respect

absolutely loved this thought from my cousin heather:

Let's encourage our children to appreciate differences. Model for them acceptance. Teach them to admire the beauty of their own & other's imperfect perfections. Be their example, and set the standard high, because qualities such as acceptance, empathy, appreciation & respect seem to be wasting away while judgment, ...disrespect, gossip, material adoration, neglect & selfishness are suffocating our planet.

this was a primary conflict in the relationship i just got out of. embedded in the humor of my former gentleman friend were less-than-dignifying references to women and people of other ethnic dissents. this bothered me to no end, because i recognize how many people have fought and died to end this type of injustice (including Christ Himself). the cycle of disrespect for fellow humans has lasted too many generations and it's our responsibility to have it stop here, with us.

a long/short vegan rant

a few thoughts in response to my own post from friday regarding my (continuing) choice to not consume animal products:

- since i've been vegan for six months now, i recognize i'm at a turning point where i should opt in and figure out how i'm going to make a life out of this or just give it up. if i opt in, i really want to have a firmer philosophical foundation, because i'm that kind of thinker. one of my continuously evolving philosophies is that i don't want to make a negative impact on animal life. like, a "no animal footprint" kind of deal. i think that's what i'm going for. in the meantime, i've been driving 1600 miles thinking about humility, so i want to make it clear that i don't have this all figured out.

- since i've been at Aunt Kathy's & Uncle Dan's, i've been grabbing a lot of veggies from their garden to eat. and every time i do, i have to knock a bunch of bugs off of my lettuce and berries. wait. they're animals. vegan dilemma.

- so, what does respecting animals look like to me? i don't know! for the last six months, it has been not eating them. and i think that's what it means to me. but where's the line? i'm going to admit to my blogosphere that the jam we made has a trace amount of butter in it - during the boiling process, it helps reduce foaming. usually, i wouldn't TOUCH anything with butter in it, but i spent 5 hours making that jam, and i'm eating it.

- i know there is a difference between using animals for food in a humane way and exploiting animals for money. that's why i have respect for small-scale farms that use as much of an animal as possible, who respect animals as living things and not just as a commodity.

- honestly, meat and dairy don't appeal to me anymore. i remember liking them, i remember them tasting good, but there was a time recently where i ended up eating some egg and some shrimp (i don't want to talk about it) and i had two fears: that i would get sick (i didn't - that suprised me) and that i would like it (i didn't - that also suprised me). i'm happy eating things that grow out of the ground.

northwestern vacation, day one

vacation: it's about time.
seattle dave: we met 3 years ago in a dive bar, here in seattle; it's kind of a shady story but it's worked out nicely; he lives in a re-vamped lutheran church with a bunch of artists in ballard.
iPhone: has google maps w. bus directions & is amazing. get one.

thoughts for today:

i don’t know how to evangelize. i honestly don’t know the “four spiritual laws”. and i also don’t spend a lot of time with people who aren’t christians (note: that’s not something that i like). i don’t know how to start a conversation with the intention of telling someone about Jesus. i don’t even know what telling someone about Jesus means. except, i just know who Jesus is to me. tonight, three people told me about their faith. specifically, they shared with me how they’d come to where they are now, which is not following Jesus. these conversations didn’t start because of anything i did. as i said, i don’t even know how to start those conversations, and i really like not knowing. my Jesus, as you know, is not canned, and frankly, He’s not easily explained. it’s kinda complicated, and as much as i’m violating my own beliefs by saying this, i don’t really like getting into it. it’s so volatile, faith is. so invasive. and i’m so much more concerned about my relationships with people than with HAVE YOU ACCEPTED JESUS CHRIST AS YOUR LORD AND SAVIOR that you will not quickly find me asking someone about their spirituality. i will also point out that Jesus tended to be that way, himself. anyway, seriously, three people tonight launched into it with me, and it was great to share my side of the story – how i got to where i am in my faith. i was really pleased & encouraged by their open-mindedness – it was great to be listened to, and i felt like i was treated with the same respect i always intend to extend to others.

i love seattle. i love the musicians busking on the corner, i love the crazy alleyways that require you to back into diagonal parking spots, i love walking to a dive bar when it’s raining, i love the graffiti in the bus tunnel downtown, and i love that the neighborhood pub serves a mighty fine vegan artichoke sandwich.

angry at the sunset

peacoat under my arm
i fight against the afternoon
stare, menacingly at the sunset
challenging it
and my own circadian rhythm
which feels ejected, like that pilot this week
kept up too late with holiday spirit
(holiday spirits?)
i glare and i urge
for the day to stay daytime
or the night to come swiftly
and free me from the confusion.
my skin, my mind, my body
maladjusted, in need of coffee
for its warmth, familiarity
and fringe benefit: alertness
just tell me what time it is.

fishnets, forever.

i would like to stay twenty-six forever. and poor. and single.

so, my friends are so talented it’s disastrous. let me highlight that nick (www.nickabrams.com) and erin (www.quillandsqualor.blogspot.com) deserve particular celebration right now.

nick had a show in OB tonight. i haven’t spent much time in OB. my brother grew up there – he and my mom lived on coronado avenue while he was little. okay, and, if my mom has her way, she’ll be living back in the same place in a month or so.

the hodge-podge gallery was great. i know what the kid’s capable of, and his stuff was fantastic, as i expected. loved having lots of our friends together. adored playing shuffleboard in an alluring way. liked wandering the streets of ocean beach. let me tell you, though, if you want to see the little beach community, you should wear shoes. I had to take mine off – my cougar boots – because as cute as they are, they’re not made for walking. so as we headed to his truck, i took advantage of the first bus bench i could to de-boot, and proceeded to walk in my fishnets. this required me to keep my eyes on the ground to avoid the really gravelly parts of the asphalt. i didn’t get to see much. but the boys told amazing stories and horrible jokes as we walked, and i loved knowing that no one was worried about me. loved hoping that maybe, the next time he grabbed my arm to lead me around something gross on the ground (“um, don’t step on that”), maybe he wouldn’t let go. and i simultaneously hoped he would. that nothing would change, and that everything can be the same as it is, forever.

one turn

“downtown” is a curious geographical term for several reasons. 1) nobody who lives there refers to it as such 2) it’s a funny triangle – 1 side being the 5 freeway and 2 sides being the ocean and 3) between the one-way streets and the distinct economic stratification of the various neighborhoods, you can (literally and figuratively) find yourself somewhere you don’t want to be.

i discovered a new place to park downtown. and i will not tell you where, because then you will park there too and there will not be a spot for me when i want one. no, i am not kidding.

there is this turn you can take when you’re leaving this parking place. and when you make this turn, it seems like you’re in Detroit.

the train tracks are right there, and during this turn, tonight, the train was passing by, making weird train noises. iron-on-steel noises. once, in college, i thought i was a scientist. i had (and have) no distinct aptitude for the sciences, but i studied hard. and from that brief time period i recollected a tidbit from my ecology class: that the train’s noise indicate the transference from mechanical to sound energy, illustrating the second law of thermodynamics. some energy is always lost.

the turn reminded me of Detroit. it spun me under a bridge (the beginning of the Coronado bridge, specifically) and after a second, onto harbor boulevard, where the convention center and the gaslamp district reminded me i wasn’t in Detroit at all, but in the heart of america’s finest city.

laundry room

i stand in the laundry room of my apartment complex. the lights have been broken for weeks now but no one cares to report it to the super. i clink my ice around in my glass and then realize the ice-clinking sound, indicative of a cocktail that’s been consumed already, may sound weird emanating from a darkened laundry room at 8:45 on a Monday night. and i don’t give a damn.

i’m in my laundry clothes – what you wear when you’re washing your real clothes. i have a painting to complete, waiting upstairs. and the dryer will not finish. i’m alone and i’m waiting and the dryer hums. da dum, da dum, da dum, du du du du dum – i hear a different beat and hope it means the cycle’s complete. it’s not. and it occurs to me as i’m longing to know what the sounds of the dryer mean, that i have the strong urge to be passionate about someone. not with someone. i know that feeling, and i know that feeling, and that’s not what i’m talking about. i want to want to be somewhere else, with someone. but i don’t want that enough to not be where i am. it’s a strange duality that i don’t let myself sit in for long. instead i refocus on my contentment. in the laundry room, barefoot with pretty toenails, with the remains of john jameson in my hand, wet with the condensation of what my evening was.

the ocean is the best doctor

i grew up pretty close to here, and visited san diego beaches as a kid, but i've never hiked the torrey pines trail. i need to call it a walk, and not a hike, because it wasn't hard, at all, but there was one mentionable hill and walking up it made me sweat, so that's why it's classified as a hike in my mind. the chronology of that sentence is a little skewed, so let me just explain that until yesterday, i hadn't hiked the trail, and then yesterday, i did. and now i have. hiked it.

you don't really know where you are when you're up there. it's another little world of wild rosemary and rattlesnake sounds and red bluffs and ocean mist and slippery sand-rocks.

and as i walked, i talked to wonderful women who asked about our ministry and my job and indicated that what we do at the church, me and boss, it matters. it was awesome to hear the affirmation that girls are meeting each other, getting connected, building relationships, coming back to church, through our group.

i had blisters on my heels by the time i reached the ocean. i joyfully walked in the water and just rinsed away the pain. i'm not really being metaphorical - when the water came up, it rinsed the sand off and the salt, you know, it stings at first, but it heals, too.

later, the basil boys and a few more walked with jenni and julia and i to beacon's. they surfed, and we floated. the water was so salty - global warming? we could float even completely perpendicular to the ocean floor. and so we did. we floated and twisted and laughed like we were 17 years younger than we are when the waves tossed us around. and we jumped around and we existed in our bathing suits without hating our bodies and we invented new yoga positions in the buoyancy of the saltwater.

and, as i twisted into what i called a reverse bow (because a proper bow would have drowned me) i realized that my back didn't hurt.

the recovery from an epidural blood patch can be really long. usually, it takes at least 2 weeks for the pain from the puncture wound to go away. i've been so ginger with my back for the past week, but successfully rode my bike on friday, walked a few uneven miles yesterday morning, and was bending all inappropriately later that day, with only the memory of pain.

i am greatful to God for saltwater in may and for rattlesnakes that i can hear but not see and for heat waves and for recovery and renewal.

augustella

in my mind, there is a constant inner dialogue between my personalities. they are extremely helpful because i'm able to predict with reliable accuracy how other, real people are going to react to my thoughts. i like having many minds inside of mine.

sometimes, when i'm alone, or when i'm supposed to be, my thoughts become so real that i say them out loud, without intending to. for example, the time i swore at my computer when i realized i'd mistakenly sent an important email without an attachment (and one of my students was in the room).

it happened today. i was driving to the hospital, literally giddy, to see jenna's new baby. i thought of babies. my babies. real babies, like little, little babies. i held isabell when she was just a few weeks old. finley, too. maybe markey. but a newborn? fresh out of the womb? i said to myself, and the universe, aloud, "i've never held a baby the day it was born!"

jenna's stomach was still moving, which freaked us all out a little bit. she decided later it may have been her gown. but she was suprised at what bringing little augustella into the world had done to her body. it hurt. and she was tired. but we all looked at her, and back and forth at jenna and bobby, and kept musing.

"she's a human."
"all the parts that we have? she has them too, in miniature form."
"bobby's a dad."
"she knows what to do."


she kept reaching out and stretching. it must be insane to suddenly not be stuck inside a confined space. jenna used to poke her so much. augustella's little butt sat right under her rib cage and would jut out, asymmetrically. jenna would shove her back into place. i pointed out a few weeks ago that she would not appreciate me shoving her when she was born. and i really meant to man up and teach jenna a lesson, by poking and shoving her baby, now - but then i decided that i love augustella too much to poke and shove her. in any event, i'm positive that she's happy, now, not being poked and shoved.

she's being held. so many loving arms were holding her today. i am so grateful that she has that, and will have that. people are flying from all over the country to see her and hold her and love her. that truth catches a part of my heart and really reminds me of God's love for us. travelling a distance, paying for a plane ticket - just to witness, to behold, to observe this little life. she can't do anything, you know? her grandparents are not going to hear her sing or have pictures finger-painted for them - not on this trip. they are coming out of joyful love - they will be rewarded for thier journey with the joy of knowing that augustella exists. and that's more than enough for them. God just wants to be with us, too. (even when we're not powerful enough to do anything.)

orange blossoms

The quickest, most efficient way to get to my mother’s house is “the back way”, which takes the 60 and then winds through san timiteo canyon. It’s also the annoying way, because I had to use the word “winds” to describe getting through the canyon.

I knew it would be my only chance to smell the orange blossoms, though, so I took it. And I actually drove an additional 10 minutes out of the way so I could roll the windows down and inhale the scent – I am sure I looked like a woman stricken with a horrible athsma attack.

There are hardly any orange groves left in my hometown and on my way to it. My best friend from high school just bought a house where there were once orange trees. And now there aren’t. And it’s springtime and Yucaipa does not smell like orange blossoms unless you drive 10 minutes out of your way, and that happens to be outside the city limits.

There is something about my world that stops when I’m near orange trees. The smell registers in my brain before I realize that I’ve even smelled it. I am very quickly cognicent of the beauty and simplicity and potential of the moment, and just about the time I’m aware that I’ve smelled a blossoming citrus tree, the moment’s gone, and I simply accept that I love the smell of orange blossoms. But there’s something in that moment.

friday night in

tonight i watched battlestar gallactica while the waves crashed just on the other side of the glass i looked through every room in the beach house (there are so many) until i found a blanket, and i curled up on the couch with my favorites, and ate more breadsticks than i would advise you to.

Easter Sunday

It is springtime on Shoshoni Avenue.

The chairs have obviously been wiped down but they have been here so many springs that (candidly) I am concerned about sitting on them with my new Vera Wang bermuda shorts.

I’m being vulnerable, so while discussing concerns, I’ll also share that as I walked through the backyard, which is simultaneously manicured and littered with flowers, I had a temporarily overwhelming fear that I would be stung by a bee while I was here all alone. Really, they won’t return from mass for a half hour, and instead of enjoying the warmth I’d be crying in pain, waiting anxiously for the comfort and bad ass girl scout skills of my mother.

(Sub-thought: I don’t like needing my mother.)

It’s springtime on Shoshoni. My uncle, who is a veteran and a hippie and a caregiver and a friend to the friendless, obviously took care this week to mow the lawn (it’s just weeds, really, but pretty ones, leveled into a lawn-like carpet) and to arrange grandma’s gardening containers just so.

It’s occurred to me that she should really grow corn out here.

ontology of a retaining wall

They did not build this wall to keep anyone in (or out). It doesn't divide the property; I'm pretty sure all this land belongs to her grandma. I reckon that when they went to build this little cottage, and they leveled the ground, they realized that the orange grove could slide into the house in a big rain. So her uncle (I don’t know that she has one, I’m just imagining) loaded up as many cinder blocks as he could fit in his truck and came here to build this wall. I believe the proper term is a retaining wall.

That’s where I am right now. The retaining wall that separates their backyard from the orange groves. It separates those things but is joining together so many, right now, for me, in my heart. It’s cold enough out here that I’ve put on all my pajamas as well as a pair of my valentine’s socks and his sweatshirt. Underneath my spine, her uncle’s haphazard concrete-pouring is not leaving me the smoothest surface to rest upon. I’m perched on a retaining wall (I’m so satisfied, now that it has a name), staring at the stars. As one would expect of me, I ask him to turn the porch lights off (even though they’re playing basketball) so I can see the stars. And as no one would expect of me, I ask her to turn up the Tim McGraw song that’s playing from my valentine’s bedroom, whose windows are propped open so we can hear.

You can see stars in Fallbrook. And, at their place, at least, you can play your shitty music at 1 in the morning as loudly as you want out the windows, because there are no neighbors.

I actually ask him if he would mind turning the moon off because it was too bright. “No can do, ma’am,” was his response, and he turned to put his arm around his love, who reminded him, “This is our song.”

There are orange trees over my shoulder. I can smell the blossoms. She has poured me a cup (not a glass, a cup) of boxed white wine and it helps keep me warm on my wall. They think I’m crazy, 5 feet off the ground and parallel to it. Without a movement, I reassure them. “I’m fine, you guys. Nothing’s wrong. I’m happy.”

tornadoes

It’s a cycle. She talked about her cycle where she will ball up all her anger until she has to channel all her energy into restraining herself from kicking her husband, sleeping peacefully next to her. It’s not his fault, she admits (almost insists), she’s not angry at him. But she’s angry and it’s this cycle of holding it back and letting it out and (I love how she put it) consciously choosing to be angry, to get mad. And she doesn’t want to be this way any more.

And a different she prayed that we would yield our hearts to Him. And I didn’t pray with her for a minute, there. Because I know Him and I know how He is and I know what He’s up to and I don’t want anything to do with it.

Until I remembered that I do. She said, let us yield ourselves, and our hearts, to You, because You’re good, and You’re merciful. And I remembered that that’s true. And I thought, okay, maybe. On behalf of Your goodness and Your mercy, I guess I can yield myself to you.

And then the fear comes back. What if He makes me boring? There’s this recurring nightmare I have of one significant quiet time that takes place sometime in my future. I bow my head to pray (which is hilarious, because when I’m talking to the Lord alone, I definitely pray with my head up, eyes open, lots of gestures) and actually humble my heart (which usually takes me longer than it does in this dream-sequence I’m describing) and in an instant, God has transformed me into a woman in a twin set with no figure and a bun in her hair. She isn’t feisty, never swears, and cooks bland food. She is incredibly peaceful and never doubts God’s love for her and can tolerate they hypocrisy of the modern megachurch and has a few children and is nice to them. And I hate her.

And I wake up and(even now, when I think of this dream) I say, under my breath, fuck. Because, like my first friend, I don’t want to be this way anymore. The not-yielding way. Don’t want to live with the sensation that I am constantly fighting against my own destiny. On the other side, the counterpoint, I see Boringwoman in the brown sweater, who probably would not even think the word “fuck.”

I’ll share what I’m not yielding: One secret: I feel really alone sometimes, and I feel a little alone most of the time. From this secret comes shame (because I realize it’s not actually true and also that my faith in God is ‘supposed’ to negate my loneliness) and anger (doesn’t God love me? Why doesn’t He take away my pain?). In the past, I have turned these emotions inward and come up with two byproducts: depression and busyness, which are both effective at distracting me from the real problem. Depression tells me that no matter what I do, I will continue to be lonely. Busyness tells me that if I work really hard (and make lots of to-do lists, natch) I may be able to avoid feeling the loneliness.

And in the midst of the anger/shame (about the loneliness), as the self-hatred starts to well back up, I sort of remember something Rob Bell wrote. About Jesus experiencing these human emotions. How even He had to do it. Remember the garden? Take this cup, He prayed. The pain sucks. It’s destructive. It’s debilitating. And He did it, too. (And tried to avoid it.) I think Rob went on to discuss how the tension of raw emotion is a factor across which humans relate, and basically, our refusal to experience the feelings is a refusal to connect with other humans.

So, I sit in this messiness. I marinate in the reality that I’m destined to submit to my loneliness on and off for the rest of my life. Aughhh. (Fuck.) All the real-ness of life – the feelings, the truth – is so overwhelming sometimes. I just want to walk away. Have a surface-level life that I can manage with checklists and pretty highlights. It would be so much easier.

I realize the real-ness is better when we sunk down in my broken couches and kicked our shoes off. When another she admitted that she screamed at him on the phone, “maybe we shouldn’t get married”, we all got closer. Our hearts were drawn to hers because her humanity mirrored ours. She probably fought with herself to tell us that. I bet she wanted to tell us where she got her purse. It would have been easier.

That’s what I come back to when I’m in my fist-shaking moods and I say, Don’t You love me? Why don’t you take the pain away? I remember that my loneliness is like the rough side of the Velcro and that other hearts who have felt that or another strong emotion are akin the fuzzy side and that our common weakness enables us to build relationships.

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I am moving to Savannah, maybe. It’s up in the air. In any event, there are tornadoes in Georgia (my heart is with the folks in and near Atlanta who have recently lost homes, schools, churches, workplaces, and loved ones). I have not experienced a tornado firsthand but it has occurred to me that my thinking (and resulting writing) is tornado-esque. I realize that I begin with the outside and rip through destructively because I’m positive that whatever spiritual or generally wise maxim has been established does-not-apply-to-me-and-fuck-you-for-trying-to-help and then I settle back on God’s character and His promises and not only are those calm, but now, finally, I am calm, too. I have found the center, again. My center.

Until the next time.

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Epilogue:
Her purse came from Target, and I have been promised that if I move to Savannah my home can have a basement (and I will be permitted to call it a “cellar”).

jefferson street

my bike tires (street, rubbing)
the wind (my ears, whistling)
the gears (one another, grinding)
my village (itself, resting)

i love LA

i tried to stalk celebrities today. tamely. i went to the coffee bean and tea leaf on Sunset, where stars reportedly get coffee. i didn't see any. but, on a high note, the boy who made my coco mocah (not as good as a brownie frapp) not only said "stine" correctly, but he spelled my name in chocolate syrup on top. (i hate whip.) he called my name, and i said, "oh my gosh. i'm so excited you said my name right." and he said, "i cheated. i heard you tell louis/ernie/franco. but.... i spelled your name in chocalate (cute look.) isn't that cute?" he offered. i obliged.

meanwhile, all sorts of other bad-mood-inducing things happened today, a total of 5 things that each made me very angry, and their cumulative effect is near to making me cry. i hate that. and i try to talk to someone... i call my mom but i remember i'm kinda mad at her anyway, and i call s. and dang it, i can't discern whether his listening is sincerity or ambition. but chris is supposed to call me back and he'll listen to me. good old kickstand.

fabulous: the andy warhol exhibit. i wish he were alive. i would seriously campaign to be his girlfriend. like, i've never liked anyone enough to pull out all the "i'm the best thing life is gonna offer you" stops, but for andy (RIP) i would. his work was SO amazing... he was such a genius in his time. he was for sure smarter than anyone... and he had insight. and raw talent. and humor. and wit. of course, jasper johns is still my favorite but i never wanted to go to a party w. him or anything. me and andy? party till the break of dawn.

i also love LA. is that stupid? get a load of this: i don't care. i really love that city. traffic and all. it's so... metro. and alive. vivacious. the area around MOCA is super nice. really cutting edge... everything. architecture. art, of course. and up on sunset, such good clothes (as i drooled in the windows of kenneth cole, nicole miller.) and me in my new gap outlet jeans. that don't quite fit in the waist. (blame it on the ass. i always do.) back to the point: i just adore the skyline, and the 101 (when meg is fully fueled) is so quaint.

2 things i loved from the old jimmy cd:
"here, you can be anything... anything that scares you. I think that scares you."
and ray this remided me of you: not really you but your melodrama:
"if i don't let myself be happy now, when? if not now, when?"