fall term 2008, day 2

Now Playing: Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars".

26 August 2008.

Rachel left at half six again this morning. I persuaded myself out of bed half-an-hour later, dressed in the usual shorts and Belfast marathon T-shirt, ate a bite of breakfast, and sat in the corner, doing my quiet time. Rachel had come back and was doing her quiet time when I finished and left for the gym. The day was hot and sticky already as I was walking back to the apartment. Rachel was in the shower, so I curled up like a cat in a pool of sunshine on the carpet and read That Hideous Strength until she finished. Then I took my turn, and, washed and dressed, stuffed flute and textbooks into my backpack and walked over to Tyrrell to practice my flute.

The basement in Tyrrell keeps getting worse and worse. Today nearly all the practice rooms were full; many of the pianos in the practice rooms are broken, which makes it difficult for voice and piano majors to practice. While I was practicing, I kept hearing something scratching and banging in the ceiling above one corner of the room, which wasn't exactly the most conducive to maintaining concentration. Halfway through my labored rehearsal of the first movement of a Bach sonata, Philip banged on the door. He'd just come from a piano lesson. We stood and chatted for awhile. He says that he wants to learn something other than Classical piano; I, on the other hand, the more music I play, the more I love Classical, particularly Bach. Playing Bach is one of my greatest delights right now. The difficulties of the sonata intrigue me; they present challenges to overcome, an opportunity to beautify the piece as much as possible.

Anyway, after I finished my flute practice, I went upstairs for Music History I, MUS 3253. In this class at least I encounter amusing and complete familiarity. Dr. P is just the same as he was when teaching Music History II sophomore year: slightly ponderous, mellifluous bass voice, half-asleep eyes, camaraderie with all th students, yet behind all that precision of knowledge and expectation. I recognized a rogues' gallery of familiar faces from the music department. Music students are like a shoal of dolphins, happy-go-lucky, noisy, friendly. One guy whom I scarcely know leaned over and said, "Wow! You completely changed your haircut! Nice! Very Audrey Hepburn!" When Karl came into the classroom, everyone clapped and cheered, while he sat down near me and gave me a shamefaced smile.

Dr. P finished nearly half-an-hour early, unused to the TTh hour-and-a-quarter schedule, so I had time to go to the caf and get a wrap before Honors, HON 3003, started at half twelve. I sat outside under the sycamore tree in front of Lottie (its crown sadly defaced by last winter's ice storm, but still providing a lushly thick pool of shade) and read That Hideous Strength with an almost unpleasant intensity while I ate.

At half twelve, I went to HON 3003 in Chapman. Another one of the cookie-cutter Chapman classrooms--this time, the same classroom as I'd had for that dreadful freshman comp class ages ago. Honors classes tend to have the same group of people in them every time as each year moves up together, but since I'm behind a year from studying abroad, I recognized far fewer people in this class than would be normal for an Honors class. The professor, Dr. B, is a big, red-faced man, very friendly, straightforward, and interested in everything the students had to say. We had an amazing discussion and very nearly ran over our allotted class time.

So Honors was satisfactory. I walked back to the apartment, thinking. Rachel was away. I settled down on the floor and furiously finished That Hideous Strength with its eerie, nearly nightmare-like conclusion. Then I sat at my desk to fill my planner with a frightening list of papers and exams gleaned from all the syllabi so far, and then to read for Honors. I listened to Bach organ pieces.

At about four o'clock, Rachel stepped in to tell me that Nicole had invited us to her apartment to study. I packed up my laptop and massive music textbook and went with Rachel to Nicole's apartment. Nicole, Rachel Scholz, and Laura P. share the apartment. It's quite a jumble of furniture at the minute. Rachel, Nicole, and I nestled ourselves in the confusion and spent a very quiet two hours studying. Nicole dozed off. I dug through two onerous chapters of music history, writing down all the definitions I could find (Dr. P's quizzes are notorious).

At six o'clock, I packed up and walked over to ACAC. Philip was just getting off work at Carrello's, the wee coffee shop in ACAC. Allison, one of his friends, was hanging out with him. I hadn't met her before. I met Crystal and Laura for tea in the "hut", the restaurant/bar in ACAC. Crystal and I ordered our food to go.

We took our meals and walked in the direction of the apartments so that she could consult me on her senior project proposal. I had to keep mentally smacking myself to stay focused on the conversation; my mind kept drifting, half-expecting to see someone I recognized from Queen's. Outside Sharp Chapel, in the library plaza, we ran into Asher and Bob, and then, on the steps of the chapel, into John. Crystal and I decided just to sit in the plaza and eat since there was only half-an-hour before RUF was supposed to start. Evening sunshine was warm on the concrete benches running round the trees in the plaza. We were sitting and talking about something--ekphrastic poetry, I think--when Crystal's face, looking past me, changed. I turned to follow her look, and there, very dark against the bright sky, and very close, was Logan, all of a sudden. He sat and chatted with Crystal and me, and then with John when John came out to say hello.

We went to RUF at half seven. The atrium in Sharp Chapel was full of chairs in rows and of the RUF crowd. After the service, everyone stayed, as usual, for at least another forty-five minutes. There was ice cream. The few freshman who'd come were made welcome. I talked to Jenny Hellman about getting together; talked with Tara a little bit about Invisible Man; listened to Holly laugh about the trouble with water damage she and Kevin have had as they've been trying to settle into their apartment; said hello to Jenny McConnell. I stepped outside for a moment to say good-bye to Rachel, away from the noise in the atrium. Asher came by, full of energy, and made Rachel and me laugh. Back inside, I stood in a corner and talked quietly with Hannah and Tara.

When Logan left, I walked out with him to his car, parked over by Lottie.

After we said good-bye, as I walked back to Mayo, I was giving thanks with an outburst of spontaneity that has eluded me for awhile. I went up to Crystal's apartment, which is on the end of the building across from ours. Katie and Grant were studying in the living room, so Crystal and I went into her room. She showed me her photographs, and I read her project statement. I suggested that, since her method is fairly plain, she look for a theme to pursue with that method. We had a really good conversation, from artistic methods to the relationships that have been happening in our lives over this past summer. It was midnight, and I was sleepy. We stood on the balcony for awhile, talking.

I went back to our apartment. It was dark and quiet, except for Rachel snoring gently in her corner in our room.

fall term 2008, day 1

Now Playing: Sufjan Stevens, "Illinoise!"

I woke up this morning before Rachel's alarm went off. Our wee room is very light: though the venetian blinds may keep prying eyes from seeing in (not too likely on the third storey anyway), they don't keep the sunshine out. I hadn't slept well, and the strangeness of this new place keeps nagging at the fringes of my consciousness. In one sense I know that it will probably evaporate eventually, but in the meantime it's distracting.

Rachel was up at half six and went out to go running. My alarm went off at seven o'clock. I got up, put on running clothes, and curled up in the wingback chair in the corner by the windows to do my devotions. Rachel came back from her run as I was finishing. We spent a very quiet forty-five minutes or so. I brewed Earl Grey tea for us both; while she sat at the table and did her quiet time, I sent e-mails. She left at nine o'clock for class. I worked on e-mails and such until about half nine and then walked to the gym.

Entering the gym was eerie, like rewinding a film. The same old smells, the same old sounds and sights, the same sense of the place opening like an enormous flyway to the left above the basketball courts. With those memories was a sharp sense of loss, strangely honed, missing the QUB PEC even as I settled into the familiar routine, half-an-hour on the treadmill, fifteen minutes on the rowing machine, starting to memorize Isaiah 40 on the former and listening to Psalms on the latter.

The apartment was empty, warm, sunlit when I returned. I took a shower. At about eleven o'clock, I went to Tyrrell Hall to practice my flute. The morning was surprisingly cool for the burning clarity of the sunshine, but all that was swallowed up as soon as I stepped through the heavy wooden door. Tyrrell flooded badly this summer, and the place reeks of mold. The air is almost too thick to breathe. After forty-five minutes of practicing in one of the basement practice rooms, my throat was sore and my head swimming.

I went to the caf and stood in line for ages to order a sandwich, surrounded by complete strangers. On a campus as small as TU's, such a sensation is rather unpleasant. As I was leaving the caf, I nearly ran into Jenny H. leaving the ID office. Seeing her was an incredibly welcome taste of familiarity. She had twenty minutes left in her lunch break, and a sandwich in her car, so we went and sat on one of the concrete benches in the sunshine outside the caf and shared our lunch together.

We parted ways at one o'clock. I went back to the apartment, collected my things, and worked on reading for HON 3003 tomorrow. At two o'clock, I went to my first class of the term, Philosophy of Art, PHIL 2113. It's in Chapman Hall, the catch-all Arts and Sciences building, on the second floor. Long rows of narrow tables, floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. A full classroom. I sat down by the windows and read That Hideous Strength until the professor began to try to put the class in order.

The professor is a burly man, very emphatic when he gets in full swing, but easily sidetracked. He reminds me of the big red-furred badger we saw at the Oklahoma City Zoo on Friday. He likes to make the class laugh (I've decided that the main goal of most professors these days is to do that). "The philosophy of art is like a vampire. It will suck your blood, so by the end of the semester, you'll be all pale and pasty," he said, after commenting on how clean and tan we all looked after the summer. He introduced the course textbook by saying, "This will stop a 357 magnum if you're looking for body armor," and made the requisite blunt jokes about President Bush, which made my ears tingle. (A car alarm just went off outside. Emmaline, remember how they'd go off on Elmwood Avenue randomly in the afternoons?)

The class was rather badly behaved, I thought. Everyone seemed to keep talking even while the professor was speaking, like being in a bad highschool. The professor hadn't gotten halfway through the syllabus before a young man in the front row started to ask all sorts of huge questions about art, the idea of art, why we were only studying Western art, whether the professor thought Eastern art had just as many religious ties, and so forth. The professor made the whole class unnecessary by declaring, "There is no such thing as art!".

When class was over, I was glad. Clean afternoon sunshine. I lay under a tree near Tyrrell Hall and read That Hideous Strength until it was time for my flute lesson at half three in one of the abominable basement practice rooms. Professor Rush greeted me with his usual rotund cheerfulness, and we launched almost immediately into the Bach sonata I'd been trying to learn all spring in Belfast.

After my lesson, I returned to the tree outside and lay there for a full hour, reading. All the tricks of the institution seemed stripped bare by C.S. Lewis's "fairytale", and the vivid blue sky above the slate roofs and green oak leaves seemed all the more precious for the rubbish I'd been hearing about Art earlier in the afternoon.

I walked back to the apartment and found Rachel there. We ate tea together. We actually had to walk over to ACAC to snitch some plastic utensils before we could eat the leftover shepherd's pie I'd brought from Stillwater since we don't have any silverware in our apartment. We told each other about our respective days: economics senior project for her; art for me, and the puzzling ways of professors.

At half six, Rachel and I walked over to the plaza by the library to help Alisha chalk messages about RUF on the pavements. Alisha gave both of us big hugs, and we sat on the steps of the library and talked until Crystal came. We chalked a big message on the plaza, then split up to chalk on the pavements around campus. The evening sunshine was warm and heavy, like molten gold. Mosquitoes buzzed incessantly around my arms and ankles. After we finished chalking messages, we regrouped at the library, and Alisha came back with Rachel and me to our apartment for a little while.

At eight o'clock, Alisha and Rachel left, Rachel for an APO meeting. I listened to the Prince Caspian soundtrack, Dvorak's "Serenade for Strings", and Sufjan Stevens while I read homework assignments for HON 3003 and PHIL 2113. I turned out all the other lights and worked in the small pool of golden lamplight on the floor. For some reason, that's where I prefer to work, has been since freshman year, as though that small cone of light is safety and solace and skill.

Rachel came back at about half nine or ten o'clock. She's working on her laptop at the table, and I work on mine in the corner by the windows. I'm already beginning to feel sleepy.

gypsy caravan ongoing

Now Playing: My father reading Trustee from the Toolroom by Neville Shute to Stephen and me.

This morning I woke up at a quarter to eight. At first I was baffled because not even Stephen was up when I went downstairs for breakfast. I sat down at the table to eat and read That Hideous Strength, and eventually, Laura and Stephen appeared. About five minutes later, at twenty past eight, the doorbell rang. "I know who that is," Stephen said with a grin. I laughed. "I knew this would happen. Logan would be here ten minutes early, and Sarah would be here ten minutes late."

When Sarah did arrive, we set to work loading her pickup truck and the minivan. The minivan had already had all the seats taken out of it and the mattresses and box springs loaded in. Logan, my father, and Stephen got the pickup truck bed loaded with desk, chairs, and plants; Sarah, Laura, and I, with help, filled the back seat inside the cab of the truck with suitcase, pillows, blankets, and stack of drawers. Two lamps were stowed in the minivan. The four of us said good-bye to Logan and Stephen and set off for Tulsa.

The morning had been warm, humid, and sunny in Stillwater. Sarah, Laura, and I trundled down the motorway, squeezed into the front seat of the cab of the truck, listening to old radio shows. Mist hung above the low hills in the humid sunshine. The mist gradually darkened ahead of us until, about halfway to Tulsa a great dark cloud like the distinct curve of a wave or the outspread wings of a raptor suddenly loomed above us, and behind it, the sky was darker yet. Rain came down. I sat and prayed hard for the rain to stop, then laughed at myself for being stressed because after about five minutes the windshield cleared. It rained intermittently until we were fairly beyond Keystone Lake and down into Tulsa. The lake was beautiful: dark grey clouds, dark grey water, but a motorboat on the water leaving behind a white wake, and a white egret mirroring the wake as it circled near the shore.

In Tulsa, the sunshine was heavy and hot. My father was far behind us, and when he pulled into the car park between the apartments, I knew why: the driver's window was gone. He said that it had shattered just beyond the lake, leaving behind a puddle of green glass beside the driver's seat. I went inside the small student centre in the middle of Mayo Village to pick up my apartment key. The apartment complex was fairly quiet, though across the street, there was the bustle of freshmen moving into Twin Towers dorms.

Apartment #3338 is at the top of three flights of stairs on the centre block of Mayo Village. I rapped on the door and opened it, and there was Rachel Shafer. I gave her a big hug, exclaimed over the cleanliness of the apartment, and then went downstairs to meet everyone else. It didn't take us too long to move in. Philip and Rachel Scholz were there to help, as well as a burly four-man Hispanic moving crew from the university, who made the process go faster by trying to out-muscle each other and carry mattresses up the stairs single-handed.

While the Rachels and I tried to set up the furniture in our apartment, Sarah, Laura, and my father helped Philip move the last few things into his apartment. Then, at about eleven o'clock, we went to lunch at Panera. Philip had to go to work in Carrello's in ACAC at noon.

After lunch, my father took Rachel and the minivan to pick up Rachel's things from the families that have been storing them all summer in Broken Arrow. This left Sarah, Laura, and me in the apartment. I set Laura to work disinfecting the kitchen cupboards, Sarah to work disinfecting the bathroom counter, and myself to work putting everything away. We discovered in the midst of this bustle that we were in need of a broom and dustpan, dish detergent, and toilet paper. So we hopped into Sarah's truck and drove down to the shop on 15th Street for the requisite supplies.

Back in the apartment, we set to work again. I cleaned the bathroom; Laura washed dishes; Sarah swept the floor. We christened the broom Fred and the dustpan Filbert. It was good craic, though it would've been better if we'd had some Nickel Creek to keep us working. When Rachel and my father arrived, we scampered downstairs to help them move Rachel's things in.

My father, Rachel, and I screwed the table together. Then my father left for Stillwater. Sarah, Laura, and I stayed. Laura wanted to put the maps and posters up. She insisted that Rachel and I hang a map from the high expanse of wall above the kitchen bar, where the vaulted ceiling slants up. Rachel, in her delicately forthright manner, convinced Laura that no such thing was going to occur. Rachel described in lavish and theatrical detail her summer's work, a performance of King Henry IV, while we put tape on the maps and posters and hung them round the living room. She and I each took a wall of the wee sitting nook, where my desk and the two armchairs are, and put up postcards and photographs. The wall above my desk became a collage of verses, quotations, and pictures from Renwick weekend, formal dinners, and weddings, while the opposite wall, under Rachel's serious and methodical hands, was slowly hung with a variety of postcards from her travels and mine.

Sarah, Laura, and I left at about four o'clock. We drove back to Stillwater with the windows rolled down, all three of us sweltering as the full blaze of the afternoon sun beat through the windscreen. We listened to music on my MP3 player--Bob Marley, Sufjan Stevens, Coldplay, Snow Patrol. Laura fell asleep with her head half out the window; Sarah and I talked about the semester ahead.

Back in Stillwater, Sarah dropped Laura and me off at our house. I answered some e-mails, most notably a hilarious one from Rachel M. about the woes of attempting to post my forlorn QUBCU hoody. ("So we rang Emmaline, who of course was at Castlewellan and doesn't carry your address around with her...." I was just proud she hadn't typed E-- instead!)

Laura and I fixed tea tonight. I made shepherd's pie, and she baked soda bread from a recipe in an old cookbook. When my father asked me later what I thought of the soda bread, I said that it was like looking at a postcard of Rembrandt's "The Night Watch" when compared to Mrs. Wilson's soda bread. Anyway, we were in the midst of this (and Laura, being tired and hot, was rather snappy) when the phone rang. "Hello? May I speak to E--?" said the voice on the other end of the line. "This is E--," I said, starting to grin hugely at an accent I thought I recognized. "This is Daphne," said the voice. "Daphne!" For about five minutes I was regaled by a rather sleepy Daphne and Emmaline (and Charlotte, Heather, and others in the background), until the notorious Donegal connection cut out.

Laura and I finished our work. We ate tea rather quietly.

We watched the "Three Stooges". While my father washed dishes, Laura and Stephen practiced their duet on the piano. Laura came to lean her head on my arm for awhile. I sat in the living room for a long time, typing yesterday's journal entry, with no sound except the rattle of the ceiling fan. My father quietly went into the study to work on tomorrow's Sabbath school lesson. The light in the study became distinct from the silvery dregs of sunshine slanting through the stairwell window above the study, until dusk became night, and my father and Stephen came into the living room and turned on the lamps. My father read, and we had family worship. My mother, who's in Pittsburgh right now, rang to say hello.

Now Laura and Stephen have gone to bed, and the cats are prowling round the house. I've chatted a little bit online with Logan and Syneva this evening, but I'm completely exhausted myself. This heat does not agree with me. I would rather like to evaporate for a week before having to start university, but life would be boring if things always went according to our likes.... It still hasn't fully sunk in that I'm not going back to Queen's. I miss the camaraderie there. The thought of eating in the University of Tulsa cafeteria again is rather repulsive to me. Small things....

God is good.

(N.B.: My father pointed out that there was something possibly offensive in this post. I have removed it, and I do apologize if anyone was offended. I honestly meant no harm.)

22 August 2008

Now Playing: Laura and Stephen on the piano.

At a quarter past one, Logan arrived, to take Stephen and me to the zoo. On our way to campus to pick Laura up, we dropped my father off for his meeting. Campus was crowded, thick with students going hither, thither, and yon. In the course of the ten minutes we spent trying to wade through the pedestrian traffic, we saw Dr. E, Rachel, Henry, Anna, and Laura’s nutrition professor.

The drive to Oklahoma City to meet Logan’s family at the zoo was uneventful. The zoo was easy to find, and almost deserted in the heat of mid-afternoon. The Wests were waiting for us in the car park under a big oak tree. Mr. West was wearing a white cowboy hat. We went down into the broad open plaza at the front of the zoo, purchased tickets, and entered. We walked between beds of lush plantings, zinnias, calla lilies, daisies, and thick bushes. Dakota and Mrs. West quickly planned a route. We visited the pachyderm house first, where rhinos and pygmy hippos are housed in a building with a variety of exotic birds. The two kookaburras obliged by laughing hysterically for a good two minutes, and the tawny frogmouth amused everyone by yawning with its huge pale mouth.

From there we walked into the island house. A glass tank full of cockroaches brought suitable groans of disgust from everyone. In a big cage nearby, a monitor, probably five or six feet long from snout to tip, was attempting to climb a tree much too small for it. The tree, one of the rather wimpy office variety, was bending drearily under the big lizard’s weight while the lizard rather stupidly flailed its enormous splayed claws. Outside, Galapagos tortoises sat with all four legs splayed in the shade, their heads retracted under their monstrous shells. We walked down behind the pachyderm house and laughed at the rhinos, some of which were outside, wallowing in a mud pit.

We walked up a short hill, past an expansive shady enclosure housing five different kinds of deer, as Kady pointed out. Around this enclosure, near the top of the hill, was another shady enclosure housing three or four beautiful velvety okapis, and beyond that was another broad expanse of grass, this time nearly treeless, where giraffes, ostriches, and zebras stood motionless in the heat. Behind us, an okapi gave a strange, donkey-like cry; before us, an ostrich, blind in one eye and trailing its huge frayed wings like the fringes of an old feather duster, was herded toward the giraffe building by a keeper. Further down the hill, we came to more big fenced enclosures. In one of these was a wild ass, which, as soon as it saw us, started to produce the most ridiculous donkey bray I’ve ever heard. It trotted down the fenceline as we walked beside it, braying the whole time and sticking its head between the wires of the fence. When Logan, Laura, Tanner, Stephen, and Kady started to run back up the fenceline, it cantered beside them, braying enthusiastically. A keeper drove past in a golf cart, and the ass ran beside the golf cart; when the keeper reversed the cart back down the hill, the ass ran beside it. It was hilariously funny. The ridiculous creature made the whole zoo echo with its frantically friendly braying.

We also visited maned wolves and a cheetah and another broad sunny space for kangaroos. It was incredibly hot. Whenever we came to a water fountain, Laura and Kady would start to splash each other. There were also faucets mounted on tall poles at intervals along the sidewalk; the faucets put out a musty-smelling mist when a button as pushed. It was funny to watch Tanner, Laura, Kady, and Stephen playing with the mist until their hair and eyebrows were beaded with tiny white drops like frost.

From the top of the hill, we came to the primate area. Chimpanzees were sitting outside. In the primate house, we watched four or five silverback gorillas, which had just been fed. The youngest of the bunch was an incorrigible showoff: it scrambled to the top of the telephone poles in the enclosure, slid down a length of old fire hose, rapped its knuckles against the glass after it had seen Mr. West do so, and ran round the cage smacking the older gorillas with its big wrinkled hands. Logan commented that the orangutan, sitting wisely in the next cage with its bearded chin on its chest, looked like the sort of old man who might play Go with Philip or Jonathan. The keepers had just put the orangutan in a new cage with some old blankets and sheets, and Laura and I collapsed into giggles when the orangutan, maintaining its dignified bearing, wrapped one of the sheets around itself. “It’s a Jedi!” said Stephen. We spent a long time in the primate house: the afternoon had reached its hottest point, as the sun was turning toward the west. Outside near the chimpanzees, Tanner had caught a small lizard. He let it scamper across his shoulders, and when he held it belly-up in his hand, it lay perfectly still while he stroked its belly. He lost it in the primate house, but with Stephen’s and Dakota’s help, he managed to recapture it. In a nearby outdoor enclosure, we saw three or four medium-sized lion cubs. All of us were beginning to be tired.

The next big exhibit was a new one, made up of native Oklahoma plants and wildlife. In one of the first cages were deer and turkeys. Beyond them in a separate enclosure were two magnificent mountain lions. From there we entered a wire-covered flyway, where roadrunners, quails, and native ducks were housed. Beyond that was one of the best exhibits in the whole zoo: a nighttime exhibit. We entered the cool twilight through heavy wooden doors. Set up to look like an old barn, the exhibit housed a big glassed-in flyway full of bats zooming in endless circles. They hung from the rafters; they stopped to take great mouthfuls of fruit from bowls on the floor; their wings flapped translucently in the pale purple light. It was mesmerizing to watch them. Across from them were two big glass cages, one housing a pair of regal great horned owls, the other housing a pair of barn owls, which reminded Stephen of little old Japanese men. There were the requisite snakes, amphibians, and insects. In another cage were a skunk and a possum; beside them was a ring-tailed cat, and beside it were two screech owls.

Back outside, we walked on a bridge above an enclosure housing a badger, which was running in circles; above it on the hill were prairie dogs and bison. A big waterfall splashed over rocks in the enclosure of two gigantic brown bears. The red early evening sunshine was slanting warmly over the red earth as we entered another building, this one housing fish, snakes, amphibians, and, at some point in the near future, beavers, otters, and alligator snapping turtles. It was relaxing to sit in the cool air conditioning, watching the enormous streamlined shapes of catfish, perch, and guar sliding through green water. Back outside, we walked down the hill, pausing to admire a bald eagle on a perch. The last enclosure housed four or five Mississippi alligators, lizards lying lazily in the long grass.

From this area, we strolled down the hill further, and came out of the thick trees that had clothed the lower slopes of the hill onto the margin of the lake. To our left were the old bear pits, cut into the side of the hill, with trees growing above them; to our right the blue expanse of water stretched warm in the sunshine. Paddleboats shaped like swans bobbed at a quay. The old bear pits now house a variety of animals, from a colony of fat (but alert) meerkats to a giant anteater, pacing in a figure eight, its elongated snout and fan tail reminding me respectively of a caricature artist’s attempts and the plating of a baleen whale. “God is amazing,” breathed Mr. West as he half-laughed at the anteater. We walked past the butterfly garden, late sun glancing off the petals of snow-on-the-mountain and black-eyed susans. Our last stop was the aquarium, but it turned out to be rather disappointing. The huge tank that usually holds seals and sea lions had only one lonely seal swimming in it, occasionally poking its sleek dappled head above the clear water. We walked down past the eerily empty dolphin tank into the aquarium area under the auditorium, and looked at tanks of fluorescent coral reef fish, African lungfish, four-eyed fish, stonefish, and other oddities.

Wearily, we climbed the hill to the gate again. We said good-byes in the scorching evening heat of the car park. As we climbed into Logan’s car to start the drive back to Stillwater, I was absolutely exhausted, but my impression of the afternoon was one of incredible richness.

Oklahoma looking unusually green: my house and garden

Question: Is this layout easier to read, i.e., with these colors, than the old layout?

good times

Now Playing: Cherish the Ladies, "Woman of the House", Track 1, "The Jolly Seven/The Rascal on the Haystack/Bonkers in Yonkers".

This morning when I woke up, the world outside was remarkably cool and moist. I'd been dreaming about flying all night.... I sat downstairs and ate leftover blueberry muffins (courtesy Laura) and drank tea and read The Mind of the Maker. Philip joined me, unusually early for him, but he was busy reading directions for making lattes since he's just been hired at Carrello's, the coffee shop in ACAC at the University of Tulsa. As soon as he'd finished breakfast, he left for Tulsa to start training.

I opened all the windows, sat upstairs, and did my devotions. Missy was supposed to show up at eleven o'clock for a visit, but she rang me just after eleven to tell me that she'd slept in far later than she'd meant and was running a full hour late. I didn't mind: I spent the extra hour working frantically at the arm-length list of tasks I've set myself for this week.

At about noon, Missy showed up. My mother welcomed her inside and exhibited to her the small menagerie of wooden figurines Heather had given her as a hostess gift: tiny wooden turtle, crocodile, giraffe, rhino, hippo, impala, and cheetah. Missy and I sat in the living room and watched the eighth Truth Project lesson, skipping ahead since we won't be able to watch all the DVDs before both of us have to go back to university at the end of this week. It was an excellent lecture about God dwelling in His people. My mother and Stephen quietly ate lunch in the background. After the lecture, Missy and I talked for awhile about the awesome wonder of God's indwelling Spirit, of our participation in the fellowship of the Godhead, of the power of God at work in us, of our responsibility to maintain unity with other believers.

We went for lunch at half one. Missy was driving one of her family's old cars, which has a stick shift. She stalled it right after the light turned green at a major intersection. I couldn't help grinning. We went to lunch at Chipotle, the new Mexican restaurant on Hall of Fame. The afternoon was still cool and overcast, so we sat outside at a little metal table under an umbrella. After we'd bowed our heads and prayed, as we were beginning to eat the enormous burrito (which we split), one of the workers came by and asked us what church we went to. He introduced himself as Orlando--an enormous Black man, very friendly. He sings in the Gospel choir at Mount Zion Baptist church. Missy and I looked at each other and shook our heads in amazement after he'd gone inside.

It began to rain, a thin, persistent mizzle. We drove downtown to Murphy's to look around for a gift to give the people who've been storing Missy's belongings in Geneva all summer. We browsed through Murphy's, admiring the colorful utensils and kitchenware. Missy bought a cookbook of Oklahoma recipes, and then we drove up the street to Aspen to spend the rest of our afternoon.

As we stepped into the coffee shop, we saw Pastor Parnell sitting in the corner by the door, so we stopped to talk to him. Then we went to the counter and ordered. We ordered hot tea, and we both amused ourselves by sniffing the containers of tea bags: vanilla almond, raspberry quince, mango ceylon, Earl Grey, British breakfast, blackberry sage. We sat down at a small table on the far side of the coffee shop, snuggling our hands round our hot mugs. Tinglingly aromatic steam rose from my mug of raspberry tea. We laughed about how wars have been fought over tea as we watched the rich color slowly seep into the clear water at the bottoms of our cups. The rain fell slowly outside.

At about four o'clock we drove back to my house. Missy dropped me off there, and we said our final good-bye. She leaves on Friday to return to Geneva. Laura was back from her first full day of school, MTC plus OSU. I sat in my room and typed up Saturday's journal entry, listening to Flook and The Wailin' Jennys, while Laura looked out my windows and told me about her day. One of her friends from last year's ASL class is in her nutrition class, which is a very good thing.

At half four, I left for the Fishers' house, to listen to the last John Piper sermon in the series "Battling Unbelief" with Anna. At the Fishers', Mrs. Fisher and Christa enthusiastically showed me their house's new lay-out. It's all very cozy and comfortable. Anna told me about her first day of classes, laughing about her history and chemistry professors and about Dr. E. Then we spread out on the shaggy carpet in her new room and listened to the last sermon together.

As we finished talking about the sermon, the smell of chicken steaming in olive oil was coming from the kitchen. We said good-bye to Mrs. Fisher, busy working on tea, and Anna, Ruth, and I drove over to Logan's house, on the other side of town, listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack. The evening was becoming grey and misty, the sort of evening that ought to come at the end of November, though it wasn't quite cold enough.

Logan had tea prepared for us--sandwiches and pizza--when we arrived. The four of us sat in a row on the sofa in the living room and, since there weren't any interesting matches on TV, watched clips of old matches on the NBC website. We stayed until half nine. Jonathan came in at seven o'clock, and after he arrived, the noise level went up considerably. All-in-all, we watched track and field, swimming, synchronized diving, diving, gymnastics, archery, and a little bit of ping-pong.

At about half eight, Elizabeth rang Anna's mobile. I talked to her for half-an-hour and laughed a lot. I talked to Sarah B. some, too--incredibly refreshing to hear her voice. After I talked, Anna took a turn, then Ruth. We finally left at half nine, and I took Anna and Ruth home. I drove home listening to "Digee Dime" from the Burlap to Cashmere CD. The night was so humid that I had to flick on the windshield wipers sporadically to clear the condensation from the windscreen. At the house, my father was checking e-mail in the study. I sat and talked with him for a little while. He's teaching one class this semester with about fifty students in it--not exactly his preference. At ten o'clock, I went upstairs. I'm listening to Cherish the Ladies and to August crickets clicking outside.

nacogdoches cousins, part ii.

Now Playing: "The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian" soundtrack, "The Call", Regina Spektor.

12 August 2008.

Aunt Lisa, Ross, Andrew, Lillian, Annalee, and Mary arrived Sabbath evening. Today was their second full day with us. Last night, I stayed up until twenty to one finishing Perelandra, so this morning I was tired but up before Ross at any rate. My mother had bought three dozen donuts (chocolate, maple, and glazed) for breakfast this morning, so I sat at the table, drank my tea, and ate a donut while my mother and Aunt Lisa talked. At about nine o'clock, Aunt Lisa and my mother left to spend the day with Grammy shopping for quilting and knitting supplies in Guthrie. This left me with the four girls and the four guys: the girls were all busy getting ready for Jessie's surprise party at lunchtime, while the guys were all upstairs being bored. Mary desperately wanted to go swimming; Ross was in a bad mood at the very idea of having to venture near a pool. I tried to keep peace between the two groups. I hung out with the guys in Philip's room listening to music for awhile, then played outside with Mary, fetching the post, climbing the pine tree in the front yard, and, as a final treat, blowing the conch shell so that the whole neighborhood reverberated.

At half eleven I went to work for two hours. There's a new girl at work, Erika. I haven't made up my mind about her yet: she's unusual, very pleasant and friendly, eager to work, and I find myself drawn to her, but I can't tell whether she's a Christian. She has thick blond hair and a pleasant, freckled face, and went to highschool in the desert in Australia, she says. After work I walked to the post office and posted a parcel to Emmaline.

In some ways it was good to be back at the house. The house was cool and quiet. The morning's cool cloudiness outside had given way to cool sunshine, an unusually lovely August afternoon. Ross was asleep on Philip's bed, while Philip and Andrew played "Ages of Empires II"; I met Stephen leaving for organ as I came inside. The girls had all gone over to San Born Lake with Angie. Thanks to their cake-baking exploits, the kitchen was a tip, and the breakfast things had all been left sitting out.

I took my books and journal outside and sat on the swingset to do my devotions. The afternoon was gorgeous, sweetly, alluringly, surprisingly gorgeous. A vibrant blue sky; big indigo-and-white clouds; a sweet breeze from the northeast; warm sunshine. Tiny bees and flies buzzed among the big flowering basil stalks. An emerald green hummingbird hovered down to drink from the basil, then swung, scintillating, to within about eighteen inches of my face. It passed over my head twice, so close that I could hear the whir of its wings.

After I finished, I went inside and cleaned up the kitchen. Then I walked over to San Born Lake. It seemed strange to me, going up the neighborhood streets, to be so confident, so normal about this. I tried to remember the last time I'd walked over there, but couldn't. The pain of wanting to see the little steep green hills and tiny crooked hedges burned the back of my mind. At the opening between the locust trees by the water, I sat down to think. Sobering: to sit there, staring across the blue water, under the blue sky, toward the green rim of willow trees, and to be completely unmoved.

I walked on. In the thick grove of juniper trees just past the bridge, I spied Lillian, Annalee, Mary, Laura, and Angie climbing in the biggest juniper tree. They were all wearing cloaks (Mary had a ragged towel pinned around her shoulders), and Laura and Annalee scrambled eagerly up to the top of the tree to impress me. We walked back to the house after awhile.

My mother, Aunt Lisa, and Grammy were all home, busy fixing tea. The boys were at Boomer Lake playing ultimate football. I sat down at the table with the knitting from Mrs. Rees and listened to them talk about their day. Annalee and Mary kept popping in, complaining about how bored they were. So I got up abruptly and took the two of them over to Mrs. Orr’s house. We asked Mrs. Orr if we could walk her new dog, Moochy, a young shepherd pup. Moochy bounced excitedly as I slipped through the gate into the yard and found her leash. Annalee, Mary, and I walked her up the easement, scurried across the highway (holding hands), and let her on long leash as we jogged down the hill to the lake. She’s fairly obedient, has a problem with jumping (bounced up and popped Mary a kiss on the eyebrow), but generally did a good job of listening to our commands. Such a happy wee dog I haven’t seen in a long time, with a beautifully soft and glossy coat. We walked down over the first bridge, then round up and over the hill where the frisbee golf course is. The evening sun lay warm and long on the green grass. Annalee and Mary took the leash for awhile. Annalee ran with Moochy over the grass, the dog streaking out in front on her leash. We went back down the hill and over the bridge to the park. I sat with the dog under the shelter so that Mucci could cool off, all four of her legs splayed out on the cool concrete, while Annalee and Mary went down the slide. We hurried back home for tea.

After tea, all of us except my dad piled into the cars to go swimming, but the city pool and the YMCA were both closed, the city pool for the season, the YMCA pool for the night. So we went back to our house, and I dragged the old wading pool out into the low garden by the swingset and filled it with water for the girls. My parents, Grammy, Aunt Lisa, and I sat outside on the back porch, while the girls splashed in the wading pool. The evening was cool, and after half-an-hour, Mary was shivering. Laura and Lillian climbed up the small silver maple tree in the corner of the back yard while the gloaming fell. I was wading in the cool water with Mary when Philip, Ross, and Andrew appeared on the porch, asking me to come play spades with them. Reluctantly, I went inside to join them. Ross and I were on a team against Philip and Andrew. I’d never played before, so I was rather lost, but it was fun. After my parents went to bed, Aunt Lisa joined us, chatting with us, and laughing with Ross and me at Andrew, who was completely spaced out.

I declared my last round at eleven o’clock and went upstairs to bed. The nearly full moon was shining through the shutters as I crawled into bed.

Now Playing: The Wailin' Jennys, "Heaven When We're Home".

Some interesting quotes from Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra by C.S. Lewis

“A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking… as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing…. What you call remembering is the last part of the pleasure, as the crah is the last part of a poem. When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it. But still we know very little about it. What it will be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then—that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it. You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?.... And how could we endure to live and let time pass if we were always crying for one day or one year to come back—if we did not know that every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day?”

“You and the King differ more than two kinds of fruit. The joy of finding him again and the joy of all the new knowledge I have had from you are more unlike than two tastes; and when the difference is as great as that, and each of the two things so great, then the first picture does stay in the mind quite a long time… after the other good has come…. It is I, I myself, who turn from the good expected to the given good. Out of my own heart I do it. One can conceive a heart which did not: which clung to the good it had first thought of and turned the good which was given it into no good…. I thought… that I was carried in the will of Him I love, but now I see that I walk with it. I thought that the good things He sent me drew me into them as the waves lift the islands; but now I see that it is I who plunge into them with my own legs and arms, as when we go swimming…. It is a delight with terror in it! One’s own self to be walking from one good to another, walking beside Him as Himself may walk, not even holding hands. How has He made me so separate from Himself? How did it enter His mind to conceive such a thing? …. I thought we went along paths—but it seems there are no paths. The going itself is the path.”

Mother dear: I couldn't explain tonight when you asked. Perhaps this will better--a variation on the phrase that closes Psalm 23, "Goodness and mercy all my life shall surely follow me...."


“A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered.” – C.S. Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet

Cross-legged on the floor, adrift again
(Though now in pages, journals, scribbled words),
You ask me, “Why read old journals?”

Pointillist patterns, spectrum splitting back
To pure white light: Emma in the kitchen,
“We don’t mean you. We like you, E--.”
Bringing Catherine tea up flights of stairs,
Em and Charlotte laughing at the door—
Yet, I liminal as these margins lined
With words oppressed to page in that dim room—
Read pleasure back, inlay delight on pain—
Where I sat, night by night, locked in by dark,
Shattered into sherds by maddening fear,
Flayed into quivering shreds by sharp despair,
Screaming, crunched and crushed, like broken glass,
Yet prayed and pushed into these other lives.

So came the entering slowly, receiving me:
Rachel and Daphne scribbling "no-go" maps
To narrow streets encrusted with straight-backed buildings,
Linsey and Heather soaked by sudden rain,
The great red building on its massive lawn,
The elm trees burnished bronze by waning day,
The dash across the road of little cars,
The irrepressible, irresistible pull
Of common rooms and kitchens full of light,
Of bitter, carefree humor, fragile-faceted,
Of sudden strike of sunshine on old brick
Outside the kitchen window.

I reread.

The fragments piece together, flake by flake,
Resume their resolution, fall in place,
A pictured promise as they make a peace.

Now Playing: Nothing.

It's been a noisy day.

One noise I didn't have to deal with this morning was my alarm clock, but I woke up early enough that I didn't need it. Devotions this morning were good, thanks to Psalm 13 and the devotional from Heart Aflame quoted in the post below. After I finished my devotions, I tried to ring Emmaline, but was greeted by the "Vodafone messaging service". "Out milking cows," I decided, and sat down to work on my list, which by now is about as tall as I am.

While I put away some of the odds and ends that have been hanging on the wall above my desk, replaced them with photos, and wrote e-mails and Facebook posts, I listened to two halves of sermons about Philippians by Mark Driscoll.

I was scheduled to go to work at half eleven. Searching on my cluttered key chain, I realized halfway to the car that I didn't have the keys, so I had to go back to the house to ask Philip for them (he's been driving the Buick). My mother heard our brief dialogue and gave me her keys since Philip couldn't find mine. When I sat down in the car to put the keys in the ignition, there were my keys, exactly where Philip had left them Saturday night...!

I worked for two hours. We were fairly busy today. The guys can't stop discussing The Dark Knight. Their discussions were punctuated with customer orders, the clatter of plates and soup pot lids, the noise of the register, the whine of the microwave. I was glad to be outside after my shift ended, though the heat was absolutely searing.

After work, I drove down El Tapatio on Perkins to have lunch with Logan. After we finished, we walked down to a pine tree on the edge of the park and sat in the shade and finished the last chapter of The Holiness of God.

I was home by half three. The house was quiet--until I got upstairs. "Guess who's on the phone?" my mother asked me bouncily as soon as I entered the schoolroom. It was Emmaline. I shut myself up in my room for the next two-and-a-half hours. It's always so good to hear Emmaline's voice again. We talked each other's ears off, exchanged the biggest pieces of news about each other's last couple of weeks, slagged one another, gave each other advice, discussed our friends, and so on....

I eventually went downstairs to eat tea--by myself, since my mother had had an SLS meeting to attend tonight, and everyone else had already eaten. My father and I discussed logistics of phones, cars, and work this coming semester, depressing topics. Life swings confusingly between the exhilarating and the mundane.

Back upstairs, I found Laura knitting in her room. We spent most of the rest of the evening together. For awhile she sat and knitted while I read "World" magazine and The Mill on the Floss, which is now on my "most boring books in the world" list. Logan rang, and we talked about books. Laura showed me pictures from TFY, and we listened to music until my father called us downstairs for family worship.

Now I'm in my room, blissfully alone for a little while.

good quotes

“God does not give us overcoming life. He gives us life as we overcome. The strain is the strength. If there is no strain, there is no strength. Are you asking God to give you life and liberty and joy? He cannot, unless you will accept the strain. Immediately you face the strain, you will get the strength. Overcome your own timidity and take the step, and God will give you to eat of the tree of life and you will get nourishment. If you spend yourself physically, you become exhausted; but spend yourself spiritually, and you get more strength. God never gives strength for tomorrow, or for the next hour, but only for the strain of the minute. The temptation is to face difficulties from a common-sense standpoint. The saint is hilarious when he is crushed with difficulties because the thing is so ludicrously impossible to anyone but God.” – Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

“Christians are like nails: the harder you hit them, the deeper they go.” (Quotation from a Romanian pastor in a sermon by Mark Driscoll.)

“But I trust your unfailing love. The Psalmist does not as yet feel how much he has profited by praying; but depending upon the hope of deliverance, which the faithful promise of God enabled him to entertain, he makes use of this hope as a shield to repel those temptations with the terror of which he might be greatly distressed. Although, therefore, he is severely afflicted, and a multiplicity of cares urge him to despair, he, notwithstanding, declares it to be his resolution to continue firm in his reliance upon the grace of God, and in the hope of salvation. With the very same confidence ought all the godly to be furnished and sustained, that they may duly persevere in prayer. It is by faith that we apprehend the grace of God, which is hidden from and unknown to the understanding of the flesh.
I will sing to the Lord. Surely it becomes us to engage in a prayer in such a frame of mind as at the same time to be ready to sing the praises of God; a thing which is impossible, unless we are fully persuaded that our prayers will not be ineffectual. We may not be wholly free from sorrow, but it is nevertheless necessary that this cheerfulness of faith rise above it, and put into our mouth a song on account of the joy which is reserved for us in the future, although not as yet experienced by us; just as we see David here preparing himself to celebrate in songs the grace of God, before he perceives the issue of his troubles.” (Heart Aflame by John Calvin, devotional on Psalm 13)

Salute to all white rabbits, and my apologies for not recognizing them yesterday.

Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Stealing Second", and Laura and Peter in the kitchen.

Uncle Kirk and Peter have been visiting this week. Anna and I were hunting up breakfast in the kitchen Wednesday morning and had our comparatively serene conversation interrupted by a phone call from Peter, informing us that he and Uncle Kirk had left a blissful twenty-four hours early. My mother was unruffled at first, but when she realized that she and Laura had to go to Enid to rehearse for Beth's wedding, leaving Philip, Anna, Stephen, and me behind to clean the entire house, her composure was a little bit... disturbed. I think the four of us completed our chores in under an hour, probably the fastest they've ever been done.

On Thursday, I had scheduled a get-together with Missy that included tea at my house. Anna and Sarah, both being family-less, ended up at our house for tea, and so did Logan, since he invariably gets dragged into most family get-togethers. The dining room was full of girls, all talking at once around the table, to the amusement (and the overwhelming) of other members of the household. After tea, those of us who endured went upstairs and had a rousing game of ultimate Uno, Renwick-style--except that we didn't have any chairs to jump on, so we all sat on the floor and jumped whenever the red eight was played instead. The result of the game was that Philip and Anna had a gleeful monopoly on the cards, to the disgust of Peter, Stephen, Laura, Sarah, and me.

Yesterday afternoon, I took Peter, Stephen, and Laura swimming, to burn off some of their younger-sibling-and-cousin energy. We played a very wet and splashy variation of ultimate nerf until we were crowded out by daycare kids, at which point we had spent two hours in the pool and decided to go home.

Showers and pizza, and then we were all bundled off to the church talent show at the community centre. The this is the SRPC's third talent show, and quite an event: we had skits galore. From the Wagner family, a skit about preparing for a wedding, with Beth pretending to be a Romantic bride worthy of Northanger Abbey. From the Parnells and Carrolls, a channel-changing skit, the different channels splicing together to create quite a humorous pastiche. From Mounts and West, Abbot-and-Costello, and from Mounts and Noell, Monty Python. From the Yosts, a funny mime to a Country song. 222 (Uncle Kirk's aesthetic contribution to this post are the 2s, in case you were wondering.)Afterward, Uncle Kirk sat on our sofa and teased Sandy until Peter caught her to pet her. She didn't appreciate either.

Today we went to IHOP fo2r breakfast (missed you, Emmaline). My mother, Stephen, and I went shopping at Wal-Mart (I almost bought a teal shirt, Catherine). 22 2 Before lunch I got on Facebook and had a good, but too short, chat with Rachel. So far we've spent all afternoon playing card 2gam2es at the dining room table: Uncle Kirk, Philip, Peter, Laura, Stephen, and me. We had Uno and several rounds of President, in which many awful jokes about beheadings, dictatorships, and uprisings were made.

Uncle Kirk even told a joke: "Descartes, Picasso, and some of those other guys go into a bar. Picasso says to Descartes, 'Would you like a drink?' and Descartes says, 'I think not,' and disappears."

*ahem*

Laura is watching me type, and Uncle Kirk is adding his wee touches here and there, while Philip sits across the table from me playing Mousehunt.

It's so hot outside.

The kitchen smells like chocolate.

Lo and behold, this was last night's devotional:

“And straightway He constrained His disciples to get into the ship and row to the other side…” Mark 6:45-52

We are apt to imagine that if Jesus Christ constrains us, and we obey Him, He will lead us to great success. We must never put our dreams of success as God’s purpose for us; His purpose may be exactly the opposite. We have an idea that God is leading us to a particular end, a desired goal; He is not. The question of getting to a particular end is a mere incident. What we call the process, God calls the end.

What is my dream of God’s purpose? His purpose is that I depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay in the middle of the turmoil calm and unperplexed, that is the end of the purpose of God. God is not working towards a particular finish; His end is the process—that I see Him walking on the waves, no shore in sight, no success, no goal, just the absolute certainty that it is all right because I see Him walking on the sea. It is the process, not the end, which is glorifying to God.

God’s training is for now, not presently. His purpose is for this minute, not for something in the future. We have nothing to do with the afterwards of obedience; we get wrong when we think of the afterwards. What men call training and preparation, God calls the end.

God’s end is to enable me to see that He can walk on the chaos of my life just now. If we have a further end in view, we do not pay sufficient attention to the immediate present: if we realize that obedience is the end, then each moment as it comes is precious.

Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

rpcna international conference 2008, calvin college, grand rapids, michigan

Now Playing: Ralph Vaughan-Williams, "The Lark Ascending", performed by Hilary Hahn.

Once again I'm doing a poor job of posting during a month.

I'm in the midst of an intense game of Scrabble on Facebook with Philip. To use a questionable word or not to use a questionable word, that is the question.... It doesn't have quite the same ring.

Laura just came parading in to show off her newly-straightened hair. She and Sarah have been and will be thick as thieves all week, busy rearranging the Spitlers' house for their return from Scotland on Thursday.

So we returned from the RPCNA international conference on Saturday. To my sheer delight, there was a box from Emmaline waiting for me on my bed, as I was informed by Anna's dissertation-length note left on our dining room table. Laura, commenting as I type, "She sent you potato chips?" Me: "Salt and vinegar crisps." Laura: "You're funny, E--." And now she's enthralled by the cookbook one of Claire's aunts gave me for Christmas.

There is no way to present the conference in its full glory. It was an encouraging time for me, rich, peaceful, not in a fireworks sort of way, but like the slow movement of a Beethoven symphony.

(Now Laura is cooing over the wee cat bookmark Emmaline and the Empire Drive girls gave me from Prague. Little sisters...! Just so the world knows, the cat's name is Percival, appropriate, given the proud crook of its tiny pewter tail.)

Part of the mixture was humor, provided amply by Christa ("I'm a man!" as she stooped over my hand and kissed it in a moment of purely Christa-ish hyper dramatic ridiculousness) and Emily ("Cake patter is difficult for me," as she tried to understand why they didn't have cake batter flavored ice cream every evening). Also by Sarah B. from Armagh, who kept me on my toes with her slagging--I'm already getting slow from being around the very different style of American humor.

Another part was the richness of fellowship with people I haven't seen and probably won't see for four more years: Laura S., Anjali, Corinne, Kathryn P., Emily G., and others. From conversations with some of these, combined with the excellent morning lectures in the series "Meeting Christ in Life", particularly the lectures on worship and Heaven, I relearned some of the truths I'd discovered in Belfast, of which I desperately needed to be reminded. About Christ being our home, about the importance of memorizing Scripture, about the primacy of our relationship with Christ above all other relationships.

The singing during the worship times was absolutely beautiful. I was always reminded of Emmaline and her love of singing, and took new delight in singing the Psalms in the presence of the Lord.

Speaking of Northern Irish friends, one of the girls from Daphne's small group Bible study, which met in Renwick during the spring semester, was at the conference. She's not RP but flew over to help with Whitelake (the same RPM team that Elizabeth is doing, as it turns out), and the conference was included in the fare. On Saturday, as Sarah and I were going downstairs to get our room keys, we ran into this girl, Sarah B., on the stairs coming up. I was wearing my Ireland jersey. Sarah B. and I stopped, stared at each other in recognition, and started to speak to each other, and from then on, Sarah B. was fast friends with "us". It was wonderful to have a familiar face from that world interacting with the friends on this side of the ocean, to share the little quirks and idiosyncrasies, to slag each other off, to have her join the mutual encouragement and discussion.

During the conference, I was able to lead a college discussion group in the morning and help out with recreation for the little kids in the afternoons. The college group took a field trip to Lake Michigan on Tuesday, where we spent the afternoon. A squall blew up halfway through the afternoon. While everyone else fled from the white beach to the shelter of the trees, Joel and Gregg S., from Lisburn RPC, stayed on the beach and blissfully played frisbee in the rain.

Thursday night, David W., formerly from Trinity RPC, hosted an Irish barn dance in a car park for the college group. Highschoolers and adults showed up as well so that by the end of the night there were probably about two hundred people dancing strip-the-willow in perhaps fifteen different sets around the car park. Everyone was incredibly hot and sweaty, but, undeterred, as soon as the dance was over, the students from Geneva College set up an impromptu swing dance in the basement of the college dorm.

In the midst of all this: I suppose most people have probably experienced what it feels like to have one idea or problem dominating one's mind, overshadowing every conversation, every activity, every moment of worship. It happens to me occasionally and has been the undertone to my whole summer so far. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of it. When I stared out the window on the long road trip, I was thinking about it; when I lay down to sleep, it was in my last prayers of the night. From some people I've been getting the sense that I'm not grieving enough over this particular issue, but just because it's not crashing cymbals every moment doesn't mean that it's not the bass line permeating everything else.

And yet this past week, especially with this new, more vivid awareness of the Psalms, I've at the same time been brought to a more vivid awareness of God's character as Savior. A couple of weeks ago I "stole" Anna's copy of Perelandra to browse through and was reminded of God's ability to display His character differently through different means. From singing the Psalms I've come to understand more deeply that in our world He primarily manifests Himself as Savior.
The greatest peace comes from the truth that He saves us not only from sin but from its every aspect, from all the problems that arise in this life. The promises to give wisdom, to hear and respond, to deliver us so that we can praise Him fill Scripture. Psalm 9 in particular has been on my mind with its rich interplay of cry for present deliverance and praise for past aid.

"The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed,
a stronghold in times of trouble.
And those who know Your name put their trust in You,
for You have not forsaken those who seek You."

I am thankful for the past week, even for this almost consuming thought, because of the opportunity it has presented and will present for God to display His glory.

Laura is busy copying recipes out of the Spitlers' cookbooks before she returns them tomorrow. Even if she can stay awake for the rest of the night writing about bread and cookies, I cannot.

going away

Now Playing: An MP3 recording of the Renwick House Psalm sing on 1 May 2008.

Tomorrow we leave for the international conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We've all been busy getting ready today. Laura just finished cleaning out the guinea pig's cage. While she was cleaning it, she let the guinea pig run around the schoolroom, where I'm sprawled on the floor with my laptop. Once it worked up enough courage, the wee animal took a rather over-enthusiastic interest in my laptop, which is now embellished with some little tooth marks round the edges.

Thus far this week I've fixed tea twice. Despite my siblings' and friends' slagging, I insist on that name for the last main meal of the day. We've been trying to eat up all the food, as usual before going on a trip. Of course, it didn't help that Laura and Anna went peach picking with Stephanie and her little ones on Tuesday, returning back here with a big plastic bucket full of peaches. They have been really good, though, fresh and ripe and juicy. I ate two at lunch after work today.

Philip, Anna, and I have been sharing music. Or rather, they two have been sharing theirs with me. Philip insists that I listen to Louis Armstrong. I'm skeptical, not having much of a taste for jazz beyond Norah Jones. Appreciating the technical acumen and actually liking it are two completely different things.

On Tuesday, I ended up talking with both Catherine and Emmaline. Catherine and I were in a Facebook chat for about an hour-and-a-half; Emmaline and I talked on the phone for a solid two hours despite her need to go to bed and my need to eat my tea. (According to her, she already was in bed; she just wasn't asleep.) Wonderful to talk to them both--but hard, too, because afterward, of course, I just missed them more.

It reminds me of the Mississippi kites haunting the skies right now. When the wind is strong and variable in the morning and afternoon, they veer and shiver, their wings and tails constantly shifting and tipping. Later in the evening, when the air is more still, they catch steady updrafts and glide motionless in long ascending arcs across the blue sky. I prefer the second, an equilibrium between the images pushing against my eyes and accents echoing in my ears and the actual scenes and voices around me, but only the Lord can maintain that.

Anna has been living with us this week, which has been good fun. With her here and Philip and Laura back from their trips, the house has actually been full for a change. We haven't done a whole lot so far, work schedules keeping things crazy. Yesterday we went down to visit Stephanie for awhile, though, and on Tuesday we went to Aspen with Philip and Laura. One night we discovered that she's allergic to relativism (it makes her cough). Speaking of her, she should be back from work soon, which means that I ought to go and be sociable.

touring tulsa

Now Playing: "Don't Panic" by Coldplay.

11 July 2008, afternoon and evening.

At about half three, after Stephen finished his organ practice at the First Presbyterian Church, we assembled at our house, "we" being my father's parents and his brother's family--i.e., Grandma and Grandpa N, Uncle Edd, Aunt Nancy, and Mary Beth--as well as my parents, Stephen, and I. My parents, Stephen, Aunt Nancy, and I rode in our minivan, and the others followed in my grandparents' Buick as we got on the highway. We took one of our sets of walkie-talkies, which my dad and Stephen mostly used for sending dry insults to Uncle Edd about his driving abilities.

The afternoon was hot and sunny, driving through open green places gilded with coreopsis until the land began to rise into the foothills of the Ozarks around Tulsa. Kites and vultures were veering on rising columns of heat.

In Tulsa, we took a brief drive around the grounds of the Gilcrease Museum. Then we got back on the highway and drove to the University of Tulsa. We drove down Delaware, where the construction has been completed. The campus looks alright, though the trees have suffered considerably from ice storms, particularly the beautiful oak tree outside Lottie, whose perfect crown has now become a random collection of skinny limbs.

We drove down Delaware to 15th, over to Lewis, down to 21st, and drove around Utica Square. This area of Tulsa is a magnificently wealthy place, medical centre and office towers rising elegantly over broad streets, buildings with red tiled roofs, big planters full of fluorescent impatiens, sweet potato vines, and petunias. Utica Square is the main shopping area, a tangle of fancy shops built low under huge old oak trees, the selection including Abercombie & Fitch, American Eagle, Talbot's, Russell Stover, Sacks Fifth Avenue, and so on.

From there we went on down 21st to Woodward Park. Here we got out and walked around a bit. The rose gardens looked wilted and dried, the bushes gone leggy and bare in the heat, the flowers small and spotted with sunburn. The dark pools, where usually lilies grow, were stretches of bare black water, and heat beat up into our faces from the sidewalks.

We drove down 21st to Peoria, and from there to the Philbrook. The neighborhood around the Philbrook is beautiful, pristine old houses surrounded by lavish lawns. Then we turned around and went back to 15th, where we settled ourselves at Hideaway for tea.

Hideaway in Tulsa has the same 1960s flavor as the Hideaway in Stillwater. Uncle Edd and my father, with huge grins, recognized famous songs by "Yes" and other bands playing in the background. Brightly-colored kites hung from the ceiling. I sat at the other end of the table with my father, Uncle Edd, Aunt Nancy, and Mary Beth. Uncle Edd gave me plenty of advice about applying for graduate school, gave me names of English professors at Westmont College where he teaches, talked about his trip to China, etc., all in a very friendly fashion. We chatted with Mary Beth about her work and with Aunt Nancy about the school where she teaches. The pizza was good, and gone quickly.

From Hideaway we drove back to the University of Tulsa. My father stayed in the car in the shade with Grandma while the rest of us walked around campus a little bit. It was strange to be on campus again, to see the changes, to see it so empty. We were the only ones in sight. Many of the trees had been ruined. To the north of the library the parking lot has been torn out and the path to ACAC blocked by construction; by Kep, the parking lot has been torn up there to make way for a new engineering building. Of course the apartment construction continues on the south side of campus.

From Tulsa, everyone except Uncle Edd, my father, and I drove back to Stillwater in the minivan. The three of us drove down to 15th Street Coffeeshop. It has changed only a little bit--new artwork on the walls, more furniture. Tara was working behind the counter. She smiled at us as we came in, looked at me again, then lit up. We stood and chattered away happily while my father and Uncle Edd decided what to order. We ordered cold drinks and sat at a little table by the French doors. I had iced Earl Grey tea.

We sat and talked about academics and church life. Then Nicole wandered in. Awhile after that, Kathryn, her mother, Jenny, and Spencer came in. Introductions all round.

The three of us had to leave at quarter past nine to pick Laura up from the airport. She flew back from Pittsburgh tonight. We said good-byes and drove to the airport, arriving just in time. Her flight had just come in. We stood at the gate, peering through the crowd of people coming down the long hallway, until Laura came into sight. We picked up her baggage and drove back to Stillwater. On the drive back, Laura fell asleep; Uncle Edd, my father, and I talked politics. A brilliant half moon shone on the blank fields. Uncle Edd left us at our house, then drove the grandparents' Buick back to theirs. Laura went straight to bed.

highlights from this week

Now Playing: "In the Quiet Morning" by Joan Baez, stuck in my head thanks to Philip.

Spending most of Tuesday afternoon and evening with Anna and going to watch Prince Caspian with her. Seeing a shooting star on Tuesday night, lancing the dark sky between the other stars.

Finding messages from friends in N.I. waiting for me in my e-mail when I got back from work Wednesday night.

Eating tea at the Fs' house Thursday night after going to see Wall-E, and getting to talk to Leah and Brioni, two people who can be difficult to get ahold of.

Actually having stuff to do at work on Thursday: a huge lunch rush, and then listening to music on my MP3 player while I washed the resulting dishes--instead of listening to whatever random songs the other employees have on their MP3 players. One day one of the guys played some Regina Spektor, which was interesting. She sings one of the songs on the new Prince Caspian soundtrack. I like the way she sounds mostly, but the lyrics are questionable.

Spending most of the day yesterday with Elizabeth, sitting on the stone wall at Boomer Lake most of the afternoon, laughing about our separate worlds, bringing things a little bit closer together, daydreaming about our ideal houses--hardwood floors, glass, suncatchers, big windows, painted walls for both of us--and about some serious things.

Watching stars come out in Enid yesterday evening, lying on a blanket on a gravelly hillside in the crowded park, waiting for the fireworks display to begin.

Coming back from the Farmers' Market with my mother this morning with a big sack full of produce--cantaloupe, peaches, onions, green beans, cherry tomatoes, and the like.

One more: Rediscovering my love of Calvin and Hobbes, to the neglect of my textbook on intertextuality. Intertextuality may be very interesting, but Calvin and Hobbes sure is a lot funnier (and sometimes even more profound...! *cough*).

1 july 2008

Now Playing: Harry Gregson-Williams, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian soundtrack, Track 10, "Battle at Aslan's How" (an egregious spelling error, if I may say so--it ought to be "howe", not "how").

Before I begin, matters of my new dominion concern me. *Ahem* For those who have applied, we are sure that suitable posts will be discovered fitting to their gifts and abilities. The queen must be diplomatic and careful not to be too hasty in such matters (a hint of Entishness would, perhaps, be appropriate in so weighty an office). Secretary of Defense has been granted to the one who has petitioned it, and as for the F cousins, who certainly are not "lesser" members of the family, but whose placement required further consideration: R at least should share office with P, and perhaps A would like to be involved in a similar employment. Petr can be Secretary of State, if he likes, and go around making long speeches and debating with people. The three girls... well, they and L always like to do things as a "swarm", if we may be permitted the expression. :o)

The new administration requires further time to ponder the other positions still vacant in its government, but we hope to keep these as few as possible so that the new government does not reach the deplorable position of the old one with its multiplication of bureaucracy.

Now on to a more serious blog post....

1 July 2008. After lunch, M went out; S and I left at the same time, he to practice the organ, me to pick up ALF from the Fs’ house so that we can go watch Prince Caspian together in OKC. The afternoon was hot and sunny. We listened to Chris Thile, “Not All Who Wander Are Lost”, in the car. ALF told me the story of her ridiculous morning, in which a stalled car and four squirrelly siblings figured prominently and kept both of us laughing. I asked her about the CY retreat last week. We got to Quail Springs Mall at about three o’clock and so had about half-an-hour to kill before the film began. We walked around the mall, laughing at the odd fashions in one of the department stores, sneezing at the perfumes, admiring the sparkly jewelry. We went to the cinema early anyway and so had plenty of time to sit and make fun of the previews before the film began.

In some ways it was better the second time: as always, I noticed new things; and I liked Prince Caspian’s and Edmund’s characters more fully the second time. Both of us thoroughly enjoyed it, and discussed it, of course, as we drove back to Stillwater. We stopped at the exit for Guthrie, at Braum’s, for tea.

When we got back on the road, we chatted about music, Coldplay mostly, and ALF told me funny stories about her siblings, and talked about Dr. Who and Robin Hood. Evening was sinking from the sickly hot blaze of late afternoon to the cool dusty periwinkle blue and violet of dusk. We talked about books. As we pulled into the Fs’ road, we could see Ben, Greg, Fric, and Frac scampering about in the front yard. The hooligans threatened to board the ship, but I kept driving and turned round at the end of their narrow road, and parked in the ditch near their house. ALF and I sat in the car, talking, with the doors locked, to prevent the pirates from coming aboard. Said pirates made off about their own business. Mr. F came outside to put the pirates through their paces and then dispatch them indoors. Ben flashed the dining room lights at us, but we ignored him.

We were finishing our discussion about books and plans for the summer when Mr. F and ECF, who had gone on a prayer walk together, came walking back across the quiet yard through the dim. We went inside with them. I ended up sitting in the living room on the floor with the entire F compliment of children to entertain me: ECF sitting to my left on the floor with her long legs stretched out in front of her, giggling hilariously at her siblings and squirming because of Greg’s rather painful antics; Greg ensconced in the “royal throne”, a massive (and ugly) upholstered armchair in the corner, putting on a show for us of his gymnastic abilities, which included walking on his knees, turning his feet inside, turning his arms inside out, etc.,; Ruth, stretched in the laz-y-boy part of the sofa, deep in Christy, appearing only occasionally to chuckle quietly at whatever was going on around her; Ben, in the middle corner of the sofa, presiding over the entertainment with his henchman, Greg, egging Greg on and telling ridiculous stories, with the help of Dani, who sat next to ALF on the remainder of the sofa, the two girls leaning on each other. CVF paraded in and out, asking me to play a game with her; COF strode around the room, swinging a broken lamp on the end of a wire, pretending it was a grenade, until he settled himself on the futon directly behind my head. CVF and COF were sent to bed fairly soon, but the rest of the squirrelly bunch stayed on. Ben, Greg, and Dani were full of silly stories, assisted by ALF, about the skink the boys had caught that evening (“It bit Greg, so Papa said, ‘Hmm, must be a female!’”), about ridiculous old sci fi movies they’d watched, about Dr. Who, about monsters, etc. ECF and I sat and laughed and laughed, glanced at each other every so often, and laughed more.

Mr. F finally joined the party. He evicted Greg from the “throne” and told Dani and the boys to go to bed. They tumbled off the sofa and sprawled on the floor, and it took some persuading to get them to go to their beds. After they left, Mr. Fisher, Ruth, ALF, ECF, and I sat around for a little while longer. Mr. F asked for a story from N.I., so I told one that kept everyone laughing; then he told a story about his drive back from CA this past weekend, on which a tire had blown out on the trailer they’d been hauling, and the spare had been locked inside the trailer, setting off an interesting train of events.

I finally left at about half ten, with jolly good nights all round. Outside, the evening was cool and clear. Tipping my chin up, I stared into the face of the sky overhead, scattered with pale summer stars. I drove back home very happy, listening to Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings with the windows down and the sound of the tall grass rushing through the windows. After I switched off the engine in the driveway, I stood outside for a little while. Fireflies were flashing in the deep blackness of the oak trees behind the house, and overhead the stars seemed brighter. Indoors, M was waiting up for D, who was still away at a session meeting. I said good-night to her, took a shower, and was in bed by half eleven.

hear ye, hear ye!

Now Playing: The neighbor's lawn mower and leaf blower. We are sitting outside on the back porch of what is, for now, the royal domicile, after all, and such racket is to be expected, we suppose.

Such raucous noise aside, we begin.

Announcing the ascendancy of the author of this blog to the position of Queen of the United States of America, which is rapidly becoming the United Bureaucracy of America in our opinion.

As far as the presidency, Congress, etc., goes, in the words of King Caspian in The Voyage of the "Dawn Treader", "'I think we have had enough of governors,' and so made him a Duke."

The policies of this new government will include the following:

First, a federal ban on abortion in all its forms, gay marriage, and gambling. Also, a ban on stem cell research, cloning, and creation of human-animal hybrids. Minotaurs, centaurs, and werewolves are all very well in Narnia or mythology, but we want no such monsters roaming the halls of our nation's research facilities, their escape a definite and disturbing possibility.

Second, withdrawal of all federal funding from organizations including but not limited to NPR, the NEA (both as concerns arts and education), NASA, National Geographic, and the Smithsonian. These institutions can take care of their own business from henceforth as far as we are concerned, and they can make as much hullabaloo as they want about any and all of the new policies, as long as they don't expect the new government to pay any attention to their racket.

Third, abolishment of the federal income tax. In place of this, we will establish a national sales tax, which will be built into the shelf price of every item, as in the U.K. No more of this silly business of going up to the cash register and being sadly disappointed by discovering that one's purchase costs fifty cents more than one expected!

Fourth, privatization of transportation systems. All transportation will now be owned by the states or private companies. Tax breaks will be given to those states, cities, or companies that construct public transportation systems, and particularly to those that give discounts to large families to travel on such systems. (By the way: For environmental protection, only families with three children or more and those requiring the vehicles for daily work (i.e., farming, construction, etc.) will be permitted to own large vehicles. No more of this buying SUVs and Hummers for status purposes!)

Fifth, the opening of Alaska and offshore drilling options for private oil companies. Simultaneously, tax breaks will be given to those companies and research institutions which are exploring alternate fuel options.

Sixth, because this new government is concerned for the aesthetic appeal of our beautiful country, we will give tax breaks to all municipalities that bury their power lines. This will remove the need for obnoxious companies such as Asplund (*cough*), which butcher trees, and the possibilities for citizens' death as a result of live damaged electric lines. (This one is slightly random, but it makes sense--to the royal "us", that is.)

Seventh, removal of all federal funding from the "public" school system. It won't be public anymore.

Eighth, the establishment of English as the official national language. We are heartily weary of the time and expense sacrificed on translating things into Spanish, which, though intrinsically beautiful and worthy in its own culture, has no business being officially recognized by a government founded and dependent upon a distinctly English linguistic heritage.

Ninth, privatization of health care, social security, and all that jazz. Those who are wise enough to take care of themselves should have ample opportunity; those who aren't should know the consequences. (Paul does say, "If a man shall not work, neither shall he eat," after all....)

It is our understanding, as an explanation of the above policies, that the Constitution does not give any precedent for the federal government's involvement in the arts, sciences, health care, education, transportation, medicine, or any of the other exhaustive and exhausting entanglements in which the current bureaucracy has immured itself.

It is also our understanding that with the removal of income tax and tax breaks for companies, states, or municipalities which are demonstrating good stewardship, the much-discussed, much-pitied, and much-doctored economy will be stimulated and quickened as people will have more money to spend, save, and invest as they see fit.

As far as issues of royal succession goes, we propose to appoint successors. We will not be restricted to our children (should such an eventuality arise) or blood relatives, though it must be stated that for the moment, we are strongly inclined to appoint one of the royal siblings to be next in line for the throne.

As far as our royal decrees, nine seems like a good number at which to stop for now. For international policy, and the war in Iraq, our chief adviser, M (with overtones of James Bond), has suggested the shipping over of a hefty number of troops to settle the issues there once and for all, so that when the soldiers do come back, it will be a lot more quickly and without the constant nightmare fear of having to be sent out again, instead of this rather wishy-washy state of affairs. Further consideration must be applied to this suggestion; however, because of the wisdom of M on other aspects of the administration's policy, we incline to agree with her.

We would like to point out that these new regulations will allow the government to pay off a large chunk of the national debt. Also, that in some ways these new regulations would be more environmentally friendly since instead of pouring resources into fruitless research on helpless children, companies would be able to develop alternative technologies in medicine, fuel, transportation, and the like.

We propose that the royal parents and the session of our church be the chief royal advisers. Also, that Miss Rachel S. be the adviser on economic policy, and a panel of petroleum engineers, including Mr. K and (the new) Mrs. H, be in charge of overseeing the new drilling options. The royal brother, P, will be encouraged to form a company to ensure that all those new train and subway lines are safe for the public once he graduates as a mechanical engineer, and the other royal brother, S, will be encouraged to head the EPA, keeping an eye on Alaska and the nation's oceans, should he choose to graduate with a degree in marine biology. The royal sister, L, will be presented with the opportunity to use whichever of her many talents (sign, music, and culinary arts) she chooses to pursue.

We also propose that the royal friends in other parts of the globe be consulted on issues of international policy since they can keep a somewhat more impartial eye on the international attitude toward our new government.

As an overarching guide to policy, we propose to take the Holy Bible as our chief guide and primary authority.

Herewith concludes the royal declaration. Citizens, salute!

(And from now on, if anyone asks me what I'm going to do after I graduate, I'm going to whip out a copy of this and command them to give me their allegiance as their sovereign. *grin*)