the gracefull klutz

moving

2007-10-11T14:55:00.000-04:00

this blog is moving to http://kellilu.wordpress.com/.

thanks for stopping by!

zucchini

2007-09-22T09:26:00.001-04:00

marvelous vegetable, the zucchini. y'know, i never had really eaten it before this past year. this summer has been the summer of the great green squash: it's my new best veggie friend...(c:

i never used to enjoy summer. It's always been, for me, the time when people leave -or when i leave people. for a girl who craves and savors stability, summertimes gained a very bad reputation as the season of shuffling: first, older friends left for college. then i left for college. for years, good-byes in may and new good-byes in august bookended warm months and disallowed any settled pattern or community. first it was just moving 100 miles back and forth from my hometown to my college town (go cyclones!), but then I moved 1000 miles away from home, and summers were far from home and filled with studies, then with a new job...

but last summer was a golden summer: a steady group of folks settled in the same neighborhood, and i began to think warmth was not so bad. community was in place.

beyond the people-factor, silly as it sounds, my love for a season hinges heavily on the aesthetics that season presents. what kind of food can i cook? and (yes, i am this shallow) what kind of clothes can i wear? autumn has always claimed the yearly throne in this area: what can compare with a pot of homemade applesauce bubbling on the stove and a cosy corduroy jacket or warm, deep-colored scarf?

but this year, i discovered summer clothing and summer vegetables.

before, i have been happy to slog out the summer in winter layers (that is, i don't buy any short-sleeve shirt that i can't wear under a winter sweater later on -- nothing bright and sunny-colored; mainly black, white, olive, dark blue, and brown. eek.). on a summer trip to chicago with my family, my mother pointed out that even in a sleeveless black tee and a knee-length dark denim skirt (and flip flops!), i didn't look like i belonged in june. hmph. she had a point.

my roommate, lover of sun and warmth, tried to help me devise a summer outfit one night and ended up delving into her own closet to help me find a top that didn't make my summer skirt look like winter. she just sort of laughed at me in that "oh, dear" kind of way. So i took myself to macy's and, with much phone help from my mother, bought a light-weight eyelet blouse, lightweight shorts, and a pale orange polo shirt (short sleeves! not remotely layer-able!).

and y'know, it's fun to wear bright colors and light fabrics! you actually don't roast in the sunshine anymore. who knew?

oh, and the beach! did i mention the beach? i actually shopped for and bought a cute, bright green 2-piece swimsuit and beach towel this year and went to the shore two or three times. previous visits to the beach involved the swimsuit i purchased in eighth grade. i'm now twenty-seven. while it's nice that the suit i bought back then still fit well enough to work (when paired judiciously with a pair of shorts), it was time to retire the speedo one-piece that was hardly fashionable even then. i even managed to get a little tan this summer! for a pasty-white girl of german-irish descent, that is a very major accomplishment.

my other discovery was summer vegetables. my lovely local farmer's market (and my friend ben, who's the master of garden-based cooking) introduced the wonders of the zucchini, simply sauteed with tomatoes and other sundry summer veg. amazing! for very little oven output, you get a bright-tasting, nutritious, and cheap dinner. i made a variant last night and was happy all evening ... sauteed onions and garlic, cubed a zucchini, and added a gorgeous heirloom tomato. when everything had softened a bit, i tossed it all with whole wheat couscous and was happy as a summer-lovin' clam.

so summer. i'm actually a little sad to see it go! in my memory, this will be the season i learned to love orange shirts, green swimsuits, and red tomatoes... and the zucchini. long live the zucchini.

roots // rooted

2007-09-19T17:45:00.001-04:00

a friend of mine from south asia recently put her finger exactly on that part of my anglo/germanic middle-american heritage that has always eluded me. or rather, i have always thought i eluded it.

i don't think i've done this consciously, but over the last seven years, i have systematically stepped out of my cultural upbringing. i dated an asian guy for two years. i moved to the east coast. i spent a year and a half writing my thesis on an italian-american family living in manhattan's lower east side. i even figured out a reason to live in new york for the project. in. new. york. me. in the big city. on my own. and now i live in another big mid-atlantic city! i've even learned to cook everything but my mother's recipes (just let me know when you're coming over: i'll either have sicilian red sauce for the penne or ghanaian chicken in the pot for you (and neither are found in the family cookbook)).

i'm beginning to wince on behalf of my background.

i've been so busy appreciating other places/cultures/backgrounds that i have disrobed my own of its rightful, modest significance. . . and really, in context, i struggle to appreciate any sort of significance to my own background. politically, i tend to run in rather liberal circles, and it's not popular there to be a reasonably well-off middle-class girl who's not only white, but also anglo-saxon and protestant (w.a.s.p.).

i just got back from a business trip to the near midwest, and i found myself in a home-like environment: the land was flat; the accents were homey (round "o" , flat "a" ). in spite of myself, i remembered how fond i am of all the sounds and tastes and sights that are home/heritage for me. it made me incredibly homesick and has made me realize how much i judge people from my own social background: how can they live with much and not do something to help those who have little? but then, how can i presume to know that they're not doing something to help? more importantly, am i doing the thing for which i wrongly judge them?

as i was sharing all this with a globetrotting, midwesterly-rooted friend over dinner last night, he humbly challenged me to consider what i was doing myself to respond to my own frustrations. i was properly put in my place, and have been considering more pro-active ways to express frustrations. with my time and my material resources, i want to be purposeful about putting action behind words. first stop: applying to volunteer with an organization reaching out to kids in rough spots through the arts... check out http://www.buildabridge.org/. hope to be able to help out there in the next couple of months... it's just one step, but it's a step.

and it's a step toward realizing that the problem is not where i'm from, or what my background is ethnically/socially/economically. God has given me all that's in my heritage for reasons He knows and can use. He has also blessed me with beautiful opportunities to know people and places with different cultures - I love it! but He has not given those opportunities and that affection so that I could grow discontent with the life He has planned out for me. How ungrateful, and how whiny I can be!! Seriously, my heart gets quickly ugly with this sort of sin, and is so easily caught up in popular attitudes that I trip over envy and land flat on my face. Instead, may He fill my heart with thankfulness for His sovereign plan and with faithfulness to love Him by loving others!

the best for last (and the first was best)

2007-09-19T17:36:00.001-04:00

The best wedding of the season, by far, was my little brother Kyle, who married his love, Amy, on April 21.

I couldn't be happier that he chose her to join our family - what a blessing she is! She complements him perfectly, and their wedding was a really eloquent expression of who they are together.

Beyond the fact that the groom was my much-loved brother, this was the most beautiful wedding I've seen. Aesthetically, it was lovely: a mid-nineteenth century church - complete with picturesque churchyard - elegant flowers, lovely colors, gorgeous gown -- even a picture-perfect spring afternoon! But it was the meaning and symbolism behind each part of the ceremony that was very, very special.

My brother and his (now) wife love Jesus more than anything. They opened their wedding by singing His praise, and they centered their vows on His instructions for their love to one another. They paused to wash each other's feet in the middle of the ceremony, offering a vivid illustration of Christ's service to His followers, and of their desire each to serve the other in the same way. One set of readings, from Song of Songs, was read in response by Rob and Sonia, husband and wife who are both dear friends of Kyle and Amy, and it was surprisingly fresh to hear each part read by a lover and his beloved.

I was honored to stand up with them as a bridesmaid, and from where I stood I had a straight line of sight to where my parents sat in the front left pew. We none of us kept back tears at our deep, deep happiness for Kyle. Goodness, I'm tearing up just writing this! I very much doubt that I can express how special this day was. I'll let some pictures serve as my best attempt...

fire in the belly

2007-09-12T15:24:00.000-04:00

Taking a brief break from wedding posts (one more to come)...

I am so incredibly energized by people who live and move and even breathe with passion. There is something really precious to me about conversations with a person whose whole being pulses with what he/she is saying. After small group last night, I got to chat with a friend, Sarah, who I've just recently met. She's in the middle of a Ph.D. in education, and is deeply moved by / moving towards real reform in urban public education. Seeing kids learn and understand on their own lights her eyes, and it was easy to see that the only thing giving her patience right now, since she can't be in the classroom, is studying to make that classroom better once she gets back to it.

Hearing her story, the things that led her to be where she is now, was one of those conversations where, as my dad used to say, "if that don't light your fire, your wood must be wet!" It reminded me of how many folks in my life right now are like that, and how much i appreciate them... and how earnestly I want to be that sort of person, myself.

mawage, part deux

2007-09-07T11:36:00.001-04:00

Ahh, weddings. The last flurry of them came during my last two years of college - it seemed everyone around me was pairing up, and I think I was invited to a dozen or so over the course of 24 months (I confess, I didn't go to all of them). That was the Midwest where, it seems to me, people have a tendency to marry younger - the majority of those earlier weddings were folks still in college. And out on the East Coast... i dunno - it seems like more folks wait longer. Anyone care to confirm or deny my amateur theory?

so now that I'm well clear of college, round two of wedding frenzy has come. Working in reverse order, the wedding that came right before Nate and Laura's (see previous post) was Matt and Jamie's...

I was a bridesmaid in this one, so the planning and pre-wedding excitement started way back in January, when we went bridesmaid dress-shopping...
There I am, holding it up after two other 'maids and I had tried on numerous shiny, blue-ish, strapless sorts of outfits. in january, it's always a bit of a shock to see one's shoulders go bare!!

Then came the shower, planned by me and fellow 'maid Joy. Neither of us had planned a shower before, but oh my goodness, did we have fun! put two creative, craft- and kitchen-happy girls on party detail, and, if i do say so myself, you get a pretty good party! We made some bergamot-sugar body scrub for favors (oh-so-nice for a little pampering!) and cooked up a storm, along with our friend Belinda, who graciously opened up her home and lent her fabulous party-planning skills to the event! We had a great time with minimal cheesy shower games (honestly! who invented the toilet-paper bride game?? and does anyone really, truly enjoy playing it? not me. I once snuck out of a shower early just because they brought out the toilet paper). But we had no toilet paper, only a "chubby-bunny-bride" game, where we (having quizzed the groom beforehand) asked the bride questions like "what was matt's first car?" "how old was he when he got his first deer?" and "what was his favorite stuffed animal when he was 5?" Now, some she knew (go, Jamie!), but for everyone she didn't get, she had to stuff a piece of Bazooka bubble gum in her mouth. You can imagine how quickly "chubby-bunny" status was achieved! But everyone had a good time, including the bride, and we all learned more about the groom!

Then came the bachelorette party (see previous post), and then the wedding. What a great wedding! Here's some photos...

And then came a very fun party... There was cake, and dancing, and all sorts of fun stuff. Only - the Macarena - did you know it was still alive and kicking?? I thought it died a painful death back in 1999. But no, apparently its after-life is in the repertoire of wedding DJs. I was disappointed to learn this. But I guess it's a classic now, along with the conga line (which in my opinion is sooo much more fun to watch than to join! Here are my friends Steve (glasses) and Ben (red shirt) heading up the train.... Oh, and then the swing. I know it's not so much "in" anymore, but I don't care - I dearly love to swing dance, and so does my friend Ben, so we had an **awesome** time of it! Then afterward, before everyone took off, our gang lined up for a photo. It was an amazing weekend. Happy Wedding, Matt and Jamie!!

Confidential to Robbie B.

2007-08-29T14:54:00.000-04:00

*Bring your plow over tonight. I've caught three more "mousies" since last we spoke, and I think there's still one more...*

(ahem... just so the internet is aware, neither I, nor my roommate, are slovenly people. My mother, the queen of un-slovenliness, even agrees with me. We just live in a portion of the urban jungle where, apparently, the mice are choosing not to notice the "occupied" flashing neon sign outside!! The battles rage - we will defend the third-floor homestead!!)

mawage is wot bwings us togethow to-day.

2007-08-27T09:27:00.000-04:00

surely anyone reading this knows the source of the title, but just in case... go

okay, but mawage.. marriage - it has been bringing some folks together lately in my world. some of my dearest friends have been tying the knot. In reverse chronological order (drum roll, please)...

Nate and Laura!

The groom has been a good friend of mine since the end of grad school, I guess, and at times has felt like an extra brother. His bride is a beautiful, gentle, wise, warm ... perfect! ... complement for him. They were married in an outdoor ceremony under the sunshine, and the whole day spoke beautifully of their love for each other, their love for Christ, and the love of the Father for His children.

it was really great fun to be at their wedding with the whole gang. (this is not quite the whole gang in the photo, but a goodly portion thereof...)

We were starting to feel a little de ja vu, though, because exactly one week before, we had all been around for (second drum roll, please...)

Matt and Jamie's wedding!!

(but first we must back up to Jamie's bachelorette party...)

The bride is the one between the V and the E... I'm perched up in the L. There were four bridesmaids (2 sisters and 2 friends), and the 2 friends got to plan the party.
We went out for Thai food with two other girlfriends and then for bubble tea. The tiny tapioca balls in the bottom are perfect for...
TARGET PRACTICE! we had lots of fun with this (i have to give credit to the other bridesmaid, miss Joy, (who also took these photos), for the pea-shooter idea. actually, the bride herself had been known to take aim when bored with her bubble tea, so it seemed an appropriate activity for her last night out with the girls. (c; that's me standing in the background, evaluating the shots. We live in a college-y part of town, and so after getting the tea right next to the university, we wandered on to campus to find a spot where we could play bachelorette's bull's-eye.
so after the party came the PARTY - the wedding! and the more i think about that, the more it deserves its own post. and there's another wedding after that...

Oh, Mr. Burns, I do apologize...

2007-08-23T23:07:00.000-04:00

(pardon the caps lock... it just seemed to fit the mood at the outset of the post...)

i’VE BEEN INVOLVED, FOR THE LAST TWO HOURS, IN A LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH MY COMPUTER SCREEN. ACTUALLY, I’M RELOCATING THE LOVE/HATE FEELINGS THAT ARE ACTUALLY DIRECTED TOWARD THE PAPER I AM TRYING TO WRITE THAT SIMPLY ISN’T SHOWING UP ON MY COMPUTER SCREEN. BECAUSE I’M NOT ACTUALLY WRITING IT. THE WORDS ARE NOT COMING OUT OF MY FINGERS. BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT IN MY HEAD.

WHY ARE THE WORDS NOT IN MY HEAD??

I’VE BEEN WORKING ON A CONFERENCE FOR WORK, AND I LOVE GETTING THE EXPERIENCE OF WORKING WITH LOCAL INSTITUTIONS, GATHERING SPEAKERS, FIGURING OUT LOGISTICS, ETC. ALONG WITH ALL THAT, MY BOSSES GRACIOUSLY INVITED ME TO PRESENT A PAPER. ME. PRESENT. A SCHOLARLY PIECE OF RESEARCH TO ESTEEMED COLLEAGUES WHO HAVE BEEN STUDYING THIS MATERIAL FOR MORE YEARS THAN MY LAST BIRTHDAY CAKE HAD CANDLES. HECK, SOME OF THEM HAVE WRITTEN MORE PAPERS THAN THE AFOREMENTIONED NUMBER OF CANDLES.

AND YET HERE I SIT, TRYING TO COME UP WITH A PAPER THAT WILL SEEM NEW, EXCITING, INNOVATIVE – AT THIS POINT, I’LL SETTLE FOR ANYTHING VAGUELY COMPETENT – TO MY FIRST REAL ACADEMIC AUDIENCE. I’VE PRESENTED A PAPER BEFORE, BUT IT WAS TO A GRADUATE STUDENT CONFERENCE – PEOPLE ARE KIND. THE EVENT WAS EVEN CALLED “EMERGING SCHOLARS SYMPOSIUM.” E-M-E-R-G-I-N-G. BY NOW, IT’S EXPECTED THAT ONE HAS FULLY EMERGED. I’M NOT ANY TOO SURE THAT I HAVE!!

I THINK IT WILL ALL COME TOGETHER, AND I THINK I WON’T LOOK HORRIBLE, AND I THINK I WILL NOT BRING SHAME TO MY FIRM. BUT HERE’S THE THING: I DON’T WANT TO SQUEAK BY, BARELY ESCAPING THE SHAME-CAUSING. I WANT TO DO THIS VERY WELL. I WANT TO LEAVE MEDIOCRITY IN MY DUST. I DON’T NEED TO BE THE HIT OF THE CONFERENCE – I DO HAVE A SHRED OF REALISM LEFT – BUT I WANT TO MAKE A GOOD, SOLID DEBUT – LIKE CATCHING THE BRONZE MEDAL AT THE OLYMPICS WHEN I’VE ONLY JUST QUALIFIED FOR THE NATIONAL TEAM. I WANT TO WRITE A PAPER THAT IS A SLEEPER HIT – LIKE ONE OF THOSE LITTLE, LOW-BUDGET INDIE FILMS THAT SUDDENLY COMES INTO THE TOP FIVE AT THE BOX OFFICE ONE WEEKEND AROUND THE FOURTH OF JULY AND MAKES EVERYONE SIT UP AND TAKE NOTICE.

BUT TONIGHT I DO NOT HAVE A SLEEPER HIT. I DO NOT EVEN HAVE COMPETENCE. I HAVE MICE.

YES, MICE – PLURAL. I HAVE SEEN THREE TONIGHT IN MY APARTMENT. There is one stuck on the trap under the tv stand, one very small one that’s been running around under the dining table, and one that’s been running around (ick) in the kitchen. We currently have eight traps set and one box of poison laid out. In the last eight months, we have caught six mice – seven, if you count the little one that bit the dust tonight.

In the small apartment that my roommate and i share, the living room (which is also the dining room) is directly adjacent to the kitchen; in fact, from where i lounge right now on the loveseat, i have a direct line of sight to the pantry shelves (we have just enough cupboard space to keep the eating and baking dishes; the dry goods sit on two snazzy wire shelving units from Ikea (think Metro Shelves at Scandinavian DIY prices). I have, then, had a front-row seat for all the mousie action tonight.

All of the mousie action that has taken place, I should emphasize, while I’ve been trying to write a more-than-mediocre-emphatically-competent-sleeper-hit-of-the-summer presentation. Now I ask you, how can inspiration strike in the presence of so much rodentia?

I keep thinking of the poem by dear Robbie Burns…with apologies to the dear Scottish bard, I offer a counterpoint to selected stanzas of his
“To A Mouse..." (the link also translates the Scottish words)
(please do read the real thing - the following notwithstanding, it truly is one of my favorite poems).

“Wee sleekit cowrin’ tim’rous beastie
O, what a panic’s in tha breastie!
[ha! Mr. Burns, may I introduce to you the fearless Philly mouse? neither d-con, nor snap traps, nor glue traps galore can keep these urban rodents from their appointed rounds of my apartment. No panic evident here].
tha need na start awa sa hasty
w’ bickerin brattle!
I wid be laith to rin an chase thee
w’ murd’rous pattle!
[but i’m not a bit laith to let my traps catch you as you run past! nor am i above bringing in a cat…]

i doubt na’ whiles, but thou may thieve.
what then, poor beastie, thou maun live!
[no, no, no – they maun not live, robbie! they maun not!!]
a daimen-icker in a thrave’s a sma request
[but it’s my daimen-icker! and i don’t like you chewing through the box to get to it, mousie!]
i’ll get a blessin’ with the lave, and ne’er miss’t.
[oh, but i will…]

thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin
[good!!]
it’s crazy, wha’s the winds are strewin.’
[the high temperature today was 85 degrees. OUTSIDE. and yet, the mice want to live in a non-air-conditioned city apartment. That’s what’s crazy!]
An’ naethin’ left to big a new ane
of foggage green
[or whatever you want from my pantry, mr. mouse, take your pick! it’s how you do…]
An bleak December's winds ensuin'
baith snell and keen.

[…stanzas excerpted…]

but mousie, thou’rt no thy lane
in proving foresight may be vain
[Me, yesterday: Thursday night is my paper-writing night!”]
the best-laid plans of mice and men
gang aft a-gley
[Me, tonight: Grrrrr, mouse. Grrrr, paper].
an lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain
for promised joy.

Still, thou’rt blessed compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee.
[Until thee toucheth a trap, wee mousie]
But och! I backward cast my eye
at prospects drear.
[the ghosts of papers past]
An’ forward, though I canna see
[the ghosts of future presentations]
I guess and fear.
[Unoriginal scholarship, PowerPoint errata, A/V snafu…and... more mice.]

PS: as i was finishing this post, caught another one. gah. it's on, mr. mouse. i know you've got friends. it's on.

The Symphony Comes to West Philly; or, The Grand Sociological Experiment

2007-07-26T00:11:00.000-04:00

Soooo... the Philadelphia Orchestra played the bowl at Clark Park last weekend. Throughout the summer, local bigwig corporations sponsor these free neighborhood concerts, which never fail to bring out hordes of neighbors with old blankets, lawnchairs, and pic-a-nic baskets. My neighborhood is no different... but it is so very unique.

before the grand event, i trotted over to my friends ben, ben (yes, two different bens), and meagan's to make goodies for the picnic. we had standard sandwiches, but also veggie/feta pitas and trader joe's finest... dark chocolate covered raisins (soooooo tasty!). with an old table cloth and a worn bedsheet, we made our 10-minute way to the park. g o r g e o u s weather out... couldn't have asked for better.

we got there, set up camp on a slope (Clark Park features a large, natural bowl, perfect for outdoor performances of many sorts. i think it used to be a pond, way back when). then things got interesting....

we quickly noticed we were in a pack of smokers. not a biggie, but a l,ittle unusual in the nearly smoke-free city that philly is becoming. then we realized that the guy behind us was burning incense. and we wondered what sort of scent this might be intended to cover. hmmm...

looking around, of course, we counted not a few folks devouring harry's latest adventures while the band played on (who can blame them?? i'll be joining their ranks soon - am forcing myself through book 6 again before indulging). there was a band of punk/anarchists who started heckling the bank sponsor representative as soon as he was introduced. poor fella - i'm not a fan of big corporate America, either, but they were actually doing a good thing by sponsoring accessibility to the arts. lots and lots of dogs wandered through (when there's not an orchestra playing, that particular part of the park is the dog run - careful where you sit.) but i gotta attempt to describe more of the human demographic, though, as that was the truly interesting bit...

it was a beautiful cross-section of the folks who inhabit our neck of the woods. i've already mentioned the anarchists... they're commonly identified visually by black-based clothing, multiple (and creative) tattoos, and patch-covered bike messenger bags, often in black-and-some-other-color designs. there were the neo-hippies... girls wearing funky european shoes and loose sundresses, funky plastic-rimmed glasses and slightly-askew hairstyles, guys who wear skinny thrift-store jean cutoffs and chuck taylors with a faded plaid button-down. there are original hippies, too -- see above for incense guy. there are international families, often living in philly for a few years while one or both spouses complete doctoral degrees at the university of pennsylvania. some of these families are Muslim, and the women are covered to varying degrees with either vibrantly colored hijab and abaya or solid black versions of both. then there are young families, where one or both spouses graduated drexel engineering programs or wharton business school and just never left the area. they push hip strollers and feed their kids organic baby carrots while they drink a nice bottle of red wine with their stone-ground wheat crackers and sheep's milk manchego.

then there's the random assortment of single college graduates, most of whom have banded together in pairs or trios to occupy the rental properties that fill the area... most of us are transitioning from college student to husband/wife/father/mother - or, at least, we hope we are. we look a like a little bit of everyone above. my crowd was eating the food of the yuppies, dressing a little like the hippies, and scrapping together picnic supplies as though we had just arrived in the city. it was marvelous.

simple pleasures

2007-06-14T22:19:00.001-04:00

Tonight i went out for food. i was spending an evening alone and have been putting off grocery shopping (so no food to speak of in the house) and was craving a burrito... so off i went to qdoba (mmm...). parked the car (wasn't feeling well so didn't walk) and walked the half-block to get my dinner.

but!

on the way, i turned into the open, well-lit doorway of a shop stacked STACKED with books. i never even noticed it before, to my shame, but i have in my neighborhood one of those really wonderful used-book-stores that is well-organized and yet nearly-overstuffed with previously owned, reasonably priced BOOKS. this is a treasure - i had just been bemoaning the combined facts that a) i'm running out of books to read on my own shelf; b) new books are prohibitively expensive to buy on a regular basis; and c) my wallet is unfortunately thin. then, eureka! used books in every possible category for which one could hope.

and...

there's a lovely black cat with a white face-blaze and three white feet who will rub against your legs while you walk through the "true crime" section and will happily purr while you rub his chin. i'm not sure why he showed up in the 'true crime' section and i wondered, as i enjoyed his attention, what sort of odd cat-loving-conspiracy-theorist-type i might seem to be if anyone walked past to see me crouched over a big, purring cat in front of the true-and-unvarnished stories of murder-in-a-small-town-or-some-such .... but aside from that, heaven!

i'm very pleased with this new discovery. it was one of those things that is remarkably soothing on a night that, for no particular reason, was not outstandingly ... well, outstanding. thank you, God, for simple pleasures, and in my own part of the world, too!

and how

2007-05-24T10:00:00.000-04:00

[i know i'm not a great blogger - i post when the mood strikes. in an effort, though, to post more regularly, i've been thinking about post topics... as i rode the train/trolley/bus yesterday, i was staring out the window and thinking about posts, and was distracted by everything i saw. this will be a little repetitive, i think from the themes of other posts, but this is what's on my mind, so here y'go...]

when i walk around, i keep looking around. i look around the city and i see broken systems - people who are angry - and i would be angry, too. the society in which we (me and them) live has given me more opportunity from birth than it has given them. i am white and middle-class. i see people in my neighborhood who have been born into single-parent families in a poverty-stricken, violence-ridden urban community. and their skin color, as much as i want to deny it blindly, has made it harder for them to find the same opportunities that i have found.

i have struggled, since leaving iowa, to reconcile my cultural majority status with the difficulties facing cultural minorities that i encounter here. i feel guilty about it, to be honest. it's almost like a survivor's guilt: why did i get to go to the good public school, to win the scholarship, to earn the degree, to land the fellowship, to get the job that pays me enough to support myself? that was an apparent accident of birth: God's sovereign choice that i can't understand. there are kids who ride my bus every morning who hop off at the corner for a school with more than 50% dropout rate. more than once, the police have been called to that high school this year to put out trash can fires and/or arrest disruptive students (for assault). teachers are beat up and burned out, and these kids are trapped in a system that can't help them.

out my living room window, there's a brick apartment building. most of the tenants are young men from west africa - immigrants from countries whose peace has been torn, top to bottom, like the sackcloth garments of those who mourn. why has that happened in their towns and not in mine? why have i not had to leave my home, my family?

it's springtime now, in philadelphia - evenings are warm, and the ice cream truck has started its usual circuit. is the ice cream truck in your neighborhood still circling at eleven at night? in mine, it is. you think they're still selling bomb-pops to eleven-year-olds? really? how have i been protected from things that hold so many in the vise-grip of addiction?

i am an adult white female, supporting myself through my own work, living comfortably in my own apartment, driving my own car. my family is safe and healthy; i don't worry for the lives of my friends. i am indescribably blessed! but how, how, do i reconcile these blessings in my life with the brokenness all around me?

'b[urban]

2007-04-11T19:14:00.000-04:00

i was walking home today, through my urban neighborhood of tightly-packed twins and rowhouses, and found a bona-fide garden - in a bona-fide backyard! the large house that fronted it must have been a hold-over from when my part of the city was a brand-new, upper-upper middle class streetcar suburb to center city philly - but there it was: a backyard. with flowers, even!

last weekend, my roommate and i went to a friend's house for dinner (two midwestern fellas had offered to cook us, natives of illinois and iowa, pulled-pork sandwiches with sweet corn on the side - true taste of home!). our host lives in the 'burbs, and as we got out of the car in front of the house, we both slowly turned around and tried to absorb what we were seeing - and hearing! birds were singing in trees that stood in yards that separated free-standing houses with driveways and garages which meant that there was no loud SEPTA bus declaring "welcome to [pause] route xx [pause] service to [pause] xxx" every ten minutes outside the bedroom window.

we had forgotten about the suburbs! i doubt either of us would trade our cosy little third-floor walkup tucked in the middle of philly for a roomy colonial outside the city, SEPTA bus notwithstanding, but it was like being on vacation for an evening - quite novel!

i grew up in a neighborhood like my friend's, but now is the time to live in an urban neighborhood - to see people who look very different from me on every street i cross. now is my chance to buy fruit from the back of the truck permanently parked two blocks away; to get my cheesesteak from another truck parked by the train station. when else will i get to walk to a trolleystop for my daily commute, or hop off three stops early to pick up fresh veg at the farmer's market in the neighborhood park? and how else would i get to learn about things in the city that could be better - systems that need fixing - and to think about how to help fix them? yah, this is the time for me to be in the city. the suburbs will always be open for visiting hours, but home is still here.

better stories

2007-04-09T14:53:00.000-04:00

i am itching.. my mother calls it the "three year itch" - i've been in one city, at one job, for nearly three years. is it time to ditch the stability i so craved four and five years ago??

am i crazy?

i don't know. there are bits of me that are ready to see what's next this year, and then there are parts of me that sense that God may be planning to keep me where i am for a little while... which makes me wonder: why am itching?

is it because i'm being stirred by His Spirit to follow Him elsewhere? or is it because i'm growing discontent with the stories i can tell... am i fidgety to flit to the next thing, whatever it may be, just to gather better stories to spin at dinner parties? because that's just not a good enough reason.

i've been reading in John's gospel lately, and a recurring theme could be labeled "things that Jesus does that i just don't understand." example: judas complains when Jesus is anointed with perfume before His death, because he (judas) wanted the money for said perfume to go to the common money bag (en route to judas' own pocket). surely Jesus knew that judas had been stealing money like this - but it doesn't say that He did anything to stop the crime.

surely Christ knows about the suffering i just read about online - how appalling numbers of children in India have been abused by trusted adults (thank you BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6539027.stm). and surely He knows how horrible genocides happen. how water runs out in Yemen (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6530453.stm). how the guy in my neighborhood was pushing that girl around on the sidewalk last week. He, our omnipotent God, knows about these things... my heart cries out with the psalmist who begged God to see and to act, knowing that He is never unaware, never less than sovereign (Psalm 10)! in my limited understanding, i can't bear the juxtaposition of injustice in this world and a just God in heaven. but this last week, as His church celebrated His Son's crucifixion and resurrection (for our salvation!), i was reminded of how His glorious, beautiful plans make little sense to my finite, earth-bound eyes. surely i would have been right there with the disciples, questioning everything Jesus did, exhibiting little-to-no faith that God's plan was being carried out in His way and His time. i would've been with Peter, who tried to stop Jesus from washing his feet, only to hear Jesus say, " 'You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.'" (John 13:7). (i love that.)

seeing a piece of His plan for salvation, i gotta trust, for all things big and small, that He has plans bigger than i can see or imagine - designs that transcend my understanding - big plans for justice for the oppressed, for mercy for the suffering, and small plans for my life tomorrow, and the day after that. i chafe at the not-knowing, but by Christ's grace and intercession, i want to come to the Father and ask Him to raise my earth-bound eyes to faith for heaven's plan. He promises in James 1:5 to give wisdom to those who ask for it, and I want His wisdom -- because His stories are the best stories, and the ones i want to learn to tell.

pots

2007-03-27T23:00:00.000-04:00

i love my friends. though i agree with benjamin franklin (favorite son of my adopted city) that beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, i think that friends are proof that God loves us and wants us to be holy.

i treasure these people. in their presence, i am regularly and alternately encouraged and humbled. most recently, the humbled bit has come through...
tonight was the first really gorgeous bit of spring in philly, which comes out in exuberantly mild, flowered glory this time of year. i wandered over to the park with five friends, and sometime along the way i realized (i think it was halfway between the conversations about 15 inch toads and anti-malaria medicine) that i realised that i am the only one of our merry little band (there are something more than ten of us) that has never lived overseas. (i take that back - there's one other girl. but she's engaged to a guy who's lived in multiple countries and plans to live in another one with him at some point soon, so does she count? (c:) . anyway, tonight i was the only one.

i so enjoy hearing my friends' stories about life in south america, the middle east, and southeast asia. to hear them talk about the foods they've eaten, the mountains they've climbed and - most importantly - the people they've known feeds and comforts something deep in me. i get to know them in a way that is so good - hearing about the experiences, and the conversations, and - again - the people that have made my friends who they are is a treasure to me - like the stories of watching the sun rise and set over the south pacific, or of bargaining in the markets of the middle east, or of snorkeling in the indian ocean. but i have to admit, sometimes i get jealous!

i grew up in a small city in iowa. IOWA. as i often tell people, it's a lovely place to have grown up, but when you're swapping stories with friends who spent significant portions of their childhoods overseas, it's easy to wish for better stories. y'know? i had a blessed childhood of comfort, raised by parents who love God, and who live out that love in their city in that state. blessings, all. but it means that my stories are stories of suburbia. oooh.

but i, like my friends, am a pot. should i the pot say to the Potter, why have You formed me out of the black soil of the midwest? why did you not form me from the sand of the egyptian desert? or the lava of the pacific islands? or the rock of the andes? why instead am i formed from earth that grows tame, trimmed seed-grass??

[how can i assume such an arrogant posture?]

how can i tell that for which i have been formed? how do i know what i the pot have been made to hold, and for what purpose the Potter chose what materials He did? i cannot; of course i cannot. i am silenced.

i am silenced, and i am thankful: thankful for the range of pots i see on the shelves around me and eager to see the purposes for which they have been created. what will this one hold? and that one? for what purpose has He shaped my friends? how will their design bring Him glory? yes, eagerly i wait to see these questions answered, though i know heaven alone may tell. i see my friends; i rejoice with them; and i am humbled by what their stories reveal in my heart. they are my proof that God loves us and wants us to be holy. i see that He has made all with deliberation and intent, and i want to wait humbly for the revelation, piece by piece, of His intent for me His pot.

semi-solo

2006-12-26T12:04:00.000-05:00

I just spent my first Christmas alone.

and it was really really lovely.

before i sound like a total Scrooge, i should explain that my parents, my brother, and my sister-in-law-to-be all had a family Christmas celebration hard on the heels of Thanksgiving. My parents, who live in Iowa, came out to philly to be with us kids, and we had our Christmas in November. my bro. and sis-in-law spent the actual holiday at their parents, and i flew solo.

sort of.

moving out to the east coast, away from family (especially for the first two years, before my brother joined me), has deepened and expanded my ken of "family." i never realized, before, how important people are - how much more important they are than place. i moved here and thought i didn't really need to have a travelling band of friends - that i could be enough on my own, for myself. when i moved, i was ready to be rid of some people - one in particular who had broken my heart in ways i didn't understand - and flying solo sounded pretty great.

but solo is never really so.

i had no money when i came, and only a small stipend on which to survive grad school, so i boarded with a lovely woman, a widow who had worked for years at my museum, named Esther. my dad drove out with me, settled me into my little room, and flew back to Iowa. immediately, Esther invited me to her family's backyard barbeque - the first of many family gatherings in which i was unquestioningly included. of course i should come - why not? her family was used to having her students join in to grandchildren's birthday parties, soup potlucks, and card-players' gatherings. come, and welcome.

but still - no family needed, thought i. the next summer, i packed a suitcase and headed for new york, to research my thesis and work at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. i'm a girl of the world, thought i, i'll do new york on my own and i'll do it with style. but even to get up to the city, my idea of solo was kindly tempered by Jim, husband of pauline, one of my professors. i was their default house-sitter, and they were my default holiday plans. jim offered to drive me up to new york, bought me lunch along the way, and wouldn't let me give him a penny for gas. pay it forward, he insisted, but don't pay me. i chafed at this, but began to ponder...

as i lived in new york that summer on my own, i tried even to hack my faith solo -- i stopped in at a good church most Sundays, and tried to read my Bible. but i didn't try to hold on to anyone for help and encouragement -- didn't tell anyone how i was doing or ask anyone for prayer. i ended the summer in a state of spiritual exhaustion and came back to my church in glen mills that fall begging God to make it home for me - to knit me in so i would not be solo. another semester passed, and soon i was panning for jobs up and down the east coast. in a near panic, i realized that solo would no longer work - it had never really. even when i had sought life alone, God had shored me up with family in my house, my program, and my church. people who had never clapped eyes on me twenty-four months earlier were suddenly among my dearest relatives.

in the two.5 years since, my sense of solo has been challenged repeatedly: i sold my car and relied, grudgingly at first, on friends' kindness and wheels. i dated a boy and learned what it means to show someone even your ugly parts (and then watch him stay anyway). i hosted a book club and saw it morph into the tightest group of friends i've ever had. when moved, i watched them carry every stick of my furniture down from a third floor walkup, across town in a philadelphia july, and up to another third-floor walkup (three days after they trooped up the same stairs to slog paint on the walls where they now spend at least one long evening every week).

this Christmas, i got to share a meal with some of them, playing cards into the wee sma's on the night of the 23rd, attending church with them on Christmas Eve before going out for lunch and then coffee, conversing, laughing, and sharing silence by turns. on Christmas Day, i shared dinner with a couple in my new church and four other "Christmas orphans," watching my family get a little bigger still.

i came home last night to reflect in front of my wee lit tree on my first solo holiday. solo, i think, may be a fallacy in my mind. by God's grace, even the times when i have felt most alone, He has surrounded me with people, dear ones who show in their lives that He has not forgotten me. He knows me intimately and has placed these in my path to help me remember that He sent His Son, His Immanuel, to be "God with us." that has made this holiday the sweetest of all.

grey//gold

2006-11-17T00:27:00.000-05:00

i found myself on kelly drive today, coming home from work along the schuylkill, and the wet, damp grey of the concrete was brilliantly set off by the sun-gold of the maple trees along the roadside. tucked between rocky cliffs and the road, the black bark-brown of the tree trunks are topped, for a little while longer, by the fluttery leaves that shake loose in the wind of a new storm.

grey. november. gold. the words seem to go together, somehow. i love november.
really, i love november in my city:: concrete//nature//urbanity//people//color.

**sigh** november in the city, in a place like kelly drive, is beautiful to me in the way that a violin in a minor key can knock your breath out with its understated { - - - }. do you know what i mean? it was one of those days when you ache for the beauty in the world, when your soul wants to stretch wide enough to comprehend it all, and you can't -- you know that there is a greater joy to the sound you hear and the image you see, but this side of heaven, you groan at your own incapacity to comprehend their wholeness.

do i approach God with that same longing -- deep, un-nameable yearning -- to understand His whole beauty? His whole grace? love? perfection?

ooh

2006-11-15T10:10:00.000-05:00

The city is a discourse and this discourse is truly a language: the city speaks to its inhabitants, we speak our city, the city where we are, simply by living in it, by wandering through it, by looking at it. (Roland Barthes)

***********

i want to let that roll around in my head for a little while, but isn't there so much there?

hmmm...

aptly named

2006-11-14T23:28:00.000-05:00

last week, i overslept (slightly) pulled on default overslept-need-something-that-won't-look-funny-and-be-comfortable outfit (fuzzily) stumbled down the stairs (groggily) and walked out the door (rotely). i could see through my morning fog enough to look forward to the train ride, which i had been missing for the past month as circumstances made it sensible to drive. passing the crowd gathered for the bus in front of my house, i turned the corner to walk to the trolley stop. ipod playing, sun shining -- i was just beginning to wake up.

two blocks into my eight-ish block walk, the toes of my perfectly-normal-default-comfortable-wouldn't-hurt-a-fly-much-less-trip-me clogs sent me straight. down. to the sidewalk -- flop -- rotating me ninety degrees until knees met concrete aggregate.

ouch.

like a seven-year-old, i looked down at my left knee and found my wool dress trousers shredded, and the skin below, too. like a twenty-six year old, i had to stand up and walk back to the house calmly, realising that i would not be taking the train that morning, and find other trousers to put on.

i got up the stairs to the apartment, walked in the door and -- to my roommate's quizzical why-are-you-back-didn't-you-just-leave look, simply pointed to the knee and silently teared up. yes, they are just trousers, but this was the latest chapter in my onogoing, bi-annual spill-for-no-particular-reason-and-ruin-whatever-skirt/trousers/various accessories-you-might-be-wearing habit. it does seem to be a habit -- **sigh**. and it was just the thing to put me over the edge to teariness that morning, which came in one of those sorts of weeks/months. ...

as i relayed this story to a co-worker yesterday, he very kindly told me of a theater choreographer he knew who claimed that dancers were the biggest klutzes, because they were used to moving gracefully through lots of (level) space. that did soothe my ego a bit -- i danced for a while, before giving it up (why??) to ride the pine as a third+-string shooting guard. so i always feel that i am dishonoring my ballet training when i fall, but now maybe not entirely...

anyway, that's my latest trip, and the latest proof of the blog name.

prairie space

2006-10-03T22:55:00.000-04:00

mellow...i think that's the best way i can describe my last week... i just got back from spending time with my parents in my iowa hometown. my goodness, but it's fascinating to move between east-coast urbanity and midwestern... non-urbanity!!

flying in to my local airport always fills me with something not quite nostalgic, but -- hmmm -- maybe familial? i'm not talking about warm fuzzies of anticipation for seeing my mom and dad... there's a feeling -- quite visceral, really -- that one gets toward the landscape of one's childhood. there's a beauty to the fields that i nearly loathed as a child. i remember very distinctly that i cried the day we ended our northern michigan vacation in 199x -- i wept for the lack of forests around my house! in one day, we had driven from somewhere like escanaba, michigan (on the u.p.) through green bay (with a side trip to lambeau field -- worthy of another post all its own), over and around the rolling dairy farms of southern wisconsin and back to... iowa. the prairie state. to my twelve year-old mind, it was the antithesis of beauty: it was flat and utilitarian (corn, soybeans, hogs; repeat), windy and hot -- and nothing like the cool, shady, vacation-linked beauty of the upper great lakes.

in one of my favorite books (Giants in the Earth), norwegian-american/minnesotan author Ole Rolvaag places his protagonists in the middle of the unbroken Dakota prairie and tracks the impassioned reactions that husband and wife have to its sheer, unbounded expanse. he is kindled, sparked by the opportunity that rolls before him like a carpet of prairie grass. his very steps are heavy with potential, with limitless possibility. she is terrified, undone by the absence of anything to hide behind. over and over, she circles the space with the frenetic energy of a prairie dog chasing down its burrow -- but finds nothing that can shield her from the open.

somewhere between his unbridled anticipation and her bottomless dread is my spectrum of feeling for the flatlands... having lived east for four+years, i understand now that the open space of the middle is something special -- something unique. and affection for the space has grown exponentially as i've experienced near-claustrophobia in the patches of corn that pass as fields in the mid-atlantic. there is a rolling rhythm to iowa's fertile patchwork (it does, indeed, resemble an earthy quilt from the sky) that grant wood captured most nearly... sonically, it resonates with the guitar sounds of U2's Joshua Tree. When i was in college, i would drive along highway 30 in my 2door V6 coupe, sunroof and windows wide open, and six-speaker stereo channeling the Edge's transcendent guitar -- the blue sky could not have been bluer against the green (is there a way to make green any greener? this would define it) GREEN fields of corn and beans, punctuated by faded red barns and grey-white four-square houses. Few places, if any, have been for me more exhilarating (even the ocean).

i'm not exactly sure why, as i can have very little in common with Rolvaag's hero -- I am not a farmer; nor am I encountering the prairie in its unbroken wildness. but there is a feeling of being able to move with freedom and abandon that is unique to that part of the country where you can see ten miles in any direction (without the aid of a mountaintop) -- and where roads strip out, stick straight, in cardinal directions for hundreds of miles.

this week was the first time in three+ years that i've been home not at Christmas, and to see the crops still in the fields and the leaves still on the trees was lovely... i sent a postcard to a friend and wrote that perhaps it's a landscape only a native could appreciate, but i am such a native -- and i will unashamedly love that land.

must be the endorphins

2006-09-25T19:56:00.000-04:00

running along the river is one of the privileges of this city in the almost-summer, summer, and still-barely-summertime. it seems that a full quarter of the city laces up the sneaks and hits the trail -- i wonder why they do it? each person has a different reason for being there... are they fitness nuts? reluctant joggers? trying to impress the girl/guy with whom they're running/biking/blading? hmmm... most of us run with little wires coming out of our ears -- are we grooving to smooth jazz? rocking out to metal? (smooth jazz?? i wonder who could possibly run to smooth jazz... it seems you'd just sloow d o o w w n u n t i l . . .

(so far, my favorite band to run to is semisonic... i love this band!! loved them since i lived in the state right below theirs, since "closing time" was the thing to sing at every graduation. if you've never tried their tunes, hop over to www.danwilsonmusic.com or www.semisonic.com to give a listen... it's good stuff, maynard.)

i'm always encouraged (is this mean?) to see that i'm not the slowest person out there. i'm nowhere near the fastest (ha!) but i can usually pass at least one person on the course of my two or three miles. when i'm passing them, though, i'm always thinking that they're probably at the end of some terrific eight-miler, and my wee little moral victory of passing them a mile out is pretty pathetic... oh well.

i ran in high school... suffice to say, cross-country and i were not friends. i never quite licked the mental challenge of pushing my body to do those races, and the seasons were pretty dismal. (really dismal). i laid off running for years, aside from the occasional string of three jogs here, another there -- but an overwhelming desire to know that i could -- if i wanted to -- propelled me into the running store this month to pick up a pair of shoes before i could change my mind. i walked in, told the lean, mean running machine by the door what sort of running i wanted to do, and walked out with the second pair he brought out: Saucony Grid Omnis. Grey.

i like my running shoes. very much.

tying them on my feet is like a new little victory each time. i am making the decision to go out, again, and once i go out, i will run, and i will come back having run. i just got back a little while ago from a three-miler (i think -- must get accurate measure of trail) and my legs have that vaguely achey feeling that is nearly euphoric to me. discipline! endurance! perseverance! that is what my achey-ness means right now. if i can push my body to finish something on a trail, i can push the rest of me to stick out other patience-requiring situations currently in play... and i end each run relieved to know just that.

why i live in the city, #435 / why i drink coffee, #687

2006-09-23T14:10:00.000-04:00

one of the greatest pleasures of living in a city is the twinning of neighborhood and food. for a summer, i lived in new york, and i joke with philadelphia friends that if i take them to manhattan, they will be given a summary tour of hole-in-the-wall finger food places up and down the island. in my mind, sense of place is intricately bound up with the gastronomic as well as the aesthetic, and this morning was a lovely example.

friend c. picked me up at my apartment and we drove over to the italian market section of the city, which is a sheer delight for anyone who loves the pleasures of interesting food. within a few-block span, there are three excellent places for brunch (or, anyway, three that he and i have collectively discovered -- there are probably many, many more). as you stroll from one to the other, searching for the shortest line, you see others in the neighborhood doing the same thing, or nearly the same -- but the point is, there are PEOPLE in the STREETS -- native city dwellers will not realize the impact this has on an ex-suburbanite. it's actually quite revolutionary! uniquely in the city (in my mid-Atlantic city, anyway), there are spaces, and people move through them in an un-insulated (read: not sealed in a car) fashion. they are open to hearing the sounds and smelling the smells and seeing the textures of the people and structures in the space. i love this! there is community... in the very best sense described by Jane Jacobs (see favorite book section for more of her layman's observations of urban design -- i'm a fan). There are eyes on the street, and they're not afraid to look around.

little places, like the butcher's cafe, where we ate today, seem to me to be touchstones for this sort of community -- they are destinations for the strolls through the streetscape, places where the neighborhood pauses to interact with its own or to allow outsiders to slip inside. we were outsiders today, but even outsiders can appreciate that kind of food! wow... conversation kept either of us from finishing our dishes (frittata primavera with turkey bacon (him) and challah french toast stuffed with summer fruit (me)), and i, lucky girl that i am, got to bring home leftovers. sooo... when i am done updating the internet on the pleasures of interesting neighborhood food enjoyed in situ, i will go remind my palate of same.

whole books could be written, as well, on the wonder of a thickly potted, grey-white glazed stoneware mug filled, always and as though by magic, with diner coffee. to me, it is the single greatest catalyst for conversation. sit two people down at a table across from one another and feed them -- they will first have to wait for their food, and after they finish the food, they will wait for the check. the waiting time before and after will be without props -- and two people forced to converse without props have no little bit of anything to hide behind. -- there's no warm-up: it's just you and him, and you have either to dive into each other's expressions or to remain silent.

IF, however, you have a warm mug of coffee, conversation can ramp up gradually: coffee arrives, along with small bowl of creamer... open creamer, pour in -- add sugar if you must -- and stir... words begin, but eye contact can be spotty....(clank, clink -- find a place to lay your dripping spoon -- ah, the napkin -- and now...) the stirring finished, you wrap your hands around the mug (assume position) and sip slowly, peering over the rim at your dining partner... sentences can flow, punctuated by measured sips when pause is needed. lest even this early stage ramp up too quickly, one of the incredibly attentive wait staff apparates at your elbow, and though you have a strict two-cup limit on per-meal caffeine, you welcome about a half-dozen half-fresh cups that she will pour for you between now and when your food arrives (followed by a symmetrical portion after the plates are cleared). by the time forks and knives are picked up to begin the entree, conversant rhythms are hitting their strides, nursed from infancy by the screen of the grey-white stoneware filled with -- as friend n lovingly coined -- the golden nectar.

hmmm.. saturday mornings were made for such things.

and so it begins...

2006-09-22T00:58:00.000-04:00

After de-lurking on yet another blog, i've realized that turnabout is, in fact, fair play... so here goes.

i'm not even sure who will know about this little project, but it seems a good way to refine a few thoughts and to dialogue with friends, old and new. by way of introduction (and explanation), i am a gracefull klutz... i am a christian (of the presbyterian variety), increasingly and keenly aware of my stumbling need for God's abundant grace. i love learning about theology and its applications to all facets of life, so reading of that variety often spawns lengthy conversations -- and perhaps, now, lengthy posts? my non-bloggy friends will be relieved if some of the pressure is taken off them to listen to my "oh-my-word-i-have-to-tell-you-about-the-great-book-i-just-picked-up-about-the-church-and-the-arts" rants!

in everyday physical reality, i am simultaneously a decent dancer and an accident waiting to happen. narrating my encounters with new cities usually includes an obligatory "and-this-is-how-i-tore-my-favorite-trousers-and-spilled-coffee-on-the-person-who-would-have-been-my-first-friend-there" stories...

i am a midwestern transplant to the east coast and am thoroughly fascinated by american regionalism. i don't care how homogenized our television accents are, there are most definitely cultural differences between sections of this country, and i am having a ball observing them. i come from a serious ag state but love, love, love living in the city -- public transit has become one of my dearest friends! other things that make me happy are meeting people at farmer's markets, cooking big meals for friends (who tell me good stories that make me laugh while we eat), reading books that poke my mind into wakefulness, running to know that i can, and making art for the sheer possibility of beauty.

i dearly love my friends and my family. ice cream and coffee make me irrationally excited. my master's thesis focused on the material culture of migration, and all stories/artifacts of travel and transition fascinate me.

i s'pose that's about enough for a first pass...