President Mannnoia Stars in the Dark Knight

I've Accepted It

The sorting hat says that I belong in Hufflepuff!

Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same."

Hufflepuff students are friendly, fair-minded, modest, and hard-working. A well-known member was Cedric Diggory, who represented Hogwarts in the most recent Triwizard Tournament.

Scored 89/100

BUT I scored 80/100 for

The sorting hat says that I belong in Ravenclaw!

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Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest."

Ravenclaw students tend to be clever, witty, intelligent, and knowledgeable.
Notable residents include Cho Chang and Padma Patil (objects of Harry and Ron's affections), and Luna Lovegood (daughter of The Quibbler magazine's editor).

Again, I'm a combination. But I concede, Hufflepuff wins out.

http://www.personalitylab.org/tests/ccq_hogwarts.htm

Boxes, Boxes, Boxes or Seven Days and Counting

I'm being haunted by the Jason Mraz song Remedy, which I haven't heard since Freshman year. I thought of it the other day and now I keep hearing it on the radio every time I'm in the car and it always comes on during the lyrics, "When I fall in love/Now I take my time/There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind." Picture me turning on the radio and jerking in my car, akin to something Eric Matthews would do in response to Mr. Feeny, when Jason Mraz's whiny voice tells me not to worry my life away.

If you're the my-life-is-a-movie kind, then you'll understand that I'm beginning to wonder what my repetitive soundtrack is trying to tell me.

Goals for Life

In the last few weeks of school, two of my friends were writing out lists of things they wanted to do in their lives. Every so often, the image of them sitting across from me at the kitchen table, diligently writing with their pencils comes to mind and I wonder what I would put on my list. Just yesterday, another one of my friends commented on my 'soccer mom' potential and I laughed at how I thought about putting that on the list.
So, currently:

Life Goals
1. Write a book, write a book, write a book (you get the idea).
2. Go on book tour with one of said books. Read excerpts, hear stories, sign my name in only Precise Pilot ink, live large.
3. Do some screen writing (although the prospect of living where all the other screen writers live does NOT interest me).
4. Break into the freelance scene while at Anderson. Write for obscure Catholic Teen Periodicals. Write about truth and experience. Find my niche.
5. Find the real Jim Halpert and elope in a white, 200 year old church surrounded by fall leaves in Maine.
6. Become Soccer/Baseball Mom with a van, visor, and cooler complete with Capri Suns.
7. Live in Britain.
8. Go to Italy.
9. Become familiar with Hebrew and Greek.
10. Form an alliance with J.K.Rowling, Lauren F. Winner, Kathleen Norris, and Anne Lamott and rule the world.

Dalton, GA

The other day, Anna and I were laying on the living room couches, she on the yellow makeout couch and I on the green, broken futon, looking like someone had slain us both (which is probably true considering the academic and emotional stress that swept through our apartment last week). "What are we going to do next year?" Anna asked as we both looked up at the ceiling and the rain poured down outside. This is the question that has plagued us for the last month, aka our last month of college, and it was 4:30 in the afternoon (the worst time of the day), and it was pouring, which it has done for the last week.

So we did the only logical thing we could possibly do: find the halfway point between Nashville, Tennessee (Anna's beloved city-they had a fling last summer and now it may be getting serious) and Anderson, South Carolina (my new and exciting homeland).

The result: Dalton, Georgia, Carpet Capital of the World.

Heck yes.

The Dalton Chronicles, coming to a blog near you.

Spring

Today was the first spring thunderstorm I’ve been around for. The lightning (the kind that lights up the whole sky like day) and the thunder (the kind that sounds like the thunder you hear during the staged sound at a play) showed up before the rain (the kind that was a torrential downpour at some points and amazingly light at other points, leaving you to guess which part you’d be caught in). I picked my steps carefully as I walked through campus tonight, the streams of water coursing through the walkways, little bursts of wind seemingly coming from the ground, blowing up at my hair and umbrella, cooling the air. And the defining spring thunderstorm factor-it stayed around for hours, achingly easing itself through town, flooding the streets, causing us to listen for its fading departure.

Lentil Soup Lenten Season

It’s Lent again. I’ve come to the same conclusions: I normally fail. This year I decided to get up for Morning Prayer at St. Paul’s. For two weeks I was going strong, and then I wouldn’t get up for Saturday or I would just sleep in this day. And then my room mate, who has given up her love of Diet Coke for Lent, asks, “What about morning prayer?”

Ohhhh, but it’s just so early. There are so many things that are good about it. I physically have to prepare in order to go: figure out when I’m taking showers because I am not getting up super early, get my homework done at a decent hour, make the decision to go to bed early. It’s not that much to sacrifice but it’s just different, it’s not what I’m normally used to.

And I even love getting up early, going outside and hearing the early morning birds as I walk to my car. Sitting at St. Paul’s and watching as the sun rises higher and shines light into the sanctuary. Starting off my day with the confession of sin. Starting off my day with communion and community and drinking coffee. Why the heck not?

But, I’ve failed again. Another Lenten season, another reminder that I continually need grace, that I always need discipline.

Kathleen Norris in her book, A Cloister Walk, describes the daily hearing of scripture in the Daily Office of Morning Prayer: “For a long time I had no idea why I was so attracted to the Benedictines, why I keep returning to their choirs. Now I believe it’s because of the hospitality so vast that it invites all present into communion with the text being read. I encounter there not a God who rejects me because I can’t pass some dogmatic litmus test but one who invites me to become part of a process, the continuing revelation of holy word. Heard aloud, the metaphors of scripture are roomy indeed; they allow me to relax, and listen, and roam. I take them in, to my “specific strength,” as Emily Dickinson put it in her poem “A Word made Flesh is seldom.” And I hope to give something back.” (217)

I’ve had a lot of conversation lately about individual experience of good and bad and how that shapes our notion of good and bad. For instance, I’ve experienced good and bad in the Catholic church and different Protestant denominations. Life is available in both places, but sometimes our views, or our families’ views, are shaped by our experience of ‘bad’ in one denomination and ‘good’ in another. Sometimes I wish we could set up booths of confession like Donald Miller talks about in Blue Like Jazz, except we would confess to each other as Christians, not to the outside world. I would apologize for the way you were hurt when a priest told you your marriage wasn’t legitimate, for the way the Vatican seems powerful and far away and not personable, for tradition offending your notion of God. And maybe someone could say “I’m sorry” about all the times I’ve been told that I’m going to hell because I’m Catholic, for the notion that the Holy Spirit isn’t present in the mass/structured forms of worship, for the belief that my infant baptism isn’t legitimate. Maybe then we could start to let some things go.

I know my experience lately has told me that the lectionary, the sacraments, and the daily offices of prayer are awesome. I translate that into all those things being preferable to other forms of worship, mostly because my experience in high school with the charismatic movement was not good. But that doesn’t mean that the charismatic movement is bad. In all things there are goods and bads. I hope to continue to transcend my experience—Lent is for reflection!

Green Man

Lest you thought I was dead, O Ye of little faith.

My Faith and Writing Statement for my Grad Application to Seattle Pacific University's MFA in Creative Writing:

My writing and my faith have been intrinsically connected since the first grade. In those early years, my life consisted of growing up in a white farmhouse on a hill next to a two-story barn with peeling red paint. A glorified road composed of two ruts side by side in the ground winded their way slowly up two fields of corn to acres of green grass, a mossy pond, and a thick line of trees that composed the end of my backyard and the beginning of the forest. Without neighbors or a suitable TV antenna, my days were spent sitting underneath my favorite tree, digging my fingernails into the newly dug soil surrounding my mother’s tulip bulbs, constantly imagining different characters and their stories. The heavy smell of the topsoil was like incense, awakening in me the thoughts that occurred underneath the tree so many times before. I would sit back against my tree and watch as the wind rippled through the yellow corn stalks, listen as it greeted the leaves above me, and then close my eyes as it blew the long strands of blond hair away from my face, entering into the place where I felt most like myself: my imagination.
I sat in church with the same attitude; a place that was as mystical and thought provoking as the spot underneath my tree. Most of my days in church were spent in white, hooded robes holding the prayer book for the priest or lighting the candles for the mass. I would sit as the familiar words of scripture were read, listening to the baptismal font percolate in the back, digging my fingernails into the red plush of the pew until it was time to help with communion. The iconic symbols before me were so familiar: Eucharist, chalice, table, and cross. This familiarity allowed me to enter into the same place of imagination, a place that I viewed as holy from the time spent in the pews flanking the side of the altar.
My front yard and my pew in church served as the foundations for the two most important areas in my life: writing and faith. Both of these places allowed me a sense of the simple, the symbolic, and the passing of time, where writing was more like a religious discipline and faith a place of great description and imagination. The simplicity of the way a leaf fell to the ground or the way the light increasingly shined through the tall, glass windows at church shaped my idea of the experience of joy and whetted my appetite to flesh out these experiences with words.
The symbols I found in church came to life in the outdoors. The green fabric that lined the altar and the vestments of the priest to symbolize growth in Ordinary Time during the summer was the same green I found when I looked up into the leaves from the base of my tree. In the same manner, the darkness and expectation of light that I experienced in Advent, Christmas, and Lent corresponded with the cracking, ice laden tree branches and the sun setting at 4:30 pm. These memories of years before continue to be the subject matter of what I write about today, continuing to yearn for meaning as I continue to pass through the different seasons of the Church and the different seasons of nature.
This passing of time displayed itself outside my front door with the planting and harvesting of crops, the changing color and falling of leaves. Alongside of this was the marking of time in the continual retelling of the Christ drama both in each individual mass and the liturgical seasons occurring throughout the year. I have learned that the passing of time is my greatest asset, affording me rich experiences that continue to teach me as I mature in the areas of faith and writing.
As I entered high school and college, it was evident that the imaginations of my childhood and the time I spent in the white, hooded robes were not simply a phase. Leadership with the attitude of a servant and expressing my thoughts through words became ways of life. I entered college as an English major, hoping that I would learn how to wield my imagination into words in honor of the little girl that stapled pieces of paper together to resemble a book about the flowers circling the base of the tree in the front yard. I also became a Resident Assistant, knowing that my place was with people.
I did not expect to find a new appreciation for Christ and the Church, as I had left the symbolism and traditional nature of the Catholic church behind in high school, wooed by my high school Evangelical friends’ descriptions of their very friendly, very present Jesus. Without the same friends in college, I found myself stripped of the faith I thought I built at the non-denominational church down the road, realizing that I only took on their mindsets to be accepted, not because I actually believed them. During this time I frequented the bench on the quad surrounded by trees in order to journal, to try and make sense of my feelings. I watched as the trees passed from alive to dead to alive again, claiming one of the only truths I knew to be true at this time: the passing of time would break the ground of my heart, allowing for the hope of something to grow again.
Junior year found my heart ready as I decided to take on a Religion minor after taking a class focusing on the Pauline Epistles. This class required me to research and write about my findings, allowing me to begin my quest to understand and respond in writing to biblical texts. I found in both the Old and New Testament a continual struggle to understand the past and to understand God. I found texts about the holy judgment of God laid next to texts of His restorative nature. I fell in love with Judaism and the history of the Israelites. My heart began to feel soft, ready to take the risk of growing again.
I started going to a small, traditional church that reads the lectionary, engages in the Offices of Prayer, offers communion every Sunday, and marks time by the same Church calendar seasons I grew up with. I let the familiarity of the services wash over me as I pondered the meaning of the strange sculptures hung on the walls of the church. Pieces of wood with the appearance of human chests were wrapped around stalks of wheat and gnarled branches from trees. I later found out that the sculptures represented the myth of the Green Man, an early story that may have been connected with the redemptive myth of Christ. I was overwhelmed as I realized that I was literally surrounded by pieces of art that not only drew their focus from a myth that weaves in and out of literature, but the sculptures also symbolized growth, restoration, and redemption. Jesus had truly met me where I was and began to restore in me a sense of mystery and symbolism, calling me to respond in the same traditional manner of my childhood. I felt like the sculptures of the Green Man, sure that trees had started to grow out of my heart in response to my renewed appreciation for the rich symbolism of tradition.
The only way I know how to process my past and present experiences of community in the hearing of the Word and the participation in the table is to write, telling the redemptive stories that are both mine and the community’s, as we continue to respond to God as time quickly passes around us.

It Started With a Christmas Present

My favorite Clark Gable film so far is "It Started In Naples" with Sophia Loren and the most hilarious little Italian boy you will ever see on film. Ryan gave it to me for Christmas, to which I exclaimed: "Oh, I love Clark Gable!" Gable made this film in 1960-his second to last film. Gable finds himself in Italy to take care of his deceased brother's estate. What he finds is an 8-year-old Italian boy (his nephew) that doesn't go to school because it starts to early, smokes, drinks, and curses. I was in love. Gable also finds, of course, Sophia Loren, the little boy's guardian. The love story was predictable, but I think the reason I liked this movie so much was because of the Italian boy and the fact that they were on the Island of Capri, which made me think of Elizabeth Gilbert's travels in the book I'm reading: Eat, Pray, Love. The entire Eat section is devoted to her travels in Italy.

Italy seems like a fun place to be. Gable is annoyed, at first, by the parties that go all night in the streets and the fact that he can't speak Italian (which is the world's most beautiful language-again, read Eat Pray Love.) But he comes around and gets the best of both worlds when he decides to stay with Loren and the Italian boy on Capri. My dad would also like me to mention that it is a very colorful film; he kept coming into the living room and exclaiming: "It's so colorful!" Yes, Father, the beauty of VistaVision in the 60's. So yes, you can borrow "It Started in Naples" if you would like, seeing that it is the first Clark Gable movie that I own. It's worth watching just to laugh at how much the Italian people yell at each other, including the 8-year-old.

I met Pam Beasley today at Family Hair Care. No, not Jenna Fischer....a real Pam. I was sitting next to this woman as we were waiting for our hair to continue to dye and we started talking about how she is from Michigan and here for her brother-in-law's wedding. Come to find out that she is a receptionist and an artist and her husband proposed to her after 5 years of being 'just friends.' She did actually look like Pam too. She was so nice! I told her to watch the office. She told me that she liked talking to me and to have a nice life.

Next Gable movie: "Mutiny on the Bounty."

Inevitably

"Gone with the Wind" or The Southern Version of Days of our Lives or The Movie with 18,000 Deaths. Four hours, two meals, and one nap later, I have finished the Scarlet O'Hara Saga, to be aired later this month in segments as an E! True Hollywood Story because Lord knows that the whole thing wouldn't be able to fit in a one hour show. OK, so, this isn't going to be a rant about what I just watched. I will stick strictly to Mr. Gable; if I don't, just slap your computer or something.

It started off all good and well-the classic 'love/hate' story. I knew that Scarlet was going to get annoying, but I didn't think I would have to follow her through three marriages and, as stated before, 18,000 deaths. I liked Gable's character, I mean, we're supposed to like him even if he is somewhat of a sleaze....but he grows out of that and we all have hopes for Scarlet's spoiled nature to leave. I think I liked Rhett Butler because I've only seen Gable play the atypical, quiet hero-the bad boy role was good for him, and I hope some of his other characters are a little shady in my upcoming viewings of movies of his that are only an hour and a half long. And I have to admit, I was confused for at least two hours by why he loved Scarlet so much. Then came the scene when he said that they were exactly alike, and I nodded my head in approval to the writers. 'Yes, I can see that. And she'll come around, and you will make sure that, even though it may seem impossible, they will end up together in the end like you always do, writer men and women.' Well, they were together, but the movie just couldn't end there...I mean, we're talking about the death of the South, so I guess that means everyone has to die, including marriages and unborn babies.

I kept waiting for the "Frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn" line, and I started to imagine it in all sorts of different contexts as the movie started to throw me for a loop as I moved on to disc two. I imagined it in the context of Rhett telling Scarlet that he didn't care if she loved another man, that he was indeed going to marry her. I tried to imagine it when he was telling her that he was going off to war and that he didn't care if he was shot. I tried to imagine it when he was taking their daughter, Bonnie, off to London. Nope. None of those. But when does the line come up? At the end, which is fine, but it's when he is LEAVING her, and he doesn't give a damn about that! Yes he does! I understand that you've been through a lot, Rhett, but she's finally telling you that she loves you and you should give a damn! (Imagine me ironing clothes, watching daytime tv, and yelling those same things at the Days of Our Live characters-yep, exactly the same thing) And THEN, to make matters even worse, Scarlet realizes that she can just go home. Go home to her Tara, to her beautiful plantation. THAT'S the moral of the story? Land? Dirt in your fist? TARA??!? Whatever, Scarlet, whatever.

Ok, so I both understand and applaud the efforts to make this a not happy movie. The character development was quite good, and even I admit that I subscribe to a post-modern archetypal 'everything works out in the end' BAM end of character development story line, but I'm just not a fan.

The Winter Snows are Coming!

That's a common fear in the Yukon, but people are going crazy for 'a pich of the yellow stuff' in "Call of the Wild." I streamed this movie from Netflix, was settling down in my bed, expecting the same caliber of film as "The Tall Men." I was immediately excited that it was in black and white (1935). I don't know why it didn't click that, because this movie was made exactly 20 years before Tall Men, Clark Gable woud look a considerable amout younger. When he entered on screen, very slim, very dressed up, and very scruffy, I literally jumped up toward the computer screen for a closer look and thought "That's Clark Gable?!" It was the difference from this to this:

He played the same character, except this time there was snow to think of, dogs to mush, and gold to find. He knew everything about the Alaskan wilderness, just like he knew everything about the wild west. He was also flanked with a sidekick similar to the one in Tall Men. The love story was a bit more complicated in this one: woman who lost her husband on the trail, then said husband shows up after Gable and woman are in love. Throughout the entire movie Gable and "Mrs. Blake" keep referring to the metaphor of the 'Yukon Law'-whatever you need, you take, even if it's from someone else. She doesn't think this is very fair, whether the law concerns food or people's former wives, but falls in love with him anyway. And I mean, come on, you're in an abandoned shack mining for gold with 1935 Clark Gable and he keeps staring at you....I don't blame you. Her husband shows up and she does the right thing: leaves with him, promising Gable they will see each other. But the movie ends with Gable's sidekick coming back for him.


All in all, it was a good flick; the dialogue is still what drives all of these movies because they didn't have much in the area of special effects. I think I'm going to come up with some sort of 'scoring' chart-you know, akin to 5 stars or something.

Hello, Mr. Gable

The first Clark Gable movie I watched was "The Tall Men." It's a Western: they drive cattle from Texas to Montana with the usual trouble of Jayhawkers (rock chock, KU, anyone?) and the Sioux. Clark Gable plays Ben Allison, an outlaw turned right by a man who is offering him money to be a trail boss and lead the thousands of cattle and men to Montana.

Of Course, there is a love interest. Her name is Nella and she's played by Jane Russell (picture to the left), who my grandfather knows. Yeah, not kidding. I told my dad about my Clark Gable moving watching over break and he immediately called my grandfather and told him I watched "The Tall Men," after which Grandpa told me that he knows Jane Russell and that his other good friend, Dale Robertson, was supposed to play the lead in the movie, not Clark Gable. All of these names probably mean nothing to you, but let's equate Jane Russell as the 1930's and 40's version of Meg Ryan. Dale Robertson is a very famous cowboy, which makes sense that he would be offered the part since most of the movie is built around the journey to Montana with cattle. How does my grandfather know them, you ask? Well, let's just say that when you drive up to my grandparents house, one of the first things you will see is a stake in the very front of their yard from The Great American Cattle Drive. Oh, but you may not notice it because there is a large, black stallion statue also in the front yard. My grandparents' house is filled with everything western: horses, chaps, whips, saddles with poems about the west lazered into them. My grandparents have actually been on cattle drives, frequently go to "Western Events," a.k.a. where all the famous people go who also love the west, and my grandfather heads up an organization called West Quest that is basically a cowboy crusade to fight cancer-they raise money for the American Cancer Society. I don't know, I just thought all of this was normal. My crazy grandparents that like to travel everywhere and let people stay at their house that are famous in the western world that most of my generation do not participate in. But I've always wanted to marry a cowboy (makes sense, right?).

I love the dialogue in this movie: a hillarious combination of the 50's and the west. At one point, Gable comes across Russell's caravan and they're starving. They have mules with them and Gable decides that he's going to butcher one. He tells Russell that it's "Missouri Elk." Yeah, definitely something my grandpa would say and also something my dad laughed at. Both Ben and Nella are stubborn as can be because they have to be-shooting enemies all the time and trying to live in the wild west. This makes for a very interesting love story, especially when Nella is wooed by the guy who offers Ben all that money to drive the cattle. One tactic that Nella employs is singing metaphorically whenevere Ben is around to get her point across. She always seems to be singing about herself as a peach tree, waiting for her love to come by so she can shake some peaches down. Maybe I should start singing about myself metaphorically whenever I'm around someone I'm attracted to. What words would I use to describe myself in a way that he would think I'm interested in him, not crazy? Ok, so maybe that only works in covered wagons with a lot of dust and a lot of knowing you might die that day from people on the trail.

This is older Clark Gable, not Gone With the Wind Clark Gable and certainly not the man who is pictured at the top of my Clark Gable Filmography Check List (thank you Anna). But he was the star of the show all the same and I'm looking forward to watching the other movies-up next, Call of the Wild.

Moral of this Post: Clark Gable movies are bringing me closer to my family.

Highlights of the Semester

I have that lilac-y, violet-y smell on my hands. This is the smell of the soap in my bathroom that has occupied the sink for the last two years. I bring my hand to my face to smell it and I immediately feel that my nose is cold (also a good indicator of being home because my dad likes to keep us guessing with the heating-only during the night and only when it’s cold enough). If this isn’t enough for me, I can look around at the random piles of objects in every room and feel right at home: camera and video equipment, books and clothes that Ryan and I have no room for at school, movies from Netflix. Even the refrigerator is randomly compiled; I felt amazingly at home when I opened the refrigerator and had the choice of making a completely random meal. For those of you who don’t know, making meals at my house is quite an art considering I have parents that have full time day AND night jobs. Usually my refrigerator has mustard, pickles, and milk in it…with some slices of deli cheese if you’re lucky. But Ryan has been home for a few days so I am delighted to see the random assortment of goods in the fridge: boxes of leftover takeout that I smell for safety purposes, my favorite ham from the deli, twenty-five different condiments including ten different types of salad dressing, and an entire pot that I didn’t even open but I’m guessing has spaghetti in it. I decided I couldn’t pass up the ham since I spotted provolone cheese in the drawer and some honey wheat bread in the cupboard. My mom’s favorite salsa was also staring me in the eye: an econo-size vat of ‘fresh salsa’ that is more like watered down mixed up vegetables that she is ridiculously anal about buying from Sam’s Club. I look in the cupboard again and find four bags of Tostitos chips. Perfect. Lemonade was sitting out on the counter, so of course I couldn’t pass that up. And so I had lunch. The tastes didn’t compliment each other at all, which was beautiful because that’s the way it always is at my house. I was completely satisfied and continued to eat pounds of salsa and chips as I read the book Anna is lending me, refilling my lemonade glass every other chapter.

Since I haven’t written very much this semester and seeing how, according to Yahoo.com, people like to read information in lists, I am going to write about the highlights of my semester. So, without further ado, in no particular order at all, my semester:

The St. Meinrad’s Trip: For Foundations of Christian Doctrine class, we went to St. Meinrad’s Monastery in St. Meinrad, Indiana. This trip was somewhat like meatloaf and chocolate pudding: comforting. “The trip required us to travel across Southern Illinois and Indiana, causing us to view the newly harvested fields, the scattered trees, and the farm houses, barns, and silos that seemed to be leaning ever so slightly to one side due to the wear and tear they had inevitably experienced from the wind blowing across the prairie over the years. I simply gazed out the window the entire ride because the landscape was comforting to me. I grew up with corn fields in my front yard and wooded timber in my backyard. Not only did that upbringing create a Little House on the Prairie mentality within me, but it also created a sense of home that revolved around the planting and harvesting of the fields, and the growing and changing of the leaves. Home was also defined by the rhythm the liturgical calendar brought through Catholicism. Fields and blue sky, such as the ones that were passing by during the car ride, will always remind me of my childhood, which was defined largely by country living and a Catholic upbringing. It was only fitting, then, that after we traveled across my homeland we arrived at a Catholic institution: St. Meinrad’s Monastery.” –From my reflection paper on the trip. In short, we got to pray with the monks, attend mass, and eat every meal as a class. The long of it is that I can’t deny my love for the Midwest (as shown above). The agriculture, the 360 degree view of the snow globe-like sky I have from my front porch, the seasons, and yes, the flatness. St. Meinrad’s also seems to have a patent on sacred space which was also homelike: not talking before church because your whispers would reverberate off the marble walls, listening to the trickling of the water in the baptismal font, your gaze being caught by the art in the stained glass windows. Yes, meatloaf and chocolate pudding.

Being on Senior Staff for Rez Life/Becoming Wendy: It would be easy to romanticize about being the SRC (it’s helped me so much as a leader) and at the same time it would be easy to complain about it (sometimes I don’t want that much responsibility), but I can’t deny that it’s been a good thing in most ways. I’m looking forward to looking for jobs as a Resident Director next year-we’ll see if that works out. While working as the SRC, I have become pretty close with the RD’s of other buildings, which brings me to my nickname for myself: Wendy. As you may recall, Wendy spends most of her time with the lost boys in Peter Pan. Nathan, Tim, and Seth are those boys; Seth says I’m blessed to be surrounded by good looking men all the time. I say I’m either blessed or cursed, but I’ll go on record and say that it’s definitely not the latter. I am very grateful for you men, and I’m getting really good at ping pong!

Living with Anna/Nancy: Anna’s mom always talks about her college room mate, Nancy. She talks about her with love and fond memories and laughter. Anna is my Nancy. I am thankful for Anna for two reasons: 1. She thinks my crazy ideas are great and not weird. We’ve ordered in courses from McDonalds, read favorite parts of books out loud to each other, created fictitious characters that we refer to as if they live in the real world, played in the snow, committed a crime, and have decided to become equally obsessed with two different things over break (haiku for Anna, Clark Gable movies for me). Ok, this is either akin to kindred spirit-ness or small group communication. I heard the other day that a group for small group com. went out and got tattoos together. Anna, don’t get any ideas, and yes, I AM referring to the communication department, Lord have mercy.
2. Anna is helping me to see both more of who I am and who I can be. However cheesy that may sound, I greatly appreciate her positive Maximizer even though my Intellection just wants to shut the door and think life away. If you don’t understand the last sentence, take the StrengthsFinder, it WILL change your life…or at least your conversations.

Studying World Religions: I never really understood why, when I went to night class on Tuesdays at 6:30 in Dietzman (Lord have mercy again), I felt so peaceful. For three hours a week I had the opportunity to learn about the world’s major religions: Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. I had the opportunity to interview an Orthodox Rabbi in St. Louis. I read fiction and memoirs from every religion. My Input was on fire and I could picture Lauren F. Winner sitting next to me, coaxing me along as I tried to put words around what I was learning about and from these religions that were taking the corners of my mindset about the world and running with them in opposite directions. It’s only fitting that I’m now reading Eat, Pray, Love (coming to a book review blog near you soon) by Elizabeth Gilbert-a book that expands on what it means to be a person with worth that affirms beauty and God at the same time, mostly through the mediums of religion in India. Reading this book after studying Hinduism and Buddhism is like eating carrot cake or coconut cake-it’s sweet and meaty-I understand and, therefore, appreciate. Thank you Greenville College. I still can’t seem to shake the feeling that if I grew up in another country, I would be that culture’s religion, just like Christianity is culture here. I see how other people, through the books we have read, are trying to make sense of life through the faith they have grown up with. This only makes me want to dig deeper into Christianity to both validate what I grew up with and to find myself and God all at the same time.

Noticing Things: I don’t know if it’s because I’m going to graduate or what, but I seem to be taking in the scenery a lot more this year at GC. I’ve kept a few orange and red leaves between the pages of an Anne Lamott book to remember my last fall. I was walking up to Archer one time and was struck by the pink sky, the coldness, and the bird singing in the dead tree limbs. We have officially celebrated the snow by walking around in it during the wee hours of the morning. The witch’s frost (google image it) that showed up on all the trees one morning was stunning. This morning I was driving back from the airport before the sun rose and had to keep telling myself to look at the road because I was in love with the gray and pink striped sky-before-the-sun right above the snow line. It’s like I’m taking the deep breath before graduation, breathing it all in before it’s time to move on. Second semester winter-to-spring awaits me!

Look forward to commentary on Clark Gable movies, reviews on Eat, Pray, Love, Cloister Walk, and, surprisingly, The Golden Compass. Also, the quickest way to put Jim and Pam’s relationship on hold is to piss off the Writers Guild of America so much that they stop writing shows for the Office and other major productions for late night television. Check.

New Years Resolution: To blog more? Oh, and no fast food. Ok, good.

PB & J: Pam Beasley and Jim

With the advent of another Office season, friends of mine have sparked the question: “What’s going to happen between Pam and Jim?” I understand this wondering, considering we’ve been waiting for three seasons for them to have a moment in time where they could actually date. After an engagement, a relationship, a relationship after breaking off an engagement, and a move, our beloved Pam and Jim seem to both finally know what they want: each other.

After so many Ross and Rachel type relationships (10 episodes), I wonder why we keep watching. Why do we always hold out for them to get together? If I told my best friends that I was in love with someone who is engaged, I doubt there response would be “BFD! Engaged ain’t married!” And there certainly wouldn’t be any running down the aisle interruptions on the wedding day, exclaiming that no, in fact I could not hold my peace-he should not get married. It all just seems so dramatic (case in point, right? We wouldn’t actually watch television that was boring.)

But it also is archetypal. Most English teachers I know would argue that we think stories are good because they satisfy what we already know to be true in our minds. In other words, we expect certain things to happen because they are so engrained. These stories may have different twists and certainly different settings, but there are only really two types of the love story:

1. Boy and Girl can’t be together for whatever reason. This story capitalizes on the ‘forbidden love’ aspect, where we find our classic love stories like Romeo and Juliet (family), Aladdin and Jasmine (social statuses), Pam and Jim (engagement/another relationship).

2. Boy and Girl start off hating one another and then eventually fall in love. Elizabeth and Darcy, Joe Fox and Kathleen Kelly, Lightning McQueen and Girl Car (they train us early.)

Yes, our Pam and Jim story is the retelling of a love story that we’re already familiar with. And while we constantly hope for them to be together, I have some bad news-normally that particular archetypal love story focuses more on when they’re not together or them actually wishing they were together than them actually being together. It’s not like number two where we gradually see people move closer and closer together until they are in a relationship. We would rather spend time arguing that they should be together or that they really do like each other. But what happened after Ross and Rachel finally got together? Inevitably, something would happen to drag it out longer. These stories come from the same line as Romeo and Juliet: they’re a bit, if not completely, tragic. They are the epitome of reminders that life isn’t fair.

You have been officially forewarned. My guess is that it will be four episodes max until something happens with Pam and Jim that causes one of them to question the relationship. Either this questioning will continue or there will be a huge miscommunication and things won’t be ending happily by the end of the season. Don’t get me wrong, there could be a hilarious hour-long wedding episode, but it won’t be until season 8.

Snapshots

Life, lately, has been categorized by moments that I will never forget. Snapshots of life, if you will. Moments frozen in time-a Polaroid photograph that can be held in my hand to revisit the scene that is captured before me. The interesting thing is, I don’t control when the picture is taken; it just happens. So my life seems to be categorized by the random Polaroids that are tacked or taped to my wall, skewed ever so slightly. Memories I know I will never forget.

Brian Hartley telling our Foundations class that theologians are poets and singers. Captured in this one statement is the truth that theologians don’t just capture the words of the faith, but they’re caught up in the ‘doing’ of the faith as well-they’re singing, they’re speaking those words. This has great meaning for me because I fit into the category of theology poets. But it’s one thing just to write, and another to speak forth those words, to sing them to other people.

President Mannoia telling us at the Cor 401 retreat that he feels like he has half a heart and half a brain without Ellen. They truly did become one person, one flesh. Then he read the vows she wrote for him. In a gruff, deliberative voice he said “….and she kept her word.”

Sitting in Snyder 104 with all the freshman for Environmental Science, listening to them talk about the things I talked about three years ago-things I wanted to talk about because I was worried about them. How hard would those drawings in Western Civ be graded?
I’m in a group for that class and it’s so evident that it takes time not only for freshman to be ‘greenville-ized’ (and I mean that in the best way), but it also takes time for them to adjust to the college work load. I didn’t realize that working in groups and writing papers had become so commonplace until I sat with people who had not done that on the college level yet.

Walking back up to Tower as the sun sets and the orange light streams across campus. Being really excited to go to St. Meinrad’s in October. In anticipation for the colors of fall. Realizing in a second that the familiarity of Greenville wasn’t always there and it’s not always going to be, and in that next second realizing it was my last year as I walked across campus.

These snapshots will, inevitably, continue to accumulate on my wall as my mind continues to realize that it’s my last year as a student at Greenville College. I can only hope that I will be present enough not to miss them.

Head Girl-ship

The other day I was running around town (literally running) and it was funny to me how many smells I ‘ran’ through. As I was running by the side of campus I passed a freshman guy and girl and ran through the cloud of cologne/perfume that made me open and close my eyes again because it was so strong. I was running by a house on College Avenue that was obviously doing laundry because the smell made me think of home: laundry detergent plus hot air, with a hint of a bounce sheet mixed in their somewhere. Running back on College Avenue the other way was the smell of Mario’s. It was funny to me how long it lingered. The best smell, though, by far, was the trees. And there’s only certain places you can truly smell them. True smell=with the smell of soil and grass mixed in. Walking down into the cemetery or the road by the hospital is good for that. You have to be around enough trees and away from everything else for the smell to envelope you….and it’s good when it does.

It’s safe to say that I love my job. Being the SRC is pretty great. Aside from doing the normal things like checking in students and planning for programs, I get to do things like hang out with Kelcey and Pedro. What other students get that opportunity? I was thinking today that it’s great that I’m the little person on Senior Staff and then I turn around and I’m the leader of my Upper Division RC’s. It’s really a perfect place to be in: being shown how to lead and then leading in my own area of campus. Not to mention the fact that my UD staff is amazing. All in all, things are starting to take shape in the area of Rez life on the North end of campus.

Classes start on Wednesday. Oh required reading, how I love thee. No, but seriously, think about it: What do you love? Basketball? Cooking? Skydiving? What if you were required to do it for class all of the time? Yeah, that’s how I feel about reading. World Religions and Foundations of Christian Doctrine here I come!

Walkabout the Third

Don’t expect. That seemed to be the theme for most of Walkabout. The umbrella under which we voiced prayers every morning for our hikes, listened to people tell their stories, and generally got to know people that we wouldn’t have known in everyday life at GC. We prayed. “Little” prayers-like ‘God protect us.’ We trusted. We didn’t expect (maybe the term ‘striving’ for a specific answer or a specific way for God to do something would fit better here). And we were incredibly blessed.

Community. I know that I function better inside of community. Somehow the combination of lots of trees, sleeping outside, cooking meals together, pumping water, and listening makes for a recipe of ‘insta-community.’ And my insta-community on the mountain this year was pretty spectacular: Neil, Catherine, Phu, Brett, Carrie, Rod.

This year marked the end of actually going on Walkabout for me. I was a leader this year, which not only meant that I was looked to as an authority on bear bags and blisters, but I was expected to actually facilitate that community that happened on the mountain. Translation: I’m beginning to learn what it means to be an agent of God in leadership. Emphasis on beginning.

Every night we were by a stream. Beautiful, clear water, cascading mossy rock streams. I stood out on the rocks and tried to memorize what they all looked like because I knew I would be back in my apartment, trying to put the pieces together in my mind of what each place looked like on Walkabout. It was so different from my last two years: being up high on the Appalachian Trail. Now included in my Walkabout memories, mixed in with the high points of looking around at the surrounding green mountains that begin to get fuzzy from fog or distance as my eyes and memory strain to remember, are the thoughts of the rushing waters and the large trees overhead that I viewed from the middle of the streams. Creation is restorative.

Included in that restoration process were the words of my team and the relaxation that comes from not having cell phones and loosing track of time to the point of trying to remember what day it is. It was perfect that after this crazy time lapse happened, my team put together a skit for the celebration at Cosby campground that consisted of them playing Walkabout equipment ala Stomp! The definition of our team: different personalities coming together to create one crazy sound…..without words. Perfect.
Now I’m back at GC. Back to clear cut days with cell phones and dorm keys, but I’m trying to go without expectation for as long as possible. I just want to get up in the morning, pray, and remember that this is the day the Lord has made and I do, indeed, want to rejoice in the way that He has constructed it. And at the end of it, I want to look back and thank Him for all that He did…..just in one day. Remembering to function in community.

Tall and Skinny

Sunset walks sans the sunset (due to the tree line virtually circling the town) leads to noticing different things in this bell ringing, mom and pop town. The best part of the walk is the block of houses directly north of Dairy Queen. Who decided to put all of the prettiest houses on one block? Well, prettiest in my opinion. Tall tall skinny houses with three floors, lots of rooms, turrets, lilac gardens. The block sits up high from the sidewalk, the houses’ front yards ending in a concrete wall that holds the block sort of like the wrapper on a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. The best part about this are the steps cut into the concrete wall, some turning up to the house that sits high above the street. I want to explore these houses-to see the tall, skinny, cramped rooms, the steep stair cases, the oldness. I want to climb the stairs and notice the doors and be inside the houses that make me feel the most like I am in Greenville.

Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott

My first encounter with Anne Lamott was during my sophomore year at GC in a Fiction and Poetry class: 20 seniors, Brad Shaw, and myself. Lamott came at a good time (I was asked to actually write and share poetry---in the grand scheme of things, I would live in cute, Fiction land where the things in your mind actually sprung to life and you went to talk about them at the local ice cream shop that looked like a 50’s diner with lots of colors for inspiration, while those Poets would spend all their time at Walden Pond being transcendental like and looking a lot like Thoreau-just looking for the right word that, as everyone knows, is actually worth fifteen sentences in prose writing, because it’s that fitting and perfect.) Needless to say, I was a little intimidated. Bird by Bird, written by Lamott about the actual task of writing, helped a lot. And I fell in love with her style of writing-sort of a more liberal and outspoken Lauren F. Winner of the 90’s.

I really appreciate that laced throughout Lamott’s story of coming to God and then Jesus is her emphasis on prayer. Prayer for Lamott means stopping what she is doing, writing out her request to God, or kneeling and putting her face in her hands, and knowing that she will have an answer even if it is weeks later in some form she may not recognize at first. She also describes her need for prayer as her ‘inner little child reminding her to pray about something that seems trivial or outlandish to her.’ For Lamott, keeping the communication open between us and God is the most important thing. Today, as I was expounding on this thought on my walk, I was getting myself into an unproductive mindset, to say the least, and then I talked to God about it, and it wasn’t that hard to change my mindset when I wanted to. Which is encouraging because I spend a lot of time thinking about things (intellection) and not actually doing them—putting faith into action, the pedal to the metal, and all that jazz-type metaphors. So I moved past appreciating what Lamott had to say to actually experiencing it.

Lamott’s comparisons are perfect. She tells us that her son couldn’t possibly understand the concept of having a bad self image because he is a cross between God and Cindy Crawford. She described baby’s rolling around in the sand next to her as ‘breaded veal cutlets.’ She personifies grace as a person (Grace Paley) and when things don’t go the way that Lamott wants them to go, Grace says “It was what it was.” But there’s always another (better) chance waiting for the next time.

Lamott would definitely be out at Walden Pond, waiving her left wing banners as her dread locks bounced up and down while she thought of a perfect comparison of the entire thing in her mind. Her books are also laced with poetry, showing her love and appreciation of just one or so many thoughts being captured in so few words. If we ever met, I’d bring a milk shake from the diner as an icebreaker and we’d sit out by Walden Pond and we’d be able to enjoy its beauty together. In other words, I’d want to talk to her about stuff that she’s written in her books, but I’d probably come off as a blond fan that says something like “wow, your hair is Super cool.” But there’s always the hope that we’d be able to look past our exteriors (and my intimidation of someone who has made it in the writing world) and just talk.

I opened up Plan B right after I was done with Traveling Mercies and a book mark for Book Man Book Woman flew out. I didn’t even see the lady put it in there in Nashville! It says that their books range from $4.95 to $75,000….but mostly in between $10 and $14. What costs $75,000 there??

The Blessed Day Has Arrived

Nashville, Tennessee will always hold a special place in my heart because it was there that the culmination of the Harry Potter series and eight years of my life occurred. Anna and I were the first to Borders to receive color coded wristbands corresponding to when we could stand in line that night to receive our books. At 8 a.m., with a Starbucks right down the block, people kept walking by the store, wondering why we were waiting outside so early. More and more people started to gather and more and more people started to wonder what was going on. We were the wizarding community to those outside muggles who didn’t know what day it was.

Anna and I went back to Borders that night for the Grand Ball, Anna with her roaring lion witch’s hat and me with my pink hair. People greeted us as Luna and Tonks. It was more fun than I’ve had in a long time.

As for the book, can I quote the Goo Goo Dolls song that says “I went to fiction to look for the truth?” Because that’s what I feel like when I read Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling is a master story teller who underlies her stories with the fact that we have a choice in our actions in this life, that doing the right thing is always better than the easy or responsible thing, that relationships with people are one of the highest priorities in our lives, and so much more.
Reading her books is an aesthetic experience. You open that hard binding, you see that familiar font, you quickly dive into her style of telling the story from Harry’s point of view. The Harry Potter series are the only books that I have a preference on hardback or paperback.

And it is here that you need to stop reading if you haven’t read the 7th one yet.

There are several scenes that I just want to read over and over so I can have them engrained in my memory so I can think of them later, verbatim, with perfect clarity.

1. Hermione and Ron’s kiss. “Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!” “Who?” asked Hermione. “The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?” “You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry. “No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us…” There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. “Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice, “OI! There’s a war going on here!”

2. Snape’s memories of Lily. “Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?” Snape hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had stretched out on the leafy ground and was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily as he had watched her in the playground. “How are things at your house?” Lily asked. A little crease appeared between his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “They’re not arguing anymore?” “Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “but it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.” “Doesn’t your dad like magic?” “He doesn’t like anything much,” said Snape. “Severus?” A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name.

“He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero…” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead. “I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,” she said, cutting across Snape. “I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s and Avery’s idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.” Harry doubted that Snape had even heard her strictures on Mulciber and Avery. The moment she had insulted James Potter, his whole body had relaxed, and as they walked away there was a new spring in Snape’s step…

These scenes mean the most to me and I have no idea why. Probably some combination of girlish hope for Ron and Hermione and some much needed understanding for Snape.

All in all, the book was a brilliant way to end a brilliant series. No commentary of mine could add to what she has already done, and the need for you to read it!

Well Played, Paul

Anna and I just walked out of Book Man/Book Woman (a.k.a Nashville’s Greatest Used Book Store) with five pounds of books. Anna set the mood for the day by wearing her shirt that says ‘Calvinism: This Shirt Chose Me.’ Therefore, this was the attitude we had with buying books….they chose us.

If you want the truth, that’s how it goes with me normally. I’m a book wanter, not a book buyer. Normally I have a list of books that I want to add to my collection-most of them I haven’t read. All of the items on this list have answered one specific question in my mind: not only will they be special to me at this moment in my life, but they have the potential to grow on me and speak to me in different ways as time goes on. I don’t know why I pretentiously know that they will, but I can’t just look around a book store and pick something up that I’ve never heard of before—there has to be some background knowledge, and some reason why I’m reading it.

This list has been growing in my mind since my Freshman year at GC. I’ve had books on that list that I’ve wanted to read for two years. This is where the Calvinism part comes in: I always see specific books on the list at specific times and they always mean so much to me for that specific time period. And if they’re on the list, I know they’re ‘good enough’ to speak to me later. As we walked around the bookstore that made use of twenty wall alcoves besides shelves that seemed to go up forever, doubly stacked with books (books behind books, books on top of books), I perused the fiction section, the religion section, the mystery section…before settling back into the fiction section. And who do I see starting back at me right across from the beautifully bound Jane Austen books? Anne Lamott!
She chose me…and I’m excited to read Traveling Mercies and Further Thoughts on Faith.

Anna kept coming around the corners of the shelves with books containing Mark Twain and L. M. Montgomery. Perfect.

All of this made me think of scripture, and my slight obsession with Paul after taking Pauline Epistles in the spring. I’m currently reading Paul: A Novel….basically a strung together account of his life right before and then after his conversion and calling to the Gentiles. I really like this book because it encompasses the theology of Paul in areas such as the Torah, the status of people, Jews and Gentiles….even though the whereabouts of Paul are so heavily debated. Each chapter is written by a different person that was around him at a different part of his life: Luke, Titus, Prisca.

I thought of Paul because, after rereading Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, I started thinking about our repainting of the Christian faith. So much of Paul’s ministry was the ‘casting in a new light’ of parts of the Torah and repainting snippets of truth Paul found that was held by non-Jews: telling people that they knew of God because they saw what was outside them in creation. In Paul’s opinion, these people had experienced the God of Israel and they were completely non-Jewish (sacrificing to the god of the games and the god of this and that) just because they could see creation!

This repainting of the Christian faith includes reading books by Anne Lamott and what she thinks about grace, something I’ve asked God to help me wrap my mind around. Grace, for me, is God calling us out again, even though we screwed up the first time. Being called out to be pure, to live life abundantly, to choose God….every day

It's All Just Really Chutes and Ladders

Last night I had the privilege of hanging out with three guys that are close to my heart. They might as well be my brothers, considering one of them is. On the outside, the evening looked normal-the drive in, Denny’s…some may even consider that Litchfield tradition. But, as the storm swept in as the credits started to role for the last movie, we all cloistered around a booth at the blessed 24 hour restaurant that has come to be the home of many beautiful late night conversations.

For the record, this conversation came up because Andy and Tim ordered milk shakes, and as any good Denny’s going customer knows, not only do you receive a milk shake in a glass, but you also receive the goodness in the silver glass used to make and pour the milk shake, commonly known as ‘the extra.’ The boys got off on a kick trying to compare ‘the extra’ to things in life. “It’s like getting a bag of 40 pizza rolls and getting 42.” “It’s like wow.” And then it was said: “It’s like winning at chutes and ladders.”

My brother’s analogy of the summer.

That every boy seems to agree with…..wholeheartedly. Imagine boys laughing and going crazy before other guys finish sentences because they agree so much with what is being said—this is the magnitude of how much this metaphor resounds with all boys.

Chutes and Ladders: the game of life….more specifically, the game of life as dictated by women. According to the boys, you can’t avoid the game and it all just basically boils down to the fact that men are ruled by the basics and women are ‘anti-basic.’

The Basics: food, sleep, the opposite sex, and pride. Men have accepted the fact that their lives are ruled by the basics. They have to have these things in their lives. They are also willing to forgo one of the basics in order for another one of the basics to be fulfilled: for example, I guess I can stay up and talk to this girl because I’ve had enough food and sleep lately.
But it seems that whatever is most pressing, whatever is ‘next’ in the logical progression of things, like breakfast, for instance, takes precedent.

Women: the rule writers of Chutes and Ladders.

A relationship with a girl is like playing chutes and ladders. Sometimes a guy does something and he gets a ladder, aka a good thing happens. A ladder may be something as small as reaching for her hand and she holds yours and smiles. That’s definitely a step up.
But with every ladder, there is, inevitably, a chute.
The next time that you may reach for her hand, she may pull away. But wait, this worked last time? What the heck? The definition of a chute….or any reason for a guy’s pride to deflate.

Crazy things happen in the game of Chutes and Ladders, mostly because all women are different and write different rules pertaining to the chutes and the ladders. Also, sometimes women change up the rules completely from what they were before, just to do so…and apparently this is the epitome of all evil in this metaphorical game (if you’re still following me by this point. My sources say that if you’re a guy, you are getting this completely, but if you’re a girl you may be trailing off a bit. I’m working on being a liaison.)

At the end of this conversation, I came to the conclusion that I’m basically the giver of chutes and ladders, and that it’s good for guys and girls to be together because a ‘symbiotic relationship’ happens between basic and complex.

And this is all very good, like the extra of a milk shake.

Sunset Walks

In preparation for Walkabout the Third, I have been quite disciplined, if I do say so myself, to walk/run a couple miles everyday. What better time to do this then right before, during, and after sunset? Besides the obvious reasons being the painted sky and the temperature actually dropping, I have found others at the high school track (yes, I know, I’m not actually athletic enough to run on a road or sidewalk.)

The track is hopping during sunset.

And what’s great is it’s the same people everyday. Like we have an unspoken agreement to all be there at the same time, because believe me, we don’t actually talk to one another. Here’s the breakdown:

Citizen Cane: This older man walks in the outside lanes of the track and he carries a cane with him as if he’s carrying it for balance-right out in front with both hands, swinging back and forth. About every third step his hip gives in and his leg bends in unnaturally, but all I can think of is how much I admire this man: he obviously wants to improve his walking, and he’s not out for a stroll-he does a couple miles right along with me.

The Ya Ya Sisterhood: This group of women spans three generations, with the youngest being, oh, I’d say 48. They take up six lanes of the track, (each walking a lane apart from one another) just stroll along, and talk very loudly about who’s suffering from what addiction and how that’s the worst one to possibly have. It’s always awkward passing them because I have to use a lane right next to one of them. Courtesy track passing either means you acknowledge the person behind you and move two lanes over or, as the passer, you move a couple lanes over, pass, and then retake the inner lane. These rules are strict and rigid and everyone follows them….except the Ya Ya’s.

The Married Couple: They start off walking at the same time, but he naturally speeds up and leaves her in the dust. We’re talking ¾’s of the track ahead of her…he’s practically caught up to her again by the time they are done. If I were the wife, I’d be ticked! Walk next to me! But for some reason, I have this thing that I can’t let the husband pass me. I’m always there when they start out and we always start out half the track apart and he always almost catches up to me…but then they leave and I win the silent war.

The Woman with Different Children: This is the woman who brings her children (that happen to be different everyday) to the track to “play”-which, of course, means running up and down the bleachers, running the opposite way on the track, riding bikes around campus-while she walks 2 or 3 laps. There’s a lot of ‘get down from there!’ and ‘be careful!’

After three miles, the sun has set at the high school, leaving the sky pink, orange, or purple. I get in my car, drive home, and after I pass that certain cornfield, the sky is completely ablaze because the sun hasn’t quite set at my house yet…and the best thing about my house is the panoramic view-no buildings to get in the way, just fields and sky and me. It’s one of the best parts of my day. I never thought the sunset would be so important to me.
Ok, Rob Bell, I’m trying to interact with nature/creation here!

I’m thinking about implementing the sunset walks at Greenville…now to find a place where I can actually see the sun set.

The Difference Between Shooting Stars and Satellites?

Harry Potter mania has officially begun.
Anna saw the new movie last night at midnight....I'm pathetically making it to the 4:30 matinee today, you know, on the actual relase date when the sun is shining. But I'm going with three people who will think the special affects are awesome, who will get goosebumps when the music crescendos at the climax of the movie, and who will want to talk about what just happened on screen. Yes, I'm going with my brother and two younger cousins---a family of nerds! I'm so glad they're in my life!
I read a quote on J.K. Rowling's website about how she would take time off after she finished each book, but then her hand would start itching for a pen and she automatically wanted to be back in a cafe, scratching words across a page. Sigh...what a life! After a summer of being home and having nothing to do but read and write, I almost said amen to those words when I read them. Oh to live a life of blank pages in binding with ink blotches on my hand.
And then I'm also happy to be back at Greenville soon, because when people hear me say stuff like that their immediate response will be, "Em, you need to be around people more often."
J.K. also said she knew she wanted to be a writer from a young age because she was perfectly happy sitting in her room all day, just making stuff up.

My dad tells me about once a week that I can do what she has done. Isn't that sweet? : )
Maybe not a crazy series that gets translated into every language, but a book.....yes, a book.

Transition

I started thinking a lot about this year, to be more specific this year that starts in three weeks for me. And summer was over like that. I started thinking about what we’re going to do during training and how we’re going to work together as a team and what boxes I’m going to pack my stuff in and that antsy feeling I get every year before I go back that is only a slice of what I felt before my freshman year-a combination of being excited and not knowing what is going to happen and knowing I will be crazy busy but will remember random things from the whole RC/Walkabout/Moving In process-yeah, that was there today. So the transition of being back in school has begun….a lot earlier than some, but I do need to start thinking about it.

I talked to Laura on the phone today, actually Mele ( pronounced May-Lay) on the phone. Mele is the new Laura. The Laura that doesn’t write anything down in her planner book. The Laura that surfs. The Laura that GIVES guys her PHONE NUMBER without them asking. Laura went to Hawaii and Super Confident Mele is returning to the mainland in a week. And I’m stoked because she’s so full of life and we’re going to take walks during the school year and she’s going to tell me to be more confident.

I’m going to see Anna in a week in the little red truck. We’re going to single-handedly be responsible for reversing the mainstream culture by waiting in line for a midnight release of a book. Ok, so, we’ll be doing it with a billion other people across the world, but it is kind of noble and purist reader-like, isn’t it?

And yes, it is for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

And yes, I’m really excited.