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Friday, 23 October 2009

  • The slippery slope of a squeaky step

    It has taken me over 12 years to realize that the second step from the top of our stairs squeaks. 

    I'm not sure why it was such a delayed observation.  Until recently, I was always under the impression that the  top section of the stairs was noisy, but it's not the top of the stairs in the generic sense.  It's just that one particular step. 

    So, now, logically, I try to avoid that step.  I go out of my way to step over it on my way up the stairs.  I step to the far side of it on my way down the stairs.  (I would just avoid it entirely going down as well, but I'm afraid of slipping and falling and cracking my head open on the floor below.) 

    I'm not really sure why I want so badly to avoid making the step squeak.  I think it may be a manifestation of my desire to me a super-awesome-secret-spy-type-person.  I don't want people hearing me because, secretly, I want to be able to sneak up on them.  I don't actually want to sneak up on them; I just want to be able to.  It's about keeping my options open. 

    Frankly, avoiding the squeaky step may be the beginning of a slippery slope.  First it's squeaky step avoidance maneuvers, but soon it will be crawling military style under barbed wire fences while avoiding the telltale beams of search lights.  And really, that's not too far away from wearing a stunning but slinky evening gown, prepared to charm top secret details out of an enemy government's official, all the while mindful of the dagger strapped to my upper thigh...

    Central Intelligence Agency, here I come.

Thursday, 15 October 2009

  • Letter to God

    Dear God,
    You confuse me...a lot.  That's strange for me because, when I was younger, you made complete and total sense.  You don't anymore: I can scarcely come up with an answer for anything without bringing up ten new questions. 

    Maybe that's why I get so upset with people who claim to know your mind: the people who claim to know who and what you hate, the people who claim that you care whether or not they wear a Rolex.  I mean, you invented water and air and dirt and light.  Doesn't strike me that you care about watches. 

    I believe in you, don't get me wrong--if I didn't, I wouldn't write to you--but I'm not sure how to make sense of what you say about yourself.  The Bible truly is a great book, but it's full of contradictions.  I'm kind of getting sick of people claiming that it isn't. 

    My mom thinks that college screwed up my concept of you.  By her definition, she's right.  The more I learned, the more I questioned.   My college Bible classes taught me that the Bible has a context.  My college psychology classes taught me that gender is a fuzzy concept.  The list keeps rolling...The thing is, I also learned to believe that all truth is Your truth.  I think it's a valuable lesson.

    Jesus sort of makes sense to me.  I just have a hard time reconciling Jesus with the Old Testament. 

    I'm sick of not knowing what to think.  I wish that I could ask questions without getting stock answers. 

    I'm seeking wisdom.  The Bible says that you'll help me with that.  I'm counting on it. 

    Ever yours,
    C

Monday, 21 September 2009

  • A little encouragement

    Shall I begin by saying that I should really be in bed right now?  Right.  As you wish. 

    I should really be in bed right now.

    But I'm not. 

    Here's why:

    Before officially turning in, I caught a glimpse of my desk.  It was kind of a wreck.  That usually wouldn't bother me, but I'm spending tomorrow with a college friend who has never seen my house.  I don't think he'd judge me for it, but the thought of my desk--the very sanctuary from which I write...and facebook--being a mess bothered me just enough to provoke me to clean.

    When I cleaned up, I found this:

    "I am intimately acquainted with four in the morning.  We have never gotten on well, but, even in our disdain for one another, we cannot deny familiarity.  I am much better friends with eight, nine, and ten.  Four always insists that I get out of bed.  Eight usually lets me hit the snooze alarm once or twice."

    It's a very small part of a large creative nonfiction project that I worked on in graduate school.  It made an impression on a few people, notably one of the strongest poets in my program.  He came into work at the writing center--his shift coming just after my own--and told me that that piece struck him: that it was beautiful, something he would never think of.   He couldn't say enough about it. 

    I'm not as impressed by it as he was, but thinking about that conversation made me smile.  It's amazing to think of the power behind those comments.  As long as I have that paragraph, I think I will probably remember his words. 

    It's amazing how far a little encouragement can stretch, isn't it?

Saturday, 01 August 2009

  • Camp Update

    When I left for Maine on June 1st, I did so with the highest of expectations.  I should have known then that things wouldn't be all sunshine and flowers (in fact, the first three weeks of actual camp were pretty much filled with nothing but miserable rain).  Still, I expected the best: leaving with lifelong friends, having an awesome time all the time, getting to see Maine...

    Eh

    I leave on August 21, and I'm really looking forward to it.  There's been good and bad: not enough bad that I'm unhappy,.but not enough good that I'm not totally looking forward to going home.

    The good stuff: 
    I've been working in a 9-11 year old boys cabin, and over the course of the 5 weeks that the kids have been here, I've had some awesome kids in my cabin.  By the time my last group of boys left, they had decided that I'm the mom in the cabin.  I know that I was important to their experiences at camp.  I think that means something.

    I've learned a lot about myself.  (Not least of which is that I apparently have maternal instincts buried down there deep...who knew?)  I've learned that I can follow maps, that I can drive a 15 passenger van (though, really, still not as big as the truck and trailer that I'm used to).  I've learned that I'm a pretty good teacher...and I've learned the limits of my patience.

    Also, I'm one of the rare girls who gets to work with boys.  That works well for me.  There's no drama when you live/work with boys.  Granted, you can't go into the bathroom without flip flops, but there's always an up and a down side. 

    I've improved the llama herd that they have out here.  They've never had anyone in the llama barn with my level of experience, and I think I've improved the way they deal with their llamas. 

    I'm teaching riding classes. I'm co-directing a musical.  I've watched as candy was thrown out of a plane and nearly 300 kids run to grab it.  I've been taped to the side of a building as part of an evening program...
    So much good stuff.

    The crap:
    I'm not really close to anyone out here, and, while I've gotten very comfortable being by myself, I miss my close friends.  The people are nice, but we really don't have the same values, and that makes closeness impossible.  (For example, one of the girls I teach with thinks religion is the root of all of the evil in the world...gotta say that I'm not on the same page.)  In other words, I'm alone a lot.

    I don't have my car here...my mobility is crazy limited.  I miss being able to get away when I need to.

    I have limited communication with the outside world and extremely limited freetime.  I'm looking forward to a job that isn't 24 hours a day.

    So there you have it, my brief camp update.

Wednesday, 20 May 2009

  • Proof that Poetry isn't dead : )

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils,
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the Milky Way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced, but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: -
    A poet could not but be gay
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed -and gazed -but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought.

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills
    And dances with the daffodils.

     

    You've gotta love Wordsworth.

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