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!

First for the bad news...

I owe the IRS again this year; I have for the last four. C'est la vie. I was pretty bummed about this last night, but today is a new day. So, this morning after showering and puttering, I paid my rent, balanced my checkbook, and started on some laundry.

The good news is that I found a stamp. I thought I was all out!

My friend Holly is supposed to be coming to hang out with me today. I say supposed to because most of my plans don't go off these days, and I'm really okay either way it happens today.

Just in case anyone wonders, I changed some of the text in the html code to make it relevant to my own life...


You, my friend are a true individual. You most
likely hate trends and are creative. By seeing
things differently, people either admire you or
think you are a bit strange. I'm guessing you
are an artist. Perhaps a Thomas Kinkade
hater? I hope so. An inspiration to us all,
continue being you! (If you like TK, I'm sorry,
I am just expressing an opinion.)


A Deeper Look Inside Yourself (with pics)
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay, in this "artiste" vein, I want to say that I am formulating a strategem (Amelie!)... Changes to come.

Words/Phrases that I Loathe (Part I):

Nice (worst offender), esp. as in “That’s nice.”
Issue: Nondescript, not substantive
Implication: You don’t care a whit about what’s being discussed.

Good Luck
Issue: Connotes you in no way think the person is going to make it, achieve desired goal, or get what he or she is going for.
Implication: It also strikes me as being dismissive.

New to the collection, is Kind Offer (does anything say kiss my a** quite like “Thank you for your kind offer!”?)
Issue: When used between friends is too formal
Implication: I don’t want anything from you…ever…

Wife in the Desert

In my time of relative social exile, I feel that I am being trained for something very meaningful. First of all, I am learning to love my own company again, I am learning to really cultivate and enjoy my relationship with God again, and I am cooking again. It's not that I consider these things to belong exclusively to wifery, nor am I saying that one learns to be a wife completely in isolation (certainly not!), but it ocurred to me tonight, that among the many things I am learning, how to make room for a man in my heart is one of them. And that can't even begin until I can love solitude, and make my own way in what bears the look of barren country, but is really a gateway to a plentiful harvest.

This is not the entire point of this particular time in my life, but it is a lovely element of what is being brought to pass.

The Wiz

My mother had an LP of this broadway show that she played incessantly through my early childhood. Not the Diana Ross/Michael Jackson Motown version, but the Stephanie Mills as "Dorothy" version. I both loved and hated this album. I loved the emotion I could hear in some of the songs; I hated how often I heard it in our house, and used to feel somewhat imprisoned by the tireless repetition of it. My mother could listen to this album all day while cleaning or just puttering about. To say that it was in heavy rotation is putting it mildly.

Lizz Wright does a version of "Soon as I get home" from that show on her album "Salt," and I found myself wanting to own a recording of the show for myself after listening to her soulful rendition. It was fortunate that BMG distributes the recording on CD, so I ordered it. When I put it in my portable compact disc player this afternoon and heard the opening strains of the first song, I began to cry in memory of my mother and me when I was young (This album was the soundtrack of my childhood from the time I was 3 until I was 5 or 6). Not sadness, but just the immediacy with which the memory of our apartment, her face, how I felt, etc., came rushing back to me, caused me to weep.

I was delighted to read in the liner notes that this show first opened at the Morris A. Mechanic theatre in Baltimore on October 21, 1974. I was just over a year old. It seems so right to me that something so native to my early years should have had its roots here in Charm city.

The tip of a butter knife shattered the glass on my coffeetable. I was just preparing to eat my very late breakfast of French toast with Strawberry syrup. I put Amelie in the vcr, and was getting ready to sit down when the knife slipped off the edge of my plate, hit the glass top of my coffee table, and it bent inward on itself and broke apart in three huge pieces. It was obviously already in distress because of the books that were sitting on top of it. So fragile, that a falling knife could destroy it, but I didn't know to be concerned.

I have been hoping not to have to take the furniture I have to my new apartment. I don't have to worry about the coffeetable, anyway...

Care Packages

I never got them when I was in college, and I didn't expect them. My parents were not/are not the types to think that way, nor were they disciplined enough to go to the post office to mail something unless they absolutely had to. I think I'd like to usher in a trend now that both of my sisters are away at school. I think I want to send them packages from time to time with goodies, interesting articles, presents, etc. I think this will be so fun for me, and hopefully for them too.

I Believe I'll Testify...

I called my sister at her request this afternoon. She told me an amazing story of God's faithfulness to her. Not only did He provide the balance of the tuition she owed the school, but she was left with a hefty balance with which to buy her books. And the thing is that she only found this out today because she left her add/drop slip and notebook that she needed for a class in her dorm room, and was inconvenienced by having to go back to retrieve them. It was in returning that she showed up just in time to hear her phone ringing, and to take the call from the Financial Aid Office that changed everything.

I had been struggling badly with a pervasive sense of doubt all afternoon (about my own life), but this reminder has put my heart and mind to rights for the time being.

Amen!

Oh, and did I mention that due to amazing scheduling graces, she has Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays free this semester?

"Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished." Luke 1:45

The above scripture has meant so much to me over the course of the last year. I have returned to it time and again when praying through the main themes of this season of my life. I always run across it, or it is always brought to mind when I am having a hard time hanging on and believing God for the things He has promised me.

I'm not having an especially hard time at the moment, though I recognize that I still have so much to confront, so many patterns to change, so many things I still need and want, the fruition of which is still a ways off. If I were living my life in accordance with the wisdom of the world, which I'm not, there are some things I would have given up on long ago. But God has given me a vision for my life, for my writing, my relationships, all of the things which concern me, and He is bringing that vision to pass. And I am blessed because I believe.

I just made myself another shake, sans hooch. It's just vanilla ice cream, orange juice, mandarin organges, pineapples, and a shot of vanilla. It tastes like a sensual cremesicle. Since I spent last night at Sarah's I still had jambalaya to come home to tonight. I enjoyed the leftovers. I will have one last helping for lunch tomorrow.

Sometime over the course of the next week, I will go to see at least one of the three apartments that is becoming available in the building where I will soon be living. Then starts the process of enlisting help, switching the address on my magazine subscriptions, reserving a truck. All that planning to pick up and leave just as I was getting used to where I am. I love that life keeps moving. I love a new chapter, but not as much as I love the end of a chapter. I like knowing where I've already been, and the bittersweet feeling of knowing I can never have it back.

Weather Permitting...

Freezing Rain shut down my plans with Victoria and Michael. After Quill's departure I started on my Jambalaya, which turned out famously. The Italian sausage, shrimp, chicken, garlic, red onions, stewed tomatoes, and rice seasoned with crushed red pepper, Old Bay, parsley, and black pepper became a stunning creature while simmering together.

When I found out that my plans to go to the cinema were to be postponed, I went to 7-11 and picked up stuff for the milkshake I've been formulating in my mind for a week or so now. It contains vanilla ice cream, mandarin oranges, pineapples, rainbow sherbet, orange juice, and a liberal amount of Jack Daniels. Voila! I tend to like berries in shakes or smoothies, so having none, I added a bit of strawberry jam after tasting the first glass. The verdict? Use frozen or fresh berries if desired. It was fine with the jam, but was better without. I served myself this luscious dessert in a champagne flute.

Since I have the rest of the night to myself, I'm going to read Nick Bantock's The Venetian's Wife.

Yesterday my youngest sister started her away from home college career. My mom and Jim drove her to southern Maryland, and she unpacked her bags in the very dormitory in which I unpacked my own 13 years ago. Is there any drive in the world like the drive to college for the first time?

Last night I did laundry from 5:30 to 11:30 p.m., and I still have a little adjunct load I need to put in at some point today, or tomorrow morning, before I go to spend the rest of the long weekend at Sarah's place.

Today, at about 11, I will meet with the leasing agent at my new apartment building, to give her the security deposit, ask questions, etc. The rest of the afternoon, I'll spend time with Quill, and then I meet up with Victoria and her Michael to see Big Fish at the Charles theatre. Afterward, we'll go to Cafe Hon for bluecollar coffee and dessert.

Right now, though, I'm just in my fleece bathrobe, drinking coffee, and listening to Charlie Parker.

Historic

Not only is today Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr's actual birthday, but it is the day I found out that I am approved for the apartment close to the university (scant $99.00 security deposit), went to the University for a very informative talk about the program (all of which I already knew due to extensive, outside research), and handed in my application. Most people really were there to find out whether the program is a fit for them. I was there to get past the formalities and get on with it. I was almost bursting during the whole presentation. Anyway, my time finally came. And I got a nice commemorative pen out of the deal.

A dusting of confectioner’s sugar

I prayed for God to hold back the hand of the snow we were expecting overnight. In addition to the fact that I need to grocery shop and run errands, I also have to attend the open house at the University tonight. Tonight is the night I hand in my application and get face time with people who have some say in determining the course of my academic future. I did not want this event to be cancelled because of weather.

So when I awakened this morning and saw what looked like a mere dusting of sugar on top of French toast, I was pleased to say the least. I was thankful too.

In addition to praying away the snow, I have also been praying for increasing intimacy with God, and I have been praying for Gordon, that he might really come to a greater sense of his unique purpose in the world. It will do wonders for his sense of self in relationship to God and his art, too, which I want for him so much.

God got me alone in a room…

As many of you know, I anticipated that living alone would give me the freedom and time to entertain Gordon to my heart’s content. I thought our then obviously blooming friendship would really have the room it needed to become something even more special. I was thinking, “hey, I’m 30, I have a good job, I’m living alone in the city, now it’s time for a little romance.”

Shortly after Sarah moved out, my social life, with the exception of the ample time I still spent with her, went into drought mode. Gordon became scarce, The Sara with no “h” became involved in a romantic relationship of her own, and my phone almost never rang.

A bone chilling truth made itself known. Every time I sat on my couch in front of the TV I could feel something wanting my attention. Something from inside my own heart and mind, and it scared me. No, it absolutely terrified me. So, I put on my headphones and cranked the volume. It wasn’t enough to put on the stereo; I had to have the music pounding or swirling right in my ear. Or I busied myself with books, to read about someone else’s life, or I watched television. But, I could never let there be silence.

Irrationally, I burst out crying several times sitting on my couch in the middle of viewing my favourite syndicated sitcoms, when the internal roar and the ache that is always with me got to be too much. I felt alone and abandoned, completely rejected, and I could not understand why God was not letting me enjoy this time in my life, why he had engineered the era of my freedom, and “alone at last” to be a big drag.

I tried to think it through. I thought “what else do we need to address, God. I’ve been to counseling. I know I have father-issues, I know I struggle with self-hatred, I know I have deep-seated anger toward my parents. I don’t know how else to talk about these things. How many more times do we have to go over this?” Essentially, I tried to reason with my Psyche and the Almighty. Neither of them budged.

So there I sat in my tan castle on Calvert Street with a moat a mile wide and a mile deep, with no one coming near.

Change, when it happens, is often imperceptible at first. When I look back, I can see very clearly marked “check points” where I began to think differently, see things differently. I had the advice of the faithful Sarah, and the faithful and enthusiastic Catchka, cheering me on, encouraging me to enjoy my life right now, just as it was, the whole time, but there was a point at which I was operating out of that paradigm for myself.

I began to clearly intuit the very voice of God talking to me, giving me insight and understanding as I cooked dinner, or cleaned my place. It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes I still resisted. I saw myself wanting to be miserable, insisting on what I felt was the ideal scenario. How could I listen to God without new furniture and the boyfriend of my choice?

I had a few much-needed meltdowns, and I stopped checking my tears. I found that when I sobbed, there was still more sobbing to do. When I stopped trying to drown out the snotty-nosed brat of my childhood that kept poking me in the heart, wanting some answers, and just cried, really grieved the things that I was still carrying that made me ashamed, I found that there were memories underneath the memories that I needed to face and acknowledge.

There is a profound difference between intellectualization and acknowledgment. I’ve just started to learn that important distinction.

I’m leaving out so many things, because this post is already very long, but I see now that what God has done is get me alone in a room, and once he had my undivided attention, he started to show me my own heart. Then he brought me to a place of deeper intimacy with himself by showing me his heart.

Search Query

I like to look, from time to time, at the reports that RetroStats (see Icon on right) generates for daily, weekly, and monthly activity on my blog. At least one person arrived here at "Vestiges" by searching the phrase "eggplant parmesan induces labor," and someone else "falling ill and feung shui," yet another by wondering "what does Christy Turlington's Wedding ring look like?"

Many of the items on the query page make complete sense, and if you read this blog regularly, you will see that the list is like a roll call of things that I have mentioned here and there. In any case, I love the idea that someone who wanted sketches of falling leaves was directed to my page, that only conceptually has anything to do with leaves.

I wonder, too, if anyone who ever happened upon my journal has kept reading, even though it wasn't what he or she was looking for.

Neo Soul (Cooking with a buzz)

Who knew that Cabernet Sauvingnon I had (open) from Christmas was still good? Without thinking I poured myself a glass (after tasting) while I cooked. I hadn't eaten since lunch at about 11:45 a.m. and it went right to my head. I wasn't sloppy or confused (though handling knives and putting a roast in the oven probably shouldn't be attempted while tipsy), but I was in the place of ease where you know the old judgement is at least a little compromised. I had the best time!

The cds I ordered from BMG came today, and include K.D. Lang and Tony Bennett's duets, and the man Rolling Stone called "Your new soul controller," Anthony Hamilton. You couldn't tell me I wasn't totally fine singing along to "Cornbread, Fish & Collard Greens" while making that succulent roast, with carmelized red onions, roasted potatoes, and butter sauteed brussel sprouts. I felt amazing and beautiful.

Everyone should cook this way.

While I've been tucked away in my downtown baltimore castle (read highrise), hidden away up here waiting to be rescued (ha!), I've been waxing experimental with food. For the most part, I don't do recipes. I'm all instinct, intuition, and cheap knock-offs of the Barefoot Contessa's ideas. For the last several years, for a number of emotional and practical reasons, I have not given free reign to my creativity in the kitchen. Now, however, it is being reawakened. Today, completely spontaneously, I decided to make sundried tomato dip. I didn't have any cream cheese, so I made do with mayo and sour cream. It would have had more body and weight if I had had the cream cheese, but I liked this prototype a lot.

I'm excited to try and make jambalaya next weekend. Sarah has given me a couple of great "starter" cookbooks, and there is a recipe in one of them I'm going to use as a jumping off point.

I started a prayer and reflection journal. I have not been faithful to journals that require me to write in them for a long time. This is why blogger is such a lifesaver. I compose better on the computer than on paper, and I can edit or correct errors as I see fit. But, with that said, I received a funky, retro spiral bound Old Navy Journal from Victoria for Christmas. Last week I started to use it to record impressions I receive from the Holy Spirit as a direct result of my prayers, as well as a place to record prayers I'm praying, scriptures I'm reading. I find that having to write these things out with my own hand makes them even more real to me.

Alberta visited me yesterday just as I was watching an MSNBC documentary on the "Manson Women." She wanted my input on some throw pillows and whether or not they worked on her couch. She talked about wanting to bring more colour (through art and other types of accents like pillows, throw covers, etc.) into her apartment. I told her that she should talk to Gordon about procuring something of his. I debated waiting to put this bug into his ear until he returns from Mexico (he'll be there for 2 weeks on business), but I wanted to call him right away. Maybe it was a copout, maybe I sold out. Maybe I was just itching for a remotely legitimate reason to call him. Either way, what's done is done, and we did have a pleasant exchange. He was warm on the phone, which was nice. I continue to be baffled by certain elements of our friendship at the moment, but I guess not analyzing it is the best thing to do. I don't need anymore tension headaches.

I did not end up hanging out with my friend. It's very curious because we were all set this time. She'd confirmed and everything. At the last minute a totally legitimate obstacle arose, and I found that I felt the same sense of peace I've had everytime our plans have been rerouted lately. I did chat with her a bit via Instant Messenger last night, and I told her that I thought we should wait to try to reschedule because it was clear that this is not supposed to happen right now. She was on the same page with me, and was relieved that I was not upset.

Am intrigued by the concept of the altered book which I learned about from Devika's journal. I love this idea...

I made myself a cocoon of blankets and pillows last night and slept deeply until this morning when I woke up on my own at 9:43 a.m. I'd been planning on making french toast for the Saturday morning breakfast meal, so I padded out to the livingroom, which felt like an inferno (my bedroom was a glacier) and got started almost right away (does it go without saying that I put coffee on first?). Since I am still without a microwave (and with the exception of a few times here and there when it would have been more convenient for reheating, I find that I don't miss it), I heated the syrup up in a sauce pan, and added butter to it. The toast itself I made with more vanilla extract than necessary so the flavour would really come through.

The Northeast is uncommonly cold these days, even for this time of year, so as I munched on my food and watched the Top 20 Vh1 video countdown, I started dreading having to go to the bank to deposit a check in the amount of 10.70 from JC Penney (I'd overpaid my bill--Ironically Christmas shopping rendered that credit moot, but whatever).

Just after I got out of the shower my sister called me and asked me if I felt like talking. Of course I did, so we chatted happily about everything and nothing for about an hour. In addition to going off to school next week (Yay St. Mary's!), she's also had some other drama (relational) come down the pike in the last couple of weeks. It is way too involved and confusing to go into here (it is also not my story to tell). I will say this, however. Nothing that is done in secret won't be brought out into the open. No lie will endure forever. Things are okay, they are working out in her favour, and for that, I'm happy.

I checked the mail on my way to the bank and saw Devika's letter waiting for me, and I felt so blessed before I even read it. That is how her letters always make me feel. I put it in the pocket of my barn/field coat and cut a path through wind so thick and sharp it made my head hurt. So now I am $10.70 richer. I can buy an overpriced lunch at Wholefoods or something :). As soon as I got back into the lobby of my building I opened the envelope as quickly and carefully as I could and started reading before the elevator door opened. I started forming a reply in my head as I pored over the paragraphs. I found myself wishing she was right here so I could just tell her everything I wanted to say in response. I can't wait to craft my next letter, which will not take me two months to send this time.

I'm supposed to hang out with a friend tonight who's been less than responsible lately now that there's a man in her life. This is our third attempt to get together of late. I'm not feeling like it will happen, I'll be honest. I've made myself a promise, though. If she calls me to reschedule once more, I'm not going to buy into the madness. I'll say "Don't call me; I'll call you." I have a basic rule about things like this. When it starts being too difficult to schedule things with people, and it's more of an obligation than anything else, that's life trying to tell you something. I know the word 'organic' is quicly losing its meaning due to overuse (I'm as guilty as anyone else), but when seeing people is not organic anymore, leave it alone...

Okay, Top 3 Reasons I know I am Getting Older...

1. I look forward to religious programming on Sunday evenings
2. I like to eat dinner before 6 p.m. every night now
3. I forget things I just discussed a few seconds ago, and when a topic is reintroduced, I have no idea what anyone is talking about

When the Cat's Away...

My immediate supervisor is out in the field today, and I find that I feel more like playing and blogging than doing anything else. I try to maintain a professional attitude and work ethic no matter what is happening, whether I have a good feeling about my company at the moment or not. Even when I like the person to whom I report, there is something so "last day of school" about knowing the boss is out, and no one's there to see me making an entry to my personal, online journal.

Anyway, last night I made meatballs, and I felt good about the effort, though I think they needed something more...

I've also been thinking about the need blogging meets for me, and whether there won't be a time when I no longer need to do it in order to satisfy that element of my heart.

Ricotta and Preserves

My creamy chicken and stuffing dish came out very well tonight. Moist and buttery. But I had a sour taste in my mouth leftover from events that happened at work. My supervisor is on a subtle (to those who aren't on the wrong end of it) power trip. I was not the one affected, but I see that personal preferences are clouding her judgement and reason. It bothers me more than I can say.

But this is not a blog about work. So, after debriefing with Bina via phone, I put a couple of spoonfuls of ricotta and apricot preserves in a bowl, and let the smooth cheese and cool fruit sooth my palette, and to some extent, my nerves.

I am still enjoying Lizz's cd and a curious (somewhat fun) string of e-mails with Gordon. I'm not able to really give a comprehensive assessment of where things stand with him. They are not bad, by any means, and I have had glimpses into the closeness I had been building with him. E-mail, however, is not intimacy. I know that. So, I don't think of our communiques in this forum as a solid indication of victory or normalcy. I have no idea what to make of it.

I find that I am much more intentionally prayerful these days, and my reliance on the Holy Spirit gives me an assurance that I am not in this alone, and that by grace, I am making the best choices that I can.

I just accidentally put my Cds in the fridge with my lunch. It's so cold outside that it's made me disoriented. Nothing much to report at the moment. Next week there is an openhouse on the campus where I hope to be attending grad school. Am leaving work a bit early that day so I can make it.

Selfish

I'm at the point in my life where news of other people's engagements depresses me. I do want them to be happy, but I'm starting to get that feeling I'd get in grade school during PE when I realized there were three people (of which I was one) left to be picked for teams,and I wasn't nearly as popular as the other two, who were decidely unpopular.

Back from the Market

I love the concept of marketing, the acquisition of wares, stockpiling, collecting, all of it. Walking to the neighborhood grocer is so different from driving to the megastores that live in the suburbs. It's so classic. I've got no complaints about superstores. I like convenience, variety, and abundance as much as anyone. But it isn't charming, really. It's at times like this that I'm glad I don't have a car, or I might forget such a simple pleasure as carrying my own food bags home on a brisk winter day.

Tonight I am making shrimp with sundried tomatoes and garlic over angel hair pasta. Maybe I'll open my bottle of white wine from Christmas. I was tempted to invite G over for dinner, but I don't want to make this too easy for him. We've been e-mailing again, and I have thawed somewhat where he's concerned. Even still, I need to learn to let myself, my company, and my good graces be sought after, etc. So it's me, John Coletrane, and maybe a good book later.

Last night Sarah and I went shopping for new handbags. I got this beautiful 70s-style leather purse with butterflies all over it, a new pair of thin, but large silver hoop earrings, and a shocking red velvet newsboy cap. As a gift Sarah got me a lovely new silver ring (it's replaced my pitifully worn spoon ring that I recently threw away).

'If you ever get close to a human...'


[ human behaviour ] - but, oh, to get
involved in the exchange of human emotions is
ever so satisfying. Life can be
interesting. You understand its ups and downs
and mostly just try to live through them. enjoy
the things that are good and learn from
mistakes. your curiosity is always at an
amazing level and exploring all that you can
makes you happy.


What Bjork Song Are You Most Like? w/ Pictures
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'The rain is in love with you darling; it's kissing you everywhere.'


Rain: You are the sound of rain. You have two
important sides. There is your strong, powerful
side and your calm, gentle side. Both are very
important. Rain also reflects a bit of darkness
in your personality. It isn't bad, just shows
that along with the good, you also can see bad,
which can come in handy. (please rate my quiz)


What Sound Are You?(now w/ pics)
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I don't even know any Bon Jovi Albums after 'Slippery When Wet'...


You're Stranger In This Town!
You're very soulful. You do things you believe in.
You sometimes do things without thinking but in
the end they turn out okay.


Which Bon Jovi Album Are You?
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Open Letter

since i last heard your voice i have started wearing new gloves (i thought i lost the old ones, but as it turns out, i had not) and thrown my spoon ring, yellowing and bent, away. i wear my other ring on the opposing thumb, and my watch battery died. these are things you would have noticed one by one, as they happened, but all at once, will appear imperceptible to you when you next see my face. you will only perceive that something has changed. these are the threads that tightly tethered your understanding of my heart to your spirit, but you can never understand what you will not observe with devoted diligence. i am fading from the lexicon of things you know like the back of your hand.

Duty and Loyalty: You serve your purpose and do
what you must do. People would consider you
someone to rely on, and one who keeps his/her
word when he/she gives it.


Which Characteristic From the Samurai Code Matches You Best? (You may find out your best trait)
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New Year's Eve with Coletrane

My new year's eve was eventful. I could go into the valet parking heist at the Watergate Hotel, but I won't. I will instead tell you that in spite of efforts to get an early start, everything about last night involved traffic and decidedly late starts. Mardina, my good friend from highschool, was about 45 minutes late to get me because of the snarl of vehicles on 95. It put our entire evening back so far, and given that she still needed to run an errand, and we needed to eat, we did not leave her apartment until 8:15. We had resigned ourselves to missing our show time at the Kennedy Center. We figured we would just go to the party that was being held there. I hated that she'd wasted her money (the ticket was a christmas present to me from her), but at the same time I felt uncharacteristically unstressed about this time warp in which we seemed to be trapped.

When we arrived at the theatre, the garage was full--which led to the Watergate scandal, but that's a story for a different time. Anyway, I felt resigned at that point. I thought 'Well, we should just try to hang out someplace else. This isn't happening.' But through a series of events, we ended up getting inside the Center just in time for the 9:30 show (which had been sold out when she tried to get tickets for that slot originally). We explained our parking woes to the head usher and not only ended up being able to be seated in the sold out auditorium but in Trustees' seats, since no trustees were coming to the show that night.

Cedar Walton and the Timeless All Stars came out and announced that we would all be partaking of the "wizardry" of John Coletrane's "Bluetrain." There was a ripple of awe that swept, audibly, through the audience. When those opening strains were pushed through the trombone, tenor sax, and alto sax, I felt that I was at home in the world. Those notes all bumping up against each other and swirling around together are like a favourite pair of jeans or shoes to me.

The second half of the evening was Lizz Wright and her trio. Her vocal range (contralto), depth, and timbre arrested me, and I was filled with awe. Fortunately, I was able to get her cd after the show (another gift from Mardina).

I ended up getting home a lot later than I wanted to today, but God really blessed me through my time with my old friend. The ringing in of 2004 at the Kennedy Center after a night of Jazz just felt like God talking to my soul, letting me know that all kinds of beauty is mine for the taking.

Out With the Old

The last meal I cooked in 2003 was roast with butter and Cabernet Sauvignon sauce and a variation on the theme of ratatouille (spinach, eggplant, garlic, and stewed plum tomatoes). I created this delight in my new Le Creucet pot (cherry red) courtesy of Sarah. I listened to this girl’s diary while chopping, dicing, and stirring those plump, fragrant vegetables and spices. After dinner I sliced myself a piece of chocolate cake and poured myself a thick wine goblet of eggnog (with Christian Brothers Brandy and cinnamon).

Tonight I will ring in 2004 in the company of and old friend from High school. I’ve known this woman since we were both 14. We are going to the Kennedy Center for a jazz concert and after party.

All in all 2003 was good for me. I can’t imagine what will be true for me a year from today—I guess I’ll just close my eyes and hold on tight.

You are Ralphy! A complete dreamer and positive
thinker. You WILL get that Red Ryder bb gun!


Which A Christmas Story Character Are You?
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Elijah Wood
Please rate this quiz I worked hard on it thanks
and I hope that you had fun


What Celebirty are you going to MARRY?!(14 outcomes with pics for anyone)
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Tickle Me Elmo and Tension Tamer Tea

Last night when Alberta came up for a chat she brought me three bags of tension tamer, a wonderful tea she first introduced to me on a visit a couple of months ago. This stuff instantly relaxed me then. So I had some tonight to keep my headache at bay (I still feel it lurking) which I know is as emotional as it is physical.

My mom and I had another good talk tonight. I'm trying to be patient with her as she rehashes a lot of issues in her life because I know she needs me to listen to her. I also feel her being willing to listen to me, trying not to be so self-absorbed, and I feel myself responding to that effort. We talked more about the miniature diningroom set, and she told me that the way I received her gift on Christmas lit up her soul--that she could feel my joy so strongly it was as though she had been given something priceless.

We also discussed her star gift to me the Christmas that I was 22. Two months prior to the holiday that year I had wanted a "Tickle Me Elmo" (before the hype broke out), but I didn't buy it. As time wore on, I realized that I loved the idea of owning one, but it was nearly impossible to get one as Christmas drew closer. My mom called me one morning mid-month and casually asked me if I really wanted it--or if I had been just kidding. I told her that I did, but that I thought I'd just buy one a couple months later when things died down. I took her question at face value.

On Christmas morning my sisters and I opened up all our presents and I was pleased as usual--totally satisfied with my mother's generosity. And then she directed me to a present I had missed at the back of the tree. I was shocked that there could be more, so I began opening this last gift with no clue what it could be. I know I was 22, but my pleasure was unchecked and lacked guile when I saw what it was--much like it was this year when I got my little dining set back. And I heard God speak to me in that moment, in an instant, He said to my heart "how much more would I give you if you would ask?"

My mother has always been the conduit of God's generosity toward me. She has always been the source of the symbols of hope He gives me. I cannot tell you how many times my mother has gone to great lengths to bring me what I longed for, but didn't think of as being possible to receive.

So, she asked about good old Elmo when I told her about the experience I had with God upon opening it all those years ago. He was in a bag with other stuffed animals in my closet, and it suddenly seemed wrong to me that this should be his fate. She said "I think you should take him out since he's a symbol of what God promised you." I had been thinking the same thing at that very moment, so I liberated him.

He's sitting on the couch.

A gentle answer turns away wrath but a harsh word stirs up anger--Proverbs 15:1

I pondered my possible courses of action concerning Gordon's e-mail and I decided to answer his note in the spirit in which I perceived it to have been sent. After praying through the matter and weighing the merits of drawing a harsh line in the sand vs. the merits of a cumbersome, clunky "this is how you've hurt me" manifesto, I decided that there was potential damage to be done in either scenario. I realized that for as cut and dry as his lack of communication seems to me, there is a whole side of this story I don't know. His side. It is always better to lead with the benefit of the doubt when it comes to friends. It is always better to lead with a question than a presupposition.

In my life I have written terribly hurtful letters to people, and even when my anger was justified, I found scathing comments to brook no further discussion and to be alienating. Believe me, you cannot hold rage against your heart for warmth.

I think that wisdom entails knowing what is called for when. There is a time for drawing lines in the sand, but one must only do that when one has all the information there is to have. Depending upon Gordon's response to my e-mail (which does beg a reply), I will know if I should address his perceived negligence.

Also, even in a spirit of rebuke, to give too much up front wouldn't allow me the dignity of proffering a measured response. Even anger, in a way, should be earned. By giving full vent to my feelings all at once I would be saying to him that he does not have to work to know what I think. I get to decide what I will let him know and what I won't.

So I told him I'd been fine,that Christmas was good, but that I thought it odd not to have heard from him before now, and that I hoped he was okay. This was the one path I felt comfortable taking, that didn't feel false, or like a cop out.

I've spent the last two days at Sarah's. On Friday we went to visit with her parents and extended family in Carlisle, Pennyslvania. I was less than an exemplary traveling companion due to my lingering tension headache. To make matters worse, I got one of those terrible sores on the back of my gum on the left side that is usually the result of a compromised immune system and/or stress.

Anyway, last night after getting back we finally opened up our presents to each other. It was like a full blown celebration all over again. Because Sarah's moving out left me with almost no kitchen tools, she outfitted me with my own stuff, and I am excited to start playing with my fun new toys (including a blender!).

Tonight Catherine came over to eat dinner and we all had a good discussion about behavior patterns we'd like to work on changing, or contine to improve in 2004. My big thing for the next calendar year is being better adept at taking my emotional temperature.

Speaking of which, my mom and I had a lovely conversation this morning. She called my cell phone just as I was waking up, and we were able to clear the air even more from our confrontational discussion a few weeks ago (in which I told her I was furious at her for so many things her head would spin if she knew about them all).

The incognito/negligent Gordon sent me a pitiful excuse of an e-mail this morning. Not sure how to reply to this thing yet. I'm praying through my feelings to formulate an appropriate answer. I'm also disciplining myself by waiting to respond for a few days. I would normally write back immediately, but I can honestly say I did not feel inclined to dignify his e-mail-- which was so counterintuitive to anything even remotely resembling our level of friendship--with a prompt reply. Honestly, in some ways it was better when I'd not heard from him in a month, because this 2-sentence communique was just insulting. I debated never replying. It's still an option. I feel good about the fact that I didn't have my normal desire to send him a scathing letter so mean-spirited it could peel the outerlayer of his soul. I have, instead, a desire to be honest with him without alienating him. I guess that's progress.

Now, I am happily back in my apartment, getting ready to put my presents away, and reconnecting with my space. I'm listening to John Mayer's "City Love" and thinking about how far I've come since I first heard this song.

My family has been gone for an hour. I am left with thoughtful presents, including candles, candleholders, a pair of flattering personality glasses (coveted), bath beads, a bracelet with earthtone stones (from Crystal's boyfriend), a fridge full of my mother's lavish, generous culinary delights, a few bottles of liquor, two bottles of wine, a new set of tools (majorly desired!), and a recovered item from my childhood. Utterly forgotten before today.

When I was about five my mother bought me a handpainted diningroom set in miniature. It is black with yellow and red accents painted on the top and around the backs of the chairs and on the seats. Tiny. I remember that it delighted me as soon as I saw it the first time. I was staying with my grandmother a lot on weekends at this time in my life, and when my mother brought it to me, I remember my grandmother immediately taking it away from me. She said she didn't want me to break it or harm it. So it sat high up on a shelf of hers for years. I remember looking at it all the time, wanting it, but feeling that I was powerless to own it.

Eventually, I stopped thinking of it at all.

The first thing my mother handed me when she arrived today was this miniature set. It took about two seconds for me to really understand what I was looking at. Then, I just felt happy that at 30 I should have something that was taken away from me 25 years prior. My mother told me that she had tried to give it back to me when I was a teenager, but I said I didn't want it. I scorned it apparently. Funny, I can't think why I would have had such a harsh reaction. It would never occur to me to forfeit my rights to it now. As a matter of fact, today, when I thought of how it was taken from me, I felt violated and angry at my grandmother, who has been dead for nearly four years. But, I refused to let myself miss the point.

Something I lost came back to me today. Something I once despised out of pride when I was first given the opportunity to possess it again is now with me. I felt like a little girl again, free to take pleasure in my mother's gift and her presence.

I'll talk about this more later, but I will say for the time being that I felt the potential for a lot of healing in my relationship with my mother today. I had the best Christmas I've had in years--since I was very small.

And His Name Shall Be Called...

My alarm went off this morning at 8:15. My tension headache was still there, waiting for me. In spite of a hearty rum and coke and hours with a heating pad last night, vestiges of it lingered, and my neck contracted and expanded its "good morning" greeting as soon as I opened my eyes. Merry Christmas to you too, I thought.

I left Caryl sleeping beside me and hopped into a hotter-than-necessary shower hoping to beat this pain at its own game so I could enjoy the birth of my Saviour. I donned my favourite Eddie Bauer flannel (a present on Christmas '98) and jeans and made my way down to 7-11 for half & half and eggs. I promised Caryl french toast stuffed with apricot preserves and ricotta cheese for breakfast. It came out pretty well, and was happily accompanied by country link sausage and coffee with an accent of kaluha.

I love the amount of tradition with which we've been able to infuse our celebration this year. Last night we (Me, Caryl, and Sarah) attended a lovely Eucharist at a nearby Episcopal parish. To say that it was lovely to be singing "Silent Night" at midnight in the sanctuary lit only by candles would be an understatement.

My family should arrive at about 3 p.m. at which time I hope to have the house smelling of appetizers and holiday fragrances and to have everything looking cozy. George Winston's "December" is playing in the background as I type. Caryl and I have decided to read from the prophet Isaiah and from the book of Luke before we all break bread this evening.

And I don't want to speak too soon, but I think this headache is almost gone.

Every once in a great while (it used to be a more frequent occurrence) I get muscle tension headaches. It's not a persistent ache. More like a spasming, contracting muscle in some quadrant of my brain that twinges like the devil every five minutes or so. A muscle group in my neck or shoulder is usually responsible. Tension lives in my back for the most part--but this particular expression of it is especially evil.


My sister Caryl worked on my back and neck for quite a while last night, and after taking 3 different kinds of over the counter medicine, and an expired muscle relaxant to no avail, it was a kneading massage and kaluha and cream that did the trick. Back in the day I used to rely on a roommate's heating pad and some peppermint schnapps. Why don't I own either of these things now?

The terrible part of all this is that I can still feel it (the headache) there. It's duller, less persistent, but even after a full day of torture it's still "blinking" on and off like a spastic christmas tree light. The only thing that might really help is to get utterly toasted before the Midnight Christmas Eve service tonight.

Understated. Basic. Scholarly.

A few weeks ago my watch battery died. I usually only keep a watch for one battery life anyway. I know it's wasteful by a lot of people's estimations, but I am typically ready for a new timepiece by about the second or third year, which is the average battery cycle. My recently-laid-to-rest watch was silver with links. Big and clunky just like I liked my watches for a long time. A woman's watch but tough, almost masculine.

I bought that watch about 2 and a half years ago. The same day I bought all new underwear, CKB from Hecht's, and got salon nails for the first time. I was sad beyond meausure and had never shopped that way before. I don't even mean the amount of stuff, or the money spent. I was trying to lose myself. Other than the nails and the perfume, which were obviously luxuries, I needed the things I bought that day. I picked the watch because it made me feel strong. It appealed to a coldness in me that loathed whatever made my heart so vulnerable to the crushing shame I felt. Even the nails that day were about that. It had nothing to do with femininity. They were nails that, in the words of Cake, "shined like justice."

So, when that watch stopped ticking 14 days ago, I decided that I wanted a smaller, thinner watch--one with a leather/faux leather band--with a small face. A classy, but unpretentious "woman's watch."

Last night, as is the yearly custom, Sarah gave me a few presents to open early. One of them was just such a watch. She said she got it because it made her think of literature and grad school. It was exactly what I had envisioned.

Holiday Lunch

Bina, Catchka, Karenina, Rachael,and I ate in the conference room today (wholefoods smorgasbord) and exchanged presents. I got some lovely clove and tuscan herb-scented candles, ground coffee (cafe verona), and a dream dictionary. Not bad for the preliminary gifts. Not bad at all. I love that Rachael wrapped her offerings to us in Spongebob Squarepants paper.

I love that people are starting to file out early, and won't be back for the rest of the week. I love that things are coming together, and that even though I went all out again this year, and am temporarily broke, that I'm going to get to see the people I love open up presents I know they will love.

And I'm happy that a good friend and former roommate of mine has a man in her life who's flying home with her to meet her family. She's one of those women who is long overdue for someone; I hope this is it for her.

I'm so over being at work right now. I feel like I should be stringing up cranberries and popcorn or something. Standing around a piano with friends singing something campy like "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

Your sign of frustration is....Yelling!!! The best
way for you to let out all your frustration is
to yell. A good tamper tantrum, is your
solution to all your problems. The bigger the
tantrum, the better. You're a very expressive
person!


What sign of frustration are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I ran out of tape last night, so I've had to stop the wrapping frenzy for the time being. I've never been this far ahead of the game (which I know is not terribly far) before. All of my preparations will be complete before Christmas eve this year. A sign of maturity, perhaps?

I asked my mom to ask her friend to contribute the spirits to our Christmas festivities. I left her a voicemail message yesterday. When she called me back just a while ago, she said she would ask Jim to do just that, and then puts him on the phone! What's that about? My mom has always made me her go between with the men in her life. As a little girl I had to ask my stepdad to do certain things, because she felt he would say yes if I asked. I just felt so resentful of that all over again.

I'm praying for the strength to hold my tongue and not air our family business in front of Crystal's boyfriend, but more than that, to be the one who can rise above my irritations and just be glad that I have people I love enough by whom to be irritated. I really just want to have a day of food flowing freely, spiked egg nog and punch, appetizers, movies with holiday themes/christmas music playing in the background, and cooking with my mother in the kitchen. I want everyone to have a good time. But I worry about this desire of mine maybe being unrealistic.

I want to believe that everything is going to work out, that everyone will really like the presents I got them, that it won't suck, again, on some level this year...

Joy to the World! The Lord Is Come...

"Joy to the World" is my favourite Christmas hymn and Mariah Carey's version (complete with Gospel Choir) from her 1994 Christmas album is the one that captures the spirit of the song best (for me). This is a big song with big proclamations (Joy to the world...Let men their songs employ... ). Let there be joy. Joy is now. In case you were wondering. The heart of this song beats audaciously, and it says "if you've been waiting for Christ, wait no more. Here he is. Let everything and everyone sing. Let the earth be glad."

for the record, Jesus, I repeat the sounding joy of you, my king, who WAS and IS and IS TO COME!

Want a plane that loops the loop (I still want a hula hoop); we can hardly stand the wait. Please, Christmas don't be late. (Alvin & the Chipmunks)

Last night after work, instead of going to the office holiday party (which I had been boycotting, but then wasn't, and then just decided not to go) I went to the mall. I actually dread the mall more and more as I advance in years, but this time of year has got to be my least favourite time to go. With that being said, I got some really lovely things for my sisters, and felt tons better about the arrival of Christmas day (before 7:00 p.m. last night I'd had yet to purchase anything for the girls).

This morning at 7:30 (I spent the night at Sarah's place) I got up, showered, and we headed to Target (the promised land for many shoppers). I actually love that store more and more as I get older. They managed to do what Wal-Mart never could (and never will). They've managed to establish themselves as a credible place for people of all socio-economic classes to shop. It's all marketing, and they've done a bang up job.

Speaking of bang up jobs, I did one today at the bull's eye by finding several cool things to delight friends and family alike. Now I just need to get to a wholesale food club (tomorrow morning) to get hors d'oeuvres (mini quiche, etc.) and liquor for the holiday family dinner I'm hosting.

About a month ago I requested a 6-month performance evaluation discussion with my immediate supervisor. Even though I have been here for about 7 months, it's essentially still the halfway mark, and I wanted to be proactive, especially in light of some discussions I had with her about a month ago. I don’t like feeling powerless, and I don't like my work ethic to ever appear less than exemplary. We had that discussion this morning and it went very well. It helped me to feel better about work than I have in weeks.

Okay, so at about 11:50 Sarah, Michael, and I ordered Chinese carryout for lunch that didn't come till almost an hour and a half later. Needless to say, we were ravenous when it finally showed. After such a long wait, though, it was more tepid than hot, and I didn't feel that there were enough shrimp in my entree.

It was slushy and snowy not an hour ago, and now it's dry as a bone out, and a glinting glare from the evening sun has illuminated the side of the Courtyard Marriott hotel.

Care Package

Catherine and I have been bantering via e-mail for weeks about how to create "Sanctuary Now!" in my apartment which I both love and loathe. Even though I am looking to move sooner rather than later, I know I need to stop waiting for my real life to start. So, I have been trying to intentionally enjoy living there by making it comfortable and cozy--like a treehouse or a fort or something.

To that end, I received a wonderful package from Catherine, containing an "everything included" cross stitch project, crayons, a coloring book (w/stickers!), two red taper candles, and my copies of the photos taken with Catherine's camera when I was in Boston at the end of the summer. Even though yesterday was a beautiful day for mail (Christmas cards from friends I haven't heard from in a while), Catherine's package made me cry. I felt so loved and cherished.

Oh, and I colored for the first time in years! Perhaps, dearest Catchka, I will send you some of my masterpieces. It was an amazing way to transition from work to my after dinner plans.

Later, I went out with a friend from whom I have been somewhat estranged. Sara (no "h") and I went Christmas shopping, and then had cocoa at Barnes & Noble. I had a very pleasant time. Now that I have an "honesty, regardless" policy with her things are much less stressful for me.

Here's what I'm happy about today:

Croissants
Spearmint Altoids
Christmas cards
Coffee (did you really think it wouldn't be on this list?)
Catherine (almost everything on this list starts with a "c")
Carly Simon's song "Coming Around Again" ("I know nothing stays the same, but if you're willing to play the game, it will be comin' around again....")

I don't have much to say today, but here's a little something:




Which 1990's Subculture Do You Belong To?

[Another Quiz by Kris
@ couplandesque.net]

I bought a few Christmas presents yesterday. Sarah and I hung out in the suburbs, hitting Barnes & Noble, Pier One, Starbucks (gift card purchase), and Seattle's Best for a sitdown coffee break. It was pretty uneventful, save for the fact that Gordon's friend Greg checked me out at B&N.

I didn't know he worked for that company at all, let alone at the one in Sarah's neighborhood. He asked if I'd seen Gordon lately, and of course all of us here know the answer to that. I noticed that even seeing a friend of Gordon's made me nervous and kind of giddy--such is the minimal contact I've had with him lately, so poignant is my missing him, that even seeing someone I am usually disappointed to see, reminded me of him.

I really have to be my own first priority right now. This time away from the one my soul loves is a gift (though a hard one to bear sometimes). It's the gift of time to get my affairs in order before I add another soul to my life the way I want to add him to my life. It did provide a bit of comfort to me knowing that Greg will undoubtedly mention this to Gordon, and in so doing, will convey a sliver of my heart to him.

Selma Blair and Ahmet Zappa moved out (the movie wrapped, no doubt) the better part of three weeks ago. I find that some truly crusty looking people have replaced them, and so far all they do is smoke cigarettes and drink milk.

A kind soul brought in hostess doughnuts this morning so I can have a little sustenance. As I get older I am much more inclined to want to eat breakfast, but I am so lazy in the morning that I can never make myself do anything about it.

I am working on a letter to my precious Devika; I feel that it will be an especially good one!

I had a dream last night that I was walking along a highway median with my boss and some other men, who do not exist in actuality. My boss and I were holding hands. At one point we walked past Gordon's parked car, and he jumped out immediately, jealous of the intimacy between me and my boss. As soon as I saw his reaction, I let go of my boss's hand, and Gordon and I started walking with our arms around each other's waist. He told me I looked heavier and the men who do not exist in reality laughed heartily. I think it was a joke, but it took me aback, so I hit him good-naturedly in the chest for saying it.

Kosher "Christmas" Chocolate

I have a little spruce green stocking hanging at the entrance of my cubicle. It's tiny. Next to it, I placed a shocking pink post-it note that reads "for Cash$ and miniature chocolate!" One of my collegues, an orthodox Jewish woman, placed a small bar of "Nutty Chews" (kosher chocolate treat!) inside. One of my other colleagues put in two pennies as a good-natured joke.

Speaking of work, I'm feeling pretty negative about it these days. It seems that all I do is fire people, or let them go due to budget cuts. Applying to grad school has never seemed so imperative. I've watched a trend evolve in my life. I typically work at place for about 7 months before I start hoping that the company folds. I think life is trying to tell me something.

City Sidewalks, Busy Sidewalks

So I read earlier this month that some lady got trampled at Wal-Mart when the 6 a.m. shopping bell went off. DVD players were going for 29.99, and people, as usual, lost their minds. It’s not quite the same, but a man who may or may not have been visually impaired nearly walked right into me at 7-11 the other day, and when I moved out of his way, and apologized, he cursed me out with an anger so deep-seated, it could only be described as demonic. I wasn’t angry, just dumbfounded by his rage.

And Above All This Bustle You Hear

Gray, slow moving, cotton ball clouds herald the coming of nightfall. I said yes to Sarah’s spontaneous invitation to stay over at her place to night. She’s going to make tetrazzini and wanted to share. Besides, It’s nice to know I don’t have to ride the bus tonight with the riff-raff (or pay to ride with riff-raff).

Hear the Snow Crunch, See the Kids Bunch

Pathways are less icy today, but I think more white stuff is imminent. I’m not dreaming of a white Christmas, okay? This morning, while watching snippets of religious programming, I began to think about Gordon, and my longing for him bloomed torturously in my chest. I miss his face, his hands, the lines of him… but I also know he’s off doing what he needs to do. I can’t explain it, but I know this time of almost no activity in our friendship is crucial in order for us to become more.

Taking My Inspiration from Devika Keral

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1 – painful or excessively gruesome death
2 - lack of control (in general)
3 – violent, angry people
THREE THINGS I DON'T UNDERSTAND
1 – people (myself included) who repeat the same behavior and expect a different result
2 - atheism
3 – the inherent contradictions in some political paradigms
THREE THINGS I'D LIKE TO LEARN
1 – How to drive
2 – How to sew
3 – How to make a roux without it going wrong
THREE THINGS I AM WEARING RIGHT NOW
1 –Grey sweater
2 – White turtleneck
3 – LL Bean Goretex Boots
THREE THINGS ON MY DESK
1 – Boylan Black Cherry Bottles
2 – Stack of editing (music lessons)
3 – My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers
THREE THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I DIE
1 – Get Married
2 – Publish at least one excellent volume of poetry
3 – Live in a brownstone
THREE WAYS TO DESCRIBE MY PERSONALITY
1 - generous
2 - intentional
3 - industrious
THREE BAD THINGS ABOUT MY PERSONALITY
1 - avoidant
2 – logical at the expense of others’ feelings
3 - suspicious
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE
1 - Black
2 - Chinese
3 – Native American
THREE THINGS I LIKE ABOUT MY BODY
1 – It’s soft
2 - my lips
3 – It’s curvy
THREE THINGS I DON'T LIKE ABOUT MY BODY
1 – I am overweight
2 – It’s not lithe
3 – My skin gets very dry very easily/my feet
THREE THINGS MOST PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU
1 – I can be very cruel
2 – I hold grudges
3 – Part of me still really thinks cigarettes are sexy
THREE THINGS I SAY THE MOST
1 – Good Lord!
2 – “Is there any coffee?”
3 – Idiot!
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO
1 - Paris
2 - London
3 - Seattle
THREE NAMES THAT YOU GO BY
1 -Puppa
2 – Muffin-face
3 - Kate
SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE OR HAD
1 – Kate Krupnik

This too, is dead on...


You are an impulsive and fun loving person. You
buy gifts for the shear joy of giving. People
often remark to you how very perfect your gifts
are for their recipiants. You take much pride
in pleasing people.


What Kind of Christmas Shopper Are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I can get behind this result...


Massachusetts is your state. It's crowded in some
places but quiet in others. So you can
actually live in peace and still be close to a
big city.


What State Is Perfect For You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sundried Tomatoes

I made my mother and Jim a birthday supper (My mother's birthday was last week; Jim's is tomorrow) of Sundried Tomato Chicken and Pesto Linguini with Tomato Basil and Parmesan bread. We had ice cream and coffee for dessert. It was a pleasant time actually. I never know how these things are going to go.

I'm psyched because we nailed down plans for Christmas day, which will be happening at my place. My mom and I need to hammer out a lot of the menu, but I did get her to agree to Crown Roast and Cornish Game Hens as the meat centerpieces, which she will contribute to the supper. I will take care of sides, liquor, and appetizers, which I think is fair. We'll cook everything here together.

So, it will be me, my two sisters, my mom, Jim, and my sister's boyfriend. I envision a long, leisurely day of movies, drinks, anecdotes, and having the warmth of the holiday in my space. So I won't have to wake up on Christmas morning alone, my youngest sister will stay over with me on Christmas eve (if she wants to--I haven't asked her yet).

One more week till I apply to grad school and for a new apartment, but the next step is navigating treacherous ice paths to get to work tomorrow. One day at a time.

Snow Caked

Digging out Bina's car today, I realized something. You've got to clear a path if you want to get out of a rut.

I've asked my family to consider doing Christmas at my apartment in Baltimore this year. I would love to host it at my place to create a lasting memory of my time in that apartment, to commemorate it being just mine, before I leave it behind. Also, practically speaking, I'm the one without transportation, so it makes sense that the folks with the cars should come to me. My mother is the hold out. She is basing whether or not this is workable on Jim, and what he feels like doing.

I know for a fact that one recommendation letter is on its way to me in the post. Soon, I'll be sending in applications to a university and to a leasing company. It strikes me now that this is all (getting into school/moving) a very delicate operation, the success of which is predicated upon immaculate timing.

But I don't believe in chance. I believe in faith-based choices, and a sovereign God who holds all my days in His hands.

Today's happy news: Math lessons for every grade have been edited and finalized. I'm on my way with this deadline business. Oh, and the vacation day I requested (Dec. 19th) is being given to me as a comp day.

Advent 1

(“I always prayed that Santa would pack love on his sleigh and send it my way.” From NSYNC’s “In Love on Christmas”)

So, I’m in the process of psyching myself up for a fun December with Sarah. We got out the legal pads this morning (shooting the crap over stacks of editing to be done) and wrote down plans to watch all our favourite movies, the date we’re going shopping, to r.s.v.p. to the office holiday party (which I was boycotting at first—long story), etc.

So I’m debating whether or not to get my hair done for the holidays. If I do it will cut into the already limited shopping fund, but then again, I’ve been able to do so little for myself lately—unless you count paying down my debt, which is not a treat, per se, but is definitely for my benefit.

I filled out the application for the apartments I want to move to in the spring. I can’t mail it to them for a couple of weeks (need application fee money), but it feels good to be placing these little irons in the fire.

I am giving my youngest sister Caryl a composite gift of helpful things for college. It’s the first semester survival kit. So exciting.

An unexpected gem came my way today. My former boss called me just because I had been on her mind.

Cake Toppers

On a brief mission with Sarah yesterday that had nothing to do with weddings, we found ourselves in a wedding paraphenalia and cake store (she was looking for a specific kind of cake pan). I saw that interracial cake toppers are now manufactured as a matter of course. Not every possible combination of interracial coupling, which would be difficult to do, since any number of possibilities exist. But, the gesture of having black man/white woman and white man/black woman cake toppers heartened me.

For all I know this has been the case for years, but when I was a child, I can tell you that they did not make them at all. The assumption was "like with like," and something in my little girl's heart always broke a little over that. I didn't see what I knew my wedding was going to look like in those cheap, kitschy, plastic, same-raced figures. I also felt that it was negating the validity of love, in general, outside the boundary of race. I didn't know why I was upset (not totally) at the time, but when I saw that a correction had been made, it made something a little more right for me, as far as the world is concerned.

I probably wouldn't even do a cake topper in the fashion of the plastic people figurines, but still, now I know I could.