The highlight of being at church with the Crabbes was being given a picture of my mother when she was in her early 20s. Her old friends Bill and Joann Robinson (She taught two of their children) attend Cornerstone and they were eager to see what Judy’s daughter looked like. Bill told a hilarious story about how his sons complained that “Miss Dryfhout broke the yardstick on them!” So Bill made a long, sturdy paddle and left it on her desk anonymously. Then his sons complained that she had a real paddle and was not shy in applying it! He said he waited years to tell her who her paddle benefactor was. I was delighted to have the picture, which looked like a yearbook photo. In it, Mom has shoulder-length flipped hair and is wearing the stereotypical early-70s paisley blouse. She’s also very cute. Sadly, I don’t look a thing like her. It would have been nice to compare pictures of us at the same age. Our similarity is more of a general likeness of gait and mannerism. And one day, I hope we have a likeness of character, which would mean more to me than having her cheekbones.
After church, the Crabbes took us to Twin Dragons. Food was cold and iffy, except for the stir fry bar (like Mongolian BBQ, but not. Wish it had been). The building was notable, though. It had a red, peaked roof that was unmistakably Chinese, but also unmistakably mountain lodge. I give points to the architect on that one.
We took leave of the Crabbes mid-afternoon and started down the road. Top was up this time. We’d learned our lesson about the sun. Made a stop in Greenville to see our friend Brittany and grab a snack. Spent too long with her, then got down the road. Unfortunately, around Columbia it seemed like we drove into a Hollywood rain machine. Horrible storm. Got wet. But you already know this part. You’ve seen the movie trailer.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Crabby Fourth
Saturday, Nana took us to her favorite pottery, Mud Dabbers. It was a wonderland of the beautifully hand-crafted. There was every possible vessel one could imagine, from small dishes with spikes in the middle especially for baking apples, to Ikebana vases. I picked out a navy blue-glazed bowl with blue-on-blue mottling in the bottom. Just the right size for Chinese noodles. Nana insisted on buying it for me. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of it since it’s microwave, oven, and dishwasher safe.
On our way back up the mountain, we stopped at Looking Glass Falls. Nana said the county contains the most waterfalls in the US, a whopping 250. Looking Glass Falls was beautiful! We took a few pictures with her camera. We found out ours had gone to the great Photoshop in the sky Friday morning when we changed the batteries. Oh well. Pictures will be on Facebook soon. Then back up to Ridge Haven where we picked up Sophy and went to the Cornerstone church picnic on the grounds, THEN went to a bonfire for the camp counselors at the home of the Linvilles.
John Linville provides bluegrass music for the evening camp gatherings. He and his wife are HUGE hippies. They live in a house that defied classification. I couldn’t even decide whether it was a hundred years old, or just made to look like it. I doubt it was up to code, either way. The yard was filled with overgrown plants-both flowering and food plants-and a glorious profusion of junk was scattered through the long grass. A rusted tandem bike was next to a brilliantly executed piece of stained glass was next to a broken window frame, etc. There was a bamboo grove full of fireflies. A home-made swing under a woven tree-branch arbor so overgrown it was hard to sit without being prickled. There were three separate sheds, all ramshackle, all crammed with unrelated objects. It was all terribly interesting and a little alarming. There was even a long track down to a beautiful broad river that involved crossing a huge mossy log. The halfway point to the river was a well-used firepit and lean-to. Even though I just met the Linvilles, there was no doubt in my mind that they enjoy their eccentric lifestyle to the fullest, and their hospitality was certainly impeccable.
When John Linville was sure the twenty or so young people had talked themselves out, he packed up the grill and we all piled back into cars to go to downtown Brevard for fireworks. Will bought a lemon-berry slush at Sonic and we slurped as we watched the explosions. One of the boys found a dead white squirrel. White, but not albino, squirrels are peculiar to Brevard. They’re ordinary squirrels, except they’re cream colored. Quite pretty. I was glad we were able to see a live one on the way to church the next morning.
On our way back up the mountain, we stopped at Looking Glass Falls. Nana said the county contains the most waterfalls in the US, a whopping 250. Looking Glass Falls was beautiful! We took a few pictures with her camera. We found out ours had gone to the great Photoshop in the sky Friday morning when we changed the batteries. Oh well. Pictures will be on Facebook soon. Then back up to Ridge Haven where we picked up Sophy and went to the Cornerstone church picnic on the grounds, THEN went to a bonfire for the camp counselors at the home of the Linvilles.
John Linville provides bluegrass music for the evening camp gatherings. He and his wife are HUGE hippies. They live in a house that defied classification. I couldn’t even decide whether it was a hundred years old, or just made to look like it. I doubt it was up to code, either way. The yard was filled with overgrown plants-both flowering and food plants-and a glorious profusion of junk was scattered through the long grass. A rusted tandem bike was next to a brilliantly executed piece of stained glass was next to a broken window frame, etc. There was a bamboo grove full of fireflies. A home-made swing under a woven tree-branch arbor so overgrown it was hard to sit without being prickled. There were three separate sheds, all ramshackle, all crammed with unrelated objects. It was all terribly interesting and a little alarming. There was even a long track down to a beautiful broad river that involved crossing a huge mossy log. The halfway point to the river was a well-used firepit and lean-to. Even though I just met the Linvilles, there was no doubt in my mind that they enjoy their eccentric lifestyle to the fullest, and their hospitality was certainly impeccable.
When John Linville was sure the twenty or so young people had talked themselves out, he packed up the grill and we all piled back into cars to go to downtown Brevard for fireworks. Will bought a lemon-berry slush at Sonic and we slurped as we watched the explosions. One of the boys found a dead white squirrel. White, but not albino, squirrels are peculiar to Brevard. They’re ordinary squirrels, except they’re cream colored. Quite pretty. I was glad we were able to see a live one on the way to church the next morning.
Crabby Third
If this were a movie trailer, the scene would open on a terrible rainstorm. A beleaguered red convertible with broken windshield wipers and a leaky canopy inches along the highway in the dark. Inside are two damp, terrified young people. Will they make it home? Will they even make it to the next gas station to wait out the worst of the rain? Will the steam cloud kicked up by the next semi truck send them into a ditch they couldn’t see? All this and more, in “Home to Charleston!”
Now that you know how the trip ends and that we lived, I’ll back up. Our dear friends the Crabbes, whom I love as grandparents, invited us to come to their mountain cabin in Brevard at Ridge Haven. Retired, they volunteer at the Christian camp. We hadn’t seen them since an old friend’s wedding in March, and before that, hadn’t seen them since we got married. Obviously, we were long overdue for some Crabbiness, plus Will’s sister Sophy is a camp counselor at Ridge Haven this summer, so that was added incentive to throw our bags in the back of the car and take off! Five blissful hours of wind in the face, matted hair, Chick Fil-A milkshake, watching Will’s arms and nose turn the color of stew meat….Yes, Will got the inaugural sunburn of the season. And now he’s peeling all over his face and looks like a leper. I feel really sorry for the poor thing. I rolled in SPF 50 until thoroughly slimed (yuck). I don’t like the feel of sunscreen on me. Hate to feel so oily, but skin cancer runs in the Dutch side of the family. Every time I go outside for longer than five minutes, the sun goes “Oh, there she is. SCORCH!” The only place I missed was my ears. I usually don’t think about them because I don’t pull my hair back, but in the Eclipse, I had to. It was either that or breathe in hair for five hours. My ears are raw and peeling and hurt pretty badly. I’m sorry he has that level of misery on his whole face, but he says it doesn’t hurt that badly.
We met Nana (Martha) Crabbe at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain. Brevard is rural, lush, and sown everywhere with orange lilies. Stunning! The air was soft and cool. I think the highest high over the three days was 75 degrees. We followed her up a narrow, sometimes single-lane road full of hairpin turns, ups and downs. Runaway mine train rides have nothing on this road! I’m afraid all that bouncing around made me a bit queasy. Funny, I’ve never been carsick before, but this road was steeper and narrower than anything Lookout Mountain could dish out. She led us to a large cabin on a gravel road. The front yard was filled with interesting boulders and birdbaths. There must have been half a dozen log-house style birdhouses and even more bird feeders. The house itself is a 4-bedroom, 2 story with a wrap-around deck. (Papa told a story about a BEAR visiting the bird feeder on their porch) It’s decorated with a sophisticated rustic look, in medium blues, navies, and cranberries. Even has the requisite creaky floors. But the most important decoration is in the downstairs bedroom. Our wedding picture is sitting on the dresser in between theirs and their adopted son’s. I feel so honored and loved!
We arrived around 3:30 and I talked to Papa (Max) while Nana fixed a chicken casserole. He wanted to know what was going on at Pinewoods (we talked about all the men who have died, especially Uncle Buddy. He’s found a friend and prayer partner at Cornerstone, but still misses Buddy terribly, as we all do) and filled me in on old Aletheia people. Found out my basketball and PE coach has been separated from his wife and two school-age sons for a year because of his poor behavior. An affair, an apparent apostasy. I really didn’t like either of them, but I am very sorry to hear of their difficulties. I would never wish that kind of trouble on anybody and I hope he allows Godly counsel to get through to him. Maybe that marriage can be restored someday. Too bad.
Anyway, after a tasty supper of casserole (Campbell’s cream of chicken soup, sour cream, poppy seeds, chicken, and bread crumbs), we went down the hill part way to Ridge Haven to meet Sophy. She was with some of her campers, who promptly peppered us with questions. Were we so and so’s mom and dad? ARGH! I felt so old! I guess to a ten year old, anybody over six feet tall (Will) or who has a full rack (me) must be parents. My ego hasn’t really recovered yet.
After that, we went back to the Crabbes and watched a movie. I chose Secondhand Lions out of their black hole of chick flicks. Really, really cute movie. Wasn’t saccharine, but was very sweet and surprisingly manly. Definitely recommend it.
Now that you know how the trip ends and that we lived, I’ll back up. Our dear friends the Crabbes, whom I love as grandparents, invited us to come to their mountain cabin in Brevard at Ridge Haven. Retired, they volunteer at the Christian camp. We hadn’t seen them since an old friend’s wedding in March, and before that, hadn’t seen them since we got married. Obviously, we were long overdue for some Crabbiness, plus Will’s sister Sophy is a camp counselor at Ridge Haven this summer, so that was added incentive to throw our bags in the back of the car and take off! Five blissful hours of wind in the face, matted hair, Chick Fil-A milkshake, watching Will’s arms and nose turn the color of stew meat….Yes, Will got the inaugural sunburn of the season. And now he’s peeling all over his face and looks like a leper. I feel really sorry for the poor thing. I rolled in SPF 50 until thoroughly slimed (yuck). I don’t like the feel of sunscreen on me. Hate to feel so oily, but skin cancer runs in the Dutch side of the family. Every time I go outside for longer than five minutes, the sun goes “Oh, there she is. SCORCH!” The only place I missed was my ears. I usually don’t think about them because I don’t pull my hair back, but in the Eclipse, I had to. It was either that or breathe in hair for five hours. My ears are raw and peeling and hurt pretty badly. I’m sorry he has that level of misery on his whole face, but he says it doesn’t hurt that badly.
We met Nana (Martha) Crabbe at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain. Brevard is rural, lush, and sown everywhere with orange lilies. Stunning! The air was soft and cool. I think the highest high over the three days was 75 degrees. We followed her up a narrow, sometimes single-lane road full of hairpin turns, ups and downs. Runaway mine train rides have nothing on this road! I’m afraid all that bouncing around made me a bit queasy. Funny, I’ve never been carsick before, but this road was steeper and narrower than anything Lookout Mountain could dish out. She led us to a large cabin on a gravel road. The front yard was filled with interesting boulders and birdbaths. There must have been half a dozen log-house style birdhouses and even more bird feeders. The house itself is a 4-bedroom, 2 story with a wrap-around deck. (Papa told a story about a BEAR visiting the bird feeder on their porch) It’s decorated with a sophisticated rustic look, in medium blues, navies, and cranberries. Even has the requisite creaky floors. But the most important decoration is in the downstairs bedroom. Our wedding picture is sitting on the dresser in between theirs and their adopted son’s. I feel so honored and loved!
We arrived around 3:30 and I talked to Papa (Max) while Nana fixed a chicken casserole. He wanted to know what was going on at Pinewoods (we talked about all the men who have died, especially Uncle Buddy. He’s found a friend and prayer partner at Cornerstone, but still misses Buddy terribly, as we all do) and filled me in on old Aletheia people. Found out my basketball and PE coach has been separated from his wife and two school-age sons for a year because of his poor behavior. An affair, an apparent apostasy. I really didn’t like either of them, but I am very sorry to hear of their difficulties. I would never wish that kind of trouble on anybody and I hope he allows Godly counsel to get through to him. Maybe that marriage can be restored someday. Too bad.
Anyway, after a tasty supper of casserole (Campbell’s cream of chicken soup, sour cream, poppy seeds, chicken, and bread crumbs), we went down the hill part way to Ridge Haven to meet Sophy. She was with some of her campers, who promptly peppered us with questions. Were we so and so’s mom and dad? ARGH! I felt so old! I guess to a ten year old, anybody over six feet tall (Will) or who has a full rack (me) must be parents. My ego hasn’t really recovered yet.
After that, we went back to the Crabbes and watched a movie. I chose Secondhand Lions out of their black hole of chick flicks. Really, really cute movie. Wasn’t saccharine, but was very sweet and surprisingly manly. Definitely recommend it.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Update
Nothing to report except that I have nothing to report. All of my time and energy for the last six weeks or so has been completely consumed with finding a house. Our lease is up in mid-July and Will and I are both tired of being cramped. We've had good times in this apartment, and I think it's still the cutest apartment I've ever seen, but it's still. an. apartment. We're piled on top of each other in the office, and we're still sleeping on just a mattress and box spring because our bedroom is so small there's not really any room for both our dressers and a large bed frame. Not to mention it would be nice to be able to use the dining room table again to eat on instead of its current function as a pig pedestal. This morning we signed offer letter papers for the fourth time. Our realtor has been an absolute doll and we couldn't be more pleased with her, but time is wearing on and I just want to find and claim my home.
I'm having fun scouring craigslist for furniture, but it's hard to envision what I'll buy since I don't know where we'll be living yet. If we get the house we offered for, I'm going to use the formal dining room as my workroom/library. I spotted the cutest contemporary chaise. I'm dreaming of lying there like Lady Bountiful surrounded by my books, sewing projects, and piano. I know that's truly the impractical dream of a childless woman, but if Will gets his office space, why shouldn't I have my library? It'll all go out the window eventually, of course. But for the meantime, I can't interpret every tummyache as a sign of pregnancy. That's a quick and easy way to go completely nuts, especially since we're taking a laissez-faire approach to getting me knocked up.
So we're supposed to hear by Sunday evening whether our offer was accepted. I think our realtor wants to wrap this up as badly as we do. She's acting very determined lately. Something to pray about.
I'm having fun scouring craigslist for furniture, but it's hard to envision what I'll buy since I don't know where we'll be living yet. If we get the house we offered for, I'm going to use the formal dining room as my workroom/library. I spotted the cutest contemporary chaise. I'm dreaming of lying there like Lady Bountiful surrounded by my books, sewing projects, and piano. I know that's truly the impractical dream of a childless woman, but if Will gets his office space, why shouldn't I have my library? It'll all go out the window eventually, of course. But for the meantime, I can't interpret every tummyache as a sign of pregnancy. That's a quick and easy way to go completely nuts, especially since we're taking a laissez-faire approach to getting me knocked up.
So we're supposed to hear by Sunday evening whether our offer was accepted. I think our realtor wants to wrap this up as badly as we do. She's acting very determined lately. Something to pray about.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A Tale of Two Piggies, Among Other Things....
Time to shake the dust off and post again. I’m a bad blog-keeper these days because life has a way of coming along and embroiling one so very badly. First of all, our family has expanded: we now have two guinea pigs! No, nothing human yet; we’re working on that. We’re also in the process of buying a house.
Friday is very disgruntled about the cute little interloper (named Saturday), who joined us about two weeks ago. We had just made an offer on a house right next to work and were kicking around the idea of getting a dog. Will suggested we visit the SPCA to see what they had even though we knew we wouldn’t be able to adopt a dog until at least July. We walked in the door, and there, on the table nearest the door, was a delicate little female piggy! They were calling her Bella, and we had to have her, if only to rescue her from the Twilight name. It doesn’t hurt any that she’s practically the reincarnation of my beloved (and long gone) Shui, both in looks and personality. Saturday is an energetic little creature with a black head and rump, white middle. So imagine a hairy Oreo cookie with ears and claws. She’s a smooth coated pig, as opposed to Friday’s Abyssinian whorls. We figure she’s only a few months old.
I began the introductions by bathing them together so they’d smell the same, hoping that the experience would make them bond out of fear, if nothing else. Then I wrapped them in the same towel and held them on my lap together. Finally, I cleaned the big cage thoroughly so it would smell unfamiliar to both pigs and plopped them in. All was quiet for about ten minutes until Friday figured out what I was up to. She gave me a long, disgusted look. It very plainly said “Either take the new kid away or make her shut up. I’m NOT sharing my cabbage.” Saturday was happily sniffing around and wheeking/chittering to herself non-stop (she’s very vocal). Then Friday lunged at her and started chasing her up and down the cage nipping her rump. She was also making pig noises that don’t translate well…okay, they do, but they’re not repeatable. If guinea pigs could swear…. Not good. I left them in there since Friday wasn’t drawing blood to see if they’d settle down. No dice. Friday would retreat to the smaller pigloo to sulk, or they’d nap curled up next to each other, but as soon as Friday emerged or they woke up, back to chasing and nipping. We separated them, since we didn’t bring Saturday home just to be harassed by a crabby roommate. We’ll work out the cage situation after we move. I still hope we can house them together. Friday really should give Saturday a chance. Yes, she’s younger, cuter, and thinner, but she doesn’t know what cabbage is. She’ll eat the store-bought treats Friday won’t touch, and Friday can keep all her cabbage to herself. Besides, if Friday keeps being hostile, she’s only going to look like a bully. Saturday is half her length and one third of her weight. Friday should pick on someone her own size. Friday v. a tank. That might be fair.
However, our housing situation comes first. Unfortunately, the house we chose isn’t anywhere near work or Will’s taekwondo. I turned over what felt like every rock trying to get something close to work, but no dice. The area we were looking is becoming trendy, but is working its way up from old and blighted. Prices reflect the trendiness, houses are still relatively crummy, and crime is still being cleaned up. I was satisfied with the neighborhood of the one nice house we found, but it’s moot because our best offer on that one wasn’t accepted. Very disappointing. Our realtor suggested we look at a bank-owned property in Summerville, and we grudgingly agreed because the house was brick and the price was ridiculously low. By this time, Will was done looking at houses and just wanted to settle on something. So right now we’re working with the bank and its contractors to get the place fixed up so we can buy it because the bank won’t sell us the house in its current 1970s-with-rodents condition. Yes, the commute is going to stink, but I believe the house will be everything we wanted once it’s fixed up. I’m excited to be choosing colors and materials. I’m a bit of a frustrated decorator, and Mom would never let me practice on her house, probably because I had a new “great-havetodoitrightnow!” idea every fifteen minutes. Will is excited about having the attic room wired with Cat 5 and Cat 6 cables for his man cave/office/excuse to buy those Left 4 Dead posters I won’t let him have now. I’m excited about having a designated sewing room. I’m not sewing right now because my little table is squeezed up on the end of the unholy coffee table-tv cabinet Frankensteinian thing in the living room. In the winter it was great to be so toasty, but now I’m not too keen to sew with my elbows in the fireplace. Best of all, yesterday Mom asked me how long after we move in should she wait to ship my piano? I cannot WAIT to get my piano back! My fingers have been mothballed since I left for college. I’m far from the days when I’d provide two solid hours of dinner music for Christmas parties. However, since we all blanched at the thought of getting a 53 inch Yamaha upright into a second floor, one bedroom apartment, finger rustication was for the best.
So lots of interesting things going on, but the result is that I’m dizzily chasing myself around. Posting may continue to be sporadic.
Upcoming travel: July 4th with the Crabbes at Ridgehaven. They just met Will’s sister Sophy, who’s camp counseling for the summer.
Mid-July after move-in in VA with my beloved friend Jennifer (of Intellectual Neophyte fame), whom I consider a sister. I’m going to make this happen, Jenn. Don’t lose heart.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
When Mully Grumbies Attack
Today is the new worst day of my life. It’s the sort of day where, if I’m going to go to all the trouble of keeping breathing, I want to be compensated for it. That’s right, I’d charge God overtime. I may even demand extra days off and spa coupons if this keeps up. If Will were around, I’d be clinging to his leg like a whiny barnacle. The sad thing is, my life couldn’t be going better, but it’s amazing how physical discomfort can trash everything. I have a full blown case of what my late Uncle Buddy called the “mully grumbies.” The mully grumbies is a vicious mood disease that can only be cured by hanging the afflicted upside down and shaking her vigorously by the ankles. Since I’m at work, my cure is going to have to wait.
Still, I do think the angst is justified. Try having what the cheerful Scottish nurse called “a raging UTI, love,” and see how you like it. Then, when you start feeling a smidgen better and are blessing the marvel of antibiotics, life drops the proverbial grand piano on your head and you realize Old Faithful is about to blow. For those of you who have minimal-pain periods or are male (shouldn’t there be a circle of hell devoted to both of those crimes?), let me give a very graphic description. Imagine a tray of biscuit dough. Nice, inoffensive biscuit dough. Biscuit dough with clean karma. It’s never slapped a baby or said anything nasty about anybody’s tacky prom pictures. That dough is your innards. Next, sprinkle that dough with a lethal assortment of thumb tacks, two inch nails, and rusty razor blades. Season to taste with motion sickness. Now, ever so gently, roll that dough into a cylinder. Here’s where it gets fun. Take a baseball bat, poker, rolling pin, mace, or other weapon of your choice, and BEAT THE DAYLIGHTS out of that dough. That is what cramps feel like when you have dysmenorrhea.
Even though I feel like doom on the half shell, I am trying to focus on the things that aren’t making me hurt. Like the fact that Will dropped by my work this morning to share his Coolatta with me. Like my Little Yellow iPod. I drove home for lunch this afternoon and on the way back, somebody apparently declared it monsoon season because I was creeping along the highway with negligible visibility in the downpour. Suddenly, lightning cracked close to my car. My first thought was, lightning can hit the car, but it can’t fry my iPod. The Castlevania Playground remix is the only thing keeping me from shaving my head and walling myself into a cell like some medieval anchoress. Will’s perky video game remixes are keeping me from wallowing in bleakness too much. Although with the low barometric pressure, everybody at work is so testy, I doubt I’m standing out. Oh well, maybe all the rain will coax my snow pea vines to flower. A chow mien full of home-grown snow peas would be a fine thing indeed.
Another thing I’m very happy about is bravissimo.com. I just found out about this company yesterday and I’m already obsessed with it. Bravissimo sells tops by cup size! This is genius! I’ve been saying for years that somebody ought to, because uniformly cutting clothing for a B cup is lunacy when the average American woman is a C. Read that somewhere, anyway, and I believe it. Bravissimo caters to the D cup+ market (but not plus-sized. Sizing runs from a US 4-ish to a US 12-ish, if I figured the UK size conversion correctly), and their stuff is fashionable, but not too trendy, just the way I like it. The models all have builds very similar to mine so I didn’t have to guess what I’d look like in the clothes. The pricing was equivalent to Ann Taylor: a little expensive, but doable. I’d much rather pay more for one blouse that fits than buy three or four that gape at the bustline. As soon as I get paid again, I will probably place an order. I’m dazzled by the opportunity to have matching lingerie sets! (A frustration of having a plus-sized boobage and misses-sized rumpage) Button-down blouses that don’t require a camisole underneath because the buttons might pop off if I try to button them over my mountainous outcroppings! Dresses I don’t have to take in at the waist because I had to buy the next size up! The head swims with possibilities!
All that retail goodness is definitely lifting my spirits. Today wasn’t a total loss at work, either. I turned in two documents several hours ahead of the deadline. The work day is almost over. And I’m remembering that I have Haagen Dazs coffee-and-almond ice cream bars in the freezer at home. I’m not usually the “eat to cope” type, but some days….
Still, I do think the angst is justified. Try having what the cheerful Scottish nurse called “a raging UTI, love,” and see how you like it. Then, when you start feeling a smidgen better and are blessing the marvel of antibiotics, life drops the proverbial grand piano on your head and you realize Old Faithful is about to blow. For those of you who have minimal-pain periods or are male (shouldn’t there be a circle of hell devoted to both of those crimes?), let me give a very graphic description. Imagine a tray of biscuit dough. Nice, inoffensive biscuit dough. Biscuit dough with clean karma. It’s never slapped a baby or said anything nasty about anybody’s tacky prom pictures. That dough is your innards. Next, sprinkle that dough with a lethal assortment of thumb tacks, two inch nails, and rusty razor blades. Season to taste with motion sickness. Now, ever so gently, roll that dough into a cylinder. Here’s where it gets fun. Take a baseball bat, poker, rolling pin, mace, or other weapon of your choice, and BEAT THE DAYLIGHTS out of that dough. That is what cramps feel like when you have dysmenorrhea.
Even though I feel like doom on the half shell, I am trying to focus on the things that aren’t making me hurt. Like the fact that Will dropped by my work this morning to share his Coolatta with me. Like my Little Yellow iPod. I drove home for lunch this afternoon and on the way back, somebody apparently declared it monsoon season because I was creeping along the highway with negligible visibility in the downpour. Suddenly, lightning cracked close to my car. My first thought was, lightning can hit the car, but it can’t fry my iPod. The Castlevania Playground remix is the only thing keeping me from shaving my head and walling myself into a cell like some medieval anchoress. Will’s perky video game remixes are keeping me from wallowing in bleakness too much. Although with the low barometric pressure, everybody at work is so testy, I doubt I’m standing out. Oh well, maybe all the rain will coax my snow pea vines to flower. A chow mien full of home-grown snow peas would be a fine thing indeed.
Another thing I’m very happy about is bravissimo.com. I just found out about this company yesterday and I’m already obsessed with it. Bravissimo sells tops by cup size! This is genius! I’ve been saying for years that somebody ought to, because uniformly cutting clothing for a B cup is lunacy when the average American woman is a C. Read that somewhere, anyway, and I believe it. Bravissimo caters to the D cup+ market (but not plus-sized. Sizing runs from a US 4-ish to a US 12-ish, if I figured the UK size conversion correctly), and their stuff is fashionable, but not too trendy, just the way I like it. The models all have builds very similar to mine so I didn’t have to guess what I’d look like in the clothes. The pricing was equivalent to Ann Taylor: a little expensive, but doable. I’d much rather pay more for one blouse that fits than buy three or four that gape at the bustline. As soon as I get paid again, I will probably place an order. I’m dazzled by the opportunity to have matching lingerie sets! (A frustration of having a plus-sized boobage and misses-sized rumpage) Button-down blouses that don’t require a camisole underneath because the buttons might pop off if I try to button them over my mountainous outcroppings! Dresses I don’t have to take in at the waist because I had to buy the next size up! The head swims with possibilities!
All that retail goodness is definitely lifting my spirits. Today wasn’t a total loss at work, either. I turned in two documents several hours ahead of the deadline. The work day is almost over. And I’m remembering that I have Haagen Dazs coffee-and-almond ice cream bars in the freezer at home. I’m not usually the “eat to cope” type, but some days….
Monday, April 20, 2009
Pass the Ammunition
The world is changing. The poster boy is definitely President Obama. No matter what one thinks of his policies, there’s no denying that he’s ushering in an era where ideas formerly labeled “liberal” are going to be mainstreamed.
Change is going to be felt in churches as well. Old ways of witnessing (EE, etc) are not going to work with young people. Why? The Bible isn’t respected anymore. At best, it’s equated with every other religious text and viewed as a relic of ancient superstitions. At worst, it’s viewed as a textbook for madmen. The church as an institution has largely discredited itself in the eyes of young people. They see the infighting among denominations over (seemingly) minute and meaningless distinctions. They see the highly-publicized sex scandals. And most damagingly, they see the Christians of their acquaintance as ignorant, anti-intellectual, and judgmental.
Christians have had it easy for too long. We’ve cruise-controlled our faith in previous eras where everyone was at least a Deist, went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday and respected the Bible. The current generation is completely unfamiliar with the Bible, doesn’t believe in God (and doesn’t want to), and knows nothing of any sacred holidays.
Will has had an ongoing discussion with a young English gay man in the xkcd IRC channel. Julian went to Sunday school as a child, but now considers himself an atheist. He accepts nothing that cannot be proved by science. I think Julian is probably typical of the way the world has bent. Arguments from Scripture will no longer work, except to clear up misconceptions about not eating shellfish and not wearing poly-blend socks. Whenever somebody wants to make fun of Christians, they inevitably go for the Levitical law. They don’t know enough about Scripture to know that most of the Levitical law was rescinded in Acts 15—and when we point that out, the reaction is “Well, it’s all [baloney] (sic) anyway, so why does it matter?”
Will is still talking to Julian about various religious topics, especially homosexuality. I’ve had my own share of conversations with various online acquaintances. What we’ve learned from these encounters is how incredibly vital it is to know what you believe and why you believe it, and to be able to explain yourself without using Scripture or Christian buzzwords. There are a lot of hostile people out there who will rip you to shreds if you waffle just the slightest bit. Also, when you hit a dead end, be willing to say that you don’t understand something, but wiser heads than you have taken a stab at it—so know your Church Fathers so you have references to back you up. Be ready to admit your doubts and failings. The slightest whiff of hypocrisy will send a non-believer packing. And really, isn’t it time Christians stopped being fake with each other as well?
My goal in talking to those people is not to convert them. The Lord knows their hearts and the elect are pre-destined. My goal is to give an accurate representation of the truth I believe and to plant that seed that not all Christians are stupid and scary. And I really wonder if any un-churched young people do come to the Lord, whether they will eschew the conservative denominations? I really think that issues like the condemnation of homosexual practice and the ban on women’s ordination will prove to be too alienating for my generation, who grew up with CEO mothers and openly gay and bisexual friends. I have a hard time with the ban on female clergy myself. I know many ministers’ wives who are better speakers than their husbands and it really bothers me that they must take a supporting role. However, there are things in the Bible I don’t understand and don’t like, but they are there for a reason and I must trust that the omniscient Lord knows better than I do. When put that way, the question becomes laughable. Me? Know better than God? Ha! So I abide.
We sideline ourselves when we care more about how fellow believers keep the Sabbath (to eat out or not?), etc., than whether the Gospel is being preached to a world that needs it, but doesn’t want it. Christians need to stop chewing over Roast Brethren for Sunday lunch. We must get over ourselves and get back to work.
Change is going to be felt in churches as well. Old ways of witnessing (EE, etc) are not going to work with young people. Why? The Bible isn’t respected anymore. At best, it’s equated with every other religious text and viewed as a relic of ancient superstitions. At worst, it’s viewed as a textbook for madmen. The church as an institution has largely discredited itself in the eyes of young people. They see the infighting among denominations over (seemingly) minute and meaningless distinctions. They see the highly-publicized sex scandals. And most damagingly, they see the Christians of their acquaintance as ignorant, anti-intellectual, and judgmental.
Christians have had it easy for too long. We’ve cruise-controlled our faith in previous eras where everyone was at least a Deist, went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday and respected the Bible. The current generation is completely unfamiliar with the Bible, doesn’t believe in God (and doesn’t want to), and knows nothing of any sacred holidays.
Will has had an ongoing discussion with a young English gay man in the xkcd IRC channel. Julian went to Sunday school as a child, but now considers himself an atheist. He accepts nothing that cannot be proved by science. I think Julian is probably typical of the way the world has bent. Arguments from Scripture will no longer work, except to clear up misconceptions about not eating shellfish and not wearing poly-blend socks. Whenever somebody wants to make fun of Christians, they inevitably go for the Levitical law. They don’t know enough about Scripture to know that most of the Levitical law was rescinded in Acts 15—and when we point that out, the reaction is “Well, it’s all [baloney] (sic) anyway, so why does it matter?”
Will is still talking to Julian about various religious topics, especially homosexuality. I’ve had my own share of conversations with various online acquaintances. What we’ve learned from these encounters is how incredibly vital it is to know what you believe and why you believe it, and to be able to explain yourself without using Scripture or Christian buzzwords. There are a lot of hostile people out there who will rip you to shreds if you waffle just the slightest bit. Also, when you hit a dead end, be willing to say that you don’t understand something, but wiser heads than you have taken a stab at it—so know your Church Fathers so you have references to back you up. Be ready to admit your doubts and failings. The slightest whiff of hypocrisy will send a non-believer packing. And really, isn’t it time Christians stopped being fake with each other as well?
My goal in talking to those people is not to convert them. The Lord knows their hearts and the elect are pre-destined. My goal is to give an accurate representation of the truth I believe and to plant that seed that not all Christians are stupid and scary. And I really wonder if any un-churched young people do come to the Lord, whether they will eschew the conservative denominations? I really think that issues like the condemnation of homosexual practice and the ban on women’s ordination will prove to be too alienating for my generation, who grew up with CEO mothers and openly gay and bisexual friends. I have a hard time with the ban on female clergy myself. I know many ministers’ wives who are better speakers than their husbands and it really bothers me that they must take a supporting role. However, there are things in the Bible I don’t understand and don’t like, but they are there for a reason and I must trust that the omniscient Lord knows better than I do. When put that way, the question becomes laughable. Me? Know better than God? Ha! So I abide.
We sideline ourselves when we care more about how fellow believers keep the Sabbath (to eat out or not?), etc., than whether the Gospel is being preached to a world that needs it, but doesn’t want it. Christians need to stop chewing over Roast Brethren for Sunday lunch. We must get over ourselves and get back to work.
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