at it.
I've been thinking a lot lately about BEING versus DOING. I got to thinking about it during that last week of grad school (maybe some of that homework paid off after all!) as I was contemplating God as BEING, versus God as DOING. And, in my reading, I came across this fabulous passage by a Brazilian theologian named Leonardo Boff. I've been chewing on his words ever since, and so I think I'm gonna jot them down here ... you know, in case you'd like to chew with me:
Boff writes, "...So God is best represented as a living, an action eternally "producing" the divine reality, making it manifest, with no need to reply to the question: why live? God lives to live, in absolute spontaneity, in the self-evident meaning of light that shines to shine, clear spring water that gushes to gush, the bird that sings to sing..."
I've read that passage over and over again and am finding so much freedom in it. For much of my 20s, I struggled to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life. And I still get bogged down, sometimes, with all the decisions that surround planning and general life organization/strategy. But, then I read passages like this, and it wakes me up again. Could it be that I -- like my Creator -- live to live? Is it enough simply that I sing to sing, and dance to dance, and write to write, and love to love, and cook to cook, and listen to listen, and breathe to breathe? Could it be that God smiles at our BEING, just like He IS? There's something about this idea that feels very "whole" to me.
I'm not dissing DOING. I know there's a place in life for DOING. If none of us DID, well, there wouldn't be much. DOING is important. I have to move for example. I have to. Or perfect strangers will invade my bedroom and carry me out. And so, I have to make plans, look for new housing, search for jobs. These are all valid and important DOINGS.
But today, as I was walking along, planning and thinking and just generally mulling lots of ideas over and over in my head, green reached out and grabbed me, and anchored me back into the here and now. I stopped and stared at that leaf, at its intricate system of veins, at its beautiful bold color. And I was still for a few moments. And my soul took a good, long breath.
I'm coming to believe that life is this beautiful, endless cycle of doing and being. And when we fall too far to one side of that equation, sometimes green will reach out and grab us.
So, there I am, walking, with my all over the place head, and I notice a leaf as I walk past. And there was just something about the green of it ... it was this very alive, vibrant green, and it was just THERE, BEING. And it literally stopped me, that color, and I just stood there for a minute, looking at it.
I've been thinking a lot lately about BEING versus DOING. I got to thinking about it during that last week of grad school (maybe some of that homework paid off after all!) as I was contemplating God as BEING, versus God as DOING. And, in my reading, I came across this fabulous passage by a Brazilian theologian named Leonardo Boff. I've been chewing on his words ever since, and so I think I'm gonna jot them down here ... you know, in case you'd like to chew with me:
Boff writes, "...So God is best represented as a living, an action eternally "producing" the divine reality, making it manifest, with no need to reply to the question: why live? God lives to live, in absolute spontaneity, in the self-evident meaning of light that shines to shine, clear spring water that gushes to gush, the bird that sings to sing..."
I've read that passage over and over again and am finding so much freedom in it. For much of my 20s, I struggled to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life. And I still get bogged down, sometimes, with all the decisions that surround planning and general life organization/strategy. But, then I read passages like this, and it wakes me up again. Could it be that I -- like my Creator -- live to live? Is it enough simply that I sing to sing, and dance to dance, and write to write, and love to love, and cook to cook, and listen to listen, and breathe to breathe? Could it be that God smiles at our BEING, just like He IS? There's something about this idea that feels very "whole" to me.
I'm not dissing DOING. I know there's a place in life for DOING. If none of us DID, well, there wouldn't be much. DOING is important. I have to move for example. I have to. Or perfect strangers will invade my bedroom and carry me out. And so, I have to make plans, look for new housing, search for jobs. These are all valid and important DOINGS.
But today, as I was walking along, planning and thinking and just generally mulling lots of ideas over and over in my head, green reached out and grabbed me, and anchored me back into the here and now. I stopped and stared at that leaf, at its intricate system of veins, at its beautiful bold color. And I was still for a few moments. And my soul took a good, long breath.
I'm coming to believe that life is this beautiful, endless cycle of doing and being. And when we fall too far to one side of that equation, sometimes green will reach out and grab us.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
And Did I Mention That My Neighbor Found A Bag Of My Pants On The Street?
It was moving day today in my household, which means a few things.
One, it means that I can't wait for a shower. It'll be a lingering shower tonight as I try to soak the heat up into my tired muscles and get my fingernails clean again (TMI?), as well as getting my feet back to their original, much pinker, color. It will be glorious.
Two, it means that we are now drinking out of plastic cups and that I'll be sleeping on a mattress on my floor for the next week. It also means that napkins will once again become a commodity, that I'll constantly be searching for something, and that when I go to cook that frozen pizza I bought (my attempt at "thinking ahead,") I'll realize the cookie sheets are packed. I'll improvise. There will be lots of improvisation in this here household until we finish moving everything and shut the door for good next weekend.
Three, it means that very soon, the three amigos (i.e. my roomies and I) will be splitting up, which is a sad thing. I know that musician Jackson Brown sings about all good things coming to an end. And I know that every beginning means another beginning's end. I know that, as Tom Petty puts it, "It's time to move on, it's time to get goin', what lies ahead I have no way of knowin', but under my feet the grass is growin'; it's time to move on; it's time to get goin'." I know all that song-lyric-ey philosophizing crap about change. But, still, it's sad. And I don't really mean that it's crap. I know that all of that stuff is actually very true. And I honestly have a deep peace that it's time for each of us to go our new ways ... two of us, to new jobs, and one, to school. It's just that I really love my roomies. We laugh together every day, see each other at our worst, get in the occasional "debate" (i.e. argument) about this or that, and then we always work it out. And did I mention that we laugh together everyday? And that we genuinely like each other? Last night, when we should have been packing, we took a break and sat together and belly-laughed until we were all laughed out ... about the most ridiculous things no less. Literally, we exHAUSTed ourselves laughing. And then we had no energy to pack anymore, because we were too tired from all the laughing. But it was worth it.
I think that's got to be at least one reliable mark of a good friend ... the ability to amuse one another and create fun no matter where you are or what you're doing. So, in their honor, a compilation of pictures taken recently at IHOP, at 2:30 am. You know you're good friends when you can be genuinely entertained at taking posed pictures at IHOP.
The Cast of Characters:
The Sleeper:
She and I have been friends for 10 years and share the same affinity for sleeping. So, it's only fitting that that's the position she chose for her pic.
The Jon Elway:
Not really sure that this picture describes much of anything actually true about him (as he's not even all that in to sports), other than the fact that he is a totally hilarious person who thinks nothing of striking a pose in IHOP when we request it. He and The Sleeper have been best friends since 7th grade, and I'm so thankful I got to know him through her.
The Butter Pecan:
Yep, that's me. And I DID just name myself after my favorite flavor of pancake syrup. You guys, if you have not tried the butter pecan syrup at IHOP, GO THERE. RIGHT NOW. Drop what you're doing. Quit reading this. And go eat pancakes with butter pecan syrup. It's not on the table; you have to ask for it, which really makes you feel all in the know, btw. But, seriously, it is deLICious. And, last time we were there, when I told the server how much I love it, he gave me a little container full to take home. That's my giddy butter pecan face.
Anyway, so we're moving, which means lots of things.
But for now, what it means is that I'm off to shower, and then, to bed.
One, it means that I can't wait for a shower. It'll be a lingering shower tonight as I try to soak the heat up into my tired muscles and get my fingernails clean again (TMI?), as well as getting my feet back to their original, much pinker, color. It will be glorious.
Two, it means that we are now drinking out of plastic cups and that I'll be sleeping on a mattress on my floor for the next week. It also means that napkins will once again become a commodity, that I'll constantly be searching for something, and that when I go to cook that frozen pizza I bought (my attempt at "thinking ahead,") I'll realize the cookie sheets are packed. I'll improvise. There will be lots of improvisation in this here household until we finish moving everything and shut the door for good next weekend.
Three, it means that very soon, the three amigos (i.e. my roomies and I) will be splitting up, which is a sad thing. I know that musician Jackson Brown sings about all good things coming to an end. And I know that every beginning means another beginning's end. I know that, as Tom Petty puts it, "It's time to move on, it's time to get goin', what lies ahead I have no way of knowin', but under my feet the grass is growin'; it's time to move on; it's time to get goin'." I know all that song-lyric-ey philosophizing crap about change. But, still, it's sad. And I don't really mean that it's crap. I know that all of that stuff is actually very true. And I honestly have a deep peace that it's time for each of us to go our new ways ... two of us, to new jobs, and one, to school. It's just that I really love my roomies. We laugh together every day, see each other at our worst, get in the occasional "debate" (i.e. argument) about this or that, and then we always work it out. And did I mention that we laugh together everyday? And that we genuinely like each other? Last night, when we should have been packing, we took a break and sat together and belly-laughed until we were all laughed out ... about the most ridiculous things no less. Literally, we exHAUSTed ourselves laughing. And then we had no energy to pack anymore, because we were too tired from all the laughing. But it was worth it.
I think that's got to be at least one reliable mark of a good friend ... the ability to amuse one another and create fun no matter where you are or what you're doing. So, in their honor, a compilation of pictures taken recently at IHOP, at 2:30 am. You know you're good friends when you can be genuinely entertained at taking posed pictures at IHOP.
The Cast of Characters:
The Sleeper:
She and I have been friends for 10 years and share the same affinity for sleeping. So, it's only fitting that that's the position she chose for her pic.
The Jon Elway:
Not really sure that this picture describes much of anything actually true about him (as he's not even all that in to sports), other than the fact that he is a totally hilarious person who thinks nothing of striking a pose in IHOP when we request it. He and The Sleeper have been best friends since 7th grade, and I'm so thankful I got to know him through her.
The Butter Pecan:
Yep, that's me. And I DID just name myself after my favorite flavor of pancake syrup. You guys, if you have not tried the butter pecan syrup at IHOP, GO THERE. RIGHT NOW. Drop what you're doing. Quit reading this. And go eat pancakes with butter pecan syrup. It's not on the table; you have to ask for it, which really makes you feel all in the know, btw. But, seriously, it is deLICious. And, last time we were there, when I told the server how much I love it, he gave me a little container full to take home. That's my giddy butter pecan face.
Anyway, so we're moving, which means lots of things.
But for now, what it means is that I'm off to shower, and then, to bed.
Friday, September 25, 2009
My Day In A Nutshell
It's late Thursday night. I should be sleeping; and I will be, in just a few minutes.
But before I do, here's the nutshell:
Crickets chirping,
and freeway noise in the distance
through open windows,
windows opened in a desperate attempt
to flee the heat of autumn in Los Angeles.
All is quiet yet again,
another day done.
Another day given.
Another day spent cultivating life and relationships,
laughing and apologizing,
tasting tangy on my tongue,
salsa and chips
and drinking lots of water,
and remembering moments
and smiling to myself,
packing boxes and sorting piles,
and doing all the mundane things that are no less sacred
for their ordinary quality,
washing dishes,
watering plants,
returning phone calls,
and laundry,
there's always laundry....
and then prayer,
whispers from my soul to Yours--
a getting outside of myself again
--this daily striving
to remember that what is most important
is not what is seen
and to lean into Your love....
then toothbrushing,
and hairbrushing,
and blog-writing.
And bed.
Oh sweet bed.
Ordinay day,
Ordinary life (which, by the way, there is no such thing-life IS extraordinary),
I love you.
But before I do, here's the nutshell:
Crickets chirping,
and freeway noise in the distance
through open windows,
windows opened in a desperate attempt
to flee the heat of autumn in Los Angeles.
All is quiet yet again,
another day done.
Another day given.
Another day spent cultivating life and relationships,
laughing and apologizing,
tasting tangy on my tongue,
salsa and chips
and drinking lots of water,
and remembering moments
and smiling to myself,
packing boxes and sorting piles,
and doing all the mundane things that are no less sacred
for their ordinary quality,
washing dishes,
watering plants,
returning phone calls,
and laundry,
there's always laundry....
and then prayer,
whispers from my soul to Yours--
a getting outside of myself again
--this daily striving
to remember that what is most important
is not what is seen
and to lean into Your love....
then toothbrushing,
and hairbrushing,
and blog-writing.
And bed.
Oh sweet bed.
Ordinay day,
Ordinary life (which, by the way, there is no such thing-life IS extraordinary),
I love you.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
And, I Have Another One Of Him In A Black Spanish Mantilla
Hi friends,
So, I took a few days off from typing very much at all ... for obvious reasons. I just couldn't get myself to open up that keyboard. I counted up the amount of pages I typed last week during the one-last-push-grad-school-frenzie ... 62. Yowza. That's a lot of pages. No wonder I got tired. SO. GLAD. TO. BE. DONE. ... only it hasn't totally kicked in yet, because, well, one of the things I found out last week was that the house I'm living in has sold, and I have approximately 10 days to be out. Another yowza.
But, God provides, and I've already got a storage unit and a VERY kind friend who's welcoming sweet Charlie and I into their home for a few weeks so that I can get living details figured out without the pressures of homelessness :) looming. I wouldn't really go homeless, just joking. I'm really, really blessed, and have got people in my life that would never let me go homeless.
So, as I'm typing, I'm realizing I haven't got too much to say. Well, that's not entirely true, actually; I have lots swirling around in me, just no thoughts that are ready to be born into words yet. After last week, and all of its too-fullness, I guess I'm just a bit quiet. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, before I go, I'll leave you with this photo. Because how can a photo like this NOT make anyone's day that much better?! It's the product of massive bouts of cleaning, plus the need my soul has these days for a good dose of silliness. You know how, when you clean and sort before a move, you find all that stuff you forgot you had? You know ... that stuff in those drawers you never opened because they had THAT stuff in it? I'm kinda famous for wearing whatever I'm cleaning. I can't help it; it's the dress up girl in me. I sort, clean, wear ... Poor Charlie, now he's getting the product of my sorting:
Ole!
So, I took a few days off from typing very much at all ... for obvious reasons. I just couldn't get myself to open up that keyboard. I counted up the amount of pages I typed last week during the one-last-push-grad-school-frenzie ... 62. Yowza. That's a lot of pages. No wonder I got tired. SO. GLAD. TO. BE. DONE. ... only it hasn't totally kicked in yet, because, well, one of the things I found out last week was that the house I'm living in has sold, and I have approximately 10 days to be out. Another yowza.
But, God provides, and I've already got a storage unit and a VERY kind friend who's welcoming sweet Charlie and I into their home for a few weeks so that I can get living details figured out without the pressures of homelessness :) looming. I wouldn't really go homeless, just joking. I'm really, really blessed, and have got people in my life that would never let me go homeless.
So, as I'm typing, I'm realizing I haven't got too much to say. Well, that's not entirely true, actually; I have lots swirling around in me, just no thoughts that are ready to be born into words yet. After last week, and all of its too-fullness, I guess I'm just a bit quiet. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, before I go, I'll leave you with this photo. Because how can a photo like this NOT make anyone's day that much better?! It's the product of massive bouts of cleaning, plus the need my soul has these days for a good dose of silliness. You know how, when you clean and sort before a move, you find all that stuff you forgot you had? You know ... that stuff in those drawers you never opened because they had THAT stuff in it? I'm kinda famous for wearing whatever I'm cleaning. I can't help it; it's the dress up girl in me. I sort, clean, wear ... Poor Charlie, now he's getting the product of my sorting:
Ole!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday's Final Foto
Well friends, I'm happy (even if a bit bedraggled) to report that I am done, done, done.
I'm a little in shock, actually ... have been working so long toward this end. And here it is.
I officially have my Master's degree.
Wow.
...
...
...
that was me taking a few deep breaths.
I've got more stuff coming round the bend ... news of both the good and bad variety to process, a cracked car windshield to have replaced, a trip to the DMV, jobs to search for, living situations to figure out, you know, LIFE ... all that stuff that I said, "When I finish with classes, I'll deal with that." But I'm not gonna open that closet just yet. I'll open it tomorrow.
Tonight, I'm gonna celebrate in a way that is near and dear to my heart.
Tonight, I'm gonna partake of as much of this as I want:
I'm a little in shock, actually ... have been working so long toward this end. And here it is.
I officially have my Master's degree.
Wow.
...
...
...
that was me taking a few deep breaths.
I've got more stuff coming round the bend ... news of both the good and bad variety to process, a cracked car windshield to have replaced, a trip to the DMV, jobs to search for, living situations to figure out, you know, LIFE ... all that stuff that I said, "When I finish with classes, I'll deal with that." But I'm not gonna open that closet just yet. I'll open it tomorrow.
Tonight, I'm gonna celebrate in a way that is near and dear to my heart.
Tonight, I'm gonna partake of as much of this as I want:
Are you tired of photobooth yet?
The view this morning ... pretty much the same as yesterday, only now I've got different books, and I've moved to the kitchen.
My fingers are clickety-clickety-clacking away ... type type type ... but I'm feeling a renewed vigor for finishing, as I realize that this is my LAST day as a grad school student!! (unless I get all whacky and go back again later ;)
I've got A LOT to accomplish in the next 9 hours ... only by His grace and lots of stamina! Woohoo ... finish line's in sight!
My fingers are clickety-clickety-clacking away ... type type type ... but I'm feeling a renewed vigor for finishing, as I realize that this is my LAST day as a grad school student!! (unless I get all whacky and go back again later ;)
I've got A LOT to accomplish in the next 9 hours ... only by His grace and lots of stamina! Woohoo ... finish line's in sight!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
This sitting in front of the computer all day thing is really helping with my blogging consistency
Hi friends! How's it hanging? As for me, I'm hanging in.
Just a little snippet, before I get back to work....
Here's what I wanna be doing:
And here's what I'm gonna be doing:
Don't I look happy??
Only 22.5 more hours. Getting excited!!! :)
Just a little snippet, before I get back to work....
Here's what I wanna be doing:
And here's what I'm gonna be doing:
Don't I look happy??
Only 22.5 more hours. Getting excited!!! :)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Like I Said, That's Life....
So, you know how yesterday, I was talking about the joys of my friends? And about beauty? And yes, sadness too? Well, today, unfortunately, there's been more sadness than joy, or beauty. And I'm OK, because I know that that's all a part of life. And Hope has lodged itself inextricably in my soul. But, that being said, I found out two pieces of really really difficult news today that affect people I'm closest to. And it's stuff I can't do anything about, except pray, which I've been doing and will continue to do. But, still, today has been too heavy ... like I've got a bear on my back, and I don't really have the strength to shake him off. And then there's the school work, which is all due in about 40 hours. And it's more urgent than important, but it's the last class that stands between me and a degree, and so I can't ignore it. And I'm physically tired ... really tired, like really really A LOT, from sitting and reading and sitting and reading and writing and ... well ... it's funny how tired you can get just sitting.
So, anyway, I'm feeling a bit like a deflated balloon. Or a bent branch. Or some such analogy like that. Like someone sucked all the breath right out of me, but I still have a marathon to run.
It's hard for me to write these things in this space, because I feel like I've been complaining a lot to you all, sweet friends, these days. I'm a little nervous you'll stop liking me in my sad state ... like I'm back in high school again, and I don't want to screw up by wearing the wrong thing. But that's just crap thinking. And the truth is, tonight, I'm not complaining. I'm voicing very sincere thoughts from a heavy heart. And, if I wrote anything else to you tonight, I wouldn't be walking what I talk. Because I speak about truth and vulnerability, and I say that I believe that there is grace in struggle and beauty in the midst of imperfection. And I say that we shouldn't leave one another when we're down, that it's OK to reach out and be real, even when you've nothing to offer. So, I'm trying ... to be real ... even when real isn't pretty.
This, too, shall pass. The papers will get turned in. I'll sleep eventually. But the other stuff, the pains of friends and family, the stuff that isn't recuperated from in days, weeks, or sometimes, even months or years, that stuff's just hard, you know? And there's no way around it.
Way deep down, I'm still OK. I'm still -- as poet, Mary Oliver so incredibly puts it -- "a bride married to amazement." And I'm still joyous for those joys I mentioned previously. And that's the real kicker, you know? That sometimes, to live, is to carry joy and sorrow so closely together. It all feels very full.
So, friends, those are my, at-the-clinic-all-day, much-to-do, no-stamina-to-do-it, achy-hearted thoughts. Thanks for your listening ear.
So, anyway, I'm feeling a bit like a deflated balloon. Or a bent branch. Or some such analogy like that. Like someone sucked all the breath right out of me, but I still have a marathon to run.
It's hard for me to write these things in this space, because I feel like I've been complaining a lot to you all, sweet friends, these days. I'm a little nervous you'll stop liking me in my sad state ... like I'm back in high school again, and I don't want to screw up by wearing the wrong thing. But that's just crap thinking. And the truth is, tonight, I'm not complaining. I'm voicing very sincere thoughts from a heavy heart. And, if I wrote anything else to you tonight, I wouldn't be walking what I talk. Because I speak about truth and vulnerability, and I say that I believe that there is grace in struggle and beauty in the midst of imperfection. And I say that we shouldn't leave one another when we're down, that it's OK to reach out and be real, even when you've nothing to offer. So, I'm trying ... to be real ... even when real isn't pretty.
This, too, shall pass. The papers will get turned in. I'll sleep eventually. But the other stuff, the pains of friends and family, the stuff that isn't recuperated from in days, weeks, or sometimes, even months or years, that stuff's just hard, you know? And there's no way around it.
Way deep down, I'm still OK. I'm still -- as poet, Mary Oliver so incredibly puts it -- "a bride married to amazement." And I'm still joyous for those joys I mentioned previously. And that's the real kicker, you know? That sometimes, to live, is to carry joy and sorrow so closely together. It all feels very full.
So, friends, those are my, at-the-clinic-all-day, much-to-do, no-stamina-to-do-it, achy-hearted thoughts. Thanks for your listening ear.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Just Call Me Kenmore
(my view right now)
I've got so much turning and tumbling around in me these days ... my soul, a washing machine of sorts.
There's the work. I know. I know. I promised to stop complaining soon. But not today. Today, I need to let it out a little. There's so MUCH work. My head is full to the brim and spilling over with big words to describe big thoughts that I really doubt the authors thereof even understand fully themselves. I can always tell when I'm beginning to get burnt out on schoolwork because I start to feel animosity toward the writers of my books simply because they wrote them. But, still, I take their thoughts in and spill them back out, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, until I've met the page requirements. My heart is so not in this.
But it's not because my heart is sleeping. It's fully engaged actually. So much so that it feels kind of tight ... there's so much love in it, so much gratitude. But I know it won't burst. Hearts are big and made to stretch. And if you could pile everything up in mine that I treasure, it would be all mishapen and pokey, and the silhouette would stick out in funny places.
There's celebration. Good news received. Joys in the lives of my friends. And I am beaming and still all at once, pondering the goodness of things, and the way life can change in a moment, and all of a sudden you can find your hands full of good gifts you never saw coming. I can't say any more than that for the sake of their privacy. But trust me, friends, there's good stuff in the works.
And there's change looming. The air smells of it. Where will I work? Where will I live? What will this next season look like? I've learned to hold the unknown with calmer hands than I used to. I know that unfamiliar always eventually becomes familiar. And possibility always becomes actuality, and then maybe, even a little mundane. And that's OK too. Everyone needs a little mundane in life. Mundane gives you space to breathe.
And there's the sadnesses of others, the constant awareness that sometimes questions don't have answers. At least not right now. And every day, at 5 o'clock, anchors tells us more bad news. And the fires here are still burning. And there are too many people in pain right now.
And then there's beauty. Lots of it. As I write, I'm touched with the glow of sun through trees, evening sun, that golden kind of sun. And I can see the veins of the leaves and hear them whooshing and rustling. And there's movement and life, and the sun rose yet again today.
Oh there's so much a-tumbling. And sometimes it makes me want to cry (blame the hormones). And sometimes, it makes me want to sleep (just being real). And sometimes it makes me want to blog. And sometimes it makes me want to pick up the phone and share it with a familiar voice. And sometimes, it just makes me quiet.
But, instead, it's back to schoolwork, to tucking the rest away for a while so I can put on the student hat for these three more days. I can hear the helicopters carrying massive buckets of water flying overhead. They've been flying for so many days. There's a siren in the distance. And the leaves are whispering.
And that, beloveds, is life.
Monday, September 14, 2009
A lil' update
That's right. I'm back to the chia-pet hair and pjs. That means crunch time. The VERY. LAST. CRUNCH. TIME. ... until, of course, life happens. Anyway, this is how Charlie and I are rolling these days. He's a faithful little companion, until he decides he's bored and starts barking. But no one's perfect, right? He's been sleeping on my typing-bobbing arm all morning, not sure how he does that. And the picture's in black and white, to save the small amount of dignity I have left after posting it. The B&W cuts down on the under eye circles, or at least a girl can hope. :) Anyway, I'm happy and healthy over here...brain's just a little academia-logged these days.
But... one big chunk of work is done. Two more big chunks to go. I promise there will be a day when I am no longer complaining to you about schoolwork. I may be complaining to you about another kind of work, come to think of it, though. Or, I'll just try not to complain too much. How 'bout that? :)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Random, Unrelated Information From A Grumpy Girl
A Saturday List
1. There were lots of people in my house today. Workers. Friends. Friends of friends.
2. I was in an anti-social, why-can't-the-world-be-more-quiet mood.
3. The combination of #1 and #2 didn't have any overt repercussions, but I'm afraid folks probably noticed my grumpiness. When-oh-when will I be kind, good, loving, joyful, peaceful, patient and all those other good fruits....?
4. Oh yeah, that takes spiritual maturity, and growth is hard.
5. Darn.
6. It's T-minus 5 days and counting until ALL my grad school work MUST be done, and then I'll officially be GRADUATED!
7. Doing all that work (because I procrastinated) may take me more like T-minus 6 days. Ruh roh.
8. There are still people in my house. Right now. Sigh.
9. I went to study at Starbucks today (see above #1) and sat out on the patio. The only person on the patio was a man drinking coffee ... until he got up and started pouring the coffee on every chair, like the coffee was water, and the chairs were plants. I was glad I was wearing sunglasses so that he wouldn't notice I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. I was afraid he was going to come pour coffee on me. But he didn't.
10. Although I love God and love Christ, I'm discovering that I don't so much love studying Systematic Theology. Calgon, take me away.
11. I ate Velveeta shells and cheese for dinner tonight as a present to myself for working hard today. I know it's made of "macaroni product" and that the cheese comes in a metal baggie, but seriously ... SO. GOOD.
1. There were lots of people in my house today. Workers. Friends. Friends of friends.
2. I was in an anti-social, why-can't-the-world-be-more-quiet mood.
3. The combination of #1 and #2 didn't have any overt repercussions, but I'm afraid folks probably noticed my grumpiness. When-oh-when will I be kind, good, loving, joyful, peaceful, patient and all those other good fruits....?
4. Oh yeah, that takes spiritual maturity, and growth is hard.
5. Darn.
6. It's T-minus 5 days and counting until ALL my grad school work MUST be done, and then I'll officially be GRADUATED!
7. Doing all that work (because I procrastinated) may take me more like T-minus 6 days. Ruh roh.
8. There are still people in my house. Right now. Sigh.
9. I went to study at Starbucks today (see above #1) and sat out on the patio. The only person on the patio was a man drinking coffee ... until he got up and started pouring the coffee on every chair, like the coffee was water, and the chairs were plants. I was glad I was wearing sunglasses so that he wouldn't notice I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. I was afraid he was going to come pour coffee on me. But he didn't.
10. Although I love God and love Christ, I'm discovering that I don't so much love studying Systematic Theology. Calgon, take me away.
11. I ate Velveeta shells and cheese for dinner tonight as a present to myself for working hard today. I know it's made of "macaroni product" and that the cheese comes in a metal baggie, but seriously ... SO. GOOD.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Whole Picture
So, I've been debating ... about whether or not to post these pictures I took of my nieces and let you feel all warm inside at the sweet innocence of childhood (and all the good stuff that goes along with little kids, rainstorms, and umbrellas), OR to tell you what was ACTUALLY happening as I took these photos.
I'm a truth-loving girl. I think that usually the truth of a situation, though more complex, and often times more flawed, is better than any seemingly perfect quasi-truth.
So....
Although I am totally in love with these photos and these little girls,
And although they ARE, in fact, little angels some of the time,
As I took these photos, I definitely pulled my eye away from the viewfinder a few times to shout, "Callie, please stop intentionally swinging your umbrella toward your sister's face. You could poke her eye out."
And, I more than once intervened into the knock-down, drag-out fight over who got which umbrella.
And that's the way life is, ya' know? Beauty runs right alongside imperfection. And the most simple moments still have their strife. I have to catch myself -- as I walk through life -- looking at the situations of others and thinking that they (meaning, anyone ELSE but me) have it all together; they have the discipline, the organization, the house, the car, the husband, the financial stability, the ability to NOT be awkward at parties, the ability to keep their car clean, the amazing vacation pictures, the umph to return phone calls promptly, or to make others feel welcomed, or, or, or, well...you get the point. There's a myriad of things that -- if I'm not careful -- I'll compare myself to, and wind up feeling incredibly incompetent. But the truth of the matter is that none of us has it all together. And maybe that's not even the point really. If I may venture -- in my short 30 years of life -- to suggest that there is a point, I think that at least, in part, it must be this: We don't have it all together. I sure don't. And growth, life, love ... they show up in the muck and mire of things, in forgiving, in being forgiven, in owning our mistakes, in making up after a fight, in being possessive at first, but then deciding instead to give your sister the umbrella that you wanted, because you love her. And all of this, because He first loved us. Maybe that's the point.
So, I say, see the beauty, the smiles, the amazing sky and light-skimmed puddles. But see also the tears; hear the words that cut; make the mistakes. And then learn to love through them. And for goodness' sake, go out with an umbrella after the storm has passed.
"Be kinder than you need to be, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." -- unknown
I'm a truth-loving girl. I think that usually the truth of a situation, though more complex, and often times more flawed, is better than any seemingly perfect quasi-truth.
So....
Although I am totally in love with these photos and these little girls,
And although they ARE, in fact, little angels some of the time,
As I took these photos, I definitely pulled my eye away from the viewfinder a few times to shout, "Callie, please stop intentionally swinging your umbrella toward your sister's face. You could poke her eye out."
And, I more than once intervened into the knock-down, drag-out fight over who got which umbrella.
And that's the way life is, ya' know? Beauty runs right alongside imperfection. And the most simple moments still have their strife. I have to catch myself -- as I walk through life -- looking at the situations of others and thinking that they (meaning, anyone ELSE but me) have it all together; they have the discipline, the organization, the house, the car, the husband, the financial stability, the ability to NOT be awkward at parties, the ability to keep their car clean, the amazing vacation pictures, the umph to return phone calls promptly, or to make others feel welcomed, or, or, or, well...you get the point. There's a myriad of things that -- if I'm not careful -- I'll compare myself to, and wind up feeling incredibly incompetent. But the truth of the matter is that none of us has it all together. And maybe that's not even the point really. If I may venture -- in my short 30 years of life -- to suggest that there is a point, I think that at least, in part, it must be this: We don't have it all together. I sure don't. And growth, life, love ... they show up in the muck and mire of things, in forgiving, in being forgiven, in owning our mistakes, in making up after a fight, in being possessive at first, but then deciding instead to give your sister the umbrella that you wanted, because you love her. And all of this, because He first loved us. Maybe that's the point.
So, I say, see the beauty, the smiles, the amazing sky and light-skimmed puddles. But see also the tears; hear the words that cut; make the mistakes. And then learn to love through them. And for goodness' sake, go out with an umbrella after the storm has passed.
"Be kinder than you need to be, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." -- unknown
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
"Home Again Flannigan"
That's what my Dad always said to us kids when we'd pull into the garage after a road trip.
I am home, after three weeks of travel. No more trips for a while.
And I'm also exhausted. So I'll be succinct and to the point (and I'll also include a couple pics of the darling nieceys I talked about in my previous post.)
This post should be officially called:
Everything I Ever Needed To Know In Life, I Learned From...COOKIES!!!
1. It's important, sometimes, to strategize.
2. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty.
3. You can never have too much color.
4. When it comes to something really yummy, calories shmalories.
5. When you're really in love, let it show.
I am home, after three weeks of travel. No more trips for a while.
And I'm also exhausted. So I'll be succinct and to the point (and I'll also include a couple pics of the darling nieceys I talked about in my previous post.)
This post should be officially called:
Everything I Ever Needed To Know In Life, I Learned From...COOKIES!!!
1. It's important, sometimes, to strategize.
2. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty.
3. You can never have too much color.
4. When it comes to something really yummy, calories shmalories.
5. When you're really in love, let it show.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The funniest thing heard today....
I am "Auntie SuSu" this weekend. Actually, I'm Auntie SuSu all the time. But this weekend, I'm actually in Denver BEING Auntie SuSu to my two nieces (ages 3 and 5) so that my sis and her hubs can have a weekend away ... their first full weekend away together since my oldest niece was born. She's now five. It's about time for them, I'd say.
So, for any of the mommies that may read this, I have only one thing to say to you. Bless you. And bless your stamina. It's been a good day, no major mishaps, broken bones, children lost, or natural disasters. But, Auntie SuSu is tired.
And speaking of natural disasters....
Storm crowds grew ominous today. And my sweet niece, being slightly on the fearful side, began to predict not just rain, but a tornado. Now you must understand something; my sis and her family just moved to Denver a year ago. And in this past year, they've already had several tornados in their area. So I think my niece is still trying to process this new-found threat.
So, trying to keep her calm and be the ever-optimistic and carefree Auntie, I smiled big and simply said, "Ooooh ... if there's a tornado, know what we're gonna do?" "What?" she said, eyes big. "We're gonna take the DVD player down to the basement and watch Mary Poppins as a special treat, even though you've already had your video for the day!!!" (Disclaimer: the basement plan came straight from my sister.) Both sets of eyes got even wider ... and then, little niecey said, "Oh! I hope there's a tornado!" And they both began to dance around.
I never knew a video could have THAT much clout.
So, for any of the mommies that may read this, I have only one thing to say to you. Bless you. And bless your stamina. It's been a good day, no major mishaps, broken bones, children lost, or natural disasters. But, Auntie SuSu is tired.
And speaking of natural disasters....
Storm crowds grew ominous today. And my sweet niece, being slightly on the fearful side, began to predict not just rain, but a tornado. Now you must understand something; my sis and her family just moved to Denver a year ago. And in this past year, they've already had several tornados in their area. So I think my niece is still trying to process this new-found threat.
So, trying to keep her calm and be the ever-optimistic and carefree Auntie, I smiled big and simply said, "Ooooh ... if there's a tornado, know what we're gonna do?" "What?" she said, eyes big. "We're gonna take the DVD player down to the basement and watch Mary Poppins as a special treat, even though you've already had your video for the day!!!" (Disclaimer: the basement plan came straight from my sister.) Both sets of eyes got even wider ... and then, little niecey said, "Oh! I hope there's a tornado!" And they both began to dance around.
I never knew a video could have THAT much clout.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Allen and Elizabeth
You notice friendly people when you live in L.A. They stand out. That's why, when 3 or 4 months ago Miss Elizabeth ran out the front door of her home to catch Charlie and I as we passed by on our morning walk through the neighborhood, I was so surprised.
"Hey there," she yelled.
"Hi,"
"I just wanted to let you know that I keep this bowl out in front of my house for all the dogs that pass by. The hose is right here. You just feel free to turn it on and fill the bowl up anytime you want!"
"Thank you! How nice!" (me)
"No, thank you," she said, "I love dogs, but I can't stand to love and lose another. This is my way of still having dogs to love."
"My name's Susan," I said, "and this is Charlie."
Miss Elizabeth must be creeping up on 80 years old. But every facet of her face shines warmth, and there's still a youthful beauty that emerges from her snow white hair, ruby lips, and smiling eyes. You can almost picture her as a young girl in front of her bureau, brushing her hair, dreaming of who she'd marry. She radiates a kindness and serenity that can only come from a life well lived and lots of love known. But when I introduced Charlie and I, her face dropped a little. And sadness flashed out and then back quickly, windshield wipers across her eyes. And then it was gone. She smiled, "Oh honey, I won't remember your names. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
Startled, I reassured her, "Well that's OK. I'll remind you next time. And what's your name?"
"Elizabeth."
Charlie didn't seem to realize the importance to Miss Elizabeth that he drink her freely-offered water, and he gave it only a lick or two.
"Well, maybe when it gets hotter," she said. We smiled, and Charlie and I walked on.
That was several months ago.
Charlie and I have stopped in Elizabeth's yard too many times to count since then. And often, she comes out to greet us.
Almost every time, it goes like this:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Oh honey, have I met you?"
"Yes, I'm Susan, and this is Charlie."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I won't remember. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
"That's OK Elizabeth; I don't mind reminding you."
And then Charlie takes his drinks, and I thank her.
"No, thank you," she always says, "this is my way of still getting to have a dog."
Charlie seems to know how much she loves him, because he runs up to her, takes some very love-filled pats on the back, and off we go.
But yesterday, yesterday was different. It started out the same:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Susan? Charlie?"
"Yes! That's us! Look at you! You remembered!" I say, stunned.
"Well, not really, but I put a post-it on the back of my door." She smiles. Meanwhile, Charlie is sniffing toward her still-open front door.
"He wants to come in!" she says, "Can I?" she says, reaching toward his leash. "Sure," I say ... even though I am itching to keep moving on because I have to get home and pack for my flight to Denver.
With a girlish joy, she grabs Charlie's leash and runs him into the house, and I follow.
And that's when I met her husband, Allen. Though all-man (I later learned he was a construction worker for most of his life), he, too, possesses that peaceful contentedness. "Come on in," he says, "I'm Allen."
Allen and Elizabeth's home is a book of stories. Allen starts to tell me the history of their home while Miss Elizabeth runs Charlie around to all the rooms in the house, smiling as wide as a child on Christmas morning. She is laughing.
"This home," Allen says, "was an old fruit shed built in the 1800s."
"Wow!" I exclaim, "You guys have done a lot of work." And they have. It could easily be a museum of California life between 1800something and 2009. One wall is entirely cedar and has that unfinished look of some old workspace or garage. I later learn that's the only original wall in the house. They sanded it and refinished it. But the wood still has holes in it, such that you get little peepholes into the adjacent rooms. Elizabeth has returned, thanks me for letting her take Charlie, and pulls out a scrap book.
I sweat a little. Flight's in 4 hours. But, I can't leave. They are too eager to tell me their stories. And I am too aware of the honor I am receiving in hearing them.
So, I look through their home renovation scrapbook. They removed a full inch of layers of wallpaper from the home. And Elizabeth's kept a square of every layer. Flipping through them is like watching decades pass in a moment. She's also got old newspapers that used to line the walls; they're deteriorating, but still readable. They look like they must be from the early 1900s. And they've got a chunk of the old cardboard and plaster that used to make up the entirety of their walls.
And then they move on to showing me the relics on their walls and the cast-iron wood-burning stove they found at a flea market.
"It needed some cleaning up," Allen states, "But we sanded it and repainted it and polished it, and now, it's good as new."
"Bargain shoppers!" I exclaim. And they stand proud. Allen proceeds to show me their office. "Almost everything in here was free. I found those file cabinet doors in an old classroom at UCLA when we were tearing it down. And I got the ceiling tiles from a bank in Glendale that was closing. And the shelves were out with someone's trash." And the room is lovely and clean, and you'd never know.
And the conversation goes on and on and meanders as conversations so often do. I find out that Allen and Elizabeth met twenty years ago, when they were both living in boats with their spouses. And then Elizabeth's husband died, and Allen's wife left him "for bigger and better things." And the rest is literally history; they've been together ever since. And before I know it, I'm holding framed photos of each of their old boats. "I spent 13 years on that boat," she says. Again, that windshield wiper flash of sad ... gone as quickly as it came. And I become aware, in that moment, that they aren't handing me framed photos of their boats. They're allowing me to hold the very fiber of their lives. And because us humans live in the here and now, in finite time, we are forced to try to fit all these infinite things like love and life into tangible objects, into frames ... to help us hold them.
Fairly soon after, Charlie and I head out. He is eager to keep moving on, and Miss Elizabeth can see it. But, as we walk toward her door, she shows me,
"See here, this is your post-it." The back of her door is covered with 15 or 20 post-its, her attempt to fight her failing mind. Ours' is blue, and on it, the words:
small red poodle
Charlie
tall brown-hair woman
Susan
"I hope we didn't tell you too many stories," Alan states,
"Yes," says Elizabeth, "You may never want to come back!"
They laugh, but I know they aren't actually joking.
"No, no," I say, "Just the opposite. I really appreciate you telling me your stories. You know, with the changes in technology and all the ways we have to reach each other, I think we're all getting lonelier and lonelier!"
"Yes," Allen agrees, "People forget that it's important to look someone in the eye and just talk to 'em."
"Thanks!" I say, "Have a good day."
"No, thank you," says Miss Elizabeth, "You've just helped us start it well."
Charlie and I walk away, and Allen and Elizabeth go back into their home.
And for the rest of the walk home, I think about Allen and Elizabeth and the uncommon kindness and trust they display. I think about facebook and cell phones and all the million different bits of "progress" we've made as a society and wonder if it's really progress. I make a mental note, "that is the kind of person you want to be."
It's hard, you know, in this age of garage door openers and locked doors. But then, there's Allen and Elizabeth.
I've still so much to learn.
"Hey there," she yelled.
"Hi,"
"I just wanted to let you know that I keep this bowl out in front of my house for all the dogs that pass by. The hose is right here. You just feel free to turn it on and fill the bowl up anytime you want!"
"Thank you! How nice!" (me)
"No, thank you," she said, "I love dogs, but I can't stand to love and lose another. This is my way of still having dogs to love."
"My name's Susan," I said, "and this is Charlie."
Miss Elizabeth must be creeping up on 80 years old. But every facet of her face shines warmth, and there's still a youthful beauty that emerges from her snow white hair, ruby lips, and smiling eyes. You can almost picture her as a young girl in front of her bureau, brushing her hair, dreaming of who she'd marry. She radiates a kindness and serenity that can only come from a life well lived and lots of love known. But when I introduced Charlie and I, her face dropped a little. And sadness flashed out and then back quickly, windshield wipers across her eyes. And then it was gone. She smiled, "Oh honey, I won't remember your names. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
Startled, I reassured her, "Well that's OK. I'll remind you next time. And what's your name?"
"Elizabeth."
Charlie didn't seem to realize the importance to Miss Elizabeth that he drink her freely-offered water, and he gave it only a lick or two.
"Well, maybe when it gets hotter," she said. We smiled, and Charlie and I walked on.
That was several months ago.
Charlie and I have stopped in Elizabeth's yard too many times to count since then. And often, she comes out to greet us.
Almost every time, it goes like this:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Oh honey, have I met you?"
"Yes, I'm Susan, and this is Charlie."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I won't remember. I've still got my body, but my mind's gone."
"That's OK Elizabeth; I don't mind reminding you."
And then Charlie takes his drinks, and I thank her.
"No, thank you," she always says, "this is my way of still getting to have a dog."
Charlie seems to know how much she loves him, because he runs up to her, takes some very love-filled pats on the back, and off we go.
But yesterday, yesterday was different. It started out the same:
"Hey there!"
"Hi Elizabeth!"
"Susan? Charlie?"
"Yes! That's us! Look at you! You remembered!" I say, stunned.
"Well, not really, but I put a post-it on the back of my door." She smiles. Meanwhile, Charlie is sniffing toward her still-open front door.
"He wants to come in!" she says, "Can I?" she says, reaching toward his leash. "Sure," I say ... even though I am itching to keep moving on because I have to get home and pack for my flight to Denver.
With a girlish joy, she grabs Charlie's leash and runs him into the house, and I follow.
And that's when I met her husband, Allen. Though all-man (I later learned he was a construction worker for most of his life), he, too, possesses that peaceful contentedness. "Come on in," he says, "I'm Allen."
Allen and Elizabeth's home is a book of stories. Allen starts to tell me the history of their home while Miss Elizabeth runs Charlie around to all the rooms in the house, smiling as wide as a child on Christmas morning. She is laughing.
"This home," Allen says, "was an old fruit shed built in the 1800s."
"Wow!" I exclaim, "You guys have done a lot of work." And they have. It could easily be a museum of California life between 1800something and 2009. One wall is entirely cedar and has that unfinished look of some old workspace or garage. I later learn that's the only original wall in the house. They sanded it and refinished it. But the wood still has holes in it, such that you get little peepholes into the adjacent rooms. Elizabeth has returned, thanks me for letting her take Charlie, and pulls out a scrap book.
I sweat a little. Flight's in 4 hours. But, I can't leave. They are too eager to tell me their stories. And I am too aware of the honor I am receiving in hearing them.
So, I look through their home renovation scrapbook. They removed a full inch of layers of wallpaper from the home. And Elizabeth's kept a square of every layer. Flipping through them is like watching decades pass in a moment. She's also got old newspapers that used to line the walls; they're deteriorating, but still readable. They look like they must be from the early 1900s. And they've got a chunk of the old cardboard and plaster that used to make up the entirety of their walls.
And then they move on to showing me the relics on their walls and the cast-iron wood-burning stove they found at a flea market.
"It needed some cleaning up," Allen states, "But we sanded it and repainted it and polished it, and now, it's good as new."
"Bargain shoppers!" I exclaim. And they stand proud. Allen proceeds to show me their office. "Almost everything in here was free. I found those file cabinet doors in an old classroom at UCLA when we were tearing it down. And I got the ceiling tiles from a bank in Glendale that was closing. And the shelves were out with someone's trash." And the room is lovely and clean, and you'd never know.
And the conversation goes on and on and meanders as conversations so often do. I find out that Allen and Elizabeth met twenty years ago, when they were both living in boats with their spouses. And then Elizabeth's husband died, and Allen's wife left him "for bigger and better things." And the rest is literally history; they've been together ever since. And before I know it, I'm holding framed photos of each of their old boats. "I spent 13 years on that boat," she says. Again, that windshield wiper flash of sad ... gone as quickly as it came. And I become aware, in that moment, that they aren't handing me framed photos of their boats. They're allowing me to hold the very fiber of their lives. And because us humans live in the here and now, in finite time, we are forced to try to fit all these infinite things like love and life into tangible objects, into frames ... to help us hold them.
Fairly soon after, Charlie and I head out. He is eager to keep moving on, and Miss Elizabeth can see it. But, as we walk toward her door, she shows me,
"See here, this is your post-it." The back of her door is covered with 15 or 20 post-its, her attempt to fight her failing mind. Ours' is blue, and on it, the words:
small red poodle
Charlie
tall brown-hair woman
Susan
"I hope we didn't tell you too many stories," Alan states,
"Yes," says Elizabeth, "You may never want to come back!"
They laugh, but I know they aren't actually joking.
"No, no," I say, "Just the opposite. I really appreciate you telling me your stories. You know, with the changes in technology and all the ways we have to reach each other, I think we're all getting lonelier and lonelier!"
"Yes," Allen agrees, "People forget that it's important to look someone in the eye and just talk to 'em."
"Thanks!" I say, "Have a good day."
"No, thank you," says Miss Elizabeth, "You've just helped us start it well."
Charlie and I walk away, and Allen and Elizabeth go back into their home.
And for the rest of the walk home, I think about Allen and Elizabeth and the uncommon kindness and trust they display. I think about facebook and cell phones and all the million different bits of "progress" we've made as a society and wonder if it's really progress. I make a mental note, "that is the kind of person you want to be."
It's hard, you know, in this age of garage door openers and locked doors. But then, there's Allen and Elizabeth.
I've still so much to learn.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Here's How I Ended Up In A Vet's Office Listening To A Lady Discuss Her Vomiting and Diarrhea
You know what happens when you make plans?
Last night, before bed, I sat down, wrote out a to-do list for today, and set my alarm to get up nice and early so I could get a good start to the day.
And I did get a good start... I took Charlie on our morning walk, and half way through, we came upon a stray dog. And you're talking to a girl (well, you're not actually talking, but....) who rescues earthworms after rain storms. And if the situation were reversed, and if it were my stray dog someone came upon, I would hope they'd change their plans to help my pup. So, after ascertaining that the dog was friendly and hopefully not rabid, I took Charlie's leash off of him, put it on the Australian Shepherd (the stray), carried Charlie and off we went.
I'll try not to bore you with the minutia that followed. It includes multiple phone calls to Animal Control and some very unhelpful people. Suffice it to say, I discovered that it makes you feel very alone when you're trying to help a helpless creature that no one else seems too concerned about helping. So, on we walked, the fifty pound Shepherd tugging me forward, Charlie flopping along in my arms, looking quite dejected at the fact that another dog had won his leash and that he was no longer walking and sniffing and peeing (some of his favorite activities).
And then we came upon Charlie's vet clinic, which just happens to be on our route. "Ahah!" I thought. Maybe they'd be willing to help me ... even it's just to give me a second leash to use for the rest of the walk home. By that point, I'd decided to walk the dog the 2 miles back to home and hope animal control would eventually come. But those brilliant folks in the vet clinic did even more. They scanned my new furry friend for a microchip and discovered he had one. Fast forward past some unhelpful 1-800-microchip employees who eventually gave the veterinary clinic the owner information. Vet clinic called owner. Owner wasn't home. Yada yada yada. So, THAT'S how I ended up in a vet's office listening to a lady discuss her vomit and diarrhea. Whilst standing in the office waiting while the employee left a message on Pet Owner's voicemail, an elderly lady walked in to (I later learned) pick up her cat. But, while she waited, she regailed us all with details about the flu she was fighting. And all I could think was, "Yes! That's so what I wanted today when I woke up ... the chance to be in an inclosed space with someone who has the flu." Actually, that's not what I was thinking. Really, I was wondering at how, when you make plans, life happens. And before you know it, you're an hour and a half into your morning walk, standing in a clinic, exposed to the flu, trying to locate a Pet Owner. And your to-do list is sitting at home all clean and unscratched.
Now, fast forward again to several hours later. Mr. Wanderer has food and water and is pacing the confines of our garage like any good herding dog. And his owner is on the way over to pick him up. That's right. This story has a happy ending. Funny thing is, though, Mr. Microchip owner never called back. Turns out, the current owner of "Duke," (he has a name now) found him 8 months ago trying to herd a flock of ducks in a hospital parking lot. He and his family took Duke in and made him their own. And when Duke got away this morning, Pet Owner drove the streets looking for him and decided to check at the vet office to see if they'd seen him. Thus, even though Mr. Microchip pet owner never called back, Duke was reunited with the family that loves him because we just happened to walk past the clinic, I just happened to leave my name and number, and current Duke owner just happened to check w/the vet's office on the off chance they'd know something. Duke ran to his owner when he arrived, jumped happily in the car, and off he went.
Life is funny. You make lists. And sometimes you cross things off. And sometimes you go all Cesar Milan on life and walk a 50 pound Australian Shepherd next to a 10 pound poodle. I didn't get everything done today that I intended to get done. But it was a good day. And Duke is home.
Last night, before bed, I sat down, wrote out a to-do list for today, and set my alarm to get up nice and early so I could get a good start to the day.
And I did get a good start... I took Charlie on our morning walk, and half way through, we came upon a stray dog. And you're talking to a girl (well, you're not actually talking, but....) who rescues earthworms after rain storms. And if the situation were reversed, and if it were my stray dog someone came upon, I would hope they'd change their plans to help my pup. So, after ascertaining that the dog was friendly and hopefully not rabid, I took Charlie's leash off of him, put it on the Australian Shepherd (the stray), carried Charlie and off we went.
I'll try not to bore you with the minutia that followed. It includes multiple phone calls to Animal Control and some very unhelpful people. Suffice it to say, I discovered that it makes you feel very alone when you're trying to help a helpless creature that no one else seems too concerned about helping. So, on we walked, the fifty pound Shepherd tugging me forward, Charlie flopping along in my arms, looking quite dejected at the fact that another dog had won his leash and that he was no longer walking and sniffing and peeing (some of his favorite activities).
And then we came upon Charlie's vet clinic, which just happens to be on our route. "Ahah!" I thought. Maybe they'd be willing to help me ... even it's just to give me a second leash to use for the rest of the walk home. By that point, I'd decided to walk the dog the 2 miles back to home and hope animal control would eventually come. But those brilliant folks in the vet clinic did even more. They scanned my new furry friend for a microchip and discovered he had one. Fast forward past some unhelpful 1-800-microchip employees who eventually gave the veterinary clinic the owner information. Vet clinic called owner. Owner wasn't home. Yada yada yada. So, THAT'S how I ended up in a vet's office listening to a lady discuss her vomit and diarrhea. Whilst standing in the office waiting while the employee left a message on Pet Owner's voicemail, an elderly lady walked in to (I later learned) pick up her cat. But, while she waited, she regailed us all with details about the flu she was fighting. And all I could think was, "Yes! That's so what I wanted today when I woke up ... the chance to be in an inclosed space with someone who has the flu." Actually, that's not what I was thinking. Really, I was wondering at how, when you make plans, life happens. And before you know it, you're an hour and a half into your morning walk, standing in a clinic, exposed to the flu, trying to locate a Pet Owner. And your to-do list is sitting at home all clean and unscratched.
Now, fast forward again to several hours later. Mr. Wanderer has food and water and is pacing the confines of our garage like any good herding dog. And his owner is on the way over to pick him up. That's right. This story has a happy ending. Funny thing is, though, Mr. Microchip owner never called back. Turns out, the current owner of "Duke," (he has a name now) found him 8 months ago trying to herd a flock of ducks in a hospital parking lot. He and his family took Duke in and made him their own. And when Duke got away this morning, Pet Owner drove the streets looking for him and decided to check at the vet office to see if they'd seen him. Thus, even though Mr. Microchip pet owner never called back, Duke was reunited with the family that loves him because we just happened to walk past the clinic, I just happened to leave my name and number, and current Duke owner just happened to check w/the vet's office on the off chance they'd know something. Duke ran to his owner when he arrived, jumped happily in the car, and off he went.
Life is funny. You make lists. And sometimes you cross things off. And sometimes you go all Cesar Milan on life and walk a 50 pound Australian Shepherd next to a 10 pound poodle. I didn't get everything done today that I intended to get done. But it was a good day. And Duke is home.
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