Sweet Mother of Pearl
Well there's nothing like making your way home and realizing it's not the place of rest you expected it to be. Some people come home and sleep long hours, enjoy liesurely dinners with the family. I come home and get yelled at, escape to my room, Seems like everyone's got different things on their mind these days, and I don't know where I fit in, except for the looming recurring thought of packing up all my crap next year and moving to who knows where. I also have the recurring thought of throwing everything out, donning some kind of brown tunic and living off of the land. I could set up a little tent out around the lakes, better yet, some kind of shanty made of sticks. I would live off of the ducks--err, I mean, berries and figs--and do nothing but think about my classes and go to log chapel Mass. I'd never have to see anyone or face my life again. Sometimes I wonder if St. Francis didn't have a little pent up rage in him when he left Assisi wearing nothing but...well...nothing. If he was even the slightest bit angry, well then, we understand each other. More when I have the heart, the structure, and a motive.
No greater love has a man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.
7.27.2006
7.09.2006
7.03.2006
Dress Shopping
I thought I had abandoned the girlhood woe that is hating my body--no, too strong a statement. As much as Vogue would insist upon it, I don't hate myself. Let's restart. I thought I had abandoned the girlhood woe that is a prolonged, awkward dressing room conversation between me and the me in the mirror, wearing the thing. But apparently I was wrong. I need a dress for some stuff coming up in my life. I spent the day in a flurry of them, all of which were cute, all of which fit me about as well as the glove at the OJ trial. There were gentle rose dresses and severe shifts reminiscent of the Orient, there was the perfect dress that the J.Crew model wore like God had draped it over her and called it good, there was the sweet sundress and the craaaazy print dress, the dress whose green specks looked like mold and the subtle polka dot dress. One dress two dress red dress blue dress. (Try saying that fast; it's hard.)
Now, to save the gentlemen in the audience let me suffice it to say that, well, girls, you can fill in this part of the story. Pick out dress from rack. [ ]. Put dress back. My fettering point came at Von Maur when I stepped out of changing room number 2 at the same time as two tan, 5'4, 115 pound sorority girls. Their dresses were sheer and black and classy. It made my blue sundress look like a lemonade stand uniform, and it's wearer look like a Bavarian barmaid. To make matters worse, the very top of my zipper wouldn't go. It didn't have anything to do with the dress being too tight, but it had everything to do with attracting everyone in the dressing room's attention. It went something like this.
My mom: "I can't get this closed. Barbie, come stand over here."
Lady in nursing uniform: "Sometimes if you grease it with a little soap it'll go"
My mom: "Can you hold this for me while I try to zip it?
Lady in nursing uniform: "Sure"
Zipper: .
Mom: "Yeah it's not going"
Lady in nursing uniform: "Well did it work before you had the dress on?"
My ears began to tune this out and my thoughts drifted to the recently wed Lauren Prieto telling some folk choir girls about her upcoming honeymoon. "We have to go out to dinner at night, and they're all nice places...I think I'm bringing like five dresses!"
"Mom."
"Yeah."
"Can we go get lunch?"
"Yeah."
"Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeing, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised"
I thought I had abandoned the girlhood woe that is hating my body--no, too strong a statement. As much as Vogue would insist upon it, I don't hate myself. Let's restart. I thought I had abandoned the girlhood woe that is a prolonged, awkward dressing room conversation between me and the me in the mirror, wearing the thing. But apparently I was wrong. I need a dress for some stuff coming up in my life. I spent the day in a flurry of them, all of which were cute, all of which fit me about as well as the glove at the OJ trial. There were gentle rose dresses and severe shifts reminiscent of the Orient, there was the perfect dress that the J.Crew model wore like God had draped it over her and called it good, there was the sweet sundress and the craaaazy print dress, the dress whose green specks looked like mold and the subtle polka dot dress. One dress two dress red dress blue dress. (Try saying that fast; it's hard.)
Now, to save the gentlemen in the audience let me suffice it to say that, well, girls, you can fill in this part of the story. Pick out dress from rack. [ ]. Put dress back. My fettering point came at Von Maur when I stepped out of changing room number 2 at the same time as two tan, 5'4, 115 pound sorority girls. Their dresses were sheer and black and classy. It made my blue sundress look like a lemonade stand uniform, and it's wearer look like a Bavarian barmaid. To make matters worse, the very top of my zipper wouldn't go. It didn't have anything to do with the dress being too tight, but it had everything to do with attracting everyone in the dressing room's attention. It went something like this.
My mom: "I can't get this closed. Barbie, come stand over here."
Lady in nursing uniform: "Sometimes if you grease it with a little soap it'll go"
My mom: "Can you hold this for me while I try to zip it?
Lady in nursing uniform: "Sure"
Zipper: .
Mom: "Yeah it's not going"
Lady in nursing uniform: "Well did it work before you had the dress on?"
My ears began to tune this out and my thoughts drifted to the recently wed Lauren Prieto telling some folk choir girls about her upcoming honeymoon. "We have to go out to dinner at night, and they're all nice places...I think I'm bringing like five dresses!"
"Mom."
"Yeah."
"Can we go get lunch?"
"Yeah."
"Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeing, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised"
7.02.2006
Dinner Conversation
We had Winston over for dinner the other night. Kabobs. He was laughing about a riddle. "What do you get when you have an immovable object attached to an unbreakable chain attached to an irresistable force?" Mr. White said that we have never seen the likes of it to be able to explain it. But as I unskewered my vegetables I realized we are it. Immovable object: God. Irresistable force: our maligned wills. Unbreakable chain: his love for us, created in his image, filled with his breath. We can't change the God that is, we suffer violently with every sin to turn ourselves from him, and yet we are forever bound to him as the good that he made and loves. What do you get? Look at your own life, and you tell me. One thing I know: this isn't an impossible situation. And the immovable object wins.
Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake;
watch over us as we sleep,
That awake we may keep watch with Christ,
and asleep, rest in his Peace.
We had Winston over for dinner the other night. Kabobs. He was laughing about a riddle. "What do you get when you have an immovable object attached to an unbreakable chain attached to an irresistable force?" Mr. White said that we have never seen the likes of it to be able to explain it. But as I unskewered my vegetables I realized we are it. Immovable object: God. Irresistable force: our maligned wills. Unbreakable chain: his love for us, created in his image, filled with his breath. We can't change the God that is, we suffer violently with every sin to turn ourselves from him, and yet we are forever bound to him as the good that he made and loves. What do you get? Look at your own life, and you tell me. One thing I know: this isn't an impossible situation. And the immovable object wins.
Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake;
watch over us as we sleep,
That awake we may keep watch with Christ,
and asleep, rest in his Peace.
The Blog
Now I was having a little trouble getting this started because I kept waiting for the ideal time. This is the problem I have with most written journals. I am compelled to start out with something really official or good-sounding. Well, it's my first day writing in this journal! Wow, a new journal! I can't wait! I put a stop to this nonsense with my first Moleskine. I just started writing. Something simple. Something that didn't wax reminiscent of making small talk at an obscure relative's wedding. And by the end of my entry I was moved to put what I truly felt. Journal, I think I am in love with you. It worked out fine. So, on this July 2, there's nothing particularly worth mentioning in the day, I've just finished scraping the sides of a chocolate cake icing can, my brother is driving around in the wilderness with all my clothes in the car, and I kind of have to go to the bathroom. What better time than the now?
With God as my witness, I'll never go hungry again! -Gone with the Wind, Act I Finale
Now I was having a little trouble getting this started because I kept waiting for the ideal time. This is the problem I have with most written journals. I am compelled to start out with something really official or good-sounding. Well, it's my first day writing in this journal! Wow, a new journal! I can't wait! I put a stop to this nonsense with my first Moleskine. I just started writing. Something simple. Something that didn't wax reminiscent of making small talk at an obscure relative's wedding. And by the end of my entry I was moved to put what I truly felt. Journal, I think I am in love with you. It worked out fine. So, on this July 2, there's nothing particularly worth mentioning in the day, I've just finished scraping the sides of a chocolate cake icing can, my brother is driving around in the wilderness with all my clothes in the car, and I kind of have to go to the bathroom. What better time than the now?
With God as my witness, I'll never go hungry again! -Gone with the Wind, Act I Finale
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