Just a nod to my *new* blog, specific to Battlestar Galactica. If you're interested in reading my sometimes snarky commentary regarding Season 4, feel free to check out Previously on Battlestar Galactica...
http://previouslyonBSG.blogspot.com
If you choose to just remain here, it'll protect you from spoilers... and from boredom if you're not a BSG lover.
Now grab your gun and bring in the cat. What do you hear? Nothing but the rain, sir!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Not Easter, But Valentines
There are days in life that stand out from the rest, remarkable and unforgettable. This past Saturday was one such magical day for me.
As a birthday present to myself last month, I registered for a VIP Encounter at the Oregon Zoo. I realize that this wouldn’t be everyone’s ideal way to spend a Saturday, but to me, the zoo is a place of rest and never ending fascination. I don’t believe that anyone has to know me very well or for very long before discovering my passion for animals. In the days leading up to the tour, I became increasingly excited. Saturday morning dawned and found me much as a child on Christmas morning. I awoke with the sun and continued to toss and turn in giddy anticipation. Today I am going to meet a giraffe.
Giraffes in particular delight and astound me. They are a miracle of engineering that I believe defy natural selection. Due to their absurdly long necks, the only way that blood can actually make the long trek to the brain is by a special series of valves to prevent gravity from dragging it all back down between heartbeats. Likewise, when the giraffe straddles his front legs wide and dips down his head to drink, the overwhelming rush of blood to the head would be fatal, were it not for a pressure-regulation system in the upper neck. The giraffe has a 2-foot long heart and twice the blood pressure of other large mammals (three times the blood pressure of a human) to power this amazing circulatory system. The giraffe’s extraordinarily thick hide (2 or more inches) serves as a pressure suit to prevent the massive blood pressure from forcing blood out through the capillary walls.
This is no simple creature, but highly developed and highly specialized. If it really is “survival of the fittest,” I’m a bit skeptical about evolution trying so hard to put together an herbivore that defies physics, just to keep the topmost foliage from getting out of hand. Seriously, wouldn’t a bird or a climbing primate or marsupial do just as well, and with less modification? To me, the giraffe speaks volumes about a superbly creative God, and defies the notion that a creature with such intricate systems evolved on its own from the primordial ooze from whence we allegedly sprang.
Returning to my story, I rose early on Saturday morning and prepared for a day which I knew would be potentially amazing. I’ve watched this particular giraffe, Akeem, for many hours, and have longed to get up close to him. The tour description said that we would be feeding treats to Akeem, which was enough to make me pay the $85 fee, even if that was all we got to do. The rest would be gravy.
After arriving at the zoo and walking with two volunteers and the other seven individuals on the tour to the predetermined meeting place with “our” zookeeper, we commenced on a tour of the Africa exhibit, learning fascinating facts along the way. Our first animal contact was to take place at the giraffe barn. I entered into the building just behind the zookeeper, and made a beeline for the window at Akeem’s head level. For some reason I was imagining that he would need to be summoned, to be coaxed over to meet us, but the moment I approached the window, in swung his big, beautiful head in greeting. I was standing face to face with one of the most glorious creatures I’ve ever been privileged to meet. While he is meek, Akeem is anything but wooden. It’s hard to describe, but he radiated a sense of thought and purpose. His eyes were dancing with thoughts unknown. I approached with a handful of alfalfa pellets, and his whiskered and warm lips eagerly scooped them into his mouth, his breath warm on my fingers. It was magical. I looked past his head and my eager eyes traveled down all 16’3” of him to the floor. It’s an impressive sight, believe me. After an all too brief time with Akeem, I reluctantly departed the giraffe barn to continue on and meet other fascinating creatures.
The tour ended after we looped back around to the rhino barn, and went in for a “meet and greet” with Pete, the black rhino. Unbeknownst to me, however, the rhino barn is also the hippo barn, and we were also going to meet the curvaceous hippo gals, Poppy and Bubbles. Could you possibly come up with more dainty names for 2000+ pound hippos? The irony was not lost on me. The keeper called to the plump pachyderms, and they came lumbering up to the gate separating the barn from the hippo habitat. I’m not going to pretend that hippos are the most aesthetically pleasing animals, but I must say that their charm greatly helped to offset other deficiencies… like oral hygiene. These ladies were all about the chow, and immediately propped their many chins against the bars of the gate, and opened up those cavernous mouths in hopes of a snack. We proceeded to toss in slices of fruit, which they occasionally closed their mouths to chew and swallow. We were able to stroke them under their chins, which surprised me given how inherently grouchy and dangerous they are in the wild. These ladies seemed quite happy for the attention, however. I have to admit, though, that I snatched my hand back pretty quickly whenever those massive jaws closed down.
After bidding a fond farewell to Poppy and Bubbles, we proceeded back through the barn to the next paddock, the home of Pete. His keeper called his name loudly, and moments later he appeared at the gate. Pete is an easygoing old guy who seems to like people and enjoys a good scratching. Here’s a side note about rhinos: the “white” and “black” rhino species are really misnomers. White rhinos are called such because of a misinterpretation of the Afrikaans word for “wide”, referring to its wide mouth, used for grazing on grass. The black rhino, while not particularly darker in color, has a narrow mouth and a prehensile upper lip, used for eating leaves, twigs, and woody plants. Pete is of the “black” variety, and up close his lip is just the goofiest thing you can imagine. Unlike the rough leathery body, the lip is smooth and rubbery, and acts almost like a finger as he uses it to scoop up food. We offered him pieces of apple which he maneuvered from our cupped hands using that ridiculous appendage. As often as not, our whole hands would get sucked up into his mouth along with the fruit, but we were not in danger of being bitten. We were, however, in danger of being drowned in slobber. I’m telling you, I was wet up to the elbows!
After a final snapshot or two with Pete and a thorough hand washing, the tour ended and we all went our own ways to enjoy the remainder of the day. If this was where my story ended, if this was the end of my day, I’d have been incandescently happy. But there was more in store for me.
This being the day before Easter, the zoo had a variety of activities for families and kids, including egg hunts and face painting and the like. One thing I had noticed on a flier I was handed as we entered the zoo, was that at 12:45 there was to be a drawing which would allow a few lucky winners the opportunity to hide Easter treats for the elephants. When we left the rhino barn, it was already 12:30, and I had to hustle to find the place where I could enter the contest. After a brief wait, a local radio DJ commenced pulling names from the basket, while I sat down and reviewed the schedule, planning to go see the polar bears receive their goodie baskets. I was shocked when I heard my name called a few minutes later. Are you kidding me?! This morning I got to pet and feed a giraffe, two hippos and a rhino, and now I get to go into the elephant enclosure?? This is unbelievable!
Our group of perhaps twenty winners headed to the back of the elephant barn, and were let into the paddock. I expected that the elephants would have been taken into the barn, and then let out again once we were safely outside. I figured wrong. The three female elephants were lined up obediently at one end of the enclosure, while we proceeded to hide apple and sweet potato pieces in all of the nooks and crannies of the walls or lightly buried in the dirt. The zookeepers encouraged us to challenge the elephants a bit, and I was happy to oblige. (Anyone who has endured my Easter egg hiding skills can relate.)
After we had hidden the loot, the humans were asked to return to one area of the enclosure, and the elephants were then led out to “center stage.” After performing a series of tricks, including lying down, sitting up, and saluting, the ladies were released to look for the food. The keepers then asked if we’d like our pictures taken with an elephant. They had to ask?! They drew a line in the dirt and had us approach one person (or one family) at a time and stand on the line. They would then lead one of the elephants up behind us and have it pose for the shot. I ended up with Chendra, a rather small adult female, in my photo. (She’s the one that makes most visitors say, “Oh, look at the baby!” but she’s actually an adult that was malnourished as a youngster and is consequently maybe 2/3 the size of the other females.) After the picture was taken, I looked over my shoulder and found that she was perhaps 3 feet away from me. Gasp!
When I arrived home, still positively grinning and floating on air, I returned a call from Beth and related the experience to her. Oddly enough, her response was what I had been thinking all day: “Jesus loves you, Lisa!” Throughout the morning as I was able to partake of His glorious creation, and especially when my name was drawn for the elephant experience, I couldn’t help but feel like the Lord was saying, “The doors are open for you today, my love. Come. Experience my creation. Taste and see that I am good.” In the midst of a season in which my faith has felt transient and contrived, this was a welcome blessing indeed.
Jesus speaks to Chris through bears (and through deers in the past) and to Lanette via hearts, but here was my love letter. So for me, this weekend wasn’t so much Easter as it was Valentines Day. Amen.
As a birthday present to myself last month, I registered for a VIP Encounter at the Oregon Zoo. I realize that this wouldn’t be everyone’s ideal way to spend a Saturday, but to me, the zoo is a place of rest and never ending fascination. I don’t believe that anyone has to know me very well or for very long before discovering my passion for animals. In the days leading up to the tour, I became increasingly excited. Saturday morning dawned and found me much as a child on Christmas morning. I awoke with the sun and continued to toss and turn in giddy anticipation. Today I am going to meet a giraffe.
Giraffes in particular delight and astound me. They are a miracle of engineering that I believe defy natural selection. Due to their absurdly long necks, the only way that blood can actually make the long trek to the brain is by a special series of valves to prevent gravity from dragging it all back down between heartbeats. Likewise, when the giraffe straddles his front legs wide and dips down his head to drink, the overwhelming rush of blood to the head would be fatal, were it not for a pressure-regulation system in the upper neck. The giraffe has a 2-foot long heart and twice the blood pressure of other large mammals (three times the blood pressure of a human) to power this amazing circulatory system. The giraffe’s extraordinarily thick hide (2 or more inches) serves as a pressure suit to prevent the massive blood pressure from forcing blood out through the capillary walls.
This is no simple creature, but highly developed and highly specialized. If it really is “survival of the fittest,” I’m a bit skeptical about evolution trying so hard to put together an herbivore that defies physics, just to keep the topmost foliage from getting out of hand. Seriously, wouldn’t a bird or a climbing primate or marsupial do just as well, and with less modification? To me, the giraffe speaks volumes about a superbly creative God, and defies the notion that a creature with such intricate systems evolved on its own from the primordial ooze from whence we allegedly sprang.
Returning to my story, I rose early on Saturday morning and prepared for a day which I knew would be potentially amazing. I’ve watched this particular giraffe, Akeem, for many hours, and have longed to get up close to him. The tour description said that we would be feeding treats to Akeem, which was enough to make me pay the $85 fee, even if that was all we got to do. The rest would be gravy.
After arriving at the zoo and walking with two volunteers and the other seven individuals on the tour to the predetermined meeting place with “our” zookeeper, we commenced on a tour of the Africa exhibit, learning fascinating facts along the way. Our first animal contact was to take place at the giraffe barn. I entered into the building just behind the zookeeper, and made a beeline for the window at Akeem’s head level. For some reason I was imagining that he would need to be summoned, to be coaxed over to meet us, but the moment I approached the window, in swung his big, beautiful head in greeting. I was standing face to face with one of the most glorious creatures I’ve ever been privileged to meet. While he is meek, Akeem is anything but wooden. It’s hard to describe, but he radiated a sense of thought and purpose. His eyes were dancing with thoughts unknown. I approached with a handful of alfalfa pellets, and his whiskered and warm lips eagerly scooped them into his mouth, his breath warm on my fingers. It was magical. I looked past his head and my eager eyes traveled down all 16’3” of him to the floor. It’s an impressive sight, believe me. After an all too brief time with Akeem, I reluctantly departed the giraffe barn to continue on and meet other fascinating creatures.
The tour ended after we looped back around to the rhino barn, and went in for a “meet and greet” with Pete, the black rhino. Unbeknownst to me, however, the rhino barn is also the hippo barn, and we were also going to meet the curvaceous hippo gals, Poppy and Bubbles. Could you possibly come up with more dainty names for 2000+ pound hippos? The irony was not lost on me. The keeper called to the plump pachyderms, and they came lumbering up to the gate separating the barn from the hippo habitat. I’m not going to pretend that hippos are the most aesthetically pleasing animals, but I must say that their charm greatly helped to offset other deficiencies… like oral hygiene. These ladies were all about the chow, and immediately propped their many chins against the bars of the gate, and opened up those cavernous mouths in hopes of a snack. We proceeded to toss in slices of fruit, which they occasionally closed their mouths to chew and swallow. We were able to stroke them under their chins, which surprised me given how inherently grouchy and dangerous they are in the wild. These ladies seemed quite happy for the attention, however. I have to admit, though, that I snatched my hand back pretty quickly whenever those massive jaws closed down.
After bidding a fond farewell to Poppy and Bubbles, we proceeded back through the barn to the next paddock, the home of Pete. His keeper called his name loudly, and moments later he appeared at the gate. Pete is an easygoing old guy who seems to like people and enjoys a good scratching. Here’s a side note about rhinos: the “white” and “black” rhino species are really misnomers. White rhinos are called such because of a misinterpretation of the Afrikaans word for “wide”, referring to its wide mouth, used for grazing on grass. The black rhino, while not particularly darker in color, has a narrow mouth and a prehensile upper lip, used for eating leaves, twigs, and woody plants. Pete is of the “black” variety, and up close his lip is just the goofiest thing you can imagine. Unlike the rough leathery body, the lip is smooth and rubbery, and acts almost like a finger as he uses it to scoop up food. We offered him pieces of apple which he maneuvered from our cupped hands using that ridiculous appendage. As often as not, our whole hands would get sucked up into his mouth along with the fruit, but we were not in danger of being bitten. We were, however, in danger of being drowned in slobber. I’m telling you, I was wet up to the elbows!
After a final snapshot or two with Pete and a thorough hand washing, the tour ended and we all went our own ways to enjoy the remainder of the day. If this was where my story ended, if this was the end of my day, I’d have been incandescently happy. But there was more in store for me.
This being the day before Easter, the zoo had a variety of activities for families and kids, including egg hunts and face painting and the like. One thing I had noticed on a flier I was handed as we entered the zoo, was that at 12:45 there was to be a drawing which would allow a few lucky winners the opportunity to hide Easter treats for the elephants. When we left the rhino barn, it was already 12:30, and I had to hustle to find the place where I could enter the contest. After a brief wait, a local radio DJ commenced pulling names from the basket, while I sat down and reviewed the schedule, planning to go see the polar bears receive their goodie baskets. I was shocked when I heard my name called a few minutes later. Are you kidding me?! This morning I got to pet and feed a giraffe, two hippos and a rhino, and now I get to go into the elephant enclosure?? This is unbelievable!
Our group of perhaps twenty winners headed to the back of the elephant barn, and were let into the paddock. I expected that the elephants would have been taken into the barn, and then let out again once we were safely outside. I figured wrong. The three female elephants were lined up obediently at one end of the enclosure, while we proceeded to hide apple and sweet potato pieces in all of the nooks and crannies of the walls or lightly buried in the dirt. The zookeepers encouraged us to challenge the elephants a bit, and I was happy to oblige. (Anyone who has endured my Easter egg hiding skills can relate.)
After we had hidden the loot, the humans were asked to return to one area of the enclosure, and the elephants were then led out to “center stage.” After performing a series of tricks, including lying down, sitting up, and saluting, the ladies were released to look for the food. The keepers then asked if we’d like our pictures taken with an elephant. They had to ask?! They drew a line in the dirt and had us approach one person (or one family) at a time and stand on the line. They would then lead one of the elephants up behind us and have it pose for the shot. I ended up with Chendra, a rather small adult female, in my photo. (She’s the one that makes most visitors say, “Oh, look at the baby!” but she’s actually an adult that was malnourished as a youngster and is consequently maybe 2/3 the size of the other females.) After the picture was taken, I looked over my shoulder and found that she was perhaps 3 feet away from me. Gasp!
When I arrived home, still positively grinning and floating on air, I returned a call from Beth and related the experience to her. Oddly enough, her response was what I had been thinking all day: “Jesus loves you, Lisa!” Throughout the morning as I was able to partake of His glorious creation, and especially when my name was drawn for the elephant experience, I couldn’t help but feel like the Lord was saying, “The doors are open for you today, my love. Come. Experience my creation. Taste and see that I am good.” In the midst of a season in which my faith has felt transient and contrived, this was a welcome blessing indeed.
Jesus speaks to Chris through bears (and through deers in the past) and to Lanette via hearts, but here was my love letter. So for me, this weekend wasn’t so much Easter as it was Valentines Day. Amen.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Simon is a genius!
In case you missed Angeleen's semi-recent post of the side-splitting animated escpade of a cat trying to wake his owner --or in case you already saw it but need a good laugh-- here it is in all its comical glory.
I just discovered a new short animated film by Simon Tofield, and present it to you for your viewing pleasure. Seriously, this guy KNOWS cats and all of their mischievous and charming ways... :o)
I just discovered a new short animated film by Simon Tofield, and present it to you for your viewing pleasure. Seriously, this guy KNOWS cats and all of their mischievous and charming ways... :o)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Fun Fact for Friday
The "Real Fact #96" from the inside of my Snapple lid says, "The average American will eat 35,000 cookies during his/her lifetime."
Last I heard, the life expectancy for a woman in the US is up to 78 years, so that would mean an annual average of 448.7 cookies. Break it down further, and that's 1.2 cookies per day. We all know what happens when you break open a bag of Double Stuff Oreos, so not only do I find the statistic of 35,000 believable, but I'm also thinking that I am *not* one of those folks bringing the average down. :o)
Last I heard, the life expectancy for a woman in the US is up to 78 years, so that would mean an annual average of 448.7 cookies. Break it down further, and that's 1.2 cookies per day. We all know what happens when you break open a bag of Double Stuff Oreos, so not only do I find the statistic of 35,000 believable, but I'm also thinking that I am *not* one of those folks bringing the average down. :o)
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
One Poor Sonnet
Bethy McBethles has posted recently about her escape from the stresses of life - extraordinarily more stressful as of late - into the world of entertainment. I, too, divert myself down this path, however not into the world of action (ala 'Prison Break') or snarky medical dramas (ala 'House').
I used to have two comfort movies - the flicks to which I ran away over and over, depending on my mood. When I needed reassurance that there is still good in a broken world, I watched 'Babe.' When James Cromwell says, "That'll do, Pig... That'll do," give me a tissue and somehow life is alright again.
When I needed to vent my cheekiness or ire, I'd rely on the crass 'A Fish Called Wanda' for its brilliant British wit, not to mention Kevin Kline in perhaps his best role ever. And I'm sorry, Beth, but even if the Monty Python boys are getting a bit geriatric, John Cleese and Michael Palin still do it for me. ;o)
Nowadays, my comfort movie has become the (2005) Keira Knightly version of 'Pride & Prejudice.' While I still love the (1995) Colin Firth version, Keira has won me over with her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet. Plus Donald Sutherland, in a surprisingly wonderful role for him, can make me weep happy tears like none other. Who woulda thunk it? (sniff)
I'm too exhausted from my real life romantic woes (or lack thereof) to expound much on the story behind it, but here's my favorite scene from the movie, following Mr.Darcy's rude dismissal of Elizabeth at the ball:
Lizzie: I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?
Darcy: I thought that poetry was the food of love?
Lizzie: Of a fine, stout love it may, but if it is only a vague inclination I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.
Darcy: So what do you recommend to encourage affection?
Lizzie: Dancing... even if one's partner is barely tolerable.
Just the look alone on Keira's face as she bows to Darcy and walks away following that last remark should have earned her the Oscar. The rest - the stellar cast and beautiful story - is just icing on the cake. I also still marvel at the scene at the long awaited Netherfield ball. I haven't timed it, although it must be a good 10-15 minutes, and it always makes me drop whatever I'm doing to stop and gawk. There is one long continuous shot, weaving through the rooms of this English manor, and picking up the dialogue and subtle actions of about a dozen principle players. The execution of that scene is flawless and a cinematic marvel.
Then there's also the WORST marriage proposal EVER. Seriously, it will make you cringe. See, there's just so much to love about this movie. If you haven't seen it already, I *highly* recommend that you pick up a copy and sit down some quiet afternoon or evening to enjoy a delightful retelling of Jane Austen's beloved novel.
I've rambled long enough now, so I'll sign off before I'm tempted to type the script verbatim.
That'll do, Lisa... That'll do. :o)
I used to have two comfort movies - the flicks to which I ran away over and over, depending on my mood. When I needed reassurance that there is still good in a broken world, I watched 'Babe.' When James Cromwell says, "That'll do, Pig... That'll do," give me a tissue and somehow life is alright again.
When I needed to vent my cheekiness or ire, I'd rely on the crass 'A Fish Called Wanda' for its brilliant British wit, not to mention Kevin Kline in perhaps his best role ever. And I'm sorry, Beth, but even if the Monty Python boys are getting a bit geriatric, John Cleese and Michael Palin still do it for me. ;o)
Nowadays, my comfort movie has become the (2005) Keira Knightly version of 'Pride & Prejudice.' While I still love the (1995) Colin Firth version, Keira has won me over with her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet. Plus Donald Sutherland, in a surprisingly wonderful role for him, can make me weep happy tears like none other. Who woulda thunk it? (sniff)
I'm too exhausted from my real life romantic woes (or lack thereof) to expound much on the story behind it, but here's my favorite scene from the movie, following Mr.Darcy's rude dismissal of Elizabeth at the ball:
Lizzie: I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?
Darcy: I thought that poetry was the food of love?
Lizzie: Of a fine, stout love it may, but if it is only a vague inclination I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.
Darcy: So what do you recommend to encourage affection?
Lizzie: Dancing... even if one's partner is barely tolerable.
Just the look alone on Keira's face as she bows to Darcy and walks away following that last remark should have earned her the Oscar. The rest - the stellar cast and beautiful story - is just icing on the cake. I also still marvel at the scene at the long awaited Netherfield ball. I haven't timed it, although it must be a good 10-15 minutes, and it always makes me drop whatever I'm doing to stop and gawk. There is one long continuous shot, weaving through the rooms of this English manor, and picking up the dialogue and subtle actions of about a dozen principle players. The execution of that scene is flawless and a cinematic marvel.
Then there's also the WORST marriage proposal EVER. Seriously, it will make you cringe. See, there's just so much to love about this movie. If you haven't seen it already, I *highly* recommend that you pick up a copy and sit down some quiet afternoon or evening to enjoy a delightful retelling of Jane Austen's beloved novel.
I've rambled long enough now, so I'll sign off before I'm tempted to type the script verbatim.
That'll do, Lisa... That'll do. :o)
Friday, January 18, 2008
Some things never change...
In the last weeks, which have been framed with the dissolution of a dear friend’s marriage (not to mention three other marriages in crisis amongst my friends and acquaintances), the sickening news of the allegedly successful cloning of human embryos and their subsequent destruction, and other challenging circumstances which I have been calling “a big bag of ugly,” it’s nice to know that some things remain unchanged. I still suck at video games.
This may sound absurd, but I had actually convinced myself that once I got to try Will and Ben’s new Wii, I would discover that this new kinesthetic style of play suited me infinitely better than just sitting around with the old analog controllers or joysticks. Not so. I still lack the hand-eye coordination necessary to defeat even a child… although in the boys’ case, they are quite skilled. I think that possibly a one-eyed cat playing with its tail might be able to beat me. Had I actually turned out to have some mad “cow racing” or “tanks” or “ping pong” skills, I’d be afraid that the sun was going to explode. Or stranger still, that the Cubs might win the World Series. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no reason to panic, folks.
Though this is all quite tongue in cheek, there were a couple of simple joys that made this week easier to endure. Last week, the betta who shared my desk for the past 2-3 years passed away, leaving my office feeling bereft of life, and really was the final “emotional straw” that day. Normally I’d just say, “Aw, poor little thing” and move on, but I actually grieved that beautiful creature. Last night, after 9 days sans betta, I went to the store and picked out a new one. And this morning when I brought him to my office and set up his bowl, I was beaming like a proud parent.
The other joy –and yes, you may laugh at my geekdom– is that the release date for Battlestar Galactica Season 3 on dvd was FINALLY announced. March 25th, baby! Seeing as the release date was supposed to be last August (according to a post on Bear McCreary’s website), when I saw the “official” date announcement, I was positively giddy. If I was a puppy, I would have peed on the rug in my exuberance. If I was a cylon puppy, I still would have peed, but not because it was a biological necessity… just a design component to make me seem more realistic. Clever cylon bastards.
Anyhow, I find it appropriate to end a completely nonsensical post such as this with an equally nonsensical Norwegian proverb: He who shall, so shall he who.
Remember that, folks. That’s deep stuff.
This may sound absurd, but I had actually convinced myself that once I got to try Will and Ben’s new Wii, I would discover that this new kinesthetic style of play suited me infinitely better than just sitting around with the old analog controllers or joysticks. Not so. I still lack the hand-eye coordination necessary to defeat even a child… although in the boys’ case, they are quite skilled. I think that possibly a one-eyed cat playing with its tail might be able to beat me. Had I actually turned out to have some mad “cow racing” or “tanks” or “ping pong” skills, I’d be afraid that the sun was going to explode. Or stranger still, that the Cubs might win the World Series. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no reason to panic, folks.
Though this is all quite tongue in cheek, there were a couple of simple joys that made this week easier to endure. Last week, the betta who shared my desk for the past 2-3 years passed away, leaving my office feeling bereft of life, and really was the final “emotional straw” that day. Normally I’d just say, “Aw, poor little thing” and move on, but I actually grieved that beautiful creature. Last night, after 9 days sans betta, I went to the store and picked out a new one. And this morning when I brought him to my office and set up his bowl, I was beaming like a proud parent.
The other joy –and yes, you may laugh at my geekdom– is that the release date for Battlestar Galactica Season 3 on dvd was FINALLY announced. March 25th, baby! Seeing as the release date was supposed to be last August (according to a post on Bear McCreary’s website), when I saw the “official” date announcement, I was positively giddy. If I was a puppy, I would have peed on the rug in my exuberance. If I was a cylon puppy, I still would have peed, but not because it was a biological necessity… just a design component to make me seem more realistic. Clever cylon bastards.
Anyhow, I find it appropriate to end a completely nonsensical post such as this with an equally nonsensical Norwegian proverb: He who shall, so shall he who.
Remember that, folks. That’s deep stuff.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
This is the post that does not end...It just goes on and on, my friend...
It’s strange how events in life with little or no spiritual significance in and of themselves can serve as the best “teachable moments” and provide openings for the Holy Spirit to inject the mundane portions of life with reminders of the sacrifice which enables us to live with freedom and with hope.
This past week, as I drove through the Columbia River Gorge to my parents’ home for Christmas, I was merrily speeding along, hoping to make good time and shorten the hours of solitary driving. I came around a bend and saw a police car sitting in wait by the side of the road. I hit the brakes, but alas, too late. I saw him pull into traffic, and then that unwelcome site of flashing lights was in my rear view mirror.
A number of thoughts flashed through my mind as my stomach lurched and then dropped. I pulled over and waited for my doom to be pronounced. A very nice (and handsome, if I may digress) trooper approached my car and introduced himself. He had clocked me twice, at 78 and 77 in a 65mph zone. With trembling hands, I gave him my license and proof of insurance. He examined the proffered documents and noted that my insurance card was outdated. Dang it! I felt sick and slightly panicky. How did I not think to swap the stupid card out?! I explained that I had been with my insurance company for the better part of ten years, that the policy renewed automatically, and that my monthly premiums are automatically deducted from my bank account, blah, blah, blah. He suggested that I try to find a current insurance card while he went and checked out my information.
Although I searched the glove box hoping for a minor miracle, I was sure that the last couple of policy renewals were tucked away in my filing cabinet, about an hour and a half away. He reappeared at my window, and I had to admit that I did not have a card with me for my most recent policy period. I feebly suggested that I could call the company and verify my coverage. Although he agreed that yes, either he or I could call to verify coverage, he explained that the law doesn’t just require having valid insurance, but having proof of said insurance. Incidentally, the fine for not having said proof is $240. Double dang. I was having visions of my premiums rising, and having to dip into my emergency fund to pay my potential fine, which seemed to be increasing at an alarming rate.
He asked the usual questions about why I was speeding, to which I could only lamely reply that I had been going with the flow of traffic and didn’t realize exactly how fast I was going. I listened attentively as he lectured me (albeit kindly) about how keeping up with the flow of traffic is not always safe, and how sometimes, especially when the pavement is wet, it’s better to drop back and let others go around. I expect that the look on my face as he described the potential fine must have resembled a puppy cowering while his master approaches with a rolled-up newspaper.
And then he did something unexpected. He said, “This could be an almost $500 day, but I expect that you have better things to do with your money, especially right before Christmas.” He wished me a safe trip, handed me a pamphlet with emergency contact numbers in case I were to break down or spot a drunk driver, etc., and admonished me once more to slow down. Then he turned and walked away before I could even finish the words, “Thank you, Officer Hol--”
As I drove away, shaking my head in disbelief at this unexpected turn of events, and mumbling repeated and sincere thanks to the Lord, it hit me. This was a powerful demonstration of grace; free and unmerited favour. This state trooper, at that moment in time, was the embodiment of mercy.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines mercy as “Clemency and compassion shown to a person who is in a position of powerlessness or subjection, or to a person with no right or claim to receive kindness; kind and compassionate treatment in a case where severity is merited or expected, esp. in giving legal judgment or passing sentence.”
There’s no question that I deserved a ticket. I broke the law. I don’t know what convinced the trooper to let me go with a warning instead of writing a big fat ticket, but it’s only a small thing compared to the measure of clemency that our Lord and Savior applies to me every day that I draw breath.
I have sinned. I continue to sin. I deserve the full punishment for those sins. I’ve turned from the God I love, and yet he continues to say, “Your debt has been paid,” and then separates those dark blotches on my soul as far from me as the east is from the west. He looks on me, not through a filter of my past sins, but as clean and purified.
There is a line from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” that always moves me deeply when I read it, and it came to mind again that day. Professor Lupin, after unexpectedly snatching a rule-breaking Harry away from swift and sure punishment by Professor Snape, gently but sternly rebukes him. “Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.” Ouch. How often is my life a poor repayment of Christ’s sacrifice? How often do I let circumstance and emotion dictate my behavior, even consciously knowing that I am sinning?
That’s where the next biggest measure of grace following the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ comes into play. The deed is done, and there’s nothing else that I can do to secure my salvation beyond accepting that which is freely given. If the deal was that Jesus had to die to cover all my sins but that I would reap the undeserved benefits if and only if I measured up to His life, then I’d be sunk. We’d all be sunk.
Grace versus works is a struggle that has defeated many a person and left them crushed and disappointed in themselves, and in God for making them so weak. It’s so easy to bandy about words like “grace” and “mercy” and speak the appropriate “Christian-ese” language to present ourselves as righteous and “mature” believers, all the while ranking and rating ourselves against our brethren. I attend regularly, I volunteer with the kids’ program, and I minister with the worship team… surely this must all look good on my “permanent record.” What a poor repayment indeed, to feel that I deserve grace more than any other person. In the end, I pray that my life will amount to more than using grace as a “get out of jail free” card, but rather to be deeply and unequivocally changed by it.
This past week, as I drove through the Columbia River Gorge to my parents’ home for Christmas, I was merrily speeding along, hoping to make good time and shorten the hours of solitary driving. I came around a bend and saw a police car sitting in wait by the side of the road. I hit the brakes, but alas, too late. I saw him pull into traffic, and then that unwelcome site of flashing lights was in my rear view mirror.
A number of thoughts flashed through my mind as my stomach lurched and then dropped. I pulled over and waited for my doom to be pronounced. A very nice (and handsome, if I may digress) trooper approached my car and introduced himself. He had clocked me twice, at 78 and 77 in a 65mph zone. With trembling hands, I gave him my license and proof of insurance. He examined the proffered documents and noted that my insurance card was outdated. Dang it! I felt sick and slightly panicky. How did I not think to swap the stupid card out?! I explained that I had been with my insurance company for the better part of ten years, that the policy renewed automatically, and that my monthly premiums are automatically deducted from my bank account, blah, blah, blah. He suggested that I try to find a current insurance card while he went and checked out my information.
Although I searched the glove box hoping for a minor miracle, I was sure that the last couple of policy renewals were tucked away in my filing cabinet, about an hour and a half away. He reappeared at my window, and I had to admit that I did not have a card with me for my most recent policy period. I feebly suggested that I could call the company and verify my coverage. Although he agreed that yes, either he or I could call to verify coverage, he explained that the law doesn’t just require having valid insurance, but having proof of said insurance. Incidentally, the fine for not having said proof is $240. Double dang. I was having visions of my premiums rising, and having to dip into my emergency fund to pay my potential fine, which seemed to be increasing at an alarming rate.
He asked the usual questions about why I was speeding, to which I could only lamely reply that I had been going with the flow of traffic and didn’t realize exactly how fast I was going. I listened attentively as he lectured me (albeit kindly) about how keeping up with the flow of traffic is not always safe, and how sometimes, especially when the pavement is wet, it’s better to drop back and let others go around. I expect that the look on my face as he described the potential fine must have resembled a puppy cowering while his master approaches with a rolled-up newspaper.
And then he did something unexpected. He said, “This could be an almost $500 day, but I expect that you have better things to do with your money, especially right before Christmas.” He wished me a safe trip, handed me a pamphlet with emergency contact numbers in case I were to break down or spot a drunk driver, etc., and admonished me once more to slow down. Then he turned and walked away before I could even finish the words, “Thank you, Officer Hol--”
As I drove away, shaking my head in disbelief at this unexpected turn of events, and mumbling repeated and sincere thanks to the Lord, it hit me. This was a powerful demonstration of grace; free and unmerited favour. This state trooper, at that moment in time, was the embodiment of mercy.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines mercy as “Clemency and compassion shown to a person who is in a position of powerlessness or subjection, or to a person with no right or claim to receive kindness; kind and compassionate treatment in a case where severity is merited or expected, esp. in giving legal judgment or passing sentence.”
There’s no question that I deserved a ticket. I broke the law. I don’t know what convinced the trooper to let me go with a warning instead of writing a big fat ticket, but it’s only a small thing compared to the measure of clemency that our Lord and Savior applies to me every day that I draw breath.
I have sinned. I continue to sin. I deserve the full punishment for those sins. I’ve turned from the God I love, and yet he continues to say, “Your debt has been paid,” and then separates those dark blotches on my soul as far from me as the east is from the west. He looks on me, not through a filter of my past sins, but as clean and purified.
There is a line from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” that always moves me deeply when I read it, and it came to mind again that day. Professor Lupin, after unexpectedly snatching a rule-breaking Harry away from swift and sure punishment by Professor Snape, gently but sternly rebukes him. “Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.” Ouch. How often is my life a poor repayment of Christ’s sacrifice? How often do I let circumstance and emotion dictate my behavior, even consciously knowing that I am sinning?
That’s where the next biggest measure of grace following the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ comes into play. The deed is done, and there’s nothing else that I can do to secure my salvation beyond accepting that which is freely given. If the deal was that Jesus had to die to cover all my sins but that I would reap the undeserved benefits if and only if I measured up to His life, then I’d be sunk. We’d all be sunk.
Grace versus works is a struggle that has defeated many a person and left them crushed and disappointed in themselves, and in God for making them so weak. It’s so easy to bandy about words like “grace” and “mercy” and speak the appropriate “Christian-ese” language to present ourselves as righteous and “mature” believers, all the while ranking and rating ourselves against our brethren. I attend regularly, I volunteer with the kids’ program, and I minister with the worship team… surely this must all look good on my “permanent record.” What a poor repayment indeed, to feel that I deserve grace more than any other person. In the end, I pray that my life will amount to more than using grace as a “get out of jail free” card, but rather to be deeply and unequivocally changed by it.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Since I have been dubbed a "Cookie Princess"....
...and since Kathie "misses [me]" and "SOOOOO misses [my] ginger cookies," here is the recipe. Um, by the way, did anyone else notice the disproportionately placed affection here? ;o)
GINGER CRINKLES
Ingredients:
1 1/3 C Sugar
1 1/3 C Oil
2 Eggs
1/2 C Molasses
4 C Flour
4 tsp Baking Soda
1 tsp Salt
2 tsp Cinnamon
2 tsp Ginger
1/2 C Sugar for dipping
1. Preheat oven to 350○
2. Mix sugar and oil. Add eggs and mix well. Stir in molasses.
3. In a separate bowl, mix the dry ingredients well. Add to wet ingredients and stir well.
4. Form into balls and roll in sugar. Place on ungreased cookie sheet.
5. Bake for 8-10 minutes.
TIPS: I mix dough by hand, not in mixer. Don’t overbake! Remove cookies from oven when they are cracked on top, but still look somewhat doughy -- they will continue to bake on the pan. Let cool for approximately 10 minutes before removing from the pan to cool on a rack.
GINGER CRINKLES
Ingredients:
1 1/3 C Sugar
1 1/3 C Oil
2 Eggs
1/2 C Molasses
4 C Flour
4 tsp Baking Soda
1 tsp Salt
2 tsp Cinnamon
2 tsp Ginger
1/2 C Sugar for dipping
1. Preheat oven to 350○
2. Mix sugar and oil. Add eggs and mix well. Stir in molasses.
3. In a separate bowl, mix the dry ingredients well. Add to wet ingredients and stir well.
4. Form into balls and roll in sugar. Place on ungreased cookie sheet.
5. Bake for 8-10 minutes.
TIPS: I mix dough by hand, not in mixer. Don’t overbake! Remove cookies from oven when they are cracked on top, but still look somewhat doughy -- they will continue to bake on the pan. Let cool for approximately 10 minutes before removing from the pan to cool on a rack.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
'Flowers from Heaven' feel better than 'Pennies from Heaven'
...at least when they unexpectedly fall and bonk you on the head, as has happened to me twice today. :o)
You have to understand, I basically never get flowers. I don't have a significant other to give the obligatory romantic bouquet on holidays and anniversaries, so except for those rare occasions when a friend buys some on a whim or plucks them from the garden, it's pretty much up to me to buy my own flowers if I feel so compelled.
That said, I showed up at work this morning and found a lovely fall bouquet propped against my door. I helped someone (a manager that I don't normally support) out of a pinch yesterday evening, and she brought flowers as a 'thank you.' Naturally, this brightened my morning significantly. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I took a long lunch for my semi-annual dental cleaning, and came back to find a STUNNING -I kid you not- three and a half foot tall orchid plant on my desk! It's absolutely breathtaking, and appears as if it should be the centerpiece at some formal Japanese banquet. This was a 'thank you' from another wonderful co-worker, and left me postively flabbergasted and glowing more than a little. (insert ridiculously big grin)
People keep peeking into my office as they walk by, with quizzical looks on their faces that suggest they're wondering if they have somehow missed my birthday or some other important event. Of course, that just makes me smile more, and increases the sense of curiosity. Hee.
What started out as a very difficult week has been intersected in a way that basically amounts to little hugs from Jesus wherever I look. Sigh. I love this stuff.
You have to understand, I basically never get flowers. I don't have a significant other to give the obligatory romantic bouquet on holidays and anniversaries, so except for those rare occasions when a friend buys some on a whim or plucks them from the garden, it's pretty much up to me to buy my own flowers if I feel so compelled.
That said, I showed up at work this morning and found a lovely fall bouquet propped against my door. I helped someone (a manager that I don't normally support) out of a pinch yesterday evening, and she brought flowers as a 'thank you.' Naturally, this brightened my morning significantly. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I took a long lunch for my semi-annual dental cleaning, and came back to find a STUNNING -I kid you not- three and a half foot tall orchid plant on my desk! It's absolutely breathtaking, and appears as if it should be the centerpiece at some formal Japanese banquet. This was a 'thank you' from another wonderful co-worker, and left me postively flabbergasted and glowing more than a little. (insert ridiculously big grin)
People keep peeking into my office as they walk by, with quizzical looks on their faces that suggest they're wondering if they have somehow missed my birthday or some other important event. Of course, that just makes me smile more, and increases the sense of curiosity. Hee.
What started out as a very difficult week has been intersected in a way that basically amounts to little hugs from Jesus wherever I look. Sigh. I love this stuff.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Zoo Camp
I recently had the opportunity to accompany a severely autistic 7-year-old (although differing reports say he's 8) to Zoo Camp at the Oregon Zoo. The week was challenging, exhausting, and wonderful. Let me start by saying WHERE WAS ZOO CAMP WHEN I WAS A KID?!?! I would have LOVED it!! Oh, wait... I didn't live near a decent zoo from Grades 2-12. Anyhow, I was like a kid in a candy shop. But I digress...
The boy - let's call him Bobby - is highly intelligent with a memory like a porous oceanic creature. He's also very "Rainman"-esque with some physical tics and certain catchphrases he repeats mantra-style. My favorite of these is "I'm a tree... I'm a tree... I'm a tree..." Bobby can be very lucid and tuned in at some moments, and then he'll disappear into his own world for hours at a time. While his lack of eye contact and selective hearing can sometimes be legitimately blamed on his autism, he also has plenty of moments where he's just a plain ol' WILLFUL little boy. For example, when you call him and he looks you in the eye, giggles, and bolts for the hills. Or when he's kicking aside the other campers' backpacks in hopes of finding his hat on the classroom floor, and when you call him on it, he looks you in the eye and kicks 2 or 3 more as if they were errant soccer balls. Grrrr. Those moments didn't go over well with me, nor did it when this 60 pound child would go deadweight or start violently twisting in hopes of breaking my grip on his hand. Little did he know about my famed ninja "monkey grip" and just how tough that would be! Bwaa-ha-haaa! >:o\
Bobby responds well to concise, firm, military-style instructions, and I had my share of drill sergeant moments. Nonetheless, until you note his odd behavior and speech, Bobby is a beautiful little boy and at first glance looks "normal", and therefore I got my fair share of raised eyebrows from other adults as I would bark, "Bobby! Get on your feet now!" or "Bobby, you HAVE to wait your turn!" Sigh. If only they knew the challenge of 5 full days with a special needs kid. They might think I was a saint instead of a grouchy nag. Sigh.
In addition to Bobby, there were 35 other first graders in the class, and a total of 9 in my small group. So by the end of the week I was plum tuckered out and ready for a vacation from my vacation.
My two favorite moments of the week:
1. I always had one hand holding Bobby's hand, and the other was often grabbed by one of the little girls as we walked to and fro from the drop-off and pick-up zone to our classroom. I became accustomed to Bobby periodically letting go of my hand long enough to adjust his baseball cap or nametag, and I was always happy when he let go of my hand to wipe his nose rather than using my hand for the purpose. On one such morning walk, Bobby was holding my left hand, and little platinum blonde Kimberly was holding my right hand. I felt him let go momentarily and then grab my hand again, and thought nothing of it. The next time I looked down to ask him a question, I found that Bobby had apparently turned into a small Asian girl! Talk about a magic trick!! Okay, it was actually Cindy, and Bobby was placidly walking about 10 kids ahead of us in line. Still, that cracked me up!
2. One little girl was quite the "sensitive" child, prone to tears at any small bump or perceived injustice. On our small group's very first trek through the zoo, Bobby accidentally bumped into her at the underwater sea lion viewing area. She promptly burst into tears and tattled to me, a pattern which continued throughout the week. I couldn't seem to make her understand that a.) it was not intentional and b.) she was not actually injured in any way. On Friday afternoon as the group departed the classroom for the final trek into the zoo, I was caught in a line for the bathroom. The other leader advised me of the direction they were headed and we agreed that I would catch up. Not 5 minutes later, I caught up to the group, only to find that this same girl was HOLDING BOBBY'S HAND, contentedly being his "buddy." As we walked from exhibit to exhibit, she would kindly call to him, "Bobby! Come hold my hand!" and he seemed happy to please. At the end of the day, as we hiked through the zoo and around the parking lots to the pick-up point yonder, she automatically grabbed his hand and escorted him. When one of the other kids asked why she was holding his hand, she matter-of-factly replied "Because he's my friend."
So, there's the simple beauty of first graders. So helpless and wiggly and whiny and infuriating at times, and yet also able to extend grace and friendship in simple practical ways. Insert collective "awwww" and possible dabbing at the eyes with tissue.
In the end, while I was so exhausted every night that I feel asleep shortly after I got home (and consequently took the entire week to read the final Harry Potter book!), it was full of great moments, and it was a blessing to be able to help Bobby and his family by enabling him to go to Zoo Camp for the first time, when in the past he has had to stay home with mom and the baby while the his other siblings go.
This year we had a variety of classroom visitors including an armadillo, a spiny lizard, a hare, a hydroasaurus, and a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. Next year, assuming that Bobby graduates to 2nd Grade Zoo Camp, we get to feed the otters. I can't wait! Where do I sign up?!?! :o)
The boy - let's call him Bobby - is highly intelligent with a memory like a porous oceanic creature. He's also very "Rainman"-esque with some physical tics and certain catchphrases he repeats mantra-style. My favorite of these is "I'm a tree... I'm a tree... I'm a tree..." Bobby can be very lucid and tuned in at some moments, and then he'll disappear into his own world for hours at a time. While his lack of eye contact and selective hearing can sometimes be legitimately blamed on his autism, he also has plenty of moments where he's just a plain ol' WILLFUL little boy. For example, when you call him and he looks you in the eye, giggles, and bolts for the hills. Or when he's kicking aside the other campers' backpacks in hopes of finding his hat on the classroom floor, and when you call him on it, he looks you in the eye and kicks 2 or 3 more as if they were errant soccer balls. Grrrr. Those moments didn't go over well with me, nor did it when this 60 pound child would go deadweight or start violently twisting in hopes of breaking my grip on his hand. Little did he know about my famed ninja "monkey grip" and just how tough that would be! Bwaa-ha-haaa! >:o\
Bobby responds well to concise, firm, military-style instructions, and I had my share of drill sergeant moments. Nonetheless, until you note his odd behavior and speech, Bobby is a beautiful little boy and at first glance looks "normal", and therefore I got my fair share of raised eyebrows from other adults as I would bark, "Bobby! Get on your feet now!" or "Bobby, you HAVE to wait your turn!" Sigh. If only they knew the challenge of 5 full days with a special needs kid. They might think I was a saint instead of a grouchy nag. Sigh.
In addition to Bobby, there were 35 other first graders in the class, and a total of 9 in my small group. So by the end of the week I was plum tuckered out and ready for a vacation from my vacation.
My two favorite moments of the week:
1. I always had one hand holding Bobby's hand, and the other was often grabbed by one of the little girls as we walked to and fro from the drop-off and pick-up zone to our classroom. I became accustomed to Bobby periodically letting go of my hand long enough to adjust his baseball cap or nametag, and I was always happy when he let go of my hand to wipe his nose rather than using my hand for the purpose. On one such morning walk, Bobby was holding my left hand, and little platinum blonde Kimberly was holding my right hand. I felt him let go momentarily and then grab my hand again, and thought nothing of it. The next time I looked down to ask him a question, I found that Bobby had apparently turned into a small Asian girl! Talk about a magic trick!! Okay, it was actually Cindy, and Bobby was placidly walking about 10 kids ahead of us in line. Still, that cracked me up!
2. One little girl was quite the "sensitive" child, prone to tears at any small bump or perceived injustice. On our small group's very first trek through the zoo, Bobby accidentally bumped into her at the underwater sea lion viewing area. She promptly burst into tears and tattled to me, a pattern which continued throughout the week. I couldn't seem to make her understand that a.) it was not intentional and b.) she was not actually injured in any way. On Friday afternoon as the group departed the classroom for the final trek into the zoo, I was caught in a line for the bathroom. The other leader advised me of the direction they were headed and we agreed that I would catch up. Not 5 minutes later, I caught up to the group, only to find that this same girl was HOLDING BOBBY'S HAND, contentedly being his "buddy." As we walked from exhibit to exhibit, she would kindly call to him, "Bobby! Come hold my hand!" and he seemed happy to please. At the end of the day, as we hiked through the zoo and around the parking lots to the pick-up point yonder, she automatically grabbed his hand and escorted him. When one of the other kids asked why she was holding his hand, she matter-of-factly replied "Because he's my friend."
So, there's the simple beauty of first graders. So helpless and wiggly and whiny and infuriating at times, and yet also able to extend grace and friendship in simple practical ways. Insert collective "awwww" and possible dabbing at the eyes with tissue.
In the end, while I was so exhausted every night that I feel asleep shortly after I got home (and consequently took the entire week to read the final Harry Potter book!), it was full of great moments, and it was a blessing to be able to help Bobby and his family by enabling him to go to Zoo Camp for the first time, when in the past he has had to stay home with mom and the baby while the his other siblings go.
This year we had a variety of classroom visitors including an armadillo, a spiny lizard, a hare, a hydroasaurus, and a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. Next year, assuming that Bobby graduates to 2nd Grade Zoo Camp, we get to feed the otters. I can't wait! Where do I sign up?!?! :o)
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
He Said, She Said
A couple of weekends ago, under the guise of building my "writer's toolbox" (and conveniently avoiding housework), I challenged myself to come up with as many substitutes for the word "said" as possible. So far my list numbers 165. I think it's possible to get to 300. Please join me in this endeavor and plunder your vocabulary for the best "jewels"! I'll update the list periodically. :o)
P.S. Feel free to print and use the list, however I ask that you do not in any way sell or monetarily profit from my list. Thanks!
accused
acknowledged
acquiesced
added
addressed
alluded
amended
announced
answered
appealed
articulated
assented
assured
babbled
badgered
barked
begged
broached
bubbled
cackled
cajoled
called
cautioned
censured
chanted
charged
chided
chimed in
chortled
chuckled
coaxed
comforted
complained
confessed
confided
contributed
cooed
countered
cried
croaked
decided
divulged
deliberated
demanded
demurred
denied
dictated
directed
divulged
echoed
enunciated
exclaimed
explained
expostulated
exulted
fawned
forewarned
giggled
grasped
grumbled
guffawed
gushed
hiccupped
hinted
hissed
howled
implored
impugned
inquired
insinuated
insisted
interjected
interrogated
interrupted
intimated
intoned
invented
jabbered
joked
lamented
levied
lied
mimicked
moaned
mocked
mollified
mumbled
murmured
muttered
narrated
objected
opined
ordered
petitioned
paraphrased
placated
pleaded
preached
predicted
pried
proclaimed
prompted
pronounced
proposed
purred
queried
questioned
quoted
ranted
raved
reacted
reasoned
reassured
recapitulated
reciprocated
recounted
remarked
repeated
replied
reprimanded
requested
responded
retaliated
retorted
roared
ruminated
sang
sassed
scolded
screamed
shouted
shrieked
sighed
snarled
snickered
sniggered
spat
spluttered
spoke up
squealed
stammered
stated
stuttered
submitted
suggested
supposed
taunted
threatened
thundered
told
translated
twittered
urged
uttered
ventured
verified
wailed
warned
whined
whispered
wondered
yelled
yelped
P.S. Feel free to print and use the list, however I ask that you do not in any way sell or monetarily profit from my list. Thanks!
accused
acknowledged
acquiesced
added
addressed
alluded
amended
announced
answered
appealed
articulated
assented
assured
babbled
badgered
barked
begged
broached
bubbled
cackled
cajoled
called
cautioned
censured
chanted
charged
chided
chimed in
chortled
chuckled
coaxed
comforted
complained
confessed
confided
contributed
cooed
countered
cried
croaked
decided
divulged
deliberated
demanded
demurred
denied
dictated
directed
divulged
echoed
enunciated
exclaimed
explained
expostulated
exulted
fawned
forewarned
giggled
grasped
grumbled
guffawed
gushed
hiccupped
hinted
hissed
howled
implored
impugned
inquired
insinuated
insisted
interjected
interrogated
interrupted
intimated
intoned
invented
jabbered
joked
lamented
levied
lied
mimicked
moaned
mocked
mollified
mumbled
murmured
muttered
narrated
objected
opined
ordered
petitioned
paraphrased
placated
pleaded
preached
predicted
pried
proclaimed
prompted
pronounced
proposed
purred
queried
questioned
quoted
ranted
raved
reacted
reasoned
reassured
recapitulated
reciprocated
recounted
remarked
repeated
replied
reprimanded
requested
responded
retaliated
retorted
roared
ruminated
sang
sassed
scolded
screamed
shouted
shrieked
sighed
snarled
snickered
sniggered
spat
spluttered
spoke up
squealed
stammered
stated
stuttered
submitted
suggested
supposed
taunted
threatened
thundered
told
translated
twittered
urged
uttered
ventured
verified
wailed
warned
whined
whispered
wondered
yelled
yelped
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Caving in to peer pressure again...
I can dig it! I just wish I had her hair and looked that good in a jumpsuit. I wouldn't mind snogging Will Riker either, come to think of it... :o)
Your results:
You are Deanna Troi
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Your results:
You are Deanna Troi
| You are a caring and loving individual. You understand people's emotions and you are able to comfort and counsel them.  |
Friday, April 06, 2007
An Ode to Señor Don Gato
A couple of weekends ago, I had one of those LONG telephone conversations that I think only sisters and/or the best of friends can truly enjoy. For four hours on a Friday evening, from eight o’clock until nearly midnight, we giggled and chattered, reminisced about our shared childhood, and finished one another’s sentences. I was simply enjoying her company, and I believe she was enjoying the distraction from the reality that my poor niece had been hit with a stomach bug and had been vomiting at regular intervals since dinnertime.
Now if you know me and my sister well, you’ll know that we have freakish memories for obscure trivia, movie lines, song lyrics, and the like. Remember the McDonalds promotion sometime back in the late eighties where they gave away records with a song listing all of the menu items, and a chance to win a prize? We spent hours and nearly played that little vinyl to death in the process of memorizing it, and to this day, we both remember it in full. “Big Mac, McDLT, a Quarter Pounder with some cheese, Fillet o’Fish, a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a Happy Meal, McNuggets, tasty golden French fries (regular and larger sizes), salads Chef or Garden, or a Chicken Salad Oriental, Big Big Breakfast, Egg McMuffin, Hot Hot Cakes with sausage, maybe biscuits (Bacon, Egg, and Cheese), a Danish, sausage, hash browns too, and for dessert hot apple pies, and sundaes (three varieties!), a soft serve cone, three kinds of shakes, and chocolaty chip cookies, and to drink a Coca-Cola, Diet Coke, and Orange Drink, a Sprite, a coffee (Decaf too), a low fat milk, also an orange juice, I love McDonalds 'Good Time Great Taste' and I get this all at one place!”
Whew! Never could do it all in one breath, but there it is (perhaps the longest run-on sentence in world history) fresh from the recesses of my brain. Our other classic is the warning label from the bottom of our kitchen chairs: “NOTICE: Only the resilient filling materials contained in this article meet California Bureau of Home Furnishings flammability requirements. Care should be exercised near open flame and with burning cigarettes.” That little joke originated one day when we were home alone and my sister was lying on the kitchen floor pretending (in big sister fashion) that she either had a concussion or had gone into some altered mental state. She just looked catatonic and kept repeating that warning over and over. Eventually I figured out her trick and we committed it to memory. The joke is so long-standing expect that whichever of us lives longest might just end up including it in our eulogy for the other.
Weird? Yes. Definitely. No question there. Whenever I hear that the average human only uses 10% of their brain, I get slightly worried that upwards of 7-8% of mine might be filled up with “Princess Bride” and Monty Python quotes, the plots and punch lines from just about every episode of “Friends” ever made, LOTR and Battlestar Galactica trivia, and a plethora of song lyrics.
Anyhow, in the course of our reminiscing, my sister and I tried singing our mutual favorite song from grade school music class, a little ditty called “Señor Don Gato.” We had no trouble with the first, second, and third verses, and most of the sixth. We struggled with the fourth and fifth verses, though, and were just about to give up for the evening and head towards our respective beds. We said goodnight, hung up, and I had started washing my face when suddenly a flash of the missing words light up my brain like a lightening bolt. I scrambled for the phone, dialed, and without preamble nearly shouted “It’s something about doctors holding a consultation…How does it go??” By then there was such a bee in her bonnet that she climbed out of bed and Googled “Don Gato lyrics” and quickly found what we were seeking. It seems the song is (or was) quite popular in grade school music class repertoires, and whole generations of adults probably have that song tickling at the backs of their minds. Should you care to do so, it’s even available for download on iTunes.
So, Ladies & Gentlemen, without further ado, here they are in full…my tribute to sisterhood and a noggin full of memories… the lyrics to the song about the lovesick kitty, Señor Don Gato. If you know it, sing along! :o)
Oh Señor Don Gato was a cat
On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter
(Meow, meow, meow)
Where the reading light was better
(Meow, meow, meow)
'Twas a love note for Don Gato
I adore you wrote the lady cat
Who was fluffy, white and nice and fat
There was not a sweeter kitty
(Meow, meow, meow)
In the country or the city
(Meow, meow, meow)
And she said she'd wed Don Gato
Oh, Don Gato jumped so happily
He fell off the roof and broke his knee
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers
(Meow, meow, meow)
And his little solar plexus
(Meow, meow, meow)
“Ay Caramba,” cried Don Gato
Then the doctors all came on the run
Just to see if something could be done
And they held a consultation
(Meow, meow, meow)
About how to save their patient
(Meow, meow, meow)
How to save Señor Don Gato
But in spite of everything they tried
Poor Señor Don Gato up and died
And it wasn't very merry
(Meow, meow, meow)
Going to the cemetery
(Meow, meow, meow)
For the ending of Don Gato
When the funeral passed the market square
Such a smell of fish was in the air
Though his burial was slated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He became reanimated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He came back to life, Don Gato
Now if you know me and my sister well, you’ll know that we have freakish memories for obscure trivia, movie lines, song lyrics, and the like. Remember the McDonalds promotion sometime back in the late eighties where they gave away records with a song listing all of the menu items, and a chance to win a prize? We spent hours and nearly played that little vinyl to death in the process of memorizing it, and to this day, we both remember it in full. “Big Mac, McDLT, a Quarter Pounder with some cheese, Fillet o’Fish, a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a Happy Meal, McNuggets, tasty golden French fries (regular and larger sizes), salads Chef or Garden, or a Chicken Salad Oriental, Big Big Breakfast, Egg McMuffin, Hot Hot Cakes with sausage, maybe biscuits (Bacon, Egg, and Cheese), a Danish, sausage, hash browns too, and for dessert hot apple pies, and sundaes (three varieties!), a soft serve cone, three kinds of shakes, and chocolaty chip cookies, and to drink a Coca-Cola, Diet Coke, and Orange Drink, a Sprite, a coffee (Decaf too), a low fat milk, also an orange juice, I love McDonalds 'Good Time Great Taste' and I get this all at one place!”
Whew! Never could do it all in one breath, but there it is (perhaps the longest run-on sentence in world history) fresh from the recesses of my brain. Our other classic is the warning label from the bottom of our kitchen chairs: “NOTICE: Only the resilient filling materials contained in this article meet California Bureau of Home Furnishings flammability requirements. Care should be exercised near open flame and with burning cigarettes.” That little joke originated one day when we were home alone and my sister was lying on the kitchen floor pretending (in big sister fashion) that she either had a concussion or had gone into some altered mental state. She just looked catatonic and kept repeating that warning over and over. Eventually I figured out her trick and we committed it to memory. The joke is so long-standing expect that whichever of us lives longest might just end up including it in our eulogy for the other.
Weird? Yes. Definitely. No question there. Whenever I hear that the average human only uses 10% of their brain, I get slightly worried that upwards of 7-8% of mine might be filled up with “Princess Bride” and Monty Python quotes, the plots and punch lines from just about every episode of “Friends” ever made, LOTR and Battlestar Galactica trivia, and a plethora of song lyrics.
Anyhow, in the course of our reminiscing, my sister and I tried singing our mutual favorite song from grade school music class, a little ditty called “Señor Don Gato.” We had no trouble with the first, second, and third verses, and most of the sixth. We struggled with the fourth and fifth verses, though, and were just about to give up for the evening and head towards our respective beds. We said goodnight, hung up, and I had started washing my face when suddenly a flash of the missing words light up my brain like a lightening bolt. I scrambled for the phone, dialed, and without preamble nearly shouted “It’s something about doctors holding a consultation…How does it go??” By then there was such a bee in her bonnet that she climbed out of bed and Googled “Don Gato lyrics” and quickly found what we were seeking. It seems the song is (or was) quite popular in grade school music class repertoires, and whole generations of adults probably have that song tickling at the backs of their minds. Should you care to do so, it’s even available for download on iTunes.
So, Ladies & Gentlemen, without further ado, here they are in full…my tribute to sisterhood and a noggin full of memories… the lyrics to the song about the lovesick kitty, Señor Don Gato. If you know it, sing along! :o)
Oh Señor Don Gato was a cat
On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter
(Meow, meow, meow)
Where the reading light was better
(Meow, meow, meow)
'Twas a love note for Don Gato
I adore you wrote the lady cat
Who was fluffy, white and nice and fat
There was not a sweeter kitty
(Meow, meow, meow)
In the country or the city
(Meow, meow, meow)
And she said she'd wed Don Gato
Oh, Don Gato jumped so happily
He fell off the roof and broke his knee
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers
(Meow, meow, meow)
And his little solar plexus
(Meow, meow, meow)
“Ay Caramba,” cried Don Gato
Then the doctors all came on the run
Just to see if something could be done
And they held a consultation
(Meow, meow, meow)
About how to save their patient
(Meow, meow, meow)
How to save Señor Don Gato
But in spite of everything they tried
Poor Señor Don Gato up and died
And it wasn't very merry
(Meow, meow, meow)
Going to the cemetery
(Meow, meow, meow)
For the ending of Don Gato
When the funeral passed the market square
Such a smell of fish was in the air
Though his burial was slated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He became reanimated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He came back to life, Don Gato
Monday, March 05, 2007
Is she or isn't she?
If you’ll oblige me to have one juvenile, ranting moment here, I’ll just say “I DON'T WANT STARBUCK TO BE DEAD!” I don’t really want her to be a Cylon either, but have been suspecting for some time that she might be one of the Final Five. If she indeed reappears as a Cylon next season, imagine what that will do to Bill Adama, as the second of his beloved Viper pilots, and the daughter of his heart (if not his biological offspring) is revealed to be the “enemy.” Will he shoulder the grief and continue being the father-figure Admiral who somehow manages to balance his love of his crew with the realities of military life? Or will be become more distant and disciplined, a strict tactician with a gulf of detachment between himself and those he commands?
I’m half-inclined to be a bit miffed at Apollo for taking her out on that mission, knowing that she was a few pressure valves shy of a functional tylium refinery… erm, or some other less geeky euphemism for "out of her frackin’ mind." At the same time, it reminds me of a recent episode of Lost in which the mysterious jewelry saleswoman points out to Desmond a man who is about to die, but doesn’t attempt to prevent it. Desmond is appalled at her apparent apathy, but she indicates that even if she prevented him from getting crushed by the scaffolding, the universe has a way of course-correcting. So I suppose that even if Starbuck’s ship didn’t implode due to atmospheric pressure, then the next day she would be killed in a training run with Hot Dog and Selix… Or if she didn’t go on that training run, then the day after that she’d fall out of her bunk and crack her head open, etc…
So here are a few questions that come to mind regarding Starbuck’s death and/or potential Cylon status:
*If she is a Cylon, perhaps that’s why she was particularly suited to understand and fly the Raider in Season 1? Also, maybe that’s why Baltar was so attracted to her? After all, he does seem to dig the robo-chicks! ;o)
*Will Dualla manage to pull her face into some suitable expression of loss and grief, or at least empathy for what poor Apollo will now be going through? (Her actions did contribute to Billy’s death after all!) Or will she be privately smirking and doing the dance of joy? As much as I have disliked Dualla ever since she ripped Billy’s heart out of his chest and used it for target practice, I hope that she isn’t that vindictive. (I, however, am still bitter...)
*How will Apollo react? Will he go back to Dualla and make the best of their marriage? Will he be overcome by another fey mood and try to meet his death in battle? Will he blame himself, indulge in excessive “emotional eating,” and become Chubby Apollo again?
*When is Billy coming back as a Cylon?!?! (Sorry, that’s my own personal dream, not likely to happen…)
For the answers to these and other burning questions, only time will tell, and apparently we are going to have lots of time until we find out the fate of Starbuck… January 2008 according to the SciFi Channel’s website.
Like tylium through the hourglass, so are the days of our fleet…
So say we all.
I’m half-inclined to be a bit miffed at Apollo for taking her out on that mission, knowing that she was a few pressure valves shy of a functional tylium refinery… erm, or some other less geeky euphemism for "out of her frackin’ mind." At the same time, it reminds me of a recent episode of Lost in which the mysterious jewelry saleswoman points out to Desmond a man who is about to die, but doesn’t attempt to prevent it. Desmond is appalled at her apparent apathy, but she indicates that even if she prevented him from getting crushed by the scaffolding, the universe has a way of course-correcting. So I suppose that even if Starbuck’s ship didn’t implode due to atmospheric pressure, then the next day she would be killed in a training run with Hot Dog and Selix… Or if she didn’t go on that training run, then the day after that she’d fall out of her bunk and crack her head open, etc…
So here are a few questions that come to mind regarding Starbuck’s death and/or potential Cylon status:
*If she is a Cylon, perhaps that’s why she was particularly suited to understand and fly the Raider in Season 1? Also, maybe that’s why Baltar was so attracted to her? After all, he does seem to dig the robo-chicks! ;o)
*Will Dualla manage to pull her face into some suitable expression of loss and grief, or at least empathy for what poor Apollo will now be going through? (Her actions did contribute to Billy’s death after all!) Or will she be privately smirking and doing the dance of joy? As much as I have disliked Dualla ever since she ripped Billy’s heart out of his chest and used it for target practice, I hope that she isn’t that vindictive. (I, however, am still bitter...)
*How will Apollo react? Will he go back to Dualla and make the best of their marriage? Will he be overcome by another fey mood and try to meet his death in battle? Will he blame himself, indulge in excessive “emotional eating,” and become Chubby Apollo again?
*When is Billy coming back as a Cylon?!?! (Sorry, that’s my own personal dream, not likely to happen…)
For the answers to these and other burning questions, only time will tell, and apparently we are going to have lots of time until we find out the fate of Starbuck… January 2008 according to the SciFi Channel’s website.
Like tylium through the hourglass, so are the days of our fleet…
So say we all.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Well ain't that shiny...
Taking a cue from Bethy McBethles... and suspecting that this sort of blatant unoriginality is the very reason Rebekah doesn't blog, per our conversation last night. ;o)
Your results:
You are Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)
Click here to take the Serenity Firefly Personality Test
Your results:
You are Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)
| Honest and a defender of the innocent. You sometimes make mistakes in judgment but you are generally good and would protect your crew from harm.  |
Click here to take the Serenity Firefly Personality Test
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Bad Idea #341
Bad Idea #341: Cats as service animals
The Seeing Eye Cat:
I don’t know what a Buick LaSabre is, but I do know what a sparrow is, and there’s one perched on a fence across the street…
You need to go to the bank? Yeah, well, I need a nap… for the next 6 hours.
Loud teenagers at a bus stop? You’ll find me up the nearest tree…
I helped you get to this bleepin’ restaurant! What do you mean I’m not welcome to sit on the table and eat off “your” plate?
The Hearing Ear Cat:
The only sound I respond to is the sound of a can of cat food being opened.
What did you say? I was distracted by that spider on the wall…
I’d apologize for not listening, but frankly, I don’t care.
The Seeing Eye Cat:
I don’t know what a Buick LaSabre is, but I do know what a sparrow is, and there’s one perched on a fence across the street…
You need to go to the bank? Yeah, well, I need a nap… for the next 6 hours.
Loud teenagers at a bus stop? You’ll find me up the nearest tree…
I helped you get to this bleepin’ restaurant! What do you mean I’m not welcome to sit on the table and eat off “your” plate?
The Hearing Ear Cat:
The only sound I respond to is the sound of a can of cat food being opened.
What did you say? I was distracted by that spider on the wall…
I’d apologize for not listening, but frankly, I don’t care.
Monday, December 18, 2006
eHarmony
I joined eHarmony (hereafter referred to as “eH”) nearly 2 months ago after much hemming and hawing. Despite knowing at least two married couples who met via eH, the concept scared me. I was supposed to place my photo on the web and face rejection by men from all over the country? I think not.
Eventually I took the leap with some help from a friend, and two hours or so of personality tests later, my first six matches popped up. And thus began those first two weeks of constant agitation. My stomach lurched and flipped each time I logged on, wondering who might have initiated communication, who might have closed our match, and generally just feeling pressured to determine the potential of these men based on a profile. The matches came pouring in -which was somewhat of a relief...at least I was matchable!- but I felt pressured to make decisions. I didn’t want to close any matches lest I unknowingly close out my Mr. Right.
And then it happened. A Canadian lad initiated communication, and he had all of the humor and charm and wit I could hope for, love for his Savior and his family, similar dreams, and… and well, I let down my guard. His messages left me grinning from ear to ear, giddy like a school girl. I floated down the hallways at work, starting to imagine future visits and life events together.
It’s stupid really. I *know* better than to do that, but the idea that we were identified as “extremely compatible” by the experts at eH, and then had a seemingly great chemistry… It was all too easy to think “Yes! No wonder I haven’t met anyone in Oregon! My guy is in Canada, so it’s not like we were going to bump into each other at the grocery store! All I needed to do was join eH and now my life will begin…”
After some regular exchanges, Canada Boy disappeared into radio silence. I awaited the next message while dismissing other matches with thoughts like, “He doesn’t make me laugh the way Canada Boy does… His writing isn’t witty… He doesn’t grab my attention…” etc. After a three week silence, I logged on one evening to see that Canada Boy had closed our match with the stated reason “I’m just not ready for the next step.”
I fell to pieces. What the hell was he doing on eH if he wasn’t ready to pursue a relationship? Or maybe he was interested until I posted my pictures, and “just not ready” was a lame excuse instead of saying “I’m not attracted to you.” This was the exact reason I didn’t want to join in the first place… to be anonymously rejected seems worse somehow. Why can’t I just meet someone at work or church, have him find me attractive and intriguing, and ask me out?
I was heartbroken, frustrated by the lack of closure, and I walked through the next week or two like a zombie, making small talk and changing the subject or flat ignoring any inquiries of “How are you?” lest I start weeping. I didn’t want to be lectured about not letting my heart get ahead of reality. I already knew that I contributed to my own heartache without being told. This was supposed to be like trying on shoes. This was “practice dating” and I wasn’t supposed to have expectations.
I’m back at it again, reviewing profiles and answering inquiries, but with a sense of detachment. I don’t know if it’s a healthy sense of detachment, or a self-defense mechanism. I have over 100 matches sitting in my box, most of whom I haven’t had any reaction to, either positive or negative. I read each profile, shrug, and move on to the next one. There isn’t anything unsavory enough to make me close the match (with the exception of a few extreme Type A personalities, one self-professed porn addict, and a couple of apparent man whores), but nothing that captures my attention enough to want to pursue communication.
Truly, I don’t know where this eH adventure will lead me. Maybe I’ll be one of those marriage success stories, or maybe my future husband will show up next to me in line at a Starbucks here in Oregon. I just pray that it is soon.
Jesus talked to me last year about guarding my heart, leaving it as intact and unscarred as possible for Him and for my future husband. I reflected after the Canada Boy incident about why I was so willing to allow my heart and mind to plunge headfirst into infatuation, knowing all too well the perilous path I was embarking upon. I concluded that, frankly, it feels good to use that part of my heart which feels like it is wasting away, unused and unwanted. I understand that marriage is not a cure for loneliness, nor is it easy, nor is it the missing ingredient that will complete my happiness. At the same time, I believe I was created with a deep desire to be a wife, and that desire comes from God. I am prepared to work hard at my marriage, and to choose to love my husband every day (even when we inevitably annoy the crap out of each other). Now it’s just a matter of the Lord’s timing. So, Jesus, whenever you’re ready, I’m here...
Eventually I took the leap with some help from a friend, and two hours or so of personality tests later, my first six matches popped up. And thus began those first two weeks of constant agitation. My stomach lurched and flipped each time I logged on, wondering who might have initiated communication, who might have closed our match, and generally just feeling pressured to determine the potential of these men based on a profile. The matches came pouring in -which was somewhat of a relief...at least I was matchable!- but I felt pressured to make decisions. I didn’t want to close any matches lest I unknowingly close out my Mr. Right.
And then it happened. A Canadian lad initiated communication, and he had all of the humor and charm and wit I could hope for, love for his Savior and his family, similar dreams, and… and well, I let down my guard. His messages left me grinning from ear to ear, giddy like a school girl. I floated down the hallways at work, starting to imagine future visits and life events together.
It’s stupid really. I *know* better than to do that, but the idea that we were identified as “extremely compatible” by the experts at eH, and then had a seemingly great chemistry… It was all too easy to think “Yes! No wonder I haven’t met anyone in Oregon! My guy is in Canada, so it’s not like we were going to bump into each other at the grocery store! All I needed to do was join eH and now my life will begin…”
After some regular exchanges, Canada Boy disappeared into radio silence. I awaited the next message while dismissing other matches with thoughts like, “He doesn’t make me laugh the way Canada Boy does… His writing isn’t witty… He doesn’t grab my attention…” etc. After a three week silence, I logged on one evening to see that Canada Boy had closed our match with the stated reason “I’m just not ready for the next step.”
I fell to pieces. What the hell was he doing on eH if he wasn’t ready to pursue a relationship? Or maybe he was interested until I posted my pictures, and “just not ready” was a lame excuse instead of saying “I’m not attracted to you.” This was the exact reason I didn’t want to join in the first place… to be anonymously rejected seems worse somehow. Why can’t I just meet someone at work or church, have him find me attractive and intriguing, and ask me out?
I was heartbroken, frustrated by the lack of closure, and I walked through the next week or two like a zombie, making small talk and changing the subject or flat ignoring any inquiries of “How are you?” lest I start weeping. I didn’t want to be lectured about not letting my heart get ahead of reality. I already knew that I contributed to my own heartache without being told. This was supposed to be like trying on shoes. This was “practice dating” and I wasn’t supposed to have expectations.
I’m back at it again, reviewing profiles and answering inquiries, but with a sense of detachment. I don’t know if it’s a healthy sense of detachment, or a self-defense mechanism. I have over 100 matches sitting in my box, most of whom I haven’t had any reaction to, either positive or negative. I read each profile, shrug, and move on to the next one. There isn’t anything unsavory enough to make me close the match (with the exception of a few extreme Type A personalities, one self-professed porn addict, and a couple of apparent man whores), but nothing that captures my attention enough to want to pursue communication.
Truly, I don’t know where this eH adventure will lead me. Maybe I’ll be one of those marriage success stories, or maybe my future husband will show up next to me in line at a Starbucks here in Oregon. I just pray that it is soon.
Jesus talked to me last year about guarding my heart, leaving it as intact and unscarred as possible for Him and for my future husband. I reflected after the Canada Boy incident about why I was so willing to allow my heart and mind to plunge headfirst into infatuation, knowing all too well the perilous path I was embarking upon. I concluded that, frankly, it feels good to use that part of my heart which feels like it is wasting away, unused and unwanted. I understand that marriage is not a cure for loneliness, nor is it easy, nor is it the missing ingredient that will complete my happiness. At the same time, I believe I was created with a deep desire to be a wife, and that desire comes from God. I am prepared to work hard at my marriage, and to choose to love my husband every day (even when we inevitably annoy the crap out of each other). Now it’s just a matter of the Lord’s timing. So, Jesus, whenever you’re ready, I’m here...
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Sound of Silence (My apologies to Simon & Garfunkel...)
The Oregon Coast and Willamette Valley experienced a reasonably large windstorm on Sunday night --large enough to knock down a plethora of trees and leave thousands of folks in the dark, either for minutes or hours at a time. It was uncanny... The weather forecasters predicted 10pm as the starting time for the storm, and sure enough, at 9:54pm... BUZZ. ZAP. CLUNK... The power went off in my home and silence descended like a curtain. What?! No TV?! I am appropriately ashamed to admit that I was watching a reality show (which shall go nameless here) and was mildly vexed that I was going to miss the results!
Alone with my feline companions, I promptly lit a few candles and snatched up my cell phone to reach out and connect. I texted a friend..."Are you without power, too?" Then I called my dearest Mommers to relate what I was experiencing at that very moment, and while it wasn't exactly press-stopping news that I was in the dark, she patiently listened to my plans for just how I was going to manage to clean up the painting project that I had been in the midst of, and how I would need to use the alarm on the cell phone for the morning since I couldn't set the clock by my bed. Eventually she tired of my survival checklist mentality and excused herself with the advice that I should simply go to bed since I couldn't do anything useful anyway.
I fumbled my way thru washing my face, brushing my teeth, etc. A sidenote on the bedtime toilette routine: Why is it that when you're washing your face by candlelight, *that* is the exact moment that the stupid urban legand about looking in the mirror in the dark and saying "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary" comes to mind?! You couldn't have paid me enough at that moment to try it. Anyhow, I digress....
It felt truly strange to be in total quiet, no comforting white noise of the cats' water fountain or the aquarium filter or the dryer tumbling my clothes. No sight but the flicker of a dozen candles in my living room, reflecting from the 3 cats' wide, curious eyes. A few faint flickers behind curtains in windows across the way reminded me that others were at home, sitting in the same silence, whether they found it to be refreshing or oppressive. After a brief attempt at reading by candlelight, I gave up the fight and went to sleep.
Power returned during the night, and as I pondered the experience on Monday morning while grooming myself for work, I kept thinking back to a point Pastor Bill made in his Sunday morning sermon. We often chip away at our exterior lives, trying to force ourselves to be more like God. We keep track of how often we pray or read the Bible. We engage in acts of mercy or compassion, consciously thinking that this is "what Jesus would do." Not to devalue those things, but we can try to squeeze endless godly activities into our lives, and form words that sound like a gentle rain of wisdom straight from the Bible, but we can never carve or mold ourselves into a righteous, godly being. That change works from the inside out. You have allowed Jesus into your heart, and from there he speaks directly to you of his love and will for you, and rebukes you out of fatherly goodness when necessary. The process is more like an injection mold... We start out as this empty casing in the image of God, and then as He works his way into the very corners of our existence, the mold is filled from the inside, gradually expanding until it is complete. After our earthly existence ends and the shell of our bodies is peeled away from our soul, out pops this newly completed spiritual being, in the image of our Heavenly Father.
Here I was, sitting in the dark, bemoaning that I couldn't do anything "useful" and initially uncomfortable with the silence. How much of my life is like that? Do I volunteer to sing with the worship team because I love to praise the Lord, or because it's one of those ministry activities that should in theory benefit my spiritual growth? Do I volunteer with the kids program because I treasure the youngest members of God's Kingdom, or because it's an opportunity to show my spiritual maturity & leadership, making me feel like a better Christian? Am I just trying to chip away from the outside? And maybe most importantly, is the silence uncomfortable because it throws into sharp relief what's in my heart and mind and forces me to work with God from the inside out instead of saying, "See? Look what I did for you this week? Aren't I doing well?"
Maybe power outages are less of an inconvenience, and more of an opportunity to look into deep places untouched by the light we try to shine for the world.
Alone with my feline companions, I promptly lit a few candles and snatched up my cell phone to reach out and connect. I texted a friend..."Are you without power, too?" Then I called my dearest Mommers to relate what I was experiencing at that very moment, and while it wasn't exactly press-stopping news that I was in the dark, she patiently listened to my plans for just how I was going to manage to clean up the painting project that I had been in the midst of, and how I would need to use the alarm on the cell phone for the morning since I couldn't set the clock by my bed. Eventually she tired of my survival checklist mentality and excused herself with the advice that I should simply go to bed since I couldn't do anything useful anyway.
I fumbled my way thru washing my face, brushing my teeth, etc. A sidenote on the bedtime toilette routine: Why is it that when you're washing your face by candlelight, *that* is the exact moment that the stupid urban legand about looking in the mirror in the dark and saying "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary" comes to mind?! You couldn't have paid me enough at that moment to try it. Anyhow, I digress....
It felt truly strange to be in total quiet, no comforting white noise of the cats' water fountain or the aquarium filter or the dryer tumbling my clothes. No sight but the flicker of a dozen candles in my living room, reflecting from the 3 cats' wide, curious eyes. A few faint flickers behind curtains in windows across the way reminded me that others were at home, sitting in the same silence, whether they found it to be refreshing or oppressive. After a brief attempt at reading by candlelight, I gave up the fight and went to sleep.
Power returned during the night, and as I pondered the experience on Monday morning while grooming myself for work, I kept thinking back to a point Pastor Bill made in his Sunday morning sermon. We often chip away at our exterior lives, trying to force ourselves to be more like God. We keep track of how often we pray or read the Bible. We engage in acts of mercy or compassion, consciously thinking that this is "what Jesus would do." Not to devalue those things, but we can try to squeeze endless godly activities into our lives, and form words that sound like a gentle rain of wisdom straight from the Bible, but we can never carve or mold ourselves into a righteous, godly being. That change works from the inside out. You have allowed Jesus into your heart, and from there he speaks directly to you of his love and will for you, and rebukes you out of fatherly goodness when necessary. The process is more like an injection mold... We start out as this empty casing in the image of God, and then as He works his way into the very corners of our existence, the mold is filled from the inside, gradually expanding until it is complete. After our earthly existence ends and the shell of our bodies is peeled away from our soul, out pops this newly completed spiritual being, in the image of our Heavenly Father.
Here I was, sitting in the dark, bemoaning that I couldn't do anything "useful" and initially uncomfortable with the silence. How much of my life is like that? Do I volunteer to sing with the worship team because I love to praise the Lord, or because it's one of those ministry activities that should in theory benefit my spiritual growth? Do I volunteer with the kids program because I treasure the youngest members of God's Kingdom, or because it's an opportunity to show my spiritual maturity & leadership, making me feel like a better Christian? Am I just trying to chip away from the outside? And maybe most importantly, is the silence uncomfortable because it throws into sharp relief what's in my heart and mind and forces me to work with God from the inside out instead of saying, "See? Look what I did for you this week? Aren't I doing well?"
Maybe power outages are less of an inconvenience, and more of an opportunity to look into deep places untouched by the light we try to shine for the world.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Celebrity Lookalike
Dammit. I caved to peer pressure and tried the "Celebrity Lookalike" program. I was utterly (although not unpleasantly) shocked that Courtney Cox is my highest rated match (Puhleeease! Does this mean I get to have her teeny-tiny bodytype as well?!). Then there's the eensy wee problem that all of the rest of my matches are GUYS!!!! I think it cut me off at at 9 celebs, so the freakish resemblance to James Spader will not be evident unless you use your imagination. Just picture him wearing almost identical glasses with an almost identical backdrop and an almost identical smile... Kinda creepy really. (Or for Beth and Elise, that would be "Creeepay!")
Elton John?! Phillip Seymour Hoffman?! WTF?!?!
This may take some time and plenty of facial masks, pore cleansings, and alcohol to get over. I blame Devin.
Elton John?! Phillip Seymour Hoffman?! WTF?!?!
This may take some time and plenty of facial masks, pore cleansings, and alcohol to get over. I blame Devin.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Parental Notification
Election Day is fast approaching and Oregon once again faces a ballot measure that will set precedence regarding the sanctity of family and the rights of parents to be involved in the lives of their children. The measure is designed to require parental notification for minors seeking abortion, 48 hours before the procedure. It does not require parental approval or permission, just notification. The measure includes a loophole for cases of incest or minors who might face danger at home if the parents were notified. The loophole requires a judge to waive the notification requirement based on a meeting or phone call with the minor in question.
Silly me, I thought this would be a fairly cut and dried issue. Minors are differentiated from adults because they're different, right? We set age requirements for driving a motor vehicle and for exercising the right to vote. Why? Because the maturity required for certain activities takes time to develop. Granted not everyone is a safe driver at 35 much less 16, and some adults never make their voice heard in the political process, but age increases the potential for wisdom and more informed choices.
For the life of me, I can't imagine that ANY 14, 15, or 16 year old who finds herself with an unwanted pregnancy is mature enough to set aside fear and circumstance to make a decision that will affect not only the remainder of her life but also determine the life or death of a newly formed human being. Hell, I don't think teenagers are emotionally mature enough to have sex no matter what their bodies may tell them.
Next time you walk thru a shopping mall, take note of the ear piercing station at the teeny-bopper jewelry store. Parental permission is required for minors to pierce their ears. Why is this even a question that a teen should be able to undergo a medical procedure to terminate a pregnancy without a parent being involved? Why is it that about half of the folks polled in Oregon are planning to vote against this common sense measure?
How has our society gotten to this place? Is this about "choice" and "reproductive rights"? In which case, do we hold that notion so precious that we think it extends to not only women, but young girls as well? Is this issue rooted in that legendary fierce American independence, that none of us can be owned or controlled? Bottom line: Parents are responsible for the welfare of their minor children.
A majority of Oregonians stepped up two years ago and said, "Marriage is between one man and one woman. We believe that definition is crucial to maintaining the institution of family." Certain lawmakers promptly said, "You know, you're wrong. We're being tolerant and accepting of other lifestyles, and you are clearly either ignorant or just plain bigoted. Since we know better, we're going to go ahead and establish 'civil unions' in order to make Oregon a progressive and accepting sort of place."
IF this parental notification measure passes, I expect the same type of reaction from Planned Parenthood and the other "feminist" powers that be. How can we consider taking away the rights of these pregnant teens? How could a parent possibly know better than a kid when it comes to her body? How, you ask? Because we love them. Because we respect them enough to say, "You aren't ready to make a decision like this without the support of the people who love you best and will stay with you either way."
Silly me, I thought this would be a fairly cut and dried issue. Minors are differentiated from adults because they're different, right? We set age requirements for driving a motor vehicle and for exercising the right to vote. Why? Because the maturity required for certain activities takes time to develop. Granted not everyone is a safe driver at 35 much less 16, and some adults never make their voice heard in the political process, but age increases the potential for wisdom and more informed choices.
For the life of me, I can't imagine that ANY 14, 15, or 16 year old who finds herself with an unwanted pregnancy is mature enough to set aside fear and circumstance to make a decision that will affect not only the remainder of her life but also determine the life or death of a newly formed human being. Hell, I don't think teenagers are emotionally mature enough to have sex no matter what their bodies may tell them.
Next time you walk thru a shopping mall, take note of the ear piercing station at the teeny-bopper jewelry store. Parental permission is required for minors to pierce their ears. Why is this even a question that a teen should be able to undergo a medical procedure to terminate a pregnancy without a parent being involved? Why is it that about half of the folks polled in Oregon are planning to vote against this common sense measure?
How has our society gotten to this place? Is this about "choice" and "reproductive rights"? In which case, do we hold that notion so precious that we think it extends to not only women, but young girls as well? Is this issue rooted in that legendary fierce American independence, that none of us can be owned or controlled? Bottom line: Parents are responsible for the welfare of their minor children.
A majority of Oregonians stepped up two years ago and said, "Marriage is between one man and one woman. We believe that definition is crucial to maintaining the institution of family." Certain lawmakers promptly said, "You know, you're wrong. We're being tolerant and accepting of other lifestyles, and you are clearly either ignorant or just plain bigoted. Since we know better, we're going to go ahead and establish 'civil unions' in order to make Oregon a progressive and accepting sort of place."
IF this parental notification measure passes, I expect the same type of reaction from Planned Parenthood and the other "feminist" powers that be. How can we consider taking away the rights of these pregnant teens? How could a parent possibly know better than a kid when it comes to her body? How, you ask? Because we love them. Because we respect them enough to say, "You aren't ready to make a decision like this without the support of the people who love you best and will stay with you either way."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)