The Plot Thickens (by unthickening)

The truth is far less interesting than fiction in some cases. The first rule of a fiction narrative is that it must be plausible, but the plot has to be contrived enough to be more interesting than say, a simple misunderstanding. The tug of war between imitation and harmony and all that.

In any case, I was sent the announcement. He hoped I did not feel slighted by what was perceived to be an intentional withholding of the information. This is far less interesting than the original scenario. It came down to overly vigilant e-mail servers blocking perceived spam. Things still happen as they are supposed to. If I hadn't felt it ridiculous to not acknowledge the birthday of someone who, for the last several years, has meant so much to me...this may never have come out in the wash. If all that is not enough, he sent his hopes that I can come to the wedding. I'll leave it to you, gentle reader, to decide whether you think I'll be attending or not.

A Day at the Races

My sister is off to Pimlico with college chums for the day. I think it sounds beautifully grand and antiquated. I am home and preparing to do some light cleaning.

I woke up at about quarter to 9 this morning, ate some toasted Os, then headed to the Track on the University's Lacrosse field for a 2-mile power walk. When I returned to the apartment, Miss Caryl was just rising and preparing for a shower.

I decided to write to G and acknowledge both his birthday (yesterday)and his engagement. He wrote me back rather quickly and said he hoped that I might meet his intended soon. A remarkable degree of normalcy on his part given that he, himself, did not tell me about their engagement. It dawned on me before that perhaps not being included among those to whom he sent the e-mail was an oversight, but I eliminated it as a possibility. His reply today, however, has forced me to revisit this as a plausible explanation. I wrote him back and commented directly on the situation. I'll be interested to read his reply.

A delightful lunch of salmon with Light Lemonnaise, asparagus, portabella & zucchini sauteed with green tea to drink was a perfect mid-day meal. The banana pumpkin bread I made last night with pumpkin butter spread was an acceptable treat with which to finish off.

Sarah and I spent some time together at her place yesterday afternoon, then went to dinner in the suburbs before coming back to my apartment. We attempted to watch "Ocean's 12," but neither she, Caryl, nor myself were very invested in the plot. So we just told anecdotes... I baked the afore-mentioned bread while wearing a lovely thin cotton night gown I'd purchased from Hecht's earlier that afternoon.

The play, as the link says, contains nudity. Somehow I just glossed right over that. You can imagine my surprise then, when the audience was made privy to the whole kit & caboodle. Act II was better executed than Act I. All the female character's lines in the first half seemed shrill and overdone. I understand that the character is squirrely and gun shy about intimacy, but the actress kept striking that note just a bit too sharp for my taste.

Because it was a matinee, I supposed I also should have expected there to be an 80+ contingent present. Seriously, it was basically a lot of senior citizens and Caryl and myself in the audience. It was unnerving to watch full-frontal (brief, thankfully) and listen to coarse terms for physical anatomy with people my grandparents' age.

All in all, I think it was infinitely more interesting than just bumming around aimlessly, or lounging around the apartment, but neither of us thought it was winning theatre. After spending a small fortune on delectable tapas, we caught a cab back home and listened to Miles Davis' 'Round Midnight.

Naturally, as the evening wore on, my ever-tired sister took a nap, while I went for a 2-mile walk, then came home to watch "The Aviator" and polish my nails. She eventually woke up after a disconcerting dream. We talked till almost 1 a.m., and then woke up in time for the 8 a.m. service this morning.

After breakfast at the One World we came back home. She promptly fell asleep again.
I think I see a pattern.

Pretty Accurate

Frankie & Johnny

Caryl and I are taking in a matinee of the above-linked show today. Before we set out though, there is the now seemingly overly ambitious goal of laundry and making ourselves gourmet omelettes.

I wasn't expecting to get paid until Tuesday, but a glance at my online banking profile revealed the usual deposit increment that means a paycheck has been put into my account. Now maybe I can take myself out on Memorial Day. Everyone I know is busy, including my sister who is meeting up with friends on Monday.

Everyone is moving on, going on to the next phase of their lives. I feel that life is passing me by. As much as I'm trying to do something about that (working on myself), I still worry that 20 years are going to pass and that I'm still going to be alone, mourning losses, getting cabs to matinee movies.

Oh, What A Proud Day!

Baltimore, I adore you.

Open Letter

We both know.

Tomato Sandwich and Cream of Broccoli Soup

Sarah has recently turned me on to this simple, delicious meal. Tomato sandwiches on wheat with just a bit of mayo, and a sprinkle of salt (if desired). I had these grand plans to make an involved dinner last night, but frankly I was in the tenterhooks of emotional malaise, so that plan did not execute. Then I remembered my greenhouse beauties--firm and crisp, in the fridge. So I dragged myself off the couch and down to the corner deli to get some bread while Caryl slept the sleep of the dead. Once back in the apartment, I ate the simple and very satisfying meal of a tomato sandwich with cream of broccoli soup. I am still surprised at how little it takes to fill me up now.

Eventually, I did wake her. At about 8:40. I was trying not to be bossy, but I thought she would regret waking up on her own at 10,not having had any dinner, and completely unable to sleep the rest of the night. As it was, I let her sleep too long. She would have preferred being awakened sooner. So now I know.

My favourite sunglasses broke.... I don't even know how this happened, I just know that for the first time this week the sun has decided to make more than a 3-second cameo appearance...so I went into my glasses case and withdrew two separate parts of what used to be a single sunglasses unit. My sister tried to repair them, but had no success before Michael called to say he was waiting outside. We'll try again later, but I fear the worst.

So, I've been thinking... Pants Suits...once I get all slimmed down I want pants suits in several colours...and high heels to match each of them. I want to be one of those little women (only 5'0)dynamos, a cyclone personified or something.

Needed something other than the Kashi Go Lean cereal this morning, so I'm rocking the banana nut crunch. Speaking of bananas, I had a blackberry banana smoothie after work yesterday, made only slightly less healthy by a splash of Parrot Bay Rum, cause well... I earned it.

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the Love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39

This scripture is the most crucial arrow in the quiver of anyone who is trying to negotiate despair, or who simply needs to know that at the end of all of everything, God's love remains the one constant.

Your Dominant Thinking Style:

Modifying Super logical and rational, you consider every fact available to you. You don't make rash decisions and are rarely moved by emotion. You prefer what's known and proven - to the new and untested. You tend to ground those around you and add stability.

Your Secondary Thinking Style:

Visioning You are very insightful and tend to make decisions based on your insights. You focus on how things should be - even if you haven't worked out the details. An idealist, thinking of the future helps you guide your path. You tend to give others long-term direction and momentum.

What's Your Thinking Style?

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to obedience and warmth.

In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is patient and never willing to give up on you.

You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was insecure and in constant need of reassurance.

Your ideal relationship is traditional. Without saying anything, both of you communicate with your hearts.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred.

In this moment, you think of love as something you can get or discard anytime. You're feeling self centered.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

Guard your heart

One of the more insidious of all the Post Evangelical Christian sub-culture phrases is “guard your heart.” This phrase, often said to me by other women when I revealed the onset of a new crush, dashed my hopes like nothing else. I always heard it as:

“You have a snowball’s chance in hell of that boy liking you back,”

Or…

“Don’t let yourself entertain anything frivolous that is not directly related to doing the will of God through ministry.”

Or…

“You don’t want what happened last time to happen again, do you?”

It was, I thought, a remarkable lack of generosity masking itself as “godly wisdom,” and hinted at the modern day church’s inability to see God as anything but a deity who only ever acted in a prescriptive, prosaic manner. Yawn.

In my early 20s there was nothing more thrilling or more devastating (and that was part of the thrill then) than a new crush. So much potential. Someone to think about during the unpleasant or mundane aspects of day-to-day life.

Having been sobered by the indulgence of a slew of ill-fated (often long-standing) crushes by this time, the last of which has ended just 7 months shy of my 32nd birthday, I would say that it’s time to revisit the old “guard your heart” mantra.

The spirit of this message is not, I realize now, “don’t have hope,” but “don’t get ahead of yourself.” “Make sure this investment is sound before you put everything on the table.” I knew what it was supposed to mean a long time ago, but still resisted the sentiment on principle. I believed that it was woefully unimaginative and restricted the extravagance of a loving God. I conveniently forgot that God, in all of his lush and luxurious gifts, never once flouts His own will or the integrity of his own character or Word (which may often frustrate my concept of logic, not because He is illogical, but more because He is in no way bound to my idea of what “makes sense” and what does not.).

In thinking of Frost’s poem about the diverging roads in a wood, I am forced to ask myself, would taking the other road, for once, make all the difference? Next time I will do the unthinkable. I will guard my heart.

Equilibrium

For the last several weeks, I would say that the status quo was that my equilibrium was in tact. Feeling very much in control of my self--living on my own terms, seeing progress in the crucial category of physical fitness, knowing that I have detoxed from the vices of caffeine and unrequited love (though not completely from the latter, perhaps), I have lately felt open to the idea of being open to more in the way of a relationship...not immediately, but at some point, which is a very different place than I was even three weeks ago.

Just yesterday morning my weigh-in revealed a cumulative 37-pound loss. Needless to say, I felt that I was floating on a cloud. My power walk yesterday evening was informed by renewed vim and vigor. My sister had arrived, unpacked, happily settling in. Things were brimming with possibility and hope.

Then this morning the news that I have been expecting came. I have been waiting, on a conscious level, for the disclosure that he is engaged. I did not hear this in a direct way. I was left off the missive that informed everyone. But two of my friends were included. My hard-won sense of balance was compromised again, phrases from that forwarded e-mail running on a mental ticker tape through my mind all day while I tried to focus on the tasks at hand.

There is something about the manifestation of what you dread that changes the shape of a day, an hour, a minute, a second. When a word (a seed) becomes rhema (fulfilled)the world shifts.

I know that I will get my balance back. And in truth, I did not fall, though I stumbled. Winston Churchill wisely counseled "If you're going through hell, keep going." This is not the end for me. I just have to keep going through until I come out the other side.

Imminent Events

Engagements and marriages abound. One in particular.

The bag ripped mid-lift. Because Sarah and I did major grocery shopping yesterday morning and afternoon, we thought it best to bring my stuff to my apartment even though I was spending the night at her place.

In truth, I should I have known I could not carry those four bags at once, but I was determined to do it in one trip. Just as I heard the tear, I also heard a man's voice asking me if I needed help. I looked up, smiled and said I did, and had him lift two of those bags into the lobby of my building.

I am so accustomed to figuring out how to manage unwieldy (and often heavy) packages, arrange for the moving/delivery of heavy things, and negotiate the running of my own household in all its various facets, that the simple offer of help, and my ability to accept it was staggering to me. Under normal circumstances, I might have said no, figuring it was not this man's job to stop what he was doing to help me with my groceries. I might have considered that it was my role to get myself out of that minor jam...

One of the obvious benefits of coupledom would be to have help, as a matter of course, where such matters are concerned. It makes me think of Ecclesiastes 4:9-11:

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:
If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls
and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?"

In any case, I am now back in my apartment (have been since about 11:30 a.m.) and have completed Phase II of the cleaning in anticipation of my sister's arrival. I'm so wiped out I could take a nap, and I almost never nap anymore...

Cleaning Phase I Completed

After eating the small amount of leftover Afghan food (from Wednesday's outing) supplemented by roasted brussel sprouts and carrots, I went out for about a two-mile walk (with free weights). It felt so primitive compared to my gym workouts. But hey, I shouldn't knock it. I lost the first twenty pounds just doing that two or three times a week.

Cleaning is wonderfully invigorating. I finished sweeping, mopping, and wiping the kitchen by about 9:00, and then finally got the gumption to move my cd shelf from the bedroom into the hallway, so that I could rearrange the bed and open up the room some more. My sister is bringing her keyboard (w/stand), so creating a place for it was crucial.

Tomorrow, when I return from Sarah's, I'll do more dusting and sweeping. I'll also clean the bathroom. But today, I go wholesale club shopping. With two people in the house buying some things in bulk suddenly sounds like a good idea.

At this point, I'm just waiting for Sarah to arrive. We'll begin with breakfast at the One World (I am in love with their 7-grain pancakes!), then we'll push off onto our shopping adventure.

Last Night's poetry group was spirited. Our host served a tangy whole wheat penne pasta salad and also provided chocolate covered strawberries. I picked up some dessert from Whole Foods (the piece de reistance of which was a raspberry chocolate cake with butter cream frosting) to take to the fete.

I had been struggling all day to come up with a poetic offering for the evening. I ended up crafting a piece about the dinner with C and Desperately the night before, prosaically titled "The Dinner Engagement."

Blast it! It's a gloomy glum day here in Charm City. No matter. I have tons of housecleaning to do this evening. There is dusting and polishing the furniture, sweeping the floors, plumping sofa cushions, cleaning the counters, mopping the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the bathroom.

Caryl is coming on Sunday and Saturday I will spend with Sarah,so it's all about tonight (with finishing touches done on Sunday morning before Caryl's arrival). I have three Netflix DVDs to get through as well. I think I'll be watching one of them while I clean. Don't ask me how, but I've learned to watch films while not being in the same room with the tv.

Haven't slept particularly well any night this week, and it's starting to show...

Everybody Plays The Fool Sometimes (or, I didn't Mean To Turn You On)

As I was getting ready for dinner at the Helmand last night, I checked my e-mail to find that my prof had written asking if I'd like to reclaim custody of my bread knife...that evening. He was headed back out of town on Friday morning and last night was the best time for him. I shot him a reply letting him know that I had dinner plans, but that I'd pick up my knife on the way home. We agreed that I would call him to determine a place to meet.

Once C, my classmate and fellow poet, picked me up we headed to the Mt. Vernon neighborhood where I used to live. We were rerouted by detours due to Baltimore's Annual flower show. We eventually found parking, and didn't arrive at the restaurant too late, all things considered.

Desperately was already there waiting. He seemed subdued, initially, which gave him a fairly natural air. I almost felt that I had nothing to worry about, but I set to work on all the verbal and non-verbal cues I could think of to establish my lack of interest, anyway.

As I told C on our drive downtown, I never had any intention of making more plans with him, so I was willing to be as obnoxious, within socially acceptable parameters, as need be.

The evening went along fairly well with the three of us sharing anecdotes (well he mostly talked about how overworked he is), C played along delightfully and subtly.

At some point, Desperately began to come to pep up a bit and called me "darling," something he's done once before prior to our initial hangout. I thought he was just being cheeky at the time, and I didn't yet know him as "Desperately" then, so I thought it was kind of funny. This time, however:

Me: "What did you just call me?"
Desperately: "Darling...is that all right?"
Me: "Is that what you call all your women friends?"
Desperately: "I call my women friends any number of things."
Me: Non-committal noise of disapproval.

(he may have won that round)

When he excused himself at one point, C said to me, "I think he's interpreting your snarkiness and detachment as feistyness and positive attention. Think about it, how many women ever pay any attention to him, and while it's clear to me what you're doing, I think it's more attention than he ever gets..."

"Great," I said.

It would seem that he is incredibly obtuse. As C pointed out, she would have known, if she was him, as soon as I told him that if the 18th did not work for him in terms of hanging out, that I would just send him a check for the money I owed him...

Because D doesn't care for cheese (this has come up twice now), I snarkily referred to him as "the boy who doesn't like cheese," which I simply can't understand. It has nothing to do with lactose intolerance. He just can't see that it adds anything. Fair enough, I guess, but I still can't relate.

So after an evening of me talking about how adorable other men are, calling him "the boy who doesn't like cheese," and calling him on calling me "darling," he said "well this has been fun. When can we do it again?"

C attempted to deflect and said she'd have to check her schedule. I said I was busy all summer. In one final attempt at something, D says to me "well, I do have your card." I made another non-commital noise.

Before we departed, I reiterated that he should have a good summer, he said, "I'll miss you..." I made another disgust noise. Quell Nightmare.

I guess I'm in the right profession...

My favourite Baltimore Sun Columnist,Gregory Kane, e-mailed me today. As is my custom, I read his column every week,and yesterday when I accessed it online, I noticed a date error. In a somewhat uncharacteristic move, I elected to point out the error via the Sun's commenting field.

Then, I forgot all about it.

This afternoon, the man himself wrote to me to say that I caught an error that he, a line editor, a copyeditor, and a slot editor had all missed. Then he asked, partially in jest, if I was looking for work as an editor. In his second message, he assured me that if he ever heard of an opening he would mention my name, because afterall, what could anyone say, that I wasn't qualified?