Here I Go!

I'm doing my best to walk around the office barefoot, because sometimes wearing jeans on casual Friday just isn't enough rebellion for me. No one has noticed so far. No one has been in here so far. I could be dancing around in a hula skirt. Hmm... there's an idea.

There is this great longing in me to write poetry. I'm wondering when I can escape for a few hours... not likely to happen. Turns out I'm expected to dress up for the New Year's Eve party I'm going to tomorrow. I hadn't thought about it until my roommate asked what I was wearing last night. Not a clue. Maybe a hula skirt. This will take more effort than I wish to exert at the moment. Maybe my roommates will dress me up.

but enough of that.

This next week I'll be in Gretna, LA working with Samaritan's Purse. I feel totally unprepared, but I'm sure I'll be fairly bursting with stories to tell y'all.

The Great Handsome Escape

These last two weeks I have been snake-sitting for Jeni and Matt while they are in LA for Christmas. Yes, I said snake-sitting. They have two pretty cornsnakes, Handsome and Chloe. Chloe is a gorgeous red and orange, and Handsome is woodchip color. My job has been to make sure they're alive and well, and refill their water. It's really an easy job.

So yesterday I went over to their house to fulfill my duties. I went and said hello to Chloe first because she was in the front of her cage moving around. I filled up her water, talked to her for a little bit (you know, told her about my day, told her how pretty she is), and closed her cage again, fastening it with a twist tie. Then I turned to Handsome. I couldn't see him, per se, but I saw a snake-shaped lump in the woodchips. So, I opened his cage, filled up his water, then moved some woodchips to make sure he was still alive.

He wasn't there.

I panicked. He had pushed himself through a teeny hole in his net cage. On my watch, Handome escaped, overcome by loneliness and boredom. I had not a clue where a snake would hide. So, I called Jeni. No answer. I called Matt. He answered. I prepared myself to tell them that I LOST THEIR CHILD. Before I could say anything, I see a little pink tongue flitting in and out from under their table. He had crawled (slithered? climbed? fallen?) a total of 2 feet from his cage to a box underneath his cage. Relief flooded my soul and I told Matt the story. Handsome is now sharing a cage with Chloe. He did not want to get in the cage. Chloe did not want him in her cage. They slithered around looking super-irritated for a while. I think Chloe was pleading with me, actually. But they didn't look like they'd kill each other, so I left.

Yikes. Disaster averted. Handsome is now safe and sound. Unless Chloe eats him.

Christmas

It's that time of year. To have conversations with my unbelieving brother about how I know what love is and how I can believe in a God I cannot see. To merely raise an eyebrow at my cousin when he makes snide comments about environmentalists. To nibble on dry cookies and smile. To try to apply my new knowledge about the cons of laser eye surgery from my ophthalmologist uncle to everyday life. To see my mom wearing my gift to her the next day. To be sympathetic to my aunt who is bearing the brunt of my family's greed after the death of my grandfather. To not care about the things I inherit. To be inspired by that grandfather's letters sent all over the world, preaching the gospel in love and encouraging believers. To ask my mom about the history of old ornaments and to do my best not to break out weeping as I hang my dad's cello and sailboat on our tree. To miss him terribly. To close my eyes to the St. James Cathedral choir singing "Once in Royal David's City" and wonder that somehow heaven's worship will be more sublime, more glorious than this.

And now it's over, and I hope I can live more fully in gratefulness to the Savior who gives me life and hope, who teaches me to love, who heals my heart, who takes care of his orphans and widows, who answers my prayers and allows me to pray for the battle over my brother's faith, who provides always.

Zechariah's Song: Luke 1:68-79

Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
because he has come and has redeemed his people.

He has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David
(as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),

salvation from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us

to show mercy to our fathers and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath he swore to our father Abraham: to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,

and to enable us to serve him without fear

in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,

to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins,

because of the tender mercy of our God,

by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven

to shine on those living in darkness

and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the path of peace."

This was part of the advent reading for today. It is so beautiful that God revealed his salvation to Zechariah so that he understood that God's tender mercy had brought the fulfillment of the covenant. Tenderness seems to characterize God's voice in my life these last two months. I have been led out into the desert so that I am able to hear his voice whispering love, so that I can finally hear that I am His and He is enough. May the God who shines his light into the depth and scours out the cancer of our sin fill our hearts with faith, grace, and humility to serve him and all the people he brings into our lives with love.

Silly Cities and Gloomy Gossip

I was watching the news last night, and the news anchors actually said exactly what _I_ said about the weather. Exactly! Including funny footage of people slipping around on icy sidewalks. Oh, my city of residence.

Last week, I saw a truck hauling a large, bloody, unidentifiable animal carcass down an arterial at rush hour. It may have been an elk. It was hard to tell, with no head or skin.

On Tuesday, a strange young woman yelled, "Why do you keep teaching your kids this BULL****?!" at me. There was no one else in sight. She appeared mentally healthy. I liked her coat.

On a completely different note, the library gossip was interesting this morning. Rumor has it, "they" are moving my archives and the entire library down to the depths of the cold, dusty basement. Because apparently I need more isolation and gloom in my place of work. So I will crank up my online merengue radio and enjoy the daylight of first-floor bliss while I can!

The Daily Chronicle

The top story in today's news covers the surge of obesity in America. As it turns out, Jack in the Box and copious amounts of M-azing candies will actually made a moderately small girl's belly swell to pregnant proportions. This, in addition to the sugar rush from the chocolate and root beer, causes irritability, wild mood swings, and uncomfortable burping. So the moral of this news story is to eat more spinach and for the love of Pete, put your candy away.

Our city's arts are flourishing this Christmas season, with a present-wrapping bash occurring yesterday afternoon, followed by a haiku and limerick workshop by two of the region's most promising poets, Mary and Karli. A sampling of their poetry may be purchased online for a mere $40.

And now for the weather: It is a balmy 34 degrees here in the Inland Northwest, with light showers and an abundance of melting, muddy sludge. This heat wave should be around all week, so break out your shorts, kids! It's practically summer! On a concerning note, when it rains on the three inch layer of ice covering the sidewalks, the ice does become more slippery and more conducive to falling on one's head. Not that this has happened to _this_ reporter, although I'm sure it would cause strangers to laugh and point at the poor soul who does trip.

That's pretty much all. I don't think I would make a very good reporter, but hopefully it's entertaining.

Mice and Men

Current score

Noble Princesses - Rodent Army

1 - 0

Someone asked me yesterday how the mice score points. I told him that they get a point every time they catch one of us in a girl-trap. He kind of laughed, but it was more of a yeah-you're-not-as-funny-as-you-wish-you-were courtesy laugh and not so much a Mary-is-so-clever genuine laugh. So if anyone has a better response, let me know.

Meantime, we've only caught one. I know there are more. They are not taking the bait. I don't know how else to trap them. We're thinking about borrowing a cat. Or letting Matt and Jeni's snakes loose in our basement for a few days. Each has considerable logistical problems associated with it. Hmm... back to the drawing board.

Como você para dizer "Go Zags" no português?

I think I have accidentally become a raging Gonzaga fan. I have no idea how it happened. All of a sudden, I know all the players' names, hometowns, heights, etc. and I get stressed out when they lose. Really stressed out. It has given me a topic of conversation with strangers, a chance to hang out with some people I don't usually to watch games, and now I'm finally reading the whole newspaper instead of just skimming the sports half-heartedly.

It helps that there is that mass of latin virility and admirable musculature Batista. He is 18" taller and more than double my body weight. Why exactly does this make him attractive? Biologically, I get it. All things considered, it is a mystery.

The Four Brave Princesses: A Fairy Tale

Chapter 1: in which an Enemy Plot to take over the castle is uncovered, and the princesses create a Valiant Plan to thwart their Evil Intentions

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived four intelligent, brave, and lovely princesses. These princess shared a castle on top of a magnificent cliff in the Northwesterly Hills of the Kingdom. They were a hard-working, socially-conscious group, and often spent much time surveying the kingdom and working alongside their most humble subjects. One evening, Princess Mary found herself in the big, cold, and slightly drafty castle by herself, as her sisters were out helping the poor and rescuing kittens from evil villains. The Princess was unfazed by her solitude, and decided to spend her leisure time improving her mind with reading material. She soon drifted off into a sweet sleep well-deserved.

Suddenly, the drowsy Princess awakened, alert and ready for action. She heard movement in the castle she knew to be empty. She lay perfectly still, tense and prepared to leap up at any moment. The noise came from the corner of the very same room the princess occupied! She slowly and carefully stood up and crept silently over to the corner, kicked down the box out of which the frightening and unidentified noise was coming, and posed ninja-style, waiting for the attack. The villain lay quietly inside his chosen casket, waiting to catch our beloved princess off-guard. By this time, our heroine had surmised the identity of the intruder - none other than the dastardly and brazen captain of the invading Rodent Army! She quickly prepared a new, inescapable casket for the captain, but - alas! - he was too quick for her.

The princess barely had time to prepare the prison when she saw the villain jump out of the box and run into the dangerous maze of secret passages within the castle. The princess attempted to follow, but was soon impeded by her unfortunate bulk. Princesses do not fit well under doors and through heating grates. As she considered a strict diet, the princess felt her heart sink within her. She could never fit into the secret passages as the Rodent Army could. And although the captain was strikingly cute, she was too intelligent to be fooled by the dashing charm of the intruder. The army had already invaded her home, and under her very nose.

So she called out for her sisters to aid her. They set up daring and enticing traps to catch the members of the Army one by one, planning to question each soldier (in a humane and respectful way, because they are That Sort of princess) regarding the whereabouts and number of the enemy troops.

To be Continued...

fifteen and nine-tenths

that is the average temperature in Farenheit of the city of my residence for this month of december.

fifteen and nine-tenths.

we were created to be nekkid in a garden. i wear an average of four layers of shirts, two of pants, and two of socks plus boots. and a hat. i lost my gloves. o eve! why did you do it?

a for-reals weather forecast (i wouldn't joke about this... ok, i would but i'm not)

today: fog in the morning; cloudy and cold, high of 20 - low of 12
friday: cold with low clouds and fog, high of 22 - low of 11
saturday: fog in the morning; cloudy and cold, high of 22 - low of 13
sunday: fog in the morning; mostly cloudy and cold, high of 21 - low of 16
monday: fog in the morning; mainly cloudy, high of 19 - low of 16

but, the light in the darkness was dinner last night. i met with the team from church that's going to new orleans in january for dinner/info/prayer. dinner was fantastic, if i do say so myself. i went over early to help cook - and i only actually made cornbread and green beans. but this guy (mr. movie-mind from sunday night, coincidentally) fried the best chicken i have ever (ever) eaten and super mashed potatoes. i was really impressed. my green beans weren't too bad either - they were a Cook's Illustrated recipe with maple pecans, shallots, orange zest, and cayenne... mmm... i'm sad they're gone. food was good.

the group also seemed good. there are only 9 of us, but i pretty much like everyone a lot. the exceptions are the 3 people i'd never met before. i like them some. i'm hoping some will turn to a lot. my friend paul came and brought pictures of his trip down there. it is sobering to say the least. overwhelming. it makes my soul shrink back in sorrow, as it makes my mind rush forward to help however i can.

we watched spanglish. people left whenever. i left at 10:40ish, leaving mr. movie-mind alone (gasp!) with a girl on an accidental date (double gasp!). occasionally, a dose of ironic revenge is sweet.

Wedged Pirate Bears

"How long does getting thin take?" asked Pooh anxiously.
"About a week, I should think."
"But I can't stay here for a week!"
"You can stay here all right, silly old Bear. it's getting you out which is so difficult."
"We'll read to you," said Rabbit cheerfully. "And I hope it won't snow," he added. "And I say, old fellow, you're taking up a good deal of room in my house - do you mind if I use your back legs as a towel-horse? Because, I mean, there they are - doing nothing - and it would be very convenient just to hang the towels on them."
"A week!" said Pooh gloomily. "What about meals?"
"I'm afraid no meals," said Christopher Robin, "because of getting thin quicker. But we will read to you."
Bear began to sigh, and then found he couldn't because he was so tightly stuck; and a tear rolled down his eye, as he said:
"Then would you read a Sustaining Book, such as would help and comfort a Wedged Bear in Great Tightness?"

I feel a little like a Wedged Mary in Great Tightness. It may be due to the weather, which has turned sepulchral. It is Gloomy here. Bleak. Dismal. Somber. Melancholy. Funereal. Dreary. Surreal and mournful in an everlasting El Greco crucifixion sort of way.

So to remedy the situation, I have decided to apprentice myself to pirates so I can sail the high seas, drink rum in sunshine, find treasure, and wear a super-cool eyepatch. Mmm... eyepatch. Or maybe I'll join a mariachi band as the maraca specialist and travel around Mexico bringing joy and music to the world. That sounds nice too. Or maybe - just maybe - I'll become a professional surfer in Malaysia and hang out in pinapple juice bars when I'm not getting a sweet surfer tan. Any other suggestions?

Question:

Is this a date?

Here's what happened:

After church last night, I was chatting with a couple of guy friends and one suggested we all go watch a movie at his house. It sounded fabulous to me, but not-so-fabulous to the other, who opted out in order to get some reading done. We called our respective roommates to invite them, but they were all working/busy/ill. So, the movie-minded friend of mine looked at me and said, "Well, do you still want to come?" I said, "Sure."

My thoughts at this point: There were no date-intentions at the outset, so it won't be awkward unless I make it awkward by being weird about it. It is not a date.

But then, the opted-out looked at me and said, "Umm... won't that be weird?"

Now it will. Thanks.

So the movie-mind said, "Hmm... why don't we do it another time?"

I said, "Sure, sounds good." Because I really didn't care a whole lot either way.

So the question is: is it, in fact, weird for two friends of the opposite gender to hang out alone (granted, late at night and in the dark) when there were no romantic intentions? I didn't think so. But I want to hear opinions.

It should probably be noted that Mr. Opted-out is a Former You-Know-What of mine, and Mr. Movie-mind his best friend. You know, just to spice things up a little.

Last night after work, I came home to an empty house. This is not an unusual occurance even though I live with three other people. I knew someone would be home soon, so I popped some popcorn and sat in the orange chair facing the front door. Lo and behold, within 5 minutes, a housemate and a neighbor came over. Within 45 minutes, the other two housemates and a boyfriend came over too. The evening was spent doing crafty things (making earrings/crotcheting a scarf), discussing a certain Mormon friend who sent two of his buddies over to our house to "talk" to us, and listening to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe read aloud. It was so perfect, and just what I needed. I'm hoping we do it more often, even though it was a Great and Terrible Battle to get out of my lovely bed this morning. I heart my housemates!

Seen downtown yesterday: a middle-aged man catching snowflakes in his mouth and grinning like a kid.

Heard in my office this morning: "Of course I'll cover you in January! Going to New Orleans will be such an experience, you HAVE to go!"

On an unrelated note, I feel like my photo needs some explanation. It is not my usual garb. It was a picture taken on Halloween of me in my (homemade!) Sharazhad costume.

Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow!

Anyone up for making a snowman in my front yard today at lunchtime? Because that's my plan. Maybe an igloo. Or... last night I was walking around GU and spied some guys making snow blocks to generally Make Mischief (ie blocking a car in a parking space or covering someone's doorway). It looked like fun. So, my house at noon?

Drawn out of Deep Waters

I love you, O LORD, my strength.

The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.
He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call to the LORD, who is worthy of praise,
and I am saved from my enemies.
The cords of death entangled me;
the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called to the LORD; I cried to my God for help.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry came before him, into his ears . . .

He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in me.

This was part of the Advent reading this morning (Psalm 18), and it stayed with me because it is my story.

I hurt, I call on God, He hears me, He rescues me.

I kinda like this God of mine.

I feel as though I've been plumbing the depths of human depravity. Working with extra-high-risk foster kids exposes me to horrors I could not have imagined. To hear an 11-year-old girl say with no inflection that she hates her father because he raped her makes me so angry I have no idea how to express it here. To see the consequences of neglect, abuse, and abandonment actually breaks my heart.

Then on Monday, one of the lovely girls in my small group and neighbor warns me that a convicted rapist has moved within two blocks of both of our houses. She gets to walk past his apartment on her way to small group. I drive past it every day, twice or three times most days. So then, just for giggles, I check out this website for myself (http://www.familywatchdog.us/Search.asp), and discover that every morning on my walk to work, I pass by the homes of, not one, not even ten, but 22 individuals who have been convicted of sex crimes. Ugh. My feelings about this are mixed. I have become more aware of the people I pass on the street. I try to calm myself with the fact that I only walk through this neighborhood during the happily lit morning hours and that there are usually police driving by. I feel extra-protective of the foster kids I hang out with. And perhaps irrationally, I feel a great deal of pity for these men who have a depth of hurt and horror and violence and disease in their own minds that can never be escaped.

On a happier note, it has been snowing gloriously since yesterday, which always makes me smile. I get to play in it tomorrow afternoon with one of my girls, and she gets to feel normal and childlike and whole for a couple hours.

Oh Thanksgiving.

I love my family.

Most holidays are spent with my dad's side of the family who all live in our immediate vicinity. My poor mother's family is scattered across the country, from Orange County to the mountains of North Carolina. So, we troop over to my cousins' house for a dinner my aunt painstakingly prepares by herself. She will not accept help. Ever. My mom and I are both fair cooks. I make a darn good pie. She will flat-out refuse assistance and buy a pie from the store instead. We are more bewildered than offended. If she really wants to cook a feast single-handedly that's fine. We are moderately impressed with her skill, though more mystified by her stubborn independence.

This year, we were met at the door of my doctor uncle's fancy-pants house with the German Shepherd growling as if he were longing to tear our faces off. My uncle then firmly and wearily exclaimed, "Shut up, you stupid dog. Nobody likes you. Why are you even here?" He was not consulted before the purchase of the beast. After a couple minutes he greeted us - my mom, brother, aunt, and I. They try to offer us all booze - My mom doesn't drink, my brother is a mere 18, and I usually prefer to have all my wits about me on such occasions. The cousins turn out to be newly pregnant, so that actually gives us a topic of conversation! Yay! Unfortunately, this did not last long, as my darling cousin soon launched into a detailed lecture about the railroad (he is an engineer), closely followed by gun rights, closely followed by highly offensive subjects that made me cringe and that will not be repeated here. Needless to say, my conversation skills were challenged.

Saying grace has been an awkward moment since my grandfather died a year and-a-half ago. He was the spiritual and moral leader of our family, and a man I loved and respected immensely. His prayers before meals were always heartfelt, simple, and lovely. Since his death, his eldest son has been praying. Half of my family is Catholic, the other half Protestant. So, half the family crosses themselves, my uncle prays, "Heavenly Father, thank you for this chance to get together for this holiday. Thank you for providing the food. Thank you for the hands that prepared it. Amen. Shut up, you stupid dog!" And the room echoes with uncertain Amens.

Then we eat, and it is good. My little cousin talks about his girlfriend, my aunt giggles with me across the table, my new cousin-in-law asks sweet questions and generally holds her own with my opinionated family, and it is good. The same cousin who believes "every red-blooded American male should own a gun and use it" also visits a former coworker who is ill and bedridden and slowly losing his wife to cancer to boot. The same uncle who despises the dog sets a marvelous example in treating other people well. My aunt who refuses our cooking engages me in conversation in which she shows that she has been paying attention to the details in my life. And I am thoroughly chastised for my quick judgments.

Yay! A post of my very own!

This is ridiculous. I have been sitting at my darling Jenevieve's kitchen table for approximately 10 minutes waiting for Divine Blogging Inspiration for the All-Important first post, but am supremely distracted by Matt's rendition of "Blessed be the Name of the Lord" in the irreverent style of a sea-chantey and Jeni whispering sweet nothings to her new goldfish. And coming soon: a Recounting of the Family Thanksgiving Dinner.