Bonanza Blitz of Weekends, part 1: Lay Speaker Training

It was not at all what I expected. Perhaps in part because of my Creative Writing background (side note: I love using "background" in that way, perhaps in part because of my pretentious background), I thought I'd be gettin' with other wannabe preachers or confused folk who love God and read the same book I did that said do lay speaker training because it might help you discern some things. I thought we would make on-the-spot mini-sermons and get or give feedback on them, or maybe see some sample ones on video or read about them. Do's and don'ts of public speaking/preaching, combined with a workshop, is what I thought it was.

But no. It was more like a rundown of Methodists vs. the world, not a combative "vs." but one that points out how we, in our stated-and-written-down beliefs, are different from, say, Presbyterians, which made me none too comfortable, and surprise, made nothing any iota clearer. It was very educational and pretty fun. I met some cool people. But I did not learn anything about speaking or preaching. They ought to re-title it "Being a Good Methodist Training."

I must tell you that I did advanced lay speaker training without having taken Basic, which everyone said was OK even without my asking them, probably because they could tell from my voice on the phone that I'm way too smart for Basic. That may have had something to do with my off-the-mark expectations; like, for instance, maybe basic lay speaker training covers some of the things I thought I'd learn. But we won't know that 'til the spring, if ever.

Nothing is OK with me lately. Too much is changing at once, and everyone else seems all but oblivious to it. Our small group is "ending," as one member so bluntly put it. Too many people are moving away, or getting ready to, or hoping to. Having roommates stresses me out, and my job is as bad as ever. I'm helplessly watching yet another once-hopeful romantic prospect fizzle and die. Basically, I can't name one part of my life that's not in flux, and it ain't no eustress either. I can handle some pain if I learn from it, but I don't feel like I'm learning. I can handle change in one or two sectors at a time, but I feel like I'm playing the least fun game of Whack-a-Mole ever. You get one crisis taken care of (or at least learn to live with it), and another comes up. You plug a hole in the stern, and another leak springs in the bow, and another, and another, and they're coming faster. Those games, they start out slow, but that's just a mean and deceptive trick. You always lose.

I know the right answer is to give the game over to God, or trade in your boat for his, whichever metaphor we're going with. But I'm so attached to my way of doing it, and I don't know enough about his way or what to expect. I'm pretty sure nothing is going to get better until I trust him enough to hand over something, anything. But that feels really far away. So here I am, going down with the boat, but isn't it a beauty? And I get to be the captain.

Bliss Blitz

The next six consecutive weekends are going to be filled with the best kind of busyness: travel, holidays, learning, and general breaking-of-routine. At first I was reluctant to fill in the last couple of spots, but then I thought, no way. These are all things I want to do, and as my new-mom friend Stacey pointed out, I may not be able to act this way if I ever have a kid, or even just a different kind of job.

Let's take a look:
October 23 (Saturday): Lay speaker training for the United Methodist Church district
October 29 and 30 (Saturday and Sunday): Bible study training workshop through Port City Community Church
November 4 (Thursday, but I will do my utmost to stay all weekend): my brother's percussion ensemble concert in Asheville. Both of my parents will be there, and I was just reminded that a cousin is in Asheville, too! This one depends on my ability to get all of my stories written by Wednesday so I can check out on Thursday morning. I am feeling not certain but very hopeful.
November 12-14 (Friday-Sunday): Pilgrimage with PVUMC youth
November 19-21 (Friday-Sunday): Celebration of Seagrove Potters
November 25 (Thursday, but again it will be a weekend-long affair): Thanksgiving

And that's just the weekends! I am also going to see Banksy's first movie, a Halloween puppet show at the art museum featuring a story from Ecotone, Dusty and Ace AKA Philip and Clyde, fondue, Writers' Week, my James Thurber party, a thesis reading by Erin Sroka and Laurin Penland, a reading by John Sullivan, and who knows what else is going to come up during that time! Sometimes it frustrates me that all the fun seems to happen at once. Then when it's going on, I sure don't mind.

And ideally, this will give my blog somethin' to talk about. So stay tuned to see just how blissfully exhausted I get, and how much I learn, and how much I enjoy my six-week powerhouse of fun.

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.

More

To continue the saying-nice-words thing, "extravaganza" is another of my favorites.

Our Nooma video today was about how death is the engine of life. I knew about the seed-has-to-die-to-become-the-plant thing, but I hadn't thought about how food must become dead before it can nourish us. Good stuff. We ended up talking more about image and ego and how much we try to be a certain way and why. One of my friends mentioned cleaning before people come over, and I started thinking about one of my best friends growing up. She had two sisters and a dog, and their house was always a gracious and fun mess. I don't remember ever seeing her kitchen counters because there were always stacks of dishes. It was one of my favorite places to be! Her dad had the first DVD I ever saw (Stigmata--didn't watch it, just looked at the disc itself), and he dreamed of having a motorcycle. One time, I went over there for New Year's, and we did snap-n-pops right on the kitchen floor! Inside! That was also the first time I saw What Not to Wear. And there was almost always something chocolate to enjoy at their house.

So the lesson (for me) is, cleanliness is overrated. I never went to someone's house and wanted to come back because it was so clean. I want to come back because I love them, enjoy their company, and feel at rest there. Personal hygeine is another story, but at least as far as spaces go, there's a lot to be said for a welcoming disarray. At the very least, your guests are never afraid of messing something up.

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!

Hundredth Post!

Sometimes when I'm by myself, I say nice words out loud. I usually start with "striations" and "cumulonimbus."

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.