Wedding Report #2: Laura & Javier

I left Richmond just after class on Friday afternoon and caught a ride to the airport with some generous friends who were on their way out of town. Got some quality flash-card time in the airport before leaving. A connection too short to speak of in Atlanta, and before I knew it I was in Houston. It turned out the two people I was meeting, other friends of the bride, both had long delays, so I hung out with The Member of the Wedding, my journal, and the flash cards from about 6:30 til almost ten. The two delayed ones were very apologetic, but it was quite nice to sit undisturbed, with plenty of people to watch, none who had any demands on me and none I wanted to impress. The book was good--I guess I'm a fan of Southern gothic without knowing it until now.

I came up with a new career idea: airport chaplain. I found out later in the trip that this does exist. As Mom said when I told her, it's perfect because I wouldn't have to form any lasting relationships. "Yeah, you get to help people without anyone critiquing your sermon or the seating arrangement or anything," I said. Half-jokes aside, it would be a very neat opportunity. I've been noticing a lot of changes in myself lately, which I suppose is a by-product of a geographic and life-stage move. One of them became evident when I was people-watching in Houston: I've always liked to watch people, but it used to be because I was interested in them or curious about them. I still am, but now I also love them. A lot. All of them.

New Friend #1 got in just before ten, then #2 came from Houston's other airport after midnight, and we got to the house we were staying at after 2 a.m. On Saturday, we left just after lunchtime to find our hotel and change clothes before the 3:00 wedding. Everything happened in both Spanish and English because the groom is from Mexico, and the church was really pretty and the couple was really pretty and there was great rejoicing.

At the reception, I got to catch up with a few old Davidson friends and meet a few new ones, learn a new dance that involves a napkin, and enjoy great food and drink and the precious people at our table. Toasts and other announcements were bilingual there too. A few people went out afterward since it was only 8:00, and Laura in her wedding dress got congratulations from strangers, as all brides should.

On Sunday morning, from our patio table at brunch, we watched some unfamiliar birds swarm a recently-vacated table and scavenge the food. We went back to Laura and Javier's apartment, where we looked at pictures and they opened a few gifts. We went to the Art Car Museum, which was scary like many museums are for me and fun and funny like more museums should be. I went to the market and the bakery with Laura, and we looked at her Enneagram book and Amy Sedaris's I Like You and geography games online inspired by their world-map shower curtain. I started reading The Invention of Hugo Cabret, and we had French food for dinner and then bubble tea and an outdoor showing of Othello, which I had taught but still didn't follow. The grass was clipped very short, and there was a well-behaved corgi in front of us, and I couldn't tell the characters apart, and it didn't matter. We talked about patriotism and national holidays and how on Mexican independence day the mayor of each town goes out at midnight shouting "Viva Mexico!" and everyone shouts back.

Monday, I ate a really good cream-cheese empanada and we were off. During my long layover in Atlanta, a French family sat down next to me and stayed long enough that I worked up the courage to talk to them in French. The aunt/sister is a CPA in Richmond, has been for ten years. I had forgotten how quietly French people can talk. Sitting across from them, I heard their conversation as little but a soothing murmur. When I got home, I signed up for the Richmond French Meetup Group, yet another joy of being in a big city.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and delightful. Yet another kind and generous friend picked me up, and I had Facebook messages saying people had missed me, and hugs in real life, and a lot to catch up on even though it had only been three days. What a great blessing, to go see something beautiful and new and then come home to warmth and love.

Outliers

I'm listening to Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers in the car. It's about how extremely successful people get that way. The gist is that nurture is just as important as nature, if not more so. He says it's all about opportunity. Part of that means being born at the right time and place, much of it has to do with cultural legacies and social systems, and some of it is under our (or our parents') control. That's a pretty small amount, but because it's all we can do anything about, it's worth a lot of attention.

As a non-parent, I'm thinking of how I can put this knowledge into action, short of lobbying for different education practices or something. While I can't directly create opportunities for children to get practice and mentorship in particular fields, I can create opportunities for people to feel welcome, safe, and loved, and to have fun, and to share what they have to share. Still not sure what form this takes in concrete, visible terms, but it will be with me for quite a while.

There's a lot more to Outliers than that. Quite a good read, if a little redundant. I recommend it for anyone, especially parents and educators.

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.

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.

My favorite?

I hesitate to use the word "favorite" in most circumstances, or else I water it down and change the literal meaning so that all I'm saying is I like whatever it is. When asked my favorite color, I say, "It depends on what's being colored." A wall favorite color is different from my car favorite color or a shirt favorite color. Same with food, movies, music; it all depends on my mood and the situation.

But I think I have a favorite writer. Reading James Thurber feels like sleeping in one's own bed, the smell of one's own home, something that sets things right, something comfortable but not in a complacent way. I feel so fully "me" when I'm reading him. I cannot put my finger on why.

We had a dry spell for a while, but a few days ago I started reading People Have More Fun than Anybody, a book of never-before-collected items to celebrate 100 years since Jim's birth (published in 1994). There's a cake recipe from him in it, which to me cries out for a party. And thus it is. I'm celebrating his birthday early because it's in December and no one wants an extra party then. Making the cake and giving everyone a chance to read their favorite things by him. I haven't had a party in a long time!

This particular book is all items that would otherwise be pretty much lost, things from magazines or papers that hadn't been put in book form ever before. And that may be why I'm so impressed: he wrote these things as little ephemera to make extra bucks, not to be literarily lasting or meaningful, but oh how he is! It's like if someone collected the articles I'm writing in 84 years, and they stood the test of time. One thing Michael J. Rosen's introduction points out is Thurber's ability to refer to his time--fads, celebrities we don't know about anymore, sundry pop culture items--and still be relevant today. He mentions these things, and they're confusing briefly or require an editor's note to explain them, but the way he talks about them and the things he says are still enjoyable to read. Basically, we don't have to know what he's talking about to get what he's talking about. That's pretty amazing to me.

Also, I may have known his eyesight failed as he aged, and I certainly knew he did sweet cartoons, but I never put the two together. Apparently he was drawing in the dark some of the time, which is not hard to believe when you look at the drawings but is nonetheless impressive. Oh, and Matisse called him the best artist in New York.

Excellent Day

This morning I slept about an hour later than usual and felt it pleasantly in my joints upon waking. I visited Karen at the Little Chapel to pick up a book I'd loaned her. She told me I'd lost weight! I always love seeing her.

I went to the Poplar Grove farmers' market to buy tomato juice from Alexis and Betsy, but they gave it to me for free because they liked the article I'd written about them. They had framed a copy! I also picked up a Pink Lady apple and two sweet chili peppers from a booth that had almost a whole table of just peppers and another of just apples, plus fragrant muscadines, blueberries, eggplant, and more. The peppers were individually priced, which pleased me for some reason (as in not by the pound or ounce).

I then stopped at a thrift store and, after much trying-on, bought only books: a Hafiz/Hafez volume and Miss Rumphius. There was a Little House on the Prairie cookbook, but I was happier to glance at it than I would be to own it.

My assignment for the day was to cover the United Methodist Women's Game-a-rama. They were so sweet and insisted that I eat from the buffet. Shockingly, I was happy to see the veggie plate and gleefully took carrots and broccoli to dip in the ranch dressing. I got three or four little desserts and after a couple of bites, thought, "I don't really want to finish this." Who am I? It was a great feeling, to eat good things and skip less-good things not because I felt obligated but because that was what I wanted. I never. (I didn't actually skip the desserts because I was worried about someone seeing me throw away their own creation. And because I was just so incredulous that I fell back on habit. Or something.)

I went in to the office after that and got some interesting work news about a possible change. I saw on email that Harris Teeter's baguettes were half off, so I went there after work to pick up one of those and a few other things. Came home and read, then I went to have FONDUE at the Little Dipper! I can hardly think of anything I'd rather do than dip things in chocolate and cheese, especially in such rich and relaxed company.

Now, to make some more days like it. Go!

A Pretty Sweet Week

Here I am chillin' at Panera of a Saturday morning, on the first day in recent memory that I haven't had anything scheduled. I do have to write an article, but it's a fun one and doesn't feel burdensome. Later, I'm going to run and shower for the first time in at least a week (the run, not the shower) and make granola and green tea and stretch and maybe call Lyndsay for movie/show-on-DVD chill time. This is what Saturdays should be!

So the article I'm (ostensibly) about to write: a response to Shadowlands, the play based on C. S. Lewis's late-in-life romance. I didn't know a dang thing about his life! And I learned it in the most enjoyable of ways. He met Joy Gresham when she was 41 and he was 58. He was a bachelor, and she got a divorce soon after they met but not because they met. They had corresponded by post for a long time. She came to visit from America, and then after her divorce she ended up moving to the same town as him, Oxford. I won't give anything else away, but I will tell you it's a great and unusual story. This is Big Dawg Productions' second time wowing me with atypical romance, which is the only kind I can really stomach in stories. A few weeks ago, I saw their production of Neil Simon's Chapter Two, a more light-hearted but still very affecting love story.

On Thursday night, I went to see the musical The Secret Garden, also for work. It was weird and artsy, like with ghost people showing up during regular scenes so you know they're remembering the past, and red cloths to represent cholera. But it's The Secret Garden, and by no means did they mess it up. I'm so ready to read it again!

Both plays made me feel kind of icky and eye-rolly, like "la la la, I'm not listening," because they were both about trust and loving people even though you know you're going to lose them. My deep dark side said, "Psshht. That's all well and good for other people, but I'm not capable of, or not interested in, that kind of love. I prefer the illusion that I and everyone I care about will live forever, and if maintaining that illusion means keeping everyone at arm's length, then that's what I will do." Not my best moments. Growing up is hard to do, especially when you keep thinking you're done. But Lewis's wife in the play said, "The pain then [later, when one person dies and the other has to handle it] is part of the happiness now. It's part of the deal."

Oh, and the actor who played Lewis was phenomenal. Real tears, I saw.

Speaking of illusions, it hit me a few weeks ago that disillusionment is a good thing. It doesn't feel good, and when I say I'm disillusioned I usually mean "I hated that." But when faced with a choice between illusion and reality, a choice we don't always have, you're not in your right mind if you consistently choose the illusion.

And I think I have some solid thoughts for my article! But before I go on to that, I'll leave on a lighter note.

The boss called my coworker at 8 a.m. the other day to tell her a plane had crashed on I-40. As she was getting ready, coworker thought to look it up and make sure it was true before getting all worked up over it. She found nothing online, so she called the county EMS. The desk worker who answered knew nothing about a plane, but coworker left a message for the director. He called her back much later, laughing hard, and said it was a crop duster. It happens pretty frequently, he said: people see the crop dusters flying very low and think they're planes in trouble. This one landed, on purpose, in a field, not by accident on I-40.
So coworker called boss to fill her in. During that same call, boss said, "Oh, and ask someone about the fire on Teachey Road on Wednesday."
I am so proud of coworker for thinking of it then and not after hanging up. She said, "Are you sure it wasn't a cookout?"

Also, I was really mad over food and drink being missing from the fridge, and then one roommate wrote me a note explaining that she'd been taking Ambien and it made her sleep-eat. The only explanation that makes me not mad! And the last one I would ever have come up with.

Oh, is God ever good.

Enter the mini

Hiya,

I'm going to try some mini-blogging, like a couple of sentences at a time. I believe it will make me more likely to post regularly rather than lapsing. And of course, once I'm logged on I'll probably spill at least a paragraph or two, so the idea is to trick myself into thinking I'm only writing a bit, which seems so much less daunting than having to deliver some insightful, decisive thing.

Thus:

I found the way to keep lettuce crisp and delish for a week or even more! Rinse (in a bowl if the breed has a lot of sand in it), drain, pat/shake dry, and then put in an airtight container with paper towels to wick away the excess moisture.
Also learned that my bread freezes quite well and thaws just fine in the microwave.

I finished Devil in the White City in a record four days or something. What a thrill! I recommend it to everyone. It's about the Chicago World's Fair in the 1890s and a serial killer who lived in Chicago at that time. As a nonfic writer, I found the notes almost as intriguing as the book. Larson was so thorough and so detailed in his research. Definitely a new role model for me. Now I'm on another book by Erik Larson, Thunderstruck. A bit less ferociously all-consuming but well above other books. This one's about Marconi, the beginning of wireless telegraphy, and also a murder but I don't think it's a serial killer like in the last one. Larson writes history really accessibly because he focuses on people. I want to implore him to write textbooks, or just adapt his existing books slightly for a student audience. I'd devour a history class if it was structured like his books.

That's all. I've an early morning tomorrow. Stay tuned for mini-posts.

A Good Day

Yesterday, I went to the office to upload my week's articles, then left on assignment. I covered art camp at Art Exposure in Hampstead, a really great place with wonderful people. Then I visited the Sea Salt Bakery, which was recently started by the same people who opened my beloved Sweet 'N' Savory in 1992. Their display trays are made of bread.

I left early because I had an oil-change appointment, and rather than go all the way to Wrightsville Beach for one hour, I decided to sit in Port City Java in the Harris Teeter across the street from the Honda place. I ran into a couple of friends from school, one of whom had just returned from Japan. Also saw some of the familiar faces from Flaming Amy's Bowl. At the Honda place, I ran into another friend from school and had a wonderful long conversation with her while waiting for our cars. She's hilarious and insightful. I was very happy to skip my reading session.

On the way to dinner, I saw someone who used to go to my church, then at the restaurant a couple the wife of which is in the MFA program, then at the concert, two friends from high school. That makes eight people I randomly ran into in one day! I wonder why that always happens in clusters and then not for weeks. But I love when it does. I also finished Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell, a wonderful and surprising and educational and funny book I'm intensely glad to have read, and then started in on Devil in the White City, which it hurt to tear myself away from at 1:30 a.m. to go to sleep. I wish I could read it while working out so I wouldn't have to choose between the two later today. So everything added up to a wonderful, fun day, and here I am on the other side of it still riding the wave and enjoying my first fully unscheduled day in a long time. Let's keep it up, okay?

Keep Calm and Carry On

That post title comes from a poster that was produced in Great Britain on the outbreak of World War II. They made a lot but didn't use many because it was reserved for times of extreme crisis (which makes you wonder what constitutes extreme crisis if not WWII in Britain, other than WWII on the continent). It is very simple, one word per line, centered, in sans-serif all-caps. Oh wait, I can link to it! http://www.keepcalmandcarryon.com/products/keep-calm-and-carry-on-poster. It comes in many colors, and I like it very well.

While we're linking, go ahead and bookmark http://www.goodsearch.com/. You can designate a charity, and it will give them a penny for every search you perform. For everyday use, there's no difference between it and Google. I bet I have given the Heifer Project at least a quarter this year.

I just started reading The Journey of Desire, which is bittersweet because it's the last John Eldredge book I haven't read (that I know of). He says, "Now, what if I told you that this is how it will always be, that this life as you now experience it will go on forever just as it is, without improvement of any kind? Your health will stay as it is; your finances will remain as they are, your relationships, your work, all of it.
"It is hell."
I had to stop thinking about it very quickly, because I would have quailed before the prospect. I realized that would indeed be hell. I mentioned the idea to my small group this evening, and a collective shudder went through the room. One of them even said, while shaking her head, "Living with that roommate forever!" It's partly because we're all young, mostly single, mostly not in our ideal jobs, and not "fulfilled" in the traditional sense of the word. But I bet most people feel that way. People who have the jobs they always wanted, the spouses they dreamed of as kids, the kids, the cars, the house. Not that that's what makes people. It's just what I snap to when I think of the future. I want to consider how we can shape our lives into something that we want to last forever, nail down the moments of bliss and stretch them out so that we never want to skip this chapter or even flip, God forbid, to the end. I'm only ten pages into The Journey of Desire, but I think it's going to be about doing just that: finding the moments you want to last, and making them do so. What a concept. And if the book goes in another direction, this idea is now a seed for me.

In Harris Teeter today, I sampled this Alouette spread, like a goat-cheese deal, with sun-dried tomato and basil in it. It was on sale for just over half of its normal price. I snatched that sucker up so fast, and now it's about to go on a homemade ciabatta-bread sandwich with pepperoni and salami. It's amazing what those goat-cheese people can do.

Advice columns used to be called agony columns.

Good night and good luck. Keep calm and carry on.

Welcome to the Future

I don't believe people should wait for the new year or for anything else to make resolutions, to reflect on their lives and decide what needs to change and how to change it. But it is a convenient time to do so, and I do always find myself thinking about it considerably more during the turn of the year. I think 2009 will be a wonderful year, just like every year in that way. I am going to try not buying books, clothes, DVDs, or CDs, with a few exceptions (like I can buy books for classes, and I can buy new pajamas because I think I'm going to need some soon). This isn't a money-saving choice so much as a simplification choice: I looked around last month and realized I'm pretty much set. I have everything material I need for now, so I'm not going to keep accumulating things. I also plan to have a solid first draft of my thesis by this time next year, and I'm going to eat every day and sleep every night.

In the realm of things I'm going to try that aren't necessarily resolutions, I'm going to make some leek soup, and if I like it, I may do a leek-soup fast one day a week. And/or eat only fruit one day a week. The soup comes from French Women Don't Get Fat, and the fruit comes from Simplify Your Life by Elaine St. James (or one of its companion volumes). These are health and simplicity choices but may also help with finances, because I think food is one of my greatest expenditures. I do buy the cheapest brands of things I buy, but because I'm committed to some restrictions and qualities, I often can only go so cheap. This isn't a problem--actually it is, in that less tampered-with foods should be less expensive but for some reason the sketchy non-natural things cost more--I mean it isn't a problem that I spend so much on food because it's at the root of the quality of my life. Anyway. That's one experiment I'm making this year.

This evening, as it was my birthday, I planned to go to Coldstone but got so comfortable on the couch, and it was cold outside, and it's rather far away, yada yada, I ended up inventing something sweet to meet that desire. I let some frozen raspberries thaw in the blender while I watched the Monk marathon, then put six non-measured spoonfuls of plain yogurt, 2 spoonfuls of sugar, and one (all of these are heaping) of cocoa. Blended away, and I was pleasantly surprised with the results. I'll definitely be going back to that. It's quite healthy, too, compared to ice cream.

For Christmas, I got the book Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day. I feel like an evangelist here. I was skeptical when I first heard about it, but now that I'm on my third batch of dough, I'm a raving convert. It's like having a secret key that makes it infinitely easier. I'm now playing with loaf shapes while getting the basic dough down-pat. Next, I'll check out some different doughs--wheat, etc. That alone makes 2009 a promising year.

The Portable Feast

I was reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast this afternoon and came across the following: "I had heard complaining all my life. I found I could go on writing and that it was no worse than other noises, certainly better than Ezra learning to play the bassoon."

Let's zoom in. "...certainly BETTER THAN EZRA learning to play the bassoon." Do you think this could be the origin of the band's name? I think it could. A quick Google shows us that there are myriad explanations for the name, none of which the band itself will confirm. Most involve another band or entity named Ezra, than which the band thought itself better. There is also a reference to another book with the phrase buried in it, Eliot's dedication of The Waste Land to (Ezra) Pound calling him "the better craftsman" in Italian, and I don't know what all else. I think I like not knowing.

Even better than that curiosity, I found in the Feast this little gem:
"They say the seeds of what we will do are in all of us, but it always seemed to me that in those who make jokes in life the seeds are covered with better soil and with a higher grade of manure."

The book is a side of Hemingway I did not expect, having only read The Old Man and the Sea and The Sun Also Rises, and those a very long time ago. I guess The Sun... gives us a glimpse at the Paris Hem, not so burdened with machismo, drinking wine and not always whiskey, wandering and hunkering down in cafes to write, but the Feast really fleshes him out. It's a supremely appealing vision. There's something so rewarding about reading someone's oeuvre rather than just one book. I'm finding that with Thurber as I hunt down (well, more like come across) everything he did. It's the same as having a friend and getting to know them better as you see them in different moods and contexts. Not such a rich experience if you don't bother to do that, if you let your idea of them stay static.

New to the blogosphere

I can't believe I just used that word, but it's an exciting occasion. The pastor who spoiled me such that I didn't like another church for years, recently retired, has set up camp here: http://ricksmumbles.blogspot.com/. This is an important man, and if you have a spiritual inclination you should check out his blog. It's brand new. (Heh heh.) So be among the first to visit! Maybe if you write comments, he will post a lot.

In other news, I think I've finally hit my stride with writing and come up with a comfortable, fascinating subject capable of keeping me interested long enough to write a whole thesis on't. http://www.taize.fr/. Very close to my heart. You should go. And invite me to go with you. Added bonus: I speak French, so I would be a valuable asset to your group.

I made not one but two trips to the library book sale. The only reason I'm not worried for my mental health in relation to buying books is that I was able to leave behind many books I could well have purchased. Now I've got the crowded-shelf problem anyway, and not nearly enough time to read. My habit lately is to read a bunch of books a little at a time, at the same time. Like, sit down with a stack and read one page of eight or ten books. I got the idea from Sparrow, so it can't be all bad, but it's making it hard for me to read anything for longer than that. I console/inflate myself by reading things like The Whipping Boy, and saying I read a whole book, look, I can read a whole book, I can. Holding it up as evidence (to no one but myself) that I am capable of reading a whole book. So cheap. Oh well. Since everything's cyclical, soon enough I'll be reading like a normal person.

Oh, here's something cool (can you tell I just learned how to insert links?): http://www.humancalendar.com/. Found through Scott's blog.

I think I'm going to the Seagrove pottery festivalS. I want all the dirt behind the clay. This is all fascinating, sad, and hilarious to me. Gotta figure out where it is and whether anyone I know lives close enough for me to crash with them, because I have a feeling there'll be no room at the inns. So exciting. Look at me acting like a real writer.

men i don't know inside my brain

You know what I realized yesterday? When I read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (which is as often as possible), I picture James Thurber, or some Thurber hero. I think it has to do with the era, and the clothing, and the age of the man. It would have to be Thurber in a bad mood, though, becuase Prufrock seems so much less able to laugh at himself. Strange, strange thing, the way a mind works.

Speaking of my mind working (ish), I forgot my ATM PIN for the third time in four months or so, and also forgot where I wrote it down, or possibly threw that away. And now that David Foster Wallace is gone, my constant mixing him up with Scott Russell Sanders is more of a problem. Then again, maybe I'll be able to distinguish them now. It has nothing to do with their writing, it's just that they both have three names, and I discovered them at the same time. And it's not really mixing them up, because I would never call SRS by DFW's name. I just call them both Scott Russell Sanders. I'm just waiting for the day when David Hyde Pierce, Michael Ian Black, or Stephen Jay Gould enters the mix. Oh, lawd.

Rachel Writes a Blog Post

I'm going to this Bible study tonight, and it is going to last 34 weeks. That's thirty-four weeks. Longer than anything I've ever done continuously, with the possible exclusion of school, which is only longer by a couple of weeks. I have never met or seen any of the other people in this Bible study. I have glanced briefly at the workbook, years ago. And the people will probably be older than me and talk often about their children and family life, and I will not identify with that, but for some reason I'm very excited about this study, so it will take a pretty terrible group to make me leave. I have always heard about this study and book and how it changes everyone's lives, and now for the first time it is working with my schedule and I'll live in the same place long enough to do it all, or most of it. I feel as though I'm getting down to business. Finally. But it could always not be for me--that happens all the time, everyone but me loves something. I hold my mind ajar. We will see.

In other news, I saw Burn After Reading and laughed and realized I am that woman who talks in movies and wondered when that happened. It was very funny, very well-acted, with lots of good scenes, but they didn't add up to much of a movie. As I'd been forewarned, the Coens and I are still OK. I would recommend that you wait and rent it or, as the kids do these days, Netflix it.

I have pulled off the coup of the decade in my poetry class, with permission. I "wrote" an entire poem of eleven stanzas using only found text from the Reader's Digest Science Reader from 1963. If I can continue to write poems by stealing lines and have professors say it's a great idea, I am switching genres. Not really. I keep telling myself I'm here for a challenge, I'm going to research and write this book, I'm not going to fall back on memoir, and I'm going to like it, and so is everyone else. Of course, when one has never had a class in research, one wonders how to proceed beyond the library. Maybe I could contract someone to do the interviews and stuff. Except I would still get to travel and meet people, just not have to take notes or anything.

I started reading French Women Don't Get Fat. When I typed that, I put "far" instead of "fat," which makes the sentence funny but not true. It's surprisingly readable, and I look forward to putting its concepts into practice. I am also savoring The Moviegoer, sometimes reading sentences repeatedly because I like them so much.

Two lost things someone should write: the second half of Aristotle's Poetics, in which he probably wrote about comedy (the half we have is about tragedy); and accounts of mortals who were welcomed into the Olympian community--according to Edith Hamilton, this happened to several humans, but once they went to Olympus, they disappeared from literature. What was their life like up there? When I say someone should write these, I mean me. So no stealing.

Actually, It's Tolerable, but Just Barely

Today I watched part of Intolerable Cruelty. Besides having really gorgeous people in it (George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones), it's just not that great, from what I could tell. And that made me happy, because the Coen brothers are so talented, such masters of their art, and they have still made some forgettable, mediocre films. Barton Fink left me feeling the same way, and Blood Simple. Or A Simple Plan, whichever was theirs--see? It's not even good enough to remember the title! It means there's hope for the rest of us, swashing along through the creative muck. If you do stuff often enough, something great will probably come out eventually. A comforting thought.

I've still been indulging in nostalgia, about to start the last Dark Is Rising book and talking about it to anyone who'll listen. To add to the list, I found an online version of You Don't Know Jack, the best computer trivia game ever. It doesn't have the jingles for each question number, but it's still fun and challenging.

I Love the 90s

The other night, I found Quantum Leap on Ion, this weird channel with reruns from that era. I can't even tell you how happy that made me. The show is emblematic of childhood summers--it used to come on at noon every day, and we'd watch it while we ate lunch, then resume our playing. I want to find DVDs now and spend days watching Quantum Leap. It's better than the other bad-but-good shows from the 90s. I was up earlier than usual a few weeks ago and got to see Saved by the Bell and Fresh Prince. And I'm rereading the Dark is Rising sequence, from even earlier. So, nostalgia all the way lately.

It's remarkable how abruptly something can lose hold of me; I'll read two-thirds of a book and suddenly realize I'm not interested. And since school ended, I've had fun being mostly alone and reading, but just today I decided that time is over and I'm ready to be sociable again. It's like something outside me has flipped a switch, arbitrarily. So let the cartoons begin.

Picture Books

I just finished Into the Wild, which was formidable and heartbreaking and sexy and informative, everything I want in a book.

Except pictures.

Are a few photos too much to ask, people? In this case, OK, maybe the family didn't want to publish them, but think of all the other pictureless books. I challenge you to name one nonfiction book that would not benefit from photographs. Really. Post a comment if you can think of one. You can't, can you? Ha. Didn't think so.

Hillary and Barack, McCain, other front-runners, if you're reading this, here's a plank for your platform: mandatory photos for nonfiction books. You'd have my vote. Also, higher salaries for teachers and lower ones for professional athletes and other entertainers. Also farm subsidies for organic growers. Alternative energy. Get out of Iraq. Health care for everyone.

Oh, Lord, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I try not to use the word never, so I'll say some of that stuff is, um, not going to happen. For every truth I see as painfully obvious, someone is exactly as convinced of the opposite. For every Daily Show I watch, there's a half-hour of, I don't know, the actual footage it makes fun of, soaking into someone's tender brain. And while I call things painfully obvious, I just mean to me--after all the books I've read, all the conversations I've had, the towns I've lived in, while other people grew up with different books, talks, and towns. So, a little scarily, "obvious" means nothing, nearly anyone can defend his convictions as well as I do mine, and everything, y'all, everything, is relative. The truth is always ours, no matter who "us" is.

Ha! All that from a tongue-in-cheek rant about photos in books. So I guess I've decided to laugh.