This Blog Has Moved to http://hellosaidjenelle.wordpress.com

Happy Mama's Day!

2008-05-11T16:40:00.002-04:00

Don't send a lame Mother's Day eCard.
Try JibJab Sendables!

I heart you, Mama Rose.

[This blog is no longer in use. It is only a backup for my real blog, on Wordpress. Thank you. And goodnight.]

The Blog is Moving.

2007-11-23T00:02:00.000-05:00

(My bags are packed, and I'm ready to go.)

Starting today, my new blog address will be:
http://hellosaidjenelle.wordpress.com

It's time to put a new dress on her.

Click here to follow me over to the new.

(Suitcase photo by Heather)

I Think This is Better

2007-11-22T20:50:00.001-05:00

...than Buy Nothing Day: Make Something Day, courtesy of The Ecclesia Collective.

But I say we call it "Make Something Weekend," since my Friday will be consumed by my finishing these 25 pages of papers.

Let me know if you make anything, and maybe we'll get some ideas from each other.

[It's Thanksgiving so] Name that Psalmy Tune

2007-11-22T00:02:00.000-05:00

I am thankful that God really likes good words and poetry and songs. I am thankful that the biggest book in the canon is a Songbook. I'm thankful for the mysterious way those Psalms have pulled me out of despair, so many times. I'm thankful that King David sang/shouted/asked such awful (and awfully honest) questions--like, God-Why-have-you-forsaken-me--and then Jesus shouted that self-same question on the cross. (Jesus must've sang a lot as he grew up.)

I'm thankful that God makes room for our questions, and then doesn't leave the room.

I am thankful for 150 songs of which I do not (yet) know the ancient tune, nor the official iTunes title.

One of the ways I try to interact with the Psalms is by giving the (boring) chapter numbers imaginary song-titles. (It was Tate Johnston's idea. I snuck into his Bible once.)

This summer I got a shiny-new TNIV and decided to write some Psalm song-titles all over again. Over the next week or so, I'll show you some of the titles I've made, in bundles of 15. (I started reading mid-songbook, so I'll start with Psalm 89). Feel free to add your own titles to your favorite secret Psalmy tunes:

Psalm's Song Titles, as I Imagine Them (89-103)

89. Even in Pain, Your Faithfulness Reigns
90. Our Days are so Short!
91. His Shelter and Protection
92. How to Stay Green and Fresh
93. Stronger than the Seas
94. Arise, Judge and Lover!
95. Do Not Harden our Hearts
96. The Righteous Judge is Coming!
97. The Lord of All the Earth
98. He Will Judge With Equity
99. Worship at His Feet
100. Say "Thank You" First
101. Help Me Live Your Justice
102. Pain and Promise
103. Forget Not His Goodness, You

(Headphone self-portrait by Shifty Eyes)

Mercy is Entirely the Subject

2007-11-21T14:26:00.000-05:00

I ducked into my favorite local coffee shop early this morning and ordered an Americano in a warm mug. Sitting down, I felt slightly naked because I didn't have a book with me. I always carry something. (I think it's like policemen who carry guns.) At least I had my little moleskine journal.

Knowing that I needed to defrag from the flurry of papers I'm writing for classes, I thumbed through used books from the shop's corner shelves, and found a tattered gem: Writers at Work: The Paris Review Interviews. Interviews with poets like Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and Marianne Moore, and they're talking about the process of writing! (In 1963 it cost $1.65.) It's true. I get high on old books.

Robert Frost is interviewed first. His glib tone translates perfectly from those old tape recordings down onto the pages. I scribbled a handful of his words on the creative process, and a few concerning a certain ancient book:

"I noticed that the first time in the world's history when mercy is entirely the subject is in Jonah...Jonah is told to go and prophesy against the city and he knows God will let him down. He can't trust God to be unmerciful. You can trust God to be anything but unmerciful. So he ran away and--and got into a whale. That's the point of that and nobody notices it. They miss it." -Robert Frost

I like that Jesus even hides in the theology of old poets. In his pre-whale days, Jonah would only go to Ninevah if he could trust God to be unmerciful towards them. Since he (obviously) couldn't do that, Jonah runs, presumably pouting, "and got into a whale." Mercy is entirely the subject.

I am awfully good at pouting, I'm afraid. Isn't it strange how we humans want mercy for ourselves, but not for the ones we'd rather not forgive?

(Read the whole Frost interview here.)

(Mercy photo by Summers)

I Am

2007-11-20T17:26:00.000-05:00

I am asked to impersonate Cinderella, on occasion.

I am taking Echinacea and the letter C in a preemptive attack on you, germs.

I am wondering how to get a Ph.D for free.

I am a collector of old paper goods that fold well.

I am sure that we fold well into each other when we are honest.

I am driven by the possibility of collectively unlocking the 90% latent creativity unused by the human brain.

I am convinced that the smartest principles are the ones Jesus taught.

I am glad when I notice that my friends are accidentally prophesying hope to each other.

I am motivated by seeing lives transformed incrementally. In the small moments that seem insignificant.

I am writing it all down.

(Photo by Pixelberber)

Mobile upload. Missing the Train.

2007-11-19T18:17:00.001-05:00

The nice thing about missing the train is...having coffee with a great friend, instead. Ladies and gents, I give you Trevor Borden's wise hand.

Sad Mobile Upload. Stolen seat.

2007-11-18T22:32:00.001-05:00

Late breaking news in the travel adventure. Someone stole my nice new bike seat with the great shocks. The wheel and axle were locked up, but how do you lock up a seat? Trying real hard to bless instead of cursing right now. Lord let the person who sits on that nice cushy seat have a radical encounter with you. And let me find a new seat tomorrow, please. Yeah.

Mobile upload. Beach bonfire.

2007-11-17T23:54:00.000-05:00

At the beach, brother Jesse twirls fire.

Mobile upload. On train.

2007-11-17T19:12:00.001-05:00

(My favorite place to hide.) Do you know the number? It's not twenty three.

Mobile upload. Flush.

2007-11-17T18:48:00.000-05:00

This made me laugh.

Mobile upload. Union Station

2007-11-17T17:57:00.001-05:00

The Amtrak lady took one look at me and said "Sorry. No bikes allowed on this train today." And then my eyebrows went sky high. And then she giggled. Amtrak lady got me. The train is delayed so I'm power reading. There's a guy behind me going to Carpinteria and wearing a large cowboy hat. Curious.

Mobile upload. LA metro

2007-11-17T17:03:00.001-05:00

The weekend rucksack definately changed my center of gravity on the bike ride to the metro. But I made it.

Biking to Santa Barbara

2007-11-17T15:54:00.000-05:00

To commemorate my second day of 28 years of age, I am trying something new. I'm biking from the Klein house in Altadena to Santa Barbara. Sweet Jesse Borden is planning a tri-birthday bonfire for Elise, Trevor, and I tonight. How could I miss that?

Yes, I'll be using some Metros and Amtraks and possibly a shuttle along the way, but I'm gonna try to do this whole trip without any cars. The trick is that on my back I'll have my red rucksack filled with clothes, books for writing papers due Wednesday, and one laptop named Pearl. I'll bike back from the Pasadena Metrolink just in time for Chuck Kraft's class at Fuller on Monday night.

I've got my helmet, Ma, don't worry.

Just me and my blue Schwinn, and some rail/metro tickets! I might send some mobile photos along the way.

"Hello," said You.

2007-11-16T00:02:00.001-05:00

Thank you, one and all. A creative bunch, you are. I like birthdays. Thank you for humoring my weird birthday wish. I will continue to post any new photos as you email them to me. Look at all these beautiful people!

***Update: New transatlantic photos at the bottom!

Mama and Papa in Maryland (photo in Hawaii)

Baby Drake (standing in/sleeping in for Joy)

Pam and friends (Arusha, Tanzania)
(Sweet "Hello" in Swahili-ness!)

Morgan, Emily, Bruce, Allison, and Ziggy the Cat (Altadena, CA)
(I live in their house.)

Mack (Altadena, CA)
(I also live in her house.
It's the same house. Big happy family.)

Melissa (South Carolina)

Lisa (Arusha, Tanzania)

Cari (Santa Barbara - but her heart is in the Pacific NW)

Sweet Jane and Tilly (Prague, Czech Republic)

Heather (Arusha, Tanzania)

Byron (a.k.a. Captain Borgan), Chai, and Chapatis! (Some nice breakfast table in Tanzania)

Bill and Tina (Porto, Portugal via East Africa)

Colin (Arusha, Tanzania)

Dan and Sue (Altadena, CA)
(Mama and Papa of the Klein house)

Arianna (Santa Barbara, CA)

Lord, Won't You Buy Me a Mercedes Benz: Synchroblog

2007-11-15T00:03:00.000-05:00

When it comes to Money, I'm afraid that the Church in the West often finds herself parodied by an old Janis Joplin song.

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

"Come on God, baby, I've worked so hard for you, can't you just..."
As Westerners, we tend to believe that God owes us financial providence in exchange for our allegiance and (our sometimes occasional) obedience. I know I've believed the lie. It's deep within the fabric of the American Dream. It's deep in foundations of the Western Church that was coddled by the Industrial Revolution. I know, because I'm a part of it.

Jesus sent his disciples out on journeys and told them to take nothing with them, to make no lodging arrangements, and to bring no provisions. He taught them to give up their rights to "things." He taught them how to rely on the Father for their needs.

I would like to be a part of calling the Church in the West back to doing what Jesus did, and teaching what he taught. When it comes to Money, Jesus warned us that our allegiance to God would be challenged by the stuff. Shouldn't that scare us, just a little?

I'm in my late twenties, and I'm only just starting to make sense of all of the mixed-messages I've received from the local church concerning money. In short, I wish the voice of the Church sounded more like the voice of Jesus. I wish I was taught to avoid debt at all costs, to live simply, and to rely on the Father, even if that means looking foolish.

I've failed enough at money. But I've resolved to learn all over again. I'm working to pay off my student loans as soon as possible, to ride a bike to save money, and to do my best to live simply. I really believe that simplicity is Sabbath. There is Rest in letting go. God has taken excellent care of me as I stumble along. I like that.

(Janis' Passport photo by Savaman)

Synchroblog Tomorrow: Money and Church

2007-11-14T23:45:00.000-05:00

What happens when you put two taboo subjects together and discuss their relationship with each other? Find out by following the links to this month's SynchroBlog. Money and Church is the topic. Do you think they belong together? or is it a problem when they meet? Follow the links, and watch the fur fly!

The Check That Controls

Pushing The Camel: Why there might be more rich people in Heaven than in your local Church

Trusting God- A new perspective

Walking with the Camels

Greed and Bitterness: Why Nobody's Got it Right About Money and The Church

[Theocity (title TBA)]

Money and the Church: A Fulltime Story

But I Gave at Church

Moving Out of Jesus Neighborhood

Money and the Church: why the big fuss?

Coffee Hour Morality

Bling Bling in the Holy of Holies

Magazinial Outreach

Money's too tight to mention

Bullshit

The Bourgeois Elephant in the Missional/Emergent Living Room

When the Church Gives

Who, or What, Do You Worship

Greed

Silver and Gold Have We—Oops!

The Church and money

Shameless Birthday Reminder

2007-11-14T23:00:00.000-05:00

If you want to take part in my photo birthday present request, this is your friendly reminder. You've got about 24 hours, my friends.

Blog Your Heart Out - Part 3

2007-11-13T22:13:00.000-05:00

Perhaps the silliest blog question I've been asked in recent days is, "Nelly, can you please help me pimp my blog?" And so, this post might also be delicately named, "Three Easy Ways to Pimp your Blog."

1. Use one or two widgets. They're free and make your blog more interactive. Stick them permanently in your sidebar panel, or in the occasional post. I use Beautiful Beta's widget for showing recent comments. I also sometimes use stuff from the vast assortment of widget-junk at Widgetbox. I also use Shelfari's book-displaying widget, and Majicwidget for the ever-wonderful blog poll.

Blogger has many pre-built widgets for you to arrange and use. Blogger users, just log in and click on the "Template" tab.

2. Use hyperlinks creatively in your posts. Make it easy for your readers to click around. Link to relevant things: your friends' excellent writing, other sassy blogs and news articles, your older posts that you'd wish people would uncover, etc.

(But try not to overuse the links like I just did in this hyper-linked post.)

3. Mix it up by using multi-media. Post a a homemade video or two, or post a short flick from YouTube. Posting from YouTube is very easy. Just find the white box that reads "embed" (likely to the right of your favorite video) and copy and paste that html into your post. Look, I'll do it for you here in 5 seconds. Trevor Borden's one minute hair-cut video is great:

Posting your own video on Blogger is even easier! When creating a new post, click on that little film icon on the far right of your editing bar, the one after the insert-image icon. Upload your flick. And there you go!

Who watches TV anymore, anyway?

(Pimp My Ride photo by Botogol)

What I'd Like For My Birthday

2007-11-12T22:00:00.000-05:00

This Friday, on November 16th, I will step into my 28th year. If you'd like to know what I'd like for my birthday, well, I'm going to tell you.

I know, I know. I'm so cheeky.

I'd like for you to take a digitized photo of you in some place you enjoy, and send it to me by Thursday night, November 15th. In that simple photo I only have one request. I'd like for you to hold up a sign of some sort, and write the words, "Hello," says [insert your name here]." Be creative. I like that.

I know that some of you's are in non-English speaking lands, so if that's you, would you write the "hello" and the "says" part in your language? (Thanks.)

On Friday, if it's all right with you, I will post your photos here on "Hello," says Jenelle, and we'll all smile at each other. Good? Good. Good. Glad that's settled.

Send me those nice photos at freshgreenbeans at yahoo dot com. Go team.

(Hello Tree from Turkey by MinaFresh/Amanda)

Streams for Sunday: Wordy

2007-11-12T02:10:00.000-05:00

On a completely different note, I laughed harder at Disneyland then I have in many many months. Space Mountain is the most excellent ride on the planet, and it took away my voice until noon today. I learned that I could become addicted to Dance, Dance, Revolution, though I am a terrible dancer. And Disney's rocks after dark! Their 80's cover band showed me that Sarah and Elise are phenomenal dancers, particularly when they have one third of the dance floor all to themselves, and when Elise kicks off her shoes and wears the white socks. Oh my. It was all so hysterically wonderful.

Splash Mountain Baby.

2007-11-10T22:14:00.001-05:00

Twenty [exclamation point]

2007-11-10T11:33:00.000-05:00

It is Saturday. Elise Witek is 20 years old today. This is an important day. We're going to Disneyland. I wrote her a haiku. (Don't kill me for breaking some haiku rules, poetry purists.)

(20 x 4)

Eighty seasons in
She holds the storm and the moon
And laughs with the stars.

I might try to send some photos through the mobile phone. Forgive me if Verizon attaches strange talk to it. I'll delete it later.

Blog Your Heart Out - Part 2

2007-11-08T11:47:00.000-05:00

A few Nelly-thoughts on blog commenting:

1. When appropriate, answer your comments within your own posts. It's fine to answer a comment on the commentor's blog (if they have one), or privately by email, but, that sort of takes away the fun of allowing everyone else in on the conversation. And it confuses the hades out of those who read comments as part of the postal reaction.

2. Read other blogs, and leave comments! You'll find yourself deep in a web of thinkers (or jokers, for that matter), and you'll likely gain some new readers, too.

3. Delete spam comments as soon as possible. I get one every once in a while. Other folks have written up whole posts about the spam they've received. Spam comes in multiple forms. Andrew Jones' anti-spam stuff is a riot.

A friendly note to Lurkers (AKA. you beautiful non-commenting folks):
I like you. Read on. You don't need to say a thing. But if you get the urge, I'm brushing up the welcome mat for you.

(Graffiti photo by Duncan)

Blog Your Heart Out - Part 1

2007-11-07T14:14:00.000-05:00

I think far more people should become bloggers. It's very easy, it's a creative outlet, and it's easier than writing long, boring, mass-emails. I'm starting a short series on some things I've learned over the last year or so about blogging. Go blog your heart out, kid.

1. Be patient with yourself as you develop your writing voice. Just try to post as often as you can, and don't quit. I started out blogging once or twice a week. After blogging for 14 months, now I'm trying to post every day.

2. Keep your posts short. Consolodating words is not only an excellent writing exercise, but you'll likely post more often when you put less wordy-pressure on yourself.

3. Don't write things you wouldn't want your Mama/Roommate/Professor to read. Just be wise. Vent on paper that doesn't travel to the blogosphere.

4. Use good images. The power of image plus word is underestimated. If you're not using your own, use creative commons licensed photos, and give them kind credit with hyperlinks. I take an extra minute or so to use the advanced search function on Flickr, and search only the "Creative Commons Licensed" stuff.

5. Don't despair. In your first 6-12 months of active blogging, be encouraged that there are likely people reading who are not commenting. (We affectionately term them, "Lurkers.") As you regularly write, it's likely that more will continue to read. Get a hit counter to show you just how many people are reading (or at least, landing), and to see how long they stick around to read. It's motivating. I use Statcounter. It's free.

(T-shirt photo by Nicki-G.)

Screams in the Dark

2007-11-06T14:34:00.000-05:00

This weekend I went to see Bella the movie at the indie theater. Great film. I cried happy tears. A little Christiany-idealistic, but beautiful, nonetheless. It won loads of awards. Just go see it. (There's my paltry movie review of the day.)

I had the best parking spot in town: about three steps outside the box office. I locked up the bike and felt like I was royalty. The trick was, after a post-film Mexican feast, I had a short ride by bike to Amy's house. And it was dark.

[Note to Mama: it is very, very rare that I ride at night. And I have a nice flashing red light that I wear to alert drivers, along with a headlight!]

I took off for Los Robles, and was doing just great in the bike lane, chugging along at a good speed. My eyes were concentrating on the stoplight up ahead. Out of nowhere this white Suburban pulls up beside me, and an (assumedly drunk, or just foolish) boy shrieks/screams at me from his window. They drove off, laughing. It took me 15 seconds to process that they were just trying to startle me, maybe to make me fall. (Not so funny.)

The best part was, though, I didn't even flinch. I was a little startled, but I just sort of rolled my eyes in my head. I was too focused on the stoplight up ahead to turn to the right or the left. (Thankfully.)

The whole story makes me think of the struggle of following Jesus, and Jesus alone. My bike ride seems to call it a universal truth that we naturally go towards wherever our eyes are fixed. Even when silly people emerge and come screaming in our ears. And even when we're telling silly lies to ourselves.

May we fix ourselves, all over again, on the Light that shines in the dark. Let's silence the outer (or inner) noise.

(Screaming pepper photo by 7E55E-BRN)

10 Questions

2007-11-05T18:17:00.000-05:00

Scholarly John Hobbins has (creatively) responded to a new meme concerning the summarization of the Bible in about 10 lines. John offers us 10 pointed questions in Scripture that, he argues, sums up all of God's story. I was moved by his choices. He writes:

Here are ten paradigmatic questions in the Bible:
(1) “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9) [God to Adam and Eve]
(2) “Where is your brother?” (Genesis 4:9) [God to Cain]
(3) “Where is the sheep for the burnt offering?” (Genesis 22:7) [Isaac to his father]
(4) “How long, O Lord, will you forever ignore me?” (Psalm 13:2)
(5) “Who may dwell, O Lord, on your holy mountain?” (Psalm 15:1)
(6) “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” (Psalm 22:2)
(7) “Would you impugn my justice? Do you condemn me that you may be in the right?” (Job 40:8) [God to Job]
(8) “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I say?” (Luke 6:46)
[Jesus to his disciples and the large crowd who accompanied him]
(9) “Who do you say that I am?” (Mark 8:29) [Jesus to his disciples]
(10) “Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long will it be before you pass sentence and avenge our blood on the inhabitants of the earth?” (Revelation 6:10) [the martyrs to God]

The meaning of life consists in responding, asking, and bearing witness to these questions.

Read the full blog post on John's Ancient Hebrew Poetry.

How about that! The meaning of life in 10 questions. And some of them from the depths of despair and depression, no less.

I'm still commiserating on what I might add. What questions might you add?

Addendum:
I think I'd add the last words from Jonah, particularly in this age of globalization and the outstanding migration to the cities. It seems God is really fond of the city, while most of us grew up in suburbia being taught that the city is evil.

(11) "Should I not be concerned about that great city?" [God to Jonah] Jonah 4:11b

(Graffiti photo by Dullhunk)

Streams for Sunday: Debt and Indebted

2007-11-04T23:47:00.000-05:00

I need more concentrated Sabbath in my life.

Meet Ziggy

2007-11-04T13:44:00.000-05:00

The Klein's have a kitty. His name is Ziggy. He is slightly insane in his pre-neutered state. He likes to climb on things. In this case, he perches on my sweaty back after a bike ride up the Altadena hill.

I think I might try to rig my little camera onto the bike to tape a short film of the surroundings. I really am so thankful I don't have a car. And I'm not playing happy-Christian and just trying really hard to be grateful, when really I'm insanely bitter. (I have done that before, though.) Riding a bike is so nice.

I like it here.

Haiku, For Joy

2007-11-03T01:39:00.000-04:00

Joy strains to find her
Late at night there is stirring-
November arrives.

Very impressive where's waldo-ing, particularly as I have not yet met Joy face-to-face. Yes, I have met joy, and we shake hands and then play dodgeball. (Or, we play dodgeball and then shake hands?) But I have not yet met Joy.

"One for sorrow, two for joy." -The Innocence Mission

(Haiku hacker image by Elijah)

Where's Nelly?

2007-11-02T21:20:00.000-04:00

Presenting, Fuller's 2007 School of Intercultural Studies. A special haiku award goes to ye who finds me the fastest, and scribes it upon the comments. I will write a haiku in honor of you and post it for all of blogdom. (Hint: I am partially hidden behind one very tall human.)

As a way of introducing my current state of studying, I thought I'd point out the professors whose classes I'm taking. Incidentally, I think it's very cute that they all decided to sit together.

Key:

K = Dr. Chuck Kraft, the soft-spoken, but highly (spiritually) authoritative prof. of my Deep Level Healing class. In the second week of class he prayed for a girl's migraine to be healed, and it left her immediately. This class is phenomenal. Yes. God's Spirit is still on the move.

M = Dr. Mark Hopkins, the always smiling master of the MAGL program. I'm working on very large papers for his Implications for Global Ministry class.

S = Dr. Shelley Trebesch, the lovely lady who flew all the way from the far-east in order to teach us how to O.D. on Organizational Dynamics. She is the one responsible for making me read corporate books that I'd never read otherwise, as well as encouraging my my percolating dreams, and my wanting-to-start-a-company pontificating. (More on that soon.)

Gimme More Dodgeball

2007-11-01T17:55:00.000-04:00

I think we all need a little more dodgeball in our lives. What a game! One of the newest highlights of my week is playing dodgeball and yelling, "Ohhhhh!" as I point (and gloat) that I've just gotten someone out. (I'm a little competitive.)

Ok, so I'm playing dodgeball with middle schoolers. It shouldn't massage my ego when I can get one of them out. The truth is, they get me out more often. But I still wait patiently on the sideline until I can get back in the game. If my team catches someone's throw, I'm right back in there, baby!

For the record, it's a whole different experience to play dodgeball in a gym. The yells and "oh's!" and sneaker-squeaks on the gym floor all echo together perfectly. It's practically a song.

A few weeks ago, I asked you, the people, to cast your vote on my (part-time job) destiny. 32 of you beautiful people Rocked the Vote, and one of the winning votes was for me to tutor at-risk middle schoolers. I found an opening at a great non-profit after school program, and it's right down the street from me. And so, now, on most Mondays through Thursday afternoons, you will now find me playing dodgeball and helping these new friends of mine with their homework. It seems to be working out just fine, so far.

I think I need to start a ferocious dodgeball intramural team at Fuller. I'm reliving my elementary school days when I wasn't coordinated enough to dodge, and was always the first to get out. Redemption is near.

(Kids playing dodgeball in Sri Lanka by Zbili)

If This One Laptop Per Child Thing Works...

2007-10-30T15:05:00.000-04:00

...I hope that someone will teach the children how to blog about their lives. Then, perhaps, we'll hear their voices louder than before. (With the help of a few nice translators, of course.)

I think that a child's words over wires from distant lands could really change some things.

The big idea is to put laptops in the hands of impoverished children around the world. Originally introduced as the $100 laptop, it now sounds as if it'll be $200:

The laptop features a keyboard that switches languages, a video camera, wireless connectivity and Linux software.

(Photo of the alleged $100 laptop prototype by DCMetblogger)

Wax Words, Give Rice

2007-10-29T19:30:00.000-04:00

Sweet procrastination candy! FreeRice, people! Now you can work out your vocabulary-biceps while simultaneously helping fight World Hunger. For every word you choose correctly, the corporate folk donate 10 grains of rice through the U.N. food programme.

This is an addictive little site. Especially if you oddly enjoyed the vocabulary exercises during your SAT days. The words get more difficult if you keep getting correct answers. The highest I could reach was level 41. But I donated 800 grains of rice. I'm sure you can beat me. Get over there, you.

I'm home safe in Pasadena. Still scratching my head about those live crickets, though.

(HT: Until Translucent)

I Fly With Crickets

2007-10-29T14:54:00.001-04:00

I am on a flight heading west, and I'm blogging from my phone, like a silly star trek girl. I'm in Houston on stopover watching a strange sight from my plane window. The baggage people are loading six, no, seven large boxes of live crickets into the cargo hold. Hmmm.

In Review

2007-10-29T06:01:00.000-04:00

I'm flying back to California this morning, after a nice it's-almost-my-birthday weekend with my family. My Mama (yet again) made me more carrot cake than I could eat. I wish I could share it with you.

Last night I ended up chatting with Rosie Thomas, in the most unsuspecting of places. I was washing my hands in the girls' room, and she was there. I asked, "Are you Rosie? I like you." And she proceeded to spill out the horrendous story of how they'd gotten two-hours lost in Washington, D.C., but since her tour van was filled with boys (she tours with her brother, even!), no one would pull off the road to ask for directions. Classic.

"I need some girls with me on my tour! And...I need a hug!"

I could, at least, hug her.

Over the Rhine was more splendid than I expected. It was of the best shows I've ever seen. It was Linford's birthday, and Karin sang her little heart out for him. Their percussionist was absolutely unreal, as we surmised by the outrageously expensive recording mic set to his snare and the six other microphones surrounding his set. And oh! I love that upright bass. When they played "The Trumpet Child" I didn't just cry, I borderline wept.

At the final song, the entire music house lept in a standing ovation. Now, I do not give my standing o's away easily. (I just don't give in to peer pressure if I don't think it was really merited. Snarky, I know.) I think I can count on one hand how many times I've given a standing o. But last night was one of them. Over the Rhine is more superb than they've ever been, after all these years. Rosie was delicately wonderful, too. Her nervous banter in between songs made us giggle so much!

See you on the left coast. Happy Monday.

(Airport seats by Flyzipper)

Mobile Upload 2 @ OTR

2007-10-28T21:42:00.000-04:00

Karin Berquist's lungs plus Linford Detweiler's piano plus one upright bass plus an amazing percussionist equals one happy Nelly.

Mobile Upload 1 @ OTR

2007-10-28T21:39:00.001-04:00

I cried when they played "The Trumpet Child." For the record.

[This is a Test of the Mobile Broadcasting System]

2007-10-28T14:27:00.000-04:00

Dear, this is only a test. Go go mobile blogging! Me driving through the mountains of California.

The Meek and Mild Grow Strangely Bold

2007-10-28T13:51:00.000-04:00

On this Sunday eve I'll enjoy the live lush melodies of Over the Rhine and Rosie Thomas. I'm in the process of writing Karin and Linford a letter on my weird recycled stationary, so I'm hoping to finally put my words in their hands. I've only been meaning to write to them for about eight years. (Yes, I move slowly.) I ought to tell them what their art has meant to my tired heart since I discovered them in an old CD player in Rome.

Rosie's records have been soothing my heart for the last six months, so I dorkily cheered aloud when I found she was opening for OTR on their Trumpet Child tour. I'd like to have the chance to chat with her, too, like Mel did at a recent show.

I've just figured out how to post through my mobile phone, so maybe I'll send you some photos along the way.

(Lovely photo and Trumpet Child lyrical creation by Arianna, gentle dove.)

Love and Cookies Save the Day

2007-10-27T22:05:00.000-04:00

It's barely tinged with punk and splintered with a soundtrack ruled by Spoon, the lovely post-punk-rockers. And Will Ferrell! Sweet Will! He surprises me with the depth of this role: Stranger than Fiction is to Will Ferrell as Punch Drunk Love is to Adam Sandler.

This movie perfectly plays the "Would you rather" game, mocking all literary geeks along the way. (Ahem.) Would you rather: Die poetically, or, Live a boorish life?

Harold: "You're asking me to knowingly face my death?"

Pompous Professor: "It's the nature of all tragedies! The hero dies, but the story lives on forever." I'm sorry Harold, but, you'll have to die.

The whole thing is enfolded with outstanding dramatic irony. Our hero, Harold, reads the pre-written story of his life while riding on the MTA bus. The journey goes from beginning to end, and then end to beginning. And he reads it.

We've all asked the question: Is an outside Hand writing our lives? And to what extent is this Writer compassionate?

The film likewise enforces the deceptive opinion that the most brilliant writers are whack-jobs with British accents. And it makes a fine argument that love and cookies can save the day. Of course, anomalies and nuances exist to save our lives.

If I were leading a bible study right now (which I am not), I would use this movie as an introduction to Matthew. Behold, Jesus loveth the tax collector, and even they can become heroes.

[The Nelly gives it 4 stars.]

Percolating Dreams - Part Two

2007-10-25T02:33:00.000-04:00

I made 100 business cards two score and seven days ago that read:
Fresh Green Writing / Freelance Writing and Editing
with my name and cellular phone and email laced along the bottom. I spent the thirty dollars on the little stack because I have it in my mind to start using my enjoyment of words in some constructive way. So I decided I’d start my own little business doing odd-editing jobs or writing fresh copy for businesses or non-profit companies.
I haven’t yet officially started, though there are some dreams percolating.

For one thing, I don’t think I just want to do this alone. I want to start a company that will be a small circus of creativity. We would do lots and lots of different things, but they'd all focus on helping others communicate with greater clarity.

I want to help collect a network of writers and artists who will work on projects together, in some wild dialogic way. (I think that the extensive monologues in our lives are all boring us fairly well, thank you.) We might not need to be centralized at one location. (But if we have to, there will be good espresso and excellent food.) We could likely be highly networked through the internetting.

We could do all sorts of things to make the written and spoken word more intelligible. We could help edit term papers and books and pamphlets. We could help churches in simple conflict resolution. We could help companies better communicate their ideas in their mailings and newsletters and even make their boring manuals readable and interesting. We could do workshops at schools helping tired teachers stir the creativity of their bored students. We could tutor international students in using English effectively. Who knows what else?

We will have to be expert communicators, dripping with creativity, and willing to adapt. We could become innovators for creative communication in English, the same way 3M has become innovators in solving problems with new technologies.

I don’t know, I am just announcing dreams. But it will be fun, if it happens.

(Image by Monettenriquez)

Streams: Percolating Dreams

2007-10-24T23:32:00.000-04:00

post script.
I am safe from the fires in California. Some of you have emailed or called, and that makes me feel loved, but there's no need to worry about me. You could ask God to send rain, though. They had to evacuate so many people from their homes that it is as if the whole city of San Francisco had to be evacuated.

The Majors: God's Theater

2007-10-18T23:14:00.000-04:00

I've been reading through the major and minor prophets since summertime. I have some observations on the bigguns, the majors. I've scribbled them in my journal. (Feel free to add or subtract.)

What I Notice in Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel:

1. God is willing to put the prophets on a stage and write them rated-R scripts in order to get the audience's attention.
2. Obedience ushers in life and rescue.
3. The prophet boys experienced some measure of astral-travel in their mystic encounters with God.
4. Exile was a gift of mercy to Israel.
5. God empowers sign, symbol, and metaphor.
6. The role of prophet includes being both a Watchperson and a Warner in order to persuade the people to turn towards God.
7. God has a special concern for his holiness being shown to the nations.
8. There is so much grace in God's wrath, particularly in his relenting.
9. God really likes palm trees as decorations!
10. God allows us to reap what we sow.
11. More often than not, God chooses to speak through some artistic devices or metaphor. I like that.

(Theater photo by Abbyladybug.)

The Beatles Needed a Black Man

2007-10-16T23:34:00.000-04:00

I saw Across the Universe in the cinema this weekend. It's a psychedelic trip through the 1960's, a mediocre love story, and it's all strung together by a wild assortment of Beatles tunes. The film is a musical, but not with a plateful of cheese, as I find most musicals. Across the Universe is spectacular in the artful bleeding of image and song. Think Moulin Rouge on LSD, with a far better soundtrack, but milking a weaker story.

If you like the Beatles (and you should, mind you), it's worth the trip to the theater just for the scene where a Hendrix-like Martin Luther McCoy emerges as he covers "Come Together." It was pretty much magnificent. As I left the theater, lamenting the weak love story, I mumbled aloud, "The Beatles needed a black man."

If you could care less about the Beatles, but you love U2, it's also worth a trip out to see Bono play an American shaman-dude and hear him cover "I am the Walrus."

Although the (all you need is) love story is weak, this is a film worth seeing on the big screen. It is so cliche and overdone to do another film about the '60's, but to use the Beatles as the primary script is a creative feat.

I give it 3.5 stars out of 5. Evan Rachel Wood was the wrong voice for the lead "Lucy" role. Her performance disappointed me, but was carried along by the strength of Jim Sturgess (hey "Jude"), Martin Luther McCoy (Jo-Jo), and Joe Anderson (Max).

I'm a sucker for a good soundtrack and taking chances. And the filmmakers took a big chance on this one. So I say Across the Universe is worth seeing in the big-girl theater, the one with the big-boy speakers.

Streams: Narcissism, Pauses, Selah

2007-10-15T23:37:00.000-04:00

I am (traditionally) a day late and a dollar short, I know. I know.

Dirty Mexitalian Eggs, A Recipe

2007-10-13T16:53:00.000-04:00

There is a wild buzz in the Klein house this Saturday afternoon. Mackenzie is blaming it on the rain. (I bit my tongue from calling her Milli or Vanilli.) She claims the rain "makes everyone a little more passionate." There are fresh cinnamon rolls being baked in the oven, and twelve year old Allie is leafing through fancy cookbooks to make something passionate for dinner.

I made a quasi-omelet for lunch that we devoured like frenzied hawks. I wish I had a photo of it, but all that remains is a lonely griddle. I'll leave you the recipe.

Dirty Mexitalian Eggs

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons butter
1 piece of garlic, chopped
1/3 red onion, chopped
1/2 of a fresh zucchini, halved and chopped
1/2 cup of salsa
3 eggs beaten with 1/2 cup of milk
salt and pepper, to taste
thinly sliced pepper jack and cheddar cheese
small handful of pepperoni
1 handful of fresh spinach
warm tortillas
chopped lettuce
sour cream

1. Saute zucchini in a hot pan with 1 tbs butter.
2. Add onions and garlic after a few minutes. (These burn too easily. Be delicate!)
3. Lower to low-medium heat.
3.5 Heat oven to 350.
4. Add in salsa, simmer with a lid.
5. Add 1 tbs butter, stir around edges.
6. Add beaten eggs/milk, cover until the edges begin to stiffen.
7. In a separate pan, saute spinach with a smidge of butter and water.
8. Add spinach, cheese, and pepperoni to the eggs, add salt and pepper
9. Put in oven for about 10 minutes.
10. Carefully flip, if desired, or serve as is with warm tortillas, lettuce, and sour cream.

I also added chopped cooked potatoes, but that's just because we had them hanging around. My "careful flip" was not so careful, and so I decided that we were eating dirty mexitalian eggs. Quickly disappearing.

(Italy, or Mexico photo by Ancawonka)

Phone Photo Upload

2007-10-13T15:09:00.000-04:00

[From last night at the Central library]

The Art-walk took us all around town. My personal favorite was the trip to the Pasadena Conservatory where I learned how to do "body percussion." Clapping, snapping, and hitting various flabby to muscular body parts creates different rhythmic melodies!

Improvisational music retains many kind metaphors to the rhythm of relationships and to the Church universal.

It is nice to become more acquainted with your city with a group of new friends.

Salsa in the Reference Section

2007-10-12T19:53:00.000-04:00

Old books make me high. Tonight there's this crazy four-hour art tour that starts at the Pasadena Central Library, and goes all around old-town. This is the same library that took my breath away as I first approached its welcoming old European fountain a few days ago.

The children's corridor is large and magnificent enough to do cartwheels through. If one should desire to do such a thing.

I like free Friday night happenings.

Rumor has it that there will be many surprises tonight for the art-tour. I heard that there will be free Salsa lessons in the Reference section of the library. Dancing in the Reference section!

(Photo of Pasadena Library by Libraryman.)

Oh, Oh My!

2007-10-11T23:27:00.000-04:00

Things That Caused Me to Feel Terribly Loved. This Weekend In Review:

1. Getting to hug dear Elise, Sarah, and Katrina as they drove up to Pasadena from Westmont.
2. Seeing Trevor B. leap out of Sarah's trunk to surprise me with more huggies. (Embraces, not diapers.) The sneaker boy!
3. Sue Klein's chocolate chip banana bread. Served warm with butter.
4. Lucky Boy's breakfast burritos the size of small infants.
5. Riding next to Trevor on the train back to Santa Barbara.
6. Arianna welcoming me with a handful of orchids! I've never received orchids! I must say, they are most perfumalovely.
7. When some aeroplane drew me a big heart in the morning Montecito sky.
8. Taking a nap on Carpinteria's ("world's safest") Beach.
9. The dolphins that played in the super-shallow Pacific waves.
10. Experiencing the 21st annual Avocado Festival.
11. Watching my brothers Jesse and Trevor do the wild eagle dance at the drum circle on Santa Barbara's beach.
12. Artful coffee with Cari, Northwest java connoisseur.
13. A wild African dinner party of 20 at Carly's. Cooked by Jesse!
14. Me learning how to make chapatis at said party!
15. The hysterical post-dinner dance party, and dance-off.
16. Arriving back at the Klein house into the running-to-me hugs of little Bruce and Emily.

I think that Arianna's photo on the side of (an excitedly-painted) truck says it best. Oh, oh my. We are blessed!

Rock the Vote

2007-10-10T16:19:00.000-04:00

In my sad failure to update my blog this week, I hereby offer you this small opportunity to intercept my life decisions. I need a part-time job while I'm taking classes, and while I'm continuing to raise support. All of the following are actual, real, and no-nonsense options I've unearthed. No animals were harmed during the unearthing. Please vote for my future.

And when you're done, you should see what Mel in South Carolina just did to lure me back into the fangs of blogdom. It is making me blush and giggle. Here it is: Oh Nelly Where Art Thou?

Ride Bike, Get Happy

2007-10-04T19:23:00.000-04:00

I think that everyone should ditch their cars and ride bikes. We'd all be a happier bunch. And the Earth would be, too.

I am having such a nice time riding from Altadena to Pasadena on the bike. I've been trekking up and down the hill for the last three days and feel like the richest kid on the planet. There's time to breathe the air, to wave to grandmas, to talk to God, to count the palm trees on Mar Vista Avenue.

This morning I packed a skirt in my backpack and rode down to Fuller for an interview at the Writing Center. I arrived early and stealthily changed out of my sweaty clothes and put on something more interview-esque. I even had time to stick my nose in the roses near Stephan Hall. (They smell great, but desperately need water.)

I got the job. You may now call me an honorable "On-Call Editorial Assistant." I feel like I deserve a beeper.

My new boss said it was very European of me to bike to my interview. That made me happy.

(Hand signals from Bike Miami Valley)

The First Days

2007-10-03T12:27:00.000-04:00

I flew into Burbank on Monday and found the lovely Kleins waiting to hug me. Going from airport to airport, I arrived just in time to find a seat in Dr. Kraft's (somewhat infamous) class at Fuller. (And I've got the picture to prove it.) Smiling with me is Amy G. She's been in my MAGL online cohort, too. Cute that she commemorated my goofy-I've-just-arrived-to-California excitement. And God saw that it was good. The evening and the morning, the first day.

On Tuesday's morning I borrowed a bike from nice Morgan Klein, and happily learned that the ride to school is all downhill. It's about a half-hour joyride through palm-laced streets. I waved to approximately 4.5 grandpas and some smiling children in strollers.

Laying aside my bratty disdain for ugly libraries, I got acquainted with Fuller's antiquated shelves. (The library from my undergrad uni, UMBC, was 7-floors high, filled with light, and immaculate. Beauty makes it easier to study, I say.) Happy as a clam, I checked out a gorgeous old copy of Elizabeth B. Brownings' complete poetical works, inscribed to Sophia (with love) on September 26, 1913. Old Elizabeth's sonnets are so thick. And she knew my Italy very well.

On the one hour evening ride home from Fuller I surmised why they call it Altadena. I will conquer that hill in better time, I will. But all the sweat reminds me that I'm alive. The evening and the morning, the second day.

Streams for Sunday: Wake Her

2007-09-30T16:11:00.000-04:00

Next time I post I'll be a little old lady in Pasadena.

Am I A Falcon, A Storm?

2007-09-29T11:09:00.000-04:00

Two bags packed, one to go.

Last night I had three teenage girls in my living room to help me "sort my clothes." To allow a sixteen-year old the right to advise you on what you ought pack in your suitcase is both enlightening and frightening. To have three of them is to invite a war, of sorts. There was much laughter. At one point, I had to ardently defend the rights of my favorite soft green shirt.

Girls: "That's for the give-away pile, Nelly. It spells, 'Grandma.'"

Me: "But!"

Girls: "Oh, Nelly, please. No Grandma shirts."

Me: "Listen you! I do not look like a Grandma in this shirt! I'll prove it to you." [Theatrically grabs a black skirt with the green shirt and huffs away to the dressing room.]

I won. The shirt lives. But a lot of other stuff dies to the give-away pile.

Operation Pack is spelled: simplify, give-away, simplify. The nice thing about two transcontinental moves in five years is that you learn to condense your belongings into a few suitcases. It feels good.

Before I fell asleep I read a nice poem by Rainer Maria Rilke (in translation). I found myself in it. From his Book of a Monastic Life:

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

I Like Big Books

2007-09-28T11:26:00.000-04:00

This is ridiculous. I mean, really funny. The "I'll greet her with some holy kissin" part kills me. And the flirting over the flannel boards. In my high school days, I think I shamelessly knew the Sir-Mix-a-Lot original word for word.

I am happy to report that:
1. I have a cast-iron stomach and can handle the doxy-bicycles of my new Malaria preventative.
2. I have packed one bag out of three. And it is three days 'till I move. I am so ahead of schedule, it is insane.
3. History has told me that I freeze up if I do not have someone to help me pack unto the bitter end. So, two nice ladies are coming over to help me keep packing. Hooray, Heather and Lydia. Happy days.

No More Whiny Pants

2007-09-27T22:40:00.000-04:00

I am moving to California in four days, and I feel like I'm growing up. Two days ago, an eight year old asked me, "Do you think there is still gold on the ground in California?"

I smiled out, "I sure hope so!"

For me, like history's many, going West carries the hopes of a shiny new chapter. I hope the ground is golden there, kiddo.

But I have had numerous freaking-out sessions in the last few weeks. In the old days, I would try to explain these crying-fits and moments of I-am-being-impossible with the phrase, "I am emotionally overwhelmed." But I overused those words so much that they grew really old.

I don't know what to call it. There are moments when I'm just plain freaking out in the inside. I do wonder if that is why my heart has been beating strangely. Certain unknowns (like, "when will my next paycheck be?") have plastered over my waning trust in the Faithful One.

And then, my dear friend Carissa put a book in my hands: Ruthless Trust: The Ragamuffin's Path to God, by Brennan Manning. I'd found it on her shelf. It was tattered. Tattered books always catch my eye. I like them the best.

I'd never read anything by Mr. Manning before, but I'm finding his writing so excellent and refreshing. I've grown so tired of books on God that are rich in content, but terribly written. There are many. And that makes me sad.

But this book is different. Manning is a writer. And as I was about thirty pages into his book, I started crying these good, healing tears. Not the whiny-pants tears, the nice, soul-opening tears. And something like scales fell from my eyes.

"So often what is notoriously missing from the external, mechanized concept of salvation is self-acceptance, an experience that is internally personalized and rooted in the acceptance of Jesus Christ...Self-rejection in any form is a manifest sign of a lack of trust in the total sufficiency of Jesus' saving work. Has he set me free from fear of the Father and dislike of myself, or has he not?" -Brennan Manning

In fresh terms, Pastor Brennan reminds me of how God sees me, in spite of my failure to trust him. And in spite of the unsuspecting self-rejection that has been creeping up on my thoughts lately.

Post Script: EKGs and Pterodactyls

2007-09-26T19:43:00.000-04:00

Upon further review, I now realize that it was a naive oversight to use the idea of hearts palpitating and prophylactics in the same blog-title. I hope that the tiny corner of blogdom that walks across this "Hello" mat did not find me crude or racy. It was wholly unintended. (Cheers, Brian, for being the first to point it out in the commentary.)

I must say, there is a longer, sassier story attached to those malaria prophylactics, and how I first acquired them from Walmart. The pharmacist had given me expired pills, initially. This was not good. I happened to notice the very-fine print on the package before I got on the plane for Africa. And so, very gently (but clearly) I helped the pharmacist understand what a risk this could have been for me, and for Walmart. (There was very little argument.) I walked out with the $80 pack of medicine for free, plus some more cash. I love confrontation!

Needless to say, we're no longer using the Walmart pharmacy. We switched over to the small-town joint that's closed on Sundays. I like that a lot better. I've just secured some new malarial pterodactyls (a'la "doxy-bicycles") from the new pharmacy, and will begin using them tonight.

Mama says that doxycycline is very strong and could make me vomit. So tonight we will see if I've inherited my Father's "cast-iron" stomach, or my Mama's "kinder, gentler" belly.

(Surprised girl by Incinerator)

Streams for Sunday :: Gratitude, Run.

2007-09-23T22:09:00.000-04:00

This is a healthy practice. I will try to make a tradition out of it.

Maybe you should, too.

EKG Me, Mr. Prophylactic

2007-09-22T22:06:00.000-04:00

I had to go to the E.R. tonight. I've been having these weird heart-palpitations since I got back from Africa, and today they were on the rise. I was just shrugging it off as little-girl excitement over my transcontinental-skipping and my upcoming move to California.

That was until nurse Mama Rose said, "I think you should read the fine print on that Malaria prophylactic you're taking." So I did that.

It's always a good idea to listen to your nurse Mama. Especially when she says big crazy tyrannosaurus rexy words like, "prophylactic."

If you experience irregular heartbeat while taking this medication: CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY.

I did that. (But I didn't appreciate all the SHOUTING IN CAPS.) And the doctor sent me to the Emergency Room.

It's funny the things you think about when you're young with not-extravagant health insurance. The nice ER nurses are hooking my heart up to the EKG machine, and Mama--who used to work at this hospital--reminds me that this procedure costs about $500. 12 seconds of EKGness. $500. In my calculations, that's $41.67/second. (Not bad, robot. Hope you're saving for retirement.)

EKG.......$500
I.V. dripping salt-water into my arm.......$50
Multiple blood tests.......$200
Doc saying I'm all-normal and should just stop taking my Malaria pterodactyl......Priceless.

She also said I should cut back on the caffeine. Oh dear.

I'm very thankful for health insurance. But the expense of the whole system just baffles my happy little heart.

People Shouldn't Be Bought & Sold

2007-09-21T11:28:00.000-04:00

Make a step towards becoming an Abolitionist. Today is the last day to vote for Justice for Children International on the Myspace Impact awards. JFCI is a close friend of 24-7 Prayer and Stop the Traffik, and they are doing marvelous things to stop the buying and selling of children in the global sex-trade. (And yes, the sex-trade is alive and well, even in the USA.)

Justice for Children would really benefit from the $10k that Myspace will award to the winner.

If you are a Myspace user:
1. Sign in.
2. To vote, click here. JFCI is the first box on the left, once you scroll down.

Voting closes at midnight tonight. Tell all your homeys.

135 second video on JFCI's work:

Read more. Awaken awareness:
Stop the Traffik
Justice for Children International

Giggle, Inwardly

2007-09-21T11:00:00.000-04:00

Things That Are Making Me Giggle Inwardly

1. After I've been back in the States for over a year, I get this nice email from the Portuguese embassy asking me politely, "Do you still need a visa for Portugal?" My visa was "in process" for 3.5 years.
2. I am going to be a little old lady in Pasadena in less than 10 days! I will make my home there, with the wonderful Klein family. (Well, it is really Altadena. But who's counting.)
3. I keep talking to people about "my bike" as if I already own a bike in California. (I like imagining me riding to "my new job at Peet's coffee" as if it is also already mine.)
4. I have successfully cleaned out my psychotic email inbox from 1000 emails down to 15. All apologies if you've only just received a reply to an email you sent me in June.
5. Since I had unanswered emails going back to 2006, I learned I've been using a recalled-battery for my iBook (her name is Pearl). For over a year I've used a Pearl that could've overheated and caught fire.
6. I missed a phone date last night at 9pm because I was already asleep. Jetlerium does strange things to little girls.
7. Remembering the size of the produce in England. I left my baby zucchini there.
8. Right now, 100 business cards are being printed for my new freelance writing/editing business...Fresh Green Writing!

Sky Blogging

2007-09-19T20:45:00.000-04:00

I'm blogging from the sky on my flight back to Baltimore.

I almost always request the aisle seat because I think it's the seat with the most freedom. I can get up and skip down the aisle if I like to.

I am sitting next to a bona fide arm-rest hogger. Travelers, you know these people. They have these quick-moving elbows that overtake the arm-rest within seconds of sitting down. It's all over now, baby blue. Lean in to the aisle and don't start a fight.

Paris Je'taime is an excellent film that reminds me of why I like one-acts. 18 short scenes of life in Paris through the eyes of different directors. The very last scene is so ridiculous and true and lovely. A somewhat pathetic single American lady narrates as if she's awkwardly telling her French class all about her trip to Paris. Her accent is horrifically American. But by the very end I am crying these accidental wonderful tears, with her.

There's another scene where Natalie Portman is in love with a blind French guy. This little 8 minute scene is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I mean, it's incredible. I want the DVD just for this scene.

If you've happened to fall in love with Salinger since we last talked, this would be a good time to pause and read Nine Stories. My favorite is #6: "For Esmé - with Love and Squalor." It should make you raise high your eyebrows and laugh.

This is feeling like the longest flight of my life. I am a stationary bird flapping her wings forever atop the Atlantic.

At least British Airways has some interesting entertainment choices. I'm watching a documentary about Mary J. Blige. Did you know that Mary was considred the anti-Whitney Houston? I'm learning all about the soundtrack to all of the awkward seventh-grade dances where I tried to bob my head to a beat I couldn't translate. I was a terrible dancer. I'm still not great. I try.

Mary J. Blige made it to the record industry when a producer happened upon a tape of her singing in the mall. She was still living in the projects when her first single went big. I like this lady. Especially because BBC claims that she invented the curious phrase, "Ghetto Fabulous." Oh!

Goodbye, Hello, Uh-Oh

2007-09-18T11:16:00.000-04:00

I said "goodbye" to the Bordens yesterday in Arusha. They waved me off on my 5-hour shuttle to Nairobi. I cried. And then I napped. I think those two things go well together.

I had two hours to kill at the airport so I ordered a veggie burger. A strange sort of curried-Kenyan version of a patty arrived, so I baptized it in remarkably gelatinous light red ketchup. The ketchup squeezie-bottle had a loose top, so when I squeezed, I emptied the entire bottle of mystery-sauce onto my plate.

Though I was sharing my table for four with three strangers, no one else seemed to think it was as funny as I did. They didn't even give my fresh ketchup pond a second glance. The only mzungu in the place was making a saucy-scene, but nobody was noticing. Maybe this sort of thing happens often. I felt like I was in a bad after-school special staged in an African diner.

After taking the red-eye flight to London, I arrived here in Virginia Water with Brooke and Tate and Baby Asher. (And Kerry, too.) I really enjoy these friends from Young Life UK.

I like that tired "goodbyes" are met with some sort of a fresh "hello." What would we do without rhythm? Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Baby Asher is making me grin a lot. He has clearly perfected the "uh oh" face. I think it would be a good exercise if we all worked on that face. We'd be more prepared to laugh at ourselves when we baptize our plates in accidental ketchup ponds.

I leave for Baltimore tomorrow. Then I'll be back in the States for awhile, but heading out to Pasadena soon. It'll be nice to hug my family again.

Things I Like Abut Tanzania - Part 2

2007-09-16T12:58:00.000-04:00

(Continued from Part 1 here)

10. Learning from Byron how to wear my Maasai blanket like a proper warrior.
11. Dala dalas mini-buses with (curious) names such as, "Pimp My Ride - Go to Church" and "Jealous People Never Win," painted extravagantly on their back windows.
12. Making friends with the geckos that sometimes chill on the interior walls of my bedroom. (Geckos eat mosquitoes for lunch, you know.)
13. Avocados 'a plenty.
14. Multiple marriage proposals in one day. (Well, I don't necessarily like that, but...)
15. Seeing ladies carrying unbelievable loads effortlessly on their heads: baskets of bananas, bundles of timber, or, my personal favorite, hot burning coals in a metal bowl. (Doesn't the Bible say something about that?)
16. The slower pace.
17. The stars in the sky. I think they might be the brightest here in Arusha. Yep.

Travel Log #03 - Arusha to Dar es Salaam

2007-09-13T14:46:00.000-04:00

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(Soundtrack by Sia, "Breathe Me")

Tsunami Warning

2007-09-13T12:20:00.000-04:00

Ladies and Gents, I survived my very first tsunami warning. We took a nice road-trip down to Dar es Salaam on the Tanzanian coast to visit Young Life Africa's illustrious Dyan Larmey. (Oh, I love Dyan!) It was such a nice visit.

But then late last night a guy out in the road yelled in Swahili from a scratchy megaphone that we should all be prepared for a tsunami. The Indonesian earthquake could have watery aftershocks. We were in a house only about 100 meters from the beach, so this was a pretty unnerving warning. At least for me, it was. Calmly, the rest of the house just went to bed, remembering that the African side of the Indian Ocean was barely effected by the last Tsunami warning. I sat on the couch wondering if I was the only sane person in the house! A tsunami might come and we were only armed with flashlights?

Well, said tsunami warning was then retracted, but I still stayed awake. I sort of went into I-will-rescue-the-house-from-any-gnarly-wave mode, imagining how I'd run up the stairs and wake everyone on the ground floor. Silly. I used my cataclysmic adrenaline to edit a road-trip travel log video #3, which is (slowly-by-slowly) uploading for you. Hopefully after we return from an Indian dinner feast the video robots will be done with the loading.

Check out sweet Lisa's side of the Tsunami-story right here.

Rest Now, Madeleine.

2007-09-08T15:36:00.000-04:00

Dear Madeleine L'Engle died yesterday. She was 88. I read her classic tale (the one the publishers warned would probably fail), A Wrinkle in Time as a tween, and felt alive. So then I read A Wind in the Door, and Many Waters. Like C.S. Lewis, she had a way of dignifying children by writing phenomenal stories that called out our imagination. I would like to read every last one of the 60 books she published in her wild lifetime.

Reading this gorgeous NY Times article made me love her even more.

The Washington Post unearthed this fantastic anecdote:

She once told National Public Radio that she was in a phase of searching for a better understanding of theology when "I just came across a phrase of Einstein's, which completely excited me. He said, 'Anyone who is not lost in rapturous awe at the power and glory of the mind behind the universe is as good as a burned-out candle.'

"And I thought, 'Oh! There's my theologian.' "

(Image quote from Douglas Martin, NY Times, 9/8/07)

200 Streams

2007-09-07T11:57:00.000-04:00

I wanted to have something terribly profound to say today because the Blogger robots tell me this is my 200th post. I tried to find a cool image with el numero 200, but couldn't find one. So I made one.

I think stream of consciousness writing is very good for the soul. Maybe it shouldn't always be shared. But, maybe it should. Maybe our brains need to be drained more often.

I would like to always remember this day when it was a difficult marriage for the First and Third worlds. There we were cursing the internet connection and the 10, or was it 20 kilobytes per second transfer rates. I told Byron that it didn't matter much, it was only the difference between ten and twenty cents, when most of the world's internet ran at speeds of 20 to 40 dollars.

Current, currency: nearly the same in the digital age.

There are simple wires in Tanzania that carry current and information and such. These are tough times for simple wires. We must be patient and just wait for our uploads. And so, we drink loads of chai.

Mid-morning Passions

2007-09-06T04:15:00.000-04:00

"Karibu, dada!"

Lilian hands me a plateful of passion fruit, watermelon, and peanuts as she calls me "sister" with a smile. I like having new Tanzanian sisters. I'm sitting at the computer in Chase and Leighton's room sorting through piles of video clips of beautiful Maasai women making beaded creations. I'm getting lost in the scenes of these artisan ladies threading beads with their passionate grace.

My mid-morning snack is crunchy and tart. It is clear to Chase that I am a passion fruit-eating novice.

"You can just swallow it whole, and it won't be so crunchy, you know."

"Well, what if I like slurping my passion fruit, Chase," I retort, with a sassy-grin.

Peace, Love, and Chapatis

2007-09-04T14:35:00.000-04:00

Things I Like About Tanzania - part 1

1. The taste of hot fried dough with milky sweet chai in the morning. (I would like a t-shirt that reads, "Peace, love, and chapatis.")
2. Raw, rich beauty streaming from the smiling hospitality of impoverished African mamas.
3. Seeing Byron come alive as he speaks Swahili.
4. The adventure of being driven over unpaved roads with insane crater-like potholes.
5. Relying on lots of lovely candles when electricity cuts out. (Candles are so nice.)
6. Drinking Coca-Cola from 350ml glass bottles with old school bottle caps.
7. Driving down the road and having to stop to watch the baby giraffes.
8. Afternoon tea-time at the Borden's.
9. The cloud of joy created by forty adolescent African voices singing to Jesus in Swahili, acapulco-style, with much clapping and dancing.

Travel Log #02: On the Way to Tanzania

2007-09-03T18:22:00.000-04:00

Well, I arrived in Nairobi, and then took the lovely, long, beautiful (but bumpy) Impala Bus ride to Arusha, Tanzania, where the Bordens threw their arms around me.

I happened to sit on the not-as-scenic side of the bus because I missed most of Mt. Kilimangaro. But my side caught the Maasai tribe and the trees and the Kenyan skies blending into Tanzanian skies. (So there.)

So here's another 2 minutes of lo-fi adventure for you as you sit next to me.

(Thanks so much, Janers, for the camera...can you believe what great video it takes?!)

Will try to post more soon. There is so much to say, but the internet here in East Africa is shoddy, at best. The electricity has been out every other day!

(Drum circle beats by the wild men: Jesse, Trevor, Colin, Skyler, and Chase.)

Off to Africa

2007-08-26T17:45:00.000-04:00

In just a matter of hours I'm getting on a plane to Africa. My destination: the Borden's house in Tanzania. I'll spend a couple of weeks with these dear friends who are more like family, living alongside of them, and getting a feel for what life is like working with their Wild Hope International.

I'll post as I can. This is my first trip to Africa and I'm thrilled for the adventure. But, no matter where the Bordens were in the world, I'd be excited to spend time with them. It's less about the place and more about the people, if you know what I mean.

I'm very grateful for this space in my life to do such crazy things. And for frequent flier miles. (Thanks for the help, Mama!)

Travel Log #01 - Portuguese Trees/Skies

2007-08-25T09:06:00.000-04:00

On the Bus to Porto

Two minutes of lo-fi travel, designed to be a calming pause in your day, and to make you feel like you're sitting next to me on the bus. Music by Yann Tiersen (Amelie soundtrack).

Jesse and Trevor's travel log from Tanzania to California was my inspiration. Oh! Their video surprise for their Mama made me so happy.

Overwhelmed by English

2007-08-23T16:52:00.000-04:00

It is raining and I've been walking 'round London--traversing the underground wearing my soft pink jacket and carrying the big blue rucksack. Mid-jaunt I spun my iPod through two scratchy-sweet melodic records by Appleseed Cast: Two Conversations and Peregrine. Somehow it seems that drenched urban landscapes should have driving, percussive soundtracks supporting them in the distance. (I'm not certain if "percussive" is really a word, but I'm drum rolling it out now.)

I find it strange how the London underground and train systems tend to overwhelm me. I've navigated myself through buses and trains from Italy to Germany to Lithuania, even. But there's something unsettling about seeing signs in your native English, and still being a bit confused. I remember feeling like this while in the guts of Brooklyn, too.

Maybe I feel more free to be me in the bellies of cities where I don't necessarily speak their tongues, exactly because I expect to make some mistakes there. In those places I leave more grace for my feet. But in London, it's different. I've been to this city enough times that I feel I ought to understand its underbellies and trains. And it's all in English! But I still always feel a bit lost here.

The information lady at Liverpool Street station said that my train ticket out to Guildford counted for the tube, as well. I trusted her, especially when they let me through the tube turnstiles on that ticket. But after six stops on the Circle line, and then one stop on the Jubilee line (I almost took a photo of that nice sign), I was stopped at the exit. The underground ticket-check-man very nearly hit me with penalty fares for not having the proper ticket. Oh dear.

"If it were anyone else, you'd have to pay penalties, you know," he said, reluctantly, after assuring him that Liverpool lady had given me some misinformation. Penalty fares in pound sterling are a scary thing to an American girl. It's almost two dollars per pound now, yikes.

Everyday Grace, how sweet the sound!

(Liverpool Tube Photo by Loukreu)

Interruptions on the Way

2007-08-21T23:54:00.000-04:00

I'm traveling by train from Lisbon to Castelo Branco, on the way to spend a night at Barbara's land. We're stopped. The Portuguese lady on the recording calls it a brief "interruption on the way." But the other passengers say there is a fire up ahead, somewhere near the tracks.

Catherine is with me, and we laughed that just a few moments ago I'd quipped: "Those dark rain clouds don't sound good for us in the land." Turns out those rain clouds were actually made of smoke. It is dry in Portugal, and brush fires are common.

It is nice to have a traveling companion for this part of my journey. I met Catherine about four years ago at St. Dominic's International School. She was in year ten and I was in year one of my Young Life internship. I met her at lunch-break, and we chatted about life and books. I remember thinking that she was one of the brightest thirteen year-olds I'd ever met. We continued to meet up for lunches over the years, and kept the conversation going. We spoke a lot about Jesus. I prayed for her and asked many friends to do the same, because I so wanted her to know how much God loves her.

Today Catherine sits next to me knowing that Love personally. Somewhere along the way--was it in a 24-7 prayer room, or as she was walking along the Atlantic?--Catherine committed her life to following Jesus. Now she's two train seats away from me reading and journaling Madeleine L'Engle.

When we settled into the train she'd grabbed a book from my tiny portable library a'la red Samsonite carry-on. I've been grinning to myself as I watch her scribble old M's words into her Portuguese/English journal.

"What good words did you find, Cat?"

"Oh! It's this great bit about how when we're too self-absorbed and analytical, we're not really able to live."

"That's the part about us being more like children, right?"

"Mmmm, yes."

It is a joy to see others losing themselves in the same words that have held me. With Catherine, I'm reminded how simply-chewed words over lunch can be a part of the relentless in breaking of God's love in another's life.

May we keep that conversation going.

I Heart Texting

2007-08-17T11:47:00.000-04:00

This week I found this sweet site called Callwave that lets you send free text messages to cell phones in the US/Canada from a computer. And the nice thing is, when the American/Canadian replies, I receive it as an email on my computer instantly! This sort of technology makes me very happy, because communicating from across an ocean can be quite expensive.

If you have a Mac (and why, I ask, would you not?) you can get a cute little Callwave Widget for your Dashboard, too. It integrates auto-magically with your Mac Address book.

And You Turn Yourself Around

2007-08-15T15:51:00.001-04:00

"Hello," said Jenelle will be undergoing some turns and revisions in the coming days. This blog's 1st birthday is somewhere around now, so I'm putting a new dress on her. (She does the hokey pokey and she turns herself around.)

In the meantime, you are hereby poked by me to share your most immediate memory of growing up and singing that "Hokey Pokey" song.

I remember doing the Hokey Pokey at the roller skating rink in Waldorf. I was never very stable on skates so I had to poise all of my inner thoughts on not falling down as we were "doing the hokey pokey and turn[ing]" ourselves around. I was nine and wore neon MC Hammer pants and had a crush on a boy named Israel.

(Photo by Fredo Alvarez)

Rucksack Found!

2007-08-14T16:08:00.000-04:00

Thank you, Jesus. And all of you who prayed my bag of clothes back to me. A nice reunion in Sopron, Hungary, after nearly four days!

It's a Family Affair: Synchroblog

2007-08-14T06:07:00.000-04:00

Is Christianity exclusive or inclusive? In my view, it is both. But perhaps that is not such a terrible thing.

"Christian" really means, a "little Christ." We find the term first used in Acts as a name badge for those who followed the controversial person of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. These "little Christs" were convinced that Jesus was not dead, but alive, and that Jesus is Lord of all. Many went to their death proclaiming his resurrection and Kingship.

Today the term "Christian" has been sadly liquified to mean anyone who identifies with a supposed facet of "Christian religion." And yet, according to the New Testament record, Jesus Christ arguably never intended to create what we would call a world religion. He simply called people to (give up everything and) follow Him. Following the Son of God is to receive a new birth certificate and receive a honored place in God's Family.

If we consider our families, we might have a more accurate portrait of the exclusive and inclusive qualities of those who'd identify as "little Christs."

In my family, I am marked by my father's name, D'Alessandro. This is who I am, not because of what I've done, but simply because of my birthright. I'm entitled to all of the rights of this great Sicilian name, which includes the inheritance of being a descendent of the late Duke of Messina.

My neighbors names are Mike and Laura. They are not D'Alessandro's by birth, nor by marriage. Of course, they are excluded from my family name, but they are included in our family meals when we enjoy Maryland crabs outside in the evening sunset.

In some small way, so it is with "little Christs." We have been welcomed into Christ's Family Name through Christ's work on the cross, and when we agreed to follow Him and carry a cross of our own. In this family affair, we are naturally exclusive.

We are inclusive in that we may freely welcome others into our mealtimes who don't yet bear his Name. And no matter what their name, we ought dignify them, because it is the way of Jesus to give dignity to all. Sharing a meal means sharing the healing power of the King. Conversations can be prayer when we welcome Christ there.

The gorgeous mystery in this Family is that (regardless of the dysfunction therein), Jesus Christ is awfully generous: freely giving all of the exclusive birthrights to anyone who will follow Him. The good news is that his inclusive tendencies seem so unfair. Those who seem to deserve his Name the least are those most sought after by Him.

He exchanges our shameful history with a crown of honor. And we'd dare not do the same for others who are yet unconcerned with the Name?

Check out what others on the Synchroblog team are saying about the matter. And if you'd like to join in on our next month's topic, just leave me a comment and you'll receive the Synchroblog birthright [cheeky grin].

Steve Hayes at Notes from underground is blogging his thoughts "Christianity inclusive or exclusive?"

John Smulo adds his thoughts.

Erin Word shares some thoughts on The Politics of love.

Sam Norton the Elizaphanian writes about Inclusively fanatical.

Julie Clawson of One hand clapping writes about The narrow door

David Fisher asks "Why are we exclusive?"

Mike Bursell muses on Inclusive or exclusive: you mean there's a choice?

Sally of Eternal echoes shares her thoughts about Christianity- exclusive or inclusive

Cobus van Wyngaard is contemplating Inclusivity within claims of heresy

Tim Abbott joins the conversation with Christianity - inclusive or exclusive?

Sonja posts on Pack behaviour.

And, as an extra, Nic Paton of Sounds and silence adds something on Incarnation, inclusion and hell

Rucksack Update; or, Clubbing Robots

2007-08-13T16:38:00.000-04:00

Thanks very much for the prayers on behalf of my rucksack. I am at a conference in Hungary and have been feeling awfully bohemian in my lack of clothing. But I sort of get a kick out of that, I suppose.

Well, the Iberia web site tells me this exciting, but rather uninformative news:

Which means, I think, that the bag is definitely located somewhere in the known universe.

So I called the happy Iberian hotline whose robots told me,
"The call center is busy, please stay on the line, thank you," every 30 seconds until my call was disconnected, 30 minutes later. I had just decided that after waiting 34 minutes I'd hang up, so I felt like the friendly Skype internet telephone robots were trying to beat me at my own game.

Most of the important information on Iberia's site is in Spanish, but I managed to figure out that if you send a special almost-morse-code message via cell phone, their happy computer robots (might) text back with some info on your lost bag. So I sent my almost-morse-code message with my bag tag number and wrote: Solicito la información sobre la localización de mi bolso. (Muchos Gracias for Altavista's robot translators.)

To translate, my text message to Iberia basically said, "Please send me some news about my rucksack that I can put in some Hungarian goulash and actually chew on."

But I have the vague feeling that robots in Spain go out clubbing at night, and probably don't answer their work messages. That's probably why I haven't heard back from them. I hope they at least eat some tapas for me.

Continued words to the CEO of the Universe are welcomed.

Happy 30th Anniversary, Mama + Dad!

2007-08-13T16:00:00.000-04:00

Today is Rose and Joe's 30th Wedding anniversary! I'm so proud of them.

Mama and Dad, if you've been married 30 years, that must mean you got married at about age 4, right? You're so young still. You're beautiful parents to me and I'm very glad to celebrate today with you, halfway across the earth.

(Dancing is the Poetry of the Foot photo by Lovelypetal).

Missing: Since Saturday

2007-08-12T09:15:00.000-04:00

Missing : One Blue Jansport Rucksack

Last Seen: Lisbon Airport

Contents:
-shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, pastey stuff
-all of Nelly's clothes for this journey (nothing folded very neatly)
-one pair of very old brown Reefs, almost worn through in right toe
-one pair of new Reefs, still wearing in
-one pair of running shoes
-old swimming costumes

Iberian Airlines: Say they cannot yet locate said bag.

Prayers Are: Always Accepted

Just as Far as the Lighthouse, Girl

2007-08-11T00:01:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was walking up the stoney streets of Cascais, on my way to run along my most favorite path in the globe: from Boca do Inferno (lit. "mouth of hell") to Guincho beach, overlooking the Atlantic. I was intercepted by a phone call that my presence was requested in Sao Joao for Indian food in 30 minutes. Now, this was a dilemma.

This Indian restaurant was the spot of nearly every celebratory meal eaten outside of my apartment for three years. The food is good. Outlandishly good, in fact. But holy curry, man, I had planned my whole day around this run because, well, it is my favorite spot in the world. (And I am not prone to throwing superlatives into the air. My most indeterminate crush of all time once said, "It is very difficult to impress Jenelle.")

These dear friends wanted to eat in 30 minutes, so I decided to scrap the Boca-run, and just run along the boardwalk to Sao Joao. (My 2nd favorite path.) But I'd forgotten that I am not the woman I used to be and have fallen a bit out of shape. Needless to say, I took some elegant "stretching breaks" as I went, but made it safely back to my old hometown, and the dinner date. I imagined that Sao Joao's "Cucina Indiana" was the most excellent of finish lines.

Along the way, I impressed myself by sending text messages from my cell phone while running. I also (literally) ran into Marco Santos--with the cool new tattoo--whom I had not seen in a year, and whom did not know I was in town. Funny.

Well, tonight I got my Guincho run. And I told myself I'd run "just as far as the lighthouse," and then turn back. I am a sucker for overused, tired metaphors that stretch out like my legs after running. While I'm mid-jaunt I make up half-haikus in my mind and feel far too profound. Just as far as the lighthouse? I'll let you draw this one out.

(Lisboa Lighthouse photo by Oumupo.)

I Crossed the Ocean

2007-08-10T08:49:00.000-04:00

...to get this haircut. Any body in Cascais with the least strand of hair-sense knows (the infamous) David from W2 Stylists in Monte Estoril. I've missed him. David said he affectionately refers to all us girls who left Portugal as "the mystery girls who came and went." I like that monniker. (Or, as Agent B calls me, I am a Portu-gal.)

I sort of feel like now I need an old Gibson axe with a crunchy Marshall amp.

This punker-do definitely highlights my silver "highlights." I'm ok with that. I hope I stay ok with that.

Well, To Be Honest

2007-08-07T19:03:00.000-04:00

I can't get past the strange feeling that I never really left Portugal, but that I just happened to go on a really long vacation. A year long vacation. And I took all my stuff with me.

I've gone to a few of my old favorite places--the Salamandra with Jasmin, the Indian restaurant with Cristina, Caffe Girassol with Jesus (though I'm a terrible friend to him) and with the journal in which we converse. And each of these places somehow doesn't reek with sentimentality, as I'd expected. It just seems like I never left. And this is strange.

You could say that I'm still twirling around the notion of "home" like a pinwheel in an uncertain, but pleasant ocean breeze.

(Photo from the Lisbon Underground with Cristina J. in the foreground)

Familiar Streets, Salinger on Family

2007-08-06T19:48:00.000-04:00

Portugal is familiar as ever. And I do mean familial-er. The uneven stone streets of this land reach out and greet me as a sister because I, too, am uneven. And we will keep on walking, dear.

I might start including scraps from my scrappy journal, as I write them. My tone betrays my own voice as I tend to immediately mimic the writers that I read, just as teenage girls begin to talk like their favorite friends, accidentally.

6 Aug 07 - 4:45 pm - Cascais, Portugal

I have just finished Salinger's Franny and Zooey, and am terribly glad that for perhaps the first time in my life I happened to arrive at a meeting point ten minutes earlier than planned. I'm leaning my somewhat tired back against the old marble wall at the Cascais Station. The cool breeze keeps washing away the station-smell of urine in the crevices of the steps.

Jasmin will soon be here to greet me. I can't wait to hug her. It's been a year.

On the walk to Cascais from Monte Estoril I did my civic duty and helped at least three German tourists. I also avoided a nice Brazilian lady who was trying to sell me something with my mostly true, "I'm sorry but I don't speak Portuguese." She later diverted a helpless English speaking tourist to me. I'm not sure if I helped the lady find a bus to Cabo do Roca, but I gave it a shot.

[end.]

I am so glad that sweet Jesus urged me to plant Franny and Zooey in my carry-on as I viciously packed for six weeks of travel. I read it straight through on the two aeroplanes, and then finished it, quite triumphantly, while leaning against the train station wall in old Cascais. I've read the book about three times since college, and it still makes me giggle aloud at every third page. The interplay of the Glass family is a riot, and Salinger's narration absolutely kills me. Incidentally, I think that English and Theater majors would find the conversation perfectly self-deprecating to their studies. Artists do tend to take themselves far too seriously. And the Glass family certainly does.

The plot weaves around the spiritual crisis of young Franny Glass. Muffled within a host of superfluous cigarettes and god-damns, Salinger still paints a more honest picture of the real Jesus than might be found in many a church-house. That's one of the reasons I like him so much.

I found this excellent NY Times book review by John Updike from 1961. I disagree with the guy on many points, but his words are far more erudite than mine about why Salinger is a genius:

"...Salinger's conviction that our inner lives greatly matter peculiarly qualifies him to sing of an America where, for most of us, there seems little to do but to feel.

...His fiction, in its rather grim bravado, its humor, its morbidity, its wry but persistent hopefulness, matches the shape and tint of present American life."
-John Updike, NY Times (Sept 17, 1961)

Home, a Definition; or Home is Where the Obedie Dances

2007-08-05T18:46:00.000-04:00

I'm writing from London Heathrow, en route to Lisbon, and then on to Christian Associates' annual staff conference. I can't wait to return to Portugal. I have that excited/exhausted nausea from skipping across time zones during the night. I feel a bit like a little girl on those groggy mornings when I knew I was going over to play at a friend's house that afternoon, and so awoke too early on account of happy nerves. My body is happily confused with an excited lack of sleep.

On the flight over from Baltimore, my next door seat neighbor asked me whether I was going home, or going on vacation. I said I didn't quite know how to answer his nice question. I lived in Portugal for a little over three years, so it is like going home. But then again, I just left home, and already miss my family. These home questions are strange. (TCKs know so well.)

Not long ago, someone much smarter than I said that we're only really "at home" when we've pitched a tent in the center of obedience. I think that might be the most accurate definition of "home" that I've ever heard. What do you think? I've always liked the image of our bodies as tents. I think the metaphor stretches out nicely.

(Photo of Warwick Castle by Jedi58)

Our Stories Are Currency

2007-08-03T13:41:00.000-04:00

I've spent the last few days in upstate New York with family. My parents met in this town at age 17. The story goes that Dad fell in love when he first watched Mama walk out of Five Corners Pizzeria.

But an amazing thing happened when they married: their two Italian families really became one. It is extraordinary the way these two families enjoy each other.

Last week, my Mama's niece graduated high school. She invited my Dad's parents to the party. This week, my Mama's sister had a small anniversary party, but she happily invited my Dad's parents, too. We're all family. "In-laws" need not apply.

I think the way my relatives welcome one another is a nice metaphor for how God's Family should work.

Since I only get to visit my family here about once a year, this week I've been determined to write it all down. I spent a lot of free-time scribbling down stories from my Grandma Dee-Dee, my Great Uncle Chuck and Great Aunt Mary, and my Poppie Collamer. Their words and stories are a great currency spilled out in ink. I have many many words saved onto the computer, now, and I'm hoping to stretch them into mini-memoirs for each of them.

I wonder why I did not do this sort of thing far sooner.

Poppie Collamer (aka. Poppie-in-the-kettle in my previous post) turns 80 today! He has taught me so much about the value of living simply and loving generously.

("Write Me" photo by SuperMamacita.)

Reflecting: Kettles, Window, Pain

2007-07-31T23:21:00.000-04:00

I just figured out how to upload photos from my mobile phone. I mesmerized my Poppie today with my Nokia's ability to morph into a camera.

I am very fortunate that all four of my grandparents are still living. But two of them suffer from Alzheimer's, and one quite severely. And that makes my heart hurt. (I do not have any better words than these.)

Today it felt good to just hold my Grandma Mary at the nursing home, and let my tears fall on her even as she was unresponsive and still. We watched her quivering lips, wanting to believe she was just trying to say, "I love you, too."

Meanwhile, back at the house, my Poppie's heart is sad, too. But I tried to cheer him with silly reflective pictures in his shiny new kettle. The light still pours in through the windowpanes, after all.

Ramen at the Lord's Table

2007-07-29T23:57:00.000-04:00

I have some not-so-healthy habits. I stay up too late. I drink too much coffee. I eat things that remind me of college, like ramen noodles and mac-n-cheese. These are non-meals, but I do enjoy real meals, and find the conversation with friends as much of a feast as the eating.

I am eating solitary late-night ramen wondering when it is that the Lord's Supper became a non-meal. When was it that this luxurious table was splintered down into a tiny wafer and a sip of syrupy grape juice concentrate, and/or cheap wine?

And when did it become so boring? I really would like to enjoy this sacrament with celebration. But it seems that in order to "do this in remembrance," my culture has told me that I have to be sullen and serious and sad. But I do not think a meal in the wake of a Risen Jesus should be so. He's alive, kids. Everybody mango!*

* a silly phrase recently developed which denotes summer-sun/fun/laughter/dancing.

(Ramen Noodles by Mochick)

I Am Where My Feet Take Me

2007-07-28T23:59:00.000-04:00

I have just returned after an intense last week of class with my wonderful Fuller cohort in Pasadena. Please forgive me for the extended blog absence. As one of you mentioned, seeing that bloody Harry Potter post each day for the last week has been quite irritating and horrendous. My apologies. I might offer the following condolences:

{alpha} I hope to post each day for the next week, providing I have sufficient internetting to span my Northern journeys.

{beta} These artful words slash prayers:

"For who am I? ...Am where my feet take me...
Come unto me, you say. I, even to myself, turn.
O Lord and lover, I come if I can to you down through sleeping and waking and eating and saying goodbye and going away and coming back again. Laboring and laden with endless histories heavy on my back."

-from Frederick Buechner's The Alphabet of Grace

(Photo by Phil Hilfiker)

Come to Me, All Ye Laden With Potter

2007-07-21T13:48:00.000-04:00

This morning I discovered one of my possible contributions to society: Harry Potter Therapist.

I was out getting coffee with Mackenzie last night, and we heard that the other coffee shoppes were staying open till 1am to accommodate the frenzied Potterites. For at midnight oh one, bookstores released Rowling's, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7). To poppy culture, I imagine this is just a few adrenaline drops short of Beatle-mania.

I appear as an eyebrow-raised (casually giggling) observer watching this all unfold. I've not yet read even one Harry Potter, nor have I seen the movies. And not for any deep reason, either, except that I've just always been a bit bored by any sort of fantasy/sci-fi. I've never been able to make it through Lord of the Rings, nor have I even finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia (causing great rebukes from Lisa B).

And so, all of these vacuums make me quite useful to society today.

As I was getting my morning coffee here at the Klein house, I observed what hilarious tension Harry Potter can cause in opening-day readers. Two sweet members of the household are voraciously reading their just-acquired Book Sevens, but, they are reading at quite differing paces. Reader #1 will inevitably laugh aloud, or gasp, or signal a cause for alarm. Even if in another room, these responses cause Reader #2 to yell, impassioned, "YOU JUST HUSH!!! DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME ANYTHING!!!"

Seeing that I could be of some help here, in my Potter virginity, I grabbed my pink "I feel just like a princess" coffee mug (just discovered in the cupboards) and took one of these Klein gals for a walk around the block. She was so itching to talk about what she'd read so far, but had no one to listen. I, on the other hand, am somewhat disinterested, and thus, completely immune to ruining the big Harry surprise. A good Potter therapist, I am.

"Well, tell me what you've read so far," I said, as we walked up the block.

"You really haven't read any Harry Potter before? Well, first of all, it's about a kid who does magic..."

"He Calls Me To Be A Life Again"

2007-07-20T20:26:00.000-04:00

(for Rachel and her dreams) some re-discovered words from Buechner's The Alphabet of Grace :

Beneath the moonlit drifts of sheet, I turn in my sleep and draw up my knees...And with my knees drawn up, I dream I am sitting down. I am sitting on a stool at a bar, and my glass has left a wet ring on the wooden counter-top. With my finger, I start to move the wet around. I move it this way and that way with nothing much on my dream of a mind. And then on the smooth counter of the bar I write a name. When I have finished writing it, I start to weep, and the tears wake me up. I cannot remember the name I wrote, but I know that it was a name that I would be willing to die for. Maybe it was the secret name of God or the secret name of the world. Maybe it was my own secret name. The dream is only a dream, but the tears are exceedingly real.

Darkness was upon the face of the deep, and God said, "Let there be light." Darkness laps at my sleeping face like a tide, and God says, "Let there be Buechner." Why not? Out of the primeval chaos of sleep he calls me to be a life again...To wake up is to be given back your life again...Waking into the new day, we are all of us Adam on the morning of creation, and the world is ours to name. Out of many fragments we are called to put back together a self again.

"My poor misguided child," my grandmother says, "is all this cloudy rhetoric your way of saying that in the morning you wake up?"

"Yes, it is," I say...

-Frederick Buechner

(Waking up photo by Phil Hilfiker)

(This is) How Family Works

2007-07-18T14:53:00.001-04:00

You might remember me mentioning the awful fire that destroyed the Simple Way community house, and how you could help Shane Claiborne and company rebuild.

Do you know how some in the Family have just responded? They gave the Simple Way the keys to their building, and said, “It’s yours now, because you need it.” The remarkable part is that the gift house is actually located just a couple of blocks from the burnt house on Potter Street.

Adventures in Mission literally gave one of their houses away.

I’m sort of scratching my head about the whole thing. And it's not just because I’m stunned by the generosity of these beautiful people, because radical sharing is how God's Family works.

I’m also raising my eyebrows at the fact that it was just yesterday that I was first introduced to Adventures in Mission. I interviewed my friend Liza at the California Pizza Kitchen for an assignment in our course on Organizational Dynamics, and she told me what she loves about being a board member for AIM. I’m most impressed that they are a group of people committed to the emerging culture, hospitality, and “listening” prayer. Oh, and outrageous generosity.

It seems this is a group I ought to get to know.

(Stephen.Hackett's Micah 6:8 tatt)

Riding the Sky to California

2007-07-15T19:15:00.000-04:00

The nice people of Southwest Airlines dropped me off at LAX last night. And then the most wonderful Klein family picked me up from the aeroporto in their rad '90 Volvo wagon. We rode around Angel town with the windows down and I lamented the loss of my old dark green '90 Volvo 240.

Its name was Volvino, as I hypothesized that it was somehow a Swedish-Italian hybrid. We sold it after I moved to Portugal, and after its breaks failed me while driving north on highway 301.

I am happy as a clam in California. The sun is smiling out loud and it is not humid at all. The Kleins left me good coffee and I enjoyed the first responsibility-less morning and afternoon I've found in quite a long time. I went on a little run and the San Gabriel mountains cheered me on through the flower crested streets. I picked up a small flower and ran with it, just because I could.

Tomorrow at (yikes) 8am I'll start two weeks of class in Pasadena with my Fuller cohort. It will be our last two weeks together, and then we'll go on to finish our electives and then graduate like cylinders. I shall be done in the Spring!

(Balloons over California by MS4JAH)

A Great Pregnancy; or, Christmas in July

2007-07-13T10:59:00.000-04:00

(From my all-time favourite little book, Letters to a Young Poet, letter 6)

Rome
December 23, 1903

My dear Mr. Kappus,

I don't want you to be without a greeting from me when Christmas comes and when you, in the midst of the holiday, are bearing your solitude more heavily than usual...

Why don't you think of him as the one who is coming, who has been approaching from all eternity, the one who will someday arrive, the ultimate fruit of a tree whose leaves we are? What keeps you from projecting his birth into the ages that are coming into existence, and living your life as a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy? Don't you see how everything that happens is again and again a beginning, and couldn't it be His beginning, since, in itself, starting is always so beautiful?

...Is there anything that can deprive you of the hope that in this way you will someday exist in Him, who is the farthest, the outermost limit?

Dear Mr. Kappus, celebrate Christmas in this devout feeling, that perhaps He needs this very anguish of yours in order to being; these very days of your transition are perhaps the time when everything in you is working at Him, as you once worked at Him in your childhood, breathlessly. Be patient and without bitterness, and realize that the least we can do is to make coming into existence no more difficult for Him than the earth does for spring when it wants to come.

And be glad and confident.

Yours,
Rainer Maria Rilke

Go to the Limits of Your Longing

2007-07-11T23:54:00.000-04:00

I came across this old poem from long ago, the one that my mentor in college ripped from her Rilke's Book of Hours, and mailed to me in a letter. I tacked it to every bedroom wall I lived within for many years. Now I'm unsure of where that tattered page could be. Yet, words are recovered. If ever there was a reason to learn German, it is to be able to read Rilke in his original voice:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Everybody Mango!

2007-07-09T23:45:00.000-04:00

I am currently back in Baltimore. I got my three tiny cavities filled, quite painlessly. Among many other things, I am pond-fishing through my iTunas and putting the finishing touches on a Hey you! It's summer! homemade CD mix extravaganza of indie goodness. In honor of Portuguese summers, it shall be entitled Everybody Mango!

If you would like to Mango, I would be happy to send you such a Compact Disc with my handwriting on it. But you might want to indicate as such, and be sure that I have your postal address.

Thank you. And now, dance.

The Trumpet Child, in Brief

2007-07-08T21:43:00.000-04:00

Well, that was a soulful treat. A sneak peek at Over the Rhine's newest record. The first five songs left me a bit breathless. Particularly because Karin's voice sounds better than it ever has--even more out on a limb, if that is possible.

The opening track walks in with cabaret horns, Linford's lush piano, and Karin playing the soul-angel:

I don't wanna waste good wine if you won't stick around;
I won’t pray this prayer with you unless we both kneel down.

And on track three, only Karin Berquist could get away with singing the phrase, "the whole enchilada" and still make it sound strangely artful.

The standout song is the title track, "Trumpet Child," as it considers the possibility of the King's arrival with the welcoming pronouncement of a simple little trumpet.

Isn't it August yet?