A conversation which occured during a lull in our Tuesday night Bible study, while the 'adults' were talking about something else.
Erin: "I bet Newton had beard. A great big beardy-beard."
Me: "Newon didn't have a beard."
Erin: "He didn't have a beardy-beard? I thought he did."
Me: "Nope, I'm pretty sure he was clean-shaven. None of his portraits have beards."
Erin: "I must be thinking of Copernicus."
Me: "Yes! Copernicus DEFINITELY had a considerable beard."
Erin: "That's because he was a mystic."
Me: "Of course. Being a mystic makes your beard grow beardy. Most of the older scientists probably had beardy-beards."
Erin: "That's probably why Jack doesn't grow a beard." (For non-Gutenberg students: Jack is one of our beloved tutors with no beard and not a single mystical sensibility to speak of).
Ashli: "I would imagine not."
Erin: "I wonder how Ron feels about this?" (Ron, like Jack, is not a mystic, but unlike Jack sports an impressive beard).
Ashli: *shrug*
Erin: "...Now Kepler, he had the biggest beardy-beard of all!"
Yours, etc.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
An excerpt
"What am I going to do? What are the Church and each Christian to do in this world? What is our mission?
"To these questions there exist no answers in the form of practical 'recipes'. 'It all depends' on thousands of factors--and, too be sure all faculties of our human intelligence and wisdom, organization and planning, are to be constantly used. Yet--and this is the one 'point' we wanted to make in these pages-- 'it all depends' primarily on our being real witnesses to the joy and peace of the Holy Spirit, to that new life of which we are made partakers in the Church. The Church is the sacrament of the Kingdom--not because she possesses divinely instituted acts called 'sacraments', but because first of all she is the possibility given to man to see in and through this world the 'world to come', to see and to 'live' it in Christ. It is only when in the darkness of this world we discern that Christ has already 'filled all things with Himself' that these things, whatever they may be, are revealed and given to us full of meaning and beauty. A Christian is the one who, wherever he looks, finds Christ and rejoices in Him. And this joy transforms all his human plans and programs, decisions and actions, making all his mission the sacrament of the world's return to Him who is the life of the world."
Taken from For the Life of the World by Fr. Alexander Schmemann
Yours, in Christ, etc.
"To these questions there exist no answers in the form of practical 'recipes'. 'It all depends' on thousands of factors--and, too be sure all faculties of our human intelligence and wisdom, organization and planning, are to be constantly used. Yet--and this is the one 'point' we wanted to make in these pages-- 'it all depends' primarily on our being real witnesses to the joy and peace of the Holy Spirit, to that new life of which we are made partakers in the Church. The Church is the sacrament of the Kingdom--not because she possesses divinely instituted acts called 'sacraments', but because first of all she is the possibility given to man to see in and through this world the 'world to come', to see and to 'live' it in Christ. It is only when in the darkness of this world we discern that Christ has already 'filled all things with Himself' that these things, whatever they may be, are revealed and given to us full of meaning and beauty. A Christian is the one who, wherever he looks, finds Christ and rejoices in Him. And this joy transforms all his human plans and programs, decisions and actions, making all his mission the sacrament of the world's return to Him who is the life of the world."
Taken from For the Life of the World by Fr. Alexander Schmemann
Yours, in Christ, etc.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
And the world spins madly on
I'm munching toast and thinking about the bridal shower I'm attending this evening, the third one this summer. Already I've witnessed three weddings. This shower is for a girl who was my partner in crime (almost literally) when we were toddlers, and through most of our early adolescence. Mainly, I'm noticing what a long time ago that was (even the adolescence already!), and also how the exponential increase in marriages these past two years has even touched childhood friendships. The world is turning very fast indeed!
I'm reading a biography of Albert Camus, in which he is quoted with the following: "I want to get married, kill myself, or subscribe to L'Illustration magazine, do something desperate, you know what I mean?"
The occasion for this statement? His wedding to his first wife. He was twenty years old, precocious to boot, and struck with despair over the purposelessness of his life. Ready to do something desperate. In the end Camus chose marriage over suicide, even though he disdained marriage as an imprisonment and was known to counsel his female students to "Never marry, ladies, never marry." Although suffice it to say, young Albert did not choose his wife auspiciously. Simone was a morphine addict and given to all kinds of flamboyant behavior. Additionally, they agreed NOT to be faithful to each other (Ashli scratches her head). Really, their marriage was the act of two defiant young people looking for something outrageous to do.
I've seen a lot of weddings, and I've recently discovered that I tend to be rather cynical. But I grieve over Camus' perspective. Marriage isn't a perfect state, but I've watched many people enter into it knowing this, and knowing that their marriages are for God. A marriage is intended to help individuals know God, among other things. Without this, of course we might consider marriage as Camus did.
But for now, another bridal shower. And they're off...again!
Yours, optimistically, etc.
I'm reading a biography of Albert Camus, in which he is quoted with the following: "I want to get married, kill myself, or subscribe to L'Illustration magazine, do something desperate, you know what I mean?"
The occasion for this statement? His wedding to his first wife. He was twenty years old, precocious to boot, and struck with despair over the purposelessness of his life. Ready to do something desperate. In the end Camus chose marriage over suicide, even though he disdained marriage as an imprisonment and was known to counsel his female students to "Never marry, ladies, never marry." Although suffice it to say, young Albert did not choose his wife auspiciously. Simone was a morphine addict and given to all kinds of flamboyant behavior. Additionally, they agreed NOT to be faithful to each other (Ashli scratches her head). Really, their marriage was the act of two defiant young people looking for something outrageous to do.
I've seen a lot of weddings, and I've recently discovered that I tend to be rather cynical. But I grieve over Camus' perspective. Marriage isn't a perfect state, but I've watched many people enter into it knowing this, and knowing that their marriages are for God. A marriage is intended to help individuals know God, among other things. Without this, of course we might consider marriage as Camus did.
But for now, another bridal shower. And they're off...again!
Yours, optimistically, etc.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Summer projects, part 2: The sequel to "The Cake Topper" and other related incidents
Speaking of projects, I really should be packing up my room right now, getting ready for the annual Summer Transition. BUT, I thought a follow-up about The Cake Topper project might be in order. In short, it turned out beautifully, and it was such a pleasure to be able to add to the wedding in that way. There is, however, a back story to The Cake Topper which I just cannot leave untold, and it is directly related to a second project, which is The Floral Arrangements. The reason why I ended up topping the cake was because I and two of my other housemates were recruited to design all the flower arrangements for the tables, as well as corsages and the cake. Now, if there's any part of a wedding that I would like to be involved in, it's with the flowers, so I didn't need much coaxing. Mainly the bride wanted wild flowers, and the original idea was just to go to a U-pick joint, glean some blooms, put the unruly bundles into mason jars, and ta-da! Our beatific vision was, ah, altered, however, as I will relate.
The Scheme: U-pick was ruled out for various reasons. Sooooo, we figured, if we want wild flowers, we'll search for them in the wild! Honestly, it's Eugene, with plenty of parks and nooks in which to find a little flower-power...can't be too hard...right?
First Proceedings: Molly and I ventured out of the house Friday morning, each with a pair of shears and one big bucket, hoping to pinch a little here and a little there from our neighbors' yards. Yes, we pretty much resorted to theft on the first go. Make of it what you will. It was just such a bleak beginning, a seemingly downward spiral: DIY ain't what it's cracked up to be...so much for 'simple'...we have no purveyor of florals...what else is left, but to scrounge it up out of the bare earth? Wait a minute, neighbor M.'s flowers look mighty nice...he wouldn't mind just a few clippings...and thieves are born.
Nah. We decided instead to find some obliging fields. We weren't that sneaky anyways. Let me say about my fellow adventurer: she is thoughtful and organized in ways that I am not, and she took up the endeavor graciously when I probably would have been too boggled to know where to begin. That doesn't mean that our first attempt with field flowers was that promising. A bland setting to boot, but we were determined. Molly began snipping some tangly purple things, and I turned my attention rather wearily to foliage. You should have seen the look of despair she gave me when I showed her some (I thought) rather lovely pink grasses. (Misunderstanding No. 1. Apparently she thought I was referring to the brown grasses, which were dismal indeed). That was cleared up, and we felt more encouraged. And then...
Daisies! And then we saw the daisy field, on the other side of the tangly-purple-thing-pink-grass field. "Gasp!!! DAISIES!!!!" We were ecstatic over them. Needless to say, we gathered a lot of daisies. This was a much happier prospect, brightened further by the little purple flowers (they looked sort of like giant raspberries) tucked throughout. Things were looking up!
Some Manoeuvres: After we settled the daisy-crazy buckets in our house, Molly suggested that we run by Trader Joe's for some corsage flowers (and treats), and to do some further scouting on the way. We were still feeling desperate, but rather plucky after our first successes. So we figured, why not go out on a median on a very busy street and clip some of the flowers there? And there we were, like nobody's business. I could just imagine my mom catching a glimpse in some newspaper "week in snapshots" thing, on the off chance we were caught on camera (that or some wanted delinquent section. The city of Eugene can take their pick). We didn't stick around (it was a slim median), but found further triumph pruning hydrangeas (and hydrangeas and hydrangeas...lots of hydrangeas) for the benefit of some office buildings. That's how we explained it to ourselves. On top of it, we found the lovliest purple lisianthus at TJ's. We knew we were in business.
A Good Day's Work: We brought our spoils home, and got to work. Our other counterpart provided some fragrant chamomile and lemon balm, and together we constructed arrangements charming enough to grace any shabby chic or DIY magazine. We were all just floored by how everything, the whole endeavor, just fell into place. And glory to God. Really, we had a splendid time, and had the great gift of being able to laugh even at the very worst (for instance, while we were gazing resolutely upon the pink grasses and purple tanglies, there was a summer parks and recreation deal going on in the form of a Quidditch match. For real. Our serious picking was cheered by the image of kids playing soccer with brooms between their legs, and I honestly don't know how it could have been otherwise). Even more, it was one of those instances in which the labor really is its own reward. We had such fun, were delighted with the fruit of our work, and had the added pleasure of giving it as a gift to our friends' marriage.
The only possible dowside to this whole business is that I can't even see a weed or a tuft of grass without considering its potential for floral decor.
Yours, considering a career in floristry, etc.
The Scheme: U-pick was ruled out for various reasons. Sooooo, we figured, if we want wild flowers, we'll search for them in the wild! Honestly, it's Eugene, with plenty of parks and nooks in which to find a little flower-power...can't be too hard...right?
First Proceedings: Molly and I ventured out of the house Friday morning, each with a pair of shears and one big bucket, hoping to pinch a little here and a little there from our neighbors' yards. Yes, we pretty much resorted to theft on the first go. Make of it what you will. It was just such a bleak beginning, a seemingly downward spiral: DIY ain't what it's cracked up to be...so much for 'simple'...we have no purveyor of florals...what else is left, but to scrounge it up out of the bare earth? Wait a minute, neighbor M.'s flowers look mighty nice...he wouldn't mind just a few clippings...and thieves are born.
Nah. We decided instead to find some obliging fields. We weren't that sneaky anyways. Let me say about my fellow adventurer: she is thoughtful and organized in ways that I am not, and she took up the endeavor graciously when I probably would have been too boggled to know where to begin. That doesn't mean that our first attempt with field flowers was that promising. A bland setting to boot, but we were determined. Molly began snipping some tangly purple things, and I turned my attention rather wearily to foliage. You should have seen the look of despair she gave me when I showed her some (I thought) rather lovely pink grasses. (Misunderstanding No. 1. Apparently she thought I was referring to the brown grasses, which were dismal indeed). That was cleared up, and we felt more encouraged. And then...
Daisies! And then we saw the daisy field, on the other side of the tangly-purple-thing-pink-grass field. "Gasp!!! DAISIES!!!!" We were ecstatic over them. Needless to say, we gathered a lot of daisies. This was a much happier prospect, brightened further by the little purple flowers (they looked sort of like giant raspberries) tucked throughout. Things were looking up!
Some Manoeuvres: After we settled the daisy-crazy buckets in our house, Molly suggested that we run by Trader Joe's for some corsage flowers (and treats), and to do some further scouting on the way. We were still feeling desperate, but rather plucky after our first successes. So we figured, why not go out on a median on a very busy street and clip some of the flowers there? And there we were, like nobody's business. I could just imagine my mom catching a glimpse in some newspaper "week in snapshots" thing, on the off chance we were caught on camera (that or some wanted delinquent section. The city of Eugene can take their pick). We didn't stick around (it was a slim median), but found further triumph pruning hydrangeas (and hydrangeas and hydrangeas...lots of hydrangeas) for the benefit of some office buildings. That's how we explained it to ourselves. On top of it, we found the lovliest purple lisianthus at TJ's. We knew we were in business.
A Good Day's Work: We brought our spoils home, and got to work. Our other counterpart provided some fragrant chamomile and lemon balm, and together we constructed arrangements charming enough to grace any shabby chic or DIY magazine. We were all just floored by how everything, the whole endeavor, just fell into place. And glory to God. Really, we had a splendid time, and had the great gift of being able to laugh even at the very worst (for instance, while we were gazing resolutely upon the pink grasses and purple tanglies, there was a summer parks and recreation deal going on in the form of a Quidditch match. For real. Our serious picking was cheered by the image of kids playing soccer with brooms between their legs, and I honestly don't know how it could have been otherwise). Even more, it was one of those instances in which the labor really is its own reward. We had such fun, were delighted with the fruit of our work, and had the added pleasure of giving it as a gift to our friends' marriage.
The only possible dowside to this whole business is that I can't even see a weed or a tuft of grass without considering its potential for floral decor.
Yours, considering a career in floristry, etc.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Summer projects, part 1: The Cake Topper
I am not a project-oriented person. I would like to be, but when I try it usually goes awry due to my lack of focus. For instance: the half-skirt I started sewing last summer; the piano books that are collecting dust; and the watercolor paints that I bought with Christmas money...well, I HAVE used them. Maybe, since I'm not project-driven by nature, it's unrealistic to imagine that I could do all these things on top of school. Some people are projecty, and I can't force myself to fit that.
So, this is something that I struggle with, but enough for confession. It's SUMMER now, and the task at hand is to start work on my senior thesis (weird, right? I should still be a freshman writing an obscure blog about my little experiences during college. Oh wait). So I thought, while I'm reading all kinds of fun stuff by Dostoevsky and Camus, I should balance that out with some of the things I have to put on hold while in school. And, I'll work on investing in those things, on actually valuing the time necessary to do them well. Optimism, they cried, Optimism!
This morning, with the sun streaming into my east-facing windows, my first project is to make-over a dress which needs a little help. Then I remember The Cake Topper. I have a dear friend getting married on Saturday, and she asked if I would construct a cake topper for her topsy-turvey cake using peacock feathers. Hurrah! An Alice-in-Wonderland-esque cake with peacock feathers! I'm thrilled, because Alice and peacocks (and cake) are some of my beloved things, but I must say I panicked a little this morning. A cake topper...should it be flat, or stick up a little...ack, everyone's going to see it...I haven't even met this cake yet...egad, am I really going to be haunted by a cake topper? Google!
Where would this world go, if it wasn't for Google? I've been browsing through fun websites looking for inspiration, and I've found some, along with little amusements that set me at ease. There are all kinds of bride&groom figurines, among them penguins, sock monkeys, and my personal favorite, bride and groom moose. That's right, moose. If people are allowed to make moose cake toppers, I'm sure I'll be fine.
Yours: senior, aspiring cake-decorator (and a lot of other things), etc.
So, this is something that I struggle with, but enough for confession. It's SUMMER now, and the task at hand is to start work on my senior thesis (weird, right? I should still be a freshman writing an obscure blog about my little experiences during college. Oh wait). So I thought, while I'm reading all kinds of fun stuff by Dostoevsky and Camus, I should balance that out with some of the things I have to put on hold while in school. And, I'll work on investing in those things, on actually valuing the time necessary to do them well. Optimism, they cried, Optimism!
This morning, with the sun streaming into my east-facing windows, my first project is to make-over a dress which needs a little help. Then I remember The Cake Topper. I have a dear friend getting married on Saturday, and she asked if I would construct a cake topper for her topsy-turvey cake using peacock feathers. Hurrah! An Alice-in-Wonderland-esque cake with peacock feathers! I'm thrilled, because Alice and peacocks (and cake) are some of my beloved things, but I must say I panicked a little this morning. A cake topper...should it be flat, or stick up a little...ack, everyone's going to see it...I haven't even met this cake yet...egad, am I really going to be haunted by a cake topper? Google!
Where would this world go, if it wasn't for Google? I've been browsing through fun websites looking for inspiration, and I've found some, along with little amusements that set me at ease. There are all kinds of bride&groom figurines, among them penguins, sock monkeys, and my personal favorite, bride and groom moose. That's right, moose. If people are allowed to make moose cake toppers, I'm sure I'll be fine.
Yours: senior, aspiring cake-decorator (and a lot of other things), etc.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
In which I get to be James Herriot
It's fortunate that I've watched so many episodes of "All Creatures Great and Small", because on Tuesday the kids I babysit suggested, for the first time, that we play veterinarian. Here I make two clarifying notes:
~For those who were wondering, I still have the great amusement of playing nanny to Indigo, Raina, and now little brother Aiden, who are five, three, and one-and-a-half, respectively. The saga continues, ta-TUM! with plenty of verve and imagination. And they equate me with Mary Poppins.
~"All Creatures Great and Small" is a 1970s BBC television series based on James Herriot's books. Sound quaint? Nothing could be quainter. I find it delightful.
To resume.
We set up out veterinary practice on the kitchen counter, where I administered shots and checkups and surgeries and prescriptions to all kinds of stuffed bunnies, kittens, turtles, little pink hippos. I dealt mainly with cases of vomiting (kids seem to have the most empirical experience with this one), but it never ceases to amaze me how a simple scenario like giving a kitten its yearly kitty checkup can become an epic involving a snarly gang of purple cats terrorizing our patients. (The whole time I was imagining purple cats wandering around the Yorkshire Dales). We had patients coming in who had been scratched by the purple cats and therefore had contracted an infection that created purple spots on the victim. We ended up serving as sanctuary to a whole swampful of ducks which were ambushed. Eventually, we were able to subdue this rough crowd, and saved many lives with purple cat shots.
As I've learned from Dr. Herriot, it's all in a day's work for the local vet.
Yours: nanny, vet, fan of quaint British tv, etc.
~For those who were wondering, I still have the great amusement of playing nanny to Indigo, Raina, and now little brother Aiden, who are five, three, and one-and-a-half, respectively. The saga continues, ta-TUM! with plenty of verve and imagination. And they equate me with Mary Poppins.
~"All Creatures Great and Small" is a 1970s BBC television series based on James Herriot's books. Sound quaint? Nothing could be quainter. I find it delightful.
To resume.
We set up out veterinary practice on the kitchen counter, where I administered shots and checkups and surgeries and prescriptions to all kinds of stuffed bunnies, kittens, turtles, little pink hippos. I dealt mainly with cases of vomiting (kids seem to have the most empirical experience with this one), but it never ceases to amaze me how a simple scenario like giving a kitten its yearly kitty checkup can become an epic involving a snarly gang of purple cats terrorizing our patients. (The whole time I was imagining purple cats wandering around the Yorkshire Dales). We had patients coming in who had been scratched by the purple cats and therefore had contracted an infection that created purple spots on the victim. We ended up serving as sanctuary to a whole swampful of ducks which were ambushed. Eventually, we were able to subdue this rough crowd, and saved many lives with purple cat shots.
As I've learned from Dr. Herriot, it's all in a day's work for the local vet.
Yours: nanny, vet, fan of quaint British tv, etc.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Holy Fools
Two days ago I was walking down 13th, armed against the spastic weather and mulling over some heavy things on my mind, when I came upon a homeless couple. Naturally they asked for any spare money, which I honestly didn't have at the time. They were a little on the crazy side (who wouldn't have been, sitting out in that fickle weather?), and spent some time joking around with me (or, you know, at me). Then the man noticed the cross on my neck and asked, "Can I have that cross, then?"
I answered no, it had been a special gift.
"That is special, very special," jabbered the woman. "A cross is a special thing."
"Wear it well," the man added.
Which kind of took my breath away. I took in these words and turned away from them as they started making ironic remarks about being the warriors of Jesus and how they liked my sailor's jacket (read: peacoat). Such unexpected wisdom from an unexpected (and rather flippant) corner. I think Christ told us that the poor would always be with us, not so that we would always have to take care of them, but really, because they know things, too. I certainly had nothing to give them; and in the midst of the pain I had been dealing with, I was admonished to step up to the challenge of the cross around my neck. The moment that I received it came flooding back to me, when Father Jerry clasped it on at my baptism and quoted, "Whosoever shall follow after Me must deny herself, take up her cross, and follow after Me." My cross is those painful things, and I must take them up. Easy to forget (why is that?!), and so, so good to remember. Those things aren't really better, but more hopeful, I think. I hope.
Yours, etc.
I answered no, it had been a special gift.
"That is special, very special," jabbered the woman. "A cross is a special thing."
"Wear it well," the man added.
Which kind of took my breath away. I took in these words and turned away from them as they started making ironic remarks about being the warriors of Jesus and how they liked my sailor's jacket (read: peacoat). Such unexpected wisdom from an unexpected (and rather flippant) corner. I think Christ told us that the poor would always be with us, not so that we would always have to take care of them, but really, because they know things, too. I certainly had nothing to give them; and in the midst of the pain I had been dealing with, I was admonished to step up to the challenge of the cross around my neck. The moment that I received it came flooding back to me, when Father Jerry clasped it on at my baptism and quoted, "Whosoever shall follow after Me must deny herself, take up her cross, and follow after Me." My cross is those painful things, and I must take them up. Easy to forget (why is that?!), and so, so good to remember. Those things aren't really better, but more hopeful, I think. I hope.
Yours, etc.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
After that perfect sunny day came a rather cold, rather stressful month. But each day is a gift. I am left hoping that, if at all possible, all my senioritis has defected to this year. Fingers crossed.
It has been a beautiful Sunday, though, made much more so by Lemon Tart and Tom Waits. I've decided that my baking endeavors should have an appropriate music pairing. Following the success of "Blondies & Ben Folds", I decided to try matching my gluten-free lemon tart (in anticipation of tonight's company) with Tom Waits, who, if you haven't listened to him, has a voice that I've heard described as raggedy and bourbon-soaked. I find him rather charming, and a great accompaniment. Sweet, lemony-tart, bourbon-y...I like it.
I had to run to the store for a lemon before I began the tart, and was amused to find that the receipt for the little lemon had a quote from Sarte listed at the bottom (it's natural-foods store. They like to hand out tidbits of philosophy with their merchandise). This is what my Sartrian lemon advised: "A lost battle is a battle one thinks one has lost." I really hope it holds true for the tart.
Yours, etc.
It has been a beautiful Sunday, though, made much more so by Lemon Tart and Tom Waits. I've decided that my baking endeavors should have an appropriate music pairing. Following the success of "Blondies & Ben Folds", I decided to try matching my gluten-free lemon tart (in anticipation of tonight's company) with Tom Waits, who, if you haven't listened to him, has a voice that I've heard described as raggedy and bourbon-soaked. I find him rather charming, and a great accompaniment. Sweet, lemony-tart, bourbon-y...I like it.
I had to run to the store for a lemon before I began the tart, and was amused to find that the receipt for the little lemon had a quote from Sarte listed at the bottom (it's natural-foods store. They like to hand out tidbits of philosophy with their merchandise). This is what my Sartrian lemon advised: "A lost battle is a battle one thinks one has lost." I really hope it holds true for the tart.
Yours, etc.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Fresh Starts (with a side of sunshine, free coffee, and quesadillas)
I feel like each entry on this my blog is some kind of fresh start, as in every three months I get a new wave of fresh-startness and write a new post. But, Christ is risen, and everything is forgiven in the Resurrection, right? We'll see if I can stick with it this time.
In any case, it is mid-April, and we have our first sunny AND warm day! Spring is the ultimate time for fresh starts. It definitely helps that the sun comes out, to revive us Northwesterners from winter lethargy; and even though it's nearly the end of the school year, I certainly feel inspired to re-commit to my work as if the year was just beginning.
So, after leaving work early today, I slipped on a sundress, grabbed a mug and my homework, and head over to Starbucks. Apparently, in observance of Earth Day (and as an aside, may I say that God picked a gorgeous day for Earth Day?), I could bring my own cup and get a free coffee. Free coffee, outdoor seating in blaring sunshine, perusing Anna Karenina, studying German with enthusiasm...and being so happy that I could hardly care if I was indeed getting a sunburn. Because believe me, having joy brought back into studying German is a long-lost gift! Many things have been restored, and there's only God to thank for that.
If my study endeavors were not encouraging enough, on my way home I made fast friends with the young man who runs the quesadilla stand near campus and got a rather nice little quesadilla to go. Made with local products and cooked over an open flame in a terra-cotta-thingy, I think I would just call it delightful. I mean, cheerful service, renewable energy, cheese...that's all-around happiness. As I walked home with my quesadilla, thinking about the combination of the bits of today, I just grinned over how lavished we are with goodness. There are good things everywhere, and fresh starts to be had not just on sunny days, but every single day.
Now for an evening walk!
Yours, etc.
In any case, it is mid-April, and we have our first sunny AND warm day! Spring is the ultimate time for fresh starts. It definitely helps that the sun comes out, to revive us Northwesterners from winter lethargy; and even though it's nearly the end of the school year, I certainly feel inspired to re-commit to my work as if the year was just beginning.
So, after leaving work early today, I slipped on a sundress, grabbed a mug and my homework, and head over to Starbucks. Apparently, in observance of Earth Day (and as an aside, may I say that God picked a gorgeous day for Earth Day?), I could bring my own cup and get a free coffee. Free coffee, outdoor seating in blaring sunshine, perusing Anna Karenina, studying German with enthusiasm...and being so happy that I could hardly care if I was indeed getting a sunburn. Because believe me, having joy brought back into studying German is a long-lost gift! Many things have been restored, and there's only God to thank for that.
If my study endeavors were not encouraging enough, on my way home I made fast friends with the young man who runs the quesadilla stand near campus and got a rather nice little quesadilla to go. Made with local products and cooked over an open flame in a terra-cotta-thingy, I think I would just call it delightful. I mean, cheerful service, renewable energy, cheese...that's all-around happiness. As I walked home with my quesadilla, thinking about the combination of the bits of today, I just grinned over how lavished we are with goodness. There are good things everywhere, and fresh starts to be had not just on sunny days, but every single day.
Now for an evening walk!
Yours, etc.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Soundtracks
I am now in the middle of my junior year, and as I've reflected on this, it has come to my attention that so many memories are tied to music. So much so that each year, even each term, has a different feel depending on the 'soundtrack' during that time. If you can't tell, I've been waxing a bit nostalgic lately.
~Freshman year
Fall: I think the background music for this one is Over the Rhine (especially 'Born'). This dredges up memories of being the cook's assistant in the residence program, during which I listened to a lot of this. I never thought I could be so stirred in my soul by that kind of music
(when I came to Gutenberg, my musical repertoire was pretty much the homeschool mix of contemporary Christian, classical, show tunes, and Celtic. I don't consider this a negative list, but growing up I wasn't exposed to much secular music, and struggled with whether or not I was allowed to listen to it). Those memories and feelings are still so vivid.
Winter: Regina Spektor, the score to Amelie, and the music of Thomas Newman (Meet Joe Black, Little Women, and Finding Nemo). I call this 'White House music', because I have very special memories of this from the girls' house at Gutenberg.
~Sophomore year
Winter: I half-despondently, half-mockingly referred to this term as "The Winter of My Discontent": halfway through sophomore year, just months from two-year exams, and the pressure was on. It was a truly maniacal time, in which I was struggling spiritually between wanting light and only seeing darkness (I was given light, wonderful light, but that's another story). To get through despair, I had to laugh at myself, and I really did learn to treasure my life at the time. Not surprising, but this term's playlist was heavy on The Decemberists and Kate Nash. Dark, light, and thoroughly crazy and fun. And not totally hopeless. I really think 'Merry Happy' saved my skin.
Spring: Ah, Iron&Wine and Springtime. And traditional Greek church music, a cappella. So there you go.
~Junior year
Fall: After the gauntlet of sophomore exams, we are finally fancy-free! This is the term of Old Crow Medicine Show and Sufijan Stevens (and lots of songs that remind me of my sister). It's almost embarassing how many times one can listen to 'Wagon Wheel' in a row. Or, er, so I've heard.
So now we've come again to winter, partway through Junior year, and I have over two years' worth of beloved music, music which has been integral in me coming to know myself. It is yet early, but I believe this term is showing trends involving The Weepies, Imogen Heap, and The Postal Service. I'm optimistic about this forecast!
Yours, etc.
~Freshman year
Fall: I think the background music for this one is Over the Rhine (especially 'Born'). This dredges up memories of being the cook's assistant in the residence program, during which I listened to a lot of this. I never thought I could be so stirred in my soul by that kind of music
(when I came to Gutenberg, my musical repertoire was pretty much the homeschool mix of contemporary Christian, classical, show tunes, and Celtic. I don't consider this a negative list, but growing up I wasn't exposed to much secular music, and struggled with whether or not I was allowed to listen to it). Those memories and feelings are still so vivid.
Winter: Regina Spektor, the score to Amelie, and the music of Thomas Newman (Meet Joe Black, Little Women, and Finding Nemo). I call this 'White House music', because I have very special memories of this from the girls' house at Gutenberg.
~Sophomore year
Winter: I half-despondently, half-mockingly referred to this term as "The Winter of My Discontent": halfway through sophomore year, just months from two-year exams, and the pressure was on. It was a truly maniacal time, in which I was struggling spiritually between wanting light and only seeing darkness (I was given light, wonderful light, but that's another story). To get through despair, I had to laugh at myself, and I really did learn to treasure my life at the time. Not surprising, but this term's playlist was heavy on The Decemberists and Kate Nash. Dark, light, and thoroughly crazy and fun. And not totally hopeless. I really think 'Merry Happy' saved my skin.
Spring: Ah, Iron&Wine and Springtime. And traditional Greek church music, a cappella. So there you go.
~Junior year
Fall: After the gauntlet of sophomore exams, we are finally fancy-free! This is the term of Old Crow Medicine Show and Sufijan Stevens (and lots of songs that remind me of my sister). It's almost embarassing how many times one can listen to 'Wagon Wheel' in a row. Or, er, so I've heard.
So now we've come again to winter, partway through Junior year, and I have over two years' worth of beloved music, music which has been integral in me coming to know myself. It is yet early, but I believe this term is showing trends involving The Weepies, Imogen Heap, and The Postal Service. I'm optimistic about this forecast!
Yours, etc.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Christmas Mango: a Christmas tale
This tale began a year ago, and quite by accident. I would imagine that many good stories begin quite by accident. Really, all that happened was a slight mix-up about fruits. You see, budgets being tight during Christmas, my parents decided to take the traditional (read: cheap) approach to gifts and filled our stockings with fruit and unshelled nuts. As we unloaded our stockings on Christmas, we were exclaiming over the novelty of our stocking-stuffers (which amounted to an orange and a pear each, along with the nuts) when one of my sisters broke out, "All right! I got a Mango!"
The other three of us looked down at our pears, wondering why they weren't mangoes as well and feeling a bit miffed. My mother's reaction was entirely different; that is to say, she was as confused as we were, but even more so, because she was convinced that she had bought four pears instead of three and a mango. To save face, she calmly replied to my sister, "No, that's a pear."
Knowing exactly what she was holding in her hand, my sister contended that it was indeed a mango. Despite her explanation that it had no stem and was shaped like a mango, my mother still held, "It is a pear, not a mango. I did not buy a mango". We were all extremely amused, especially since the two were almost in hysteria over the fruit. Finally my sister cried out in exasperation, "It's a MANGO! Look! There's a sticker on this fruit that says 'Mamba Mangoes'! We were rolling with laughter, while my mother fell silent for a minute, contemplating the situation. Finally she acknowledged,
"I thought that was an oddly-shaped pear."
So my mother had found a random mango resting with the pears at the grocery store. We enjoyed it so much that it became a new tradition. Each year, it is a surprise: Who will get the Christmas mango? And rather than remaining embarassed, my mother is extremely proud of this tradition, because she started it. Quite by accident, too, which makes it even better.
The other three of us looked down at our pears, wondering why they weren't mangoes as well and feeling a bit miffed. My mother's reaction was entirely different; that is to say, she was as confused as we were, but even more so, because she was convinced that she had bought four pears instead of three and a mango. To save face, she calmly replied to my sister, "No, that's a pear."
Knowing exactly what she was holding in her hand, my sister contended that it was indeed a mango. Despite her explanation that it had no stem and was shaped like a mango, my mother still held, "It is a pear, not a mango. I did not buy a mango". We were all extremely amused, especially since the two were almost in hysteria over the fruit. Finally my sister cried out in exasperation, "It's a MANGO! Look! There's a sticker on this fruit that says 'Mamba Mangoes'! We were rolling with laughter, while my mother fell silent for a minute, contemplating the situation. Finally she acknowledged,
"I thought that was an oddly-shaped pear."
So my mother had found a random mango resting with the pears at the grocery store. We enjoyed it so much that it became a new tradition. Each year, it is a surprise: Who will get the Christmas mango? And rather than remaining embarassed, my mother is extremely proud of this tradition, because she started it. Quite by accident, too, which makes it even better.
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