Reluctant Superman

The Smallville premiere "party" was more like three people hanging out watching tv, which was fine with me. One of the people Gordon invited had to work that night, and Victoria and her husband begged off at the last minute, having just moved and being exhausted from that experience. So it was just us and one other guy friend of Gordon's.

I did make the banana bread with the eggs G brought over. I asked him for just a couple, which he carefully wrapped in blue, plastic grocery bags. I thought I'd never get to them, there were so many layers. He explained: "I wrapped them really tight because I brought them over on my motorcycle." That struck me as being so poetic, such an interesting visual--to take such care to transport something so fragile via such a speedy, somewhat precarious means of travel.

He arrived first and talked to me animatedly about what a productive day he'd had--he devoted his time solely to his art, and had the epiphany that he really wants to spend himself in that direction only. He thinks he wants to get a house because his priestly efforts will take a couple of years yet. I encouraged him to get a house, because I think that will help his self-esteem,and will give him roots. I was somewhat distracted while we talked because I was trying to mix the ingredients and pour them into my loaf pan without making a mess.

The show, itself, was good. It's going to be a very intriguing season. Now that the Lois Lane character has been introduced, Clark may be able to forget Lana. Part of me doesn't want him to, because I am a sucker for things "working out," between star crossed lovers... but I know that according to Superman Lore, not even Lois and Clark ever really get to have each other. Being so special is his curse, damn it all!

G's friend left soon after the show was over, but he stayed about an hour more, telling me more stories--the anecdote-trading which so characterizes our interactions. At one point he was relaying a story about a friend of his who never acknowledges personal space, and stands too close to people, and hugs for almost too long. He had me stand up so that he could fully demonstrate this principle. Being that close to him that suddenly was weird-- we were so close to each other that we just started laughing. After we stopped hugging, he was trying to mimick some other thing that involved standing too close that this guy had said, and he couldn't even make it through the reenactment. I started laughing too, just because it was all so odd... and I couldn't tell if this was an incredible farce, or if he was just truly that tickled about someone who's main problem seemed to be a lack of depth perception! I'm not saying I didn't like it, but it was low grade surreal. Under normal circumstances, I think I would have felt more "there," but because everything was couched in these minor theatrics, I was trying to take things for what they were.
We were close enough to turn that into so much more, and for a split second I wondered if he would try.

Something about him is so much more open when I'm around him now. I see that intellectually, but I don't know how to respond to that emotionally. I normally feel that we are both on guard--my discomfort with myself is painfully apparent to me when I'm around him. His rejection from years ago is not the proverbial elephant in the room, but I interpret everything involving him through that lens--as though it were a literary construct. I think he and I have such similar wounds. Maybe he wasn't trying to close a gap between us, maybe he was... Maybe there is nothing metaphorical to find here, just the literal action. I am so well practiced at demanding nothing from him, that if he were to offer himself, I don't know if I could receive it.

My groceries were delivered at about 20 minutes before 10 last night (my delivery window was 7-10). I was a bit disappointed that the scallops I ordered were out of stock, but it knocked about 10 dollars off my bill, which I can actually use.

I have been experimenting with writing poetry in form, which I've avoided up to now.
I wrote a piece today entitled "A Quatrain Study." It's wobbly, as though I wrote it with my left hand, metaphorically speaking.(Sidebar: I thought this was apparent, but just to be sure, the poem I posted yesterday was my way of being facetious. That is not a serious effort. I was still a bit miffed by the inane comments of my workshop, but I see now that if I'm to have a productive experience for the rest of the semester, I have to shake it off.)

I am thinking of making banana bread for tomorrow night's Smallville premiere party. Even though I am doing this for Gordon, it seems gauche not to make some offering for people to enjoy. I'll offer coffee and tea, too, obviously. I would love to do more, but ye olde pocketbook won't allow it. Besides, I totally go over board with things like this. If I don't reign myself in, I try to buy things like Seafood Newburg and Lump Crab in Filo dough. Way too much. I get that from my mother--that need to be generous, and also to win love by being lavish. Not to reduce this tendency totally to negative pathology. I like to see people enjoying themselves and having the very best. Some of that desire to go all out has its root there.

Still living and breathing Kafka, and think that I will do one of the three papers I have to write this semester on The Trial.

Poem Without Title, Not "Untitled" As Per Convention

For My Workshop, who would understand this poem

Stop saying the train is a metaphor!
It's real, damnit.
I was on it; it was going somewhere actual.
I really disembarked--
people saw me return.

It is symbolic.
Perhaps that's what you were meaning?
But, it is not the idea of distance.
I rode for miles and miles encased
in steel, hearing the wheels scrape against
the tracks, and true sparks flew.

And when I leaned back I dreamt
the way one can only dream on a locomotive--
lulled, conveyed to destinations where
I was fully expected to show up for real.

[Soggy]Family Weekend

Hurricane systems Ivan and Jeanne created a lot of ambient weather conditions up here in the mid Atlantic region--namely rain, gusty wind, tropical humidity, and tornadoes. My hair did not fare well. I got a fresh cut and style before heading down to DC to rendezvous with my mom, a family friend, and my middle sister, Crystal. Crystal, the dog, and I went down separately to settle into our hotel room--then we made our way to campus to eat dinner with Caryl and her friends.

The rest of the weekend proved to be excellent in terms of bonding, but so many of the campus activities, like the cardboard boat races, were rendered about as appealing as wet sand in one's underwear because of the icky conditions. So, as it turned out, we took a lot of our meals at the campus dining hall, but did our bonding in our respective hotel rooms (Mom and family friend stayed at a different one from the girls and I), and about Lexington Park (the "town" just before you get to the college).

It was a pretty emotionally charged time since one of the subplots of the visit was that Crystal was coming to take her dog home with her to upstate New York. The dog has lived with my mom and Caryl for about three years now. Needless to say, they are quite attached to her. But, this was always the plan. Now that Crystal has her own place, it's time for her dog to resume its occupancy where she is.

Because Crystal is so much farther away than the rest of us are from each other, I struggle to feel connected to her in the same way...and emotionally she has created distance, I believe, as a means of escaping the confines of our family dynamic. She stands in sharp contrast to Caryl and myself... in terms of her choices, her independence, all of it. She's much more easy going in temprament, than either of us, and I see that she is better for it. I've always admired her, but in some ways, she is alien to me. It is one of my priorities this year to make myself more accessible to her. To that end, I am going to go and visit her in mid October in her apartment. I just really want to make that connection before it's too late.

Poetry Workshop was frustrating last night. The first week I felt content to let them pull my offering apart, because I felt that they were doing so with some degree of integrity, and that they did so in the spirit of actually understanding what the overarching point of my poem was. Last night, I did not feel that same acknowledgment of the spirit of the piece--they were just as kind and gentle in wording, but completely daft in their comments. It is workshop protocol for the author not to speak during the critique of her work, and I see the value in that, but during class last night, I wanted to shout "you are totally missing the point! You don't understand my work at all..." If you've ever seen "Annie Hall," there's a scene in which Alvy and Annie are at the movies and some pretentious fool is waxing on about the work of the director of the film. In an Allenesque moment, the director, long dead in actuality, is standing behind this fool and eventually says to him "you know nothing of my work..."

I have noticed that my fellow work shoppees very often misinterpret what I consider to be very basic details. They are so literal minded, especially about the presence of passing time, or the way it passes in a poem. Last night, with the exception of one person, they were stopped by the lack of a title on my poem. Hey, look, I studied under Lucille Clifton, who does not always title her work. It's called innovation, punks! Sometimes the poem does not want a title!

I can understand why my other prof (20th Century World Lit) is so anti-workshop. It's kind of interesting to be taking these two classes at the same time. I typically love the workshop premise, but I did feel for about five minutes last night that it had outlived its usefulness.

The chocolate chip scone I'm eating as I write this is delicious...

I'm trying something new tonight. I am not going to go home before class. I normally allow myself the luxury of spending about 25 minutes at home before I head out. It is during this time that I wolf down something that passes as dinner, freshen up or change clothes totally, and get the stuff that I need for class. Today, I brought what I'll need for class with me, I have nothing at home to eat for dinner, so I'll have to grab it out, and since I am usually a bit dishevled after a vigorous walk across campus, any change of clothes or hair restyling efforts are for naught by the time I take my seat in the circle anyway. I'll see if this works any better. I assumed that going home first would help me to feel an obvious shift or break in my day--and to refuel. But maybe if I just keep the continuum going, it'll work just as well.

I did a mother lode of laundry last night, no pun intended. I am relieved, but it exhausted me. I think I'm just tired from not resting well any night this week, in spite of going to bed significantly earlier than usual.

Deconstructing Josef K.

20th Century World Literature has begun, and with feeling! Lively discussion all around; I talked a lot. Feel that I am once again in my element discussing the impact of the world's shifting paradigm on literature, or vice versa. Simply superb.

I went to bed last night at about 10:30, but still feel that I could have slept for several more hours. I had odd, Kafka-inspired dreams. Once I feel that he and I have an understanding, he pulls some more of his hocus pocus. Once I arrived at work, I realized I was craving a hot breakfast again, so I went over to Whole Foods and got bacon and potatoes, coffee, and Nantucket Nectars's Orange Mango juice.

Laundry will be so much more than a notion tonight. I am almost completely out of clean clothes, I'm going away for the weekend, and I have class on Thursday, so it has to happen.

I continue to be invigorated by the Poetry Workshop. Now everyone's work has been critiqued by the group except one person, but I have high hopes for her work based on the comments she offered up during last night's meeting. Because the Instructor had a scheduling glitch last Thursday, we made up that class yesterday evening, and will meet again on Thursday for our regularly scheduled session. I'm excited to have my work critiqued again--and unless I change my mind, I've already picked a piece to share at the roundtable.

I have finished the assigned section of the Kafka novel, and am armed with a "problem" I want to address in the text--that of societal and relational emasculation and powerlessness.

On an entirely separate note, I woke up so thirsty this morning. I normally don't drink anything until I get to the office, but I woke up craving orange juice. After an unprecedented two glasses, I had a glass and a half of water. I haven't even started the industrial coffee yet...went to the water cooler for a nice tall one.

I'm going over to WholeFoods in a bit for a nice cuppa, and maybe a little hot breakfast too..

Belated Birthday Magic

My time with Gordon yesterday was worth the wait. He got me the most thoughtful gifts--an Aaron Neville standards album, featuring songs like "Nature Boy," which I have always loved--a replica of a French icon cross, and one of his water colours.

After dinner we watched the recent Tom Hanks remake of "Ladykillers." He made an effort to hook up my adapter so that my dvd and vcr can both work through the tv in my living room, but since I was missing a crucial cable, we watched it in my bedroom, on my computer. We both agreed that it was just okay. I liked being with him most of all. We drank Red Stripe lager, which I'd never heard of before. Holy Frijoles is "dry" on Sundays and we couldn't get beer there, so I bought us some from the deli around the corner from my apartment. G chose this because of the "red kick" I'm on a la kitchen appliances, and because he liked the shape of the bottle. This is life with an artist. Selections get made for interesting reasons. It was good though, so no complaints from me.

I have agreed to let him and some friends of his come over on the Wednesday after next for the Smallville season premiere--a show I now watch because of a recommendation from him. I nearly offered him my place a couple of weeks ago when he first told me he wanted to do something like that because I know that space where he lives is limited... but I assumed he would say no. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to it.

He asked me thoughtful questions about my classes, and I was unabashed in my pleasure at being with him. Shortly after he first arrived at my place, I just looked at him and said "I'm so happy to see you." He gave that candor right back to me, and told me that he was happy to see me too. I realized just how much I had missed him lately. I was wearing one of my new shirts, which he expressed an immediate appreciation for. I chose it because I thought he might like it. It is pale blue, with a hint of a green tint, making it a softer version of turquoise. I wore tan, flare-legged corduroy's with it.

There was a point after the movie when I told him about my misadventure with a defunct taxi about 3 weeks ago. One Sunday after church I hailed a cab--a beat up looking one, but bearing the taxi roof fixture, and it stopped. I know that some people drive cars that once functioned as taxis, but if they are not service vehicles any longer, they don't stop. Anyway, this guy did, so I got in. I assessed fairly quickly that I was not in a legitimate taxi,and started to feel ill at ease. I also assessed that this person was not likely to hurt me, so I had him let me out close to my apartment, but not at it, and paid him roughly what it usually costs to go that distance. He had no meter, which was one of many clues that his decision to stop was capricious. In any event, I said to Gordon "I could have been killed; who would peddle your art?" To which he replied "Who would stroke my ego? I would be so lost...but I'm sure the Lord would have protected you and not let anything like that happen..."

So, now he is heading to Florida for a meeting...on the brink of Ivan, and I am hoping that no harm comes to a single hair on his lovely head.

Getting ready to leave for church. I haven't been in about 3 weeks for one reason or another, and am relieved that because I decided not to go away this weekend, I can. There are two services again (during the summer only one at 9:30); one at 8 and one at 11. I was all ambitious about getting to the 8 a.m., but when my alarm went off at 6:30, I shut it off. I was mindful of what I was doing. Why torture myself, I thought? I'll see what the 11 is like, and aim for the 8 another time. In any case, when I get home I need to do some tidying. I'm having company tonight and I wouldn't want my place to be as shabby-not-so-chic as it is now when he comes.

I had weird dreams last night which I'm certain involved an N'Sync concert, taking the metro to my undergrad Alma Mater, and apartment shopping for a new place to live with Sarah. The rent was dirt cheap, but one of the two bedrooms had all the ammenities, and so it wasn't ideal.

Flaked out on Dr. Kafka yesterday afternoon and turned my attention back to the novel I'm writing. Things are heating up.

Today is my middle sister's 21st birthday, and I don't have a valid phone number for her...

That girl changes cell phone companies like some people change underwear. It's bumming me out that she is so unreachable, globally... I will see her next week, but that isn't good enough for me. I can't bear the thought of today passing and her not hearing from me at all.

I just finished writing out checks for all my mid-month bills. I need stamps now, but I can pick some up tomorrow, perhaps. I received my loan reimbursement from Hopkins, so I can pay my credit card company for all the school stuff I bought on my visa. I still have a couple of books to buy for the Poetry Workshop class--but the delay is not my fault. The order was never placed by the campus store, and I didn't know that in time to buy them from someplace else. Good thing that this is not really a reading-intensive class, and that the instructor knows it was a gaffe, so there'll be leniency as communicated in her e-mail to us all.

I've been thinking about the job interview I had on Thursday. I left it with mixed feelings; I don't know if my potential supervisor is someone I can work with or not. I know that an interview is not really representative (for better or worse), but I have learned to pay attention to the subtle vibes that people emit. I'm praying through it. It's not that I've been offered the position, but if I were I'm not certain what I'd say...

I've been watching episodes of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' and laughing hysterically. What is it about white male angst (Male, Jewish, New Yorker angst to be more specific) that so resonates with me?

Loving the Kafka, which reminds me of an episode of the aforementioned program, or Seinfeld, for which Larry David was partially responsible. Kafka's Trial is seemingly the book about nothing. And it is fabulous.

Kafkaesque

The instructor has given us a lens through which to view,analyze, and decode other 20th century writers he has chosen. We will filter everything through Kafka's Trial. The first 87 pages are to be read by next Tuesday. I don't have my books yet, and have a busy weekend ahead. I am also waiting for the balance of my loan disbursement. I may just have to get this one book for now to ensure I'm prepared with my question/problem to submit for the next class.

I don't have poetry workshop on Thursday, so if I can get this book, it would be an ideal time to get some reading for 20th century done. I do, however, have a job interview that afternoon, and while I'm concerned with doing well, I don't yet feel nervous. Maybe I won't. As I've gotten older, I find that scenarios like that unnerve me less and less.

To go back, briefly, to my instructor. I don't have him pegged (and that's a good thing, since I only have 2 and a half hours' worth of experience with him), but he strikes me as being accessible and open to engaging his students beyond the confines of the classroom. Off to a good start.

Restless

I know I will be miserable when my alarm goes off at 6 a.m., but for now sleep is elusive, and I thought it made more sense to blog than to lie in bed waiting...

I am so keyed up. I received a message from a recruiter at an institution to which I applied; she wants to set up an interview. I called her back and left a voicemail message, but have not yet heard back. So, even though this is great news, and it makes me very happy, the loop is not yet closed, and that makes me feel anxious.

I'm also anxious because I go to my Tuesday night class for the first time tomorrow night... but first I have a day of meetings to make it through, one of which I am responsible to lead.

In an effort to reacclimate to being at home for the last hours of my long weeknd, I made a prototype of volume ii of my autumn mix, but after listening to it all the way through I realize that I have a few kinks to work out. During this process I drank way too much coffee or something, because I am just not tired! And of course, I feel unsettled about that, too. I hate it when things aren't finalized. So close, but so far away.

At least I have a retreat to look forward to this coming weekend, and then getting together with G for a belated b-day celebration on sunday late afternoon/evening.
I know this week is going to be okay once it starts, it just can't start soon enough for me...

A picture's worth a thousand words....

Birthday Bonanza

My morning began quietly, with me alone in my little city apartment just as I envisioned. I woke up at about 8 to hear "My One and Only Love" from "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane" album streaming from my computer speakers. I immediately padded to the kitchen and made tropical vanilla coffee, then went to turn on the shower, letting it run for a while to make sure it got nice and hot.

I put on my favourite outfit--very worn, somewhat torn, flare-legged jeans, my white button down shirt, my big, thin hoop earrings, and my red velvet newsboy cap. I added mascara and shadow to my eyes,finishing with a vanilla flavoured gloss coat over my medium brown lipstick. Then, because it had to be done, I blasted Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman," which is the anthem of my 30s, I've decided. At about 11, Sarah and Michael showed up....

I will be posting pictures soon, but I can tell you that I was the recipient of some pretty marvelous presents from Sarah and Michael (not linked is the red currant scented pillar candle and two cool sets of notecards), not to mention these from Catchka.

After opening presents, we headed here for a delectable lunch (I had the shrimp tetrazini).

It's only about ten minutes passed 6 now. I still have six hours left. Who knows what can still happen....

On the Eve of 31

One thing I forgot to mention... there are no men in my poetry workshop class, which is not totally unexpected, but is something of a bummer. A low grade one. Here's to hoping that there are at least a few in my 20th Century World Literature course, which due to the truncated first week of classes, I have yet to attend.

I just gave the Spider Mums some more food; I hope they make it through the holiday weekend. I am dreading coming in on Tuesday morning having to confront their death scene.

As things have turned out, I have no plans tonight, and while I was disappointed by that initially, I can see that it actually gives me an opportunity to clean up the apartment, work on my novel, to nurture myself on my last night as a 30 year old.
I am going to be actively grateful for the fact that I reached most of my goals from last year, and start thinking up new ones. See post from 9/16/03 below:

The Long-Awaited List of Goals (that everyone must formulate shortly after his or her 30th birthday)

I. By this time next year to have my comparably paltry debt [mostly]obliterated.

a. must accomplish this by completely revamping spending habits.
1. must accomplish this by starting a savings account.
2. must support savings account by putting in all money I would otherwise frivolously spend on items with no long-term value.

II. By this time next year to have new furniture that I actually like.

a. new spending habits may or may not facilitate this goal.

III. By this time next year to have settled church membership issues.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to pray and visit as many places as possible.

IV. By this time next year to have worked hard enough to get a raise.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to work tirelessly at job, being of the mindset that integrity and a solid work ethic are integral to character development.

V. By this time next year to have enrolled in grad program, pursuing an MFA or MA in English Literature/Creative Writing.

a. must accomplish this goal by researching entry requirements and by saving money (see goal I).

Poem as Metaphor

They might as well have been talking about my relationship with Gordon.

The piece of mine that was workshopped tonight was written well over a year ago, and is (was) based on all of the unsettled elements of my relationship with G, the overarching,thematic ones, which are still in place.

The first comment that was made was "something about this poem is so tragic, but I can't put my finger on exactly what it is..." Other comments suggested an inherent formlessness in the piece, saying that it is "hinting at something, but stopping short of saying it outright."

Oddly enough, the class assumed that the author of the poem and her man were lovers, and there was even a place in the language that they collectively took at face value as an indication of us sharing a bed.

By the time all was said and done, there was one part of the poem everyone agreed was the place the poem "happened"; they preferred the concrete ideas from actual memory to the unclear, imagistic ramblings of the speaker, because that is where the man became clear to them... it is a brief section where G's art is alluded to. It makes sense that they saw him unobstructed through the mention of his art. That is where he is clearest to me, and it has always been through our respective art that we understand each other best.

Workshopping always amazes me. How people who know nothing of the facts still get at the truth, because the life of the poem is telling a story... the connotative facts, the subtext.

I took several notes on the piece and have a lot of material to help with revising; I learned what this amorphous friendship looks like to outsiders. Tragic. The poem, the relationship. I'm not sure I know which is which.

I bought some beautiful Spider Mums from Whole Foods yesterday afternoon. I wasn't thinking about them, I guess, because when I walked into my cubicle this morning, I was delighted to find them brightening up my area--as though they were a surprise gift from someone. Sometimes, you just have to make your own joy, and fresh flowers are a wonderful way to do that.

I slept to the backdrop of "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane," The CD Gordon gave me for my birthday last year. It is so soothing, and the the titles of the songs seem to tell a story. "Soul Eyes," "Nancy with the Laughing Face," and "My One and Only Love."

While I worked on the Novel (before bed, obviously) I listened to Ella's "Like Someone In Love," which is the album I gave G for his 29th birthday, which is soothing, but in a different way. These two discs are actually very compatible. I do love Jazz.

My hair is looking good; I asked my stylist to give me a "glorified trim." I needed a cut as my hair was growing out of its shape, but I wanted the full, "moppish" look. The result? Well the men of Baltimore city are in a tizzy. Actually, just the three I saw this morning who gave me appreciative looks. I'm not going to lie. It feels good to know you can turn a man's head at 6:50 a.m.

"I believe in the power of Echinacea to stop a cold in its tracks." Catchka

I went to WholeFoods yesterday, late morning, and bought a box of Echinacea Complete Care tea bags. I felt remarkably better as I drank a cup of it. I had another cup at home last night, and am steeping a cup now. I will drink it before any coffee enters my system this morning.

My stomach was also unsettled last night, to the point that I wondered if I was really coming down with something more than a stuffy head. So far so good. Staved off illness for now.

My mood drastically improved as the day wore on and was made even better by the e-mail I received from the Poetry Workshop Instructor. If her e-mail list is all inclusive, it seems that there are only about 5 people in the class. We each have to bring seven copies of a poem we want to workshop on Thursday. My goodness! It's actually beginning...

I also received a stellar letter from my friend Holly,who sent me part of a promotional advertisement which captured the sentiment of a father's love for his young daughter. She wanted me to know that that is how God feels about me. It was unexpected and delightful. Thanks Holly!

At this point, I'll be enjoying my birthday come what may.

Caught a little of the Republican convention (I don't usually like dog and pony shows, even when it's my party)and was actually riveted by Arnold S's (not even going to pretend I can spell his last name on the fly, first thing in the morning)sentiments. How often can one say that?

The Birthday Depression that I evaded last year has me in its tenterhooks this year. Something feels "off," somehow. I am anxious that I will feel let down by something or someone, and the thought of that is driving me crazy--because at 4 days out, the impending let down is technically preventable. In recent years I have tried to loosen the leash, expectations wise. I made a huge leap last year by not trying to make the plans for my birthday celebration, but perhaps that had less to do with personal growth and was more about being distracted by my own sense of self-importance over turning 30. In any event, I feel that old panic creeping in... the If I don't Make Something Happen, Nothing Will Happen thing... Let me state for the record that being the one to make somethign happen never makes me feel truly satisfied, but it does keep me from feeling dejected. I'll take "not dejected," and "hollow victory" over "let down" any day.

To make matters worse, I feel awful, like I'm getting a cold. At least I'm getting my hair done tomorrow. Nothing is that bad when my hair is done. I think.

Fall Menu

Provided I can procure a crockpot, I intend to make pot roast,tender burgundy stews, and potato soup. I am also pondering rustic things like shepherd's pie and chicken pot pie. I want to make zucchini bread, pumpkin bread, and banana bread. I want my apartment to smell warm and inviting, yeasty...like the home everyone wants to come back to after a long day.

If anyone has any ideal Autumn recipes (for anything) please pass them along!

I arrived in front of XS at about 12:50; I stood outside on the off chance that Devika and El Mono had not yet arrived/gone inside. I turned, at one point, to look inside the restaurant window and saw Devika making her way down the stairs, in a winning quasi sheer pink frock shirt, looking absolutely beautiful. We hugged and then went up to join her husband, who also greeted me with a hug.

It was wonderful to have time to linger over a meal with them, to chat, become acquainted (El Mono and I),and to debrief about work and many of the elements of life Devika and I usually "unpack" by way of our letters. It was just so easy to be with them and enjoy them as a couple, but also as two wonderfully intelligent, socially adept adults. I loved observing their relationship and how they interact as husband and wife.

After they left I got ready to join up with Sarah for the evening...we met her parents for lunch in No.VA today to celebrate my birthday (next Saturday!) a bit early. Sarah also bought me a few early presents from Williams Sonoma (sale!) before we left the mall (glass pitcher and a chocolate ceramic loaf pan).

I've been home for less than a half hour, but am already back in my little pattern of checking e-mail, blogging, etc. Can't believe it's already time to go back to work tomorrow.

Accomplished

I left work a bit early yesterday (half hour) so that I could get a jump on my busy evening of posting my resume on a couple of search engines, job searching, and working on the romance. You'll be happy to know that new plot twists involve New York, a nearly fatal car accident, and a vixen!

I also ordered some cds from BMG; I had 6 free ones coming to me. I got india.arie's "Voyage to India," The best of Chaka Khan, The best of Ashford & Simpson, Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks," and "Love and Theft," and finally Jane Monheit's "In the Sun."

I work up at 7:40 this morning to finish tidying up for Devika's visit. The challenge in keeping my apartment clean, I'm realizing, is keeping the dust that congregates on my hard wood floors to a minimum. I also packed up my slightly malfunctioning stereo that my mother is all too happy to take off my hands, since I am getting a newer one from my friend.

I have some toast in the oven, I'm soaking the new Brita filter, and listening to G. Love and Special Sauce. I think it's going to be a good day.

After three consecutive nights of not being able to work on the novel, I am relieved to know that I can devote some time to it this evening. I have a feeling I should get used to having evening engagements, and therefore needing to guard my writing time. One week from tonight I know exactly where I'll be--in the last hour of my first class.

Even if the book doesn't ever go beyond the writing process, I am finding that it's a writer's bootcamp for me--I'm being conditioned for the writing life through the exercise of composing. I am thinking, actively, like a writer again. I am always processing a different element of the book now, the plot and subplots, character development, and certain specific scenes I want to work in to the story. It's gone from being an attempt at making a dollar and amusing myself and my friends to a very organic entity that I care very much about. Finishing this book is something I need to do for myself. I feel that I'm writing my own story and I need to find out what the heroine will choose for herself.

Dinner tonight was a simple affair of potato salad with scallions and red onions and crab spheres. I drank ginger ale, and that made it like a picnic for one. I'm noticing that my stressed finger injury from last week feels no better, though motility and function are still not compromised.

I'm a little put out with the UPS driver, who rang my apartment from the intercom at the front door of my building several times, but who disappared before I could buzz him or her in. When I say "several times," I mean several times in rapid succession, but when I activated the door release from my apartment, the person was clearly already gone. I'm going to leave a note tomorrow morning advising him or her of the fact that I will be home to receive the package after 5:30, and that if the delivery is before then, to please leave it at the office. I just hate that the person left before I could get to the door... I know that the package is my birthday present from Catherine, and tomorrow is the final attempt.

Unexpectedly, I had to give notice at work. There is a pending office relocation (as I've mentioned before) that will not be convenient for me for a couple of compelling reasons. A general announcement was made that anyone who will not be able to continue with the company after the relocation, should let his or her manager know. There's been some real turn over lately, and they don't want to be caught by surprise. I felt at that point that I would be remiss if I did not let the appropriate personnel know. So, it's official, yet nothing is really different.

Well, off I go to produce more pages...

The parchment disc Host stuck to the roof of my mouth. I kept trying to work it loose with my tongue before the priest made his way down to me with the goblet of wine. It eventually dissolved, you don't chew those things like you would the protestant Saltine or Ritz.

Gordon called yesterday and switched the print exchange back to Tuesday. He suggested that I go with him to his art studio to see his emerging work because he wanted some feedback on it. It's been under wraps, and save one other person with whom he shares studio space, I would be the only one to see it. He also thought he might do a little painting while we were there--but first, we had to attend his Anglican parish for a weekday Mass in honour of St. Bartholomew.

I sat between the priest's wife and another lady and fumbled my way through the liturgy...not in an obvious way, but I felt very out of my element, not knowing all the verbal cues. Gordon was assisting with the service, as is usually the case when I attend with him, so we couldn't sit together.

I have been sworn to secrecy about the nature of his new pieces, but I can say that they are indicative of such growth in him as an artist. I told him he should be proud of these pieces. I told him that they are inspiring. I felt as though I was looking at poems.

So, now after much discussion of the print on these pages, I have it in my posession, and can give it to my friend who is departing for a more northern borough.

The novel is humming! I'm nearly at 50 pages, and as the ever-supportive Catherine said, "Fifty pages is already a novella."

I have some odd duck events on the docket this week. Tonight, I am getting together with Intervarsity Christian Fellowship personnel at another alum's house for what... I'm not sure. A kind of meet and greet, perhaps? Yes, I think that's the closest to an actual event title. I was very involved in this group in college, and the staff person with whom our campus's chapter had the strongest affiliation is introducing the college's new staff worker to former chapter members. I have a continued vested interest in the campus ministry, especially since my sister will be participating this coming semester.

At some point, I am going to be getting the print from G to give to my friend and coworker who is relocating to New Jersey. I think this is happening on Thursday?

The most exciting of all these atypical events is that I will get to visit with the illustrious Devika and her Mr. on Saturday. How about sushi for lunch, D?

Aborted Attempts

The book club has essentially been defunct since it began. I don't understand why, but I have never been able to be part of a successful reading circle--in which everyone was equally committed. In this case the demise was sped up by the fact that a founding member is uprooting and another of us has taken new work and no longer has the same schedule. When you consider that there were only four of us to begin with, you can understand why it's ovah. We read and discussed one book together (not everyone could be present), the second book sucked so badly, half of us didn't finish (or start)it. What we had on our hands was an inorganic group with no synergy. It should have worked. Everyone was excited at the outset. We had a big "expectations" discussion, we picked books...

Sometimes there is no valid reason for things to crumble except that God knows something we don't. I don't want to wax too philosophical about a book club gone south, but as with all other things that peter out, I guess I just have to trust that had it worked, something else in my life that should be coming together, couldn't.

I now have 40 pages of the romance novel. Given when I started it, this isn't actually that great, but fits and starts aside, I remain committed to the process. I'm sure the pacing is off; I'm accustomed to writing poems, where the point, so to speak, gets made very quickly. This whole thing may be quite bad, who knows?

Dinner tonight was wild mushroom ravioli and a mango milkshake. I know that's an odd combination, but it was delicious.

I think I sprained my finger. While vigorously wiping down my kitchen counters, I managed to push too hard on the second to last finger, and though I can bend it and have full use of the hand, including that finger, it feels a bit stressed. It doesn't hurt, per se, but I do have an odd sensation when I apply pressure to it or use it in a certain way.

Am continuing to ponder the leather coat I first saw a month ago and nearly purchased this weekend. Almost ordered it online this morning, but stopped myself and forced myself to come to terms with the fact that I cannot afford it. Must. not. purchase. camel-coloured. leather. coat. even. though. I. would. look. great. in. it.

In all my grad school fantasies, I am wearing this thing. I am sitting outside a cafe at a table in mid fall when it's just getting cool, sipping a vanilla latte. I am traipsing about in Charles Village, doing my marketing, paying for things in cash. I am fresh from the hair salon, looking drop dead gorgeous, on my way to The Charles to catch a matinee.

This was to be my version of Audrey Hepburn's black dress.

The Devil Rides the MTA

Because I live and work in the city, I encounter a diverse cross section of city inhabitants. Everyone from the poor, disenfranchised to the academic, ecologically-minded; from the indigenous blue collars to the pretentious affluent.

On the particular bus line(s)that I ride, the contingent is largely the disenfranchised and ill poor. I see and smell the evidence of bodies rotting from the inside out, blank stares of the intellectually compromised, and during the school year, I ride the bus with students who bear the mark of parental negligence. Soiled, orphaned sheets of paper--homework, I suppose. No dog would eat it, that's for sure. They are often unruly, loud... as though they had "no home training."

Once or twice, I have seen the age old saga of the spirit realm in effect. There is a look a person has when he or she is demonically oppressed, or possessed. Frothing at the mouth, optional. This morning a gentleman who struck a decidedly discordant note boarded. His movements were jerky, his eyes wildly darting about, and he had such a malevolant air about him. When my eyes locked with his, I saw pure hatred. I was thankful that he disembarked before I did. His walk was an exaggerated stomp, and not the result of a physical disability.

In another instance, more than a year ago now, a man boarded the bus, and immediately began yelling in what I assume he thought was "revival fire and brimstone preacher style." His rant was pure babble and gibberish; he was erratic and I worried that he might become violent. I began to formulate a plan in case he began to exert himself. I was deeply troubled, and began to pray because I knew that something had a hold on this man. No sooner than I had the the thought, another man boarded. This man was wearing what can only be called a zuit suit. It was blue and pinstriped. He looked as though he did not belong to this world. He was carrying a huge Bible.

Literally, this man got on the bus, the yelling "preacher" ceased and desisted immediately, and got off as though his life depended on it.

Accessories Sold Separately

It began with a simple inquiry. What should I wear to my first grad school class? Catherine's answer was "chic, yet understated. You’re cool and hip and smart, but very approachable and ready for fun!" "Great...I'm Grad School Barbie; I love it," I told her. This yielded a fun exploration of the kinds of accoutrements that my barbie would own, and her corresponding Ken doll.

In case you were wondering, Catherine is Boston Barbie, and her plastic man is New England Ken. She has a variety of kerchiefs and fun summer skirts that you can purchase. New England Ken has a yacht and an M.I.T. education.

Grad school Barbie's accessories are an MTA bus pass, a stainless steel travel mug, and a messenger bag. Her boyfriend is Artist Ken, who sports a fedora, rides a motorcycle to drive his grad school honey around, and comes with a pallette and paint brushes. I think you see where this is going...

I bought a new printer over the weekend. It specializes in photoprinting, which I don't need, per se, but it will also print regular text documents. If I had been paying more attention, I probably would have gone with something else, but the price was right. Who knows? Maybe it will come in handy. Hewlett Packard was nice enough to include some photo paper gratis with the product so I've printed out a couple of photos, including one really close up one of Gordon that he took with Sarah's camera on the day of our road trip. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it, now, but I'll figure something out, I guess.

I'm not exactly smarting over the leather coat I passed up this weekend, but I keep thinking about it. I'll get over it, I guess. I'm trying to prioritize all my needs--for a new cell phone, new coats, new clothes...

It is at times like this that I comfort myself with Christ's words: "Don't think about what you will eat or drink, for your Heavenly Father knows you need these things..."

My mom threw my sister Caryl a surprise birthday/going back to college party. It took place this afternoon at a local franchise--and several of caryl's friends, two of whom are from her freshman year at St. Mary's, came. She actually didn't suspect anything, which my mom wasn't sure she could pull off.

I had a nice, unexpected visit with Victoria and her husband after church. They came up to visit, and since we didn't get to connect after the service (I had to bolt since I was expecting a grocery delivery) they called me up and came over to hang out. I had such a nice time chatting with them. This is the kind of day that life is all about.

Since the Friday Morning Breakfast Meetings (read Carb-Fests)have been put on the back burner for the time being, I went to Whole Foods and got my own cooked breakfast this morning, complete with Nantucket Nectars Orange Mango juice. I don't need to tell you how delicious it is,do I?... I knew I didn't!

I pounded out three or four solid pages of the romance novel last night, including some good dialogue with the female protagonist and her mother. I would have written more, but I ended up on the opposite end of one of my mother's monolouges. I'm trying to make an effort to appreciate her more. I just can't stand when she starts rehashing the past...it's clear that she's trying to understand something. I'll admit, I often feel irritated, not patient, with this process.

Well, I must go do my online grocery shopping... more later.

I couldn’t bring myself to pour out my sister’s coffee; it was the most recent, most tangible evidence of her presence in my apartment. This is the first time in a week I’ve burned candles in the evening without her being here.

Caryl’s essence is grace and humour. We drove around the neighborhoods of Guilford and Roland Park with Sarah today; we admired the regal homes on Lambeth and Charles streets. It was a perfect end to an afternoon of games, coffee, cd burning, and a gelati run.
And it seemed right to be with my two girls… chilling in the sunshine after the storm.

It is far more common for me to be myself in these rooms of mine, to make tea for one, to board and disembark from buses alone…but she was here with me for five nights and five days, and it was easy to make room for her in my understanding of the immediate world I occupy. She makes sense in my landscape.

Our relationship transcends sorority and is steeped in shared Faith and a deep, spiritual bond. On this past Sunday after church, we read the Bible together and enjoyed a magnificent time of fellowship as we marveled at the sovereignty of God.

She is a silly heart, a little girl, a grown woman—stronger than me in so many ways, though 12 years younger. Caryl is a constant gift to me. Watching her ride away, I thanked God that I have been allowed to know her… to be in her life…

Stealing the Covers

Sharing a bed with my sister this week has been interesting. Because I only have a one bedroom apartment, we usually do when she visits, but this week, more than any other, I've paid attention to just how difficult it is to keep the covers equally distributed throughout a sleep cycle. And don't get me started on elbows...

Sharing sleeping space with Caryl is not unpleasant. She's not an uncommonly "wild" sleeper, she doesn't snore...but even with these ideal conditions, I still had to plan for the interruption of my own space continuum, as did she.

So, it's settled, nothing less than a queen size mattress the next time around. As with most things, I think of this kind of exercise (or epiphany) as a preparation for marriage. You know, if i didn't see sleeping together (actually sleeping,not euphemistically)as being crucial to couple intimacy, I wouldn't be against separate beds (in separate rooms) at all. Not so much because I don't want to be encroached upon, but because I don't want to encroach upon someone else with my talking in my sleep, moaning, and unfortunately, snoring...

Misunderstanding

I guess I'll begin with the very [now] commonplace proclamation that my company is on a fast track to obliteration--from the inside out. Someone else gave notice today. This time one of the technology gurus, who was brought on to amp up our product. He's been on board for about 5 months, if that. Essentially, in typical fashion, the lovely institution where I work brought this guy on and immediately dumped a clunkly project in his lap, told him to make it happen in about 3 months with limited resources and no real lead time. Something for nothing. Something for nothing. That's the office motto. The beautiful thing is that this guy's last day is Friday, because next week he's on scheduled vacation! Beautiful. Good for him.

Oh, then. The meeting. To avoid revealing too much, let me just say that it was to be a simple affair, but that it ended up raising some fundamental, philosophical questions... which are never good in a meeting in which an end result is being demonstrated. So, it's not "back to the drawing board," but more like "tweaking." It's not my burden, it just affects me because I have to edit it, of course.

Then the awkward financial misudnerstanding... well, not too awkward. But, I was under the impression that I was getting something for free, and as it turned out I was getting it at "no extra cost," which is different. It was the scenario with Gordon and the print... It didn't cause tension between us, but there was that moment when you have to say... "oh..right.." and I just felt kind of dumb.

Since I've been home I've written the MTA a quasi-scathing e-mail about their "schedule." I guess I thought the bus was supposed to come at the time printed on their timetables, and I guess they think the bus is supposed to come whenever. Whatever!

So now I'm home and have applied for a job (the 2nd; I applied for one on Friday afternoon, too), am eating leftover pizza, and consoling my sister who got together with a phone friend today. She was hoping he'd be attractive (at least to her); he wasn't, so now she's recovering from a less than thrilling "date," sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, kvetching to a friend.

Nobody was on the same page today!

Mango Pancakes

I woke up at 7:30 this morning to shower and wash and style my hair. My pixie's gotten some body and volume in the weeks since my last salon appointment, so I looked especially cute (I felt) in an oversized button down shirt and ripped jeans, with a bit of batter smeared on my cheek (unintentional).

I took the time to make the mango compote for the pancakes last night to save time this morning when I'd be responsible for making bacon, the flap jacks, coffee, and orange juice frothies (orange sherbet, mandarin oranges and pulp free oj with a splash of half and half,frapped in the blender).

Gordon didn't eat much, as I knew he wouldn't (not liking fruit, or much beyond toast for the inaugural meal of the day). But he ate some bacon, loved the frothie, and had the requisite cup 'o joe.

We took the painting outside so he could photograph it (in order to make the prints), he chatted amiably with me and my sister, checked out my new furniture and computer ("I love your opulent apartment,Kate."). I even showed him the two poems I wrote yesterday, of which I am extremely proud.

He had a full afternoon of errands lined up, so he left after an hour and a half--but I wasn't disappointed. I loved the vibe with him this morning... I appreciated how much he appreciated my hair... I am a woman, afterall.

There is a distinct chill in the air, reminiscent of the weather most common in the last weeks in September or the first in early October. The sun is out full force, but not obsessive in its ministrations, giving us all some healthy distance. It felt like the first day of school. Viscerally, I was back in 1989 grooving to Prince's Hits and B sides, standing at the bus stop with "Nothing Compares 2 U," and "Adore" filling my senses. It was perfect, cool enough for a sweater.

I'm also psyched because my Illume shipment arrived yesterday and now my house smells like this.

As if all this weren't enough, well I have to mention that I'm wearing red and tan sneakers. I'm digging the small pleasures today, like this cup of coffee I'm about to ponder.

Glamour Puss

I love having a subscription to Glamour Magazine! It is the most informative of the "fun" magazines that have women as a target audience. Of course, there are the requisite "Are you good in bed?" articles, but also wonderful op ed pieces on job place ettiquette, relationships with friends, family, and lovers, political pieces, and lately I've seen them (the editor and publishers) make a real push to make women who are more, well zaftig, feel let in from the cold by specifically including clothing and fashion tips for women of "any size."

I really benefit from the articles men write about relationships, too. I need a male perspective on these matters. I love reading it over the course of days, sitting on my couch sipping peppermint tea, letting the gusts of fragrance from the glossy pages wash over me.

31 Days to 31

"This is the year I will stop being afraid to succeed at work, in my relationship with the man I adore, in my finances, in ministry/church, and in establishing healthy boundaries with my family."

This is what I said last year, at 40 days out from my 30th birthday. How've I done? Let's see.

As for work, shortly after that post last year, I willingly threw myself into my job, assumed greater responsibility for projects, worked tirelessly, and did not back down from a passive agressive boss. Now, I am looking for a new job.

My relationship with the man I adore... a considerably more difficult thing to assess. Well, I can say that I am not afraid to succeed in a relationship with him. And as challenging as it has been, I have taken a few brave steps, in as much as the burden is on me to do so. Between now and roughly this time last year our ostensible relationship has not changed, but I have and he has. What that says for the future, well only a fool would say.

Church is an A++ since I am now attending church again (which I wasn't last year), and am pondering my place in the ministerial schema of my congregation. I am more grounded now than at 23,and I was able to really throw myself into things then. Maybe now I can pick one element of God's Kingdom to which I can really give my heart.

Family. I've had some clarifying discussions with my mother about boundaries. I'm learning. My relationship with my youngest sister continues to deepen. I have divested myself of almost all obligatory family scenarios, including how and where I spend holidays.

Here's what's markedly different this year:

I moved out of my high rise apartment into the more antiquated one I coveted.
I live alone.
I am a candidate for the M.A. in Writing at Johns Hopkins.
I have furniture that I picked out and bought with my own money.

I am leading the life I want to lead, though not everything is happening exactly the way I want it to,or on the schedule I'd like, but I can see that I've made progress. I'm moving forward, headed to something. I didn't waste the year.

Taboo

I've given a lot of thought to why so many Christians who attempt abstinence fail. I don't know any actual stats, but I read an article in a leading magazine recently that proffered some discouraging numbers. Many teens who made pledges of purity (a la "True Love Waits")a few years back have broken those pledges, and are unmarried.
My own church, several years ago, faced the issue of not being able to take sexual abstinence for granted among its members when a young couple (dating, not married) confessed that they were pregnant. The pornography industry is booming, as usual, and if we think that Christians don't contribute to that seemingly unstoppable machine, then we are choosing to be in denial.

I have a good friend who commented to me once that she noticed that sexual innuendo flowed freely among me and my Christian Fellowship friends during our undergrad days. She also noted that among her friends, most of whom were sexually active, that it happened markedly less. I suspect that was because our only outlet was those jokes. It was perhaps our way of dealing with this lumbering unknown. People who talk about things a lot are almost certainly not actually in the know... and that sets the stage for failure in most cases. I know most of the friends went further sexually [prior to marriage] than they intended in relationships.

I am not suggesting that abstinence is impossible, though I know it is difficult--even more so in a society that won't sell milk without infusing the idea of sexuality into its campaign. Sex and sexuality are at the core of our identity as people. It's not all that we are, but so much of how we determine who we are is filtered through that lens.

I think a lot of Christians are confusing honoring the sanctity of sex, and their abstinence from it until the right time, with denying its potentially staggering beauty, the unparalleled intimacy it can offer two people. It is perhaps an oversimplification of the issue, but most people would better be able to handle themselves in their efforts to refrain, if they didn't think of sex as something that is taboo. For the Christian to think, not "I can't have sex until I'm married," but rather, "I respect the act of sex so much, that I won't partake of that outside of God's provision, because I don't want it to be broken, out of synch, or defiling for myself or another person."

We have not put sex in its proper context, and that is the rub.

My middle sister asked me once a few years ago if I even have sexual feelings, if I, as someone who was then in my late 20s who'd never had the pleasure, even cared. The idea that one would only abstain if sex didn't matter to him or her is prevalent, unhelpfully, I might add, among many who are abstaining. Sex and sexuality are of paramount importance, and therefore easily corrupted.

I told my sister that I am excited about sex, conceptually. That I hold it, as an expression of a covenant between a man and a woman, in the highest regard--not just as a means to procreate, but as one of God's most lavish gifts. I respect sex and myself too much to have it capriciously, with someone who has not made a covenant with me before God and our friends and family. I take it too seriously to open myself up to any number of people. Just how many others should see me naked? Should have access to something so mysterious and hidden? My answer is of course, just one.

I wouldn't get a video rental card with someone if it wasn't serious, let alone enter into the very spiritual connection of sex without a mutual desire to be committed in marriage.

But, I have to admit, sometimes I think "Okay, well what if I die never having had that experience?" There are times when I cannot believe I'm in my early 30s, and have never been properly kissed. It's hard not to feel like a mutant freak. Worse, unfulfilled on a primal plane. I think "oh, is it really that big a deal?!"

It would be easy to sublimate, decide that sex is unimportant, dirty... the very trap that will lead to indulgence, I'm sure. There is a time and place for everything. I believe that I will be married, but that the time for that is not now. Delayed is not denied. There will be point at which that part of myself I have reserved for one man will be something I can offer, untattered and unreservedly, but not now.

In the meanwhile, my personal challenge is to regard sex frankly, informedly, spiritually, whatever... To remember its origin, not what we, as a society, have made it. The disconnect is significant.

I picked up some scallions, a zucchini, loose garlic, honey, Texmati brown rice, russet potatoes, and fresh greens from Wholefoods this afternoon. I am making blackened salmon, rice and green onions, and sauteed spinach w/garlic for dinner tonight. I'm also taking home some work to do while I indulge in my favourite Monday night pastime--the UPN lineup.

The proofreader at work has given her notice, which was in no way unexpected. We are friendly outside of work, and I've known of her pending move for quite some time, but today it became official.

Gordon will come over on Saturday morning, we've determined, to photograph one of his paintings of which I'd like him to make two prints for me. One is for my departing colleague, who requested it. If all goes according to my plan, my sister is coming into town on Friday evening afer work,and will stay with me through Wednesday of next week. It's exciting to think that we'll both be starting school in the fall.

Seduced by the Dollar Tree

Who remembered those "Everything's a dollar!" stores? It seems that I forgot, at any rate. On Saturday, Sarah and I made a trip to Payless because I badly needed shoes, and directly adjacent to the shoe store was one of these places. We went in on a lark, and I ended up getting so much great stuff for under twenty bucks! Let me recount the purchases:

4 scented candles {spiced pear, ginger snaps, vanilla, and carrot cake}
12 unscented tea lights
a refillable torch lighter
a set of 10 coat/clothes hangers in a nice mint green colour
trash bags {lemon scented}
paper towels
2 four-packs of toilet paper
a four-pack of AA batteries (!!!)
a round brush
hand lotion for my purse
cotton swabs
body wash
2 fine point Uniball Deluxe pens
1 gel impact Uniball Deluxe pen

I could hardly wait to get home so I could begin enjoying my new wares. In addition to these necessities (and a few fun things), I also bought three pairs of new shoes, and a new journal for notetaking from Barnes and Noble. I went into a Sprint PCS store and started windowshopping for new cell phones. I called my provider (Sprint) on Friday and they told me that I am indeed eligible for their phone rebate offers. So now, I just need a new printer and a new cell, and that will really end the big ticket purchases for a while.

I had a wonderfully relaxing time in VA with Sarah and her parents. Their new house is lovely and suits them very well. I love these people for many reasons, the least of which is not that they believe in a cocktail hour, honey. Sarah's dad makes the best gin and tonics. Last night we enjoyed London broil, eggplant parmesan, salad, and boiled new potatoes with butter, salt, and pepper.

Now I am back in my own digs with all my things about me. And I feel very settled in, ready to entertain a friend and her boyfriend for the evening.

The humidity has not been good for my hair! I hate that I only look kempt right after I leave my apartment, but arrive at work looking like someone whose mama never taught her how to use a comb.

Last night I wrote out checks for first of the month expenses, including the full amount of the computer I financed. Writing checks is at once empowering and disappointing. You know, sometimes I think about the fact that money is truly conceptual and arbitrary. The system only works b/c everyone has decided to attribute the same value to the same thing.

Oh, and what is up with the penny?! They really need to stop making those. Pointless!

I worked from home yesterday to accommodate the delivery of my new furniture, my digital cable upgrade, and the installation of a cable modem. My apartment is pretty well established now, and I am enjoying the fact that I've been blessed with so many wonderful conveniences at once. God is good!I still need to research renter's insurance. I feel the need to protect these investments. Anyone have any recommendations? I'm thinking of going with Allstate.

I'm heading off to Richmond with Sarah for the weekend. I want to see her parents' new house before my own life gets too hectic. I have a feeling my schedule is about to go from "98% flexible" to "hardly ever free."

Tidbit

Before the worship service began on Sunday morning a woman I know turned to me and asked if people ever tell me that I look like Oprah. There was a time when that remark would have offended me. But, as a matter of fact, people have told me that I remind them of O, though not that I look like her, per se. Either way, I take it as a compliment now. I don't agree with many of Oprah's opinions on a lot of things, but conceptually, she's a wonderful person to be likened to.

I went to a church information session after the service. I know what the congregation's mission is, generally, but as someone who is back after a long absence, I consider myself starting at the beginning with the benefit of prior knowledge. I was so moved hearing the pastor talk about his vision for this body of believers, and I knew, again, what it is like to want to throw in my lot with this group... to really want to belong to something.

Yesterday, during the trip home (while Gordon slept) Sarah and I discussed this ever present duality in me. The need to slough off associations, to belong to nothing, and the warring need to belong to a community, to belong to people, etc.

I feel safe and unconflicted at this church. I feel people wanting me to belong to them, and so I am unafraid. I feel allowed to guard my solitude, my anonymity when I choose that... allowed to fellowship when that is what I most need.

The trip was pleasant. I've been very detached from the angst of loving Gordon for the last week or so, so by the time Saturday morning came around, I knew I would be fine. That detachment served me well, and I did not feel myself becoming sulky or sullen or sad. We actually had some time alone. Sarah and a relative of hers went off for a half hour jaunt into town, so he and I sat underneath a tree, conversing, joking. It was easy. basic.

We lunched in town at a truly awesome place, and then headed home. Gordon dropped me off at my apartment. I was quiet in the car. I just didn't feel like talking. I'm noticing that I don't tend to have the energy to chat much these days. I am too busy thinking through my "to dos."  I was able to hand off the painting he's shipping to Devika for me. What a relief to know she'll have that soon.

I had a message from the cable company waiting for me. They've taken it upon themselves to reschedule my digital upgrade to Wednesday so that my cable modem installation can happen on the same day. That's fine. My new furniture is also being delivered that day. Yay for the 28th!

So much for that!

I set my alarm for 5 a.m., thinking I would aim to be to work by 7, because I am leaving at about 3:30 today.  Needless to say, since I didn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the alarm did go off, I knew there was no way. None. So, I'm here, roughly at the normal time, and still plan to leave early, because I have furniture to buy!

Thanks to Sarah, my old computer is now packed up and the new one is sitting pretty in my bedroom, all charming and whatnot. Of the many useful features it has, it boasts a DVD rom, which means I can finally watch the three discs I own. I actually have a standard DVD player, but have yet to get the router thing, so I've not been able to use it yet. Soon I'll be operating on all four jets, all my ducks will be in a row, etc.

I'm really thinking that it's time for renter's insurance.

I'm excited to call and donate my old computer to this worthwhile organization. It's fortunate that they will come to get the machine from me (at least I think they will). Tonight Sarah will come over and help me pack it up, and then set up the new machine. On Friday, I am trekking to Value City furniture to order a coffee table, a foyer table, and an end table. Once I have a delivery date for those items, I will set up a cable modem installation appointment, and kill two birds with one stone.

Saturday is the date of the long-awaited trip to Pennsylvania. I'm looking forward to it. Significant time in the car has a way of deepening bonds.

I received an ID card from Hopkins in the mail yesterday, but it said "STAFF." When I called this morning I was told that I have two records in the system (one from when I was an employee from 1995 to 1999), and that the "staff" card overrode the student one. They are correcting the error today and mailing out the correct one.

My stereo is on it's last legs. Of the three disc changers, only one is functioning properly. Fortunately, it's not that expensive to buy a new unit.

I was unexpectedly out of the office yesterday, because my computer was delivered earlier (by several days) than I anticipated it would be. So, now I have the machine, though it is not yet set up. That should happen tomorrow. I'll be getting a cable modem in a couple of weeks because I couldn't schedule the installation of that feature on the same day that I'm upgrading to digital cable (this Sunday afternoon).

I'm happy to be back in the office. I had too much time on my hands yesterday, and the real peach of the whole thing was that the delivery didn't happen until 5:15. I was kind of pissed that I waited till what would have been the end of my work day for something that was to be delivered between 10:30 and 2:00. I called UPS and told the rep how I felt.

On the upside, I did finish the book I was reading.

My Dinner With Gordon
 
I suppose I should rejoice that we are now so "familiar" with each other that he can point out to me that I have something in my teeth, and he can ask me to tell him "the moment [his] hair no longer looks good." I decided to be intentional about having a good time with him on Friday. No matter what preconceptions I had, I decided not to miss the point of the evening, whatever it was. So, I got all zen about it.
 
We sat in a booth that was a bit uncomfortable for me given that it seemed to have been designed with two heroin chic people in mind. Gordon, being slender, had no trouble. I didn't have "trouble," per se. It just wasn't effortless. It was not a secret that something bigger would have accomodated me better. So, I said to myself 'Kate, he can see you. He knows you're not a small person. Sliding into this booth gracelessly wasn't his first tip off.'
 
About two hours before he came to get me, I found myself becoming cripplingly sleepy, so I ate a donut and drank some sweet coffee to wake up. Eating the cake-like treat curbed my appetite, so I hardly ate anything at the restaurant. Gordon, however, was ravenous. I had never seen him wolf down food that way. Quasi-barbaric, but endearing.
 
This was hanging out, in every sense of the word. He chatted animatedly about his week, how he'd been something of a slacker, but hadn't meant to be. I told him that it seemed to me that all of his choices over the course of the last few days had taken him by surprise, and that perhaps making active decisions before he found himself in a moment would allow him more control over the passing of time... that he might get more done. I was playing the Wendy to his Peter Pan.
 
Okay, so whenever he asks about the novel I get non-committal. Gordon respects my poetry so much that he used to carry it around with him wherever he went. I can't let him read the romance novel, which is based on my own life, to some extent. But also, I can't tell him my nom de plume and the title of this pap, and trust that it won't tarnish his image of me as a literary lion. His respect of my art is the most defined thing about our relationship. I don't need that eclipsed by a project I've undertaken on a lark.
 
After dinner we drove around Marble and Resevoir Hills because he wanted to show me the architechtural features of some of the homes there. He told me he knows one thing for sure, and that is that he wants out of Baltimore. Gordon has wanted to leave this town since I've known him, and it keeps not happening for various and sundry reasons that I've always attributed to divine providence. I wonder why Baltimore won't let him go. He looked at me once when we were waiting at a red light and said "Don't you ever get sick of this place?" I kept staring ahead, and told him that I came back to Baltimore because it's where I wanted to be. He shook his head, mildly incredulous that anyone could feel that way.
 
At one point when we were approaching the mouth of I-83, he lamented how many times he'd been on that road, how he knew every bump... how annoying it was.
 
"So, you want to live someplace where you don't know the bumps in the road?"
"Yeah... No, not really..."
"It must be so painful for you to live inside your own head where everything is an immediate contradiction."
"Exactly!"
 
And there you have it. Finding no easy place to park around my neighborhood, we made the mutual, but unspoken decision that he would not come in afterall. And that was okay with me, because I wanted to be alone to think. In some ways it would have been nice if he had been there when I opened my award letter... he would have been the first to know. The cookie didn't crumble that way, though, so I shared my news with my sister, who's alone this week while my mom cavorts in Reno with Jim.

I have always connected with God the most profoundly through my tears--they are the bridge to intimate worship and insight into His heart. This morning during the service I thought about the goal of the Christian, which is to be in fellowship with Christ by way of suffering, indeed, to know him better through a metaphysical death (and eventually an actual one) and resurrection. Being in that place of celebration and corporate worship, I found that my individual experience of His grace was emphasized, and my tears flowed through the duration of the songs and prayers. God was my first experience of acceptance as a child, His heart the first place of true welcome. And in moments of reflection, I long for Him to the point of pain...finding that I would die to disappear into Him, to just hang on Him, and there is no fear of being shunned in that desire.
 
Usually, my thoughts are too much of this world. I am preoccupied with the earth, but when everything but Him is obscured and distant, the joy is fierce, indistinguishable, in some ways, from sorrow. Perhaps this is real seeing, the intermingling of death and love.
 
I am at once sad beyond my own comprehension, and transcendent beyond belief.

Goals
 
I drew up a list of "Personal Goals for Summer 2004," broken out by month (June, July, August). For the most part, I am right on schedule. I've accomplished a few things that were slated for August earlier this month, and in other cases, a given goal might no longer be relevant, so it gets a deletion mark, not crossed out (there is a subtle but important distinction).
 
I'm planning a wardrobe revamp for next month, so maybe I'll work in the manicure I was supposed to get in June, then. Today, I have a hair appointment, then Artscape with Victoria... but first brunch with Sarah and Michael at Cafe Hon.
 
I will talk about last night's dinner with Gordon at some point. It wasn't "bad" by any stretch of the imagination. I just have to figure out the angle from which to write about it.

Sticking the key in the mail slot, holding my leftovers from dinner, I thought to myself 'I guess I've gotten all the good news I'm going to this week.' I  heard a concrete number in reference to my bonus (forthcoming), received the windfall from my old company, and bought a new computer all in the space of about three days. I figured I'd come to the end of my "good run." But, there was one more surprise... Hopkins sent an award letter. I've received a federal loan, more than enough for both semesters.

Gonna Get Myself Connected

I financed a new computer last night. Between my imminent bonus and the cashed out stock from my former company, I should be able to reduce some debt and pay off the loan I got to make this mini miracle happen. It was killing me to have to be online for 40 minutes (in some cases) to send a few e-mails. Anything more involved than that? Forget about it! I opted to buy my printer at a later date. I'm thinking that I'll get one around the time of my mid-August paycheck. My new machine should be arriving next Friday!

The book club has not yet met for various and sundry reasons. Last week it was because two of the four of us, after uncharacteristically busy months, had not progressed with the book. Now, today, one of our members has been knocked out by an unbearable tooth/mouth ache. I'm now on the group's third book--roughly 2 months ahead of schedule. In some ways, I like having my evening free to work on my novel and to eat a leisurely dinner, etc.

No sooner than I wrote the words "I haven't heard from Gordon since last Friday..." he called me at work. He said "I was just driving by your job and thought I'd call you." We talked about nothing in particular for about 10 minutes, during the course of which we also confirmed our dinner plans. I asked him to pick me up from work on Friday so we could eat some place closer to my office. It is his job to pick a place. I'm interested to find out which restaurant he chooses.

We touched briefly on the party I opted not to go to on Saturday. He expressed again that it was a shame I couldn't be there, and I agreed saying that I was "bummed" that I missed it.

Having had some time to think about it, I still think that I wasn't supposed to be at that party because I ended up having some amazing prayer time that night, but the reason I decided not to go was faulty. I am going to try my hardest not to let my insecurites keep me from enjoying my life. And I was rude about the woman to whom he gave a ride. I need to acknowledge that in print just as I maligned her in print. Here's the truth. Whatever her intentions or inclinations, she is a friend of his, and I need to respect her. My relationship with him will not be anything less than it is meant to be because of her or anyone else. Not even I can get in my own way if God is in this thing.

Working from home today has been productive. I feel that my editing is more focused in this space. I went to the dreaded One World for a Swiss chocolate coffee (medium, in case you were wondering)to go, and then came back to my apartment just as it started to rain in fat splats. In an instant mashed potatoes snafu, I ended up using all my half and half so I was forced to venture out for my daily dose. The Swiss chocolate was a great accompaniment to the maple and brown sugar pop tarts. I'll have to remember that combination.

I've been giving my sister "assignments" over the summer, including, but not limited to: developing schematics, assessing her own personal style, and writing essays. She is such a good sport; it actually thrills her to be given a new task. We also have an end of telephone conversation ritual. We each have to tell each other "something good."

Before we're about to say good-bye, one of us (usually me) will say "Let's do our something goods." Essentially, we take a moment to intentionally speak well of the other, to praise an improvement we've noticed, to "bless" an event that's coming up by proclaiming that it will be phenomenal, etc. The Bible says that we should "speak things that aren't as though they were," and that "faith comes by hearing." I guess you'd call them benedictions.

I printed out the 19 or so pages of the romance I'm working on and I see that I need to add some transition paragraphs, and make a decision about the lenght of my heroine's hair. It seems that she moves seamlessly from having a pixie cut on one page to wearing a "severe school marmish bun" on another. I guess I had two different concepts of her. Either way, I think she needs longer hair. No romance novel I ever read featured a heroine with short hair. I need to remember my target audience.

I've decided to work from home tomorrow. I need to focus. Too many interruptions at the office, besides it'll be Wednesday and as I've already established, that is the best day to be out of pocket.

Haven't heard from Gordon since last Friday and we are slated to go to dinner this Friday. I'm hoping he's open to do something in Fells Point. I already told him we're boycotting the One World Cafe: House of Disappointment.

Remembered

I had an increasing feeling of a homecoming in church this morning. A few more people, including the pastor, who were not there last week were in attendance this morning.

I saw the pastor's only son (he has four daughters in addition to this one boy) standing on the steps of the church building, just as he might have six years ago, when I was last there. "I haven't seen you in half a decade," he said smiling. I nodded, affirming that it had indeed been that long.

I remember this person as a young child. Now he's a young man, truly handsome, with the presence of someone who is coming into himself. He's probably been in love and kissed several girls since the last time I laid eyes on him.

The scriptures and worship songs featured in today's service really confirmed things that God has been revealing to me over the course of the year. I felt affirmed by the enthusiastic greeting I recevied from so many old friends, including my beloved pastor, who hugged me warmly after the service. He shared with me that not that long ago he came across the remarks he made about me the Sunday in 1996 that I became an official member of Faith Christian Fellowship. It seemed to me to be foreshadowing of my return.

Another member smiled brightly and said "I hope you are back for a while!" I stayed for the adult Bible study after the service, and talked with a couple of people who became members after I left, and so had no knowledge of my previous life at Faith. It's just easy and right being there--there is no awkwardness when you are where you are supposed to be, I guess.

I've come to the conclusion that I put way too many restrictions on situations and myself in situations, and that this prevents me from enjoying my life as it unfolds. I don't want to miss out because my concept is not lining up with reality. I'm realizing that reality is often better than my idea of what things ought to be.

I napped to Joni Mitchell's "Hejira," which eventually switched to Radiohead's "Kid A," for a couple of hours this afternoon. I woke up this morning at about 9:15, made some pancakes, and ate them while cranking out more of the dime store novel. I now have 18 pages. I guess eating flap jacks and cranking out pulp is tiring work! Now I'm listening to NSync's last studio effort, "Celebrity," drinking some coffee, and getting into the blogging vibe.

In an effort to stay on top of grad school stuff, I have been very proactive with Hopkins though they seem to have forgotten about me right after they admitted me. I wasn't even mailed the Fall semester catalogue, so I went online, downloaded the registration form, and mailed in my course registration. Because I have yet to hear from them about financial aid (and won't find out until the end of July), I had to indicate that my method of payment is TBA. Lame.

The registration office did e-mail me to ask for a promisory note in the event that I don't get any aid. Fortunately, an e-mail from me sufficed, so now I am enrolled in two classes for the fall term. I hope that it's not like pulling teeth every semester.

I am still learning to negotiate the pas de deux that is my relationship with Gordon. Our mutual friend and her husband are throwing a party today, about an hour away. My lack of a car is really beginning to be a problem. Unless I was offered a ride with another Baltimore local, I knew I wouldn't be able to make it. It's just as well, since the parties this person throws tend to be hard for me, for a number of reasons. But, I really wanted Gordon to want me to go. And in the course of an exchange about other things, he did offer to give me a ride. However, he's also giving someone else a ride. As a woman I know that this woman really wants to get close to Gordon, and I didn't think that my being in the car with them would be a good scene. I would be surly and annoyed, and would end up making myself miserable. If you've ever sulked at a party, you know it's not the way to go.

Gordon knows I don't like this person, so when I begged off, I feared that I would come off as childish, but I know whatever impression he has of me for letting this dame be a dealbreaker is better than the one he'd have of me if I lost it on her in his car.

And by the way, she so has a vehicle of her own. Dubious.

It's not that I worry that something will happen between them; I don't. I just hate social usurpers, and that is the kindest thing I could call her. And really, with us both in his car, what would separate us in his mind? We're two women who can't even drive ourselves to a party. I'm too prideful, I know, but I can't play second fiddle to that sociopath.

So, again, I am choosing to take myself out of the equation. I just told him I would see him next week for our dinner engagement. Of course, we also have the roadtrip the week after that. So, I'm being selective about this one event instead of being an ass.

Aromatherapy Dishwashing Liquid

I know that these so-called aromatherapy household cleaning products are the latest marketing ploy, and I have fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Does anyone need lavender and ylang ylang essences in their Palmolive? Probably not, but that's the kind I just bought. The point is that for under 3.00 you can not only buy a bottle of soap that will last about 3 months (not bad) or more, but you can fancy yourself a progressive, interesting person just by washing your dishes.

So, as I sit in my vintage apartment drinking a double spiced chai, writing a romance novel, and gabbing on the phone with my sister, I have a benevolent feeling of well-being. I'm doing okay for myself, I think, somewhat self-congratulatory. I have cutting edge dishwashing liquid. Right...

Laundry, usually my favourite chore, was made rather complicated last night by an inconsiderate soul. I live in a building that boasts one communal laundry room. Four washers and four dryers. In a building of about 30 to 40 apartments, that is reasonable, but not by any means a lot. I always try to monitor my washer and dryer cycles down to the minute so that others don't have to deal with my lag time, or worse, decide whether or not to remove my clothes so that the machine can be made available.

Some guy was using all four washers when I took down my stuff. They were all silent but full of men's clothing and underwear. I left my basket in the basement and went back upstairs to wait. I waited about 35 minutes before I ultimately removed clothes from two of the four machines. Of course, I had the same issue to confront when it came to the dryers.

Other than that, I had an inordinate amount of trouble with my internet connection, and feel again, the absolute need for a newer, faster computer. Small steps. Small steps.

Dinner, once I finally got it made, was very good. I used a K.C. Masterpiece Honey Terriyaki barbecue sauce, dijon mustard, honey, and brown sugar to baste some spare ribs. I sauteed fresh zucchini in olive oil and sprinkled with salt. It was a nice combination. I'm looking forward to leftovers.

A business-related e-mail to G yielded dinner plans for the 16th. He's still being proactive about getting on my calendar which is a welcome change from the old order of things.

I am so relieved to be going back to work tomorrow. I feel like a fish out of water, and need the structure of tasks and deadlines to give my days a shape.

I've had no agenda since Sarah and I parted ways on Friday night, social or otherwise, and I feel that I am on the verge of losing my sanity. Not only have I finished the first book the group will be discussing this coming saturday, but I have also finished the second book, not to be discussed for another month yet! Of the things I am hoping to get from my church experience, more opportunities for social outings is one of them. I'm sure school will help with that too. I need to be moderately busy or else I lose my focus. Aimlessness is bad for the soul. I updated my resume last night. It took all of five minutes, and then I was idle again.

I did end up seeing my sister for a couple of hours on Saturday night, which was nice, but I'm looking forward to her coming back in a couple of weeks. Artscape will be in full swing the weekend of the 16th and 17th, and I think she'll enjoy going to that.

Let me take a moment to be grateful. I've been kvetching incessantly lately. I am grateful for having engaging outings and plans for the rest of the weekends in July. I am grateful that I have a job which allows me the ability to live alone, pay bills, eat, and enjoy a level of comfort that so many don't have. I am grateful that I am starting grad school in the fall. I am grateful that I will be able to pay off some debts in a few weeks. I am grateful for my relationships with my sisters. I am grateful for the Monday night UPN network. I am grateful for bus fare and clean laundry. I am grateful that I live exactly where I want to live, and finally, I am grateful that God has given me a dream He intends to fulfill.

Have a wonderful night; I hope your tomorrow is even better.

You can't go home again, or can you?

Even though I returned to my beloved Baltimore City two years ago this month, I did not automatically return to the church that had been my home, inseperable from my concept of this town, before I left.

I have always believed that you can't go home again, or rather, that you shouldn't. I didn't want to live the exact same life I had here before. I didn't want to assume that God wanted me to slide right back into my previous niche. I didn't want to be defined by the person I had been back in 1998. I didn't want to run the risk of becoming a cliche.

When I attended Faith Christian Fellowship from 1995 to 1998, there was one type of member I feared becoming. There were about 5 older women who were pillars of the church. Very committed, fun, intelligent women with a lot to offer, and who offered their resources and their time willingly. These women were all upwards of 45, and had never married. They were not likely to be married for a garden variety of reasons, ranging from church demographics (Most men their ages were already married) to aesthetics (a couple of them were not physically attractive). As a 22 year old, I already feared this fate overtaking me. I worried that it was my cross to bear, and the thought of going back to a church I had first attended in the proverbial summer of my life with my proverbial autumn fast approaching, depressed me. The church can be the most lonely place for a single adult who does not have a vision for permanent celibacy.

I still remember quite clearly the Sunday morning I was sitting in one of the front pews when the Lord spoke to me, almost as a sidebar, and said "your husband is not coming through this church." The revelation took me aback, because for once the topic of marriage was far from my thoughts. I was on the outskirts of facing the fact that I knew it was time for me to leave FCF. Shortly thereafter, I did officially leave, and I moved to Gaithersburg by that time the following year.

That piece of information is not what led me to leave, because I remember thinking "Okay, God, well in a couple of years when that's an issue, I'll deal with this." I actually forgot about this conversation the Lord and I had until I was well into the process of withdrawing my membership.

So, my own fears of looking like an old maid coupled with the understanding that the primary relationship of my life would not be initiated through my association there, left me feeling like "what's the point?" when I did come back to town.

I know that "everything works together for the good of those who love God," (Romans 8)so I have to believe that the two years I've been back, not attending Faith, have happened just as they should have. When it was time for me to be in a corporate worship setting again, the Lord made it plain to me, and I was ready to go to see, at the very least, if I should again avail myself to this body of believers, or if I should close the door once and for all.

The more things change the more they stay the same. I saw so many familiar faces. It was as though nothing had changed, yet the faces of the adults I knew and loved are older, hair is gray now (or more gray), wrinkle lines and smile lines are cut deeper. And the children whose wounds I have dressed, whom I taught in Sunday School, that I hugged as babies, not even school age, are all grown up.

I had a very significant friendship with the pastor and his family, especially with his oldest daughter. She was in her early teens when I first came to the church. She is now 24, two years older than I was at the outset.

I sat there singing songs I sang the last time I was there, six years ago, feeling like a prodigal daughter who wonders if anyone will remember her and be glad of her return. I had to confront the fact that I am nearly 31, and things have not gone according to [my] schedule. I have to trust that other people will not see me as I see myself. A failure, an unpopped kernel, a sexless spinster.

I don't know what the ultimate purpose in my returning is, but all I can do is be faithful to what I do know, and go back next Sunday.

Lamb and Rice

After checking in on Karen's cat last night, Sarah and I headed to the Glory Days Grill where we shared a buttery crab dip appetizer. My meal was a less than stellar plate of chicken tenders, but c'est la vie. Afterward we headed to the Barnes and Noble in Towson where I perused several books over a coffee, but purchased none.

I slept in this morning, and enjoyed a couple of pieces of oven toast and peppermint tea before heading to the supermarket to get a few necessities like olive oil and half and half.

Before I left my apartment on Wednesday evening, I set some lamb chops down in the fridge to thaw. Tonight for dinner, I made the last of my basmati rice tossed with scallions and onions and lamb chops pan sauteed in butter and the dijon, honey, balsamic, olive oil, and garlic marinade that I concocted. When the meat was ready, I set the chops on a plate and poured the pan drippings into the rice.

I'm excited about going to church tomorrow morning. I trust that the message, whatever it is, will be timely.

My sister, as it turns out, is not coming. I'll try to connect with her in a couple of weekends, maybe.