The evening light is pale yellow again, thin and watery. It filters through open blinds and gauzy white curtains, making fuzzy shadows. I'm sitting crosslegged on the couch in the far corner of the living room, with my glass of ginger ale on the windowsill and my books and notes in a pile beside me. Once again, I am writing a paper.
It probably seems to you, dear reader, that I am always writing a paper.
But that is not all of life. This morning I woke to a 6:44 alarm (I re-set it for 7:11), then ate a poptart and had milky, sweetened spicy chai tea in one of my favorite shaped mugs (low and broad, more like a bowl, worthy of such a strong and lovely brew). Writing followed, and agonizing, and more writing (on the computer, in my notebook, on a small notepad, aloud to Josh's befuddled ears). But a bit after noon I stopped writing! I ate leftovers for lunch and then headed out to spend time with a Baby!
This Baby is around five months old, and he and I are weekly companions now. For an hour or two we hang out while his mom runs some errands or goes for some coffee: we walk around, I sing, we decide on what is Appropriate To Chew and Not Appropriate To Chew (houseplants, however tantalizing, are a Not). We go for walks and get lots of smiles of approval. We bounce.
After Baby Time, I went to the market and palmed peaches (should you buy ones that have split open at the top, by the stem? They were all like that, overblown, somehow), grabbed locally made pita and Wisconsin cheap-brand cheese (still $1.99 for 8 ounces, which is amazing here in the city), yellow squash, bell pepper, leaf lettuce, plums. I froze my fingers (and stretched my muscles) carrying milk home with the rest.
I also cleaned the bathroom (houseguest on the way!), baked chocolate cupcakes (last day of class tomorrow!), wrote scatterbrained emails, tidied my files, browsed blogs with pretty pictures.
And now I really--really--am going to write.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
between stitches
Tonight I had every intention of reading Ricoeur--or, rather, beginning with Ricoeur: A Guide for the Perplexed (I love this series)--but somehow I couldn't. I finished off a bag of Chex mix (3/4 of a bag, to be scrupulously honest) and read a whole chintzy magazine and finally decided that if I was going to procrastinate, I was going to do something I actually wanted to do.
So I pulled open the blue bin that houses my magical collection of fabric and thread, did a whole lot of pressing, and then I pinned pattern tissue to cotton cloth, cut out the pieces with my shears, and sat down to try out my newly arrived sewing machine.
Oh, the delight. Oh, the joy. Oh, the sweet, sweet pleasure of needle and thread and fabric, the quiet hum, the coming together of seams and tucks and darts into something that's halfway to wearable. (It's a dress. I'll try to remember to post pictures when it's done.)
But now it's ten o'clock, and I really do need to do some of that reading I avoided, so I'm going to brush my teeth and crawl into bed and let the cool evening breeze soothe me into understanding yet another Important French Philosopher.
So I pulled open the blue bin that houses my magical collection of fabric and thread, did a whole lot of pressing, and then I pinned pattern tissue to cotton cloth, cut out the pieces with my shears, and sat down to try out my newly arrived sewing machine.
Oh, the delight. Oh, the joy. Oh, the sweet, sweet pleasure of needle and thread and fabric, the quiet hum, the coming together of seams and tucks and darts into something that's halfway to wearable. (It's a dress. I'll try to remember to post pictures when it's done.)
But now it's ten o'clock, and I really do need to do some of that reading I avoided, so I'm going to brush my teeth and crawl into bed and let the cool evening breeze soothe me into understanding yet another Important French Philosopher.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
sunday evening, light fading
My left arm is sore. This afternoon, our church held a block party to kick off vacation Bible school, complete with one of those blow-up jumping carnival games and a Christian rap artist. There was even chicken.
I held the beautiful grandbaby of one of my Bible study friends, and I couldn't imagine how many people I met because of that little girl! Standing on the sidewalk, trying to wipe the Oreo cream off her face, I was A Mom, and not only that -- the Mom of a little African American baby, which somehow crossed racial barriers I didn't even know existed. I was almost sad to have to admit around question number three (I could answer her age and name) that she wasn't actually mine. But the conversations, once started, continued. I've never had such a lovely afternoon with my neighbors.
In other news, I've reached new heights of culinary thrift: Josh took me out last night to our favorite little Thai place, where we had a gorgeous sweet curry dish. We asked them to package up the leftover coconut broth for us (having eaten most of the chicken and vegetables), so tonight I cut up red bell pepper to simmer in the sauce with frozen peas -- and voila. Waste not, etc.
I held the beautiful grandbaby of one of my Bible study friends, and I couldn't imagine how many people I met because of that little girl! Standing on the sidewalk, trying to wipe the Oreo cream off her face, I was A Mom, and not only that -- the Mom of a little African American baby, which somehow crossed racial barriers I didn't even know existed. I was almost sad to have to admit around question number three (I could answer her age and name) that she wasn't actually mine. But the conversations, once started, continued. I've never had such a lovely afternoon with my neighbors.
In other news, I've reached new heights of culinary thrift: Josh took me out last night to our favorite little Thai place, where we had a gorgeous sweet curry dish. We asked them to package up the leftover coconut broth for us (having eaten most of the chicken and vegetables), so tonight I cut up red bell pepper to simmer in the sauce with frozen peas -- and voila. Waste not, etc.
Friday, June 13, 2008
oh, the good small things
A bit of delight:
coming home after a long day to find the cardboard lid of a microwave dinner on the dish drainer -- because my otherwise abstract husband loves me enough to save said lid from his lunch at work for the coupon on its underside, brought it home, and washed it.
coming home after a long day to find the cardboard lid of a microwave dinner on the dish drainer -- because my otherwise abstract husband loves me enough to save said lid from his lunch at work for the coupon on its underside, brought it home, and washed it.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Clothes and stuff
Emerging Women posted an interesting picture today with a sweet little chat about it (including where the original photo came from and all, too). I think there's probably a lot more going on in the photo than just "what you wear," and I think Paul's words on women's dress is also a bit more complicated, but I love what blogger Sonja says about how our clothes should set a tone of "hospitality and welcoming."
So the deep, dark truth is that this is an issue I struggle with. I am not a person of natural fashionable grace, even though I love pretty things. (To tell the truth, I'd love to wear only clothes from Anthropologie and J.Crew, if only my wallet and social sweatshop/priorities conscience would allow it.) Nor am I one of those people who can step into a thrift shop and paw through racks of weird smelling clothes to create fabulous outfits. I'm much more likely to swing by the clearance rack at Target on my way toward the $2 boxes of store-brand cereal. (I'm also excited about a new sewing machine, just ordered with hoarded Christmas money, that will return me to my heritage of hand-crafted clothes. That's an aesthetic and ethic I can get behind.)
But returning to the topic at hand, I'm usually too distracted to even notice what I'm wearing, but I want it to be, you know, attractive. I'd even like for it to be somehow representative of me, for it to contribute to first-impressions and my sense of self, because in our culture, clothing is a way we get to express and even form ourselves, a sort of self-fashioning. Right? I have this fear of appearing "home-schoolish" (in the bad way, because there's also a very good way) -- Josh loves to tell people that this was his first impression of me in college. I also have this fear of making the really bad choices that I made in high school, like wearing my father's castoff white dress shirts because I thought they looked "crisp" and "simple" and "writerly" (in the meantime, even the midwest had already gotten over that early-'90s grunge look). What I really looked like was a 15-year-old uncomfortable with her body and unsure how to tell her mom that she was through with always criticizing the clothes of "her generation."
These days I find myself dressing for a variety of people and groups: a husband who likes to raise his eyebrows at anything he deems too "conservative" or "mom-like"; a group of grad school classmates who admittedly range widly in style but somehow always manage to look like our pittance stipends gives them more spending money; students, who seem to need a bit more formality on my part to remind them that I'm not their older sister; a church community that values thrifting, scarves, and carved wooden earrings (the last one was an exaggeration); and, of course, myself, wishing for some sort of wardrobe between Anne Shirley and Annie Dillard.
But the point--the point!--is that none of this is the point. I'm pretty sure few people actually care what I'm wearing. I'm pretty sure I don't really care what other people are wearing. The point is, am I welcoming? Do I fit in fairly well with my context? Does my clothing relect my values? Where does my focus lie? Am I trying to play this complicated semiotic game with my wardrobe? Am I subscribing uncritically to a culture of endless consumption, trend-following, and focus on distraction, self-consciousness, and surfaces? Or am I busy living and loving and practicing a life of hospitality (characterized, according to one of my Bible study friends last week, by a radical practice of making space in my life for other people rather than trying to entertain them), and wearing clothes that somehow reflect this goal?
To clarify: I don't think the answer is to ignore what I'm wearing. God created us with aesthetic sensibilities (change as they might), with bodies, with a capacity to appreciate the sensuous. It would be ridiculous to try to live in my mind or expect others to "see who I really am inside": I am the same person "inside" and "outside." I believe that human beings are supposed to have bodies (exemplified, most powerfully, in the bodily resurrection of Christ and the promise of an embodied future), and I believe that God is pleased by our appreciation of beauty. The answer, I think, is not in finding a happy medium, but in holding the paradox at once. This means a constant negotiation between my own preference and aesthetic (formed by cultural norms, no doubt, along with more individual quirks), the realities of my financial situation and my sense of ethical responsibility, and love for my community/ies.
So the deep, dark truth is that this is an issue I struggle with. I am not a person of natural fashionable grace, even though I love pretty things. (To tell the truth, I'd love to wear only clothes from Anthropologie and J.Crew, if only my wallet and social sweatshop/priorities conscience would allow it.) Nor am I one of those people who can step into a thrift shop and paw through racks of weird smelling clothes to create fabulous outfits. I'm much more likely to swing by the clearance rack at Target on my way toward the $2 boxes of store-brand cereal. (I'm also excited about a new sewing machine, just ordered with hoarded Christmas money, that will return me to my heritage of hand-crafted clothes. That's an aesthetic and ethic I can get behind.)
But returning to the topic at hand, I'm usually too distracted to even notice what I'm wearing, but I want it to be, you know, attractive. I'd even like for it to be somehow representative of me, for it to contribute to first-impressions and my sense of self, because in our culture, clothing is a way we get to express and even form ourselves, a sort of self-fashioning. Right? I have this fear of appearing "home-schoolish" (in the bad way, because there's also a very good way) -- Josh loves to tell people that this was his first impression of me in college. I also have this fear of making the really bad choices that I made in high school, like wearing my father's castoff white dress shirts because I thought they looked "crisp" and "simple" and "writerly" (in the meantime, even the midwest had already gotten over that early-'90s grunge look). What I really looked like was a 15-year-old uncomfortable with her body and unsure how to tell her mom that she was through with always criticizing the clothes of "her generation."
These days I find myself dressing for a variety of people and groups: a husband who likes to raise his eyebrows at anything he deems too "conservative" or "mom-like"; a group of grad school classmates who admittedly range widly in style but somehow always manage to look like our pittance stipends gives them more spending money; students, who seem to need a bit more formality on my part to remind them that I'm not their older sister; a church community that values thrifting, scarves, and carved wooden earrings (the last one was an exaggeration); and, of course, myself, wishing for some sort of wardrobe between Anne Shirley and Annie Dillard.
But the point--the point!--is that none of this is the point. I'm pretty sure few people actually care what I'm wearing. I'm pretty sure I don't really care what other people are wearing. The point is, am I welcoming? Do I fit in fairly well with my context? Does my clothing relect my values? Where does my focus lie? Am I trying to play this complicated semiotic game with my wardrobe? Am I subscribing uncritically to a culture of endless consumption, trend-following, and focus on distraction, self-consciousness, and surfaces? Or am I busy living and loving and practicing a life of hospitality (characterized, according to one of my Bible study friends last week, by a radical practice of making space in my life for other people rather than trying to entertain them), and wearing clothes that somehow reflect this goal?
To clarify: I don't think the answer is to ignore what I'm wearing. God created us with aesthetic sensibilities (change as they might), with bodies, with a capacity to appreciate the sensuous. It would be ridiculous to try to live in my mind or expect others to "see who I really am inside": I am the same person "inside" and "outside." I believe that human beings are supposed to have bodies (exemplified, most powerfully, in the bodily resurrection of Christ and the promise of an embodied future), and I believe that God is pleased by our appreciation of beauty. The answer, I think, is not in finding a happy medium, but in holding the paradox at once. This means a constant negotiation between my own preference and aesthetic (formed by cultural norms, no doubt, along with more individual quirks), the realities of my financial situation and my sense of ethical responsibility, and love for my community/ies.
Thoughts?
Monday, June 9, 2008
the breezes blow
I'm feeling kind of small right now, kind of young. Lately Josh and I have been thinking a lot about denominational affiliations and so forth. Since we're considering church planting and recently attended an EFCA church planting "boot-camp" (aptly named, really), our thoughts are expansive. I think my class in the Catholic Modern Novel is also affecting all these ponderings.
We read Chesterton last week (just two chapters from Orthodoxy), and I was struck by his discussion of the usefulness of structures and boundaries. Once you know your limits, it's almost as though you have more freedom to explore and create. This is sort of abstract, I realize. For instance, though, in the classroom, I feel like my students are much more likely to take risks when they have a good understanding of my expectations, and when I've given them some "scaffolding" (to use a pedagogy buzzword). Or in my own daily life: if I know that I do laundry on Wednesdays, clean on Fridays, etc., I don't have to spend time worrying about when I should fit in the laundry or how it's piling up.
Some people probably benefit from structures like these more than others.
But in terms of denominations, as Josh wrote about recently, I personally feel compelled sometimes to just up and join a church tradition, and submit myself to it, knowing full well that it will be pockmarked, instead of trying to build everything from the ground up, develop my own mishmash theological statement, etc. This whole ascendancy of the individual in religion doesn't strike me as such a good thing just now. I want a tradition, perhaps even a liturgy, something I can bump up against in my thinking.
Does this make sense? I wonder if it's a generational or reactionary thing. Thoughts?
We read Chesterton last week (just two chapters from Orthodoxy), and I was struck by his discussion of the usefulness of structures and boundaries. Once you know your limits, it's almost as though you have more freedom to explore and create. This is sort of abstract, I realize. For instance, though, in the classroom, I feel like my students are much more likely to take risks when they have a good understanding of my expectations, and when I've given them some "scaffolding" (to use a pedagogy buzzword). Or in my own daily life: if I know that I do laundry on Wednesdays, clean on Fridays, etc., I don't have to spend time worrying about when I should fit in the laundry or how it's piling up.
Some people probably benefit from structures like these more than others.
But in terms of denominations, as Josh wrote about recently, I personally feel compelled sometimes to just up and join a church tradition, and submit myself to it, knowing full well that it will be pockmarked, instead of trying to build everything from the ground up, develop my own mishmash theological statement, etc. This whole ascendancy of the individual in religion doesn't strike me as such a good thing just now. I want a tradition, perhaps even a liturgy, something I can bump up against in my thinking.
Does this make sense? I wonder if it's a generational or reactionary thing. Thoughts?
Sunday, June 8, 2008
this day
Chicago has been hit by storms and heat these past few days, and more are on the way. I have been sitting on my heels at my desk or sprawled out on couch/bed/floor/chair with fans blowing on me, reading Brideshead Revisited and Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and theory books. Just now I'm trying desperately to make sense of a paper I wrote last (last) spring for a conference I'm attending next weekend. And trying to decide what to wear.
In other news, our project of the day is attempting to install an air conditioning unit. This has involved a good deal more power tool hum and scream than I'd anticipated. Apparently, it's not a good idea to have a heavy AC unit fall from the third floor into the courtyard, just above the door?
In other news, our project of the day is attempting to install an air conditioning unit. This has involved a good deal more power tool hum and scream than I'd anticipated. Apparently, it's not a good idea to have a heavy AC unit fall from the third floor into the courtyard, just above the door?
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Catching Up
Here are some highlights from the past month or two. First of all, remember the family-sized bag of cheetos? I took care of that.
For whatever reason, then, Josh and I decided to do a living room change-up, which involved taking hundreds of books from their shelves in order to move the bookcases. I'm not quite sure this was entirely sane.
Then there was the end-of-the-term grading frenzy. I marked hundreds and hundreds of pages with my trusty purple pen.
For whatever reason, then, Josh and I decided to do a living room change-up, which involved taking hundreds of books from their shelves in order to move the bookcases. I'm not quite sure this was entirely sane.
The next weekend, Richie and Kelly came to visit! We played an obscene amount of Risk...
...and gave Josh his fancy surprise graduation gift guitar.
And that, I believe, is plenty of update.
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