How Can I Breath Without You?

A Walk to Forget: An Anti-Chic-Lit

Meryl was not sad or scared when the doctor diagnosed her. Mostly Meryl was irritated. It annoyed her that the doctors wanted to make a fuss over it. She didn’t want medicines and check-ups. All she wanted was to live her life until the end.

There was nothing to like about the Meryl. She didn’t have a pleasant face or a pleasing figure. She wasn’t friendly or helpful. She did not like other people and was comfortable in the knowledge that none of them liked her.

So it was that when Meryl Harr learned of her coming death, nothing changed at all.

James Oliver and Heather Grant were precisely the opposite of Meryl in every way. They were friendly and obliging to everyone. They went out of their way to be useful to people. Everyone admired their attractive features. And neither of them was about to die.

Monday morning came and school went on in the usual way. Teachers taught, students ignored them, and everyone was relieved when the clock struck two.
After school the cheerleaders went to the gym, the nerds gathered in Gregory Munce’s basement, the do-gooders volunteered at the homeless shelter, and Meryl had to make a hard choice between throwing stones through storefronts and stealing sweets from small children.

In the end the decision was practically made for her by the lack of unattended children in the park. Storefronts it was; and a lovely day for it too. The looming clouds kept any would be witnesses at bay. She probably could have broken as many as ten windows, if only the first two hadn’t belonged to the homeless shelter.

James Oliver recognized Meryl as soon as he saw her face. In the third grade she had tied him to the flag pole with his own jacket on a Friday afternoon. It was early Saturday morning before he managed to gnaw his way loose. But while James easily identified Meryl as the culprit, when they filed their report it was actually the quick thinking homeless man, Phil, who had written down the license number and got her hauled into court.

Phil apologized many times for writing it down, after the judge sentenced Meryl to community service at the shelter, but James unselfishly shared the blame, knowing he should have kept his mouth shut about seeing her face.

Heather was excited about the opportunity. She believed this could be Meryl’s chance to change and how thrilling to be the ones who finally made her understand how horrible she was! She could practically hear Meryl at church, telling the congregation about her turning point and how she owed it all to the Heartland Homeless House.

Meryl was in shock. A three month community service sentence when she only had three months to live? It didn’t seem quite fair.

But life is what you make of it. Meryl optimistically took the thing as a challenge. She could quietly leave this world having unwillingly helped people for the last three months of her life, or she could make them all wish they were the ones with a fatal disease.

She broke dishes, bullied children, was rude to the volunteers. Soon Meryl couldn’t imagine how she could have wished to spend those last months in any other way.

Then one day the unthinkable happened. As she was screaming at an elderly man, Meryl collapsed. At first everyone simply watched the old man kick her, but when it became apparent that she was unconscious someone reluctantly suggested they call an ambulance.

“Don’t do it,” said James, “She won’t pay you back the money and her parents are even meaner than she is.”
“James!” Heather cried, “We have to help her, once she sees how we care even though she’s terrible, she’ll have to cha-.”
“I’ll take her in the Corrola, It’s still better than she deserves,” James said tersely, visualizing those chilly predawn hours in third grade.

And that was how everyone discovered that Meryl Harr was two weeks from death.
Heather was certain that the breakdown would come any hour now. Surely Meryl had a need to make things right before she died. Even James kept one eye open for a change.
Sometimes when they cuddled on his parent’s couch he would make up small changes so Heather would feel better.

“She didn’t trip Mr. O’Conner as much today,” James offered.
“Really?” Heather gasped.
“Mmmhmm,” James mumbled. He hated to lie.
“How many times less?” Heather pressed.
“Oh well, not many. It might be she lost count, but then again it mightn’t.”
“James, this is such a crucial spot. I really think we should pray for Meryl tonight,” suggested Heather.
James sighed, “A short prayer.”
“Jamesie, I mean, really pray. You know, instead of making out.”
James knew he’d been wrong to take lying so lightly. God was refining him now and he’d have to take it like a man, “Oh alright, I’ll start.”

The two weeks flew by the same as the ones before them. Soon Meryl’s time was gone and only her pale, chubby body remained. The day was sunny and sweet. There was no pastor and no mourners. There was only the young couple sitting on the grass by Meryl’s grave.

“It just makes you think how short life really is,” said Heather.
“Life is short,” James agreed.
They stared at the cheap plastic grave marker.

The caretaker didn’t approve at all of the young couple necking by the fresh grave. It wasn’t respectful to the dead. He should probably stop them. Then again, grief takes so many forms. Maybe he would just mow the lawn on the other side of the cemetery for a while. After all, life is short.

A word of explanation:

My sister, Bethany, and I were mocking "A Walk to Remember" and "Here on Earth" the other day. It led to a discussion about how cancer is used in stories. We're ok with cancer as a plot device, but we really hate it when it's a sweet girl with cancer (refusing treatment) who helps the rebel young man (who coincidentally has to volunteer at her place of employment to make restitution for his wrong doings) to realize he should change - as they fall in love. We find it repulsively sappy and absurd.

Bethy mentioned that she would like a story about a unattractive, mean girl getting cancer.
No redemption. No moral. Just death.

So sweet

I realize that as a single girl I should hate valentine's day. I know I should be doing something odd like dressing in black or something whiney like lecturing people on how it's just a "Hallmark Holiday" made to benefit the card and chocolate companies.
I've also come to realize that most of my acquantences expect me to roll my eyes and dismiss Valentine's as sappy and ridiculous.
I guess part of that is because I spent the first 18 years of my life hating the color pink, but I've always made an exception for Valentine's Day and as of late pink and I have sort been reconciled.

The truth is, I love Valentine's Day. It has a great, monochromatic color scheme, and I have never, ever had a V-Day go by without recieving candy, flowers, jewelry, stuffed animal, or all of the above. I always end up going out to dinner with someone, and I always have a good time. What's not to love?


True, most of my Valentine's Day gifts are from friends and family...but the only gifts I've ever gotten from boys have been terribly disapointing; from the fifth grade, when a boy gave me a valentine with a picture of a boy and girl kissing on it and I got in trouble for having it, to college when a guy sent me candy on Valentine's Day, after I'd broken up with him.
Note: I did not break up with him on V-Day, but an entire month before!

Plus, when you're dating someone no one besides your significant other is going to be buying you anything at all. When you're single people feel bad for you, and you get something from multiple people.

If you've got to be single, try to time it for February 14th.

Photographs & Russian Spies

At work we've been without internet for a few days. Since these few days have been our slow period, this left me trying to stretch about 20 minutes worth of work over an eight hour period with absolutely no distractions.

Yesterday was all foggy so I suggested I go take some photos around town, in hopes of getting something good for the cover. My boss could tell I didn't have enough to keep me busy, so out I went.

Typically when I see a good photo there is no where to stop and park, so mostly I drive around looking at good shots and then I park my car at the nearest store, church, or cult lodge. After that I have to hike along the side of the road and hope no one gets mad at me for taking pictures of their store, house, livestock, buggy, or weird getup.

So I spent a good two hours hiking through the Amish countryside. I did this in July too, but it's a lot more pleasant in the winter, even with the snow and slush and flash floods.

Later I went to take photos of science fair winners at the elementary school. The evil photographer was there, but she was chatty and friendly, which has never happened before.

Usually she's content to look at my poor little point and shoot camera with all the condescension of someone who is never without their SLR. She works for a real newspaper. You know, one that people pay a subscription for? My boss always says, "You work for a magazine," but honestly that isn't very comforting when it's newsprint and gets set out at stores for people to pick up a copy.

When I run into people a lot, but never talk to them, I tend to make up personal histories for them. It's not intentional, it just happens.

So the evil photographer is in her 30s, and she's from Russia. Her complete lack of accent doesn't really help this backstory, but for the purposes of my imagination we'll assume that she can drop the accent at will, like Hugh Laurie.

She's an American Citizen (obviously), but her job at the podunk newspaper is a front for the fact that she has ties to the underground soviets who are clinging to the hope of one day ressurecting thier movement. Because she has to be able to put thier plans into action at a moment's notice, she doesn't have a family or even many friends.

Much more entertaining than the more probable reality that she graduated from the local highschool, has 2.5 kids, is divorced, and recently took up pottery, where she met a swell guy.

The other photographer doesn't bother to notice that there are other photographers in the room. His superiority is made known by the number of lenses he has available for his camera, which must have cost several thousand dollars.

He's probably in his 30s too, he wears his hair in a trendy ponytale to let you know at a glance that he lives in a clean modern apartment, refuses own anything but a mac, and only listens to Indi bands. He probably heads eco-rallies in his spare time. And dreams of moving to New York where he will expose the impoverished American's condition a la Upton Sinclair or Jack London.

This is the most probable reality there is for this guy. His life couldn't be anything else. There's no way he's married either, I'm guessing he has some immigrant girlfriend who speaks limited English and hopes to one day get married, but knows the photographer will never commit.

Diotrephes and me.

I love Sunday nights, because youth group is a blast. I love the kids, just talking to them is a blast. I don't think I laugh that much any other day of the week.

The funny thing about youth group is that a lot of times I learn more about myself there than I learn in the service or in sunday school. Part of it is that Gabe and Caleb do an excellent job. Part of it is that discussing the bible with 12-13 year olds makes it clear how much of it I conveniently ignore.

We've been reading through 3 John the past couple of weeks. This week we focused on the verses 9-11.

"I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will have nothing to do with us. So if I come, I will call attention to what he is doing, gossiping maliciously about us. Not satisfied with that, he refuses to welcome the brothers. He also stops those who want to do so and puts them out of the church. Dear friend, do not imitate what is evil but what is good. Anyone who does what is good is from God. "

And Caleb decided to illustrate the verses by having a couple leaders gossiping about people and another leader not welcoming anyone.

Well, I had no idea this was going on so I was slightly suprised to see Gabe not being his usual uber-friendly self and even more suprised to have Mallory start talking about how unprepared lessons have been - especially since it was done right in front of the kids.

But my reaction wasn't shock at her attitude or defense of lessons that I know have been good. It was much more lame than that. And it's just something I've been noticing...how frequently I go ahead and shut up about things I know aren't right. Big or small. I pretend it's fine, because it's easier.

All we can do is...

Since my car speakers are dying I have to get my music fix at home. It kind of annoys me because it gets in the way of things like conversations or any project that doesn't find me in the living room.

So I've got Ingrid Michaelson blasting from my tiny computer speakers, which actually pack enough of a punch to make the puppy quite jumpy. One of the songs on the playlist, not on her cd, is Keep Breathing. It's quite awkward to sing along to because while I feel empathy for where Ingrid is coming from when she writes

"The storm is coming but I don't mind.
People are dying, I close my blinds.
All that i know is I'm breathing now.
I want to change the world...instead I sleep.

I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that I know is I'm breathing."

I can't help but feel her conclusion of "All we can do is keep breathing" is completely lame.

It reminds me of John Mayer's debacle Waiting on the World to Change. The slight difference being that while Ingrid Michaelson's tune sounds truly anguished for her lack of action, John Mayer's attitude seems to be, "Hey, I'm waiting for things to get better, what more do you want, punk?"

In the end though it's all the same. Whether it's waiting for someone else to change the world, or believing you should but can't change it. Even if it's believing you can change it...but don't.

Clarity

I've had an obsession since...always. Even before I really understood what made a design good..back when I actually found it confusing...it was still just this push to make things right, whatever that meant.
My friends found this irritating, especially if I criticized a professional artist, as I frequently did.
"You couldn't draw it better, Melody."
"Yes I could. I will."
And I'd be obsessed with figuring out how to make it better, for however long that took.


Then I got older and I noticed that the more expensive a product was the better designed the advertisements and the packages were. It really didn't take me long to notice that the things associated with church had a dime store quality about them. Sunday school pamphlets had cheap illustrations, bulletins are lucky to have correct spelling and punctuation - forget about being well typeset, posters with bible verses or little morals almost always featured children dressed about 10 years out of style. It really distressed me.

And then a friend invited me to Acquire the Fire (ATF) and I was blown away by it's inherent coolness. They designed cool t-shirts and hats without ripping off major ad campaigns. The people in photographs were dressed as if they'd walked out of a Delia's catalog. Maybe they had. So I was comforted that being a Christian didn't have to mean being an aesthetically challenged loser.

Fast forward ten years. My boss burst out laughing today because he saw I'd labeled a gradient fading from army green to eggplant purple as "nightmare". A church was doing a poll and was very specific on what the colors and font should be. The end result was that I could do nothing to save it. And this, combined with their poor wording, means that few people will notice their poll (which is designed to gauge the needs of the community), much less take the time to answer it.
The people who do will not be the unchurched community they desire to reach If they're like most churches they're looking at that disenfranchised 18-34 year old crowd. The people who answer will be seniors who appreciate the effort, but already have a home church.
I wanted to call the number and beg them to let me redesign it.

Now, I'm not 14 any more and I have mixed feelings on advertisements and the church. A snazzy design does not mean that a church has good theology. It doesn't make them love God more.

On the other hand, good design is not about being snazzy. It's about saying what you need to say clearly. That's why typesetting is important. If you make it hard or painful to read no one will read it. Your message doesn't get out. Design is, essentially, getting your message out as best you can. If your design is bad, the message is lost.

The church isn't about being cool. It isn't about the latest styles or colors. I know. But it does have a message. Shouldn't it be clear?

Slip-n-Slide

Is it weird that the necessity of carefully sliding across the parking lot makes me want to go ice-skating? I only went ice-skating once last year - with the youth group - and it was on one of the coldest days of year - and it was amazing. Outdoor ice-skating may be the one and only redeeming quality of winter.

Edit: I asked Holly if ice-skating would or would not be the single most brillant thing we could do when she visits and she answered in the affirmative - so that's incredibly happy.

Today...

Good news! I found a sweater. I'm pretty psyched.

Today is the most boring day of the week. We've just put out a publication - so it's kinda mindless prep for the next one. Plus it's a Tuesday, most people hate Monday's...I hate Tuesdays.

I'm trying to find gifts for my family. I wanted to buy Holly an ecosphere, but evidently a 4" ecosphere costs $53-$70. I'd like to buy it anyway...but realistically that isn't a good plan.

My siblings what such boring things too...books, dvds - not interesting. Not that I mind getting those things from people, but they're so boring to buy. Oh well, maybe I can entertain myself with creative wrapping.

Hide & Seek Fog

Vicki Austin walked through the fog of New York pretending she was a Bronte in the English countryside. When I first read The Young Unicorns (Madeleine L'Engle) I had no idea who the Bronte sisters were (even though I'd already read Jane Eyre), but I love fog so I figured Vicki, Emily, and Charlotte must be ok (I changed my mind after realizing Charlotte Bronte was responsible for Jane Eyre, I hate that book).

It is really foggy today and I'm hoping it lasts through my lunch break. The fog is one of the things I love about Indiana. In Ohio the fog doesn't last, there might be little wisps of it in the morning, but by 8 or 9 they're gone. In Indiana there's always the possibility the the fog will hang on till evening when it is most fabulous.

Thicker Than Water

On Sunday everyone had to be back in Indiana by the afternoon for various events. Mine was a not-so-progressive dinner with the youth group.
We couldn't get enough families to sign up - so we played games and had dinner at the church before driving to a Jr. Higher's home, where his parent's had prepared some pretty tasty desserts to top off our evening.

Each of us leaders piled some Jr. Highers into our itty, we-don't-have-kids-yet vehicles. My group claimed they couldn't breathe because they were so crowded. When we arrived at the house a back door handle got ripped off in their desperation to be released. Fine workmanship.
Chevy must be proud.

In Jr. High it is a measure of one's coolness that they can quote the latest music and movies. Actually, for some people this never changes. But while some of the girls were happily rattling off material from PG type programing, two sisters had to sing the "We're not allowed" anthem.
The tune hasn't changed from when I was a kid. It still makes everyone cringe. The kids who can't do what most people are - the kids who don't understand why anyone wouldn't be allowed to say, "Shut-up!" Adults who are silently grateful that they never have to sing that song again.

I understand why parents place restrictions on what their children can say/do/watch. When I was in college the awfulness of what was shown on television made Ashleigh and I decided we weren't going to let our children watch anything but TVLand, Nick at Night, and the news. Sometimes not the news.

On the other hand, explaining my parents' rules to my friends was like trying shove a basketball through a strainer - it didn't even make sense to try.
More resourceful than I was, the girl sitting next to me confided that she uses the rules to shock her friends. When life gives you lemons...

I assured the girl that my parents had the same rules for me when I was at home.

There's a bond between people who have been in the same situation. Especially when they've been through a trauma: cancer patients, people who have experienced the loss of a loved one, math students - the survival bond is always strong.

I think this accounts for the fact that after my comment the girl's face lit up and she notified her sister that, "She had the same rules as we do! She's family!" Her sister looked a bit confused - but it's like meeting someone in another country and finding out they're from your hometown. Instant friend. Instant family.

Rocking it Old School

I'm not really one of those, "Oh I love old people" types. They are out there, wandering around saying silly things like, "It's so cute when old people love each other," or, "It's so cute how old people get angry," or, "It's so cute that old people sneeze," as if being old somehow makes human behavior unusual.

But, there are two things that I adore about old women.

1. They tell amazing stories.

2. They are always appalled that I don't have a boyfriend or ten.



It used to bother me when people got all shocked that I wasn't seeing anybody. But in college a friend told me, "It's better than them finding it perfectly reasonable that you don't have a boyfriend," and I've chosen to look at it that way ever since.



But back to the old women. It isn't really that they think I'm such an amazingly wonderful person that I should be struggling to find empty spaces on my calander, its just that when they were young people dated someone different each night of the week. Whenever I am told this it is always in a tone that could double for comments about the high rate of crime or unemployment. The tone always wonders, "What is the matter with young people these days?"



My first reaction was to be amused. After all, old people are supposed to be more conservative than my parents, not less. Still, as I look my and my friend's experiences/traumas with dating I begin to wonder if the old ladies are not, in fact, right to shake their heads at the way we date.



Whenever you get something for nothing, someone gets nothing for something.



But, this is the way we date. Without commitments, but with expectations.



In the 1940s, until there was a ring involved no one got to expect anything. Yes, Sue might be out with Bobby tonight, but that certainly wouldn't stop Sue from seeing Stewart the next night and likewise Bobby will probably be out with Anne. Why not?



On the other hand, expectations are taylored to match this lack of commitment. Sue may be seeing four different boys, but she will not expect any one of them to fulfill her emotional needs. None of these boys are going to expect Sue to make her world revolve around them. Dates would be a lot less pressure for everyone and there would be ample opportunity for everyone to observe what they do and do not appreciate about the opposite gender.

Currently dating several people at once would make a person a player, but if it were understood that until a commitment is made no commitment can be expected back, this wouldn't be an issue. And when when that commitment was finally made (whether its "going steady" or an engagement) I think it would mean more and be better thought out for being a concious decision rather than this slippery slope where one day you think someone is attractive and all of a sudden you're stuck with them.

That's why I think we should bring back 1940's dating...and dresses...they had some real cute dresses back then.

Remembering to Breathe

I like reading other people's blogs - I have rather long list of blogs that I check with frequency that depends on how often those people tend to update their blog/how often their blog is interesting.

I read the blog of one Mr. Longbrake, partially for the lovely photos and partially because I think a lot of what he says is bunk - but fascinating bunk.

This is his latest post, uncharacteristically short:

"Of the few things I feel I have begun to learn in the last year, one of the most profound to me has been this: It is ok to suffer. It ok to be in the midst of pain and hurt and to simply sit under it. I (and you) do not have to push the everything is fine appearance all the time. I have discovered that covering up pain and burying it can be altogether much more detrimental to my soul in the long run. And because of this, I must not only accept pain, but in some way embrace it."

Not an original thought. I remember when I was in highschool Nicole Nordeman came out with her first cd and her songs "Burning" and "Why?" made my friends and I stop and say, "What?" because they weren't the typical Christian answers to pain - at a time when the typical answers had really stopped being effective for us.

On the other hand it frustrates me when people talk about just going ahead and letting ourselves hurt, as if we had some choice in the matter.

It reminds me of being 12 years old with a broken leg and facing surgery and everyone kept telling me how brave I was, as if I'd chosen a broken leg. As if I'd chosen to have a tumor.

And its kind of funny, really, because I was very good at getting out of things I didn't like. I manipulated and lied my way out of uncomfortable situations and I remember waking up the day after I broke my leg, in so much pain that I had spent all night dreaming about pain, and all I could think was, "I can't get out of this one. I can't make God fix my leg."

So the idea that I was somehow brave in taking on this broken leg, it made me laugh even as a 12 year old and the grown-ups never seemed to understand why.

Years later I spent my college fall break in the hospital waiting room while my little sister had a brain biopsy to determine exactly how maglignant her inoperable brain tumor really was.

Before my sister had gone into surgery my parents had, had the pastor in to pray for her. After the prayer Holly demanded that our younger sister Bethany do a magic trick she had been practicing for sometime.

"Everyone always says, 'I need that like I need a hole in the head,' well..." Bethy started, before appearing to pop a quarter in the top of her head and cough it out up again second later, "My doctor hates it when I do that," she finished.

Holly, Bethany, Daniel and I laughed like anything and our parents and pastor smiled uncomfortably before asking us why we were laughing so hard at the fairly lame joke. Holly rolled her eyes and laughed again, "I need a hole in my head."

The adults remained mildly confused as my sister demanded funny stories from each of us. The nurses loved my sister, she was in excruciating pain, facing cancer and maybe death, but always cracking jokes. It wasn't being brave. It wasn't embracing pain. It wasn't burying it either. My sister loves to laugh. She couldn't do anything about what was in the center of her brain. If she could have opted out I have no doubt that this is what she would have done.

Do we really have to embrace pain?
Is there some need to experience it as fully as we possibly can?

I think we embrace our pain a little too much. We cling to it and we take it out an examine all the little nuances and cry over them.

That's kind of natural. When I broke my leg I instinctively would hold my breath and grit my teeth whenever the doctor's moved it to wrap it or x-ray it. More pain was on its way and I was bracing myself (they dropped my broken leg three times while I was in the hospital - I'm lucky I still have a leg). But the doctors kept telling me, "You need to breathe, it hurts less when you breathe."

Its true kids. The doctors will spout some kind of smart sounding business about oxogyn flow, but I think its because when you're in that kind of pain you have to concentrate just to keep breathing and when you're focused on breathing you can't focus on the pain.

I think that's true in life. It is going to hurt - you can't change that. You can't make God take it back.
Don't forget to breathe.

Why health insurance is over rated

When I was in high school I had a lot of spare time. It is one of the many joys of being home schooled that you have more time than you know what to do with.
Of course, being the incredibly ambitious person that I am, I spent it wisely improving my understanding or honing new skills...or I chatted on the internet every night from 10:00-2:00, while watching Star Trek and M*A*S*H reruns.

But the internet is an interesting place, especially for a kid who has lived in the same area for most of her life, around the same type of people. Now I could talk to people from all kinds of backgrounds and beat dead horses all night long.
Back then I was really on top of social/political issues...I had the time. Nowadays I get my news from radio soundbites or relevant.com slices.

One thing that fascinated me though, was that my new friends all seemed to agree that trends apply only happen in the entertainment or fashion world. I mentioned some trend that was happening with science and was promptly told that things like science or health or technology don't have trends. These things are based on facts and therefore cannot be subject to the whims of people.

For a while this confused me, but then I realized that I was right and they were naive. Its amazing how often that turns out to be the case. Anyhow, there are trends in everything, but health trends are more changeable than even the fashion industry. One month it's pomegranates and rock climbing, this month it's interval walking and well, I don't know, but it'll be expensive and probably imported and the health world will spend all month in controversy over the best use of it and whether it really works. Then Oprah will champion it on her tv show and it'll be all over the place with a little Oprah seal of approval stamped on it.

Health seems like something that should stay that same. If interval walking is fabulous this month why is it that next month weight training will be the only real way to get in shape? I understand with fashion, the designers are creative people and need to be creating new things all the time. But health? People in the health field aren't creative. Imagine if our doctor's were creative, "Oh I don't know, we could do the standard proceedure, but what if we threw in a labotomy just for fun? I haven't done labotomy in a long time. You know what would be fun to bring back? Leeches. Let's rock it old school." Very disturbing very quickly. This is why doctor's make so much money. We pay them to not be creative.

The real reason why these things keep changing is that they don't really work. They just keep switching them out so we don't have time to notice. Now, you're thinking to yourself, "Oh well, those people that write the health column in Reader's Digest or Prevention, sure they're not on top of things, but actual scientists and doctor's have their facts straight."

This is a cute thought along the same lines as telling children that some sadist fairy wants to collect their teeth, but similarly false. This is why they tell you to get a second and third opinion. They figure that if three of them guess the same thing they're probably right.

Or they can split the cost of the malpractice suit.

Homoginize the World Mochachino Land

My youngest sister has an obsession with things being their proper place. Not in an organizational sense, but in a grand scheme of things, people, places, corporations should be aware of their place, personality, and purpose & be as true to them as possible.

The last time I visited my family we drove from our parents house in the middle of no-where into the nearest city. We passed a construction site on our way. A new CVS was being built & the tiny town pharmacy has closed, my sister explained with a frown. CVS, according to my sister, does not belong in a small town. People do not move away from everything to have a CVS on hand. They move so that they can buy their milk fresh off a farm and drive twenty minutes into town to make any major purchases.

I found this opinion amusing since my little sister loves the city. She nearly had a breakdown when our parents bought their large, wood bordered house. "There's nothing there!" she wailed, "People should be able to walk to buy groceries, they should be able to walk to the library! They probably don't even have a library!"

The library was our destination that day. There was one in the tiny town, it is one room of books and not worth the mention I'm giving it. So we cruised into the city, my sister maintaining the speed limit in the passing lane while hurried motorists passed us on the right, as we approached the historical district.

The houses, once the pride of America's 1940s bourgeois, are massive and decayed. They are owned primarily by large families with enough money to buy the house, but not to restore it, or landlords who divide the houses up into apartments and charge $450 a month for the agony of living there.

"And this," my sister said with disgust, motioning towards the ruined mansions and bemoaning the dirty slum our city, once a promising place, has given itself over to be. For my sister, and anyone who lives there, really, the fact that our hometown has neglected its commercial interests is a disgrace. Corporations, high-rises, and malls belong there. It should be the place growing, not the sleepy little town nearby, which would ideally continue its drowsy existence into eternity.

A few years ago I was flying to Paris and on the plane I read a travel magazine about shopping in foreign countries. They shared my sisters distress. What was the point in traveling if the shopping was the same in every country? Why would you leave America just to buy the same things at the same stores as you would have bought here?

I have to agree. I love the city as much as my sister. I love walking to my favorite stores. I love big corporations with slick advertising and well choreographed business plans. But it would be shame if that's all there was.

One of the massive houses that has been chopped up into apartments.Photo taken by Barb Hale. Used without permission.

Stream of Consciousness

I’m trying to decide what I should do tonight. I should be packing, but I have to tell you that sounds pretty lame right now. On the other hand, the end of August is rapidly approaching. On the other hand, I work better under pressure.

Now, another possibility is calling someone up and asking them to hang out. This hinges on said person’s availabilty, but I think I have at least one friend that would be available to do nothing with me.

The final possibilty is to commandeer Robin’s living room (mine being absent furnishings) and polish off my, er, Robin’s chic-lit novel while watching television and drawing. And eating. Eating is probably an important part of any of these scenarios.

Oh, and I have to go to the grocery, because I didn’t go yesterday and I need to replace the food I ate out of Robin’s freezer (don’t worry Robin, just the Dijorno’s pizza, I’m doing you a favor, that thing was freezer-burnt to hell). Plus, I don’t have any food of my own (hence my theft of the pizza).

Quite frankly scenario three is probably going to win as I am feeling both lazy and anti-social.
I think the youth leader seminar/retreat is happening this weekend. I’m excited to have our college leaders back, they’re a lot of fun. I was really impressed with them last year...smarter than the average college freshman...more mature too.

Speaking of college, my youngest sister is back in school this year. I feel bad for Holly, but at least she has that killer job at Chase. My sister is the poster child for a good work ethic.

Bethy’s still trying to figure out how to make her dreams of having a school yearbook come true, now that she’s hurdled the obstical of actually being at school. I want to have her and a few friends over for a weekend or something...so they can get away from campus, only one or two of them have family close by. And then Bethy can bake her own chocolate chip cookies!

Avril's Atonement (or not)

I listened to Avril's latest cd in the car this morning and laughed the entire way to work.
I don't exactly know why, her songs are either bitter or sappy, but they all made me laugh. Part of the reason could be that I am completely wired, but I don't think I'd be able to make it through today if I wasn't. The other part of the reason is probably that Avril reminds me of my little sister with the long blonde hair, tons of eyeliner, and the "Yes I am the best thing in the world" attitude.

It took a while to happen, but I am now excited to go to my friend's wedding...or maybe just to get my nice pillow back from my parents, who knows...but that means that my productivity is going to be pretty much nil.
Fortunately, I have a fun, full color project that is interesting enough to hold my attention for at least ten minutes at a time. If I had to work on more black and white ads today I would probably spend the entire time shopping.
I just discovered www.etsy.com, which has a lot of cute stuff. Expensive stuff, but cute. If I ever actually start producing t-shirts or stationary...that could defiantely be something to look into. The site is free, they charge 20 cents to per product posted and something like 3.15% of whatever you make. When you consider the value of being hooked up to a highly favored shopping site (where people pay exorbitant amounts for everything) that's not bad. at all.

My Love Affair with Monday

This morning I had about four shots of espresso. Normally that just keeps me from nodding off at my desk, but I must have been better rested than I thought because today I cannot sit still, which is probably why I have so many random thoughts running through my head this morning.

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First of all, I love Mondays. On Monday the week is new. I have’t screwed anything up yet. I haven’t snapped at my coworkers, yet. I have yet to forget my lunch every single day and I have not been led astray by the candy dish. Yet. I still believe that this week I will give work my best shot. Because it’s Monday it is so much harder to be apathetic, even when I felt that way all last week, except for Monday. On Monday, too, all my work goes quickly. I don’t care much for Tuesday, the novelty of my job has definitely worn off, but Monday is great. I just think you should know.

Also, I think I'm developing a phobia of going to the hair dresser. See, growing up I didn't cut my hair much and when I did my mom cut it straight across, no layers. This is fine when you wear your hair in pigtails or braids every single day, but you can see how that to change when I got older. That was fine too, my hairstylist loved me and I could walk in and say, "I don't know what I want, it should be this length, make it pretty."
In college I cut my hair very short, much to the approval of almost everyone I'd ever met and a few people I didn't even know (it's true) and the dismay of my boyfriend-at-the-time who really likes long hair (but seriously it didn't look good). That was easy because of Lucky Magazine's hair guide...but since then styles have changed and Lucky has yet to put out anything of equal or greater value.
The first stylist I tried here in Indiana cut my hair very nicely...oh a couple of times, but I've since discovered that though I bring the same picture with me each time, the original cut is never recreated.
I got tired of ineffectually attempting to straighten my hair, which hovers indistinctly between being straight and wavy, so I told my latest hairstylist I just wanted to wash the style and go. She completely misread that as, "Please scrunch my hair and try to sell me expensive hair care products, punctuate with uncomfortable small talk."

Which leads me to rant number three. I hate telling people I graduated from Grace. Invariably it leads them to believe that then is an appropriate time to tell me that they think 1) Grace is the devil, 2) All Gracies are pricks, 3) They would have never survived there because they are much too cool for that. Thank-you. I am glad to know of your disdain. I'll cherish it always.

For the record, I liked being at Grace. I liked a great majority of the people (and I don't even like people). I liked my classes. I liked chapel. I barely noticed the rules, much less felt compelled to break any of them.

If that makes me a prick, so be it, but at least I didn't go just because it was easy. At least I didn't go because mummy and daddikins threatened to revoke my car and pocket money if I didn't do it. At least I didn't spend the entire time whining that I was expected to meet a standard I agreed to meet. I'm sorry I'm not bloody cool enough, just cut my hair so I can pay the exorbitant bill.

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Moving on to actual events, this morning I was driving to work and I noticed something odd on the side of the road. It turned out to be a lady learning inside some sort of small covered cart (about knee high). The lady turned out to be Rosie Swale of Pope Wales. She’s walking around the world for cancer. She has this great accent and she never stops talking. It’s times like that I wish I had a pocket recorder. We met her because she met Delilah who thought that we might know of a harness shop where she could get a new harness made. None of the harness shops around here make people harnesses, but she’s out buying the parts right now and then some guy is going to sew them together for her. Meanwhile, her cart, Charlie, is parked outside our offices and people have been coming buy to take pictures (a local paper did a story on her).
Rosie’s been through Eastern Europe, Russia, Siberia, Alaska, Canada, and the upper plain states of the U,S.
You can check out her site at http://www.rosiesaroundtheworld.co.uk/.

Edit: She came back and I got some more pictures of her taking off. It was a lot of fun. I got to run up the highway and take pictures of her coming down the road. My job is really odd sometimes, but quirkiness can be a good thing.

At Random

...and God bless mommy, and daddy, and all the people who work in customer service and thank-you that I'm not one of them. Amen.

I hated working customer service. Sometimes my current job is frustrating, but this morning I was reminded of how awful work used to be. We screwed up some lady's ad...well, we didn't run it and the publication's already gone to press.

Our office manager had to call the lady and inform her that the ad would not run. It turns out that the lady was pretty nice about it since we gave her money back and offered to run the ad for free in a different publication, but that does not negate the initial fear and trepidation that one has to go to when calling. You never know if a customer is going be kind or eat you for dinner.

It's good times in the office right now, because no one else is here. I have the radio cranked up and Avril's admonishing some guy to ditch his girlfriend for her. I thought Avril was married.

Don't those songs get old? I mean, you can never have too many love songs because nearly everyone is in love (or thinks they are) at some point in their life, but how many girls are there who are actively trying to steal someone else's boyfriend?

I do know a lot of girls who like these songs...but they're not usually girls who could be singing about how the other girl is so ugly and stupid. Not without being openly mocked anyway.

I'm visiting the family this weekend, and because my boss is amazing and gives us our birthday's off I get to leave tonight. We had everything planned out, but unexpected things keep happening, so I don't really know what we're doing at all.

My little brother is flying out for Haiti on Friday, it'll be fun to see him off on his first mission trip. We might go to Jungle Jim's after and pick up some goodies. Huzzah for international groceries!

Saturday we were going to go to the creation museum, but I got an invite yesterday to go to a friend's baby-shower, so I'll probably spend Sat. picking up a gift and then mingling with a bunch of people I don't know (we had mutual friends in high school, but almost none of them live in the area anymore, but if Tracie comes with her baby, I will be completely psyched).

Sunday is all the joy of going to my parent's church. In high school I stopped coming to youth group after having been heavily involved in it for the past 5 years...and for three months no one noticed. Awkward.

But I hear the new preacher is good.

Interaction Impared

A friend of mine has decided to create a school for the social impaired. The severly socially impaired.

Not so much the person who can’t remember if you introduce the older person to younger person first or vice versa as the person who invites you out to dinner and then talks loudly on their cell to someone else through out the meal.

The school’s motto is: "It’s not you, it’s your personality"

Orginally her idea was to have classes where people could learn how to escape their own bad manners (right next door could be another friend with her seminar for guys on dating: "It’s more of a pursual than a study")

But now my friend has decided that the class could be more taylored the individuals needs if it were set up like "What Not to Wear". Friends and family members of the offending party would get video proof of how awful the person is and would send it in. A program would be set up to meet their individual needs.

If, for example, the person never misuses their cell phone, this would not be touched upon, but more attention could be given to the fact that they’re impossibly rude to their waitresses and/or don’t tip well.

Unfortunately, I can’t really think of a compelling reason for people to go. Rude people seldom know or care that they are rude. Going on "What Not to Wear" gets you $5000 to spend on clothing, but what would you give someone for learning to be considerate?