Currently listening to Ray LaMontagne:

Shelter

I guess you don't need it
I guess you don't want me to repeat it
But everything I have to give I'll give to you
It's not like we planned it
You tried to stay, but you could not stand it
To see me shut down slow
As though it was an easy thing to do
Listen when
All of this around us'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me, my love
And I will shelter you
I will shelter you
I left you heartbroken, but not until those very words were spoken
Has anybody ever made such a fool out of you
It's hard to believe it Even as my eyes do see it
The very things that make you live are killing you
Listen when all of this around us'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me, my love
I will shelter you
Listen when
All of this around us'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me, my love
I will shelter you
If you shelter me too
I will shelter you

LaMontagne has a chilled, laid back sound--the CD Trouble is very well produced. His voice has a gravelly quality, and yet a quiet lyricism. Thank you Lindsey (and vicariously, Lee) for the introduction.

Currently reading:
Jane Eyre (yes, still plugging away):
I am really getting into the story, and I would love to have a day to just read and read until I finished. I'm especially looking forward to that climactic moment when everything resolves itself--the denoument is always my favorite moment, and one can only truly experience that exalting feeling of knowing the first time through the story. There's a different satisfaction the second, third, and fourth times, but that first time... nothing quite like it. I know how Jane Eyre ends, but the language, the way Bronte will work it out is keeping me eagerly anticipating.

Taste and See
John Piper's book of short mediations is serving as a quiet time resource for me these days. I'm still about half-way through Desiring God, and I started it probably two years ago. These short essays are slightly more digestable bites that still stick with me throughout the day, not unlike the chili I had earlier this week. Sorry--bad visual.

Currently thinking about:

• Guys (or should I say guy? We'll go with guy for Tom's sake.)
• The sovereignty of God
• Whether or not I should accept the offer to cantor at a local Catholic church on occasional Saturdays
• How long I can wait before I need to abandon the computer for the bathroom
• How cool my roommate is
• I really like this Ray LaMontagne guy

I don't know how many of you out there in blogland are fans of the new Emergent Church, but if you aren't, you should check out this page! Even if you are emerging, you should learn to laugh at yourself a little, or at least at the inherent contradictions of some of your leaders. I guess I think people should be more than a little wary of voting for Brian McLaren as New Official Spokesman for evangelicals, and the aforementioned page has some great things to say about postmodern evangelicalism. I particularly enjoy the comments. Some people get pretty heated! (Warning: That Is Not My Blog is rated S for extreme use of sarcasm)

I'm sort of on this tangent lately because of my current Sunday School class about Biblical Ethics. We started off this new quarter by examining postmodernism and modernism, comparing them and evaluating them. It's been very interesting, and I am looking forward to the heated debates that are sure to come! (Can you tell I like it when things get heated? Hmmm... that sounds bad...)

In other news, school is going well. After the Dramatic Encounter of two weeks ago, things have vastly improved. But I will say that it's hard to teach a book that one has never read before, let alone teach three books that one has never read before. It's hard to stay ahead of one's students and to know how to plan for one's classes when one doesn't even know what to expect in the developing plot of the book. Right now, I'm teaching Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Jane Eyre--all to middle schoolers. Hard to believe, I know, that this well-read, literate English teacher hasn't read Jane Eyre, but it's unfortunately true. Any suggestions on making it through the novel from anyone who's actually read it? What about getting 8th graders to care enough to work through this tough piece of fiction? I mean, Charlotte Bronte is no cake walk.

I played ultimate frisbee for the first time yesterday, and I got really involved, to the point of actually being competitive. I always avoided the game at college because it looked like too much running, and I'm pretty lazy. But there was no way to avoid playing yesterday without looking like an idiot, so I attempted to save face and ended up enjoying myself. What a thought.

I am feeling a little random tonight. Sorry if my ideas are all over the place.

I had my first seriously dramatic encounter with a parent tonight. I have to admit that I'm still a little shaken up over it. I don't think anyone has spoken to me in that way since I was a child. I felt like a child. I felt responsible. Well, I was responsible. I tried to apologize, and eventually the parent calmed down and apologized too. But I've never been put in such a difficult position. In the end, we were all crying--the student, the parent, the teacher--and it felt horrible. But it was resolved, and I felt like God enabled me to handle it with grace. I tried hiding the fact that I was choking up, and I think I was pretty successful, but I bawled afterwards for awhile. It was a huge learning experience, and I hope that I'm a little more stable in similar conversations that will inevitably take place in the future.

I knew that this would happen eventually, and I'm glad that I went through it. But I did not enjoy it at all.

Welcome back to school.

"The godly are designed for unknown and inconceivable happiness."
--Jonathan Edwards

I started reading Taste and See by John Piper this week. He is an Edwards fanatic. The quote above was stated in a sermon by Edwards when he was only twenty years old. Can you imagine understanding such deep levels of theology at twenty? I'm twenty-three and I barely grasp Piper's concept of Christian hedonism.

I decided that right-justified was fun for today.

I've been having this hankering/yen to play catch for the last few days, but so far, I have yet to satiate my desire. At least it's warm enough that there will be future opportunities.

School starts on Tuesday. I'm not extraordinarily thrilled about going back to work, but I think that once I get there, it will be good. There's a work day tomorrow, but I'm trying to avoid thinking about it.

Poems to be written

just get stuck

and refuse to come out.

Desires to be aesthetic

intouch

artsy

are left vanquished

by peanut-butter syndrome

(when it

clings to the roof

of the mouth

making speech

difficult)

no one

understands you

garbled

sticky

stupid.

T minus three hours and eleven minutes...

I'm flying home tonight.

Just thinking about it makes my stomach shiver with anticipation.

It's been six long months.

I hope I haven't built it up so much that I'm disappointed.

Here I come!

This is what my weeks have looked like lately. Pretty crazy. But now I'm sitting at home, just relaxing, not worrying about anything. The first semester is over. I've made it. We put on The Best Christmas Pageant Ever yesterday night and this morning. I was slightly concerned (can I underexaggerate any more?) that things would fail to come together, but praise the Lord, it did! I haven't quite felt such a burst of pride for my students as I did when the curtain (actually a big purple tarp hung up with shower hangers) closed, and the students rushed out to the applause of the audience for their bows. They did a fantastic job, especially for middle schoolers. I feel very satisfied with my first attempts at directing.

Today was our big homeroom Christmas party, and I have to say, I was shocked at my desk, inundated with gifts. I made a list of the presents I received and from whom, and I think I got something from over thirty of my students (out of fifty-some). I have so much candy and cookies--I'm going to have to figure out how to get rid of it other than eating it myself. Probably one of the coolest gifts I got was from a student who loves musicals (she had the lead in the play). She gave me the soundtrack from Wicked. I'm listening to it right now, and it's a lot of fun. Very easy to sing along with. Some amazing singers.

I'm off to see The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in a few minutes. I'm so excited! I've been looking forward to this movie for awhile now. I think my all time favorite out of the Chronicles of Narnia, however, is The Last Battle. The vision of heaven always gives me chills.

La Tour Eiffel

Waterfall in Burnham Wood

I've been working in Photoshop lately, brushing up old prints, having a little fun, and then posting them on my Deviant Art page. I'm also eating peppermint ice cream, which only appears at this magical time of year.

I'm thankful for roommates, sisters, parents, students, single friends, married friends, family friends, accountability partners, grandparents, jobs, apartments, canned goods on sale at Publix, cameras, black and white photos, flowers, cooler temperatures, the Trinity, salvation, continued providence and protection, love, education, books, learning, and post-it notes.

What are you thankful for?

Behold the puffy lips. I ate a mango, and apparently, I'm allergic to them. My lips blew up like I got collagen implants. A couple people actually asked me if I got Botoxed. It was actually pretty painful, because it turned all blistery. I was able to do a really great duck-billed platypus impression for awhile though, which my students thought was pretty funny.

Funny Story. . .

I love it when I can laugh at my students' expense. One of my 7th graders--a tall, overly-developed boy who thinks he's the coolest kid around (most of the 6th graders probably agree with him)--suddenly asked, "What date is it today?" I told him it was the fourteenth, and he smacked his hand into his forehead and said, "Oh man! My eggnog went extinct today!"

Hope Exists

That was probably the main focus of the U2 concert I attended in Miami last night. Up until yesterday, the only things I knew about Miama were from the 2 CSI:Miami episodes I've ever seen, and Will Smith's "Welcome To Miami (Bienvenido a Miami)." Hmm. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that I even remember that song (should it even be considered a song?). Anyway.

GREAT CONCERT.

I should also admit that I didn't know for sure that The Edge was actually called The Edge until last night either. I'm not exactly a U2 connesieur. The lighting was pretty amazing, though-- five panels of "beaded" curtains (think like the kind people hung in dorm rooms to feel hippyish, except HUGE), and the "beads" were each individual lights. Each panel was like a big, sophisticated marquis (sp?) with a variety of pictures and patterns. At one point, it looked like women dancing; at another point, it was like a plane flying from panel to panel. I really enjoyed the music, and gained a significant appreciation for Bono's voice. To sing the way he does for the number of years that he has, and to still have such range and flexibility is incredible. I think one of my favorite numbers was "Miss Sarejevo"--he sang the Italian part originally performed by Pavoratti, and he did a fantastic job.

There were a lot of Christian overtones to the show--lots of references to grace, belief in the power of the cross, and of course, Bono passionately plugged his One Campaign to end poverty in the world. Very ambitious, but definitely a worthy cause. At the end of the show, people were given a number that they could text their names to in order to sign up, and then later they showed people's names on the jumbotron. The guy next to me saw his name and spent the remainder of the show calling all his friends to tell them his name was on the jumbotron. I also enjoyed being in the presence of so many people. I can't imagine what it would be like to hear a sold-out arena singing your songs back to you. I thought of what it will be like in eternity, when the multitudes sing praises before the throne of God. Even better than what I heard last night, and what I heard was pretty cool.

I got back at 3 am this morning and had to be up by 6:30 in order to go to school, so I'm sort of pushing myself to not go to bed just yet. Plus I'm recovering from the attack of the allergenic mango. My lips puffed up, and I got tiny blisters all over my face. I wasn't exactly looking my best for work today. My students thought the idea of getting an allergy attack from a mango was pretty crazy (they seemed to think I was inventing an excuse for my Angelina Jolie lips), so I researched it a little, and I found that mangoes are actually in the same family as poison ivy and poison oak. The skin of a mango contains the same toxins, so it's easy for people to have reactions to them. I thought it was crazy, though, because I've eaten mangoes before and never had this reaction, but apparently a person's immune system doesn't build up the antibodies that cause an allergic reaction until she's been repeatedly exposed to the toxin. So beware, all you mango-lovers out there! The fruit you love may one day turn on you! In all reality, if you avoid the skin of a mango, you'll probably be okay. So there's a little random info on mangoes that you probably never thought you'd know.

I feel a little guilty for venting all my frustrations last week. I went to work today, and it was great. I actually thought of Harry K. Wong (I have to add the K or I feel perverted) and his statement regarding work: "You shouldn't leave work feeling exhausted if you have rules and procedures in place." I wasn't exhausted today, even after a 2 hour volleyball practice, in which I was the only coach, the main ball shagger, and 1/3 of a scrimaging team. So, I should apologize to all those out there who had to put up with the hormonal rantings of a woman with too much time on her hands. My job is frustrating at times. There are days when I feel like no one tells me anything, like everything is a surprise. There are a lot of days when I feel like I'm all alone. But I did realize today that although teaching kids may only be 25% of my job, it's enough to get me through the day without going berserk. I have also realized that I'm one of those people who, once a thought gets into their head, they examine it and pick at it and roll it around until it becomes this HUGE thing, like a mosquito bite you can't leave alone. I was homesick, I was frustrated at work, and I had just gone through a hurricane. I picked at it until it was "I hate Florida, I hate my job, Lincoln is the best place in the world."

In other news, what's the opinion out there on Bush's latest Supreme Court nominee? Is appeasing the GOP a good idea or not? (Just call me a pot-stirrer)

I'm alive, just in case anyone happened to be concerned. The hurricane wasn't that bad, but it came ashore stronger than anticipated--a strong cat. 3 instead of a 1 or 2--and a lot of places lost power. Providence didn't get power back until yesterday, so I've been enjoying having the whole week off from school. I'm ready to get back. I think if I don't get back to work, I'll convince myself to move home. When I'm home alone, thinking about how hard it is to live here, how far away my family is, etc., I get sort of down and discouraged. I need to work so I don't think so much. Plus, I'm listening to a lot of Patty Griffin lately, and she's definitely making me mellow. The weather is gorgeous though, so that's been positive. Temps have been in the high 70's for the past week, so Lindsey and I have had the doors to the lanai open morning, noon, and night. That means turning off the air-conditioning, fans, and other electrical appliances whose sole purpose is to keep us cool. This in turn means a lower electric bill next month, which is always a plus!

I came to the realization this week (all this crazy thinking) that I don't like working. I just mean work in general. I don't exactly know what the solution to this is, but I've decided that basically, I am very lazy, and I would rather stay at home reading and making pies (thanks, Patty) or doing something other than holding down a steady job. I could work part-time--I think I could be okay with that. But full-time? Ugh. The biggest thing I don't like about teaching is that it doesn't end at the end of the day. It's a job that is essentially your life. I don't know if I want teaching to be my life.

Sorry for the rather somber tone today. Like I said, too much time thinking and not enough time being productive. On a lighter note, my mother has found a husband for me. Or at least she's given a picture of me to a woman who knows a woman who has a son who's 24 and looking for a good wife. Once he sees that picture of me--oh boy!

Late Obsessions:

• Gilmore Girls, seasons 1-4 on DVD
• McDonald's ice cream cones
• Patty Griffin's 1000 Kisses and Living with Ghosts
• Coldplay's X and Y
• home/midwest/family/missing it all

She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain When She Comes

Wilma's just around the corner. I'm bringing in things from my porch, getting stuff away from the windows. Lindsay's stuck in Portland till who knows when, so I'm taking myself over to a hurricane party at Paula Moore's house (a co-worker from school, and the owner of a beautiful, strong, hurricane-proof house). Apparently there will be about 20 people there, so it should be fun to weather out the storm together. I'll have to let all you anxious mid-westerners know what it's like. The weather-people are pretty confident that it will make landfall somewhere around here, so things should be getting exciting later tonight. Honestly, I'm just ready for it to come and go. We've been waiting for her arrival for over a week now. It's kind of a weird sensation; all the windows are boarded up, people are gone (church was pretty barren today)... It wil be an interesting thing to go through. I can't say that living through a hurricane was at the top of my List of Things to Do in My Lifetime, but it will definitely go down as a memorable experience.

No school today, and probably not Monday or Tuesday either. Thank you Hurricane Wilma. Actually I'm not exactly happy about missing all this school. Just goes to show how much of a teacher I've become. We will get so behind if we miss more than two days. Not good, since my principal all ready spoke to me about being behind. My prayer partner Pam (nice alliteration, huh) told me that Sue (the principal) is always talking about things like that, especially to the English teacher, because Sue used to be the English teacher, and the job is sort of her baby. But still. I was starting to get caught up, and now we're going to be even more behind! ARGH! The joys of teaching. Anyway, I'm sitting at home, and I got to sleep in for the first time in probably two months. I actually slept until 11. I thought I couldn't physically do that anymore. It was great.

School's been pretty good. The seventh grade finally finished their oral reports yesterday, which means I get to grade them this weekend. I think that I am beginning to hate these oral reports. It's pretty much an institutional assignment; my friend Faith (who is coaching volleyball with me, and is my age) had to give a fairy tale oral report when she was in junior high at PCS. But I don't exactly know what I'm doing (although I know more now than when I first gave the assignment!), and you can trust that there will be at least one big paragraph in my school reflections journal about things I want to change next year. I'm getting so much better at grammar, because I'm teaching it every single day! I don't really like grammar, and I like even less the textbook I have to use (stupid A Beka grammar!) because all the example sentences are quotes from the King James Bible. No kidding. How can a student really learn about subjects and verbs, verbals and the dreaded diagramming from sentences like "How far dost the eye of the Lord see!" More and more, I'm learning that I may never be able to teach the way I dream of teaching at this school. But I also wonder, does the school exist where I will be able to actually do reading and writing workshop? Maybe only the school in Maine where Nancy Atwell teaches, and they're not going to hire me--they have Nancy Atwell!

I am thinking a lot about what I want to do next year. I feel as though I should stay, just because I need to stick it out here two years (if only for the sake of my resume). I also love the people here--they are so welcoming, and my students love me back. I love my church. But I'm also so homesick for my family. Whenever my sisters write or call and tell me about all the cool things they're doing (Christine's going to All-State Orchestra, Christine and Deborah are in the fall play, Erin's in the orchestra), I want so badly to be able to see it. I've missed so much of their lives all ready--five years, closing in on six that I haven't lived at home. I'm praying a lot about it. Florida just seems so far away.

I do like it here. I'm not down or depressed, only occasionally frustrated. I don't want to sound things are horrible, because they're not. I'm just considering my options. Any suggestions?

I actually spent last night helping Lindsey jump her car, which meant hanging out in the Barnes and Noble parking lot for about 45 minutes. Then when we got home, we talked about doing something, but ended up ordering Chinese (I have yet to find any as good as the Bamboo Garden), watching more Gilmore Girls, and going to bed. So much for all my great options. Even the crappy ones didn't work out.

Have never been so ready for a Friday. Spent the day wasting time in class--probably didn't teach a single thing. Did MadLibs with my seventh grade class to reinforce the lesson on parts of speech, and it totally flopped. I'm planning on doing the same activity with the eighth grade on Monday. Needs revision. Eighth grade played Mafia for the last twenty-five minutes because my brain essentially shut itself off. Next week only has two days--Wednesday is a duty day for us to work on report cards, and Thursday and Friday are inservice. Can you tell how excited I am? Just feel like writing in fragments for awhile. Sorry if it bothers you.

I need to stop rewarding myself with Frosties and McDonalds ice cream cones. They're my reward for making it to another Friday without strangling any students or publically humiliating them. I also consider myself deserving of one after a particularly strenuous volleyball practice (I use the stopwatch and shag balls) or game (I keep score and yell).

Today one of my colleagues was telling me about an upcoming date. When I asked what she was going to do, she grinned a wicked little grin and said "We're going to masticate...

...our food." When I burst out laughing, she said, "I knew you would find that funny." I'm wondering if that's a bad thing.

Lindsey and I have been on a huge Gilmore Girls kick the past week. A woman from church loaned us the DVDs of all four seasons, so I'm getting refreshed in the history of the women from Stars Hollow. They're enough to make me wish I'd had an illegitimate child at 17 and moved to Connecticut.

A minor annoyance: I hate the fact that every day when I come home from work, my fingernails are black and chipped from writing on the white board (which is actually a frustrating shade of grey).

Secret belief: My life matches that of Elizabeth in the comic strip For Better or For Worse, and I secretly believe that when she finds a guy, I will too. Am I weird? (That's a rhetorical question.)

I'm trying to decide what to do with the rest of my day. It's almost 5:30. Lindsey gets off work at 7:00. We've decided that tomorrow is going to be a big work day. I guess my options are as follows:
1. grade papers and get a head start on tomorrow.
2. call up a friend and make plans without Lindsey.
3. eat dinner and veg in front of the TV
4. wait for Lindsey to get home and then eat dinner and veg in front of the TV
5. dance myself in my living room to music from my computer
6. go for a walk (it's still 90 degrees)
7. pick up a guy and go out for a wild night on the town
8. call church friends and find out if there's "a plan"
9. go to sleep and wake up in 100 years like Rip Van Winkle
10. go to the pool
11. think and debate about what to do tonight until it's too late to do anything

A lot of options, some of which are rather impractical. I mean, who wants to go for a walk in 90 degree weather? Any suggestions? Last week at this time I was playing volleyball on a tennis court with 8 middle school girls. My social life definitely has room for improvement (although the girls were a ton of fun!).

Breakin' in the Lanai

Lindsey and I used our lanai (aka screened-in porch) for more than drying laundry for the first time tonight. Granted, we sat on a beach towel, but hey--it's Florida. Beach towels are cool. The evening air was actually somewhat cool and pleasant. I keep hearing about the emergence of Fall in the North, and I've been jealous of the oncoming crispness--apple crisp, crisp air, leaves crisping under foot. Wow. I just used "crisp" as an adjective, noun, and a verb! Who knew the amazing potentials of the word? Yes, it is late for me; and yes, I have been grading sixth grade essays long enough to make my head spin.

It's been one of those productive Saturdays. I know that when I climb into bed in a few minutes and I think back over my day, I will be able to say that I actually accomplished something. We had a massive cleaning spree in good ole #809 this morning, and then we went to the pool. We are both proud of our tan lines. This Christmas my family will be taking the bi-annual family photo, and I'm envisioning myself as dark and slim (for me) next to my pale and pasty family. It probably won't happen that way, but a girl can dream. After the pool, we vegged for a bit before getting up the nerve to shell out $6.50 for a matinee at the local theater. Two BIG thumbs up for The Constant Gardener. At this moment, I would like to take a second to reaffirm my allegiance and undying affection for Ralph Fiennes. Maid in Manhattan was such a deviation for him. I still wonder what was going on in his brain. He is so above a J-Lo film. Maybe it's equivelent to my reading a Nicholas Sparks book at the end of the school year; he just wanted something light and uncomplicated after a season of heady literature.

Anyway, the rest of the evening (after the intense political/social thriller that was slightly akin to Hotel Rwanda) was spent grading papers. I had to force myself every twenty minutes or so to keep going. It was like slogging through New Orleans sludge. But I got a lot done, and I only have about 10 more essays to grade before I'm finished. I hate grading with a passion. I don't mind reading the essays, but filling out my rubric, assigning a grade, and commenting on each one (especially when I know that the comments carry as much weight as a feather with these kids)... it all gets very tedious.

In other news, I'm soon to become a card-carrying member of the PCA church. I've never been an official member anywhere before, so this is exciting. I love my church; Oliver is the best pastor I've ever had. So I look forward to committing myself to this community for however long I stay here. Plus I like their doctrine, their theology, their confession, their catechism. I understand it, and it resonates with me more than the "somewhere in the middle" beliefs I've had up to this point. So I guess Evangelical Presbyterian Church (PCA) is stuck with me. Bet they didn't see that coming.

I don't want to go to work tomorrow. When I'm not at work, I don't really want my job; but when I'm at work, I enjoy it. I'm not having good quiet times--fairly non-existant this week--and I think that's affecting my attitude.

Lindsey and I went to this mega-church this morning, and it was like a well-choreographed dance. The pastor danced around the scripture, the praise team danced around the stage. They all had matching outfits. Lindsey and I had a hard time keeping a straight face throughout the sermon. It really made me appreciate my church here, the meat of scripture, the sincere praise. Not that the Avalon-esque praise team wasn't sincere. I'm sure they were. But I couldn't be sincere while they were leading.

I just finished reading Post-Secret.com, which is why I'm writing in this choppy, stream-of-consciousness way. I'm imagining that every little line is my own Post-Secret postcard, even though nothing I'm saying is really a secret.

Latest crappy movie I've seen: Monster-in-Law
Latest good movie I've seen: Notorious (Alfred Hitchcock)

TGIF
This week has been one of those weeks that has flown by like those high speed trains in Asia. I have been giving tests in every single class this week, which means I have to make the tests, since the ones from previous years aren't exactly what Pat Kornelis would call "valid" anymore. I usually forgot about writing the tests until the night before, or in today's case, this morning. I feel like I'm completely sucking when it comes to teaching, because I'm doing all those things I swore I wouldn't do just to survive.

I have good moments, when I feel like things went well--like if I nailed the grammar lesson and students were really getting it and comprehending, but then there are those days when I just feel like they're staring at me with blank slates, and I'm not filling them, I'm not even scratching my nails on the chalkboards in their minds.

One thing with middle school is that they are constantly forgetting and constantly testing the limits of my patience. I try to be understanding, because I know they're not doing it on purpose, that it actually is a condition brought on by early adolescence, and they can't always help that they're fidgity and distracted. One of my colleagues, our curriculum director and childhood development coordinator, calls it "whifty syndrome." Things just whift right in and around and then out again, particularly with the boys. And I see it every day.

They can drive me nuts, and then they can absolutely make me fall in love with them. Just now, one of my students offered the remaineder of his sandwich to another student who had forgotten to bring a lunch. There is still such sweetness and innocence in some of the younger ones. Granted, they are usually fairly mischievous, but there's no malice or bitterness. No "too cool for school" until about 8th grade.

Well, chapel is about to start, and I need to finish eating my cardboard sandwich.

Praise the Lord the internet is now working.

I am amazed how long it's been since I've had the opportunity (the time, the internet) to blog. Goodness. The first month is over, and I'm almost half-way through the first quarter. As someone said, I'll never have to have my first day of my first quarter of my first year ever again. What a relief. I have been experiencing first hand all the aspects of survival mode. Julie, you mentioned that you feel like you're losing your motivation to be creative. I lost that after week one. It's discouraging, because as I plan each week, I think to myself, "This is not how I want to teach this--I want to do more, I want to put myself into these plans." But I have had to recognize that I can't. I can not physically do everything that I want to do as a teacher; I simply don't have enough hours in the day, enough energy. My colleague, Pam (who is also my wonderful prayer partner), reminds me that I have to get away from school. I have to take a break, or I'm just going to get burned out. I can't tell you how relieving it is to be told that it's okay in this first semester, or even this first year, to just survive.

I know this sounds discouraging, but in all honesty, I am loving what I'm doing. I really enjoy the opportunity to build relationships with my students, to teach them new things, to coach them as they write, read, play volleyball, sing, act. I like meeting the parents (although I don't enjoy talking to them if their child misbehaves or does poorly in my class). I know I want to do this. On my worst days, I think about an entire year of this job. But I've learned that I have to take it one day, and at the most one week, at a time. It's okay if I'm not perfect. I'm allowed to mess up and start over. The wonderful thing is that every day is a fresh chance to get things right.

In other news, Lindsey De Jong moved in with me this weekend. It's awesome so far. I didn't realize how alone I was until I suddenly had someone around. I also have a "hot" date this week, which should be interesting to say the least. I don't think it will go anywhere (he's about 3 inches shorter and 3 years younger than me--don't ask me how I got myself into this), but it should be fun.

Recommendations:
A Very Long Engagement (movie with Audrey Tautou from Amelie). It's kind of a dark mix of the semi-comedic and the tragic. It wasn't at all what I thought it would be. But I enjoyed it. (Warning: Contains some uncomfortable sexual scenes)

The Outsiders: I'm reading the book to my 7th grade class, and they're really into it. I also just read that Francis Coppola is re-releasing his 1983 film version (Matt Dillon, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe, Patrick Swayze) with some scenes added back in. I'm excited--I liked the original, but I think the new scenes will help better establish the Greaser gang. I think there's also some changes to the score, which will help a lot too.

Well, that's all for now. I'm sorry that I'm so bad at emailing. But hopefully I'll be getting internet in the apartment soon. Maybe I'll be better at keeping in touch then.

Recent

Regrets
--taking advantage of free Washington wine. Now I can't remember much of the wedding reception, except the parts I wouldn't mind forgetting.
--dancing so much with just one person. Always leaves the wrong impression.
--not being able to spend more time with my girlfriends. I miss them.
--trying to fly into Florida during a hurricane. I should have stayed in Bismarck another day.

High Points
--seeing college friends
--getting soaked by an out-of-the-blue thundershower
--sleeping after spending all day in an airport
--taking out a student who was trying to slap my butt
--browsing the teacher supply store

Interests
--A&E's Horatio Hornblower miniseries ( based on the CS Forrester books) +
--a certain person who shall remain nameless +
--pigtails +
--evening church ++
--digital photography ++

Reading
--The Iliad (Robert Fagle's edition is the best) +++
--Anne Lamott's new book: Part B--Some More Thoughts on Faith ++
--bills -
--middle school vocabulary curriculum -
--the faculty handbook +

Films
--The Machinist ++
--To Catch a Thief +
--Batman Begins +
--War of the Worlds +/-

Hot and Steamy in Florida

No, not me, just the weather. It' s been raining like crazy the past week and a half--thunder, lightning and buckets of water being dumped everywhere. Usually I get caught in the biggest downpour of the day when I'm in the process of driving somewhere. I grit my teeth, and try to focus on the tail lights of the car ahead of me. Otherwise I can't see anything. Despite the fact that my windshield wipers are going as fast as they can, my vision is blocked by rain falling in the biggest drops I've ever seen in my life. Welcome to the Sunshine State.

I finally got my library card, so I'm hanging out there while I wait for the Flea Bombs to disperse in my apartment. It turns out that the 25 mosquito bites on my feet and ankles are really flea bites. No wonder they've been itching like crazy for the past two weeks. Thank you, previous tenent and your dogs. I had to sleep on the floor several days while I waited for my new mattress and box springs to arrive, and that's when I realized that I had company. Fortunately it's not a massive infestation--the bombs should thoroughly eradicate them, but I feel pretty disgusted about the whole situation, like it somehow reflects on my own personal hygiene. In spite of the situation with the bugs, I find myself wanting a dog or something. My apartment complex allows pets, and it seems everyone has a dog, mostly chihuahuas for some absurd reason. If it were me, I'd get a terrier. I've always wanted a big dog, but I couldn't fit one in my apartment. Not once Lindsey gets here, especially. But I'm a little daunted by the cost: vet fees, flea prevention, food, licensing, apartment deposit. Maybe if I save up and Lindsey likes dogs. Who knows. It might just be that I'm lonely and want something else in the apartment that's alive (houseplants don't count).

The whole process of moving has been radically different than I expected. I didn't exactly expect it to be easy, but I was hoping it might be more like moving back to college after the summer. It's not. But I think I'm finally beginning to feel settled. I've made sure that everyone knows my new address and phone number (athough I'm sure there are a few uninformed friends out there), I'm getting mail now, and I don't have to buy anything else for awhile. It seemed that during the first week or so, I was going to the store every day for something else that I had forgotten to get the last time I was there. I think the people at Target are beginning to know me on a first-name basis. Maybe they'll ask me to hang out with them the next time I'm there buying batteries or surge protectors. I might have a social life then.

I have yet to go to the beach. With the weather and everything, sitting outside isn't as appealing as it otherwise might be. I did get to the beach on Longboat Key when I visited my grandparents, but it smelled like dead fish and the sand burned my feet. The wind was blowing the recent Red Tide back to shore, and pufferfish and eels were washing up and being eaten by seagulls. I also promised my grandma back in Nebraska that I would only get knee-deep in the water. She's afraid I'll be eaten by a shark (a legitimate fear, lately). Next week I'm going to the ocean of grass in North Dakota for a friend's wedding. A lot of friends from college will be there, so I'm looking forward to that. I'm not looking forward to driving a '77 Buick back to Bismarck at 4 am, but I guess that's the price a person has to pay for partying in North Dakota.

That's all for now--it will be safe to enter my apartment in approximately forty minutes, so I'm going to go book-browsing. I just picked up the new one by Anne Lamott--Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. I really liked Travelling Mercies so I'm hoping I'll like this one. Any other recommendations? Let me know.

Tomorrow

In less than 24 hours I will begin my long and hopefully enjoyable ride to Fort Myers, Florida. I've been thinking about this move for almost four months now, and it's hard to believe that the time to leave is actually here. I think the moment I realized that this is really happening was when my mom told me she wasn't signing my name on any cards or gifts or anything anymore. She told me, "You're an independent household now." That made me want to lock myself in my sister's room and never leave. But only for about three seconds. For the most part, I'm just ready to go. Hanging out at home has been a lot of fun--I got to see my sisters a lot (in a good way)--but I haven't had anything to do. Reading and watching TV can keep a person occupied for only so long. At least in Florida there will be things I have to get done. I have to set up the classroom, establish my management plan, read the books, study the curriculum, get acquainted with the school and its procedures, get settled into my apartment. So yeah, I'm ready to get there. I'm excited. But there's a part of me that's beginning to feel sad for all that I'm leaving behind and all that I'm taking on. But I think that's healthy.

Just a note...

My bread turned out marvelously. It reminds me of the bread that is served at Macaroni Grill with olive oil and pepper, except ten times better.

Foiled!

I had been building up the nerve to actually commit myself to the GRE, and when I tried to sign up today, there were no open times left for the next three weeks. I guess that means I'll have to keep studying and try to take the stupid test in Florida. I hadn't wanted to do that. I had hoped to take it before I left, but I procrastinated too long. Rats.

A part of me continually asks if I really want to take the GRE after all; do I really want a Masters Degree in something? I don't even know if I want to focus on English or Education, therefore, my subversive self says, I should just put it off a couple more years. To be honest, the only reason I am so hesitant is the math section. I took a couple practice tests the last few days, and although I did reasonably well (I could have done better) on other sections, I pretty much bombed the math part. I hate math. It is my arch nemesis.

Now all I can do is bake. My starter is ready to be turned into that lovely Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough Bread, and today is a perfect day for baking--cool, cloudy, stormy. Drat, I say. I feel perfectly dejected about this turn of events. Maybe it's the Lord--maybe I'm not supposed to take the GRE right now. I don't believe in coincidences... Maybe I'm supposed to just bake and pack and clean my room today. Not fret over some stupid test that really has no say over how intelligent I am.

James Dean, a man who could really brood.

I just finished watching East of Eden, a fairly decent rendition of the classic work by Steinbeck. James Dean is Cal, the dark, tormented son of Adam Trask. I thought as a film it was definitely entertaining--of course, any time I see James Dean I'm entertained--but I was disappointed at how much of the story the movie left out. I think the entire movie was based on the last 3 chapters of the book, and it's a pretty thick book. Afterwards, my mom and sister Deborah and I had a long discussion about it. I once again confirmed my English-nerdiness by getting all excited about our discussion of Biblical allusions within the book. Oh well--I suppose it's good that an English-nerd becomes an English teacher. You gotta love what you do in order to do it well.

Lately I've been on a baking spree. I seem to go in these spurts, and I think that applies to pretty much everything in my life. I'll read like crazy for a few weeks and then have to take a break for awhile. I'll watch movies every night for a few weeks and then decide I never want to watch TV again. I'll date a guy and feel like I'm falling in love and then after a few weeks, I'll realize the whole relationship is pointless. Right now, I'm baking. I got a wonderful cookbook, The King Arthur Flour Baking Companion, for my birthday, and I've been making all different kinds of bread. The other day, I made some plain ol' white bread, and today I advanced to Brioche, a sweet yeast bread from France. I've also got sourdough starter fermenting up here by the computer where the temperature is nice and ripe (the kitchen is really too chilly for breadmaking--the bread won't rise very quickly unless I've got the oven on). I'm hoping to turn that into Rosemary Olive Oil Sourdough bread sometime next week. I also made chicken enchiladas and peach cobbler the other night. The only problem with baking and cooking is that a person has an end result to deal with. I really don't want to eat all the bread I'm baking. I enjoy the process more than the product, I think. So, feel free to stop by if you're in the neighborhood and pick up some bread. I'm giving it away for free.

I'm sure a lot of people have heard of this before, but I just stumbled on it. Wow. Talk about raw emotion. Check it out.

The Long Awaited Book List

This list is a compilation of all the books I read for personal pleasure over the past year. I left off the ones I didn't like, or found to be poorly written or just average (for example, a Nicholas Sparks spree that I went on right after school got out last year.) The books in bold are the ones I especially loved.

Bel Canto (Ann Patchett)
Cold Mountain (Charles Frazier)
The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Kidd Monk)
Mariette in Ecstasy (Ron Hansen)
Girl Meets God (Lauren F. Winner)
Atticus (Ron Hansen)

The House Where the Hardest Things Happen (Kate Young Caley)
Beyond the Bedroom Wall (Larry Woiwode)
Silent Passengers (Larry Woiwode)
The Pact (Jodi Picoult)
The Undiscovered Country (Samantha Gillison)
Beloved (Toni Morrison)

East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
Brokenness (Nancy Leigh DeMoss)
Black, Red, White—a trilogy (Ted Dekker)
The Read-Aloud Handbook (Jim Trelease)
Drowning Ruth (Christina Schwarz)
Breathing Lessons (Anne Tyler)
The Bean Trees (Barbara Kingsolver)
Peace Like a River (Leif Enger)
Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy)
Saint Maybe (Anne Tyler)
Back When We Were Grownups (Anne Tyler)
The Amateur Marriage (Anne Tyler)
Object Lessons (Anna Quindlen)
Blessings (Anna Quindlen)
Ella Enchanted (Gail Carson Levine)
The Other Side of the River: The Story of Two Towns, A Death, and America’s Dilemma (Alex Kotlowitz)
The Chosen (Chaim Potok)
Gilead (Marilyn Robinson)
Blessed Child (Ted Dekker)

A Man Called Blessed (Ted Dekker)

I am the Cheese (Robert Cormier)
Heaven’s Wager (Ted Dekker)
When Heaven Weeps (Ted Dekker)
Prodigal Summer (Barbara Kingsolver)
Sex, Art, and American Culture (Camille Paglia)
The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
The Magician’s Assistant (Ann Patchett)
Ladder of Years (Anne Tyler)

Sorry about the weird spacing. I don't know what's up with that. Looking back on all those books, it's hard to believe I've read that many in one year. And that's not counting all the books I had to read for class. So there you go, Julie and Lindsey, and anyone else who's interested. I'll keep posting recommendations as I keep reading.

So I'm a crappy blogger. What can I say--the absence of internet will do that to a person. Sorry Sam. Hope you're still watching--look! I'm finally posting!

New Scary things:

• -moving to Florida
• -Being a teacher. For real.
• -paying bills.
• -trusting the Lord for everything.
• -renting an apartment.
• -people telling me, "So, you're a real adult now."
• -living a life of comparative luxury. would I give it up if He asked?

Currently:

• -just finished reading Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler.
• -listening to Sevina Yannatou's Sumiglia. If you like ethnic music, this is an awesome album. Greek music with fantastic improv. Rather different, but cool.
• -trying to get up the gumption (as my grandma would say) to go for a walk.
• -making a list of all the things I still have to do before I move next month.
• -thinking about how awesome Barabara Kingsolver is. I just finished reading The Poisonwood Bible again. Prodigal Summer is a wow as well.
• -before Ladder of Years I read The Magician's Assistant by Anne Patchett (Bel Canto). Very good.

Wishlist:

• -a new digital camera
• -20 pounds shed like snakeskin
• -the urge to write poetry. i feel like my inner monologue is currently silent, which sucks.
• -a free ticket to Bismarck, North Dakota.
• -more discipline.

Julie, I'll try to get my booklist online soon. Maybe even later today.

I'm almost done. Two more days and then I'm finished. Finished with the cooperating teacher who won't cooperate. Finished with the cooperating teacher who cuts me off in the middle of a sentence to correct my French pronounciation. Finished with a cooperating teacher who doesn't let me enter grades in the gradebook because I messed up once. Finished with the cooperating teacher who won't let me use the classroom computer.

Don't get me wrong. She's a nice lady. She's not mean-spirited or out to get me. She just has a certain way of doing things, and when I don't do something exactly right, she figures it's just easier to do it herself. She cares about her students, and her students like her. I'm not sure if they like English, if they think reading and writing is worthwhile and enjoyable, but they like her. She prays for them and sends them little notes of encouragements when grandparents die or they have a rough day. She loves those kids. But she loves with a sharp wit and a keen, sarcastic sense of humor.

Maybe I want to be too effusive with my love. Perhaps my passion for jotting down poems and writing daydreamy paragraphs, silly grammar sentences, and crazy vocab demonstrations is too effervescent. Maybe I shouldn't be so friendly, quoting Napoleon Dynamite and demonstrating my cultural awareness. But this I know. I'm not like my cooperating teacher, and she definitely doesn't want to be like me. So I think it's a good thing that we both move on--I write my thank-you note, bake my goodbye chocolate chip cookies, and walk out the door, while she continues with her harsh love, her nit-picky banter, her moralistic short stories, and her grammar exercises. I'll see the kids I've grown to love in the halls, I'll bump into her now and then, but we won't be so close that we scrape up against each other like battered boats in a hurricane. We'll have that safe distance that allows us to speak kindly to each other, that enables us to say to others, "Oh, she's such a sweet woman--a good teacher in her own way." Maybe we'll even be able to mention the things we taught each other.

Begin the countdown...

I will be back at my wonderful alma mater in less than four weeks. I'm getting excited! It will be nice to see friends again, to be around people my own age, to get away from some of the requirements my cooperating teacher imposes... But, at the end of this session, I know I will miss the students. I was thinking about that last night and again this morning, about how I look forward to seeing them every day. I don't exactly jump at the opportunity to teach in the traditional, behavioristic manner of my cooperating teacher, but I love talking with the students, getting to know them. I think I've grown closer to them because I am reading their papers, taking their prayer requests, talking to them outside of class. I mentioned to my co-op. teacher yesterday that I can't imagine how close a teacher must get to her students after knowing them all through high school. No wonder people like my yearbook teacher and my spanish teacher cried at graduation each year. They loved us like we were their own kids. There's nothing like a class full of squirming, rascally, but endearing students to arouse the motherly instinct in a single (or married, perhaps) woman.

This semester is flying by. I can't believe I'm already almost done with this first session. I'll be teaching full time for another week and a half, and then I'll start backing out. I can't say I'll miss the material, but I'll miss teaching. I really do enjoy it.

The freshmen are mine! MWAAHAHAHAHA! Okay, so I'm not overly possessive about the three freshmen English classes I'm teaching, but it's nice to finally be (sort of) calling the shots when it comes to what I teach, how I teach it, and when I teach it. I have a lot of fun working with those kids, and if things continue to progress this way, I'm going to love working with the sophomores next week. I think that the relationships I'm building with these students is the best aspect of teaching that there is--they come in and they say hello to me, we talk about football, we talk about movies--and they don't hate me. They don't think I'm some sort of loser from another planet (although Iowa and Nebraska seem about as far away as Mars to some of them). Anyway, things are going well, even though I'm not particularly enjoying the foot of snow that 's growing slushy in the already-dirty streets. But it's better than ice or blizzards. I'm tempted to move to a southern and coastal state for my job next year. Well, my time's up. I gotta run. The joys of using the library's computers.

So I'm getting used to student teaching. I'm gradually working my way up to full time teaching. This week, my cooperating teacher is teaching one section of freshmen, then I'm teaching the next two. Next week, I'll teach all the freshmen and be responsible for lesson plans; meanwhile, Mrs. Stahly will teach one period of sophomore English, and I'll teach the second. The next week, I'll be responsible for all freshman English, all sophomore English, and some of composition. The week after that, I'll be teaching full time. It kind of makes me nervous, but I really just want to do it and get it over with. Time definitely goes by so much quicker when I'm not just observing. That gets so boring. I feel capable and prepared, just a little nervous. I taught two full periods today, and the students were very respectful and fairly obedient. I was nervous the first time, and I completely blanked on their names--not good when you're calling on them for twenty minutes. I also had to take prayer requests and pray for them. Don't ask me why, but that was stressful.

Other than that, life's all right. It's kind of dull. I'm not doing much because I don't have any work to bring home. So, I watched all 6 hours of Pride and Prejudice--one of my all-time favorite movies--spent every evening of the last week and a half watching all the Lord of the Rings Movies (yea for extended versions!), and who knows what thrilling things I'll do tonight. I think the hardest part of being up here is being alone. Sure I have my aunt and uncle, and I love their whole family. But I miss people my own age. I feel like I'm always desperate every time I to church, because I'm looking for someone I could be friends with. Saying it that way makes me feel pathetic. Oh well. This too shall pass.

In the meantime, I'm going to watch movies, read books, have awesome quiet times, and listen to a lot of music. One thing I'm really looking forward to, though, is getting a door on my room. Privacy would be a welcome thing. My closest room-neighbor is a twelve-year-old boy.

Good:

• student teaching
• high schoolers
• trees
• my cooperating teacher
• my aunt and uncle's house
• getting to know my cousins better
• karate in the kitchen
• no homework

Bad:

• no internet at home
• restricted internet at school
• naivete
• lack of people my age
• my grandma always wondering if I've met any eligible bachelors
• not meeting any eligible bachelors
• holy cow is a bad word
• rules again

It's officially been a month since my last post, which is awful of me, I know. But the last two weeks of school--heck, the whole semester--has been so busy I haven't even been keeping up with my journal writing, let alone my homework and blogging. Enough excuses. I don't think anyone but me reads this anyway, but that's all right. I'm home now, relaxing and sleeping in. I'm currently in the process of packing my things for that not-so-distant move to who-knows-where.

Over the past year or so, I've been gradually moving things home and storing them in my parents' basement. Now that I've moved everything home--I had Big Bertha packed from the rear-view mirror to the sliding door to the floor underneath the seats--I occupy the whole southeast corner of the basement, and my dad is ready for me to get rid of some of it. So I've been sifting and repacking and tossing and keeping loads of stuff. The whole process makes me realize just how much junk I've collected in the past five years since going off to college. It makes me feel rich and snobbish, at least compared to people in Mexico or the Sudan who probably don't even have enough things to fill just one of my book boxes. I feel guilty for complaining or wishing for more stuff, more things to pack and take with me, for wishing that I had more money. When I think about how I have been blessed--a college education, a loving family, more possessions than I could possibly need to survive, a car, a checking account--I feel the pinch of my worldliness even more.

So what do I do? The question has been running around my mind for the past few weeks. I could give everything away and live in a hut in Kathmandu (I don't even know where that is). I could live like I never thought about it, and keep on amassing wealth. Or I could remember that it isn't what I store up here that matters. I may be blessed, but it could all be gone in a second. I think the more important question is this: what do I do with the gifts I've been given? Do I hoard them in earthen vessels, or do I place my gifts in the hands of something/someone bigger and say, "Do with them as you wish--they're yours anyway." Something to think about this Christmas season (and year round).

I knew it was bad when it hurt to keep my eyes open in class. I've had late nights before, but very rarely in my college career has such a late night produced the burning feeling that persisted in my eyes all the way through my 8 and 9 o'clock classes. I'm feeling better now--I can look at things for more than two seconds without my vision blurring. But I'm slightly concerned that all these 4:30 am bedtimes, preceded by hours and hours of staring at a computer screen, may one day make me blind. On the news last night, I heard a report about computer usage being linked to glaucoma, a condition which can eventually cause blindness if not treated properly. That's where that thought came from.

The worst part of the whole thing is that I spent the last three weeks preparing for this day--preparing my full-scale unit plan, preparing my huge presentation on teen pregnancy--and now it's over. I feel like there should at least be some sort of celebration. Or that people should look at my fabulous tri-fold poster about teen pregnancy for another twenty-five minutes. One class period simply isn't enough time to appreciate all the work my partner and I put into that wonderfully creative and artistically designed monstrosity. And my unit plan--I work twelve hours (four and a half of those late last night or early this morning) creating calendars and appendices and daily objectives and then it's just tucked in some folder somewhere. It's probably sitting on my professor's desk right now. Alone. Neglected. It's so anticlimactic. I feel like I should take my giant poster home over Thanksgiving and ask my mom to put it on the refrigerator.

I suppose this desire for recognition is slightly selfish. Yes, I did do all that work, but that's my job right now. I'm a student. I'm supposed to devote my whole life to the pursuit of producing top-notch education-major projects. It's like the policman pointing out, "Um, hello there. I just gave someone a speeding ticket. When do I get my commendation? Oh, and does it come with a raise?" No--I should just tip my hat and say, "No trouble, ma'am. It's all in a day's work," and walk away as if I didn't do anything worth taking note of at all.

In other news, I'm leaving for Indianapolis tomorrow morning. National NCTE Convention, here I come! (NCTE=National Council of Teachers of English). And it's only 29 days until Christmas. Thanksgiving break is one week from today. I appreciate the here and now, but I'd rather the here and now was tomorrow.

My Grandmother’s Hands

Covering a laughing mouth,
Shaped nails painted pale pink,
Encircling shoulders in a
tight squeeze,
The feel of love in every gentle touch
of paper-thin skin,
Frailty that speaks of strength
not her own,
Fingers once long and even
now bent and rigid,
aged with life’s long labor,
Eager to hold the hands of
another, gone before
and waiting,
Folded in prayer,
a testimony to life’s faith.
For my grandmother’s hands,
Father God,
Receive praise.

Posted by Hello

After a little reworking, here is a "less raw" version of the poem I posted last week. I wanted to make it say exactly what I wanted it to, because the whole topic of abortion is one that evokes a strong emotional response in me. For a little background information, I wrote this initially as a response to the Beattitudes in Matthew 5. A class I'm taking on the medieval practice of lectio divina encourages us to journal prayer responses to the verses that we're studying/memorizing/contemplating. This isn't exactly a prayer, but it's what came out after thinking on that particular passage for awhile. I think it had been brewing in my mind for several weeks before I even wrote it, so I can't express how satisfying it was to have it finally on paper.


Three Prayers

Too quickly have I forgotten the
crush of little bones in my hand.
Tiny fingers reaching towards my light,
Grip my scissors,
Grip my knife.
It’s not that I like what I do.
But I am a mercy dispenser.
Mercy for one at the expense of the other.
Harden my eyes.
Harden my heart.
Oh my god.
Have mercy on me.

They are light fluttering wings that I want to
hold in my hand.
Too little, too much.
I’m sorry.
It’s better this way. For both of us.
Cold steel bed,
Cold robotic fingers,
Cold like ice around my heart.
It’s not that I like what I’ve done, both sides of it.
But I’ve been given a choice.
I choose mercy.
For both of us.

I watch with unopened eyes.
My translucent hidden skin,
My blue-veined body will
Grip the scissors.
Grip the knife.
I accept your apology.
Small bones uplifted, washed clean.
Pass over a black bag of skulls.
Father, forgive them.
I open my eyes.
Have mercy,
For they know not what they do.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Matthew 5:7

On a side note...

-Laundry fresh from the drier is one of the greatest things in the world on a cold night.

-Listening to your college choir sing and knowing you can never sing with them again will make you cry.

-Sometimes, pizza is the best thing for a broken heart.

-Making curriculum maps can be fun.

-Songs can be too truthful sometimes. Take "Warning Sign" by Coldplay for example.

-Taking Bowling as a fitness requirement can be good for your health. It can also boost your average score from 32 to 125.

-Sometimes a person just needs a double mocha with whipped cream.

-Research papers on grammar are not stimulating to write or read, unless you use vivid imagery like "toss it out the window" and "pound it into their little skulls."

-Developing callouses from guitar-playing can be cathartic.

I took this in June while exploring the back-roads around the Big Sioux River. Something about the blue roof caught my eye.
Posted by Hello

"Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where..."

Simon and Garfunkel were a wise couple of guys. Excuse me. Are a wise couple of guys.

"Let your honesty shine, shine, shine."
"Counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike, they've all come to look for America."

Recommendation: See Zach Braff's latest endeavor. Garden State is one hip flick. Personally, I'd watch it again just to hear the sound track in THX or Dolby Digital or whatever it is.

"There's beauty in the breakdown, so let go."
"I can see California sun in your hair."
"Wasting my time in the waiting line..."

Definitely some good songs. Walking around campus with these songs playing on my mp3 player, I feel like I've been taken out of the awful rush. It's some sort of transcendence. Not really like what Walt Whitman would advocate, and not be confused with the transcendence of Christ or anything like that. Just floating above the noise. As though it's easier to draw in deeper breaths. Coldplay does the same thing. Particularly the live album.

It's the storm of the century. Well, maybe not quite, but it was raining so hard when I finished with class tonight that I had my roommate come pick me up. She's a saint. It's also storming on other fronts--I'm feeling sorry for my cousin who is in the path of Hurrican Ivan. I'm getting assailed by financial woes--hail on my parade--my car is in the shop and will be expensive to fix, if indeed I do get it fixed. What a conundrum. It's things like this that always start to stress me out, that right when all my bills are due, then I get hit up for more money. I suppose that's why we're supposed to save and not spend it all, but I'm supposed to be saving for a new-to-me car, not pouring money down the endless hole that is Big Bertha. That's when I'm reminded by that persistant, still, small, ever present voice that says, "Trust me. Aren't I big enough to handle this?"

But then I wonder, "Haven't I been a bad Christian lately? You probably won't take care of this out of spite." Naughty me. I imagine the Holy Spirit looking shocked, and then laughing that I would think Him/It? spiteful. Oh yes, I think. That's right. You love me. I forgot.

Inside,
I had been
broken
as with a
sledgehammer.
But
You found
a
piece
of me
that I had
missed
as I fit
myself
back
together,
putting it
just the
right
place,
making me
whole.

It seems like sometimes news organizations can get it just right, and then other times, they can completely foul out. Look at today's news. The coverage of September 11 commemorations is poignant. We should remember. We should think of those people every day, and remind ourselves that it could have just as easily be us. But then look at this mess with the George Bush memos. There's more doubt than belief, even though Dan Rather staunchly backs his story. Something like this pollutes the presidential race; Americans can't vote based on the truth about each candidate. Instead, they're voting based on the way news coverage sways their opinions. I would venture to say that most of the people who will be voting in November haven't even taken the time to understand either Bush or Kerry. They rely too much on what everyone else is saying. We can't trust the media anymore. But what else is there? We could toss out the media, but something else would fill the void. We live in biased times.

School's got me all worked up and panicky. Okay, I'm drifting out of the panicky stage, but I still may hyperventilate if I forget even one more thing for class. I was explaining my absent worksheet to my advanced grammer prof, telling her that when I get busy, I get panicky. And when I get panicky, I get forgetful. Fortunately, she admitted to suffering from the same syndrome and told me I could bring my grammar exercises to class on Friday. It's not that I didn't do them--I actually, in a masochistic sort of way, enjoy doing grammar exercises--I left them in another notebook, and as I raced off to class, I left the worksheet behind. I think part of the reason for all the fluster is that Clint is coming to visit this weekend, and I'm trying to get everything done before he gets here so that we can have some quality time. Quality time is something we are lacking, due to the distance and general hectic nature of both of our lives which prevents us from spending time together. In any case, I've been forgetting so much lately--my worksheet this afternoon, an appointment in the evening, 4x6 notecards for a class, a reading assignment. I'm exceptionally blessed because my profs love me in spite of my flaws and are willing to give me some leeway. This wouldn't happen just anywhere, I realize. Thank the Lord for Dordt College and its great sense of community. But I keep telling myself that I just need to get a grip, that I need to sit myself down and get organized. I've got a break now for a couple hours. I think I'm going to do just what I need to do--no dawdling, no TV watching. Just focus, get the job done, and be rewarded by going to bed on time tonight instead of 1:30 in the morning. And I have to remind myself to breathe. I forget to do that sometimes too.

I just finished watching Love Actually and, as far as love stories go, this one was pretty good. I was a little disappointed because out of the eight or so different threads, one was left totally unfinished and another didn't exactly seem to end on a totally "in love" note. But I liked the way they all strung together somehow, as well as having so many quality actors and actresses in one film: Emma Thompson, Liam Niesen, Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, Laura Linney, Roan Atkinson. The music wasn't bad either. But mostly, I liked it because it had shots of all my favorite places in London--the Thames River walk, the Millenium Bridge, Big Ben, Trafalger Square, St. Paul's. I felt like I was there again. Admittedly, there's some language and nudity (although that part is pretty strange), and sometimes I couldn't figure out how all the different people knew each other--somehow they all did. And the idea that love is all around us, particularly at the airport seemed a bit desperate...but I was entertained. And that's the point, right?

spotted: one interim campus pastor on a porch, looked embarrassed after setting off the fire alarm by burning a piece of bacon. as for the crispy pork, he ate it before coming and standing in the rain with the rest of us.

I am missing the newness of spring. These flowers were floating like rosey snow in May. Now the world is full of bolder colors.
Posted by Hello

I'm in my apartment RIGHT NOW-- and it's awesome. I'm in the process of trying to move in; it's amazing how much stuff a person needs once they're not living with five other people. I have so many books. Too many. Shelves and shelves. I hope my roommate doesn't need too much shelf-space...

Well, I must be off. I have to re-pot a couple plants.

I will be so glad when I have the internet at my apartment. That's all I have to say.

I slept in today until 11.  That's a new record for the summer.  It didn't help that I was up until 2:30 talking with Clint.  It reminds me of the line from Train's song "Drops of Jupiter"--"can you imagine...a five hour phone conversation"--  I don't think we've ever talked so long.  By about 2 it was getting silly.  One of those moments when everything is funny, even when there's nothing to say.  It's just that I never want him to hang up, as if once we're disconnected, I lose something.  I think I've been living too long alone.  I notice all the small things, the noises, the stillness.  Like the fly buzzing in the light, its last flutters.  The hum, the white noise of the office.  The sound of gnawing in my bedroom wall.  It makes me feel enclosed. 

bored at work.

it's that nebulous time of day-- lunchtime-- when no one is around to tell me what to do next. i'm waiting around for a professor to return from his lunch break and give me more work to do. in the mean time, i suppose i will just stare at the computer and try to think of imaginative ways to kill time. i've debated going home for lunch myself. could i count that as part of my work day? i normally have things that i can do on my own. however, i've recently reached that point where i'm done with my projects, and all that remains is whatever busy work they choose to give me. is it going to be like this for the rest of the summer? i may as well move home and babysit. i could at least see my boyfriend that way. i think my problem is that i'm too efficient. they give me work to do, but i get it done too quickly. sometimes, i try to take as long as i possibly can to finish whatever task is at hand. but it still only takes me a few minutes. maybe i type too fast. who knows.

weekend snapshots--

-me standing under a giant strawberry in the rain. it's raining so hard the streets are flooding.
-some guy's jaw dropping as he exclaims "d---! what's up!" upon seeing us five hot women drive past on our way through backbone state park.
-jasmine and me singing "the love of God" at her church in strawberry point.
-the two of us jamming out to Tonic on interstate 90 and speaking in spanish accents at the barn-shaped rest stop.

I surprised Clint this weekend and showed up at church right before the service started. He looked at me like he didn't really believe I was there but would play along anyway. Then, as I grinned and wrapped my arms around him, he laughed and called me a punk. He still looked stunned after I had taken my seat in the pew. I felt satisfied and happy--more so than I thought I would. He told me later that he was glad he saw me before preaching. "Otherwise," he said, "there would have been a lot more awkward pauses, and everyone would have wondered why I wasn't making any sense." It's nice to know I have that effect on him.

in third person

"They're beautiful, by the way," he said as he grabbed his bag from the back seat of her van. "Your eyes. I thought about them the whole way home from church." Her breath caught in her throat as she felt something flutter under her ribs.
"Thanks," she said softly, and he smiled as he walked away.

in third person

she hung up the phone, her boss's voice still gravel in her ear.
--you plug away on it, then.
the rain was falling steadily, reminding her of heart beats and drum rhythms. her stomach growled, and she eyed the peach. i would need a napkin, she thought, remembering the feeling of the juice dribbling down her chin. staring at the computer, she wondered what to say. writer's block. those words made her think of her sister, of her sister's gift. how can we both be writers, she thought, when we're both so different. the answer, she supposed, lay in the words they wrote, the unique voice they each heard in their head as fingers clicked across keyboards. simple. visual. electric. that was the word her professor had used to describe her sister. that was her, all right, she thought wryly.
--can i be electric too?

Taking a brief pause from work, I am dreaming about tomorrow, when I get to go home for the weekend-- an extended weekend really. I can picture myself driving down the highway, music turned up and the windows rolled down. I get a small thrill just thinking about it. I met a husband and wife in my small group Biblestudy last night who were from Lincoln. It was great to play Dutch bingo with them (even if we're not Dutch) and see all the people we had in common. I don't get to do that very often. Mostly I watch other people connect the dots, laughing outloud because Carol is Bob's second cousin, and graduated with Helen's sister, who is married to Kevin's son. Most of our time with host families on choir tour is spent trying to see if somehow we're all related. Well, now I get to go home and pow-wow with my people for once. The distinction between outsider and insider is very interesting, I think.

Yesterday evening, I was remembering last summer, and the slow, relaxed pace of the days and nights. It was blissful, and I got a bit nostalgic. I miss being in my territory, nannying from 6am to 3 in the afternoon, and taking the rest of the afternoon to read in a coffeeshop or lay on a blanket in the grassy park near my grandma's house. Coming home and watching Wheel of Fortune with her, making a noodle casserole and eating defrosted Christmas cookies for dessert. My parents were only five minutes away, not three and a half hours. My sisters and I could go to movies together; my best friend was just down the road. My memories seem closer now than the people who mean the most to me. I wish it could have worked out to live in Lincoln again. My ideal summer. Although the ideal probably wouldn't have matched the actual experience. The hard bitter truth of life.

Sometimes I think that some of my best moments with God come when I'm not saying anything. I had that this morning as I sat on my bed in my pajamas, listening to Steven Curtis Chapman's "Be Still and Know". I sat and just thought about the immensity of God, and tried to open my heart to hearing him. I felt as if a big blanket of peace surrounded me, and I was able to simply worship him. It was magnificent.

And then I went outside into the cold, and all the golden warmth of my experience was shivered away by the wind. My fingers trembled, and as soon as I got inside again, I dreaded going out into the world again.

Isn't that the way it works though? We have an inspiring moment and we feel amazed and lit up from the inside. But then an encounter with the darkness around us, and suddenly we're afraid. Where has the shining light gone? Where is the warmth that filled us before? I don't think it's gone anywhere. I think that we need to carry it bravely and refuse to let the chilling wind extinguish it. Sometimes during the winter, I would leave a door open in the house on accident, and my mom would ask me if I was trying to heat up the whole outside. Yeah, Mom, I think I am.

My brain is dead. I just finished writing a two hour American Literature exam. I have never taken such a hard test. It's not that the information was difficult; I didn't even study that much. Probably only a couple hours, and that was in front of the TV, during commercials. The simple process of recalling all of the information was not difficult in the least. Rather, writing two full length essays and six shorter essays drained my mind of all useful processing and synthesizing skills. I'm devoid of the ability to write essays on William Faulkner or Tennessee Williams. There is relief on the horizon, though. Now that I've written this test (all six pages front and back) I'm done with American lit. until I have to teach it myself one day. Don't get me wrong- I actually loved all of the pieces we read in that class. We read My Antonia, The Sound and the Fury, A Streetcar Named Desire, Kate Chopin, e.e. cummings, Robert Frost, Sarah Orne Jewett--- some of my favorite authors. But my professor is tough. She expects a lot, which is also good. It is also exhausting. I think I'm going to pack for a little while and maybe take a nap. I still have two more tests to prepare for. And then I will say goodbye to studying for a short while. An abbreviated rest.

Birthday

My birthday was last Saturday, and I have to say, it was one of the best birthdays I've ever had. My mom came up to school and we spent the whole day in Sioux Falls shopping and hanging out. Since we rarely get to do this, it was such a treat. My roommates gave me a beautiful card, hand-crafted by Amanda-- who makes amazing cards, by the way. And on Sunday, we had lunch with Sarah's parents. They had a cake with both of our names on it (Sarah's birthday is today) and when Sarah opened her presents, they gave me one too! It's one of the sexiest picture frames ever- partly because there's a picture of Sarah and me in it. It was a wonderful day. Twenty-two is a great age.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

-T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"



I feel as though this has been sort of my mantra this year. A lot of exploring... subject matter, self, relationships, God. I'm starting to recognize this yearning inside myself to go back, all the way to the beginning. We've been talking a lot this year, my roommates and I, about the Big Change that's happening in about two and a half weeks. Because even if we're not all graduating, everything is changing. Nothing will be the same afterwards. And while that's wonderful and completely fine, it stirs something within us. A little melancholy, a little wish that we could keep going on in our relatively comfortable ways. And yet, there's still that strong urge to push forward. We have to keep on going, because if we tread water here, we will surely drown.

tired My vision is starting to blur... I think my contact is drying out. Yeah, I only wear one contact. And after studying for my big Curriculum and Instruction test tomorrow, I think I deserve a good night of solid sleep. I'm dreaming of crawling under my blankets, pulling them up to my nose, and curling into myself. Hopefully I can have a nice dream of spring or something equally lovely. I took a study break earlier tonight and finished watching the last hour of An Affair To Remember. A completely sentimental film, but something about it just makes me fall in love with it every time. Deborah Kerr is enchanting, and who can beat Carey Grant? (Except maybe Gregory Peck... Maybe that's why I can never be satisfied by any of the guys I date. They're too modern.) (Warning: Complete Subject Change) I just want to be done with all the stress and agony of school work. I'm feeling oppressed. How many papers can one student be expected to write in a semester?? ARGH! *sigh* Okay. Well, I can barely see; I'm going to go remove my contact and makeup and brush my teeth and put on my pj's and head to bed. Goodnight budding world.

Easter
I wish that I'd thought about Him more today. I have been so busy this weekend just preparing for Easter that I've forgotten why we're having all these special services and chapels. Tonight we're having an Easter GIFT (Growing In Faith Together-- an on campus worship service), and I want to make sure that my mind is meditating on the sacrifice of Christ. I've been on the worship team for awhile now, and so often I allow myself to get frustrated with the leadership or the timing or the extra rehearsal time. I lose sight of the fact that we are leading people to worship God. What a rare and amazing privilege. And so often I think of it as an inconvenience. I know I did this week. I was so angry that they would schedule an Easter GIFT and keep me from going home. It's bad enough that we have classes on Good Friday, but to force me to stay on campus and have rehearsals when I would rather be thinking about Jesus' death and resurrection? (Yeah, how likely is that?) How inconsiderate. Actually, my anger was inconsiderate. I have been blessed with the opportunity to come together with the body of Christ to worship Him and bask in the beauty of His presence. And all I can do is moan and complain. I feel a close kinship with the children of Israel. Hopefully, a forty-year sojourn in the desert is not in my future.

It is snowing today. Snowing in April. It made me remember my fourth birthday, when we were living in Rapid City, South Dakota. My birthday is April 24th, and for my party we had ice cream, and swam in the little blue plastic pool we kept on the deck. It was over 80 degrees. The next day, I went sledding. Four feet of snow had piled up during the night in the last blizzard of the year. The flakes today were perfect; I could see the intricate points like lace against my black coat. And yet, a quote from T.S. Eliot ran through my mind:

"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire"

in third person

She thought of him as she tried to go to sleep, remembering the time in high school when he had tried to scare her by telling her that a homeless man lived in the woods behind his house and would rattle the handle of the basement door at night. She remembered that he was tall and brash. Remembered celebrating New Year's with him, huddled under a blanket by a meager bonfire with cigars. She laughed to herself in her bed, her covers drawn up to her nose. It had been years since they'd talked. Why was she thinking of him now? There was a tightness in her chest as she suddenly longed for the safe relationships of the past.

* * *

I just finished watching House of Sand and Fog. It's one of those incredibly beautiful but heartbreakingly hopeless films. It really has no hope what-so-ever at the conclusion. I felt like I wanted to cry or sleep for a long time. I think it really depressed one of my friends who was watching it. I feel slightly guilty for suggesting it... all that I knew about it was that it was nominated for three academy awards. It wasn't even that it was "bad", just that the characters all had lives that, by the end, were completely devoid of any meaning. The ultimate post-modern tragedy, complete with the death of innocence and the survivor who is nothing more than a battered husk of a person. The survival of the anti-hero.

In other news, it's four weeks from today that I will walk across the stage and receive a fake diploma. I will look like I'm graduating from college, but I will really just be pretending. I don't mind pretending though, because at least I get to go through this experience with my classmates. It seems strange that I will have to stay here and keep working at my majors for another year while most of my friends move out into the "real" world. Out of the pan and into the fire. I think of the summer and grin. My friends think of the summer and shudder.

Today I scored the highest I have ever scored in bowling. I got a 133 in my third game, after starting off the evening with a 68. Thank you Bowling HPER, my most favorite physical fitness class ever.

thomas alexander

Last week, Thomas Alexander played here. If you haven't heard of him, don't worry. You will. He is an amazing pianist; I was blown away by his performance. One of the most interesting things about him is that for the second half of his program, he takes requests, and then proceeds to improvise a piece in contemporary and classical style around whatever song an audience member suggests. That night, people requested "Eleanor Rigby", "The Entertainer", Britney Spears, "Amazing Grace", "Claire de Lune", and "Yesterday". He played the last four as one piece. It was incredible. As I sat there, these were some of the thoughts that ran through my head.

His hands were like leaping frogs; they were dancing out of his body like dancers on tip-toe.

The notes cascaded in shimmering waterfalls as love for the music radiated from his absurdly young face.

His fingers were wild creatures with a life of their own, and I had to tell myself to stop thinking dirty thoughts.

He would pause and you'd find yourself breathing again.

in third person

She held the two sticks of butter in her hands. She could feel that they had softened, and was suddenly seized by an irrepressible urge to squeeze them.

in third person

"Are you holding me because I'm cold, or do you have ulterior motives?" she asked, her arms wrapped teasingly around his neck. He grinned, but his eyes grew serious.

You're a really fun girl, and we have a good time together, but I don't really think that we would ever work out in the long term." She was startled. It had been a question asked in jest, and although she didn't really want him, it stung that he had thought about it and decided he didn't want her either. Her smile stayed on her face, but she sat very still in his arms.

"We're very different, aren't we."

"Too different," he said quietly. She looked away. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, the twinkle returning to his eyes, "I would love making out with you."

ramblings
I turned in my first ever unit plan today. For once I feel like maybe being a teacher could be the right path after all. The unit plan is for my Curriculum and Instruction class, one of several where I'm the oldest student. The rest of the students are sophomores and a couple juniors. It's kind of odd, because in that class, I feel slightly ahead of the rest of the students. Which is a nice feeling, because when I come home at night to my roommates (2 of which are in their last semesters of the education program and know everything a student can know about teaching), I feel inadequate and behind. For example, last night, as I was preparing the final pieces of my unit plan, I wanted Sarah and Kara to look over some of it and let me know if I was doing it right. And neither of them had time, neither of them were interested, and they just smiled patronizingly when I finally finished and was rejoicing. Kind of blew the wind out of my sails. I had worked over ten hours on that project, and I wanted someone to rejoice and be glad with me. It felt like such an accomplishment. And suddenly it was nothing, reduced to just another assignment. I felt like it was one of those "I just kicked this in the butt" moments, and they just looked at me like I had no right to be excited about a job well done. Maybe I came off a little prideful or something. Either way, I turned it in today, and felt like I had given my professor some of my best work. And it was satisfying, despite the frustration of feeling defeated in my room.

Isn't a room supposed to be a safe place? The place you feel comfortable and yourself? Aren't your roommates supposed to be your best friends? College is the place where you make life-long friendships, have the best time of your life, and feel the freest. You can sail around in sweatsuits and never do your hair and still be taken seriously. And even though I've felt this way about a lot of my college experiences, there are still so many days when I wonder if I'm just the person that people put up with. I feel as if I am an annoyance to my friends sometimes, and that there isn't one person I know who seeks me out and loves to be with me. Over spring break, our choir toured the Northwest states. It was so much fun, but half the time, I felt that Kara only enjoyed being with me when I made a fool out of myself. Is that an issue with my self-perspective or is it really happening? I never know. Does everyone have these days? Do even the most beautiful and outgoing people wonder if everyone else is just "putting up with them"? I hope so. It would make me feel better.

You're The Inspiration It has been almost a full year since I last wrote here. A lot has happened-- I got back to the U.S. after my semester in England, had a wonderful summer, and came back to Sioux Center, Iowa. I won't bore you with all the details, though. (Who is "you" anyway? No one really reads this but me.) I'm coming close to the end of my fourth year at Dordt College, and while all my friends and roommates are preparing to graduate, I'm looking forward to a whole 'nother semester of classes in the fall, followed by a semester of student teaching. Just a word of advice-- don't change your major a month before Christmas your senior year. It throws a wrench in everything. Anyway, I got inspired to start writing again when I saw that Becca had been writing in her blog; I also just miss writing-- writing descriptively, writing casually, writing artistically-- I'm so overwhelmed with education classes that I barely have time to study what I love. (That would be literature) I feel like I'm losing touch with myself and with my voice. I was reading some other blogs this past week, and I felt so inadequate. I'm not thinking gradiose thoughts or spilling forth fresh images. My life is barren. I'm beginning to realize that maybe this barrenness is the source of my frustration lately. I feel burned out and ugly, like everything I say is base and uncomplicated. I don't have anything worthwhile to contribute to the world's discussion. To me, that is incredibly sad. See, even now I can't think of a better word than "sad" to describe how I feel about that. Pathetic. My sister is much more creative than I am. I wish I had that piece of her in me too.