Choices, Plus McCullers

I'm going to Austin on Thursday night to visit the seminary there and coming back Saturday. I am very happy about this. Very.

Until I check a Seagrove blog and am reminded that this weekend is the Celebration of Spring in Seagrove, when many of the potteries have kiln openings on the same day, which I might be at if I were in North Carolina instead of Texas. I would have been like, "Eh, you can't win 'em all," until the blogger said his wife would be making chocolate bread and leek and potato soup for his kiln opening. I have had this chocolate bread. Now my happiness about Austin is tinged with a distinct undertone of "Dang it!"

It's hard to accept that I can't do every fun thing ever. Quelle travestie! At least this one is kind of a no-brainer. Following God's call to seminary and the related trips, paperwork, and activities take precedence, chocolate bread or no chocolate bread.

I just finished listening to The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. Let me tell you something. This book is a masterpiece. I do not use that term lightly. Well, I do that sometimes, once in reference to 8 Mile, but this time I am serious. I haven't been so touched by a novel in a long time. It's about a deaf and mute man named John Singer in a small Southern town and the people who are drawn to him--a girl who's just entering adolescence, a restaurant owner whose wife dies in the course of the book, a new guy in town with political dreams, and the only black doctor around. They all talk to him as they talk to no one else. He understands because he reads lips but only rarely answers. The other people in town like and respect him, but these four hold him particularly close. Only once do they all meet in his room, and then only by accident.

I like the book for many reasons--the writing style, the very real characters, the way it is full of dramatic events but lacks drama--but one of the main reasons is Singer's status as a God figure. I don't know to what extent McCullers intended this, but the way the people talk to Singer is so much like prayer. It's private, unlike talking with others, intensely personal, and not usually done in hopes of a response. The black people talk of him as one of the few white people who can be trusted, and white folks also see him as respectable and trustworthy. He buys a radio so his guests can listen to it--something that's completely useless to him as a deaf man but that he knows will make them happy. Maybe someday I will read the book and keep track of the parallels, because these are only a few, and I missed a lot of the book on CD while paying attention to the road or just singing to myself or thinking of something else. I love it when literature has something to do with faith, the more subtle the better. I'm thinking it's not a book for everyone, but if you like to read literary novels, and especially if you like Southern Gothic style (like Eudora Welty, Flannery O'Connor, and Harper Lee), then you should definitely give The Heart is a Lonely Hunter a try.

Quel Jour

The language of the title is in honor of Peter Mayle's Encore Provence, which, read by an Englishman on a CD played in my car, helped keep this day from being a completely wretched loss.

Let's see.

-My boss has zero communication skills, at least via email. This can not be a problem for weeks or months at a time, but now we have started a new project--webcasts!--which requires much more communication than usual. The webcasts are fun, but I literally never know whether I am doing the right thing when I'm writing the scripts and doing the related work.
-I was going to renew and return some library items but ran too late in the morning.
-I drove an hour to my first assignment, an hour to do the webcast, and an hour back to the same place where the first one was! Then an hour home. Again, thank you, Peter Mayle, and the lovely English audiobook reader.
-I had a splitting headache today, which I never have, and was very tired after my delicious weekend and an early jog. I really needed caffeine and was looking forward to checking out a new-to-me coffee shop. Closed on Mondays.
-I went to McDonald's to get coffee instead, but Boss called while I was in the parking lot, so I had to go to the library instead and write the script for tomorrow's webcast.
-You know, the public library, where I loiter with my computer because I don't have an office, and where a baby was crying.
-I had been going to read my Bible while drinking the coffee, and I never got to. ("Had been going to"? Is this OK?)
-When I called the number I found online for the library (the other library, the one where I live, which is SO FAR AWAY from where I work), it had been disconnected or something. Double bad: I now have a fine, and I cannot stand misinformation of that sort on the internet or elsewhere.
-When I finally got to McD's and took my ibuprofen with a sip of iced coffee, the straw was so big that I may have lost a pill in the drink. I then drank it really fast so as to finish before the pill dissolved and made that awful taste. I may have taken the pill just fine, but the possibility was pretty upsetting.
-Mom texted me that Dad was going into the hospital for a skin infection. I got it just before the evening meeting I covered, so I couldn't call for details, and I was distracted for much of the meeting by the possibilities. (The text (and the fact that it was a text and not a call) made it clear that I didn't need to come home or anything, it was for my information. I don't want you to think I got that news and callously went ahead to the meeting.)

But I'm not saying this just to complain. Partly to complain, yes, but also to tell you this: (Lent mode engage!)

I had a lot of plans for today, and most of them did not happen. This is the case on many days, but today it was pretty piled on. Missing my Bible-reading time was especially bad because I needed it more than usual.

On the retreat this weekend, after that long night of Apples to Apples, I knelt by my bed for a few minutes and whispered my prayers. I found that this worked well because the kneeling and whispering kept me focused. If I'm forming the words with my lips, I'm much less likely to find myself on a whole new topic than when I just pray in my head. I'm not a great pray-er, partly because I'm like, "If God knows everything, why do I need to tell Him stuff?" partly because it doesn't feel like an accomplishment, and probably for several other reasons. So it's always nice to find something that works, and I decided to try the out-loud/whisper thing regularly.

In the car tonight, on the way home from the meeting, I called Mom and had to leave a message. Anxious and antsy, I turned off Mr. Mayle's book and started to pray out loud. I felt better almost immediately.

Yes, it would have been great to do my Bible reading, but what a blessing to know that we can reach God, and He can reach us, even when our plans for doing so are foiled. It's good to have those plans, in fact it's crucial to arrange time and mental space for Him, but we also have to be open to God in other ways and times and places. If we insist that music or reading or a certain type of prayer or some other specific thing is the only way we communicate with God, we shut off a whole wing of our life with Him. So, listen for Him all the time, and try speaking to Him in new ways.

Mom called as I was praying. She and Dad had been going to urgent care since Friday morning, and he's been taking different forms of antibiotics. When the doctor there said today that IV antibiotics were next, they both said, "Yes, yes, we want that." They are ready to kick this thing. So, apparently, it's a good thing that he's in the hospital? Better, she said, than being at home and wondering whether he's improving. They both sounded pretty upbeat. Also, her iPad arrived today (I didn't even know they'd ordered it), and we talked about my coming there at Easter and how I'm going to make Rice Krispie treats and put them in greased plastic eggs and make a hollow in the middle and put candy in the hollow and take them out of the plastic eggs and put the halves together and it's going to be the best Easter snack ever. (I was about to put "best Easter thing ever." But that would be the original event. Good save, Jenkins.) So, I'm feeling a lot better than I did two hours ago. I have a lot to be thankful for.

Boston, Day 1

Most of today was spent driving, so I don't have terribly much to report, only that I was able to avoid NYC traffic, hallelujah, and had no tollbooth incidents. I finished I Am America (and So Can You!) and started The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, which is very good. In regular reading, I finished Island of the Blue Dolphins on the subway into town. That's a good book. Rather darker than My Side of the Mountain but not enough to discourage me from this fun YA wilderness-survival trend. It's incredible to think of someone surviving alone in the wild for so long--this one's based on a true story. I doubt most of us would hold up very well or very long, and I'm not sure I'd even have much will to live if no one else was around. It makes you think about the nature and purpose of life at its most basic. Kinda scary.

I got here at about 4 at my hotel outside Boston and planned to chill for the evening but then found that a restaurant recommended by a friend would not be open tomorrow, so I thought I'd better go today. Mr. Bartley's Gourmet Burgers is a very good place to eat. Many of their burgers are named after famous people with clever taglines, like "The Ted Kennedy, a plump, liberal amount of burger" and "The Afghan--Attack this and you'll never leave." I sat at a long table with people I didn't know. It took me a while to find the place, but that was good because I got to explore more than I might have. Then I came home and here I am.

Princeton, Day 1

This is the size serving they gave me at an ice cream place here in Princeton, with my hand for comparison and the sweet little spoon that's meant for samples but they use it for serving. You could get two flavors even in the small size, and they had a lot of Irish offerings, so I got chocolate Bailey's and an Irish beer flavor. Both were unique, complex, not too sweet, and just right. Best of all (sort of), as seen above, the small size was actually small! I love a restaurant that gives me a realistic, healthy portion that's satisfying but doesn't cause pain. Hence my photographic celebration.

This day was very tiring, fun, exciting, and at one moment a bit scary when I accidentally went in the E-Z Pass lane at a toll station and stopped to talk to the attendant and explain myself, not realizing there is no attendant at the E-Z Pass lane! And you're not supposed to stop or slow down! (I think the people have something on their car that is read by an apparatus.) So people honked at me, and I thought, well, they're not getting my money this time, I wonder what will happen. One of the times I went in the correct lane and had an attendant, she was mad that I gave her quarters. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, and not in a bright and friendly way. "No, sorry, I didn't know," I said. I had bills but didn't think one should ask for change at a toll booth. Clearly, toll rules are not part of my world at this time.

The GPS made me go straight into Washington, D.C., which I know is totally unnecessary. I more or less understand Mapquest and how to tell it to avoid certain things, but with GPS, I'm a blind follower of an eerily knowledgeable technology. In some ways, it's like God's guidance of us, how we're not supposed to ask for the whole plan, just follow the steps as they become clear. Except God knows to avoid D.C. traffic when possible. I was rather skeptical starting in NoVA, but when it told me to go on Pennsyvania Avenue, I knew I should just say goodbye to my pre-dinner arrival time. I was somewhere between "Oh, no, it didn't!" and "Maybe I'll pass the White House!" I did not pass the White House. The lesson is that I will study maps and Mapquest printouts before each leg of this trip and use the GPS only for portions. Thank you, Wilcox family, for the GPS! It is very fun to use and helpful.

I finished a pretty good mystery book on CD, although it was number ten in a series I've only read the first of, so the beginning was rough. The series is by Laurie R. King, and most of the books have something to do with bees in the title. The first is The Beekeeper's Apprentice. They are about Sherlock Holmes and his young lady apprentice! I'm pretty rabid about Sherlock. I recommend the books even if you don't normally go for mysteries. I then started on I Am America (and So Can You!), which is probably a lot better on audio (Colbert is reading) than regular. Come to think of it, he got a Grammy for it, right? Well deserved.

This book on CD thing, it is a revelation to me. I've finished two books in, like, 72 hours! In addition to the ones I'm reading reading! I wonder how long until I feel like I'm cheating on NPR.

When I got to Princeton, I felt a bit suspicious because I was driving through some pretty sparse areas, even when it said the school was less than a mile away. I wondered if Mercer Road and Mercer Street were different. But then the houses suddenly got bigger and closer together, and there it was! I drove around a green where people were throwing things to each other, and the buildings are all so precisely what a school's buildings should be--old stone, brick, fine craftsmanship. My head was spinning with books and academia and age, quite like a Davidson vibe. I checked into the guest rooms and then went to dinner at a bar in Palmer Square.

Let me tell you about Palmer Square. They have a store that is just for olive oil. They have a store that is just for stationery and paper. The public library is there. Nearby, there's a Talbots--regular and petites. There are a lot of restaurants that all look really good. But the most important thing about Palmer Square is...are you ready?...I stopped counting ice cream places. There are that many.

A wrong turn sent me walking down through/past the university's campus (Princeton University? Ever heard of it? I actually almost did forget that the seminary isn't the big thing in town), which looks a little like Hogwart's, like a dragon might poke his head around the corner. I can't wait to see the town in full daylight--it looked great when I arrived, but I didn't have time to explore or get pics before night fell, although those pictures probably would be good too.

So, I really like Princeton so far. I'm still curious as to how my tour, class visit, etc. will go. Oh, and I found out today that I got into three other seminaries. Those phone calls were an especially nice way to pass time on the road. Heh heh heh. This is one of those days (and chapters, really) you wish you could flash-freeze. Even though the future change is part of why it's so exciting.

Born Standing Up

I had the most delightful trip to the library today to pick up books on CD for my upcoming seminary scouting trip (yessss! I'm so excited!). I left behind a bunch that looked good, so I may start listening to them in daily life in the car if I can somehow square it with my unnatural love of NPR. I'm really excited to listen to The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, a selection of Christmas items from the Reduced Shakespeare Company, a couple of mysteries to keep it exciting, and one or two more.

I was so happy to have them that I popped one in right on the way home from the libes: Born Standing Up, Steve Martin's memoir. I'm on disc two now, which means it/I/we got over the hurdle of the all-important first disc switch. Martin is a pretty good and sometimes great writer on the sentence level, such that I may one day want to read it and copy down a phrase or two. I like the book so far for many reasons, partly because I've always been interested in humor as something to study. It seems so spontaneous, so undefinable, but I've heard many people say it's a science to be learned and practiced. Martin talks about falling asleep listening to records of comedians, playing them over and over to listen for their timing, vocal nuances, everything. He learned the banjo the same way, even slowing down the records to hear each note.

The idea of humor-as-science fascinates me because it's sort of heartening that something so seemingly effortless can be mastered with practice and time. When we see people who are great at something, there's no reason to be jealous in most cases because they probably spent their whole life perfecting it, to the exclusion of certain other joys. We're not all that different from each other. No one was born standing up, funny or otherwise. Yes, we have inclinations and talents, but those are nothing without effort. You might see someone's ability and wish it were yours, but just think--to be that good of a (musician, artist, mathematician, fill-in-the-blank), you would have had to sacrifice a lot of what you've done instead and, consequently, who you are now. You'd be a great fill-in-the-blank, sure, but there's no telling who you'd be as a result.

Let's all be thankful for who we are, what we're good at, what we're terrible at, and all the wonders of the world around us.