Feel that edge.

Thirty days hath September, April, June and November. All the rest have thirty-one, save one.

I like the month of February. It is the last full month of winter, and it is the shortest month of the year. Flowers begin to bloom in February. Sunlight returns to the late afternoon, and once in a while we get a gorgeous day. I also appreciate February’s unique function in the calendar year: it carries the universal variant, the possibility of an extra day. By shaping February, we keep our dates consistent with the seasons. And all of this happens in just four weeks!

Today also happens to be Fat Tuesday. Lent begins tomorrow, and we will start to count the days toward my favorite celebration.

From that folder of things.

Today I wish that I spoke Spanish fluently and played the guitar better- not necessarily at the same time, although it wouldn't be a bad combination.

I wish that I had the chance to travel more often. I wish for a benefactor that would decide it was his/her goal to finance my education with no strings attached.

I wish that there was no such thing as giving up hope.

.........

Soliloquy
A part written for many
like me, played out
perfectly. Such a performance.

My words, spoken.
They float in the air.
The replies, (should not be)
silence.

With cold hands you caught
a syllable, turned it
over for dead, and pressed it
into your palm.

(I wilted)

The script changed,
and you left me lost
in your holy martyrdom.
I forgot the lines.

.........

Burning

Artist, you shimmer-
sparks shoot
like celebration.
Hot to the touch
and addict of air.
You ignite.

Learner, you devour
wisdom’s wick
and thick wax of time.
Slow, steady flare
pushing the darkness.
You glow.

Lover, we smolder-
heaviest heat,
a thin blue flame.
Deep in each other,
ending in ashes.
We blaze.

Some Saturdays.

Sleep in late. Read for a while. Pause with each step. Savor companionship.


     

Bethany studied. I enjoyed a book. Days like these are hard to beat.

A finger right on it.

I had dinner tonight with a friend from back in the days of my literature classes at university. He and I had shared some intense philosophy courses, and we were conversation buddies when it came to endless discussions about perception, hegemonies and the subversive in academics and life.

After catching up on basic personal details, our conversation swung toward those huge topics of truth and God and the philosophies of spiritual living. We have chosen different paths in the last few years, but I was glad to realize that we were still able to listen to each other and successfully exchange ideas.

It is crazy that we can talk about God. We are such little fleshy creatures. How can we pronounce labels for the divine? And yet I make claims about God every day by being part of a defined faith tradition.

There is no safe conclusion to a conversation about spirituality. By the end of our evening, my metaphors were getting a bit worn out. We parted ways with more questions for each other than answers. But we both knew that it always comes down to what one chooses to believe in the face of the intangible. We each have to continue seeking meaning and truth, and oh, what beauty there is to be found!

...............

In other news, my sister Bethany is home for the weekend! I’m looking forward to spending some time with her tomorrow.

A chance to know.

Find me
in that thick air.
Part the grey clouds.
Grab my hand
and see.

..........

Words can be slippery.

Denise came over tonight, and we tried out the Magnetic Poetry Game that JR and Jen gave me for Christmas.

The game works like this: a player draws a subject card to determine what her poem should be about, and she draws a challenge card that creates rules like write the poem in exactly 15 words. The player then has two minutes to compose a poem from the selection of three hundred or so words on the magnetic board. Points are added by word count and levels of challenge.

It was really interesting to see how our two writing styles affected our performance. Denise could glance over the sea of words and string together a beautiful, relevant poem. I had significantly more trouble. I found that I could quickly create a poem on topic, but I used the words in my head instead of the terms on the board. I’d get stuck on that poetic idea, and I'd spend my time looking for magnetic words that were not actually there. With few exceptions, my two minutes ended when I had two or three phrases among ten uncompleted thoughts. It was very frustrating, but I’m sure that it was a good exercise for me. The process really helped me think about how I compose when I write.

..........

Dan posted another segment of the documentary from our trip to east Africa. This piece tells about the partnership between the Sudanese ministry to widows and my friend Karin’s community group at Imago Dei.

Now in cut time.

It was a lovely, long weekend thanks to the Monday holiday. I did some work. I played a bit. And I slept in late for two mornings in a row.

Last night a few of us went swing dancing again at the Crystal Ballroom. I made the mistake of wearing some slightly impractical shoes, although I didn’t realize the extent of my error until the evening was over. You see, someone taught me to add two hops into a tuck turn. It looked really great, but today I want to numb my legs from the mid-calf down to deaden the pain.

………

Yesterday I was chatting in the kitchen with my mom and my roommate Carolyn. We were talking about bugs, and I took a few moments to celebrate the fact that we have had only two spider encounters in the entire time we have lived in our little house. That is an amazing record since we have two large trees in the yard.

As though the creepy crawlers could hear my boast, what do you imagine greeted me in the shower this morning? A huge spider with thick, long legs. :shudder:

Coincidence? You decide.

And just breathing can hurt.

It is very cold in Portland.

Today the temperatures were in the low 30’s for most of the sunlit hours, and the thermometer has come to rest in the high teens for the evening. Granted, it is nothing like Heather is experiencing up in Canada, but it is a pretty remarkable weekend for us western Oregonians. We’re accustomed to a balmy 50° most of the year 'round.

I walked around outside today to block up the vents that peek out from the bottom of my house. Apparently it is important to insulate these openings so that your water pipes don’t freeze and then explode. That would be a big mess. The world was bitter cold. I may have been close to freezing solid. A quiet, quivering “ah-h-h-h” involuntarily escaped me once in a while when I accidentally touched my icy fingers to my face. It was only a ten minute chore, but it was by far the most miserable ten minutes I have experienced in a while.

Perhaps I am not a “cold-weather person.” I like snow, but I would be perfectly happy to have it as the rare exception to 78° days. In spite of my preference, there are some things I am enjoying in this Arctic Blast (as local news has branded it):

First, it is absolutely beautiful outside. The sky is clear and bright blue. The sun makes everything look clean. It is a rare treat- although best viewed from some warm, indoor vantage point.

Second, I am having a little spring preview of my own. I brought my potted plants indoors to save them from a tragic death-by-cold. The warmer house makes the bulbs think that it is time to bloom, and a pretty little iris decided to help decorate my kitchen.

I don’t care what they say. Spring is coming.

..........

I went with some friends from Vibrant to see Sometimes in April at the African Film Festival that is showing here in Portland. It is a film about the Rwandan genocide, and it was not easy to watch. There is no good emotional process for dealing with the horrific reality of mass killings. There is no way to rationalize or justify what happened. It happened. It did. It does. And we cannot afford to pretend otherwise.

You know that saying about the cliff.

Just because everyone I know is doing it lately- here's my Johari window. If you know me, give me some insight!

I'll check that box.

I realize that I haven’t written very much about politics in the last couple of months. It is not for lack of interest but perhaps a lack of energy. It all depends on your definition anyway. “Politics” is just an evolved word for the way we live together. Its root is the same as metropolitan. It is how we humans function en masse; it is how we treat our neighbors behind the masks of our systems.

Democracy is a beautiful but imperfect idea. It will never be a gospel answer for the world’s problems, but the design does ring true with Western ideas of the right to reasonable self-governance. The citizens that have chosen to adopt it have found it to be fairly successful. And consistent with the philosophy, it has yet to thrive very well without a core of internal momentum.

We all know that in the end democracy just projects how we treat our neighbor- whether physical or national. That personal decision is the one that dictates how we vote. The more the conversations fly around on cable television, the easier it is to forget how immediately tangible those politics really are.

I wonder- what would happen if our country decided to love our nation-neighbors as ourselves? What if we valued non-American lives as much as American ones? Suddenly we would be genuinely interested Mexico’s economic development and the health care of those citizens that have never even seen a doctor. Canadians might start to like us. And really, it feels reasonable to consider most nations as our physical neighbors. We live on a fairly small planet, you know. It just seems that we spend so much time as Americans talking about how to take care of our own while we blatantly sit in the middle of so much plenty. We love ourselves so much that we mow down developing countries to make our lives just a bit more comfortable. It could be really healthy for us to change our national frame of mind.

In all my idealism, I think I am easily exhausted by our broken little human ways. I think that greed will always make a bigger splash than compassion. I am pretty sure that we couldn’t talk our entire nation into loving others as ourselves, so my idea is probably dead in the water. But it is nice to think about, isn’t it? And we can always start small, friends. We can always start small.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Here is my Valentine's Day wish for you:

May you take time today to remember that you are loved, to be grateful for those that you are able to love, and to celebrate the joy that relationships bring. We are so blessed.

Be careful what you wish for.

There are some mornings when I wake up and really want to stay in bed. I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to be just sick enough to stay home from work? I could sleep in, read, and enjoy a day off."

Today I woke up to the full force of a nasty cold, and I realized that this was the day I had imagined. Except I had forgotten that having a cold is really, really awful, and all the perks of staying home from work disappear when you are sick.

A matter of perspective.

I am dog sitting this weekend for Pekah, my parents' Boston Terrier. She is getting a lot of quality time with me as we drive around in my car.



She's a great dog, but I am glad that I don't have her all of the time. I couldn't handle the responsibility.

.............

Speaking of being responsible, I had an eye exam today. I wear contacts, and I had not gotten my prescription updated in a couple of years.

The doctor gave me eye drops to dilate my eyes so she could examine the retinae. Interestingly, she told me that blue eyes take longer to contract back to normal after being treated because the membranes in lighter eyes are less dense than darker eyes.

The dilation didn't bother me until I left the office and realized that I could not focus on anything within a foot of my face. This effect lasted for about three hours. And the sun, oh it hurt! I did take a picture of my monstrous pupils to commemorate the experience (without flash, of course).

A fine piece of work.

I'd like to take this moment to say that NPR's Fred Child has just gained about 10,000 points in my book. He is the host of a national daily classical music show called Performance Today that I listen to in the mornings at work. I emailed the show's general address yesterday to ask about a piece they played that had been recorded in Portland. Not only did Mr. Child respond personally within two hours, but he actually took time to research several other websites that had information relevant to my question.

I don't know if he has a fan club yet, but I may start one.

How I wonder.

If you catch him at the right time and angle, there is a moment when it looks like Orion is standing on my roof. He was there tonight as I walked in the house- limbs blinking, timeless form unmoving. A shared upward glance connects the ancient Greeks and a modern American girl.

……………

Just in case you missed it, please make sure you take time to listen to Bono’s speech at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington D.C. last week.

Shades of familiar.

Last night I went to see a documentary on the lives of Sudanese refugees in the United States. Imago Dei was showing it as part of their Flight Film Festival this weekend. It made me miss my friends in East Africa.

Afterward I drank tea and chatted with friends until late, late in the night. It was nice to know that I had the freedom to sleep in indefinitely this morning.

..........

I was at the wedding of a family friend most of the day. Afterward I had dinner with a couple that is very close to my heart. I really enjoy being young and having so many new experiences to share with the people in my life. We are all baiting adulthood, traveling, learning, falling in love and trying to understand who we are. Everything seems like an adventure lately.

It
is
beautiful.

..........

A poem had been shaping itself in my head during the last two days, and this evening I finally finished sticking it to paper. It's called "Burning," and I'm really happy with the way it turned out. Maybe I'll share it with you sometime.

..........

Here is a very helpful link with some background perspective on the Muhammad cartoon controversies of late. The pen is mighty.

Those glossy, thin words.

Today I went to the store to pick up a couple of birthday cards for important people in my life. This process always takes me entirely too much time, and I get very frustrated in front of that colorful rack. My problem is not in deciding which birthday message is best; it is finding a card that I am not embarrassed to sign my name in.

The words on the cards I give are very significant to me- both what is printed and what I write. I want it to represent something special about my relationship with the person that will receive it. Language is important. Nuance is crucial.

So why is it that greeting card companies feel it is their sacred duty to write very personal, specific and long birthday messages in most cards printed for the mass market? I want to say nice things to the people I love, but I want to be the one to say them. In my own handwriting. Using my own brain. Why is it so hard to find a card with just “Happy Birthday” inside? Many cards are so garrulous that there is no room left for real sentiment. And if I do find a simple card, why does it most likely have an embarrassingly ugly picture on the front? These are the things that keep me up at night.

The most ridiculous of the bunch are the cards that open with a phrase like, “I cannot begin to tell you what your friendship means to me…” and then they go on to fill the card with at least ten minutes of sappy poetry. In the first place, the phrase “I cannot begin to tell you” makes me want to gag myself on a book of clichés- especially when I see it in writing. And then to fill both panels of the inside with barely-skim-worthy verse seems to underline the insult. I will not even begin to address the shameful use of handwriting fonts.

The entire tradition of giving birthday cards sparks a legitimate debate on cultural manipulation and advertisement, but I will admit that I like to make my friends feel special by writing them a note for their birthdays. I suppose I could make birthday cards, but I’m not generally that crafty. I try to buy blank cards when I can find them, but there’s never a guarantee they’ll be on the rack (and most of them are obvious Thank You cards anyway). Until I muster more creative initiative, I suppose that I am doomed to spend a ridiculous amount of time searching that sea of paper.

And friend, if you see me wandering up and down the card aisle in an endless search for an ideal birthday greeting, please remind me that not everyone takes it quite so seriously.