I Love Wednesdays

This morning I woke up to blue skies and all sorts of frost. As for most mornings, today I lingered in bed until the last possible second, then had to get my butt in gear to make it out the door in time for chapel. Whenever frost has visited us in the night, it doesn't register to me that I should probably get out the door earlier to account for window scraping time. Today, however, my car was parked such that the sun was shining on my windshield, so I was spared the dreaded frost attack. I sort of haw-hawed at my roommate (who was madly scraping her car) as I quickly sauntered down our steep driveway.

Big mistake.

I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and hit a huge patch of ice. And I bit it hard. I got air like in a Looney Tunes cartoon and landed in the classic spread eagle style. Somehow my keychain smashed to smithereens, I lost the main button off my pants, and I dropped everything (except the hefty can of soup I was holding - must have held onto that thing for dear life). And I landed in a puddle. My roommate, bless her, did not die in a fit of laughter, but instead helped me up and offered all sorts of sympathy. I had no time to waste, though, and jumped into my car dripping wet and covered with mud and blood, and raced to school. Wet clothing will dry; I couldn't be late for chapel -- again.

Two minutes away from the school I realized that today was Tuesday, not Wednesday. No chapel. I have a spare first period instead.

My elbows hurt, my bum is soaking wet, my pants are hanging open, I have blood on my shirt, but darn it, I made it to school on time today.

March of the Crocuses

Yesterday, when I walked to the parking lot after work, I felt something different about the air. This morning, as I dashed down my driveway and then glanced into the garden, I noticed something different about the earth.

It is coming. Or has it come?

I don't know about you, but I'm darn well ready for a new season. I'm ready to drive down 88th Ave. and marvel at how pink blossoms can transform a busy, grey street. I'm ready to think of rain as something that nourishes the ground, rather than something that pounds at my brain and reminds me of lead. I'm ready to tie on my running shoes and stop making lame excuses about it being too cold outside. I'm ready for light, for purple, for morning birds. And MINI EGGS!!!!

Dinner Parties

Six Months Ago
couple #1: east side
shoulders brushing
hands intertwined beneath table cloth
couple #2: west side
retrieving unwanted mushrooms from sides of plate
pinky sliding across inside of elbow
couple #3: south side
sidelong glances hidden within private jokes
warm hand resting on bulging belly
me: due north
shivering
wandering
alone

Today
me: due north
found an igloo built for me
a compelling diamond in the light
inside, thick furs and red candles
new songs and ridiculous laughter
a mitted hand within mine own

The Gradual Instant

There are those defining moments in life. Moments when you wish you could press pause so that you could soak in every last detail. Some of these moments we expect to come someday - I like to call them the classic moments - meeting our baby for the first time, holding a loved one's hand as they take their last breath, walking across the stage at graduation or walking down the aisle grasping our Dad's arm. And becoming engaged.

Ever since we are little girls we dream about the moment of engagement. When I was a teenager I used to think about all the most romantic moments possible, and I'd try to guess which one would be mine (and, I might add, I had some fantastic ideas if you need 'em). Then, when I got older and the whole marriage thing didn't seem to be happening any time soon, I decided I didn't care at all how I was proposed to, as long as it actually HAPPENED.

Well, as you've probably guessed by now, the whole proposal thing did finally happen. And, as promised, it was one of those moments that I have carefully wrapped in a silken cloth and put away in a box of gold. I have been carrying my little golden treasure in my pocket, and today I will open the lid and give you a just a peek.

Friday night we went to the school play. Apparently he had the ring in his pocket the whole time and was thinking of doing some kind of public thing on stage. He just wasn't feeling it, though, and figured he'd come up with a plan B. We went back to my place and didn't really have anything planned so we decided to read our relationship books (OK, I know that sounds super lame, especially now that I know he had a freakin' DIAMOND ring in his pocket the whole time).

So, we stood in the living room by the fire, just hugging and chatting (and maybe kissing a little). And we found ourselves stepping into something epic - into the gradual instant. It was a moment neither of us could have planned, nor could I have ever imagined something so beautiful, so true, and so real. The ring was burning a SERIOUS hole in Andy's pocket at this point, so he seized the moment and proposed.

Except, I didn't really believe him.

The moment I had waited for my whole life was upon me and I hadn't expected it at all. I didn't believe him mostly because I didn't believe that my proposal was happening right before my eyes. IT HAD COME -- FINALLY. After so many years of dreaming, so many years of heartache, so many years of searching, and so many years of living without him. Heart pounding, eyelids blinking, head savagely nodding, I told him yes!! I didn't know what to do with myself, so I danced around (which seemed like an appropriate response).

Yeah, so I have a pretty ring on my finger now. And I am getting married. And he is my beloved. God is SO GOOD.

Different Kinds of Puke

Date: Wednesday, February 14, 2007 (also known as Valentines Day)
Time: 8:32 a.m.
Location: Classroom #102, Langley Christian High School
Situation: Unlocking my room minutes before the bell

So, imagine me opening the door and being very confused. You see, it looked like Cupid threw up in my classroom. Red ribbons, balloons, cinnamon hearts, candy hearts, streamers, gaudy cupid hangings, heart stickers, a heart-shaped bell, rotating hearts hanging from the ceiling, red cellophane, and red glitter were EVERYWHERE. On every surface, on every wall, in every crevice. Apparently my special friends snuck into my room the night before and painstakingly decorated everything. I was distracted all day by both the warm fuzzies around my heart and the fuzzies on my teeth from eating so much candy. Then some roses got sent to me. Then we went out for dinner at The Keg and consumed vast amounts of red flesh and red spirits.

And I couldn't stop smiling all day.

Here is just a small sample of what greeted my eyes. And remember, the photos just don't do it justice:

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Date: Thursday, February 15, 2007
Time: 8:00 p.m. (ish)
Location: my bedroom
Situation: finally wrapping the care package I'm sending my sister in Korea (I meant to send it before Christmas - I even made her a Christmas CD, which I sent anyway)

I needed a better box to put everything in, so I decided to look under my bed where I sometimes store boxes (back in the day I used to have a shoe box collection under my bed, mostly becuase I didn't have the heart to throw them away - some o' dem boxes is nice)

Well, I looked under my bed and started screaming, and laughing, and shaking my head, and clutching my blankets. This is what I saw:


For those of you who have read my blogs as of late, you may remember a certain incident with a certain mysterious substance on my backpack. (I also store backpacks and duffle bags under my bed.) I was ecstatic to discover that the orange substance on my backpack had not, in fact, been part of an old moldy orange, but was rather an old, moldy PUMPKIN. Yes, yes, I've had a pumpkin under my bed since November. And, I like to think, it completely encapsulates one of my life's mottos: go big or go home. Thank you, little pumpkin, for not simply becoming half-assed moldy, but absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt beautiful in your ability to make me gag, and feel itchy, and be completely grossed out and incredulous, all at the same time! I have since thrown away the beautiful turquoise and purple Avon duffle bag the little pump was attached to. If you are wondering how in the world a pumpkin got under my bed in the first place, first ask yourself how well you know me, and then check out Andy's post from November 27.

(By the way, what does one use to pick up a moldy pumpkin, anyway? Why, a soup spoon, of course!)

i'm hot.

people are sometimes ascared to admit this about themselves, but not Tyra and not me.

ok. thank you. bu bye.

Metathoughts

Do you ever have thoughts just whiz around in your head without ever finding rest?

Not that this is a bad thing, of course, it just makes for frustrating writing material. For instance, I've been chewing on thoughts of justice and mercy, pain and joy, gratitude and creation, and, well, a lot about my own defects of character, actually. But they have remained just those: thoughts. My problem comes once I consider writing some of my thoughts down.

I think I like looking above me, or inside me, and seeing a glittery, polychromatic swirling of ideas and images that are free and constantly in motion. Sometimes they sashay their way closer to me, and sometimes they wiggle themselves into the crowd. We reach into the beautiful mixture and grab greedily for one of these dazzling beings. Perhaps that is where the phrase "grasping for ideas" comes from. Sometimes we are successful and manage to hook something, and sometimes we keep coming back with more elaborate nets and traps. Maybe that's what happens when I write. Maybe I finally score one of those thoughts, but then I try to trap it in words, too. And maybe words are boxes far too small. And maybe I just can't stomach the tragedy and those sad, lifeless eyes looking back at me on the page. So I let the little guy go.

But what's the point of that? I can't just let thoughts fly forever -- I need to draw conclusions! make arguments! be persuasive! form an opinion! be concrete! grow some balls, already!

But not today.

No, today I will let them fly a little longer. I have tucked my net away for a time when I am desperate. For a time when the thought-tease is too much for me and I am forced -- no, COMPELLED -- to hunt again.

Coming Clean

Some people shower daily. Some, every other daily. Still others, every other every other daily. I am of the every other daily camp, but mostly because I dilly dally daily.

I love to linger. In my bed. On the toilet. While brushing my teeth. While stirring my tea. Most times there just isn't time in all of that to shower, especially since (as we all know) the shower is a WONDERFUL place to linger. Sometimes it's important to quit while you're ahead. Plus, I have a whole theory on soap, but I will save that for another time.

Sometimes I tell people a little too much about myself. This trend sometimes raises its nasty wee head while I'm teaching. I remember a few years ago I explained my showering schedule to my students (yeah, yeah, I'm still not exactly sure WHAT compelled me to do that). I told them that they could always tell what day of my showering schedule I was on by my hair style. I was somehow born with the inability to create funky or beautiful hair styles, so I pretty much only have two. My rule of thumb goes as follows: clean hair worn down, dirty hair worn up (well, sometimes it's up just cuz I'm lazy and/or need it off my face). So, as usual, I went on with class and forgot all about that tidbit of information I had shared. A few years later, one of my students commented on my hair style, (which just happened to be a pony tail, and yes, was a little on the nasty side) and then proceeded to explain to me how he remembered all about my showering schedule, and asked me if I still adhered to it faithfully. Um, uhhh. I couldn't believe he remembered!! Yikes. I love how kids remember the important things we teach them in school.

So, where am I going with all of this? Oh, yes, showering. So, because of my report card heinousness, I especially did not shower this morning. I though nothing of it though, as this is quite common with me (and, let's face it, our head doesn't need all that nasty chemical crap, anyway).

In class today:
Student in back row says to girl in front of him: "It looks like she just rolled right out of bed and came to school."
Me (having overheard): "What!!! Did you just say I LOOK like I just rolled out of bed? What are you implying? That I look HORRIBLE?"

And then I went off for a bit, concluding with, yes, I did just roll out of bed and then come to school, but a woman NEVER wants to hear that people actually notice.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Two Words

report cards




It's amazing how so little can say so much, no?