Now Playing: The Boston Celtics vs. the Orlando Magic on Philip's laptop.
Philip and I are sitting companionably in his room right now. Sitting, I say, though it's more like perching, above a sea of open suitcase, shoes, clothes, photo frames, iPod, books, backpack, and other random wanted/unwanted pieces of junk. He's busy making a Calvin and Hobbes stencil with an exacto knife, the same knife that gave him the gash on his finger last week--which will hopefully become a scar with a good story, according to him.
Christmas day so far has been fairly pleasant. Laura and I both got up "early" this morning to make breakfast for everyone. She made crepes (vanilla-flavored with orange sauce), while I fried bacon and scrambled eggs. The eggs were actually all yolk, the remnants from yesterday's angel food cake baking experiment. The recipe Laura wanted to use for said cake required sixteen egg whites; hence the very heavy eggs that accompanied our Christmas breakfast.
After breakfast, after my dad had scrubbed the disgusting bacon-and-egg frying pan (courageous man!), we opened presents, just the six of us. My dad's exclamations at our generosity are always gratifying. Somehow opening Christmas presents is so much more fun than opening birthday presents: you don't feel as though you're on the spot, and everyone is enjoying the process together.
As usual, my dad received loads of chocolate. We always have to get creative with my mother's presents since she can't eat chocolate, but Philip solved the problem this year with tea and biscuits. There was the usual round of books (cookbooks), checks for buying new clothes, socks, CDs (for Stephen, the soundtrack guru), etc. Laura wound up with an adorable pair of rain boots, printed with raindrops--"pre-wetted," as my dad and Philip pointed out, like the jeans that are already ripped.
When the detritus of wrapping paper and ribbon had been cleared away, Philip, my mother, and I made sack lunches and drove down to OKC to visit my grandmother in the hospital. The day was overcast, another one of these winter days that looks as though it's come out of the dark end of my mother's box of old pastels--grainy, crumbling at the edges, smudged with snow flurries.
The three of us spent the day in the City until midafternoon. My grandmother was asleep at first, so Philip and I found a quiet corner, where we sat and talked about books and phoned Alyson to say hello. But at about lunchtime, she wanted us to come in, so we did. She's better today, talking more. We ate our lunches in her room while my mother fed her slices of grapefruit. We talked to her when she felt up to it or held her hand while she dozed.
At about half two we drove home. I'm very sleepy, or was while I was trying to do my quiet time. Laura has probably already started to work on Christmas dinner downstairs.
25 December 2010
22 December 2010
After the whirlwind of the past few days, today and yesterday have been wonderfully quiet, giving us the chance to do the usual Christmas activities. Yesterday morning, Laura, Stephen, and I decorated the house for Christmas: not very much, but something, at least, to make it more festive. Stephen helped me hang the evergreens over the doorway into the dining room and then handed up ornaments for me to hang on the bristling plastic branches. Ornaments made faithfully for us every year by Grandma, cross-stitched or needlepointed, including the silver angel with her long, slender trumpet that always goes in the middle of the doorway.
This morning Laura and I baked gingerbread, a process that involved a lot more faffing about than was strictly necessary. We always use the Joy of Cooking recipe, but for some reason Laura has never realized that the recipe calls for (what according to her is) a gross amount of flour. That led to a lot of silliness. In the end we got the batter made and the cookies cut out, baked, cooled, and iced, all while listening to The Nutcracker. Now the house smells like cloves, cinnamon, and ginger.
And tonight: Christmas ball in Ponca City!
This morning Laura and I baked gingerbread, a process that involved a lot more faffing about than was strictly necessary. We always use the Joy of Cooking recipe, but for some reason Laura has never realized that the recipe calls for (what according to her is) a gross amount of flour. That led to a lot of silliness. In the end we got the batter made and the cookies cut out, baked, cooled, and iced, all while listening to The Nutcracker. Now the house smells like cloves, cinnamon, and ginger.
And tonight: Christmas ball in Ponca City!
17 December 2010
Now Playing: Still Foyle's War.
I apologize for leaving this thing to suffer along by itself for so long. Since Thanksgiving, I've been writing furiously: a chapbook for the creative writing (poetry) class, a couple of short introductions and a syllabus for digital humanities, a fifteen page research paper for medieval literature, and a portfolio of poetry and a personal statement for the MFA application.
Once it was all safely turned in on Tuesday, though, I finally surfaced for air. It snowed in Bloomington last weekend, a nice four inches or so. I went downtown on Tuesday to do some Christmas shopping and then walked back to our house in the snow, enjoying the luxury of that rich crunch and slip of crisp new snow underfoot.
On Thursday Russell drove me to the airport in Indy. It took an hour-and-a-half to get there on slushy roads, and thus began the day's travel adventure. I got to Atlanta with a quarter of an hour to run to my connecting flight to Tulsa, only to discover when I reached the gate that the flight had been delayed for an hour... and then another hour... and then another.... At about a quarter to six they canceled the flight for real and put all of us on a quarter to nine flight that night. But at least I wasn't spending the night in Atlanta!
Laura got in last night, too, and we spent the night with Philip. My dad came to take us back to Stillwater today. My mother is down in the City with Grammy, who's very ill. At lunch Laura, Stephen, and I decided to clean the whole house. Stephen had already done most of the upstairs, which left the downstairs to be dusted and vacuumed, the bathrooms cleaned, the laundry done, the sheets changed on beds, etc.
Finished with our work, we're now having a laptop party in the living room while we watch Foyle. No knowing when either one of the parents will be home. The day outside is bleak, drab, dark, overcast.
I apologize for leaving this thing to suffer along by itself for so long. Since Thanksgiving, I've been writing furiously: a chapbook for the creative writing (poetry) class, a couple of short introductions and a syllabus for digital humanities, a fifteen page research paper for medieval literature, and a portfolio of poetry and a personal statement for the MFA application.
Once it was all safely turned in on Tuesday, though, I finally surfaced for air. It snowed in Bloomington last weekend, a nice four inches or so. I went downtown on Tuesday to do some Christmas shopping and then walked back to our house in the snow, enjoying the luxury of that rich crunch and slip of crisp new snow underfoot.
On Thursday Russell drove me to the airport in Indy. It took an hour-and-a-half to get there on slushy roads, and thus began the day's travel adventure. I got to Atlanta with a quarter of an hour to run to my connecting flight to Tulsa, only to discover when I reached the gate that the flight had been delayed for an hour... and then another hour... and then another.... At about a quarter to six they canceled the flight for real and put all of us on a quarter to nine flight that night. But at least I wasn't spending the night in Atlanta!
Laura got in last night, too, and we spent the night with Philip. My dad came to take us back to Stillwater today. My mother is down in the City with Grammy, who's very ill. At lunch Laura, Stephen, and I decided to clean the whole house. Stephen had already done most of the upstairs, which left the downstairs to be dusted and vacuumed, the bathrooms cleaned, the laundry done, the sheets changed on beds, etc.
Finished with our work, we're now having a laptop party in the living room while we watch Foyle. No knowing when either one of the parents will be home. The day outside is bleak, drab, dark, overcast.
Now Playing: Foyle's War.
Yesterday while I was sitting in the airport for seven hours thanks to a canceled flight to Oklahoma, I read A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter Miller. It's a bleak futuristic novel set in a post-nuclear apocalypse North America. I generally don't read science fiction like this, but Dr. S recommended it when I was working on my senior project, so finally thought I'd give it a go.
The book is quite well-written as far as science fiction goes. It takes place in three sections, separated by time, over the course of which the human race repeats is nuclear mistake and blows itself up again. On the whole the book is quite grim. Humans carry not only their individual sins but the sins of the whole human race; the human race is doomed to repeat its futile search for perfection, becoming more and more jaded with the results of the pursuit of wealth and power until it destroys itself and starts over again.
Despite this pessimism, the book has a strong but very complicated thread of Christian theology. Its main characters are monks, dedicated to the preservation of human culture and learning through fallouts, wars, and plagues. Because of that, there's a lot of Latin in the book, and some of the story's most beautiful moments center on Christian imagery of crucifixion and redemption. At one point, the author makes the statement that humans can never be divine: we may have infinite power and wisdom, but we can never have infinite love, the third quality that makes God who He is (thankfully!).
Yet it's hard to know exactly what the author's position is toward Christianity. Does Christianity offer valid hope for a world full of human monsters? Or is it merely foolish idealism in the face of humanity's proven tendency toward evil? What's the use of hope if we're just going to blow ourselves up again anyway? Is the human race worth saving? The story doesn't provide easy answers to any of these questions, and on the whole I was left thoughtful but depressed.
Yesterday while I was sitting in the airport for seven hours thanks to a canceled flight to Oklahoma, I read A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter Miller. It's a bleak futuristic novel set in a post-nuclear apocalypse North America. I generally don't read science fiction like this, but Dr. S recommended it when I was working on my senior project, so finally thought I'd give it a go.
The book is quite well-written as far as science fiction goes. It takes place in three sections, separated by time, over the course of which the human race repeats is nuclear mistake and blows itself up again. On the whole the book is quite grim. Humans carry not only their individual sins but the sins of the whole human race; the human race is doomed to repeat its futile search for perfection, becoming more and more jaded with the results of the pursuit of wealth and power until it destroys itself and starts over again.
Despite this pessimism, the book has a strong but very complicated thread of Christian theology. Its main characters are monks, dedicated to the preservation of human culture and learning through fallouts, wars, and plagues. Because of that, there's a lot of Latin in the book, and some of the story's most beautiful moments center on Christian imagery of crucifixion and redemption. At one point, the author makes the statement that humans can never be divine: we may have infinite power and wisdom, but we can never have infinite love, the third quality that makes God who He is (thankfully!).
Yet it's hard to know exactly what the author's position is toward Christianity. Does Christianity offer valid hope for a world full of human monsters? Or is it merely foolish idealism in the face of humanity's proven tendency toward evil? What's the use of hope if we're just going to blow ourselves up again anyway? Is the human race worth saving? The story doesn't provide easy answers to any of these questions, and on the whole I was left thoughtful but depressed.
03 December 2010
Now Playing: Not much.
Just back from the Indiana University Ballet's production of The Nutcracker, and I must say that it brought the sort of incandescent happiness that is both sheer delight and almost pain. Very simply, the choreography and music were a reminder that there is peace, order, stability, unity beyond the brokenness I see and experience. Perhaps it's overly pessimistic, but at one point I felt a surge of amazement that the dancers weren't knifing each other on stage--or tripping and falling every other beat. That the audience could sit and watch the production as a unified group without any terrible mishaps or outbursts. That the orchestra could produce those incredible, heart-wrenching crescendos without flaw. I know that there's such a thing as "common grace," but it seems to me tonight that that's the wrong word for it. We take it for granted and assume that God will hold under control all of our evilness, when really it's so amazing that there should be any rhythm to the world after the Fall.
And it gets better! One of the dancers didn't quite pull off a landing; a brass player over-blew a note; and I was sitting up in the balcony, watching, not participating actively--but Heaven is coming to earth. Heaven is coming to earth, and when it does, the peace that is only foreshadowed here on earth will flow effortlessly, effervescently from us as we participate actively, flawlessly, in it. It's truly incredible that God would permit us to participate in His glory, but He will there. I love C.S. Lewis's essay "The Weight of Glory," particularly where he talks about how we will perhaps be enabled to enter into nature in some deeper, fuller way, to join its beauty and power as we long to do but cannot do on earth.
Earlier this week I read the end of Ezekiel, where the description of the new Jerusalem is given. On either side of the river flowing from the temple "will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither, nor their fruit fail, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing." As the fruit in Eden was our poison, so the fruit in Heaven will be our feast; as the leaves in Eden were our pitiful attempts to hide our rebellion, so the leaves in Eden will heal us of our brokenness once for all.
Just back from the Indiana University Ballet's production of The Nutcracker, and I must say that it brought the sort of incandescent happiness that is both sheer delight and almost pain. Very simply, the choreography and music were a reminder that there is peace, order, stability, unity beyond the brokenness I see and experience. Perhaps it's overly pessimistic, but at one point I felt a surge of amazement that the dancers weren't knifing each other on stage--or tripping and falling every other beat. That the audience could sit and watch the production as a unified group without any terrible mishaps or outbursts. That the orchestra could produce those incredible, heart-wrenching crescendos without flaw. I know that there's such a thing as "common grace," but it seems to me tonight that that's the wrong word for it. We take it for granted and assume that God will hold under control all of our evilness, when really it's so amazing that there should be any rhythm to the world after the Fall.
And it gets better! One of the dancers didn't quite pull off a landing; a brass player over-blew a note; and I was sitting up in the balcony, watching, not participating actively--but Heaven is coming to earth. Heaven is coming to earth, and when it does, the peace that is only foreshadowed here on earth will flow effortlessly, effervescently from us as we participate actively, flawlessly, in it. It's truly incredible that God would permit us to participate in His glory, but He will there. I love C.S. Lewis's essay "The Weight of Glory," particularly where he talks about how we will perhaps be enabled to enter into nature in some deeper, fuller way, to join its beauty and power as we long to do but cannot do on earth.
Earlier this week I read the end of Ezekiel, where the description of the new Jerusalem is given. On either side of the river flowing from the temple "will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither, nor their fruit fail, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing." As the fruit in Eden was our poison, so the fruit in Heaven will be our feast; as the leaves in Eden were our pitiful attempts to hide our rebellion, so the leaves in Eden will heal us of our brokenness once for all.
01 December 2010
27 November 2010
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack by Howard Shore.
Instead of working on my paper for L613, I've been reading people's blogs. It would appear that everyone else has had time to blog around Thanksgiving, too, which is actually pretty amazing, though reading about the things that TU people are doing makes me miss them more! Quelling criminal behavior, buying new doors, and raising one-year-old daughters--fun stuff.
Philip, Stephen, and I are sitting together in the living room right now. All three of us are on our laptops. I've put my portfolio for W513 and syllabus for L501 in good shape, I think, for their due dates. The L501 syllabus is due next Thursday, and though it probably still has plenty of problems, it's at least more organized than it was before. The portfolio needs to be printed off and bound as a chapbook, but I can't do that until the last poem has been workshopped...
... which leaves that L613 paper. Ugh. I've come to dread the process of writing that paper more and more, the end result being that it's going to be harder to write than it really should be. I'm almost at the point at which I can sit down and work out a proper thesis statement and outline, but I forgot to look at one of my resources before I left Bloomington, so that will have to be done on Tuesday. And then it's paper-writing hibernation for me for the next two weeks!
Instead of working on my paper for L613, I've been reading people's blogs. It would appear that everyone else has had time to blog around Thanksgiving, too, which is actually pretty amazing, though reading about the things that TU people are doing makes me miss them more! Quelling criminal behavior, buying new doors, and raising one-year-old daughters--fun stuff.
Philip, Stephen, and I are sitting together in the living room right now. All three of us are on our laptops. I've put my portfolio for W513 and syllabus for L501 in good shape, I think, for their due dates. The L501 syllabus is due next Thursday, and though it probably still has plenty of problems, it's at least more organized than it was before. The portfolio needs to be printed off and bound as a chapbook, but I can't do that until the last poem has been workshopped...
... which leaves that L613 paper. Ugh. I've come to dread the process of writing that paper more and more, the end result being that it's going to be harder to write than it really should be. I'm almost at the point at which I can sit down and work out a proper thesis statement and outline, but I forgot to look at one of my resources before I left Bloomington, so that will have to be done on Tuesday. And then it's paper-writing hibernation for me for the next two weeks!
25 November 2010
Now Playing: Laura practicing Mozart on the piano.
In honor of the fact that Pastor D is in the hospital in Belfast right now, I'm remembering today three years ago. It was my twenty-first birthday, the first birthday I'd ever spent away from home, and I was worshiping at Trinity RP with Claire W. That was one of the few Sabbath days that Pastor D preached at Trinity while I was in Northern Ireland--this preacher who Pastor H in Bloomington called "one of the greatest preachers in the English language alive today."
That day at Trinity three years ago, the children's address was about birthdays. Pastor D started off asking the children if they ever got excited about their birthdays and then, turning to the congregation, he said, "And there's someone from America with us right now whose birthday is today. She's sitting right back there...." I'll never forget the feeling of total shock that went through me--and the surprise as throughout the morning after the worship service, member after member of the church came up to me to wish me happy birthday.
Most of the time when people appreciate the church community, it's because of some tragedy that's happened, but that day I was so humbled by and thankful for the care of my family in Christ. Not trying to be fuzzy and sentimental here, but God really does bless us through His people. Yes, we're a group of sinners; nevertheless, Christ shines through.
In honor of the fact that Pastor D is in the hospital in Belfast right now, I'm remembering today three years ago. It was my twenty-first birthday, the first birthday I'd ever spent away from home, and I was worshiping at Trinity RP with Claire W. That was one of the few Sabbath days that Pastor D preached at Trinity while I was in Northern Ireland--this preacher who Pastor H in Bloomington called "one of the greatest preachers in the English language alive today."
That day at Trinity three years ago, the children's address was about birthdays. Pastor D started off asking the children if they ever got excited about their birthdays and then, turning to the congregation, he said, "And there's someone from America with us right now whose birthday is today. She's sitting right back there...." I'll never forget the feeling of total shock that went through me--and the surprise as throughout the morning after the worship service, member after member of the church came up to me to wish me happy birthday.
Most of the time when people appreciate the church community, it's because of some tragedy that's happened, but that day I was so humbled by and thankful for the care of my family in Christ. Not trying to be fuzzy and sentimental here, but God really does bless us through His people. Yes, we're a group of sinners; nevertheless, Christ shines through.
15 November 2010
Now Playing: Bach, Brandenburg Concerto No. 4 in G major, "Allegro."
Arched windows. Dark green awnings
hover over tables, coffee, cigarettes,
acids gritty as newspaper. Maple leaves, red
Hearts and Aces, clatter on the sidewalk.
A bus creaks past, large woman
with a walker, eases to a stop,
inhales half-a-dozen students, sighs,
squeals away. Across the city, chimes
punctuate morning. Echoes gossip. Wall
grey as a wool coat reveals windows
reflecting sky like skin, reflecting tree’s
yellow leaves reverberating under sunshine.
Yellow leaves reverberating under
this this this this this this this
light cavorting, trampling, waltzing, flaying
chloroplasts feather-thin. Pigments explode
as beaten tree unfurls choropleth
topography of summer, ridged, dusty.
Light pummels leaves, leaves flock,
annual loneliness twittering slip jig
in nine-eight time, flutter, sneeze.
This flock alighted under Cygnus. Scared
by Orion, it whirls in concentrics, contour
map across skies winging into severity.
Now Playing: Lots and none at all.
I've been working all day.... Medieval literature for about four hours, digital humanities for about two-and-a-half hours, and poetry soon. The day has been overcast, but now the sun is setting and making the trees ruddy as copper against a grey sky.
The last few weeks have been rough, admittedly. There have definitely been nights when I've been lying awake, sleepless, trying to pin my mind down for long enough to sing through the Psalms as a way to fall asleep.
On the other hand, it's been really wonderful to watch friendships develop here. This past Friday evening I went to the IU Opera's production of Die Fledermaus with Russell and Mary. I've been spending Friday afternoons at the Hs' house, helping Anne with her reading and playing endless games of Clue and Settlers of Catan with her. Nothing like a giggling seven-year-old to lighten the mood!
I've been working all day.... Medieval literature for about four hours, digital humanities for about two-and-a-half hours, and poetry soon. The day has been overcast, but now the sun is setting and making the trees ruddy as copper against a grey sky.
The last few weeks have been rough, admittedly. There have definitely been nights when I've been lying awake, sleepless, trying to pin my mind down for long enough to sing through the Psalms as a way to fall asleep.
On the other hand, it's been really wonderful to watch friendships develop here. This past Friday evening I went to the IU Opera's production of Die Fledermaus with Russell and Mary. I've been spending Friday afternoons at the Hs' house, helping Anne with her reading and playing endless games of Clue and Settlers of Catan with her. Nothing like a giggling seven-year-old to lighten the mood!
08 November 2010
Inside a house inside a small green square inside
great black seas inside these longitudes,
a slim gold watch on a bench, ticking.
You’re going through the rooms writing
lists of things to do, hoovering, scrubbing, cooking
potatoes for Daddy when he comes home
wondering when it ends, wondering when
she’ll knead the dough again, wondering
how to scrub the stove-soot she would scrub,
wondering when the plants are watered,
how to mend his shirts, wondering if she’ll step
through her scrawl. I’m sitting here inside
winter woods inside brown valleys inside
evening, wondering when the turn
from indigo to morning white
will come, wondering when these gilt
skeletons against the sky will leaf again.
28 October 2010
Now Playing: Tenth Avenue North, "You Are More."
I've been listening to a lot of these guys this week. A lot of them and Bach, which seems like a very odd combination, but I love the complexity of Bach and crave the encouragement of TAN, so let juxtaposition thrive!
Highlights of this week: Looking at the 1550 edition of Piers Plowman in the Lilly yesterday. Visiting the homes of two of my professors. Getting to know my friend Mary, a first-year in English and a Victorianist, much better. Encoding the book I'm working on for Digital Humanities while watching part of The Two Towers extended edition with Laura and Lisa. Sitting out a tornado warning in Starbucks with Mary and Beth on Tuesday morning.
Tonight we turned the heat on for the first time. Today felt like December: flat clouds, strong north wind, bitterly cold after weeks of moderate temperatures and constant sunshine. I'm shivering uncontrollably, even sitting here in the house! Not a good sign for the winter ahead.
I've been listening to a lot of these guys this week. A lot of them and Bach, which seems like a very odd combination, but I love the complexity of Bach and crave the encouragement of TAN, so let juxtaposition thrive!
Highlights of this week: Looking at the 1550 edition of Piers Plowman in the Lilly yesterday. Visiting the homes of two of my professors. Getting to know my friend Mary, a first-year in English and a Victorianist, much better. Encoding the book I'm working on for Digital Humanities while watching part of The Two Towers extended edition with Laura and Lisa. Sitting out a tornado warning in Starbucks with Mary and Beth on Tuesday morning.
Tonight we turned the heat on for the first time. Today felt like December: flat clouds, strong north wind, bitterly cold after weeks of moderate temperatures and constant sunshine. I'm shivering uncontrollably, even sitting here in the house! Not a good sign for the winter ahead.
25 October 2010
I came across this today in the process of working on my L501 project. It's the first page of the Old English poem Genesis from a manuscript in the Oxford University library (Bodleian, to be precise, Junius 11). It's illustrated, not just with fantastic stylized images like the one on this page but with full-scale images to accompany the Biblical stories.
These images are incredible--think cartoon-like sequences of finely-drawn figures narrating events such as the episode with Abraham and Isaac on Mount Moriah. The pictures have a quality all their own, quite unlike the typical stylized bird-and-beast interlace in other Anglo-Saxon art. We looked at the image for the Abraham and Isaac story in my Bible in English Literature course at Queen's, where we picked apart the symbolism (for instance, Abraham carries a sword, which is right at the centre of the picture, foreshadowing the cross).
I just find this so incredible. It's easy to stereotype the Anglo-Saxons as superstitions medievals, ignorant about basic Christianity. Certainly their attitude toward Scripture was pre-Reformation (by several centuries!), but their love of the Bible is evident, I think, in works of art like these, even if I don't necessarily agree with the use to which these images were put or the theology behind them.
19 October 2010
Now Playing: Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.
Elizabeth and Laura left this morning. We had a delightful time together this week, which included
Now the world is back to normal again. I had class this morning, read excerpts from Foxe's Book of Martyrs for my medieval lit class (including the fascinating accounts of Anne Askew's interrogation, where she makes the most smart-aleck-y comments ever), and tried to sort out what classes to take next term. I ate tea with Lisa and then spent a solid two hours encoding for L501, listening to Indie music from Philip. The savory smell of chocolate-pumpkin muffins wafts upstairs from the kitchen where Lindsay is baking.
Elizabeth and Laura left this morning. We had a delightful time together this week, which included
- Walking to the Farmers' Market on Saturday morning, eating honey sticks, and buying the most delicious red bell pepper ever from an Amish woman
- Visiting Caveat Emptor, the used bookstore downtown, where I bought a version of Pound's Cantos
- Walking again in the afternoon down the Rails-to-Trails path, ceilinged and carpeted with yellow leaves
- Coming downstairs Sabbath morning to find Lisa making French toast in the kitchen--flashback to Sabbath mornings at the McCollums' house!
- Spending two five-hour stretches in church, with a nap in between
- Having my hair cut Monday afternoon by Elizabeth
- Spending about an hour in the children's section in the Monroe County Public Library with Elizabeth and Laura, sitting on the floor reading Eloise and giggling uncontrollably
- Frying up some absolutely fantastic lime-cilantro chicken fajitas with Elizabeth on Monday night for Lisa, Laura, and Lindsay, complemented by Laura-my-sister's homemade tortillas
- Chilling with Laura and Elizabeth Monday night (i.e., giggling for long stretches of time about nothing in particular)
Now the world is back to normal again. I had class this morning, read excerpts from Foxe's Book of Martyrs for my medieval lit class (including the fascinating accounts of Anne Askew's interrogation, where she makes the most smart-aleck-y comments ever), and tried to sort out what classes to take next term. I ate tea with Lisa and then spent a solid two hours encoding for L501, listening to Indie music from Philip. The savory smell of chocolate-pumpkin muffins wafts upstairs from the kitchen where Lindsay is baking.
16 October 2010
11 October 2010
07 October 2010
05 October 2010
Now Playing: Howard Shore, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack, "Amon Hen."
As on most Tuesday mornings, this morning I biked over to the coffeeshop by campus to meet Mary and Beth at nine o'clock. We always meet to discuss the weekend's readings for the medieval lit class. Unlike most mornings, though, this morning I got to use my sweet North Face jacket! A thin layer of frost actually lay on the windscreens of cars and the roofs of houses as I worked my way over to campus.
Mary, Beth, and I had an intense discussion about The Sultan of Babylon today--a Middle English Charlemagne romance with lots of feasts in it, so we talked about the feasts for about two hours while we drank coffee, until it was time for class.
I'm enjoying medieval romances much more than I thought I would. Not really sure why. They're like popcorn, or a box of chocolates: you never know what's going to happen next, and weird things keep bouncing to the surface. Magical girdles, fourteen-foot giants' babies, fried snakes, trees with white flowers, and of course plenty of bloody mortal combats.
After class I biked home and spent the afternoon alone in the house. I ate lunch, read our next romance, The Siege of Milan, drank tea, and practiced my flute for an hour. Then--wonder of wonders, wonder worthy of a romance all its own!--I rang Anna, and she actually answered the phone! We've been playing phone tag for over a month now.
So I went for a long walk for an hour-and-a-half while I talked to her. Maples blazed against the late afternoon sky. I walked through a neighborhood full of young maples, many of them crimson, and then I walked down into some woods behind one of the apartment complexes, where I sat under a sweetgum tree in a clearing--in a clearing on a crunchy carpet of yellow leaves, with a yellow ceiling. Walked down to a dry creek on deep drifts of yellow leaves, and then back up through a hillside full of Johnson grass and asters.
After I said good-bye to Anna, Lisa, Laura, and I went over to campus to pick Lindsay up from class, and then the four of us went for our housemates' night out: to the mall.
The food court was our first stop, Chick-Fil-A, to be precise. While we ate Lindsay told us about a "robot study" she participated in today. We devoured our lemonade and waffle fries and then shopped for awhile: American Eagle, Payless, Target. Lisa and I both bought jeans, and we left Target richer by a welcome mat and a bag of animal crackers.
At home the girls settled down to watch two episodes of Friends. I slogged through writing a poem while listening to FOTR. My candle burns on my desk. Lisa and Lindsay are both working now, too, and I can hear Laura talking on the phone downstairs.
As on most Tuesday mornings, this morning I biked over to the coffeeshop by campus to meet Mary and Beth at nine o'clock. We always meet to discuss the weekend's readings for the medieval lit class. Unlike most mornings, though, this morning I got to use my sweet North Face jacket! A thin layer of frost actually lay on the windscreens of cars and the roofs of houses as I worked my way over to campus.
Mary, Beth, and I had an intense discussion about The Sultan of Babylon today--a Middle English Charlemagne romance with lots of feasts in it, so we talked about the feasts for about two hours while we drank coffee, until it was time for class.
I'm enjoying medieval romances much more than I thought I would. Not really sure why. They're like popcorn, or a box of chocolates: you never know what's going to happen next, and weird things keep bouncing to the surface. Magical girdles, fourteen-foot giants' babies, fried snakes, trees with white flowers, and of course plenty of bloody mortal combats.
After class I biked home and spent the afternoon alone in the house. I ate lunch, read our next romance, The Siege of Milan, drank tea, and practiced my flute for an hour. Then--wonder of wonders, wonder worthy of a romance all its own!--I rang Anna, and she actually answered the phone! We've been playing phone tag for over a month now.
So I went for a long walk for an hour-and-a-half while I talked to her. Maples blazed against the late afternoon sky. I walked through a neighborhood full of young maples, many of them crimson, and then I walked down into some woods behind one of the apartment complexes, where I sat under a sweetgum tree in a clearing--in a clearing on a crunchy carpet of yellow leaves, with a yellow ceiling. Walked down to a dry creek on deep drifts of yellow leaves, and then back up through a hillside full of Johnson grass and asters.
After I said good-bye to Anna, Lisa, Laura, and I went over to campus to pick Lindsay up from class, and then the four of us went for our housemates' night out: to the mall.
The food court was our first stop, Chick-Fil-A, to be precise. While we ate Lindsay told us about a "robot study" she participated in today. We devoured our lemonade and waffle fries and then shopped for awhile: American Eagle, Payless, Target. Lisa and I both bought jeans, and we left Target richer by a welcome mat and a bag of animal crackers.
At home the girls settled down to watch two episodes of Friends. I slogged through writing a poem while listening to FOTR. My candle burns on my desk. Lisa and Lindsay are both working now, too, and I can hear Laura talking on the phone downstairs.
04 October 2010
Now Playing: Bach, B Minor Mass, "Confiteor unum baptisma...."
Life is very normal right now. I've been trying to work/not work all day today, and even though I have a list of things to do, and most of it is done, it's been hard to focus. My thoughts keep jumping ahead to the big papers and projects lurking at the end of the semester as I wonder whether I'll be able to pass muster as a "real" grad student.
For some reason fall is one of the hardest times of year for me. I just realize how much time I spend being unhappy. It's really ridiculous. The voice inside my head mutters away all day about how meaningless reading psychoanalytic theory and Chaucer is, how foolish other people must think me, how guilty I am before God because of all my sins....
One morning last week I was sitting on my floor, doing my quiet time, and I happened to look up and see the plant sitting in the windowsill. One leaf was illuminated by the sun, a long bright green arc. Somehow God displays His glory there, in how perfectly calibrated leaf and light are to each other, and as He provides sunshine for that plant and keeps all its cells fine-tuned, enabled to do their work.
It's humbling, but that's what my attitude needs to be, too. Live like a plant. Simply for God's glory, simply enabled by His grace. I want to have learned the lesson and be done with it, be able to live life effortlessly in His love.
But God is a God who "waits to be gracious to you," who "exalts Himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all who wait for Him." Always thought I was a patient person, but I'm really not at all--I want to be happy and full of God's love now. Perhaps this is what it means to exercise faith.
Life is very normal right now. I've been trying to work/not work all day today, and even though I have a list of things to do, and most of it is done, it's been hard to focus. My thoughts keep jumping ahead to the big papers and projects lurking at the end of the semester as I wonder whether I'll be able to pass muster as a "real" grad student.
For some reason fall is one of the hardest times of year for me. I just realize how much time I spend being unhappy. It's really ridiculous. The voice inside my head mutters away all day about how meaningless reading psychoanalytic theory and Chaucer is, how foolish other people must think me, how guilty I am before God because of all my sins....
One morning last week I was sitting on my floor, doing my quiet time, and I happened to look up and see the plant sitting in the windowsill. One leaf was illuminated by the sun, a long bright green arc. Somehow God displays His glory there, in how perfectly calibrated leaf and light are to each other, and as He provides sunshine for that plant and keeps all its cells fine-tuned, enabled to do their work.
It's humbling, but that's what my attitude needs to be, too. Live like a plant. Simply for God's glory, simply enabled by His grace. I want to have learned the lesson and be done with it, be able to live life effortlessly in His love.
But God is a God who "waits to be gracious to you," who "exalts Himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all who wait for Him." Always thought I was a patient person, but I'm really not at all--I want to be happy and full of God's love now. Perhaps this is what it means to exercise faith.
01 October 2010
29 September 2010
Now Playing: Cherish the Ladies, "Woman of the House", "Sweet Thames Flow Softly."
I'm procrastinating on going to sleep right now, so here's what I did this past weekend. I drove to Nashville and visited Syneva! I could rattle off a list of all the things we did: shopped at a flea market, visited the library, walked around downtown, walked around a lake, went out for Italian food, went to City Church, cooked food, watched a DVD.
Scratch that. Sounds like a to-do list. Try some snapshots instead.
On Friday evening, we drove through a sudden thunderstorm to get frozen yogurt. Oblongs of yellow light through glass doors in the mansions along Belmont Boulevard glowed like the facets of a chandelier. We listened to Brahms's sonata for clarinet and piano, and the sky was green with lightning.
Saturday afternoon we spent hours sifting through trays of tarnished jewelery and crumbling postcards, piles of kitchenware, and old furniture at the flea market. Syneva bought a flour sifter, and I bought a silver ring for three dollars.
That night we had the house to ourselves and made Mexican food. I made tortillas for the first time ever, rolling extremely sticky balls of dough in piles of flour while we talked about North and South and Foyle's War.
Sabbath morning we sat on the front porch, drinking spiced black tea, eating pumpkin bread with dried dates and walnuts, and talking about Shostakovich.
When I drove back to Indiana through Kentucky, the forests were beginning to be veined with warm colors, copper flowing up through the dark green trees. In Indiana all the pumpkin patches and corn mazes were open for business.
Since I came back, it's been work as usual, though the weather has finally cooled off here, and I had to wear a hoodie when I ran this morning.
I'm procrastinating on going to sleep right now, so here's what I did this past weekend. I drove to Nashville and visited Syneva! I could rattle off a list of all the things we did: shopped at a flea market, visited the library, walked around downtown, walked around a lake, went out for Italian food, went to City Church, cooked food, watched a DVD.
Scratch that. Sounds like a to-do list. Try some snapshots instead.
On Friday evening, we drove through a sudden thunderstorm to get frozen yogurt. Oblongs of yellow light through glass doors in the mansions along Belmont Boulevard glowed like the facets of a chandelier. We listened to Brahms's sonata for clarinet and piano, and the sky was green with lightning.
Saturday afternoon we spent hours sifting through trays of tarnished jewelery and crumbling postcards, piles of kitchenware, and old furniture at the flea market. Syneva bought a flour sifter, and I bought a silver ring for three dollars.
That night we had the house to ourselves and made Mexican food. I made tortillas for the first time ever, rolling extremely sticky balls of dough in piles of flour while we talked about North and South and Foyle's War.
Sabbath morning we sat on the front porch, drinking spiced black tea, eating pumpkin bread with dried dates and walnuts, and talking about Shostakovich.
When I drove back to Indiana through Kentucky, the forests were beginning to be veined with warm colors, copper flowing up through the dark green trees. In Indiana all the pumpkin patches and corn mazes were open for business.
Since I came back, it's been work as usual, though the weather has finally cooled off here, and I had to wear a hoodie when I ran this morning.
18 September 2010
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack, Track 15, "The Great River."
A few photos from today are here.
It's been a long week. The saga of computer problems never seems to end! Last Wednesday, I locked myself out of my computer, launching my dad and me into a labyrinth of computer programming questions. We both spent what seemed like hours poking around on the internet and fiddling with my laptop. Finally, on Saturday night, with the help of Lindsay's old laptop and a blank CD, I managed to burn a program to solve the problem. My dad walked me through the process on the phone. Saturday night I went to bed with a functional computer, a slightly better knowledge of how it works, and a deeper appreciation for my dad's patience!
Then on Wednesday we woke up and the internet was mysteriously not working. I spent some time that afternoon trying to coax the router to work and ended up calling AT&T, but they were unhelpful. It took Laura an hour on Thursday night to get the thing fixed. In the meantime, I was biking around campus with my laptop, notebook, and Norton anthologies or Riverside Chaucer in my bag! Either helped my stamina or ruined my shoulders; I'm not sure which yet.
Computer issues aside, good things have happened this week, too. Lindsay and I both registered for library cards on Thursday, and on Friday I checked out a glorious stack of Bach and Brahms CDs that I've never listened to before. Friday was also the day I ate lunch with Cindy at the Runcible Spoon, and we spent a delightful couple of hours talking about Europe.
Last night Lisa and I were left to our own devices, Lindsay and Laura both having gone on short weekend trips. We worked dutifully (mostly dutifully, anyway) until nine o'clock, when we took a break to eat ice cream and watch Letters to Juliet. Chick flick, anyone? It was amusing. This afternoon we joined some people from the RPC on a short hike--more like a walk through the woods--at a state park an hour away from Bloomington. It was pleasant to be outside, walking under the tall oak trees, and laughing at all the wee kids scampering about.
Lisa is baking chocolate cake and lemon bars for Fireside Chat tomorrow night.
All things considered, I'm very thankful that tomorrow is the Sabbath.
A few photos from today are here.
It's been a long week. The saga of computer problems never seems to end! Last Wednesday, I locked myself out of my computer, launching my dad and me into a labyrinth of computer programming questions. We both spent what seemed like hours poking around on the internet and fiddling with my laptop. Finally, on Saturday night, with the help of Lindsay's old laptop and a blank CD, I managed to burn a program to solve the problem. My dad walked me through the process on the phone. Saturday night I went to bed with a functional computer, a slightly better knowledge of how it works, and a deeper appreciation for my dad's patience!
Then on Wednesday we woke up and the internet was mysteriously not working. I spent some time that afternoon trying to coax the router to work and ended up calling AT&T, but they were unhelpful. It took Laura an hour on Thursday night to get the thing fixed. In the meantime, I was biking around campus with my laptop, notebook, and Norton anthologies or Riverside Chaucer in my bag! Either helped my stamina or ruined my shoulders; I'm not sure which yet.
Computer issues aside, good things have happened this week, too. Lindsay and I both registered for library cards on Thursday, and on Friday I checked out a glorious stack of Bach and Brahms CDs that I've never listened to before. Friday was also the day I ate lunch with Cindy at the Runcible Spoon, and we spent a delightful couple of hours talking about Europe.
Last night Lisa and I were left to our own devices, Lindsay and Laura both having gone on short weekend trips. We worked dutifully (mostly dutifully, anyway) until nine o'clock, when we took a break to eat ice cream and watch Letters to Juliet. Chick flick, anyone? It was amusing. This afternoon we joined some people from the RPC on a short hike--more like a walk through the woods--at a state park an hour away from Bloomington. It was pleasant to be outside, walking under the tall oak trees, and laughing at all the wee kids scampering about.
Lisa is baking chocolate cake and lemon bars for Fireside Chat tomorrow night.
All things considered, I'm very thankful that tomorrow is the Sabbath.
13 September 2010
Now Playing: Brahms, Piano Concerto No. 2 in B Flat.
In the post just below this there's a link to some photos from the past two weekends as well as of our wee house. On Saturday Lindsay and Lisa, who are beasts, hauled in Laura's tiny pickup truck an almost new blue plush sofa from a family about twenty minutes away. They got it out of the truck and into our living room, rearranged the furniture, hung pictures on the walls, and generally made the living space downstairs look like home. My heart gives a little patter of happy surprise every time I go down there now.
Today while poking around on the internet for Digital Humanities, I found some gorgeous photos from the Staffordshire Hoard, a collection of Anglo-Saxon objects from the 5th-7th centuries (roughly). The hoard was only just discovered in 2009, so many of the objects haven't been catalogued or fully cleaned yet, but their website has some stunning images. Here are a couple:
One of these is broken gold with fish and eagle details. The other is a gold strip with a verse from Numbers etched onto it in Latin, calling God to arise and scatter His enemies. Today I spent two hours in Dr. M's office with three other students as we discussed our projects for this class. I think that some how Dr. M talked me into putting together a sort of annotated bibliography of digital resources to use for teaching and researching, though I initially wanted to try for a syllabus. We'll see. The idea of trying to put together a syllabus daunts me, which is partly why I want to try it. But either way the work will be useful later on.
In the post just below this there's a link to some photos from the past two weekends as well as of our wee house. On Saturday Lindsay and Lisa, who are beasts, hauled in Laura's tiny pickup truck an almost new blue plush sofa from a family about twenty minutes away. They got it out of the truck and into our living room, rearranged the furniture, hung pictures on the walls, and generally made the living space downstairs look like home. My heart gives a little patter of happy surprise every time I go down there now.
Today while poking around on the internet for Digital Humanities, I found some gorgeous photos from the Staffordshire Hoard, a collection of Anglo-Saxon objects from the 5th-7th centuries (roughly). The hoard was only just discovered in 2009, so many of the objects haven't been catalogued or fully cleaned yet, but their website has some stunning images. Here are a couple:
One of these is broken gold with fish and eagle details. The other is a gold strip with a verse from Numbers etched onto it in Latin, calling God to arise and scatter His enemies. Today I spent two hours in Dr. M's office with three other students as we discussed our projects for this class. I think that some how Dr. M talked me into putting together a sort of annotated bibliography of digital resources to use for teaching and researching, though I initially wanted to try for a syllabus. We'll see. The idea of trying to put together a syllabus daunts me, which is partly why I want to try it. But either way the work will be useful later on.
11 September 2010
07 September 2010
Now Playing: Bach, Prelude and Fugue in A minor, BWV 543.
Tonight I've been revising poetry. At some point the words start to swim on the screen, and then it's time to stop and just print it off, whether it sounds good or not.
This week in Bloomington got off to a good start, or at least last week ended well. Rachel drove over from Illinois for a visit on Saturday morning. We went downtown to the arts festival on Saturday afternoon and spent a happy couple of hours wandering up and down the street among the pavilions.
Now, that image perhaps isn't precise enough. When we reached Fourth Street, we found ourselves looking up a long, gentle hill running up to the university gates. On either side of the street are international restaurants and Asian grocers, set back from the road. Trees, gold and green, overhang the road, and under them were the white roofs of the booths. But the street itself was completely invisible, hidden by a mass of people. Rachel and I had to push our way up toward the university through the crowd like salmon up a river.
On Sunday I made a happy discovery after evening worship: Cindy, the library sciences student who sat in the pew behind us, knows Syneva!
Sunday evening the "fireside chats" started at the Hs' house. About fifteen students, mostly grad students, met at their house, and Amy H fed us enchiladas, and we sat on their screened-in back deck and talked until it was dark outside. Then we gathered inside, and Pastor H led us in an introductory study designed to resume their progress through the Westminster Confession.
Yesterday, like good little grad students, Rachel and I studied in the morning and then went downtown to poke around the bookshops. We made tea together, the first meal I've made here that actually tasted good, and then she went back to Illinois.
Today I had another pleasant experience, that of beginning to form friendships with my fellow grad students. I met a couple of other first-years, Beth and Mary, at a coffee shop by campus to discuss the week's readings before class. Sitting at the table, I was very distracted by the windows: Broad, floor-to-ceiling arched panes, framing crowded sidewalk, full bike rack, busy one-way street, leaves yellow with sunshine, green lawn, and grey stone building. All very close, immediate, like a postcard illustration.
Tonight Lisa's parents were in town and took us out to eat pizza. As we were making our way through the crowded restaurant, I glanced to one side, and there was Katie! It was a bit surreal; I felt as though my frame of reference had tipped. She's in town to visit the art history department, and we had a nice chat.
Tomorrow will be busy: Song School (Middle English reading group), a professor's office hours, a lecture, poetry class.
Tonight I've been revising poetry. At some point the words start to swim on the screen, and then it's time to stop and just print it off, whether it sounds good or not.
This week in Bloomington got off to a good start, or at least last week ended well. Rachel drove over from Illinois for a visit on Saturday morning. We went downtown to the arts festival on Saturday afternoon and spent a happy couple of hours wandering up and down the street among the pavilions.
Now, that image perhaps isn't precise enough. When we reached Fourth Street, we found ourselves looking up a long, gentle hill running up to the university gates. On either side of the street are international restaurants and Asian grocers, set back from the road. Trees, gold and green, overhang the road, and under them were the white roofs of the booths. But the street itself was completely invisible, hidden by a mass of people. Rachel and I had to push our way up toward the university through the crowd like salmon up a river.
On Sunday I made a happy discovery after evening worship: Cindy, the library sciences student who sat in the pew behind us, knows Syneva!
Sunday evening the "fireside chats" started at the Hs' house. About fifteen students, mostly grad students, met at their house, and Amy H fed us enchiladas, and we sat on their screened-in back deck and talked until it was dark outside. Then we gathered inside, and Pastor H led us in an introductory study designed to resume their progress through the Westminster Confession.
Yesterday, like good little grad students, Rachel and I studied in the morning and then went downtown to poke around the bookshops. We made tea together, the first meal I've made here that actually tasted good, and then she went back to Illinois.
Today I had another pleasant experience, that of beginning to form friendships with my fellow grad students. I met a couple of other first-years, Beth and Mary, at a coffee shop by campus to discuss the week's readings before class. Sitting at the table, I was very distracted by the windows: Broad, floor-to-ceiling arched panes, framing crowded sidewalk, full bike rack, busy one-way street, leaves yellow with sunshine, green lawn, and grey stone building. All very close, immediate, like a postcard illustration.
Tonight Lisa's parents were in town and took us out to eat pizza. As we were making our way through the crowded restaurant, I glanced to one side, and there was Katie! It was a bit surreal; I felt as though my frame of reference had tipped. She's in town to visit the art history department, and we had a nice chat.
Tomorrow will be busy: Song School (Middle English reading group), a professor's office hours, a lecture, poetry class.
02 September 2010
Now Playing: Tchaikovsky, Symphony No. 5 in E minor.
As of today I have finally had all my classes. “All” seems like an overstatement since I’m only taking three. It’s a weird schedule: class Wednesday night, Thursday night, and then for an hour on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.
Medieval literature so far has proved to be the most inscrutable of the three. The professors (it’s team-taught) are both lovely, but the critical literary theory we’ve been reading is like deep, dark mud. The vocabulary is nearly impenetrable, and as far as I can tell the ideas are rather divorced from reality. Nonetheless, we had a good discussion in class today about the reading. There’s a definite satisfaction to be had from struggling through a text and beginning to understand what it says. I will be quite thankful when we move on to Chaucer, though!
Creative writing is probably going to be similar to most of the other poetry classes I’ve taken. We’re starting out by reading W.H. Auden, who seems tame compared to some of the contemporary stuff Dr. J assigned in that senior-level poetry class! But I’m happy to be writing poetry again.
Digital Humanities promises to be quite the experience. It’s also team-taught, but by four people. Apparently there’s a whole world of resources out on the internet waiting to be used. This evening I discovered Early English Books Online as well as a database that lets you search the whole Old English corpus! Pretty amazing. The class will be quite practical and so involve a lot of work. We’re supposed to be helping out with encoding texts into digital archives. And now cue all those snide jokes about the awful grunt work grad students are given….
Think it will be a decent term, once I figure out where everything will fall. Having so many open hours during the day feels very strange.
27 August 2010
Now Playing: Seabird, “Rocks into Rivers”.
Walking the streets here has been an adventure. Last night I went for a long walk around the area where we live, which isn’t the most scenic but yielded a couple of oddities: an apartment complex named Stonehenge, dressed with those atrocious wooden shingles and a long, low roof that made it look like a hood rat, and the back of Bloomington Hospital, where an enormous chimney rising into the air reminded me of City Hospital by the train station in Belfast—all sorts of sinister mental images of ominous “biohazard” bags being burned, especially since the parking spot right next to it was reserved for the coroner!
This morning I parked by the RP church on First Street and walked down First Street to Ballantine Street, and so up to campus. It was a lovely walk. The neighborhoods around campus are full of old, well-cared for houses with lush gardens. Jasmine grew on a wrought iron fence; naked ladies poked out of deep green grass; riotous zinnias exploded around front porches.
Despite the classy Better Homes and Gardens appearance of the neighborhood, I did notice one strange phenomenon. Someone seems to have a penchant for throwing shoes up onto electrical lines so that they dangle by their laces—one stretch of electrical line was as thick with pairs of shoes as it would be in Oklahoma right now with migrating starlings.
The crowning pleasure of the day, aside from talking to Sarah, my mother, and Stephen on the phone, was discovering that the Lilly Library will be hosting an exhibition of its medieval manuscripts and incunabula in October! Can’t wait. To whet my appetite, today they had on display, among others, a copy of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene with annotations by J.R.R. Tolkien himself. :o)
26 August 2010
Now Playing: Andrew Peterson, “Many Roads” from “Counting Stars”.
You want to know what life is like in Bloomington, Indiana? Well….
First impressions weren’t terribly inviting. My mother, Laura, and I pulled in fairly late Monday night and promptly got lost while trying to find our hosts’ house. The town appeared to be a blur of fluorescent lights streaking and spreading into each other, a mélange worthy of a Jackson Pollock painting. (Yes, I had to go look that word up, so you should, too.) We hit a roundabout, and my reflex was to start around it clockwise instead of counterclockwise! The effects of those driving adventures in Northern Ireland still haven’t worn off, apparently.
Tuesday morning was move-in time. Pastor H rounded up a couple of math grad students, who obligingly screwed together the Ikea bed and desk that Laura S left behind for me. They had an apparently magic toolkit that contained every implement known to man for wrestling with recalcitrant furniture.
The townhouse is in good shape, though the washing machine leaks, I’ve heard. I like my wee room. It’s taken a couple of different iterations of furniture arrangements, but now the posters are up on the walls, the books are on the bookshelves, and the clothes are in the closet. The other three girls seem to be nice enough. No instant friendships, but perhaps that would be too much to ask. We’ve all been keeping to ourselves for the most part.
One of the best parts of the week, aside from having my mother and sister here to help with the transition, was having Laura and Elizabeth stay for a couple of days on their way up to Geneva. Yesterday we cooked all afternoon. 
Our other adventure yesterday was finding a tension rod from which to hang a curtain. We went to Wal-Mart (my second time that day!), but they were out of tension rods—a swarm of freshmen had obviously severely depleted their stock. Said freshmen were still wandering all over the store in appalling numbers, so we escaped as quickly as possible. We went to Target, but the infestation had reached it, too, and nary a tension rod was to be had!
So we marched nearly the whole length of College Mall, from Macy’s to Sears. Macy’s was too highbrow to have a tension rod, but at the very back of Sears, tucked modestly away in a corner, was our quarry! I think the clerk was a bit incredulous about how ecstatic we were.
Today the girls left to go on to Geneva. I’m missing them already. I spent the day in the townhouse, settling 
This evening I think I’m going to go for a walk and maybe finish North and South. I’ve got nearly all my textbooks purchased from Amazon—despite what the other grad students said, ABE books was not cheaper—and can’t do much more until tomorrow. It’s a lovely evening, cool and clear.
16 August 2010
Now Playing: “Suite for Flute and Orchestra in A minor.”
The good-byes just keep happening.
At two o’clock this afternoon I was supposed to meet Anna downtown to go resale shopping. I thought I was going to be late, but I ended up hanging about Elite Repeat for a wee bit before she and Elizabeth arrived. We spent the rest of the afternoon together and had a grand old time! We poked all over Elite Repeat first. Elizabeth plunked out some sour notes on the baby grand piano that someone donated. We inspected the china collection, the knickknacks, the baskets, the photo frames. Anna found a Harry Potter poster for her room at the Ws’ house. We looked at all the used kitchenware, Mason jar glasses, old flatware, potholders, and all sorts of odds and ends. Anna found a pair of adorable black-and-white shoes. Elizabeth found a whole stack of children’s books. I found a couple of tops. We combed that whole store, and at the very end, back among the knickknacks, I found a tiny pewter owl, just a wee figurine, its wings tucked elegantly about its feet. Seventy-five cents, and the owl is sitting on my desk, watching me, debonair.
We continued our stroll down Main Street and came upon a boutique that I’d never been in. “Let’s go in here,” I said on a whim, so we did. Poked about. All pretty, artsy, hippy stuff—purses made out of rice sacks that enchanted Elizabeth, various creative wire holders for photos, candles shaped like apples or hyacinths, Fair Trade jewelry, glassware, journals, etc. Colorful extravagant “eco-friendly” stuff. Then we went down to the Antique Mall.
The dusty, moldy air nearly choked me. Claustrophobia ensued as we dove into tiny rooms crammed with so, so, so much stuff: antique furniture, endless shelves of glassware, old clothes, LPs and cassette tapes, books, mirrors, photos in frames, dolls, baskets, jewelry, an endless assortment of people’s possessions, faded, tarnished, scratched, scuffed, torn, set aside for whatever reason. Some of the bric-a-brac had tags that proclaimed that such-and-such a piece was a collector’s item, but most of it was shoved together higgledy-piggledy. Near the front there were some handmade tie-dye clothes by a local artist, and Anna bought a pretty aqua-and-gold skirt. There was a whole shrine dedicated to Elvis and to artists from the 80s. Somewhere in the middle of the labyrinth we found the children’s books, and lo and behold, I found a copy of Harry Potter VII! Been looking everywhere for it, and here it was, hardback. I probably paid more for it than I would have paid for a new paperback, but I’ve finally met my goal of buying all the books used and not from Amazon. The three of us pored over the children’s books, exclaiming as we found ones that jogged our memories: Make Way for Ducklings, the Dear America diaries, Beatrix Potter (of course!).
By this time Elizabeth was starting to get parched, so we paid for our finds and walked back up Main Street to Aspen, chattering away merrily. Aspen, too, was nearly deserted. We sat at a table by the window and talked for an hour or so. Sweet time. Sitting at tea later, I realized suddenly that that time had passed and was strangely heartbroken. The three of us talked nonsense. A gorgeous spicebush swallowtail butterfly landed on a chair just on the other side of the window. Sparrows ate breadcrumbs from the sidewalk. The shadows lengthened across the storefronts across the street. When it was close to tea time, we walked back to our cars, and I said good-bye to Anna and drove home.
11 August 2010
Now Playing: Tenth Avenue North, "The Light Meets the Dark", "The Truth Is Who You Are."
If you go outside tonight this evening and you're living in Oklahoma, you'll see something beautiful. On the western horizon, just above and to the left of where the sun set, four planets have conjoined. Venus is the bright one (you can always see Venus thanks to the fact that she's very bright and closely follows the sun) close to the horizon. Up a little and to the right is Mercury, slightly dimmer. Up a bit more and to the left is Mars, also dim (they'll both look red thanks to the hazy atmosphere). Equidistant between Mars and Mercury is Saturn, so faint that he can hardly be seen, but he's there. Together Venus, Mercury, and Mars form an elegant triangle, with Saturn in the middle of the hypotenuse.
If you look a bit more, you can also see some of the summer constellations. Scorpius, as my father pointed out, is the huge loopy V in the southwest. The Big Dipper is in the upper northwest, and Cygnus, one of my favorites, is the huge shining cross in the middle of the sky, slightly to the east. Cassiopeia is probably up there somewhere, too, as would be the Little Dipper.
To the northeast are the Perseids, and if you feel like staying up late this week, you can catch the Perseid meteor shower. I've already seen a couple of meteors this week at about ten o'clock, but the shower is supposed to be best between midnight and four a.m.
All of these are bright enough to be seen in the middle of the city, even with the dust-filled atmosphere. Simply gorgeous.
If you go outside tonight this evening and you're living in Oklahoma, you'll see something beautiful. On the western horizon, just above and to the left of where the sun set, four planets have conjoined. Venus is the bright one (you can always see Venus thanks to the fact that she's very bright and closely follows the sun) close to the horizon. Up a little and to the right is Mercury, slightly dimmer. Up a bit more and to the left is Mars, also dim (they'll both look red thanks to the hazy atmosphere). Equidistant between Mars and Mercury is Saturn, so faint that he can hardly be seen, but he's there. Together Venus, Mercury, and Mars form an elegant triangle, with Saturn in the middle of the hypotenuse.
If you look a bit more, you can also see some of the summer constellations. Scorpius, as my father pointed out, is the huge loopy V in the southwest. The Big Dipper is in the upper northwest, and Cygnus, one of my favorites, is the huge shining cross in the middle of the sky, slightly to the east. Cassiopeia is probably up there somewhere, too, as would be the Little Dipper.
To the northeast are the Perseids, and if you feel like staying up late this week, you can catch the Perseid meteor shower. I've already seen a couple of meteors this week at about ten o'clock, but the shower is supposed to be best between midnight and four a.m.
All of these are bright enough to be seen in the middle of the city, even with the dust-filled atmosphere. Simply gorgeous.
Now Playing: KOSU.
It's begun... again. Moving is never my favorite thing to do. Is it anyone's? The only truly rewarding part is knowing that when you get wherever you're going, you'll get to organize everything just the way you like it all over again. Or something like that.
The downsides of moving far outweigh the benefits, though. I've spent the last two weekends saying good-bye to people. Not as bad as the last time this happened, but good-byes have never been my strong suit.
Then these past two afternoons have been spent boxing things up. Amazing, the amount of stuff that accumulates, even when you're not a homeowner! I've produced about twenty boxes' worth of stuff--journals, photo albums, letters, kitchen utensils, blankets, old dolls--that all has to go somewhere conveniently out of the way. Hence Laura, Stephen, and I worked up good appetites this morning hauling boxes up the attic steps. We used a bucket brigade technique: Laura heaved the box up the ladder to Stephen, who hefted it up on his shoulder to me, where I knelt on the dusty plywood of the attic floor.
Our attic is surprisingly small for such a big house, and a large part of the space is already occupied by old computer boxes and a guinea pig cage. Laura and I managed to make room for most of the boxes, though we had to clear space in a corner of the green attic for the really heavy ones, the ones that none of us could get up the ladder. (Did I mention that the ladder is wooden and creaks ominously even when Laura or I step on it?)
Once that ordeal was over, and I had all the things I'm not taking out of the way, it was time to pack what I am taking. Thankfully, Laura sold me her bed and desk, so I don't have to worry about those--but I'm determined to get my big blue wing chair up to Bloomington, as well as two bookshelves, two lamps, and a set of plastic drawers.
And that's just the furniture. I've managed to fill three suitcases with books and clothes, not to mention the several boxes full of miscellany. It seems like an impossibly large amount of things. I keep wondering whether the new place will have space for it all and wishing that I were equipped with Harry Potter-style powers and could just move the boxes effortlessly.
So the gypsy caravan is preparing to be back on the road again, knees, neck, back, arms, and hands aching. Good times! Humans are ridiculous creatures. Why bother placing so much importance on material goods? We can't even haul them along when we die, though of course we've tried.
I'm inclined to laugh as I write this. It's been a bonding experience for Laura, Stephen, and me already.
There's something humbling and comical about seeing all of one's earthly possessions done up in cardboard and packing tape--comical because all of those boxes put together weigh at least three times as much as I do; humbling because it's a reminder to me, as my muscles and joints tremble under the weight of one box of journals, that in God's eyes I am not much more durable than that cardboard.
But thanks to God's loving hands, I hold something that cardboard could never contain: "We have this treasure in jars of clay, that the surpassing power may belong to God...."
It's begun... again. Moving is never my favorite thing to do. Is it anyone's? The only truly rewarding part is knowing that when you get wherever you're going, you'll get to organize everything just the way you like it all over again. Or something like that.
The downsides of moving far outweigh the benefits, though. I've spent the last two weekends saying good-bye to people. Not as bad as the last time this happened, but good-byes have never been my strong suit.
Then these past two afternoons have been spent boxing things up. Amazing, the amount of stuff that accumulates, even when you're not a homeowner! I've produced about twenty boxes' worth of stuff--journals, photo albums, letters, kitchen utensils, blankets, old dolls--that all has to go somewhere conveniently out of the way. Hence Laura, Stephen, and I worked up good appetites this morning hauling boxes up the attic steps. We used a bucket brigade technique: Laura heaved the box up the ladder to Stephen, who hefted it up on his shoulder to me, where I knelt on the dusty plywood of the attic floor.
Our attic is surprisingly small for such a big house, and a large part of the space is already occupied by old computer boxes and a guinea pig cage. Laura and I managed to make room for most of the boxes, though we had to clear space in a corner of the green attic for the really heavy ones, the ones that none of us could get up the ladder. (Did I mention that the ladder is wooden and creaks ominously even when Laura or I step on it?)
Once that ordeal was over, and I had all the things I'm not taking out of the way, it was time to pack what I am taking. Thankfully, Laura sold me her bed and desk, so I don't have to worry about those--but I'm determined to get my big blue wing chair up to Bloomington, as well as two bookshelves, two lamps, and a set of plastic drawers.
And that's just the furniture. I've managed to fill three suitcases with books and clothes, not to mention the several boxes full of miscellany. It seems like an impossibly large amount of things. I keep wondering whether the new place will have space for it all and wishing that I were equipped with Harry Potter-style powers and could just move the boxes effortlessly.
So the gypsy caravan is preparing to be back on the road again, knees, neck, back, arms, and hands aching. Good times! Humans are ridiculous creatures. Why bother placing so much importance on material goods? We can't even haul them along when we die, though of course we've tried.
I'm inclined to laugh as I write this. It's been a bonding experience for Laura, Stephen, and me already.
There's something humbling and comical about seeing all of one's earthly possessions done up in cardboard and packing tape--comical because all of those boxes put together weigh at least three times as much as I do; humbling because it's a reminder to me, as my muscles and joints tremble under the weight of one box of journals, that in God's eyes I am not much more durable than that cardboard.
But thanks to God's loving hands, I hold something that cardboard could never contain: "We have this treasure in jars of clay, that the surpassing power may belong to God...."
31 July 2010
Now Playing: Secondhand Lions, watching it with my grandmother F and my family.
It's been an eventful month! Two weeks of VBS, beginning July 5, were gloriously exhausting. Haven't laughed that hard or heard so much complete inappropriateness in a long time, thanks to Stephen and Megs. During the second week of VBS, in Enid, I gained a new appendage, thanks to wee blond-haired Leah H, who demanded that I go with her everywhere. We did a lot of door-to-door. Megs and I met a lovely old man who told us all about his family and his trust in Christ.
Third week of July meant Horn Creek! Anna and I couldn't stop grinning when we finally climbed out of the car after twelve hours of driving. The speaker challenged us to deal with the hard issues of our faith honestly.
This last week has been random guests week: Keith P for a couple of days, the N cousins for a couple of days, Elizabeth for a couple of days. All good fun. We went to the peach orchard, went on lots of walks, and cleaned the house twice.
So now it's on to the last things that need to be done before school starts: visiting Tulsa and Enid, cleaning up, packing up.... Have to confess the horrible wave of insecurity that always hits as this process begins. I just don't trust that God's love can get me through this, even after a good month of outreach. I don't trust that if people don't like me, Christ is still king--because I think that I'm king. Thankfully my foolishness doesn't end God's love, as the last year has proved abundantly.
It's been an eventful month! Two weeks of VBS, beginning July 5, were gloriously exhausting. Haven't laughed that hard or heard so much complete inappropriateness in a long time, thanks to Stephen and Megs. During the second week of VBS, in Enid, I gained a new appendage, thanks to wee blond-haired Leah H, who demanded that I go with her everywhere. We did a lot of door-to-door. Megs and I met a lovely old man who told us all about his family and his trust in Christ.
Third week of July meant Horn Creek! Anna and I couldn't stop grinning when we finally climbed out of the car after twelve hours of driving. The speaker challenged us to deal with the hard issues of our faith honestly.
This last week has been random guests week: Keith P for a couple of days, the N cousins for a couple of days, Elizabeth for a couple of days. All good fun. We went to the peach orchard, went on lots of walks, and cleaned the house twice.
So now it's on to the last things that need to be done before school starts: visiting Tulsa and Enid, cleaning up, packing up.... Have to confess the horrible wave of insecurity that always hits as this process begins. I just don't trust that God's love can get me through this, even after a good month of outreach. I don't trust that if people don't like me, Christ is still king--because I think that I'm king. Thankfully my foolishness doesn't end God's love, as the last year has proved abundantly.
28 July 2010
At the risk of being overly personal, I thought I’d post this little exercise that we did for our missions week this year. This is an edited version of the testimony I gave to the CY. It’s not an opportunity for pity or sympathy, rather it’s an example of God’s power doing “far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.”
“When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, ‘The LORD has done great things for them.’ The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad.”
I’d like to use this Psalm, Psalm 126, to talk about what God has done in my life. Like the author of this Psalm, I look back on my life and see great, good things God has done for me. He gave me Christian parents who raised me to know the Bible and who lived out its truths in love. He provided scholarships for me to attend university; He supplied good grades for grad school. He surrounded me with Christian friends and put me in a church where I heard the Gospel preached every week; He gave me opportunities to serve, such as the wonderful Bible studies with the college and highschool groups this year. These things might look like the results of hard work or part of Midwestern culture, but I wouldn’t have any of them without my Lord’s care. He has arranged every aspect of my life as lovingly as a gardener puts each plant in place.
Though I believe everything I just said, I don’t want you to have the wrong idea. If you want an image that sums up my life as a believer, think of a sidewalk. It’s hard, uneven, and painful to fall against. But it’s also full of cracks where grass is starting to push through.
Over the last two years, I’ve been seeing my sin more and more, and it feels like being body-slammed into a concrete slab. My life is a slow process of realizing how much I need Christ to satisfy me. This is good but painful. Most recently, during my senior year at university, events collided so that I was forced to confront the hardness inside me. I came back from a study abroad experience to an American culture where I was lonely for the friends I’d left behind. Soon after, I left a relationship that looked perfect to my community, and to crown it all, a close mentor left due to serious sin.
Those events forced me to confront the sins that remain in me despite Christ’s ongoing work. I saw that I’ve worshipped friends, manipulating them to satisfy my craving for relationship. I saw that I need to earn people’s approval, a need so strong that without an academic setting, where I normally satisfy that need, I felt naked. Even my relationship with my parents was only one more ploy to make me feel good about myself as I tried to earn their favor. I had perverted the good gifts God had given me to make them satisfy me in ways that only He should.
So at this point I’m not one of those “everything’s great” Christians. I’m raw from running into those sins that make my heart hard as concrete. I’m tired of relationships, and so more selfish than ever. Over this past year I worked in a restaurant, and I’d get angry at customers or coworkers for making simple requests. That’s only one example. Even though I take these sins to Christ and ask for His forgiveness, I doubt whether He actually hears me because I don’t feel it. Worship—public and private—feels empty. Though I know in my head that Christ’s love should satisfy me, I don’t live that way. I still work to be a good person in the hopes that in obedience or emotions I’ll finally find the fulfillment I need.
“Restore our fortunes, o LORD, like streams in the Negev! Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.”
In this last half of this Psalm, the author begs God to make his heart blossom like the desert, the Negev. Having looked back at God’s great works in the past, the author of the Psalm trusts that God can demonstrate His love again, even more powerfully in the future. He’s asking God for joy. Like the writer of this Psalm, I’m waiting for God to make the desert of my heart into a garden—to “restore to me the joy of Your salvation”, Psalm 51:12. It feels like a long wait. But I have hope—God has done great things for me. I’ve mentioned my family, friends, and school. Most importantly, though, His Son Jesus Christ died in my place, took my hard heart with Him, and replaced it with the fruit of His perfect life. Because of that, it’s only a matter of time until His love will make me completely like Him, satisfying me fully. Then I will be fully glad in Him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)