It is positively warm outside, at least 60 degrees. It's been predicted for days, but I did not believe it. We've had such a bitter winter, I could not fathom "60 degrees." Why is good news always so suspect?

Through the Wringer

The issue with my friend has graduated from snit level (which was an understatement to begin with) to full on falling out. I have known this person since high school, and being her friend was not easy then. I never ever want to write anyone off for good, and I always vacillate between maintaining friendships with people who are toxic and cutting them off entirely. I can never seem to do it, because I know how much it hurts to be dropped like a hot potato. I think that breaking all ties with someone should be reserved for the most egregious offenses, and even then it should be clear that there is no chance for repair.

I've already done my grocery shopping today. It's only about 12:15 and I'm getting ready to lose myself in a cup of coffee while Bluetrain plays in the background, and I'm going to pray and read the Bible before getting together with Sarah for a celebration of my acceptance to Hopkins.

I was supposed to see my sister today as she is in Baltimore with a friend from school, but I think logistical issues are going to prevent it. Oh well, She'll have her spring break soon. Sometimes having to wait makes things sweeter when you finally get to receive them.

My friend who had been in the abusive relationship did end it, after she saw an unwillingness on the part of her abuser (as he shall henceforth be known) to respect her wishes to not see him until he could get help. Frankly, I don't think you can have any role in an abuser's life while he or she is trying to be rehabilitated--if he or she is indeed attempting to "get help." I know I'm a pessimist, but I've seen a man beat my mother and then, eventually, express some level of remorse. These people are always sorry until they get angry again...

Anyway, she called me and left me a message saying the relationship (which upon further questioning I discovered was way more screwed up than I even knew) was over, but not acknowledging that she stopped talking to me in the middle of an Instant Message session in which I told her it was foolish to try and stick this out.

Maybe she's embarrassed--but she's also trying to glom back onto my life, and I don't feel that I can participate in her "I'm a victim" mentality, which was already in place before that guy she dated even came along. The truth is that she is very "stuck," for lack of a better term. It's true that the company you keep affects you, and either elevates you or brings you down.

In other news, I am in the process of working through a misunderstanding with another friend of mine. I feel, on the one hand, that all will eventually be well... and yet, I am a little put out that I have to even deal with this. Maybe we need to get this out of the way so we can move on. We've got some stuff that has probably been lingering around since we were 14 years old.

This is one downside to having had so much time alone recently. I don't have the patience for snags in the fabric, and I am tempted to just say "forget it." I like the peace of not getting into snits with people, and snits are unavoidable when you interact with others. Eventually, someone misunderstands someone else, and voila! Snit.

Gordon just left. He came over to give me one of only four copies (that he has) of the San diego Jewish Times on which one of his paintings was used for the cover, and that features a brief write up on him. He said that he wanted me to have it (after I asked him how I might get a hold of one) because I've been such a strong supporter of his work for such a long time. That was gratifying to know that he values my support. I haven't been able to tell if he values me at all lately--and yet, at the risk of undermining his appreciation, I have to say that valuing my support is not the same as valuing me.

I have not seen him in almost 3 months. What is so interesting to me is that after a hiatus of half that time last year, I saw him for the first time in a month and a half on February 27, 2003. One day shy of a year ago. I guess he just hibernates emotionally in the winter months, and emerges around March. I can tell that for as much as his absence hurt and perplexed me, he thinks nothing of it. This has not been weird for him. And it has not been personal.

I hoped it wouldn't be awkward (because of me feeling awkward), and it wasn't. We chatted amiably about several things...what we've been up to, which isn't much--though significant things have transpired in our lives. I, of course, am mobilizing to attend grad school. He decided to return to the Anglican church, and left catholicism. He made that decision in December, and thought he'd told me. He was convinced he had. I found out last week, when he mentioned it in an off-handed manner.

When he left he told me to call him or e-mail him (his usual way of ending our visits), and I guess that means things are back to normal.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." --Jeremiah's Letter to the Exiles (Jeremiah 29:11)

I got into grad school.

For Some Reason, I Find This to be Hysterically Funny...

You are a caramel frappuccino! You tend to get into sticky situations and are in the wrong place, at the wrong time- alot. You are sarcastic and fight with your cunning and words.


What Starbucks Drink Are You?
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Personal Relationships. Whether your friend needs
your support or you isolate yourself off when
you don't want to hurt others, chances are you
always think about how your actions affect
others. People are lucky to have you as a
friend. Unfortunately, you are also easily
manipulated. As long as you are careful to look
after yourself as well as others, you will do
just fine. ^_^


How do you seek fulfillment in life? (for girls) [with pics I found]
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You are Sally!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
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At the risk of being a drama queen (which is a plea I sometimes have to cop to), I have to confess something. While I had been toying with the idea of whether or not it was time to stop blogging, I made the decision to cease and desist last week on a day when I was feeling especially hopeless. And then the next day, as you may have read, I felt compelled to write the post "A Prophet without Honor."

I'm a writer. I have to keep writing. And I know now that I can't make critical decisions under duress. When I'm in pain, I tend to give things up, or destroy them. It's my way of exerting control over some element of my landscape. But it never helps.

I do believe that my blog is reaching a point where a change in the format (or "look" and "feel") is imminent, but it is not meant to disappear, not now. I was remiss, and I ask you, my friends, to bear with me and keep reading.

As a testament to God's grace and goodness, I have to tell you all that I was able to buy the furniture I've been wanting (the exact furniture) for four months, yesterday. It will be delivered to my new home on April 16th.

A Prophet Without Honor

Jesus left there and went into his hometown, accompanied by his disciples. When the Sabbath came, he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed.

"Where did this man get these things?" they asked. "What's this wisdom that has been given him, that he even does miracles! Isn't this a carpenter? Isn't this Mary's son and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon? Aren't his sisters here with us?" And they took offense at him.

Jesus said to them, "Only in his hometown, among his relatives and in his own house is a prophet without honor." He could not do any miracles there, except lay his hands on a few sick people and heal them. And he was amazed at their lack of faith. (Mark 6:1-6; All Emphasis, mine)

This blog is not meant to be a source of controversy, nor a place where current events are discussed, unless anecdotally. Heck, I'm not even supposed to have a blog anymore.

I did not want to comment on the "Passion of Christ" debate that is raging, but I can't keep silent. I read an excellent post on another blog today that spurred me on, and I feel that my silence would be negligent at this point.

Let me beging by saying Christ was a Jew, not a Christian. True followers of Christ cannot reasonably be accused of anti-semitism in light of this crucial, but largely ignored fact. His earliest followers were Jews (not referred to as "Christians" until the event at Antioch in the book of Acts), just as his dissenters were. I know that many people have perpetrated all kinds of vile acts in the name of Jesus Christ, but I am not dealing with that here.

I also have to say that I have not yet seen the film. So I am speaking, not to its credibility or its perceived irresponsibility, but to the merit of the Gospel. I believe that the Bible is the infallible Word of God, historically accurate, "living and active."

What Christ is saying in this particular passage (also referenced in Matthew 13:57 and John 4:44) is that the unfaithful hearts of his own people (because he was in Israel afterall) did not recognize him when he came. He was perceived by the religious leaders as a blasphemer. He claimed to be God. He didn't leave room in his proclamations about himself for him to be labeled a "good man" or " a great teacher" He was either who he claimed to be or a Liar.

The point is not that a few Jewish religious leaders did not believe him, and considered him a threat, but that most, by and large, did not receive him with their hearts. In Isaiah 53, it was foretold that he would be a man acquainted with grief, despised, and rejected. He was not supposed to be welcomed, because it is no sacrifice to only love people who love you back.

Here's the point. people rejected Christ. Jews and non. In my sinful nature, I did. Christ died for me. My sin yelled "Crucify!" louder than the mob that day (The O.C. Supertones)

Hiatus (or Good-bye)

I have blogged, under some title and template design or other, for nearly 2 years. Now it is simply wheel-spinning. For the five-to-seven of you who read regularly, thank you for caring enough to do so. I will continue to partake of and enjoy your online journal adventures and entries. All of you still have such wonderful, interesting things to share.

State of the Union

I'm assessing and reassessing, and I don't know what to say about the status of the union of my heart, mind, and spirit--which are trying to work together, but are having some trouble with the alignment process. As a Born Again Christian, I believe that in Christ, I am a new creature--that the old has gone and the new has come. It is the ongoing drama of the already, but not yet. The state in which something has already been accomplished and completed in faith, and yet that continues to become.

I am in my own personal Valley of Decision. So I ask myself everyday now "What's it going to be, Kate? Are you copping out, relying on your own strength, or are you taking God at His word this time?"

This Just In...

I am in a really good mood. I made a phenomenal meal of broiled steak, red cabbage (which is more purple than red) tossed with balsamic vinegar, and mashed potatoes. So simple, but it tasted so good. As if this weren't enough, my first issue of Baltimore magazine arrived. I decided that I really need to understand this city I love so much, and while the City Paper goes a long way in helping one to see the seamy underbelly of this town (as well as learn to appreciate out of the way places and points of interest), its blatant political bias and social agendas sometimes get in the way of me appreciating it for the resource it is (hands down, the best place to look for a vintage apartment).

I have to go to an offsite meeting tomorrow, which means time in the car with my unintentionally duplicitous manager. I might just have to forego the chitchat and ask what I'm dying to know. So, how do you really feel about your job? I loathe small talk, and it could get mighty awkward if I don't commit to being interested in what she might have to say.

It used to be that when I looked out my window, and let my eyes scan the steeples, slated roofs, and the tops of lit high-rises and sky scrapers, I could feel him in this city with me, hear his heart beating above the din of sirens, hoodlums, and hookers. An understanding of his presence was mine. Whether I had seen him recently or not, this was the case.

For the last three months, when I survey the city from height or depth, I do not feel his soul, or have an understanding that he might be anywhere near me at all. I have stopped knowing him inside, and cannot perceive anything about him from the distance of the scant few miles that separate our homes, except the potential for bad news.

This is what it’s like when a friend removes himself from your understanding of the world. Hundreds of pieces of imperceptible data pile up until all you are to him is a stranger—someone unmentioned, not thought of. Too many new things to catch up on, you can never catalogue what you’ve missed. So many hours of internal processing gone by that he thinks he told you things—big things he’s decided since he saw you last. Because after so many days, weeks, and months, it is too exhausting to recapture even phenomenal events, because you had to be there. And if you weren’t, then it is all lost to you. You will never recover those days, and metaphysical doors have slammed shut, never to be opened.

Paradoxically, you’ve been so absent you might as well have been there, because that is how he knows you now, by the utter lack of yourself. This is also your experience of him. “Being gone” is the new “being there.” Sometimes all you can offer someone is your absence, and it helps a little if you can think of it as the new shape of the love you still feel.

How intriguing. You are Ken & Barbie as 007 and the
*Bond Girl* Tres chic!


Which Ken & Barbie Couple Do You Belong To?
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Barista Barbie

I think Mattel and Starbucks need to collaborate to create Barista Barbie. Since she's unloaded Ken, her man toy of nearly 50 years, maybe she can finally catch on to the coffee craze that has been in renaissance since 1993.

I'm back home after a long girls' day out with Sarah yesterday (I spent the night at her place, too). I had the best time shopping (minor), going out to lunch at one of our favourite places, an unsuccessful attempt at burning a cd (for me, which was not so fun), and then ending the night with watching the newest version of "Freaky Friday," which was appropriately updated. It was a fun film. I've always been a bit intrigued by the idea of switching selves with someone, but keeping my body. I never want this to happen, of course, and I know I have nothing to worry about, because it isn't even possible....but still. Beyond freaky. I think you'd go insane just trying to accept what had taken place. No fun hijinx ruining someone else's life for a day or so.

Okay, now I've had some coffee, and I've tweaked my grocery list, so I'm off to market, and then will come back home to do laundry and read my new book.

Friday the 13th

I'm admitting the following slightly embarrassing things, in no particular order:

1. I care desperately whether Ross & Rachel end up together

2. My punctuation sucks

3. I love, I mean absolutely adore, "The Parkers" and at least three other shows on UPN.

I didn't mention this before because, frankly, it felt like one more negative thing in my life, and I didn't want to discuss it on the blog. I went to see the model the leasing agent told me about last week, and it was sub par, in terms of space. Even being spatially challenged, I knew I shouldn't have high hopes, based purely on the floor plan. It was so small, however, that I thought the "livingroom" was the entryway. I kept looking for the rest of it! My entertainment center would utterly dominate, no fill, that room. The furniture issue would have been solved, decisively, however. No furniture. of any kind.

Fortunately, this model was not the only type available, and I immediately asked about the other possibilities with the leasing agent. She said she would arrange for me to see the place on the 4th floor in the other building. I remembered liking the model on the 4th flloor, based on what I could glean from the floor plan.

Sometimes, It's all about first impressions and first instincts--spatial relations-savvy or not. I just talked to the leasing agent who told me this place is really roomy, and gets a good amount of light, too, so she thought I would be very happy with it. I'll be having a look at it next Friday. I hope I agree with her assessment this time, because if I don't, I'll definitely be hitting up the City Paper for some other options.

Before I close, I want to send a birthday acknowledgment to my good friend, Devika. I hope your day is as wonderful as you are!

I need to say that I am so over these Atkins-Approved menus that are cropping up in mainstream restaurants and eateries, and in the lexicon of mainstream food speak. If anyone espouses the Atkins diet, I consider it his or her prerogative, but I hate that it's become something to which dining establishments now pander. Moderation, the last time I checked, was what health and nutrition were all about.

I don't have too many axes to grind anymore, but that whole thing is downright annoying. You can't live without carbs, people!

I'm arms-lengthing Cornwell's Ripper case. It's very persuasive, but the details, and surviving photographs of postmortem victims aren't pleasant. I am a sucker for the reconstruction of historic events, especially around notorious crimes or tragedies, but the subject matter can weigh heavily on your psyche. I try to make sure the book is not the last information with which I interact before bed. I'm already in what I call "heavy scan" mode. Cornwell, as a forensics specialist, is enamored of detail to the finest point. I like a lot of details, but I like them to be overarching, and anecdotal.

I remember seeing an unsolved mysteries episode about "The Ripper" as a child, and I was captivated. Horrified, but intrigued. I think what hooks me is the notion that such a malevolent force could move through the streets of London's East End undetected. Amazing to me that such a consuming, classist, mysogonistic psychopathy could remain largely subverted in the daylight hours.

Even more interesting is that Cornwell's alleged Ripper obviously felt that his art (he was a painter) protected him from suspicion, as he routinely depicted Ripper-esque scenes, in many cases betraying an intimate knowledge of the sinister mood, and uncanny duplication of actual details of the deaths--things that could not be captured by second hand accounts.

Nothing much beyond this to report at present. I'm just having an evening cuppa, sipping slowly from a black Johns Hopkins mug. Speaking of Hopkins, I have yet to hear anything...

I have wanted to be in love for a long time. It's a cliche, but this is the week I am inclined to think about this more than usual. Something in the way I'm pondering it this year is different, but the fact is still the fact. I wish I had someone for whom to buy a valentine. Or, should I say I wish I was in a position, emotionally and relationally to buy someone specific a valentine. I wish I were getting one. Every year I wish that life, fate, destiny, whatever, would surprise me. I know valentines don't come from thin air. And I know that one day doesn't make or break a year, and what might lie ahead (or what doesn't).

I always wait for this day to come and go. Because, no matter what people say about it not just being for lovers, I beg to differ. I'm all about inclusiveness, but sometimes the very nature of a thing leaves others out. If it weren't exclusive, it wouldn't be what it is.

At the end of the day, Valentine's day is for lovers. And I'm not jealous, and I don't begrudge those who will be getting flowers and cards because someone is in love with them. I would just love to be included one year before the flower of my youth fades.

I'm finally reading Patricia Cornwell's Portrait of a Killer (Jack the Ripper Case Closed). So after last night's bangers and mash (and tonight's too), it's a London Pub weekend for sure.

I was thinking last night that having all this time on my own has changed my expectations of other people, in terms of contributing to my happiness. I definitely felt validated by socializing with my friends before, I felt accepted based upon how much of my time was being pursued, or how much interaction I had with certain people. Now I feel like Tom Hanks in that deserted island movie in which his most important relationship was with a volley ball for four years. I make my own entertainment, and I am my own sanctuary. When I am around another person, I'm always wondering when I can be alone again, so I can really be at peace.

Frankly, these days I feel like I could try to see more people, but to what end? Hearing about their lives? Giving them the same advice I always do? Honestly, that's what e-mail is for. And yet I don't feel like a crotchety recluse, I just don't know what to do with another person's presence. What are they there for, I wonder.

I hope this doesn't sound sour grapes-ish. I think I'm just accustomed to my new way of living. This is pretty common, I would think. I don't know the psychological term for this state of mind--the acceptance, and even preference for what was once considered a punishment, or unfortunate circumstance.

I realize it might sound insular, but I feel that this time in my life has made less likely to cling, less reliant in unhelpful ways on other humans, less inclined to put the burden of my joy on another soul. I love that being alone in this apartment, I can just pray anytime I want, right out loud. I'm the best version of myself when I'm all alone.

But sometimes I worry that I won't ever feel the need for having another soul in close physical proximity again. Is this the beginning of spinsterhood?

Bangers and Mash

I am so excited to try out a version of this tonight. I just regret that I have no dark beer to accompany my meal… oh, but I have other options… I think Coke with a splash of Jack Daniels would be complimentary. Yes, that will do nicely.

Tomorrow afternoon I am going to see a model of the type of apartment I will be renting. I find that I am very badly handicapped by my inability to look at floor plans and make them translate into a real understanding of the spatial dynamics of a place, so this should be a helpful exercise, and will give me a feeling about the kind of space with which I’ll have to work.

I found out today that a publication (California-based) will be using one of Gordon’s paintings as its cover for the next issue, and will feature a small piece about him. They also expressed interest in using other pieces of his for future covers. That was the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.

As I feared my friend has already made concessions and is not breaking ties. What could I do? I told her I did not support the decision, and that while I hoped for her sake, that things work out, I think she is being foolish. I think we are officially not talking now, but that is her choice. I guess I understand. What on earth could we ever discuss again, being divided on such a crucial issue?

Moving right along...

More than two weeks ago the leasing agent at my new apartment building told me about three different apartments that were going to be opening up at about the time I was looking to move. I went in to give her my security deposit, and while I was there, she wanted to show me one of them. It was on the first floor, and I knew I didn't want to live on the first floor, but I was willing to have a look. The master key would not open the door, no matter what she did! I felt unphased since I hadn't thought I would get to see an apartment that day anyway (and as I said it was on the first floor). She told me that she would call me at some point to have me come out and see at least one of the others on the fourth floor within a week's time.

Because so much time had passed without me hearing from her, I started getting a bit antsy, but I felt that I should wait. It was a very intuitive, spiritual impression I had, that if I didn't jump the gun just this once, something more wonderful than I hoped would happen. The day after making the choice to wait for the leasing agent to call me, she did just that. And an apartment, completely separate from the three she expected to open up, opened up. The current resident is leaving on March 31st. After the clean up and touch up is done to the place, I will assume residence on April 15th. It is a fifth floor apartment, and the leasing agent thought I would really like this one, because it gets so much light.

There Is No Excuse for Domestic Violence

Over the summer a good friend of mine began seeing someone, someone who, while not who she thought she was looking for, seemed wonderful. He was attentive, and most importantly, real. This particular friend of mine is given to flights of fancy, so when this guy came into her life, and she deemed him worth her consideration, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was finally going to lead the life she'd always dreamed about. A living, breathing man, not a theoretical prince charming, at last.

And I encouraged her toward him, telling her to not let him go, since he was standing right there, offering her something actual.

Slowly, more information about him trickled in, and I became cautiously supportive. I learned that he experienced irrational bouts of anger, jealousy, and wild mood swings in which he displayed some degree of schizophrenic behavior--perhaps not clinically speaking, but colloquially so. He would often state his undying love, propose to her... and the next day rescind all of it, and offer her a pledge of friendship, with the hope that someday she could find someone who would be right for her.

Then, one day she told me he "flicked" her on the cheek in frustration. All my alarm bells went off. As someone who has seen the evolution of physical abuse up close (because of my parents' marriage), I was in the position to tell her that violence and rage are cumulative. If a man will touch you, in any way, in anger, even a "flick," he will eventually punch you. It is a fact.

Even then, I was willing to concede that this might be an isolated incident, that it should be addressed, and that she needed to make her lack of tolerance for such "gestures" clear, but I did not advise her no-holds-barred to end things. Because I was only hearing her side of things, I was still willing to hold out a shred of hope, but I stopped with any overt encouragement.

Over the course of the last several months, I have wondered about the potential of subsequent instances.

Today, I found out my suspicions were correct. He had graduated to forceful wrist grabs and pushing.
I advised her to get out and never look back, to make no room in her thinking for ever seeing him again. I only pray that she has enough regard for her own heart to make her peace with this decoy of an experience... I hope she doesn't retreat into a world of spun sugar, too afraid to ever look a real man in the face again.

Along Came Holly

The timing was perfect. I managed to get all of my laundry done, including my huge queen-sized comforter, change my bed suit, vacuum, and dust before Holly's call saying she was on her way, came through. Having accomplished all of this, I was in a good place, mentally to enjoy company.

I realized that I have become "addicted" to cancelled plans lately, so the fact that these went through seemed to indicate a changing tide. Maybe now I'll actually look forward to planned events actually coming to fruition. What a concept.

Holly and I were able to have a wonderful conversation about all of the different things God is bringing to the forefront of our lives now. We also ate excellent take out, watched a movie ("Miss Congeniality"), and even had some time to pray for each other before parting ways.

Now, I'm preparing to go to Sarah's for the night. We're going to watch her Netflix DVDs that have arrived this week. A mini marathon of cinema. I just realized I'm very thirsty... gotta go get a drink!