one way of looking at a blackbird

On my walk, I spied a blackbird seated on the top of a leafless tree. It would have been a profound scene brimming with metaphor except that the bird seemed to be having a ridicuously good time. It was windy, and he was riding the branch. Naysayers are thinking, “Birds don’t have fun; your use of pathetic fallacy nauseates me.” I reply, “Silly naysayer, you had to be there.”

This crazy scene triggered a literary connection. When I was in high school, Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” was one of my favorite poems. “It was evening all afternoon” ranks as one of my all time favorite mind-bending but true sentences. Here’s a link: http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/stevens-13ways.html.

Stevens sold insurance and was a little wacky. He believed imagination was God. He also believed that the human intellect has seasons, which I agree with him. Wacky people can make great poets, and blackbirds can have ridicuously good times on sunny afternoons in leafless trees.

on facebook

Giving and receiving virtual food is disturbing and fun. What is the etiquette of sending a mocha cupcake to a friend on a diet? Poor taste?

Some of the new applications on Facebook remind me of playing as a little kid. My sister and I had a toy kitchen complete with plastic dishes, vegetables and meat. We’d cook each other dinner. We had dolls and imaginary friends. We had imaginary kingdoms, wars and cars. Now on Facebook, I can virtually bake a virtual cake and virtually feed a virtual cat. I can send an egg that will hatch origami. Some of the apps are creative and fun. It’s fun to play and send gifts that don’t cost anything.

Facebook also serves as a replacement for Kindergarten’s Show and Tell. I can post pictures of your latest party and/or adventure. I can rate the books and movies I’ve read and seen, demonstrating (possibly) my knowledge and hipness. I can share your thoughts and ideas.

Facebook provides an outlet for the “Mom, Mom, watch me” reflex I never quite grew out of. I can update with my status with “is at the library” or “is vexed”. I can list my favorite music and tv shows.

Inversely, Facebook allows me to observe and comment on other people’s lives (or Facebook portrayals). I can write, “looks like fun.” It even reminds me of people’s birthdays. I can keep up with friends I live far away from

I enjoy Facebook but worry about privacy and replacement of real interaction.

Can you think of more parallels between FB and life as a little kid?

gratitude

Today’s sermon was on gratitude. I didn’t find the words and arguments persuasive, but gratitude itself. Gratitude is a posture; it’s a smile. It’s asking and receiving or, sometimes, just receiving. It’s awareness of other; it’s self awareness: No man is an island. It’s perceiving my neediness. It’s enjoying beauty and surprise. Saying “thank you” declares a connection between the person and me. “Thank you” seems close to “I love you” in a lot of ways. “Thank you” is along the lines of Wesley’s “as you wish” in The Princess Bride.

At times, faith and God seem an abstract pursuit. God is love. Theological language tends to be squirrely. It’s easier to let them float around as lofty ideas, but, at one level, faith, hope, love and gratitude are everyday attitudes. An old monk summed up Benedictine theology: “Fake it till you make it.” Bonhoeffer suggested that faith was a product of obedience. Our hearts, heads and bodies are connected; I forget this connection.

According to the sermon, the practice of gratitude improves your physical and emotional health, and I dig the health and wealth gospel. Here’s a list of five things that made me grateful today.

1. a ginormous, insanely (mad?) delicious cheeseburger with “greek fries”.
2. the writing co-op of kindred spirits.
3. lists
4. frankness
5. people who bring ham sandwiches to interfaith dialogue potlucks with Jews, Christians and Muslims

Rule 17

This morning, I finished reading Strunk and White’s Elements of Style. It’s pithy.

Rule 17 caught my attention: “Omit needless words.” They expand the idea: “Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all sentences short, or avoid all detail and treat subjects only in outline, but that every word tell” (Strunk and White 2005 p 39).

The rule hits me on different levels. This rule presumes that the writing makes a necessary point, and places responsiblity on the writer to express worthy ideas well. “Unnecessary” is a harsh word, but places the author as master of her verbal domain. She is visionary, architect and builder; she understands her goal and what’s needed to reach it. “Unecessary” implies sound economy, strong governance and clear objectives.

Sometimes, I forget the effort involved in thinking and writing well. Once during office hours, a professor told me that there are two distinct aspects to writing: process and product. He went on to say that the process is for the author and the product is for the reader. The process is necessary to the product; the product is the conclusion of the process. His point was that I never reached the product of writing–that I was lazy and, consequently, selfish with my writing. A person writes to develop her ideas: process. A person writes to share her ideas: product. Developing the product clarifies and evaluates the necessary components of the process.

My professor’s observation was apt. Sometimes I get so involved in the process that I forget my goal. Sometimes, as I write, my goal changes as I discover a facet to an idea I hadn’t considered. After all, writing is a creative process; however, the creative process is a mean to a specific end. And, the end doesn’t constrain the art and creative process but guides it.

The weight of Rule 17 rests in the last sentence of the explanation: “This requires not that the writer make all sentences short, or avoid all detail and treat subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.” I realized the connection between my writing and my life. Good writing requires that every word tell; a good life requires that every deed tell. In both my writing and my life, I allow for a lot of clutter; tend toward being lazy and selfish; and lose sight of the main idea. In both, I need to decide what’s necessary and omit anything that detracts. I need to be more aware and deliberate in the way I write and the way I live.

Benched

Today, I read a lot of dating articles in a online Christian singles ‘zine to get a feel for the writing. I was checking to see if it were a possible venue for me. I’m still undecided on how well suited I’d be for it. But the articles reminded me of the similarity between dating and job interviews. My brother calls first dates “interviews”. I think, I’ll start calling interviews “first dates”.

Both dating and interviewing remind me of ball sports, and ball sports are games*. Applying the transitive property, dating and interviewing are games. I’m not good at ball sports or games. Rather, I’ve lettered in cross country, swimming and rowing. I excel at sports that are straight forward and based on individual performance. I race; I don’t play. Give me a start and finish line and I’m set.

Interviews are a sort of game that I haven’t mastered and at some fundamental level don’t understand. I wish I could watch interview tapes the same way I watched video clips of my rowing with my coach. We watched my mistakes and then discussed how to correct my stroke.

Ultimately, I find interviewing an exercise in seeming, and artifice nauseates me. This attitude is my problem. I can’t offer alternatives to an interview. There needs to be an intermediate step and some form of evaluation before a stranger becomes a (marriage or business) partner. I would just like the process to be more human

As a control freak, I find interviewing frustrating. I’m at a stranger’s mercy. I’m on the losing end of the power dynamic, and by nature I’m an egalitarian. I feel like a pet monkey cutting flips when I have to “sell myself”.

Writing this entry made me realize I need to reframe how I think about interviews. I need to come up with a frame that isn’t combative or adversarial. Reflecting on interviews I’ve aced would help me sort out what I need to do. Interviewing has to do with self awareness and relating to people. Athletics taught me a lot about my strengths and weaknesses. I need to let interviewing do the same. See my job hunt as an opportunity to grow instead of an exercise in potential rejection.

(* A lot of games were designed originally to prepare soldiers for battle– to give them the physical and mental toughness and agility to fight. Games also provided a physical and mental release from the stress of war. Using my logic, do dating and interviewing prepare a person for battle?)

saving change

Since January 1st, I’ve saved my change in a jar. The jar is already getting heavy. I like to guestimate how much money is in there like a jelly-bean counting contest.

Three old men inspired me. As I was waiting in line at my bank, a man was pouring change out of a coffee can into the green change machine. He ended up with well over one-hundred dollars. Then two other codgers did the same thing with the same result– over $100.

The lady next to me, who was enthralled as I was in the old men’s coffee cans, told me that she collected change, but she cashed it in every month or so. Her kids are involved too; she encouraged them to pick pennies off the ground because they all add up.

I need to plan how to use the money. Part of me tends toward the altruistic– I could buy some goats for kids in Africa. Or, I could buy a cashmere sweater. Hmm. Probably, I’ll end up doing something fifty-fifty (a goat for you, cashmere-lined gloves for me).

It’s only January, and the change is about three inches deep. It reminds me of “a long obedience in the same direction” logic. My change jar is a concrete lesson in patience and perception. It’s fun to watch the money grow.

I wish I could watch myself grow more mature and patient in the same way. My change jar reminds me to be encouraged by tiny changes. I will never become an Olympic marathoner, the Barefoot Contessa, a concert Pianist or Mother Teresa. However, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t practice running, cooking, piano and obedience and love. Furthermore, I should take the same pleasure in my thirty minute jogs and cooking experiments as I do in dropping change into my jar.

Pinkling’s Finds

What a girl wants, what a girl needs: The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and EB White, illustrated by Maira Kalman. Grammar made fun and funky. Pictures increase this reader’s enjoyment tenfold.

Feed the Hungry and Stretch your mind: www.freerice.com. Procrastination with a conscience: it’s a vocabulary multiple choice quiz; every correct answer somehow donates rice to needy people. I’m fuzzy on the details, but the words are fun. (Thanks Tam.)

Lounge Lizzard’s liturgy: www.sacredspace.ie. Irish Jesuits constructed the site; it’s thematic prayer and scripture reading. I like this site, but some days are better than others. Some of the meditations linger with you. Example: what makes you hopeful? That’s a good and hard question. (Thanks Julio.)

an interview and engagements

Melancholy (pronounced with a British accent, of course) kept me company all day. So demure is she, I can’t imagine hinting that she should depart. It’s been one of those Jane Austen parlor days. Perhaps, Mel will slip off while I sleep.

Things have gone well all day; Melancholy’s visit is quite unnecessary. I had an interview that went over an hour longer than I expected, which was good… and stressful. The “small chat” went well enough that I do think within my next thousand interviews something might click. This conversation almost redeems my last one. Of course, I was completely infatuated with the job for the interview I tanked. I would rate my interest level in this one: moderate. But, I really liked the guy with whom I’d be working, which raised my interest level. C’est la vie.

Today I found out two of my friends are engaged. In a traditional sort of a way, I got a nifty invitation in my mailbox from Dallas, TX. Their webpage reads, “It only took them 21 years to figure it out. Jenny and Todd dated when they were 14 and 15, respectively. They have stayed friends throughout the years, and finally found love where they least expected it: in each other.” I find their story utterly romantic; it rivals Jane Austen– maybe Persuasion or Elinor in Sense and Sensibility.

For the other one, I discovered it via Facebook. Her status update reads “is enjoying the free internet at the Tampa airport and is officially planning to enter the patriarchal, bourguouise institution of marriage.” The fact this friend is even considering such an institution makes my inner Republican smile!!

Heath Ledger was found dead, naked in a NYC apartment. There goes my engagement announcement. Alas, I must go sort my nerves over a spot o’ tea.

Musings on Border Patrol

“Everything really interesting and powerful happens at borders. Borders teem with life, color and complexity. In nature, we find the most diversity where different ecosystems merge. We call these places ‘edge habitats.’” (Pipher 118 (2007))

I substituted “transitions” for “borders”. I identified with this opening of a paragraph in an unpredicted way. I hijacked the author’s ideas and took them with me down my job-seeking path, which has a lot to do with who I identify myself.

I think of my “edge habitat” in terms of “liminal space”. “Liminal Space” was a name of an arts thesis of a girl I knew. She wrote poetry and did collage with trash. It was ultimately about transformation and perspective. A departure anticipates an arrival, etc. “Liminal” is hip… now. I first came across it school. “Limin/limen” means threshold in Latin. I was taken with the concept because there is so much liminal space; there are so many borders. Borders, of course, have two sides. We live our lives in many, constant dialectics; there are necessary tensions that stretch and grow us.

The imagery of thresholds and crossroads, i.e. borders, runs throughout the Bible and all of literature. Ancient Christians referred to themselves as followers of The Way. The Psalms open with the choice of paths: “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked…” Jeremiah reported: “Stand at the crossways and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls(6:16).” Walking the narrow path takes constant vigilance; it isn’t the default setting. My default setting is selfishness and safety. Sometimes hope even wears me out.

A friend adressed my border zone. Challenging me to schedule fear into my life, he suggested three hours a week. I snickered at him, but I think his point is seeping into me. I haven’t scheduled fear per se, but I do scuttle out of my emotional comfort zone more since that outrageous conversation. And, it helps me frame things in terms of courage rather than failure. At least I put myself out there.

In summation, there is no summation– these are only musings. Seriously, liminal space is powerful and interesting. Remembering borders and transition are good, I need to be mindful and prayerful instead of a whiner. To realize that border crossings can be dangerous, and growing pains are real. But, danger, fear and pain aren’t inherently bad. I need to be afraid… some. Realizing I’m not in control and don’t know the answer brings me closer to reality: I’m not in control, and I don’t know. That’s exciting.

ordinary time in review

Highlights:

Seeing Barry. We talked rowing, which was very invigorating and made me want to join the local masters’ team. As his screensaver, he had a picture of Mt. Fuji that I took. And, he encouraged me in his cynical, honest way. I haven’t written him a TY yet.

Reading Island of the Blue Dolphins with one my third graders. We both shed some tears when Rontu died. I struggle with feeling useless right now, but having a front row seat to watch a little kid fall in love with reading is life giving. It’s so good to feel and share the power of books.

Reading Rob Bell’s thought-provoking “Sex God”.

Talking with Mand. Receiving an email from Lee.

In cooking class, Marcia finally discovered something I have a knack for– a rolling pin. I roll well, my friend. No matter, I’m no natural kneader. Kneading’s for the birds.

Trying a new restaurant, Dish; I liked the squash casserole and sweet potato salad.

Walking in a cemetery at night.

North Carolina snow.

Playing the piano one hand at at a time. I’ve dug into Bach’s Arioso, why warm-up by walking when you can sprint?

Lowlights:

My incredibly incoherent phone interview for a job I really, really wanted… and still want even though I nixed all possibilities with the times I used “stuff” and “things” in the “small chat”. I felt kind of detached as I rode the flush down the toilet.

The bad mood I’ve been in. Yay, for hormones… at least I have some physiological excuse.