Things in Erin's thoughts- a brief summary.

So many are feeling pain and loss from hurricane Katrina. I cannot wrap my mind around the pictures that we are seeing. I am not sure that anyone really believed it could be as bad as this. My heart aches for those that will never see their homes or family members again.

New Orleans and the other affected cities have been thrown into the most basic mode of survival. The twenty first century still has disease, hunger and filth under all of our shiny machines- we just usually don’t all experience it together. May God provide for the needs of those who have been left without resources. My heart and prayers go out to them.

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Thanks to those that provided feedback on my upcoming work-week options. I have decided to go with Monday- Thursday for now. Although the choice technically existed, I was strongly encouraged by the Forces That Be to come to that conclusion. It was fun to read your various opinions on the subject. Thanks for good advice all around!

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This coming weekend is generally accepted as the last weekend of summer. I am not ready for fall. I need three more weeks of 80° weather, and then I will welcome in the changing leaves and warmer clothes with open arms.

But no, no. I am not going to dwell on this. Rather, I choose- right now, as I am typing- to embrace the turning of the Earth on its axis. Why fight such a large astronomical event? Instead of mourning summer’s passing, I will look forward to carving pumpkins, or something equally fall-ish, to fill the void that the sunshine will leave.

Right, we’ll see how this change of attitude goes. I think I can pull it off.

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In very exciting news, my new roommate (and occasional blog-commenter) Carolyn has just moved into the cozy little house we are sharing. After a month alone, it is nice to have a friend around to make dinner with.

Matisse on the mind.

Last summer I had a fling with Henri Matisse. I trace its roots to the day that I saw "The Snail" at the Tate Modern in London during the late spring. It got stuck in my head, and Matisse's style of simplified-complexity became a background narration for my summer months. I read his biography, talked about his work to uninterested bystanders, and bought a book that showcased his pieces. Eventually the slight-obsession-phase ran its course. But he has kept a bit of my heart since then.

I think the reason Matisse has been so important to me is that he is the first artist that I have ever loved outside of peer influence. Let's just say that his work isn't commonly hung as posters in college dorm rooms, nor is it generally seen at those calendar kiosks in the mall. He surprised me, and I understood him.

Peter Schjeldahl has a write up on my favorite French modernist in the most recent edition of The New Yorker, and I wanted to share a couple of quotes from the article here:

"Anyone who doesn't love [Matisse's work] must have a low opinion of joy." Okay, so this sounds a bit art-elitist, but it made me laugh.

"Picasso and Matisse are poles apart aesthetically. Matisse told his students, 'One must always search for the desire of the line, where it wishes to enter, where to die away.' Picasso's line has no desire; it is sheer will. Form builds in Picasso, flows in Matisse. Picasso uses color. Colors enter the world through Matisse like harmonies through Mozart." See? Matisse gets to be the artistic underdog. Sure Picasso was inspired, but he was also doted on by the French intellectual community. Matisse was compelled by the integrity of his art. He couldn't cater to the luxury of public applause. Perhaps my bias is showing, but, oh, how I do love Henri.

These times they are a changin'.

A lot of changes in the life of Erin lately. Especially at work. We are going through some organizational restructuring, and the results have affected nearly all of my direct coworkers. Fortunately the changes should actually benefit me by balancing the work load more effectively, but it has created some emotional tension among the staff.

My title will likely change from Coordinator to Manager which looks good on the résumé, but unfortunately doesn't actually constitute a change in pay.

My work week may also change from Tuesday- Friday to Monday- Thursday (I work four ten-hour days). The choice is mine, so I wanted to put the question to my friends here: Which schedule should I pick? They both have their advantages and disadvantages. For example, Mondays are great for making appointments, etc. It is a good day to get things done because everyone is at work, but it is also hard to plan anything social because... everyone is at work. Fridays are nice for traveling out of town. But I occasionally have to work on Saturday, so I risk making my weekend very choppy- one day off, one day on, one day off, back to work.

Which would you choose? I need to make a decision by next Tuesday, so I will look forward to your input.

Paris on fire.

Not again. More African immigrants die from a fire in Paris' shanty transitional housing. Does anyone else remember when this happened back in April? There were so many calls for inspections and regulations of public housing. Did they ever happen? Most of these old hotels only have one staircase for residents to use as an exit.

I stayed on the ninth floor of an old hotel in London. The fire alarm went off in the middle of the night once, and I remember the creeping feeling of fear that hit me as I made my way down the winding staircase surrounded by German tourists in their pajamas. Everyone was in high-sensory mode, trying to smell smoke, trying to gauge the danger. Fortunately it was just a false alarm in our case. But that hotel had a fire alarm. I wonder if the families in this recent fire even had a warning.

Life in '05.

Due to extenuating circumstances, I had to boil water on the stove tonight to avoid an ice cold shower. I've never had to haul water in a pot from the kitchen to the bathtub before. I felt like I was in a scene from Little House on the Prairie. Let me tell you, those pioneers worked hard for their hygiene.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go churn some butter...

Father and Mrs. Father.

A bishop in Spain has ordained a married priest to serve in the Roman Catholic Church. Father Gliwitzki was formerly a minister in the Anglican church, and he originally served in Zimbabwe. The appointment reflects some special circumstances (see the article), and it has been approved by the Pope.

This doesn't seem to represent any sort of pending change in the RC Church's philosophy of ministry, but it is significant that they are allowing a(n openly) non-celibate priest to deliver the Eucharist. Perhaps this step will lead to more conversations about the expectations held for those that find their vocation in career-service to the Church.

The games we play.

Jason at TheoSpora tagged me with this little book meme, and I have to confess that I experienced a brief moment of book-status anxiety. Having the library of my life on display makes me feel a little bit vulnerable. Is my nerdiness cool enough for those I wish to impress? Oh well, here goes:

1. Total number of books I've owned: Total, ever? Probably close to 250 in my adult life. I have around 150 with me right now. I love to buy books, but sometimes the library makes more financial sense.

2. Last book I bought: I just picked up Steinbeck’s East of Eden. He has always been one of my favorite novelists, but I’ve never gotten around to reading this one.

3. Last book I completed: It was Thomas Soule’s Applied Economics. Sounds exciting from the title, huh? My dad had been asking me to read it to give some context to our conversations about economic policy.

4. Five books that mean a lot to me: It was hard to pick just five. There are so many which have been immensely formational.
The five on this list have come from some of the different categories of my interests, and they are in no particular order:

1. Figuring the Sacred by Paul Ricoeur
2. A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry edited by Czeslaw Milsosz
3. Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond
4. Foe by J.M. Coetzee
5. Christianity Incorporated by Michael Budde and Robert Brimlow

4b. What are you currently reading: Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder.

5. Which 5 friends am I passing this on to? (If they are not too cool for memes. I’m obviously not.)

Dan at Public Pixel
Dot at Zero to Sixty
Nancy at Other Lives
N at Dryvetyme
Tofflemire at Tofflemire

Time to ring in the new year.

Here are some of the things that brought me joy today:

• Peaches
• Silence
• Homemade ice cream
• Nurses
• My parents
• Prayer
• Birthday cards
• Cooking men
• Family
• Time for reflection
• Hummus and pitas
• Communion
• Eye contact
• Flowers
• Hugs
• Friends that love me
• The Church
• Rice pilaf
• Trust
• Hope for a new year

My heart has been filled by many people that I love. I am so glad that I do not walk alone.

I was shocked and deeply saddened to read about the untimely death of Brother Roger, the founder of the Taize ecumenical movement in France. His efforts to unite the Body of Christ across denominational and language barriers have shaped the conversations about Christian identity and worship through the last sixty years.

May he rest in peace, and may his good work far outlive the shadow of this tragedy.

A light in the window.

We are taking a new path that also has no small number of risks, but which also contains a ray of hope for us all. - Ariel Sharon in his speech to Israel.

I am waiting with an edge of optimism to see how the Gaza pull-out will affect the stability of Israel and the surrounding Middle East.

As much as I agree with the withdrawal, it is hard to see the faces of the settlers who are being forced to leave their homes. It's not the first time that residents of Gaza have been forced out (think original Palestinian residents); it is just the first time that media has given it significant attention.

And a side of anthropology, please.

I first heard about the Incas' complex string systems- known as khipu- in Jared Diamond's phenomenal book Guns, Germs and Steel, and it was recently mentioned on the BBC. It seems that the Incas were the only ancient people group to develop an advanced society without a written language.

Their knots and strings system was long known to be used as a type of accounting, but now researchers are realizing that it is far more important. Certain patterns of knots have been shown to actually represent the names of cities. This development unlocks the potential for the extensiveness of the Incan khipu, and it provides new hope for learning about the long-vanished civilization.

What I find fascinating is that it was a three-dimensional system for language. Khipu "readers" used their eyes and hands to decipher meaning. What equivalent do we have in modern communication? Perhaps Braille evokes a similar sensitivity to touch, but it negates sight. I have heard that many diagnosed learning disabilities disappear when the learner is given alternative ways to process information. I wonder- would using touch and sight give a larger percentage of the population a learning advantage?

I suppose it may be too late to change the essentials of reading and writing systems for the global society...

Dusting off the artistic side.

After two weeks of living without the internet in my house, I am finally connected and online. So what did I do during my time away from the wires? I enjoyed the beautiful weather. I spent at least two afternoons lying in a hammock. I went to a local film festival. I played soccer with friends. I wrote some poetry.

When I was writing, I realized that I haven't posted any of my poems here in a while. Sorry, but I won't share what I wrote most recently. It is still too current a process of emotions. But I will post three poems that I wrote last spring.

Pioneer Courthouse Square: Men

Man sleeping with chin on chest.
Bicyclist in full regalia.
Artful boys smoking cigarettes.
Stiff suits on men with short hair.

Pioneer Courthouse Square: Women

Girl with thick arms in a tight shirt.
Expensive woman at an ATM.
Horn-rimmed glasses under black brows.
Old ladies in white pants.


What Makes Us Sisters
to Bethany

Napping together with the music low
on sunny, Sunday afternoons,
blue light in our windows
and a gentle breeze on our faces.

Sharing a room and fighting about whether
the door should be closed or open
while we sleep because by controlling this
we control the world. (It should be closed.)

Telling secrets and deeper truths
than anyone else will hear--
an unspoken blood-bond of fidelity
or certain bodily revenge.

Talking through all that we love
about our family, faith, friends
and the movements of our hearts
in revolutions of passion or peace.

Becoming women together
and knowing that our mysterious bond
of genetics and camaraderie
makes us stronger to face the world.


I struggle, folks. So far I have really only posted my impersonal writing because it is easy to expose. So much of what I process, whether it was six months or three years ago, makes it into poems that I never feel free to share.

Maybe if you were sitting right here with me I would let you read the more personal poems. Maybe if I could trust myself enough to trust my emotions, then I could post them for anyone to read.

I know that part of the problem is that I like to be balanced, and poetry usually represents the depth of one particular feeling without the context of reasonable perspective.

I am also not the coolest poet that I know. My life is full of writers and artists that blow me out of the water with their inspired work. I am lucky to be surrounded by truly gifted friends.

And some of my poems are about you out there. Heaven forbid that you should read them and recognize yourself.

So for now I'll offer the occasional piece. I hope that as I grow more comfortable with my own writing, I will be able to give you a more complete picture of who I am and how I see the world.

A note to those who comment here.

Dear Surface Ripple readers,

Thanks for visiting my site. I welcome feedback on all of my thoughts posted here whether you agree or disagree with my various opinions.

However please know that if your response links to a website that shows pictures of scantily clad, nude or otherwise over-sexualized women (or men for that matter), I will remove your comment no matter how insightful, funny, or relevant you have been.

I take personal offense to pictures which only exist to sexually arouse disconnected viewers. The unconditional value of the individuals in such photos is too important to disregard it by supporting their consenting or unconsenting exploitation.

If you have a comment that you would like to leave, and you insist on using your own website in the aforementioned way, then please avoid linking to your site in my comments.

Thanks for understanding,

Erin

International policy, nuclear war, cultural anxiety and Iran.

Let me begin by saying that I am against the proliferation of nuclear weapons. I think that the unimaginable destruction that they have caused and could cause somehow wrings the last drops of humanity out of international/intercultural conflict.

But here is what I am processing: why shouldn't Iran be allowed to continue developing nuclear power? They deny that they are intending to produce weapons, although it is an inevitable connection to the technology that they are using. It seems to come down to a question of national sovereignty. How accountable is a nation to other nations for its internal decisions? In the case of nuclear weapons, we say nations are absolutely accountable. Invasion-worthy accountable. But what about human rights? What about environmental policy? As the recent G8 has proven, it is stay-in-your-own-yard governance.

Perhaps some would point out that nuclear development has a more immediate and less preventable potential for harm, and I completely agree. But if we are moving beyond tax code, tariff laws and health care, why are some boundary issues important whereas others fall to the wayside? It just seems inconsistent.

And I can't help but wonder, how much of the fear in this Iran situation is masked ethnic and cultural tension? Think of it this way: if Sweden announced that it had intentions to convert uranium for nuclear energy, would the West be as alarmed as it is with Iran? I don't think so. Iran is an Islamic nation that has voiced tension with Western ideas. They are an unrepentant Other to our cultural norms.

Heavens, we are like the Romans building walls to keep out the "barbarians." It is an inevitable conflict of cultures, and the world is too small to pretend that Iran is not a full participant in the global community. Perhaps we should take some cues from Rome: suppressing cultures does create communication and some order, but in the end it only buys time until a more innovative and relevant nation rises to take on international dominance.

So what is my solution? I propose that we all destroy our modern weaponry, and we insist that any violent conflict is limited to using bows and arrows. But hey, I'm young and idealistic. I get to make those suggestions.

Life lately.

I'm back from a weekend with my college roommates at Lake Chelan. We've lovingly dubbed our little community "The Sisterhood Commune," and I'm glad to report that the Sisterhood lives on in spite of changes in lifestyle and location (marriages, moves, new jobs, and international travel). The only downside was that Megan was unable to make it out from Colorado, though it was not for lack of trying.

Last night my friends from Vibrant threw me a surprise house-warming party. They brought food and games, and most people stayed until around 10:00 PM. I don't use this phrase very often, but I was touched. It meant a lot to see everyone that made the effort to be there on a Monday night.

I am almost finished moving in. I still haven't unpacked my books, and I don't have any art up on the walls. I'll try to post some pictures sometime soon. The around-the-house projects continue. It seems that as soon as I finish one task, there is a new item to add to the list.

Saudi Women's Suffrage.

Saudi Arabia is making some steps toward allowing women to vote. While Saudi elections have their own questions of credibility, the gesture is in the right direction.

The problem of photo ID cards now seems to be the biggest obstacle. The cards are required at the time of voting, and many women feel that it is immoral to have their picture taken. A woman must also have signed permission from her father to be issued a card, and traditional/conservative Saudi men are strongly opposed to the idea of female votes. Read the article here.

I was very surprised to hear about this prospective change in Saudi Arabia of all places. I can't help but wonder what other changes this will trigger in such a historically male-dominated society.

Stroke by stroke.

The interior painting is finished. Powder purple and orange-brown have been smoothed into livable shades of dusty brown and cream. I have an unanticipated amount of paint in my hair. And I officially hate popcorn ceilings.

More work remains for tomorrow, but at least it doesn't involve painting.

Life's little lessons.

Camping never seems really dirty until I am back in the normal, clean world. I arrived home yesterday, hit the showers, and watched the dirt run down the drain. Central Oregon was dusty, hot, dry and swarming with yellow jackets.

It was wonderful to be outdoors. We hiked to the top of the rim rocks to see the valley, and we sat in circles of lawn-chair conversation. I am grateful to have an extended family that bonds over games of Rook in the shade and blazing campfires at night. I look forward to being outdoors with them every year. But I was really glad to get home and get clean.

After showering and starting some laundry, I moved my belongings over to my new house. At the moment most things are still stacked in the garage, but at least the process has begun! I spent today cleaning every room from top to bottom, and tomorrow I will paint.

My first morning at the new place turned out to be quite an event. Allow me to give some background: there is an internal security system installed in my house. The previous owners explained to me that they never used it, and they had no idea how to turn it on or off. It's role during their stay had been limited to blinking gentle green lights when the front door opened or closed.

Now part of the cleaning process was having the carpets shampooed, and I was expecting the serviceman at 9:00 AM this morning. While I was waiting for him to arrive, I noticed that the security panel was blinking. Thinking that I might have some luck figuring out the system, I went over and started punching buttons. After all, how hard could it be to reset a system that required a password from a complete stranger that I have very little chance of ever meeting? Really. I did manage to generate some change. After a few minutes of experimentation, a light came on that said armed, and the blinking stopped.

"Hmm," I thought, "I wonder what that means." About that time the carpet service van rolled up. When I opened the front door to greet him, the panel started beeping in a shrill tone. The beeping got faster and faster. Before the serviceman had exited his truck, the beeping had given way to an ear-shattering siren that wailed above the front door.

I pushed buttons frantically. Nothing affected the piercing, merciless tone. On top of the obvious stress of the moment, I realized what an impression I must be making on my new neighbors. If they didn't know I had moved in by that point, it certainly cleared up all doubt. I shut the front door and ran into the yard to explain my situation. The serviceman went inside to see if he could help while I phoned the alarm company from the front lawn.

The phone number- the one on the panel and the stickers in the window- took me to an operator with the emergency services. She told me that the system was internal (not subscription service), so she could not help me. She suggested I call local alarm specialist.

I called directory assistance (I don't have a phonebook yet), and asked for an alarm company. The operator seemed unaffected by the edge of panic in my voice and the screaming siren in the background. I asked him to pick whatever number looked best to him, and he transferred me with the standard exit, "Have a nice day!"

The service representative at the alarm specialist's number seemed a bit more sympathetic to my immediate need. She mentioned that many alarms are connected to breakers, and others have battery backups in closets. With that helpful hint, I went back inside to see if the carpet man-turned-alarm specialist found the information useful.

The carpet man had tried the breaker, and it didn't help. After a little searching, we found a beige battery box in the top of a closet. We undid the screws and disconnected the screaming hellion. The first moment of silence was almost as shocking as the alarm. The entire process had taken about fifteen minutes, although it felt like an hour.

The events of this morning did not make me feel incredibly intelligent, but it did teach me a valuable lesson: one should never play with an alarm system that she is not capable of disarming. I am sure that there is a deeper metaphor for life in there somewhere.