Lost & Found

Whenever I think about the fire, I think of some of the things I lost. Many of those are books, and one in particular is a poetry anthology. The copy I had was dog-eared from reading and re-reading and re-discovering poets like Mari Evans and Phyllis McGinley and Richard Wilbur, and even the standards - Whitman and Frost and Browning. This is the book that made me realize that the copious amount of verse I wrote in high school was not really poetry. At least, not the kind that contributes to literature, the kind people read over and over again and come to memorize certain passages, even whole poems, and helps them crystallize their feelings and thoughts and understand the world around them. The majority of my poetry rarely transcended above my selfish need to pour out my adolescent angst.

I loved this book. It's the only one I have spent any real time searching for so I could replace it. My problem was that I couldn't remember it's title or the editor's name - only that she was a she. I've actually grieved for this book (hey, some books are like good friends - you can turn to them anytime you need to, and you understand them and they understand you), and I've almost given up searching for it. Almost.

And today... I FOUND IT!!!!!! Excuse me for screaming, but it's worth it. And... I found it for the perfectly paltry price of $2.95 (plus shipping). Thanks, Alibris!

God bless the Internet.

Class Clown?

Turns out my high school class president is now a full-time comedian. I'd make some smart-aleck comment about that being indicative of the quality of my public school education, but Rajiv is actually a pretty intelligent guy. And, from what I choose to recall of my adolescence, a pretty nice guy to boot. (Irrelevant side: why do we use the phrase "to boot"? Sounds like I want to give him a kick in the pants.)

I remember three main things about Rajiv. The first is from our freshman year at Fairfield High School, the first day, in English class. The teacher's doing roll call and gets to Rajiv Satyal. She takes her time to pronounce it... "Rah-zheev Saht-yawl"... and immediately asks if she's said his name correctly.

Rajiv: Almost.

Teacher: Well, how do you pronounce it?

Rajiv: Rah-zheev Saht-yawl

Class: Ha, ha, ha...

The ironic? coincidental? thing about all this is it's similar to part of Rajiv's stand-up routine (go ahead, google "rajiv pronounce" and you get a ton of links, the first one being one of his clips on YouTube). From this incident, I (in my pathetic attempt to be humorous myself) would refer to him as "Almost Rajiv. Because he's almost there." (Please stop groaning.)

The second thing I remember about Rajiv is that he would either write "Just Do It" or "Vote for me - Class Clown" (or both!) every time he'd condescend to sign my yearbook.

Lastly, I remember "working" with Rajiv in Peer Counselors/Helpers/Do-Gooders. Don't know if he did that because he was truly a nice guy and wanted to help his peers, or because it might help him get more votes when running for class president/look good on his college resume, but I prefer to think it was the former.

Good luck, Rajiv! Oh, and by the way, Toledo does have a Comedy Club. *cough*

If you want to help Rajiv make it to the big time, here's what he asks people do to promote him:

Website Subscriptions: Get 10 of your friends to sign up on my website. All they have to do is go to www.funnyindian.com and input their information at the top-right. They won't get spammed.

MySpace Friends: Add me to your friends on MySpace at www.myspace.com/funnyindian. Send out a bulletin to your friends to do the same.

Website Blog: Read my blog! Bookmark it and surf it when you have downtime at work. Comment on it — I love the interaction.

MySpace Blog: Subscribe to my blog at http://blog.myspace.com/funnyindian.

Friendster: Add me to your friends on Friendster at www.friendster.com/funnyindian.

iTunes: Subscribe to my podcast in iTunes.

Funny Indian Newsletter: Forward this update to your friends.

Obesity vs. Terrorism

May I suggest (to follow up on my 8/14/06 post) that obesity and terrorism are not rivals - they're partners!

Someone should let the Surgeon General know.

Beetles & Chemical Dyes, O My!

My friend Debbie sent me an article via email (it's all the same info as what's in the link above, which is the blog post title) and I now want to shrivel up and never eat again. (Unless it's ice cream, of course. Do they make organic ice cream, and is it worth it?)

Anyway, so if you want to get depressed about your fridge's contents or become more supermarket-savvy, by all means visit the link. If you want to remain in ignorance of the crushed beetles you are ingesting, then don't read!

Anyone up for a yogurt?

Terrorist Plot Uncovered! News at 11!

With all due respect to the recent furor over the (forunately) discovered conspiracy of blowing up British-American flights last week, I offer this little piece of intended humor to lighten the mood.

I am sitting at home indulging an Amelia Peabody mystery after a long day of serving (or attempting to serve) at church. I'm tired, sweaty, but relatively free of any particular want or care. (There is a need, however, of doing the rest of the dishes, but that is easily ignored.) The Boo is asleep, and I'm enjoying the peace and quiet. Er, I mean, reading allows me to be quiet. (My aunt works 3rd shift and has to grab sleep whene'er she can.)

For those that don't know me, I carry a goodly amount of extra poundage. At least 1/3 of that extra weight could be attributed to ice cream. Not chocolate. Not cookies or cake. Definitely not brownies. Ice cream. Smooth, sweet, refreshingly cool ice cream. *sssssiiiiigghhhhhhhh*

And there is nothing more disturbing to an individual intent on relaxing for the night with a good book than the sound of that demon of summer eves, that evil enchanter of the season... The Ice Cream Truck.

I can hear it at least a street over, because our a/c is dead, gone, passed away to wherever the working souls of air conditioners go when they decide they can't handle the friction any more, and our windows are open begging for a breeze. Its merry melody reaches my ears much the same way you see dogs tempted with smells in cartoons... the smoke-like whiff is the strain of the endlessly-repeating song, teasing and tickling my ears. It grows louder, stronger, and the child not very well submerged in me (I want the Spongebob popsicle, please!) pleads within to run out to the curb, waving my money. But I resist.

Especially since I don't have any cash. And - thank God - I sincerely doubt we've advanced so far into "The Mark of the Beast" technology as to have ice cream trucks fitted out to accept debit cards. (If I'm wrong, please do not tell me. They say ignorance is bliss and, in this case, it's probably about 10 pounds lighter, too.)

Still, that Presence that haunts the streets of suburbia in summertime is undeniably indelibly imprinted on the American psyche, calling to children of all ages and playing on the memories of the older ones of those long-ago, happy days... Calling, with its music; weaving its spell... But I say unto you: Beware the wolf in sheep's clothing! Beware the colorful dairy-product dispenser! Ignore the lure of the Pied Piper of Cellulite!

For I, aye, humble I, have uncovered the dastardly plot behind these traveling machines of early-onset obesity! Disassociate yourself from the sweet memory of turning your sunburned face up to the Ice Cream Man and asking for a Drumstick or a Strawberry Shortcake or a Rocket Popsicle. For he is not the friendly treat-bringer we've all been led to believe. He's a terrorist!

I know, I know, I found it hard to believe myself when I discovered the truth. It hurts, does it not? But, I beg of you, consider the facts:

1. Ice cream tastes good. Really good. Like, I'll-be-single-for-the-rest-of-my-life-because-I-can't-lose-weight-because-I-love-ice-cream-too-much-to-never-over-indulge-in-it-again good.
2. Anything that tastes good is bad for you. (I bet that fateful "apple" in Eden was delicious.)
3. Anything that's bad for you is easy to sell.
4. Anything that's easy to sell makes money.
5. Anything that makes money AND is bad for the general American public has got to be something terrorists really dig.
6. I'm generally two steps behind any money-making, health-threatening scheme, so somebody has to be already employing it.
7. Terrorists are a nice, ambiguous group of people to use as scapegoats.

Now, I ask you, how can you argue with my logic? It's as plain as day. You must buy your ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery.

My next in-depth report will cover my investigation of whether Ben & Jerry are really old hippies from Vermont or if they're really "Bin & Jihad." Stay tuned!

Heavy Heart

There's No Place Like Home

"Now I know I have a heart... because it's breaking."
- The Tinman, Wizard of Oz

I've spent most of my life thinking God took FOREVER to do stuff. It's His timing, right? But sometimes things happen so quickly (usually to other people) that you're left breathless and befuddled. This is where I am now, a little dazed at the rapidity of how God has knocked down each barrier to the moving on of two of the most amazing people I know: Pastor Steve and Tricia. They are finally going "home" to the Pacific NW, where at least Tricia's heart has been for quite a while (indeed, did it ever leave?).

Of course, their hearts have been here too, as their dedication and integrity in ministry after ministry has shown. But while I am happy for them that this is finally happening for them, it's really hard to see them go. For as little as I've had the chance to see them in the last couple of years, knowing that my IHOP "conferences" with Tricia and the occasional dinner at their place (and soon at mine!) is coming to an end, it's heart-breaking. I hate how relationships have to change - because I know this one will. I'm sure we'll keep tabs on each other, but it's never the same. *deep sigh*

But... it's not about me. It's about God's glory, and the plans He has for each of us. We were in each other's lives for a reason (mostly, they were in my life as incredible mentors and friends), and now God expects us to move on, move forward, taking those experiences into the next ways He has for us to serve. And that is truly exciting.

So, Tricia and Pastor Steve, blessings to you as you continue your journey westward, homeward (aren't we all journeying homeward?), and your next big adventure. You have my love, prayers, a place to visit if you ever want to return to Ohio (no comments, please, Tricia! ha, ha), and a promise from me that somehow, someway, I will get out to see you eventually. (You can't get rid of me so easily!)

I love you both! (Oh, and Ian, too!) ;-)

Dreaming of The END

Lame title, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else. I had a dream yesterday morning that really disoriented me for a good part of the morning.

I had hit the snooze button several times, and dozed off again right before that last-chance-to-get-up alarm went off. And the BFG must've been strolling by at that time and blew in a dream for what he must've considered a bad grown-up. Because I dreamed about gas.

Not the funny kind, with its myriad of goofy noises, noxious smells, and source of endless juvenile jokes... No, I mean gas. Fuel for your car.

This is not a typical dream subject for me. While I do often have vivid dreams about mundane things in bizaare situations, this seemed a little more than just a weird dream. So much so I had to blog it.

In my dream, I'm hanging out with three of my girlfriends from bible study, and at some point we end up at a gas station that is packed with cars. This is a station with several pumps and a large canopy over them all. As in a bar, there are large flat-screen TV's mounted to the tops of the pillars where they meet the canopy. The station is packed because gas prices are over $5.00 a gallon, and rapidly rising. There is a sense of panic and frustration in the air.

What is most disturbing about this dream is that on every TV is the same broadcast: a heavy-joweled middle-eastern man is announcing his intentions to raise barrel prices so high he "breaks America." He is basically declaring war on America by putting so much pressure on our economy through astronomical fuel prices.

The second-most disturbing part of this dream is the attitude at the pumps. I am trying to tell my friends and anyone else around me that now is the time we start changing our lifestyles - carpooling, etc. - but no one is listening. Instead, they are complaining and wondering what the government is going to do to fix this for them. They are frustrated and angry, but I feel alone, suddenly cold and surrounded by dark. By the time we leave the station, gas prices are over $7.00 a gallon.

Now, I know this is probably not feasible. I'm sure there are checks and balances to ensure that one or two individuals cannot effect such drastic changes so immediately. However, though I don't know how the oil industry works, the dream was still very real and very horrifying in its way. I'd rather not repeat it again.

Turtles, Cats, the Death Machine & Me

** I started this post eons ago (try late May), and about a third of the way through, saved it as a draft. So about two-thirds of this is my grasping, flailing memory. Enjoy. **

I somehow have this whole Animal Planet theme going on in my life for the last week. Let me recount the incidents backwards in chronological order....

Incident #3: Is not really an incident, more of an extended conversation/encounter. My friend Stephanie and I took a road trip out to Shipshewana yesterday in the muggy, blazing heat. I will not bore you with the details of my mistaken ideas that the flea market was indoors like my beloved Trader's World or that there would be booths full of seconhand/antique furniture for bargain prices. It still was a good trip, and Stephanie and I had plenty of time to chat. She trains guide dogs for the disabled, her current one being a yellow lab named Cassidy (in addition to her own pet yellow lab, Boxer). So I quizzed her on general dog and lab knowledge, since I have been dying to get a chocolate lab for ages. Later that day, our group was at her house for our Memorial Day cookout, and I recollected tangibly just how much these wonderful dogs shed. Hmmm... a slight damper on my enthusiasm.

Incident #2: The Great Turtle Rescue of '06. This happened the day before Shipshewana, I think, and it was a caper of adorable proportions. My friend Sarah Bailey and I were on our way to Youngstown to pick up a great ebay find (yes, driving to Youngstown for pick-up was more fiscally-sensible than paying for the shipping, plus Sarah and I got to bond - and you cannot ignore the need for female bonding!). She met me at my dad's place and we headed out on the road. We got about a quarter of a mile when we saw him. Or her. (I'm not a turtle gender expert.) He/she/it was in the middle of the right lane, all greeny-brown and hell-bent on either getting smashed or getting across the road, whichever came first (most likely the smashed part). Now, this was a turtle, so you know "hell-bent" is a relative term.

In a fit of pathos, I made a u-ie (or is that u-ey?) and pulled over to the side of the road. I then ran out in the middle of traffic (ok, so I waited for the cars to pass) and, ignoring every "Oh, God, I hope it's not a snapping turtle!" and extra-girley inclination of "EW!", I grabbed it 'round the shell and hustled back over to the Trailblazer. Said turtle had done his turtley thing and gone into hiding. Not sure that I could drive and hold a turtle at the same time, I prevailed upon Sarah to hold it while I rushed back that whole quarter-mile to Dad's so we could deposit him near the pond. I felt empowered.

Incident #3: The Death Machine. After this incident, I waxed a little philosophical. But then I removed the waxy build-up, so I won't bore you with my meanderings here. (You'll have to steal my journal!)

Anywho, I came home from work a couple of evenings before The Great Turtle Rescue to find my sister's cat, Spot, sitting and staring intently into the grass. Normally Spot is right at your car door as soon as you open it, thanks to my aunt, so her behavior seemed a little odd. I approached the cat to see what was holding her interest so strongly, and startled the little-more-than-a-baby rabbit into hopping away. Which got Spot to bound playfully at it. Except Spot's version of playing usually ends up with a dead critter in Dad's garage.

Now, it's drizzling, and I've got my gigantic purse and my umbrella bogging me down. I also happen to like bunnies as well as turtles and dogs. So imagine me, laden with umbrella and heavy, giant purse, taking off after cat and rabbit. And when they stop, I catch up. And when I catch up, it scares the bunny again. This goes on for several minutes (Lord, thank you that my dad wasn't home to observe this) until bunny, cat, and (eventually) I reach the trees and underbrush on the other side of the drive. Bunny hops in, hoping for cover, followed by cat, followed by my frustrated admonishments towards Spot. After a few seconds, some rustling, some horrible crying that could only come from the rabbit, Spot saunters out with the bunny in its mouth.

I understand this is nature, folks. Some of you are laughing at me, but those cries of impending doom were heart-rending. And I hated fat, lazy Spot at that moment. Which I know is unfair - she was just being a cat, and is normally a very friendly, sweet one at that - but it's the truth.

Somehow I managed to do something that got Spot to drop the bunny (which seemed relatively unharmed), but didn't mangage to contain the cat. So we did our little hop-chase-jog back towards the underbrush. This time, however, I managed to grabbed Spot's tail and hold her back for a few moments, giving the rabbit a little time to make its get-away. While I know I didn't hurt Spot at all, I'm sure it annoyed her. It is to her credit that she didn't turn around and bite my hand, which I fully expected her to do.

So, I pressed the pause button on the Death Machine, and the bunny lived to die another day.

In Memory of Marcia R. Moore

Yesterday was the 15-year anniversary of my grandma's death from cancer. I still have moments when I miss her so much - like it all just happened, like it wasn't a decade and a half ago. Her death had a huge impact on my life, but her life (thankfully) even more so.

I wish so many of you could have known her. She was funny, and compassionate, and a bit of a rebel. But she taught me so much about loving God, and she truly trained me up "in the way I should go."

I've posted a couple of pictures. The first one is obviously Grandma in her youth - long before I was even thought of. :)

The second is her with her two middle boys - my dad (waving - look at those legs!) and my uncle Tom (with the goofy face). She had six kids all together - Dick, Bill, Jim (my dad), Tom, Rob, and Princess - that would be my aunt Lou. It was a rough life, but she was an amazing woman.

I think I get my wanderlust, sense of fun, and creativity largely from her. Thanks, Grandma.

And here's one of the poems I wrote about her after her death. Forgive me, but it's a little depressing. Also forgive me, because this is actually one of my better ones. (Yeah, so you can see why I don't really write poetry any more!)

1924 - 1991
Your legacy is a cold marble stone
with your name and a couple of dates,
as if you were only sixty-seven years
from here - to there.
Some might say you were
like a rock, like this
slab we placed as a
monument to your death?
Even the flowers I
brought you don't fit.
I'm missing a few pieces still -
this puzzle - because I
don't understand.

I thought this would be a milestone -
coming here -
but it's only a gravestone.
We gave you a park, some flowers,
a few companions, and a
rock to mark your unresting place.
I'm not happy with this arrangement -
it's all cut-and-dried.
I'm not God, or cancer, or time,
and I don't decide.
Not how any of us plan these things -
this death - because we
don't understand.

If I could have my way...
but tradition doesn't listen.
And if I were in the business of making
symbols, I would have thrown away
this stone.
This stone for this seed I plant.
So small, so helpless, it will take
root and grow - forever -
live wrapped around and
in you, like a memory.
But I am forbidden -
this seed - to
understand.

Ode to Michael Gray, 2004 - 2006

I was going to wait until Friday to post this, since that's MPG's last day, but I feel like doing it now (read: I don't feel like doing the work I should be doing). So here goes....

For Michael, my cubemate, cohort, and all-around favorite ho (or is that hoe?)... anyway, I just wanted to say I'm going to miss ya. Yes, your sarcasm is brutal and you've made me cry so many times I've lost count, but for as many bruises and cuts you've inflicted, you've made me laugh 3 times as much. And God knows, we need that around here.

Good luck, God bless, happy trails to you. I'm gonna miss sharing laughs of derision with you.

Another Profundity w/ Expletive

I know, this is copping out. I should be posting about how I think we've found THE HOUSE we want. Or maybe how school is winding up and I'm waaaaayyy behind on my last project. Or how this allergy season is kicking my butt and I feel so miserable, I want to claw my eyes out. Or maybe I just post an obnoxious plea for you (yes, YOU) to respond to that email I sent you about IKEA coming to Canton, MI, because if you sign up under me then I get points. And the more points I get, the closer I get to becoming an IKEA Tokig, which gives me priveleges at the store. And since I lost everything I own in a terrible fire *sniffle* I can use all the help I can get to replace it. Especially with affordable, economical IKEA. (There, was that obnoxious enough?) Ha!

But what I'm really writing about is this quote I found through the blog of a blog (you know how that goes). And this is actually a quote, but it includes the s-word. Twice. OOOHHHH... I warned ya! This is from Tony Campolo, a man who Pastor Mike just yesterday said he admired. How's that for justification, baby?

"'Tens of thousands of children died last night because of poverty related issues and we don't give a shit.'

"After a brief moment of silence he continues.

"'What's disturbing to me is that just now, in that brief moment of silence, more of you were concerned with the fact that I said the word shit than with the fact that tens of thousands of children died last night.'"

And if you're interested, I found that quote through this post, which in turn was found through this post. But I didn't bother reading through all the comments at the bottom.

Profundity For the Day

Since I'm simple-minded, it's easy for me to find things profound. Like this sentence from a really good post on Dry Bones Dance:

"When you come to face God, would you rather explain your excess of mercy or excess of judgment?"

What about you? God, I hope I have to explain mercy.

Naughty Can Be Nice

OK, so we have this new girl in the office, and her name's Candy. Candy is great, because she's the Administrative Support person for some of the bigwigs and our sales team, which takes a lot of "not-even-remotely-connected-to-marketing" type of work off of me. Candy is also great because she supplies us with... you guessed it!... candy. Namely, chocolate. And not cheap stuff either. Nestled all red and blue in her jar is a pleasing pile of solid Dove chocolates. Not Godiva, but better than M&M's and Hershey's.

Now, a couple of weeks ago, Michael (my marketing cohort, since Adam has his home office in St. Louis now) was all a-twitter. He prefers the red-wrapped Doves, as they are the dark kind (very fitting, if you know Michael), and he had received some interesting messages in the wrappers. Meanwhile, I'm a milk-chocolate kind of gal (yes, I'm vanilla to the core) and my messages were rather banal sayings, such as "It's definitely a bubble-bath day," and "Keep the promises you make to yourself." Michael lorded it over me that the dark chocolate had the better messages, like "Be mischievous. It feels good," and "You're allowed to do nothing." (As if the marketing department needs permission!)

Well, I had to break Michael's heart. Yesterday, I got a message he'd gotten before, the title of this blog post. Then, in a chocoholic binge, I snuck another blue one. Same message. That was it for the day. But, as an after-lunch treat, I had another one today. Now, for the third time in a row in two days I've been told that "Naughty can be nice."

Now, I'm not paranoid or anything, but with all the grubby little fingers getting into Candy's candy jar, what are the odds that I'd be the one person to grab three milk chocolates that have identical sayings? Hmmm? Is this some kind of message? Am I being given permission to misbehave?

Happy 30th, Tana!

My friend Tana is celebrating her 30th birthday today. "May your fires of love never die, may your homelight always cheer you, may your family forever bring you joy, and may you ever surrounded by friends willing to get drunk with you."

It's an Irish blessing. Because I'm Irish. And it mentions drinkin'!

Happy birthday, my friend. Have fun this week!

Nice People

Enough whining about me. Let's whine about something else!

Just kidding. While this is fire-related and me-related, it isn't actually whining. Just time for observation.

People have been so nice. (And I'm thankful, trust me.) Not just everyday polite, but nice. It's as if everyone thinks before they react to me. There's a little mental neon sign somewhere in their head that says, "Don't respond like usual. This person deserves a little TLC right now." This attitude is most apparent at work, because it's hard to tell at church where everyone's already expected to be all lovey-dovey, and especially at a new church when you're still meeting people for the first time and they all want to make a good impression.

Now, please don't get me wrong. I work with really great people. But it's a job. We work together 40+ hours a week. We can rub each other the wrong way. Our priorities and personalities differ and there's plenty of drama from day-to-day. So we get irritated when someone interrupts a project or asks too many questions or disagrees with the way we want to do something. It's human nature.

But somehow, human nature is put on hold when there's a problem in someone's life. This is where it comes to me, not because I happen to be the one with the "tragedy" right now, but because I'm guilty of this behavior, too. Maybe more than anyone else.

B's brother died of cancer last year, so I was extra-considerate and accommodating if she needed anything from me. Speaking of cancer, J just successfully defeated breast cancer. Yay for her, and I made sure to help her with some of her projects while she was here at work during that difficult time (we normally don't cross paths). D just got through a major surgery and we're all concerned about how he's doing. I'm sure when he returns to work we'll do everything we can to make things easier on him. For a while at least.

I'm noticing the same consideration for me. The witty people are still witty, just not so bitingly at my expense. People are more patient, more willing to get what I need when I need it. There's a flexibility with me needing to cut into work time for personal things that normally wouldn't exist if it was a more mundane situation.

This is grace, I suppose, in all the little ways we don't usually afford it to each other. And it's not that I'm finding fault with the way people typically treat me. Not at all. It just has me wondering why something negative needs to happen personally to someone for us to give each other this grace. It doesn't seem to cause any extra stress. In fact, this mutual understanding people around a "tragic figure" have about treating that figure appears to unify them and change the atmosphere. It breaks into our normal behaviors and softens us, allowing us to show a tender side in a place where tender often means weak.

So this is both a wonderful thing that's happening around me - this proven capability to emerge from relational stupor to grace - and it's also a little sad. Because at some point, the crisis will be over and it will be back to "business as usual" until the next problem. God, please let me learn this lesson, to always treat others with the patience and kindness you've called me to, and not with the less graceful attitude I often choose.

The On-Going Battle

OK, let's get something straight: It's not just "stuff" I lost in the fire. And I'm not referring to any personal, sentimental attachment to inanimate objects like teddy bears and creative writing and dog-eared books.

I lost quite a few plans and dreams. I just turned 30, and I had finally developed a sense of myself. I finally had some 5-year plans. I finally came to grips with the real possibility I will be single for the rest of my life and I needed to live it, not keep it on hold. I wanted to get out of debt, get my own house, get my education. I finally had confidence that I could do it. I finally had a life - things to do, friends to hang out with, goals to reach.

My life has been hi-jacked. Everything's on hold, or simply gone. The money I had just received (and it wasn't that much, so don't get excited), the money I was going to use to invest in a part-time business, get that software I needed to do the freelance projects people are asking me to do, that I was going to set aside for future college expenses, that I would finally have as a "cushion" or that emergency fund all those money experts recommend - all that is now going to be sucked into this black hole that used to be my life. To try to fix it. And it still won't be enough.

So I'm now in this constant struggle. Temper-tantrums and mourning for myself - my plans, my stuff, my life - versus the sacrifice and humility I know I'm called to. I want to be that uber-spiritual person who constantly walks in the recognition that all I considered mine was a gift from God, that this is actually a wonderful opportunity at a fresh start. And sometimes I do feel A-OK about it. But not most of the time.

Pray for me. Pray that I make the most of this time - not by playing off people's sympathies, but by seizing the attitude that the God I serve is bigger than this and, in fact, this may be just the chance I've been asking for to lose my materialism and selfishness. Because I'm not doing too well with that right now.

Peace... or Shell-Shock?

It's been just over 2 weeks since the fire. All this time, with some exceptions, I have been able to just do the trusting God thing. I have talked about that "peace that passes all understanding, guarding my heart and my mind." Until this weekend, especially Sunday and Monday. I haven't really had a good cry even yet, but there's more anger than before and the tears come easier and faster than before.

So where's that peace now? I'm back in a good mood today, but moods are moods. I'm mature enough to realize that. What happens when I'm struck again with remembering something I lost and can't get back, not like it was before? When the anger and tears bubble up and I'm tired of putting on a happy face? Does God's peace disappear? Was it there to begin with, or was I just shell-shocked and reality's setting in now? And if that is true and I didn't have His peace, where does that leave me - deluded about God or deluded about my relationship with Him?

Good questions or semantics? Hmmm...

But this is what I am left with: analyzing my feelings. Trying to probe beyond moods, but still trapped within myself. So let's move beyond me to the facts.

Fact #1: My aunt is alive, even though she was asleep when the fire started, even though she can be a heavy sleeper. She still heard the pounding on the door and the people yelling, though her room is at the other end of the condo and her door was closed, and she ignored her instincts to ignore it (which usually would have been right, a good clue as to what kind of place we were living in). She got up, against her desire to roll over (again!) and go back to sleep to check out what was going on.

Fact #2: I am alive. This does not seem to be as big a deal, since I'm usually all over the place on Monday nights (and Tuesday nights, and Wednesday nights, and....). But it's still a fact.

Fact #3: No one else was killed. Someone was treated for serious burns (the guy in whose unit the fire started) and some pets were lost, but for a fire that destroyed 16 units and cost $2 million in damage, it is amazing no one lost their lives.

Fact #4: Our most precious possessions, the family photo albums, were salvaged. This is big for me, and while I miss many other things that are definitely gone, absolutely nothing could replace those pictures. I snuck up the burnt and crumbling stairs this last Saturday to see the condo for myself. I saw the desk these photos were stored in. This is really is a big deal.

Fact #5: People are so amazing. I could never have expected the response from so many people, especially so many I don't know. The immediate outpouring from the community towards the victims and the generosity of all kinds of folks from all kinds of places (friends, family, and 2nd-hand and 3rd-hand parties) just toward Lou and myself is astounding. And it's still coming in (and it is still hugely needed - shameless plug!).

Fact #6: Past experience. There is a certainty at all times, beyond moods and feelings, that lies underneath. A foundational, personal knowledge of God's goodness. I would be the most horrible liar if I were to deny everything else I've been through to say I can't trust God to see me blessed at the "end" of all this. This is way past being "Oh, everything'll turn out in the end." I'm not going to share my life story here, but I have seen His providence proved too many times to play dumb. This certainty is a quiet voice that nags, if you will, whenever I doubt. It always brings me back around. Always.

Of course, fact #6 brings us back to me. (It's always about me, didn't you know that? ;) ) But unless you have that same rock-solid underlying knowledge, I guess you can't understand it. I just know it as a fact, not an opinion.

I may be missing something here. Philosophical argument, while fascinating to me, is not exactly my forte. So feel free to contribute your 2 cents.

Tracks

I am sitting in front of the train tracks in my car, thinking of all that's happened in the last week. I am on my way back to my dad's house from Don and Tana's, which has been a relieving distraction. It's after 12:30 am Saturday morning, and I am tired - mentally and emotionally drained - and a little resentful of this train that is keeping me from a much-needed appointment with bed and sleep.

Staring at the tracks, the wheels seem to go by in a patterned blur. Thankfully, the train is going by very fast, and I look up at the train itself to see the individual cars speeding past. Except that when I look from the track to the train, the train doesn't seem to be moving as quickly. The cars differ enough from each other that my eyes follow them better. My focus has shifted.

It is late, and I am in a contemplative mood. So I begin to wonder about the metaphor I am witnessing here, letting my eyes shift from train to track, track to train, slow to fast, fast to slow. I think about this week, and my own radical shift in focus. I think about all the plans I had before the fire, and how they have all changed.

I look again at the track, and I think of how I had seen my life laid out with all my desires for the future and my plans to make them come true. I see the wheels as my daily routine, my comfortable, familiar routine of actions and behaviors that kept me speeding along.

Then I move my eyes and switch my focus. I see the cars carrying the full weight of my daily routine. I see them one by one, passing slower yet somehow at the same speed. I am able to count them. I can see the different colors, the shapes, the graffiti, even the empty trailers. I notice each car for itself, wondering at its purpose.

My life feels like it has been derailed now. I have no routine. My plans have changed. There is no pattern. I have been forced to refocus, to live moment-by-moment and wonder at its purpose, noticing things I could never see before and caring about things that seemed mundane or irrelevant before.

All my plans have burned away, and I am becoming thankful for each day as it happens.

Beauty From Ashes...

It is an arresting sight - the charred, icy rubble spread out around the skeleton of my former home. Everyone who walks or drives by has no choice but to stare, transfixed, at a building that used to house 16 families but is now condemned and will soon be scheduled for demolition. I park as close as possible but avoid my old carport spot, now littered with pine cones, needles, clumps of mud and other debris. I grab the disposable camera and hurriedly duck under the yellow tape, snapping pictures almost immediately. The light is fading, and I don't want to get kicked out before I finish.

Of course, I am most interested in seeing what I can of my old condo unit, and the same temptation to ignore the rules, risk my safety and climb the stairs grips me as it did earlier in the day . . .

[Earlier.] I am standing on a pile of burnt wood, broken glass, and God knows what else, just inside what's left of the doors to my section of building B. I am at the foot of the stairs I had climbed so often before. The walls are black in most places, and the handrail has gone from gray to rust. The stairs are charred and crumbling. It is cold and the wind is blowing flakes of ash down into my hair and onto my clothes, like a flurry of dirty snow.

I am standing in a place I took for granted as just being there, now grateful simply for my aunt's life. Except for the clothes I was wearing Monday and the items in my car, everything I used to call mine is gone. Up in smoke. This is funny in its morbidly humorous way, and I am also grateful for the ability to smile. My aunt and I have been given an uncomprehensible peace and a sense of humor almost immediately. We have lost track of how many different variations of, "I know you wanted to _____, but you didn't have to torch the place," we have told each other.

My aunt was standing behind me, talking to neighbors who are also waiting to see what's salvagable of their past, but she has gone back to the clubhouse where it's warm. I am waiting, grateful but anxious. Despite being told several times there is absolutely nothing left, I know that what I really want has survived. It had to. And while I appreciate these men risking their safety to look around on my behalf (they won't let me up), I know no one cares like I do. I am tempted to rush up the stairs and look for myself. So I am surprised by my surprise when the association president comes gingerly down the steps to hand me my first meager handful of what's left in my old desk. It is just a pack of colored pencils and cheap art supplies, but it is mine. More gratefulness, especially when another neighbor offers a black garbage bag to put my armful in.

We all laugh when he carries down a muffin pan which has braved the fire - probably because it was wasting away stored in a closet! It is our memento that not everything we had was useful to us, a reminder to us in the future that all the things we could own may not be worth owning.

A few more minutes, and another careful trip down the stairs. This time, he's got more of what I'm looking for - a photo album and a few loose photos. I keep repeating my thanks. He asks if there's anything more, as the bottom drawer of my desk is blocked by a bunch of debris and it will take a bit of work to access it. I say yes, knowing the contents of that drawer and praying it's made it through as well as the other things. And ten long minutes later, when he's holding my grandmother and great-grandmother's photo albums out to me, I can't help but get teary-eyed. I can't thank them enough, and I tell them so. The albums are sopping wet, and I hope they're not damaged beyond repair, but just holding them in my arms means so much.

So now, all that's left of the belongings in my home is in a garbage bag. It's heavy, and I struggle to carry it to the clubhouse, but I am excited to see the look on my aunt's face when she sees its contents. I feel vindicated for insisting on trying to find it, but also very humbled that God has shown us this favor. When my aunt casually asks what's in the bag (flashback: Dorothy asking the Wizard, "I don't suppose you've got anything in that black bag for me"), I am happy to see her eyes also tear up when I pull out the albums and we discover together that the photos inside have survived.

I am still struggling to let go of my stuff, reminding myself that even photos aren't eternal, that in the end even they don't matter. I am still struggling to learn to be bold in asking for help without guilt or shame. I am still struggling with adjusting to living in someone else's space, abiding by their routines and rules, reminding myself of my Savior who had "no place to lay his head." I can share this with Him - all of it, even the anger and frustration - and He will continue to give me His peace.

And that is beautiful.

A Year Ago Today...

A year ago today, Paul Carl Kirsch passed away as he had lived - gently, quietly - in his little home along Lake Erie on the outskirts of Cleveland. My great uncle Paul, proud World War II veteran, traveler, gentleman, avid reader, art and history aficionado, and lover of Christmas. After several chronic illnesses in the last few years, prostate cancer and spinal stenosis to name a couple, he died from respiratory failure while lying in a hospital bed in his former living room, surrounded by just some of the hundreds, most likely thousands, of books he had collected in his 88 years.

I wish I could say I got my love of learning and literature from him. I wish I could say that his genuine appreciation of art had translated into my small talent in design. But we were not blood relations, my mom and her twin sister having been adopted by his sister and brother-in-law.

I do know I can say he made Christmas more special whenever I had the chance to see him around the holidays. I know I want to develop his same keen interest in so many subjects, to become the fascinating and well-rounded individual he was. And I know the world needs more gentlemen of his caliber.

I miss Uncle Paul. I regret I did not make the time to see him more often. I regret I never finished the letter I started to write him because I know he would have loved it. I regret I never really let him know how much I admired him and enjoyed him. Thankfully, I know I will be reunited with him eventually, in whatever form heaven really is, and we will worship the God we both loved on this side.

So here, for the seaman he was when he served our country and for the lover of literature he remained until his death a year ago today...

Crossing the Bar
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
- Lord Alfred Tennyson

Sisterhood of the Traveling Plate

What can I say? My friends are brilliant, creative people. Kudos this time to Tana for her nifty take on helping the girls in our little group to connect through - what else? - food!

After watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, we were discussing the movie. For those not in the know, the movie is based the book by the same name, which is about a group of girls who've grown up as friends and their first summer apart. The day before they all split up, they're shopping in a second-hand clothing store and find a pair of jeans that magically fits them all, even though they're different heights, sizes and shapes. They decide to form The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and use the jeans to stay connected by forming a set of rules and sending the jeans to one another along with letters about what's going on with them.

Myself, I wished for The Sisterhood of the Traveling Bra (which would have to be magic to fit all the girls in the group I was with!), but that got laughed off. Wonder why...

Well, we kinda forgot about it. All of us except Tana. She took an orphaned plate nobody had claimed after a pot luck and decided to create The Sisterhood of the Traveling Plate. She created rules and set it in motion last Friday night, which is our new "Girls' Night" (postponed for this week). This Plate Sisterhood will allow us to share, taste and learn new recipes and give each other a pass-it-on kind of gift. The dish she made for Nancy to kick the Sisterhood off really looked yummy!

Tana was afraid we'd think she is a dork, but we love it. Good job, Tana! And if you're interested in duplicating the idea, she might be persuaded to share the Rules with us. C'mon, Tana!

Rather Be Trinity...

But this is close enough. I got this off of Anthony's Xanga site.

You scored as Neo, the "One". Neo is the computer hacker-turned-Messiah of the Matrix. He leads a small group of human rebels against the technology that controls them. Neo doubts his ability to lead but doesn't want to disappoint his friends. His goal is for a world where all men know the Truth and are free from the bonds of the Matrix.
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com

Birthday Flowers from Boo

My aunt sent me these flowers from Ken's Flower Shops, where I used to work. Aren't they gorgeous?! It has a lot of my favorite flowers in it. Good job, Boo!

I had wonderful times with friends and family on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights, but had to work and go to school yesterday. *snooze* So getting these beauties really made my day, which was pretty ordinary! A couple of friends at work also got me some little gifts, and another took me out to lunch Tuesday. (Thanks, Janice, Beth & Karen!)

I'll get to hang out with more friends on Friday night, and I'm looking forward to relaxing on Saturday after class. Tonight - I go to bed early!

Thanks to everyone who's wished me a happy 30th. I've enjoyed it!

As Time Goes By - Part II

Hmmm... you can see consistency is not a strength of mine. That would be one of my goals this year. :)

Well, today is the day after my 30th birthday. Wow - three decades! I'm now in my 31st year of life. I've learned a lot - some of which is still being beaten into my brain - but I have so much more to learn. So, with a strong invitation (consider this arm-twisting) to comment with what you've learned, I thought I'd post...

10 Things I've Learned in the Last 30 Years:

1. Don't lie to your parents - you need their trust. As tempted as you may be to "cover up" your disobedience, stupidity, etc., nothing breaks their heart more than if you disregard their intelligence, their love for you, and their hope in you. Don't build that wall.
2. Not everbody will like you, and that's a good thing. This has been a hard thing to learn - that not all rejection is bad. But I eventually realized some people's values are so completely different than mine, I am glad I'm not buddy-buddy with them. While you should always treat people with dignity, not everyone deserves your respect... just don't judge that right away. ;)
3. God isn't interested in making sure you're comfortable with your circumstances. In fact, He allows quite a bit of discomfort simply to either wake us up or keep us awake. Get over it, because you're too wrapped up in yourself and you're missing what God wants to share with you right now. As someone very dear and important to me wrote me recently while I was in a "crisis" of my own, "There's an invitation to look in a different direction . . . . It is the place of identification with the Savior whom you follow." This is the way of faith. Don't pass up the sweetness of sharing something with God for the despair of self-pity. Been there, done that.
4. God's holiness is firm enough to build on, and His grace is fluid enough to float you for however long you need it. Actually, God's grace is wider than I'm comfortable with, as He seems to continually push against the boundaries I set for Him. "No, God, that person is sinning. I know I need to love them, but they should know my theology regarding the choices in their life, just so they understand what a wonderful Christian I am - that I can love them despite what I believe about their choices." Yeah, rrrrright. Since God's grace is so fluid, the waters are rough - at least for me. Thankfully, that same grace hasn't let me drown.
5. Projects will nearly always take longer than you estimate. But that doesn't stop me from underestimating them all the time! :-o
6. Believe it or not, not everyone has the same priorities as you. This will cause conflicts. It makes it harder for everyone to stay on the same page. Sometimes you have to be assertive to get something done. And quite often you may need to adjust your own priorities, so be flexible.
7. Even the stupidest, or the most annoying, or the ugliest, or the most offensive, or the smelliest person you meet has the spark of God in them. They have emotions. They have a brain (yes, they really do). They're alive, so they have experiences. And you need to give them a chance. They may have a story you need to hear. They may have an idea that's better than yours. Or they may need you.
8. It's OK to say no. It's OK to say it in church, at work, at home, or out with friends. No can save your bum, it can save you from burn-out, and it can save you from hurting others. Make sure you set personal priorities, and stick with them! Stick with them by evaluating all the activities and projects that pop up in light of those priorities. Which is closely tied to...
9. You don't have to be everything to everybody. That's God's job. The Maker of All Things made you to be you for His purpose. Not your parents', not your significant other's, not your children's, not your boss's, not your best friend's. You are not responsible for any one person's entire happiness, just like...
10. No one is responsible for your happiness, not even God. Happiness is an attitude of choice. You don't have to be Tigger all the time, but give the Eeyore act a break. The more you choose to accept responsibility and savor your experiences, the more you'll enjoy your life. And the more you enjoy your life, the more attractive you'll be. People will want to be around you, and you'll learn a lot more through their experiences.....

Hope you found something in there to bless ya. I would love to hear some feedback!