A Quiet Space

photo courtesy of here


Things have just been crazy here for the longest. I have been dancing, working, and trying to find work, and in between trying to figure out where my life is going and where it is supposed to go and what I'm supposed to do next and what I'm supposed to be when I grow up and what if I don't go in the right direction and how am I supposed to figure this out when I'm so busy, busy, busy all the time? And nothing is coming clear, and hasn't for a while. I've noted on here several times my feelings of restlessness, of wanting to know why I'm doing the things that I'm doing and figure out what I love and what my life's work should be, and there is no clarity. But, I am realizing, I can't make space right now for that clarity to emerge. It's like I'm running around and running around and every so often I run past my Life and I grab her by the shoulders and start shaking at her and screaming in her face, "What do you want from me, what should I do, what are the next steps, where is all this headed, why am I doing it, what's going to happen, tell me, tell me, tell me!!!!!!" And then before she can even process the terrifying experience, I'm off and running again, angry now that I'm not getting the information.

Unfortunately, I can't slow down, not right now. The things that I am doing are all essential, and there's nothing that I can drop from my schedule to make more space. But, I figure, while things are this way, the least I can do is let Life rest in her little corner, drink a cup of tea and breathe so that she has some time to sort things out, and come back when I have a little more time to have a proper conversation. And, with that realization, that surrender of control and willingness to just do what has to be done right now and not worry and obsess over the future (I think of it as "fretting," because I love that word. I am a first-class fretter) with the acknowledgement that I just don't know right now and probably won't for a while, there is a quiet space that I can be in and get my work done. I think that faith in God allows us to believe that everything is not going to spin out of control if we turn our back for a second or decide to take a nap. I was listening to a wonderful podcast by my "adopted-uncle-even-though-we've-never-met-and-he-doesn't-know-I-exist," Tim Keller, and the gist of it was, "People are always asking me 'How can I know the will of God for my life?' and I always tell them: submit your life to him, and make a decision." Okay. It's all in his box now, not mine.

And I think, as far as the future goes, I want to do less fretting, and more daydreaming. Daydreaming is great because the way that I normally attack these kinds of things is with a spreadsheet, with columns for interests and columns for things that seem financially viable and point values for everything, and there's lots of really hard math involved and after doing that for a while, your soul gets crushed to a powder. But daydreaming...ah, daydreaming allows for ambiguity, allows for the possibility that you might accomplish more than you know is possible right now, allows for the flexibility that your life might have multiple destinations instead of just one, and allows for the possibility that, instead of ending up terribly, your life might just meander somewhere great, all on it's own, without your white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

Today is unfolding as just that kind of day. Kind of rainy and cold, but inside and dry now, cup of coffee in hand, candles lit, and deep breathing.

Oh, and btw, I did not get here on my own. I was a raving, whinging lunatic last night. Many thanks to K. for listening to me whine (for hours! hours! incomprehensibly!) and talking me down. We came back to that quote from Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies, "...when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born--and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible." Okay then, Big and Lovely, hands off the wheel. You can come out now.

S.

Day to Day

Well. So, that happened. Looks like it's basically been two months since I posted. Sorry about that. I've been, well, that thing that everybody is when they start neglecting their blogs for other stuff (busy, I mean busy). What's the news. Well, I was on a hefty two week long vacation for a while, hitting Mont Tremblant, Montreal, Buffalo and Pittsburgh with the fam (and the extended fam, an unusual addition to our adventures). Then no sooner did that end than I whisked away for a long weekend in Boston to visit friend-types, then back to Buffalo for a crash course in grant-writing, which will hopefully prove useful in the very near future, and some time with with WNY Young Writers' Studio, which is already proving very useful and was awesome, and I would love to elaborate, but I just don't have the time! And, that was pretty much the month of August. I would love to tell you what the heck happened in the month of July, but honestly, it's hard to remember. It was a long time ago. I think I did a lot of traveling. Let's go with that.

Other than that, well, I feel like I've been in a bit of a funk lately. I think it has a lot to do with all the crazy changes that are happening around here. Two of my good friends have moved away, as I previously mentioned, and I think I definitely feel the loss. I'm looking at the end of my current job, which despite some occasional complaints, I have loved, and looking around for something new, which may or may not be as fun or fulfilling or may not materialize at all. Let's face it, in this economy, a job should never be assumed. I'm starting another year of dance classes, even more intensely (ballet and modern! have I lost my mind?) without having any clear idea of why I'm doing this, or where it's going. Then there's the inevitable slide of summer into fall, which I can feel happening around me, and I'm not ready. I'm just not. Summer went so quickly, and sad as it is, I feel like there were many ways in which I was too busy to enjoy it.

So, this may seem like a non-sequitur, but it makes perfect sense to me: I want to do a better job of writing down my life. I feel like attentiveness is key to appreciation and appreciation is key to happiness. I would like to do a better job of appreciating what is going on around me in the day to day, and appreciate my unique voice and perspective. That's all I'm going to say right now. Let's see how this unfolds.

Here is today: my first dance class of the semester, sweat and a sore back and that old familiar feeling of being completed overwhelmed and completely determined at the same time. Also, helping a friend move, geographically, closer. I'll bring my peach pie and i-Home to enjoy while we unpack.

So I've discovered...

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. And it's seriously bumming me out. This is troubling because I am already so grown up, and getting moreso every day! Do I lack ambition? Am I aimless? Am I one of those people? Oh dear.

The Church Chronicles. Part, the Second.

photo courtesy of here. not actually a picture of the place i am talking about...

So, there I was. Well, if you don't know why I was there, read the post before the last one. If you don't know where I was, the answer was...another anonymous church. I don't want to be traced. They advertised a "Single Adults Ministry" that met on Thursday nights. It sounded interesting, so I decided to check it out. Let's start by saying that this church was out in the middle of East Bumblyberg, by which I mean the sticks, the boonies, the middle of the proverbial Nowhere. It took a solid half hour of driving from my house to make it out there, not a point in its favor. But once I saw the place, I understood why. They needed the room. A sprawling sea of asphalt surrounded a building as large as...time out for a second. I have no spatial reasoning skills. I could not even slightly guess at the actual square footage of this thing. And, in metaphorical terms, I tend to exaggerate (It was as large as four football fields, end to end!). I cannot give you a comparable estimate. Suffice it to say, it was a very, very, very large church. That large church you have in your mind now? No, bigger.

So, I pulled into the enormous parking lot, and drove a good 40 seconds before I was on the side of the church where all the other cars were parked, which I presumed to be the entrance. I saw a number of older adult women as I pulled through the lot, maybe 40 or 50, heading for the church, giving me funny looks. I assumed they had an aversion to Patsy Cline, who was crooning through my speakers at the time, and decided not to hold it against them and move on. I parked, walked in, successfully maneuvered away from the welcome table, made my way through the inevitable in-church Starbucks doppelganger, and walked into the doors of the worship space.

Right off the bat, MORE ROUND TABLES! Okay, timeout again for a second here. I realize that you want to be hip, emergent, and "build community." But I am a first time guest, I am your Holy Grail, your Golden Haired Woman, your Maltese Falcon. I am who you're trying to build community with. And let me tell you, I am deeply turned off by round tables. This is a CHURCH! I want to sit in a ROW, a PEW, or some other in-straight-lines configuration that doesn't launch me into the most uncomfortable part of the experience (making-eye-contact-and-small-talk) right off the bat. PLEASE!

Ahem. Moving on. I walk in the door and there is the inevitable Hillsong worship, projected on the inevitable dizzying powerpoint projecter, with the inevitable gotee-ed pastor and...What image does "single adults ministry" of a large, suburban church conjure up for you? Go ahead. Ponder a moment. Let me tell you what struck mine eye as soon as I walked through the door. ALL OLD PEOPLE! Like, there was one person in the entire room that was under the age of 40, and he was running the sound board. This was just so far from my wildest imaginings of what I would face. This was the whole point of me moving away from my much enjoyed Lutheran church. Have we already talked about how I have nothing against old people, I just have a surfeit of them in my life at the moment and no new friends my own age! And then, to come to the "Single Adults Ministry" and find that, you know, I don't feel I was misled. These were probably single adults. I just couldn't believe that, in the whole group, which I spent time surveying from the back of the room, I couldn't find a single other person in their 20s. Am I the only 20 something in Buffalo, for crying out loud!!!!

And, then I left. Yes, that's right, did not stay for the rest of the worship time, did not stay for the message, just turned around, visited the ladies room as a diversion, and then left through a different set of doors than the ones I came in (there were many). It was, to be sure, a great defeat. Although, I have said consolingly to myself, I don't know that I could have ever seriously considered a church with such a large parking lot. I have currently retired to lick my wounds for a while and look for new leads on young churches. A couple are forthcoming. We'll see what happens next in The Church Chronicles!!! (Bum bum baaaaaaah!! Echoey voice, animated graphic of two giant stone doors slamming shut, with THE CHURCH CHRONICLES engraved on the outside. This is my tv show. Didn't you know that?)

Until next time,
S.

Something's brewing

I have been restless lately. Not lately as in this afternoon, but lately as in, well, at least a week or so. But it's strong. Suddenly I have this overwhelming desire to change everything. To move out of this house. To move out of this city. To move to a different city, or maybe to the country. To live in a cabin in the woods, away from everyone. To live in an urban commune with everything held in common. To get a dog. To get a new wardrobe. To get new friends. To get a new job. Not just a new client, but a completely new line of work. To change the season. To get a kiddie pool for the backyard. To play in the sprinkler. To go on a long, long drive, and not look back.

I feel like I used to know where my life was heading, what I wanted to be when I grew up. Now I feel like I'm just getting jobs because they sound like fun to me, but I don't really have any idea where this is all heading. Maybe that is the thing. I feel like in all this muddled desire for change, there is something that really does need to happen or to change, or something is about to happen, maybe without me doing anything. But I could not, for the life of me, say which of these things it is.

This is how it went down.

"Sunday's Coming" Movie Trailer from North Point Media on Vimeo.

I decided recently that I need more friends. Now, maybe this sounds like some latent desire that everyone probably has or is at least open to, but for me this represents a significant sea change. After graduating from college, I had a lot of friends that dispersed, and of course I missed them, but for the most part, I was content because it took so much time staying in touch with everyone through phone calls, facebook, cards, and e-mails, that my schedule felt full. But then, I was living in Houston and making no friends there and it hit me, one night, that you can have friends that you love all over the globe, but if you have no one to go see a movie with, it's no good.

Flash forward to Buffalo, where friends abound! to the point that I am again not in the market, and am, in fact, making friends against my will. But, for the most part, these are tango friends, work friends, theatre friends, or coffee date friends. They are glorious, remarkable human beings, and I feel delighted to have the opportunity to get to know them, but. They are all older than me, and busy with careers and weddings and familys and not the kind of folks you can call up out of the blue on a Saturday night. Combine that with the fact that some of my own friends, my bedrock buds, the people that I would call up on a Saturday night and drink with and dance with and most certainly take to the movies, are moving away from Buffalo. It's surprising what even a small reduction does to your sense of community. You go from feeling established with an embarrassment of riches to feeling shaky, unstable, and wondering.

The thing that one finds in post-college life, or at least that I've found, is that you don't just stumble upon interesting, intelligent, engaging people under every rock. There used to be so many of them! Where did they go!?! Rather than spend thousands of dollars on a grad school education that I don't really want, I've decided to turn to another social hub: churches. Yes, I go to a Lutheran church, which I am actually quite fond of, but there are no, and I mean NO young people there. There are probably less than 10 people who regularly attend church and are under the age of 35. So, I'm...gulp...church shopping. I hate it, but what's a girl to do? All of a sudden I have a very different set of criteria for what I am looking for in a church, and it's a short list, sadly enough. I think it's worth it to make a switch. I think it is.

I started a couple weeks ago by investigating a church which...shall remain nameless. Suffice it to say, it's the urban outreach of a very large, suburban church, held in what looks like the shell of an old, unhip church that probably ran out of money and went under a while ago. I walked in on Sunday morning and was stopped just inside the door by someone asking me, "Are you new?" I admitted, with hesitation, that I was, and was taken over to the new people table, where I was informed that, "if I filled out a visitor's card, I would get to take home my choice of book and a prize." Feeling like I was playing a carnival game instead of attending church, I reluctantly put down my contact information and was given the choice of blah blah blah, by Max Lucado, something or other Every Man's Battle, blah Book Cover Showing Woman With Arms Flung Wide in Field. Realizing that I cared very little about my choice, I just grabbed a book and my charming little giftbag and moved on.

I was ushered to a seat at one of the church's many round, cafeteria style tables, where people were sitting in groups. At my table was an older couple, an older woman holding somebody else's baby, and a woman who looked like she was in her mid-thirties, alone. I had missed what was probably the bulk of the worship and we seemed to be in the midst of announcements? The pastor told us, "We know that God doesn't sleep, but, if he did, what would be the last thing he thinks about before going to be? Also, when he wakes up, although we know from the Scripture that he doesn't wake up because he doesn't sleep, but if he did, what would be the first thing he would think about when he woke up? Discuss it right now, at your tables." What followed was a very awkward 40 seconds where we looked around at each other nervously until the pastor interrupted and said, "Now what were your answers, shout them out," which was responded to with cries of "Love," "Us," and "Salvation."

"Those are all good answers," the pastor said. He went on, but I drifted away, lost in trying to figure out what was going on (was this the sermon? why was the worship band just standing around and waiting?) The next group activity we were asked to do was for us all to share a "win" from the week, some thing that we had done that was uniquely great because we were Christian. "I got a hug from a woman because I tied her shoe for her when her hands were full," said the woman with the borrowed baby. We talked about this and about the school that she worked at and how many days left till summer break for another thirty seconds till the pastor interrupted again. Then we were all supposed to pray together, outloud, at our tables. I felt uncomfortable.

After that, they played what must have been the final song in their worship set. It was something someone at the church had written, I think, I had never heard it before. It made full use of the stage full of electric guitars and drums. The stage itself looked like what would be the set if they turned Les Mis into a rock opera. There were two makeshift altars on either side of the church, festooned with candles. One said "Love" and the other said "Home," both in old, rusty letters. The powerpoint slide backgrounds were animated. I had a hard time focusing.

After the song, we all settled in for the sermon. It was purportedly about singleness, but instead the majority of the time was spent talking about how to date God's way. Not too much physical contact right up front. Don't start talking about "the m word" (marriage) too soon. Guard your heart. Etc. When the sermon was over and we said the final prayer, I slipped out the back.

The upside? There were tons of young people.

Is this what it's come to? That in order to go to a church with other twenty-somethings they have to be, candle-lighting, incense smoking, song-writing, take-communion-anytime-you-feel-led, emergent flaky people? That is a soap box I could speak from for days, but I won't. Suffice it to say, I don't know that I would go back there. It felt so uncomfortable on so many different levels. I...feel defeated. But! I can't give up after just one church! So, stay tuned for the ongoing adventures of...The Church Chronicles!

(yeesh. wish me luck.)
S.

Catching Up is Hard to Do...

OMG. Okay, I'm all about the blogging without obligation thing, to a certain point, but I don't think that point extends to over a month of non-posting. Does it help if I say I've been busy? May was mostly devoted to a benefit I helped plan ("The Art of Womanhood" to benefit The Priscilla Project, a really wonderful charity that helps pregnant refugee women) and then after that, a really big tango weekend towards the end of the month. The weekend included, in addition to the usual milongas and workshops, a performance that was at the theatre that I work at, so I was doubly involved in that, and ended up helping out with the show in a very hands on way. As in, climbing up and down into the sound booth (which is, in fact, just on scaffolding up behind the seats, so when I say climb, I really do mean climb) and running the follow-spot, which clanged down into a lower setting in its stand during the show, making a big noise and scaring the crap out of me. That was an epic evening to be sure. And then, gone for two weeks in Houston for the high-school graduation of the little sis, and you heard me right, that was two weeks, two full weeks of absence and a very, very busy time that was as well.

And now back in Buffalo, trying to catch up on...everything. Work, life, friends, cleaning, the whole nine yards. No rest for the weary. So, for the past month, I guess that has meant that my poor little blog has been left in the dust. But, never fear, intrepid readers. I hope to post sufficiently in the next few months, despite the incredible obstacles standing in my path. But I am planning some interesting stuff. Now that the guitar challenge is officially over (with mixed results) I am planning to do the same thing with a 30 day writing challenge, and the blog should hopefully reap some of the fruits of that labor. There is also a little side project I am working on this summer which could yield some very interesting posts indeed...

But, holy cow! It's basically summer! It's all happening so quickly! But this is so completely my favorite time in Buffalo (except for maybe spring or fall) and I am so glad it has arrived. I have been pulling out all my cute summer clothes, buying a pitcher for the gallons of iced tea I hope to have always on hand, planning strawberry shortcakes aplenty, eyeing the backyard for the next phase of renovation, enjoying my first street fair of the year and generally feeling awhirl with the change of seasons. I have a feeling it's going to be really, really good. Hang in there, my faithful intrepids. There's good stuff to come.

Coffee with Famous People

So, where's that spring list, how's it coming? Mmmm...well. I feel like the funny thing about this project is that I started it in the fall, and I have, for some reason, tons of associations of what ought to be done in the fall. But other seasons, not so much. I'm not complaining, it's been a fun project and it helps me to have more fun, explore more. I just want you to realize, these lists don't come from thin air. So, for spring, I have plant the garden (check-ish), spring cleaning (oh yeah, total check, so worth it), celebrate amazing birthday (check check check) flying kites (not checked) and...? One of the things that makes it tough is that the weather in Buffalo spring is so unpredictable, so there are just days that feel like summer and days that feel like winter and not much in between. One of the things that has been amazing, though, is all the flowers. Oh my goodness. This city explodes into bloom in the spring. There are flowering trees everywhere, and everyone plants tulips and crocus and daffodils (including yours truly) and there are even huge banks of daffodils on either side of the 33. It's so gorgeous. Now, if it would just warm up... What about you? Any spring must-dos or must-sees?

So, actual point of this post. Just for fun, I made a little list of people I'd love to sit down with for a cup of joe and pick their brains a little bit. Maybe they will read this blog and we can make it happen...

1. Jon Stewart--Yes, of The Daily Show. He is very interesting to me because he's very funny, but he doesn't have to make himself ridiculous like Colbert does (although he will if the occasion calls for it). He meets people where they're at and he has one of the most powerful voices in American politics today. Being funny makes you powerful. Proof positive. If we did have coffee, I would ask him what he would actually do in public office. Because he'll never run. Pundits don't ever want to be the insects under glass, they want to be the ones poking them and making jokes.

2. Tina Fey--This is actually the lady who started the list. We have so much in common! Okay, I actually might identify with her 30 Rock character, Liz Lemon, than with the great lady herself. But, come on, you can't come up with that stuff without some deep personal pain, probably from middle school (I am not projecting!) I would want to ask her what it's like being a funny lady in a man's world. And, how much she is or was like Liz Lemon.

3. Barack Obama--Yes, I know he's the president! I know he can't sit down and have coffee with me! But neither can Tina! Why should I be limited by reality? Okay, I DO NOT want this to become a political blog, but I was an Obama support way back in 2008 when he was running and it has been interesting to watch his presidency, as being politically involved has made me feel more engaged than I ever have with other presidents. I would like to ask him about a few things that I don't think have been going so well and see why he made the choices he did and whether I might think differently if I had more information. Plus, he seems like a very interesting person and I think we'd have a great time. I hope he brings Michelle, she's doing such good things with the kids and the gardens and what not.

4. Tim Keller--he is the pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian church in NYC and, since I figure that even if I did go to that church, it's probably so big by now that we'd never have time to sit and chat, I better make a point to schedule coffee now. I first discovered Tim while at L'Abri, and I enjoy listening to his sermons so much. I love that he addresses the concerns of contemporary people, but he doesn't try to be "hip" by talking nonsense or watering down his theology. He's actually pretty darn conservative, but he explains things in a way that are so convincing. And the way that he talks about Jesus makes him sound like a person I've never heard of before, even though I've been a church-goer for pretty much my entire life. If you're curious, you can listen to his stuff here.

5. Molly Wizenberg--She is the author of my favorite food blog, Orangette, a wonderful writer and she collaborates on a hilarious series of podcasts called "Spilled Milk." We have lots in common. We could have swoony conversations about goat cheese, rhubarb, and Paris. We would probably be best friends. Just give us a chance, Molly.

That's all I have for you today, my ducklings. Who are your coffee buddies, real and fantastical? This...just makes me want iced coffee.

Guitar Challenge (cue sweet riff here)

Here we are, a rainy Sunday afternoon, after making a big pot of cassoulet and plenty of almond biscotti to get me through the week (did you know I sometimes think about turning this into a food blog? But I don't relish the thought of taking all those pictures. Get it? Relish? Anyway...). The view from out my window is supernaturally green, like, shimmering, wet, green green. Unbelievable, Emerald Isle, spring green. And it has been all about the spring this weekend. We bought seeds on Friday for our future garden. So much potentiality and excitement in seeds, it makes me want to sing! And then Saturday we were engaged in massive, epic, earth-shaking spring cleaning. The kind where you don't just wipe down the kitchen counters, you clean out the fridge and all the old, weird food from your cabinets, and scrub off the greasy cabinet above the stove, and dust everything in the living room and clean up above the lintels of the doors. The house is so clean. It's...amazing. I wish it could be like this forever.

Not much headway on putting together a spring list, and actually, as I reflect, I'm not very happy with my achievements on the winter list either. I still haven't been to the Albright-Knox to actually see the gallery, although I was there for a splendid milonga a few weeks ago. I still, after two winters in Buffalo, have yet to spend some time sledding, although I did make it to the Powder Keg Festival downtown and wander through the ice maze. (Which, is actually nothing like sledding, but they had sledding down an exit ramp, which is why I thought of it. Unfortunately, the exit ramp sledding was not successful...). And I still haven't made it to an open jazz session at the Colored Musicians' Club and I STILL, and most disappointingly, haven't been to one of the Cajun Zydeco Partees! Sometimes I am surprised to find that, even with all my independence of spirit and embrace of the single lifestyle, there are still places that I don't feel comfortable going to alone. But that's a topic for another post...

On the other hand, I did spend time at the Botanical Gardens, I did enjoy a snowy romp or two, I did immerse myself in baking, especially breads, which was a delight, I continued to nurture my artsy, craftsy side, there was at least one delightful evening of Apples to Apples, and I made serious headway on another little side project which I will hopefully reveal the results of in a few weeks (if you think it's a baby you're 1. wrong and 2. have a seriously misguided understanding of biology.).

But, all list-making aside, I did want to pause for a few moments to clue you in on something that's been stewing and brewing in my brain in regards to this whole guitar thing. I realize that I've mentioned a number of times that I now own a guitar (her name is Lucille) and am trying to practice the guitar and be disciplined about so doing, but there is a whole philosophical underpinning to this endeavor. (Of course there is, this is me we're talking about). I feel like everyone should at least attempt a musical instrument in their lifetime, and I actually have before, round about the grade school years when all the cool kids were doing it. I made a half-hearted attempt on the cello, had to miss a few lessons for what I'm sure were legitimate reasons, fell behind in the class and couldn't catch up again and gave it up. It should be mentioned that I have no natural musical ability to speak of. I floundered when attempting to play the recorder, for heaven's sake (remember those? in case not, they were really, really easy to play). Somewhere along the line, I think you can see that it becomes something more than, "Everybody should probably do this."

Okay, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I have to admit that a lot of what I've done in my life has come easily to me. This is mostly because for the first 22 years, my life centered around academia, and that is an area at which I could naturally excel, even without necessarily trying very hard. Music is different. Music is tough. Music makes me feel dumb. I have noticed that if I don't practice, even for a week, I feel like I've lapsed so far in terms of the time it takes me to remember where my fingers are supposed to go and get them there. I get frustrated at being so slow. Practicing isn't fun. I would avoid it if I could. And don't even talk about music theory. That stuff is so far over my head...it's tough. That's all I'm trying to get across here.

But I believe that it is fundamentally good for me to do something that is so difficult for me. I need to learn how to stick with something through the tedium, through the boring exercise of moving back and forth between the A and D chords that I can't get away with not doing. I can't fake my way through it, I can't talk my way out of it, if I don't put in the work, I won't get any better. Imagine that. Hence all the talk of the need for discipline, and how I'm discovering that I don't have any. But I wasn't joking about that 30 day challenge. We are a week in, and although I did skip one day (for very legitimate reasons, but remember, in Guitar Challenge, there are no legitimate reasons!) I did practice every other day. I think good things are happening. They might not be. They might not happen for a long, long time. But that's okay. I'm gonna stick with it. For as long as it takes...

S.

P.S.--I love Castle. That does not relate in even the remotest way to anything I've just told you. But you should know. Because if you don't love it too, I probably think you're a bad person. FYI.

Discipline (or lack thereof)

I took this picture. I have no idea where or what it is...

Can we just talk about something for a sec? Somewhere along the line, I created this impression of myself as a disciplined person. Actually, I think I've thought of myself this way for quite some time. I always turned in my homework on time. The assigned readings got completed. I usually managed to keep my living space from falling into a state of total disarray. Also, my dancing. I used to go twice a week for at least an hour to the parish hall of Westminster Presbyterian. Then I started taking a very intense dance class and would go every week. The thing is, I go every week. Rain or shine or snow or hail or sleepiness or Friday afternoon torpor not withstanding. I simply allow myself no other option. The one exception is if I'm feeling really sick. But otherwise, when I'm sitting in the big comfy red chair and feeling like I'd rather just take a nap, I say to myself, "Shannon, what day is it?"
"Friday."
"And where should you be?"
"Dancing. But I don't wanna!"
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"Is your leg broken?"
"No."
"Then get up and go!"
And that's all there is to it. There is only one option. I have come to see all that as incidental. It's one thing to be very disciplined about one big commitment every week. It's quite another thing to be disciplined about something that ought to be happening every day. I am speaking specifically of writing and this whole guitar enterprise. These are things that I should be committed to doing in at least 15 minute increments every single day. Who can't find 15 minutes in a day, even a busy day? The problem is partially that I sometimes save these things till the evenings, which are in many ways the busiest times of the day for me. But I work from home, for crying out loud! Can I not fit in 15 minutes of guitar practice on my lunch hour? I absolutely could, but I wait till the end of the day, till I'm tired and feeling like Oh, I worked so hard today, I shouldn't have to do something else I don't want to do. Then I spend the evening watching episodes of 30 Rock on Netflix. A wonderful show, but I could take 15 minutes out of the evening for the guitar without causing undue stress. That's the thing that gets me. My reasons for NOT doing it are so stupid. Grrr...

So I've decided to go with the 30 day challenge method. You know how they say it takes 30 days to form a habit. Well, I'm going to try to commit to 30 days of practicing the guitar for 15 minutes every day. I know, the writing needs work too, but I feel like trying to take on both at the same time is overly ambitious, so here we are. I'll let you know how it goes. I'm saying that I'm starting today, because I've already practiced, so that's one down, 29 to go...

S.

Writers' Blocks

Are you tired of the poems yet? Well, too bad, because you're getting more. I have this strong inclination to keep posting old work throughout Lent, I'm not sure where it's headed, but that's what I aim to do. In trying to "write more," I've discovered all these obstacles to trying to write post college-life. First of all, no deadlines. If I have as long as I need to do my work, why do it now? Second, I seem to have forgotten how to find inspiration, write poetically, revise, or do anything good, ever. I had a couple of false starts, as well as some playing around with old work that was supposed to go somewhere, but it all seems to have fallen out of the old brainpan. Sometimes I even manage to scrape together an idea, but when I go to put it on the page, it doesn't sound like a poem. I would say that I've just lost the touch, but one of my favorite pieces that I've ever written was written post-college. Which brings me to the greatest stumbling block: work ethic. I bet if I sat down every day, even for as little as half an hour, ye olde skills would start coming back to me. But, that hasn't been happening. Sometimes I wish my schedule wasn't so erratic. But, I have to remember, I've come a long way already. Six months ago, I thought the Craft was stone-cold dead and I would never be a writer again. Silly me. You can't kill your art. You can only cryogenically freeze it so that it falls into a very deep sleep and it takes tons and tons of work to figure out who you are enough to wake it up again. That's all. Piece of cake...?

This week's installment of "old-poetry-meant-to-inspire-me-with-my-former-skill" is from my senior capstone project. It's a little darker, but it feels appropriate.

Finding the Geraniums, Gone

With the winter coming on,
I guess they felt they had to do it.
But now the green mounds, the
neat plots of geraniums are
decimated. Each plant has left
a crater in the world of wood chips,
a conspicuous absence of flower
and form.

And I wonder, who did this?
who decided that unnatural yanking,
prying palms and fingers should
do the work a jealous frost had
set aside for himself

It must have been a dirty job.
I think they struggled, as
they were torn from the ground.
I can tell, because around
each pothole there is a strewing
of dark flannel leaves,
the bright drops shed
from blood red petals
like a scattering of hens’ feathers,
in a butcher’s yard.

Another Poem

Because isn't that what you want on a Friday afternoon, when the world is nearing spring? When I was a senior in college, I did a capstone project around the theme of object poems (don't ask me why that, I'm just sitting here trying to remember, and I can't for the life of me). I did a whole series on the theme of wooden spoons. I do have a strange sort of fascination with them. This poem is really odd. I really had forgotten all about it till I was going through my stuff. But I love the progression of it. You'll see...(oh, it's a prose poem. Don't be thrown off by the lack of line breaks.)

a lifetime in spoons

Should I tell you how from my infancy I have wanted a wooden spoon, how I tossed aside rattles and binkies in inarticulate rage, waiting for someone to recognize what I really needed?

In toddlerhood, my first steps were goaded on by the promised prize of a wooden spoon, but when I finally crossed the room, they had quick-switched it out for a baby doll, as if I would never know I had been cheated.

I have been a difficult adolescent, engaged in shouting matches with my mother about whether I could wear my dangly spoon earrings to church, whether my first boyfriend could bring me a box of spoons for our date, each hardwood nestled in its little paper cup. Madly criticizing her drawer full of other spoons, stainless steel, cheap nylon and sad plastic; melting in the pot, turning yellow and cracking, ruined by age until I passionately wept at the sight.

Someday, though, I will grow old enough to acquire a house and a fence and a kitchen of my own, to get all I’ve ever wanted. Then I will fill that kitchen as I please, stacking heavy ceramic bowls and lighting archaic candles in the evening, hanging the walls with spoon prints, and mounting my favorites on plaques like hunting trophies. When my parents finally come to dinner, squawking about my lack of taste, I will serve them soup, forego the silver, and set the table with wooden spoons.

Still Waiting...but in the meantime...

Hey, folks. Well, we continue to slog away over here. Many things have been going on, some good, some not so good. It is still Lent. And I think it still does make me feel pretty crappy a lot of the time, but I do think that it's worth it. I do think I'm getting somewhere. I'm having new thoughts. New ideas. Sometimes I feel like our backyard looks right now, squishy and muddy and full of dead leaves that should have been taken care of last fall and weren't, so now they're just sogging all over the place. But soon. Soon. Soon we'll dig out the fire pit so we can have bonfires and sangria. Soon we'll start seeds for the garden. Soon I will plant my sister's cosmo daisies along the back fence. Soon new life will start over. Sigh. Oh, please, let it be soon.

Anyway, one of the exciting new developments is that one of the art groups I work for is starting to do an interdisciplinary artist critique once a month. We had our first on ever this past Thursday, and it was a big success, with a photographer and a painter doing in depth presentations, then others just brought in one piece of work and we left comments on sticky notes. It was a great night. But, for a while, I thought that I was going to have to share some of my writing, just because it was our first time around and we weren't sure who would volunteer. So I was going through some of my old stuff that I haven't touched since graduation, almost three years ago. It was quite the walk down memory lane. Some stuff was "OMG, I can't believe how bad this is!" and some stuff was, "Why did I ever look down on this? It's so much better than I remember!" Especially the fiction. I always insist, whenever I mention it, that I can't write fiction at all, that I tried and it was terrible. But looking back on it I can say, yeah, this isn't perfect, it's not wonderful, but it's not that bad. It's actually pretty okay. So, I'd like to share. Here is a poem I wrote way back, I think in my junior year. Approximately 1 million years ago.

Need to Know

At my grandfather’s funeral,
I waited until no one watched
the casket very closely.
And then I sidled very near,
finally getting a boost from the kneeler;
so I could touch the pale hand
that lay on his chest, clutching
the gold crucifix.

The hand was stiff, and waxy as
the candles that lit our vigil.
I pulled my hand out quick
and turned around slow.
To see if anyone had noticed,
But no-all of the adults still pulled
their long faces and talked
in hushed voices about how
much we all had lost.

My cousins were all too young
to dare me, so I had dared myself.
There was no trace of mourning in me,
just sheer, ribald curiosity.
To touch the hand of death,
to learn to know the feeling,
and to pull back quick, and not get caught.

Lent Sucks

So, it is Lent. As always, during Lent as during all seasons, I set lofty goals for myself. I have decided to fast, which I hate, but we had a very compelling discussion in Bible study on Fat Tuesday that reminded me why it is so important. I hate fasting. But then I thought out this beautiful plan because, here is the thing of the thing. I feel like I have always had the whole "Jesus died a horrible death on the cross to take away your sins" thing shoved down my throat my entire life, to the point where the whole thing has become basically meaningless. I mean, not the whole Christian thing, but pretty much the whole cross thing. So, I had this great idea where I would totally plagiarize from Wallace Stevens "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" and do Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Cross. I would write beautiful, poetic posts and gain beautiful, poetic insights and grow in my faith and unicorns would prance around the back yard and I would poop rainbows. But, let's just get realistic for a second.

I hate Lent. We're only two weeks into it, and I can say with confidence that all the shine of the transcendent solemnity of Ash Wednesday is dead in the water, buried, forgotten. I am sick of the Lenten feeling, of being broken open, of fragility, like raging case of PMS fragility, where I might start tearing up because of an especially touching Visa commercial. I am sick of knowing about my sin all the time. I KNOW about it now, ALL the time, it comes to mind without me having to try especially hard. I can realize actually IN the moment, "Shannon, you are being a disgusting human being right now." And the crazy part is, I ask for this! I ask to see myself more clearly, because I get so comfortable in my "Well, I've never killed anyone" morality, and I want to know truth, about myself, about who I am and what I've done. But it's really yucky. I get cranky when I'm cold or hungry or when my eye is STILL irritating me even after I've been to the optometrist and been forced to wear my glasses for weeks on end and switched to more expensive contacts. And I get lonely and grumpy and fed up and it doesn't take long and it doesn't take much exterior aggravation. It's strangely like these feelings were always there and it just takes a little bump in the road, a little scratch on the surface for them to all come spilling out. Like fasting. You can skip one meal and all of a sudden you go from being Mother Teresa to being Attila the Hun. One unmet need. One aggravating circumstance. Stupid fasting. Stupid Lent. Stupid eye. Stupid everything.

But, when I do eat, when I patch myself up enough to think straight, I know for sure that this is the point. The point is that, left to our own devices, left to our own well-fed, blind self-satisfaction, we are dead in the water. We are only as good as we are comfortable. And it is all there, lurking beneath the surface. We are kidding ourselves when we esteem ourselves to be "good people." The only way to get past this, to find grace, is to slog through the sewer of our own wretchedness, to be broken open, to become fragile, to be driven crazy enough that looking for healing becomes not only sensible, but necessary. Maybe illumination will eventually come, maybe not. Maybe the illumination is just to have to sit and wallow for 40 days in my own selfishness, to know that God loves me enough to die for me, even if I am the person who was going to rip someone's face off because they didn't sufficiently appreciate to beautiful, artistic nature of Edward Scissorhands, the person who can't be exposed to other human beings when she doesn't eat for 9 hours, the person who still gets jealous as a teenager when all the guys are asking another girl to dance.

I'll make it through. I doubt it will be much fun, but I believe that it will ultimately take me, if not somewhere pleasant, then somewhere True.

S.

Things I Luv

Well, this is a fair piece after my intended approximate-vicinity-to-Valentine's-Day publication date, but, I think it is good to at least get it up before the end of the Month of Love. Here are some things that warm my heart:

1. Lists (well, duh) If you've hung around here at all, you'll see that I like to make them. Lists are like the girders of my skyscraper, the underlying structure that gives form and direction to my life.

2. Libraries--I love the library. It is one of the things that makes our nation great, that we have places to go where they give you books for free. And CDs. And DVDs. And cookbooks. And if they don't have the book you want, they'll bring it to you from wherever it is. Did you catch that--they bring it to you!! For free! Well, actually it costs 25 cents here in Bflo, but that's very cheap when you consider how much it would cost to buy the book or even to drive across town and pick it up.

3. Having friends--Friends made my Valentine's Day great this year. Come to think, given my chronically dateless state, friends have always been what made Valentine's Day great for me. This year we got some ladies together and dressed up and had tea and fruit and scones and clotted cream and quiche and finger sandwiches and vegetables and flourless chocolate cake and lemon bars. And we laughed and laughed, mostly at ridiculous things. Friends are always worth having.

4. Feeding people--again, long time readers will know this. (I dream of those corn pancakes, btw) We had Bible Study this past week and someone brought a friend and they brought a friend and we had more folks there than I thought we would and I had made French onion soup and an apple cake and they descended like a locust hoarde on my mountain of food and by the time they left it was all gone. I love that.

5. Dogs--I love dogs. They are so sweet and fun and great. I am still thinking seriously about getting one, so I have dogs on the brain. Every time I see someone walking one, or even see dog pawprints in the snow, I sigh a little and think, "That could be me..." Maybe someday soon, it will be.

6. My job--I have the greatest job ever. I work with people I admire and enjoy and respect (most of the time anyway). At this point, I have just exactly the right amount of work, so I stay busy but not overwhelmed. I am around art all the time. I am learning new things, but it isn't scary. I feel supported, but not watched. I have never had a job that I enjoyed so much in my whole life. I need to figure out how to keep having a life that's this awesome all the time.

7. My space heater--it came from Target, and I think it cost me about $17. If it only lasted this one winter, I would have no regrets about buying it. Our house is set to a balmy 55 degrees during the day, but I just stay in my little room with my little space heater and get through the day like I'm in Bermuda (well, that's a little bit of an exaggeration, but still). I seriously do not even have enough words to tell you how much I enjoy my space heater. It has changed the way I experience winter in Buffalo. Thank you, space heater, from the bottom of my heart. You are a valued member of this community.

That wraps it up for me today. I have in mind a little project for Lent, but I don't want to tell you about it in case it doesn't come to fruition. If it happens...you'll see it. And you'll know.

S.

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa

This is an old picture of me in my glasses. We'll get to that later.

Okay, a month of non-blogging. That is not admirable. Now at this timely junction I must present another post of "OMG, I haven't posted in so long, but here are all the cool things I've been doing!" Most of the cool things in this issue are work related. We started rehearsals for the next show at the Alt. It's called Wading through the Light and Shadows and it's kind of a compilation of original poetry, shorter prose pieces, original choreography and an ethereal soundscape/sound effect type stuff. It's a pretty cool show, and it's been running since February 4 and will keep going till February 21, so if you're in the Buffalo area you should go see it. I've enjoyed this show quite a bit because I was able to have the littlest teeniest tiniest bit of actual artistic input. It hasn't been much, but it was something, and since this is only the second show I've ever worked on, really, I should be profoundly grateful. But those rehearsals were taking up every night, along with new work for the Arts Council, a new fundraising project, illustrating a book with refugee kids, lobbying the city to get permission to do painted cross walks, and other such types of work during the day, my schedule was packed. Now that the show's playing, I actually have more free time, which seems fairly ironic to me.

I've also enrolled in another dance class, Modern 2, not surprisingly a continuation of Modern 1. And again, I'm keeping my head above water, but only just. With this class we actually have a book(!) and reading assignments(!) and written reflections(!) so it's more time consuming than the last class. But the book is wonderful, it's like a compilation of philosophical treatises on the theory of Modern dance written by the people who essentially created it. Maybe they'll be something on here from that soon. Also, I've been to see Avatar, taken the first of what I anticipate to be many trips to the botanical gardens, and made rolls and a number of cakes. And I'm also trying to make head way with learning to play the guitar, which might be going well? I'm learning lots of new chords, but still have a general inability to move between chords in, you know like an actual song, without embarrassingly long pauses while I watch myself adjust my fingers. Sometimes I feel a sense of despair of ever being able to master even the simple aspects of playing the guitar, but that's really the point of this whole experiment, trying something that I find really difficult and sticking with it, even though it remains...really difficult. All of these things have kept me away from the tip tapping of the keyboard that produces these delightful chronicles.

I just have one actual crystallized thought to share for the day. I went for a check up to the optometrist about a week ago and found out the the irritation I was experiencing in my left eye was actually corneal keratitis, which is just a fancy way of saying that my cornea was irritated by lack of oxygen and becoming hazy. I was condemned to wear my glasses for three days, which suddenly blossomed into a full week when my appointment had to be rescheduled. This was surprisingly difficult for me. I haven't worn my glasses for more than the time right before bed or first thing in the morning for years. I didn't feel like myself in my glasses. I didn't feel as pretty either, which made me feel more shy and more invisible. But I still had to do my life, go to Argentine tango and vie for dance partners with everyone else. Go to Emerging Leaders in the Arts meetings, my current most-obnoxiously-akin-to-high-school experience in terms of being in a room with peers, cool kids, and trying not to feel like a silent, awkward loser. But you know what? It wasn't that bad. There were lots of times that I could forget that I was even wearing them and could discover that I was myself even in my glasses. That glasses vs. no-glasses is not an intrinsic part of who I am, not the way the comment I forced myself to make at the ELAB meeting about how artists need support and critique from other artists, not just professional development, is an intrinsic part of who I am. Which is good to know. Good to remember. So that's my revelation for this week.

That's all.
S.

The Winter List

Snowy day at Southborough L'Abri

So, I've been trying to think lately about what things I want on my Winter List. For newcomers, this year, I have been trying to make a list of all the things I want to do in each season of the year, things that I feel like the season would be incomplete without. Summer went swimmingly. Fall was jam packed, but fun. Winter...is more of a challenge. Of course the first things I associate with winter "must dos" all have to do with Christmas, the baking, the gifts, the caroling. Check and check. But Christmas is over, and I probably have a good three months of winter yet to fill. I try to also focus my lists on things that I will actually do (taking up skiing would be a great winter activity, but not likely to happen anytime soon) and for this winter, I am trying to balance indoor and outdoor activities. One of the things that I think is great about winter is that it makes staying inside feel cozy and luxurious, rather than stuffy and lazy, which it feels like at other months of the year. So here is the list so far. You can make suggestions if you like. I sure do love making lists...

1. Visit the Botanical Gardens: Sure it makes sense to visit in the summer, but it's nice to go when there's nothing green outside, to anticipate spring. Besides, how could I miss the amaryllis and cymbidium show?!?!
2. Go sledding...the question is, where? Oh, and I have no sled. But a quick trip to Toys R Us would fix that. I prefer the inflatable tubes...
3.Visit the Albright-Knox. Believe it or not, I've been to our largest art museum a few times, but never actually toured the whole permanent collection. And it's free on Friday afternoons. Touring galleries makes more sense to me in the winter when you want to while away an afternoon somewhere warm.
4. Baking. Winter makes me want to bake. I currently have about three different cake recipes rattling around in my head, not to mention all the bread I want to try baking. And having the oven on makes the house warmer! Win!
5. A winter romp. There's something truly magical to me about the way that, when you get all bundled up and really prepare for the cold weather, you can go outside and not feel it. It's like becoming invincible. And everything is so quiet and your head feels so clear. Again, the question is where to go? I'll figure something out.
6. Colored Musician's Club, Zydeco/Cajun Partees: Free jazz music listening parties at one of the most historic sites in Buffalo? A chance to be in the same building that Lena Horne and Billie Holiday once stood in? Yes, please! And five dollars for gumbo, live music, and a dance lesson? All right, then.
7. Art/Craft/Game Night. Just warm things to do when it's cold outside. Spend more time painting, making collages, working on my crossstitch, inviting friends over for a friendly bout of Apples to Apples. Making popcorn. That's winter to me, right there.
8. Make a new best friend? Maybe? Maybe? This is still definitely in the thinking over/planning stages/I still need to run the idea past my housemates, but why not? No, seriously, if you have good reasons why not, you should tell me. I'm trying to be very thorough in my preparation, mental and otherwise.

Okay, those are my plans to warm up the winter and make it fly by. It's really not that bad, people, I don't care what you've heard on the news. Weather is just a state of mind. Let me know if I'm forgetting your ultimate winter activity! Unless it's skiing because...well, we've already gone over that.

S.

Advent Leftovers

One of my Baby's First Christmas ornaments. Awwww...so cute!

Mmmm...a warmed over post! Doesn't that sound tasty? In all honesty, I had some very specific things that I wanted to pontificate on from the Christmas season, and since it passed in such a whirl, and then I had to share my New Year's Guiding Directions, well, I'm just getting to it now. But! They are still important and were really meaningful to me. Also, over the Advent season, I was reading a collection of devotionals entitled Watch for the Light, from all different writers throughout all seasons of church history. I don't know that I will actually reference anything specific, but pretty much all of these revelations came while reading that book, so I feel like it deserves some kind of co-authorship credit.

The thing that I am trying not to launch into right now is my soapbox speech about how the church has lost its liturgical calendar and, therefore I feel, loses nuances in its seasons of celebration. Really, you have no idea the restraint I am exercising in not saying more than that. My fingers are cramping with my exertion at holding them back from saying all that is in my head. But I will say this: Advent and Christmas are not the same thing. Advent is the season of preparation, Christmas is the celebration of Christ's birth, and in the church calendar it doesn't start until Christmas Day! They are separate. And one of the nuances of their separation is that the season of Advent is a penitential season. I never knew this. That's why one of the central figures of Advent is John the Baptist, whose message is repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near. I would now like to go on a tangent to say how much I love John the Baptist. I feel like in the heavenly family, you had the responsible, mature kids who grew up to be lawyers and doctors and made their families proud, and then there was John. John the embarrassment, who lived in the desert, wore what was always depicted in my bible story books as an ill fitting camel's hair onesie, and ate bugs. And yet this wild, crazy dude was the one God sent, the one maybe nobody felt like they could take seriously with a message nobody wanted to hear, but there he was. And he keeps coming back, every year. I want to listen to him.

The second thing that I was reflecting on is the revolutionary nature of Advent. If you look at the Magnificat, Mary's Song, beyond the first three or four oft quoted verses, you see a song of revolution, a song of inversions, in which the proud are scattered, the mighty brought down from their thrones and the humble are exalted, in which the poor are filled with good things and the rich sent empty away. I've never heard anyone preach on those verses of the Magnificat. I wonder if this might be because in contemporary mainline churches, we might identify more with the mighty, the proud, and the rich, and we don't feel that we can quite handle what this song seems to be saying about us and what the coming of Messiah means for people in our class. But maybe that just takes us right back up to point number one?

Last point: I was struck this year by the radical nature of the Incarnation. Let me back up. I feel like when we imagine Jesus coming to earth as a human, we put him in full Jesusness right into a baby's body, like a hand slipping into a glove in which the hand remains unaltered, only the outer form changes. He would have lived out his life knowing all along about the cross, following his father's will perfectly, utterly self-aware of his Jesusness every instant he was here, more wearing a costume than becoming one of us. (First of all, if you believe this, you are a Platonist! Confess!) But I believe that Jesus became fully human, which would mean, initially, fully baby. Knowing only what babies know, both about himself and the world around him. Jesus had to learn object permanence, that when his mother or his favorite toy was out of sight, that didn't mean it was gone forever. He had to learn to walk and talk. He had to learn how to discern and follow the will of God, which I guess he did perfectly, but not equipped with any extraordinary tools beyond what normal humans have. That's what I think, anyway, and in my experience, it changes Christmas, makes it even crazier to think of God coming to earth, not to float through with the ease of perfect understanding and self-conception, but with real human struggles and questions. This is not a systematic theology, so I can't cover all the implications of this assertion (and they are multifarious and variegated, as I'm sure you can guess). But my goal is more wonder than explication, so I hope I might have achieved that, at least in some small measure.

Okay, that's it. This is a long post. Merry Christmas! (Oh wait, Christmas is over. Like, way over. Can you tell I'm having a hard time letting go?)

S.

Third Resolution

Oh, yeah. There's been another one that's been bouncing around in the back of my brain too. Here it is:

3. Learning to laugh at myself. Generally, when I do something dumb. I just feel embarrassed about it. Forever. Like, it could be something that happened years and years ago. I still don't want to tell anyone about it. Being able to laugh at yourself, it seems to me, is the asphalt that can fill in and smooth out the potholes of life. Oh, look at that metaphor! It is so ridiculous! I am laughing at the ridiculousness of my own metaphor! Ha ha ha! Okay, not great. But at least it's a start...