General Update

A lot has happened since I last posted. In Atlanta with my mom, I ate at a revolving rooftop restaurant, saw an exhibit of posters for peace and social justice, and ran into some old friends from Youth Council! Those were the days. Then I went to church camp and enjoyed meeting new people from Pine Valley UMC, getting closer to people I'd known a little, and swimming in a lake that felt like a tepid bath, or maybe even less refreshing. The lake had something in it--algae, tannins, everyone had a different story--that clung to the tiny hairs you don't normally notice, so my hands looked like Wolfman's with hair coming out the backs. But one day they mysteriously settled down or something and didn't stick to us!

I thought a lot about why experiences like that--the sweaty ones--lend themselves so readily to experiencing God. I came up with a few reasons.
1. It's closer than usual to the way Jesus and His disciples lived. They probably had dirty feet and smelly clothes most of the time.
2. It forces loss of control, and forces us to admit we're not in control. Because if we were, we would've had a shower in the last 48 hours or so.
3. It promotes gratitude. In "regular" life, most of us don't thank God for every drink of cold water, every energizing meal, every helping hand. But at camp and similar experiences, we definitely don't take those things for granted.
4. It usually involves being in nature, and its beauty always points to God's sovereignty, care, and power.

So yeah, I had a good time at church camp!

When I got back, I immediately felt sluggish and had a sore throat, which soon evolved into a cough with intermittent body ache and fever. Luckily, that's mostly behind me now. I'm very grateful to be able to lounge and baby myself without missing work or class. Today I only have a slightly sore throat and occasional cough, and I was able to run the usual amount on my run/walk; it was definitely more difficult, but I made it, and later I can say, "If I did it while I was sick, surely I can do it now!"

I also signed up for a triathlon that will take place in September and got the key to the new place I'm sharing on Wrightsville. Now I'm allowed to call everyone "landlubbers," and I intend to do so at every opportunity. I might even move the big stuff tomorrow, and then I'll take my time with the (endless) boxes and bags and suitcases and satchels of junk that makes me feel good. Not without a trip to Goodwill to cleanse my stuff chakra and lighten the load, even if it's only a little. It will be really nice to have an organizational start-over, since I've been taking undue advantage of the fact that no one's seen my bedroom in months, if ever. I think it'll also be good to have roommates again, so I can relearn kindergarten things like sharing and coexisting and not being completely self-centered. Plus there'll probably be no more episodes like today's, when I came back from my walk to find the door open and men installing a new fridge and stove. It's nice because I won't have to clean them as much when I move, but I don't relish the thought that the apartment complex office has extra keys. And that won't be an issue at the new place.

I've been watching a lot of America's Next Top Model this weekend. I realized very quickly that many of the girls on the show are not that attractive in person, and a lot of "beauty" has to do with makeup and photography and poses. The ideas of beauty on that show, and in most of our lives, are so distorted as to be harmful. "That's a horrible picture," "She needs to lose ten pounds," "I'm not beautiful." COME ON! I hear stuff like that enough from women in real life who are perfectly lovely, and that's ludicrous enough. But if you're on that show, is it not clear that you've done better than literally thousands of other women? I not only feel sad for them, I feel personally insulted and angry. If they think such awful things about themselves, what does that mean they think about most women? Let me add the disclaimer that most of the comments come from the contestants, and usually about themselves and not other contestants. The show's judges are usually very positive, and when they do say things about weight or height (like 5'7" is short! Hello!), it's infrequent and they sort of do it in a way that acknowledges the silliness of it, like, "That's show biz, kid." They run it, for the most part, in a professional way that discusses the modeling industry more than beauty per se. Tyra even said a few times that models' beauty is special because it's debatable, like they have a feature that's not conventionally considered beautiful. Interesting stuff to ponder, especially when you add the neverending moral quandaries brought up by the House marathon three channels over. TV is, when handled well by a mature mind, such a good teacher sometimes.

In much sunnier news, my trip to Seagrove last week was phenomenal. Those potters just keep getting more endearing. So endearing that I wish the research part could last forever and never lead to the writing part. In my first ever writing about Seagrove back in the fall, I started with a visit there when I was seven or so; all I remember from that visit is lots of animals. Everywhere we went, all kinds of pets, or so it seemed at seven. I realized last trip that it's still true! One-eyed dog, sneaky chickens, dog licking my toes, cat who couldn't care less. Almost every potter had some sweet pet. I also got to walk a grass labyrinth (well, walked in the right way and out the lazy way, which felt surprisingly transgressive), learn a little bit about my digital voice recorder, hang out with my granddaddy, discuss the resemblance of the Seagrove situation to a Christopher Guest movie (that's when I know someone's a keeper, when they get Guest), and get a lot of fruitful information while having fun.

Back at home, I've been enjoying the warm-but-not-hot weather, checking out a room for rent at the beach, cleaning off and riding my bike for the first time in months, going for long walks on the beach. This is the life, I tell ya. Next week I'm going to start writing and reading at the library, because while I stand by my statement that TV is a good teacher, and it's fine as background noise for mindless typing, it's a not-so-good accompanist to real work. Hooray for easy solutions! And libraries!

Good News If Ever There Was

Someone from Heifer International was just on The Colbert Report. What a wonderful organization, and what great publicity for them. Steven said, "If you give a man a cow, you feed him for a day. If you teach a man to cow...."

I've been thinking about my time there at the Heifer farm because I've been thinking a lot about my travels and different places I've lived. All due to recent breakthroughs in Seagrove, the feeling that I belong there even after only three trips, the feeling that I might just as well belong here, and the difficult but essentially beautiful realization that even if I find the perfect place to live, I will always have days where I wish I were in Paris, or Minneapolis, or Davidson, or Seagrove, or Wilmington, or some other place I pass through on my way to permanence.

Anyway, Heifer's been on my mind, and I stand in continual awe of its ideals, its system, and the way the latter serves the former so fluidly. That's rare, having the practice match the principles. There are so many great stories involved, a few from my time at the farm but so many more from people around the world. I'm thinking next book already. One of those perfect subjects that has every element I want to explore in writing: community, global stuff, efficiency/ simplicity/ earth-friendly living, God, people helping each other. Plus cute animals! Can't wait. In the meantime, I guess I better actually do something about book #1.

Two days of class left, and very little to do for those. Then a final project, one extra book to make, a couple days of grading, and we're off! Where, I don't know. Nowhere literally; I'll be right here in town for the summer, but there's no telling what job I might get and how I might be spending my time for the next three-plus months. I do know it will involve lots of reading, 'riting, and research (the 3 Rs of grad school), lazy time with friends, new frontiers in breadmaking, a desirable and very welcome move to some nicer digs, exercise, and general fun.

Oodles of Light, What a Beautiful Sight, Both of God's Eyes Are Shining Tonight

I left for Seagrove/Greensboro/Badin Lake on Friday afternoon, dropped my friend Erin off at a music festival in Pittsboro, and this afternoon when I picked her up it felt like a week since I'd seen her. So much happens every time I go to Seagrove (I wish I could make a sound effect that makes the music Patti always had on the show Doug). This time, I absolutely cracked the case, broke the story, just blew this thing out of the water. And when I say I, I mean the potters and their people. I just wish I could replay it all word for word. Tell me again about the Irish funeral. Tell me again about the cave in Belize you had to swim to get to and how the Mayan calendar is going to end in 2012. Tell me again about the cocaine, the adultery, the gambling habit, the convicted child molester manning the kids' tent, tell me again about the gunshot story. (I was acting even more writerly than usual, in that way writers have of going, "Hells yeah!" when something utterly horrific is revealed.) Oh, and tell me again about how great my book is going to be and how many people will buy it. You know who you are. Every single person I talked to was more helpful, informative, articulate, and passionate than I would have dared to ask for, and that's not counting the surprises. It's almost scary now, having all this information just bestowed upon me. I'm acutely conscious of the nonfiction writer's responsibility toward her subjects, and really glad there are other people whose job it is to deal with legal issues and that that's much later. For now, I just feel like the luckiest girl in the world, who is going to have the best thesis ever. Who cares if I didn't do the other work I planned to do this weekend? My thesis is my commitment now, and some other areas of my life are henceforth going to be imperfect. (Ha. "Henceforth," because, you know, it's all been flawless until now.)

I must have listened to my John Prine CD five or seven times today, first to get in the Seagrove mood and then because Erin hadn't heard it. When the first song ("Illegal Smile") came on, she nodded and said, "This sounds right."

Here's something my computer said to me: "Exception has been thrown by the target of an invocation." Each word is familiar, but together they just don't make sense. It would be awesome as heavy metal lyrics, though.

Thanks

It is over sixty degrees outside, and the gallery on Front Street always has Brian Andreas pieces in its windows, and I'm going to Chicago on Thursday to see Art Spiegelman, and I have good friends with loud laughs, and there are two people I can count on no matter what and a lot more I can count on, and I live near the beach, and I'm eating fondue this week, and I just started a new blank journal, and my church is the most wonderful one that I could imagine, and everything is getting easier every day.

The Varieties of Religious Experience

Yesterday I was doing what I usually do on a Saturday, spending a few hours at a cafe getting ahead of the week's schoolwork. Actually, in this case I was researching for my thesis instead of grading papers or other school stuff. The preacher of a local megachurch came in and sat down. At first I was a little flustered--it felt like a celebrity sighting. Then I thought about how wrong that is, to me: pastors shouldn't feel like celebrities to us. I took great comfort in knowing that if any of the pastors at the (non-mega) church I attend now had come in, they almost surely would have recognized me and probably come over to speak. Then I felt bewildered at how different people are. Clearly, the man I saw has touched many lives. His church is blessed and not just growing but booming, so for lots and lots of people, it doesn't matter that their pastor doesn't know them. But for me, that was a big part of why I stopped going to his church. Good preaching, cool music, but the dude couldn't pick me out of a lineup, and the people whose hands I shook during the one-minute greeting time were people I would never see again. That bothered me. And now I am blessed to be in a church where lots of people remember my name (even if I still can't keep theirs straight), where the preaching actually remains in my head after it's over, and where there are numerous low-pressure opportunities to serve or study outside services. And seeing that other preacher made me much more aware of it and grateful for it. So even if I hadn't gotten any work done at the cafe, it still would have been a good and productive Saturday.

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.