I've been reading some of my friends' blogs today, and I just love their honesty. They just write from their hearts; they don't try to sound all smart and writer-ish, and in the realness, they're brilliant. Often I wish I could just write without worrying about sounding literary and insightful. Ugh. So with that in mind, this is just going to be a simple, what's-on-my-mind post.
1. Lots of people have quit Relevant lately. This makes me feel both triumphant and sad. Carolyn/Won and Jeff/Elizabeth are moving back to their home states and will be close to their families. This makes me feel jealous.
2. I have no writing or editing assignments right now. I'm trying to get work, but it doesn't seem to get me anywhere, so I get discouraged and don't try very hard, which means I get even less work than I might have if I just tried harder...
3. Amy/David are still up in North Carolina on vacation and will be gone all month. It can't be much of a vacation since they're grieving, but I'm sure they're still thankful to see family and friends and enjoy the mountains. Amy called me today stressed because of all the dealings that must be handled with her dad's business. I miss her.
4. Today is my best friend Sarah's birthday and wedding anniversary. It makes me so sad that we are not in each other's day-to-day lives and that I can't be there to celebrate with her. Philip and I were talking last night about how it's easier to stay connected with people who are physically close to you. There are so many wonderful friends in my life who I've grown apart from just because of physical distance. Being everyday friends with Sarah is what I miss the most.
5. I've been brainstorming about writing a book, but I keep putting off making the outline and really getting started. I'm afraid of starting it and then hating every word and feeling like a failure.
6. I want to visit a writers' group that meets here in Orlando once a month. This month's meeting is this Thursday. There are all kinds of good reasons for doing this - accountability, feedback on my work, new friends that are outside my normal circles... But of course, I feel shy and intimidated and reluctant to go.
7. I'm anxious for Philip and I to finish setting up our home. Priority numero uno is getting a dining room table so we can invite people over without giving them TV trays to eat at. My feelings about this have changed, though, since Amy's dad passed away. It doesn't seem as important, and I feel bad for how much I've allowed our unpacked apartment to bother me.
8. I miss autumn.
9. I have such a wonderful husband. I don't say this to discourage anyone who isn't married; I say it to let everyone know that they don't have to settle - that marrying someone who is serving and affirming and hard working and devoted and kind and intelligent and caring and funny and passionate IS possible. Thank you, Philip, for being more than a dream come true.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
OTHERS' PAIN
Lately I have watched as a couple of my friends have gone through times in their lives more painful than I could begin to understand. One friend was anticipating her wedding day, which was only a month away, when her fiance ended the relationship; and last night, another friend of mine who is 29 unexpectedly lost her father.
Confronted with such sadness, I am struck with how insignificant my thin words and tears are to these women who are suffering so much. There is nothing I can do or say to lessen how hurt they feel. There is no magic prayer I can offer, and in these circumstances of distance, there is not even a meal I can cook or a hug I can give. It is a helpless, hopeless, alone feeling to know that they are in so much pain, and there is nothing to do but wait for time to pass and pray in my closet.
Confronted with such sadness, I am struck with how insignificant my thin words and tears are to these women who are suffering so much. There is nothing I can do or say to lessen how hurt they feel. There is no magic prayer I can offer, and in these circumstances of distance, there is not even a meal I can cook or a hug I can give. It is a helpless, hopeless, alone feeling to know that they are in so much pain, and there is nothing to do but wait for time to pass and pray in my closet.
Monday, September 26, 2005
PEACH STATE
Philip and I headed up to Georgia this weekend with two objectives in mind: 1. Spend time with Joe Ware and family, and 2. Enjoy the live music of Sufjan Stevens.
Every time I travel, I remember what a restless spirit I have. Leaving Florida behind felt like shedding a swimsuit coverup, leaving it in a crumpled ring on the floor, in order to dive into the pool. Once in Georgia, I drank in the palm-tree-less landscape and eagerly followed the curves of the hillsides with my eyes. I thought of the mountains that lay just north of where we drove and imagined living there, with acres of land sprawling around a home made of wood - no concrete block or stucco - where we could hike and wade in a creek and sit on a deck wrapped in a blanket sipping on hot cocoa and look out over an autumn-ravaged forest.
I thought of the different beauties of each part of the U.S. - the endless green plane of Illinois cornfields stark against the blue horizon; the dry yellowed hills of Northern California set off by the vibrant trees; the reds and oranges and browns and stately cacti of Arizona. And of course, Florida is beautiful in its own way, too, with its tropical brush and lakes and kudzu draping over trees and power lines, looking like ancient leafy dinosaurs. I just get so restless to see other landscapes, other seasons.
In Georgia this time of year, you can feel the imminence of autumn, although it's still warm. A few yellow leaves blow across the roads, and you know the drop of temperature is just around the bend. The residents are ready; Joe's dad Lynn suggested half-jokingly that we start a fire in the fireplace as we watched Hurricane Rita coverage from the comfort of their brown sectional couch.
The Wares' house is built for fall and winter, with its red brick exterior and warm interior colors. When we arrived on Friday night, Rosemary had made us a home-cooked meal of spaghetti casserole and California veggies and salad with poppyseed dressing; Joe had made us peanutbutter pie.
The Wares are football nuts... at least the men anyway. We all went to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the Ohio St. game on Saturday and sampled sauces. Then Rosemary and I shopped while the guys finished cheering on the Buckeyes. Back at their home, we sat around the mission-style dining room table like a family and looked at wedding pictures.
Philip and I were with them almost 24 hours when it was time to head up to Athens for the Sufjan show. Sufjan is a musician and a scholar and a goofball, which is a great combination of qualities. With his band dressed like a Fightin' Illini cheerleading squad, he delivered his songs about my home state, which somehow manage to be sad and whimsical and celebratory and haunting and beautiful all at once. Between songs, the band did cheers and shook pom-poms and wiggled spirit-fingers. I smiled a lot, but a couple of the songs left me forgetting to breathe at the end. Half-Handed Cloud, a.k.a. John Ringhofer (friend of David Achata and acquaintance of Philip from his Berkeley trip), opened for him, with his own fair share of quirkiness; Sufjan even came out to play drums for a couple of his Old-Testament-themed tunes. The crowd was comprised, of course, of ridiculous bearded and Mary-Janed hipsters, but at least some of them weren't afraid to dance.
In the morning, we set off to return home. And after being in the car for more than five hours, I felt comforted when I saw a sign for Highway 50.
The squad.
Sujan with the Man of Steel (that's John playing the trumpet).
I-L-L-I-N-O-I-S!
A sleepy Philip after the show.
Every time I travel, I remember what a restless spirit I have. Leaving Florida behind felt like shedding a swimsuit coverup, leaving it in a crumpled ring on the floor, in order to dive into the pool. Once in Georgia, I drank in the palm-tree-less landscape and eagerly followed the curves of the hillsides with my eyes. I thought of the mountains that lay just north of where we drove and imagined living there, with acres of land sprawling around a home made of wood - no concrete block or stucco - where we could hike and wade in a creek and sit on a deck wrapped in a blanket sipping on hot cocoa and look out over an autumn-ravaged forest.
I thought of the different beauties of each part of the U.S. - the endless green plane of Illinois cornfields stark against the blue horizon; the dry yellowed hills of Northern California set off by the vibrant trees; the reds and oranges and browns and stately cacti of Arizona. And of course, Florida is beautiful in its own way, too, with its tropical brush and lakes and kudzu draping over trees and power lines, looking like ancient leafy dinosaurs. I just get so restless to see other landscapes, other seasons.
In Georgia this time of year, you can feel the imminence of autumn, although it's still warm. A few yellow leaves blow across the roads, and you know the drop of temperature is just around the bend. The residents are ready; Joe's dad Lynn suggested half-jokingly that we start a fire in the fireplace as we watched Hurricane Rita coverage from the comfort of their brown sectional couch.
The Wares' house is built for fall and winter, with its red brick exterior and warm interior colors. When we arrived on Friday night, Rosemary had made us a home-cooked meal of spaghetti casserole and California veggies and salad with poppyseed dressing; Joe had made us peanutbutter pie.
The Wares are football nuts... at least the men anyway. We all went to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the Ohio St. game on Saturday and sampled sauces. Then Rosemary and I shopped while the guys finished cheering on the Buckeyes. Back at their home, we sat around the mission-style dining room table like a family and looked at wedding pictures.
Philip and I were with them almost 24 hours when it was time to head up to Athens for the Sufjan show. Sufjan is a musician and a scholar and a goofball, which is a great combination of qualities. With his band dressed like a Fightin' Illini cheerleading squad, he delivered his songs about my home state, which somehow manage to be sad and whimsical and celebratory and haunting and beautiful all at once. Between songs, the band did cheers and shook pom-poms and wiggled spirit-fingers. I smiled a lot, but a couple of the songs left me forgetting to breathe at the end. Half-Handed Cloud, a.k.a. John Ringhofer (friend of David Achata and acquaintance of Philip from his Berkeley trip), opened for him, with his own fair share of quirkiness; Sufjan even came out to play drums for a couple of his Old-Testament-themed tunes. The crowd was comprised, of course, of ridiculous bearded and Mary-Janed hipsters, but at least some of them weren't afraid to dance.
In the morning, we set off to return home. And after being in the car for more than five hours, I felt comforted when I saw a sign for Highway 50.
The squad.
Sujan with the Man of Steel (that's John playing the trumpet).
I-L-L-I-N-O-I-S!
A sleepy Philip after the show.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
FOILED
Susan, this is for you *imagine me standing on a stage, spotlight shining down, microphone in hand, feedback from the guitars humming in the amps, and my finger, pointing at you*.
So when we got back from our honeymoon, this is what we discovered: our kitchen, looking like 50 rolls of aluminum foil had puked all over our kitchen.
Our looks of surprise and wonder when we first encountered the prank weren't captured on film, so here's me trying to recreate that look. Not too believable, I know, but we really were shocked to see our kitchen in such a state. Notice how even the phone cord is wrapped.
Our fridge, which could still effectively be opened. Beside it, the microwave.
In this image, you can see how our knife set is neatly wrapped, along with our utensil canister to the left of the knives. Also wrapped is our dish drainer and (broken) rice cooker. Also take note of the cupboards, which could still functionally open.
Our junk mail.
Another view of our space-age kitchen.
Our oven mitt and toaster oven, still usable.
*No caption necessary.*
FAQ:
Q: Who did this to you guys?
A: We had strong suspicions that a certain pair of sisters from our church group played a significant role in the ordeal, and we suspected several others as well, including The Sister, Lydia, who had a key so she could pick up some stuff we were giving her (these objects were still sitting in our apartment when we got back, by the way). Lydia broke down when we called her, not entirely, but giggles and strange, exaggerated "who me?" behavior gave her away. Two other suspects who I talked with, however, effectively played dumb and fooled me into believing they were not involved.
The truth came out the following Saturday at church. Shae was giving announcements in our class, and she shared that she had painted her nails a nice color of silver in honor of our marriage. "When I looked at the bottom of the bottle of nail polish," she said innocently, "I saw that the color is actually foil." Her face turned mischievous as she held up her painted nails, and other hands began to pop up around the room - the suspected sisters, Karen and Susan, Priscilla, and then up came the pinky nails of Mark Murphy. *cue "Newman" voice - Murphy.* Six perpetrators in all.
Q: How did you guys feel about it?
A: When we've told this story to certain people, there's been some concern that Philip and I might have been upset or angry to come home to such a spectacle, but in reality, we were tickled. We thought it was so funny, and it was nice to know that people were thinking about us while we were away. Plus, harmless pranks are a sign of intimacy (right, Dianna?).
Our friends also left us one sweet little foil touch, which softened the incident even further. How could we be mad after seeing this?
So when we got back from our honeymoon, this is what we discovered: our kitchen, looking like 50 rolls of aluminum foil had puked all over our kitchen.
Our looks of surprise and wonder when we first encountered the prank weren't captured on film, so here's me trying to recreate that look. Not too believable, I know, but we really were shocked to see our kitchen in such a state. Notice how even the phone cord is wrapped.
Our fridge, which could still effectively be opened. Beside it, the microwave.
In this image, you can see how our knife set is neatly wrapped, along with our utensil canister to the left of the knives. Also wrapped is our dish drainer and (broken) rice cooker. Also take note of the cupboards, which could still functionally open.
Our junk mail.
Another view of our space-age kitchen.
Our oven mitt and toaster oven, still usable.
*No caption necessary.*
FAQ:
Q: Who did this to you guys?
A: We had strong suspicions that a certain pair of sisters from our church group played a significant role in the ordeal, and we suspected several others as well, including The Sister, Lydia, who had a key so she could pick up some stuff we were giving her (these objects were still sitting in our apartment when we got back, by the way). Lydia broke down when we called her, not entirely, but giggles and strange, exaggerated "who me?" behavior gave her away. Two other suspects who I talked with, however, effectively played dumb and fooled me into believing they were not involved.
The truth came out the following Saturday at church. Shae was giving announcements in our class, and she shared that she had painted her nails a nice color of silver in honor of our marriage. "When I looked at the bottom of the bottle of nail polish," she said innocently, "I saw that the color is actually foil." Her face turned mischievous as she held up her painted nails, and other hands began to pop up around the room - the suspected sisters, Karen and Susan, Priscilla, and then up came the pinky nails of Mark Murphy. *cue "Newman" voice - Murphy.* Six perpetrators in all.
Q: How did you guys feel about it?
A: When we've told this story to certain people, there's been some concern that Philip and I might have been upset or angry to come home to such a spectacle, but in reality, we were tickled. We thought it was so funny, and it was nice to know that people were thinking about us while we were away. Plus, harmless pranks are a sign of intimacy (right, Dianna?).
Our friends also left us one sweet little foil touch, which softened the incident even further. How could we be mad after seeing this?
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