in all my work, theophilus, my desire is you will find the one who seeks you so persistently, who draws you ever onward and upward, into his waiting embrace. do not think you can escape him, if you love him! it is good to be a prisoner of hope.
if i can be as transparent as glass, so that the light in me (but it is not of me) can shine for you in a dark place, if i can make you smile, if i can make you think with longing of the one my heart longs for, i will consider myself well rewarded for all my labors.
but i want to tell you that he loves you very much, this God who does not know how to leave you alone. and something good will come of all this doubting, and sorrow, and struggle. you cannot see it now. but neither can you see the beauty of the rose that will one day spring from the seed you drop into the ground. you must trust that the seasons will bring forth the work of the one who set them in motion in ancient days.
he has not forgotten you.
God save and keep you, friend. he loves you and has forgiven you for everything. he doesn't even think of it. as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. his grace is sufficient for you, and oh how he wants you to know it!
therefore with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.
do not forget the eternal God who is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. but if you are faithless, he is faithful. he will not let you go; he knows you love him. he knows your heart. as a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear him.
ah theophilus, may you find rest in the midst of all your strivings. i have great hopes for you. may his peace guard you, his light guide you, and his love surround you--always.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
Friday Afternoon Lull
Friday afternoon, and I have no client projects to work on. I am sitting at my desk with my afternoon cup of English Teatime tea (I always drink Earl Grey in the morning), and listening to the traffic nine stories down, on Fairfax. It's gray outside, and I would say gloomy, except that I think I'm ready for a bit of rain, perhaps even hoping for it.
I love it when it rains at night, and I can lie in bed listening to the sound of it. That's one of my favorite things.
Another favorite thing is Christmas lights, and I have seen, on my night-time walks, that the houses in my neighborhood are starting to put those up.
Which reminds me, I can now allow myself to start playing Christmas songs on the piano, since Thanksgiving is past!
And that reminds me that I actually succeeded in playing through the frustrating second line of Chopin's Piano Prelude #6 last night, and I am quite excited because that is one of the most difficult sections of that composition, so that means I can start working through the rest, and perhaps by my next lesson I will be able to play the whole thing through. It's a very pretty piece, and I like it.
Hmm. I like the word "pretty." Can you say it aloud without smiling? If you can, you shouldn't.
(Yes, I know I'm rambling. But it's that sort of day, and anyway, now you know what is usually going on in my head all the time...just multiply the tangents and randomness by whatever it would take to fill up 24 hours, and you will have a good idea of why I ought to spontaneously combust! I don't know why I don't, actually. Maybe it's because I drink so much tea--that's supposed to be very relaxing.)
I love it when it rains at night, and I can lie in bed listening to the sound of it. That's one of my favorite things.
Another favorite thing is Christmas lights, and I have seen, on my night-time walks, that the houses in my neighborhood are starting to put those up.
Which reminds me, I can now allow myself to start playing Christmas songs on the piano, since Thanksgiving is past!
And that reminds me that I actually succeeded in playing through the frustrating second line of Chopin's Piano Prelude #6 last night, and I am quite excited because that is one of the most difficult sections of that composition, so that means I can start working through the rest, and perhaps by my next lesson I will be able to play the whole thing through. It's a very pretty piece, and I like it.
Hmm. I like the word "pretty." Can you say it aloud without smiling? If you can, you shouldn't.
(Yes, I know I'm rambling. But it's that sort of day, and anyway, now you know what is usually going on in my head all the time...just multiply the tangents and randomness by whatever it would take to fill up 24 hours, and you will have a good idea of why I ought to spontaneously combust! I don't know why I don't, actually. Maybe it's because I drink so much tea--that's supposed to be very relaxing.)
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Untitled
I am thinking a lot today. It is Rilke's fault, and the fact that I actually have some downtime at work, and am not drowning in all the red ink that has threatened to overtake me over the past week, and which spills from my pen like blood all over seemingly countless pages! But that sort of wounding is for the ultimate good, after all.
Ah, but about Rilke. i have been reading his Letters to a Young Poet when I have no jobs to proof, and he made me almost cry today, except that I did not let myself because it might have been awkward trying to explain if a co-worker came suddenly into my office, as they do. (The work can be demanding, but it has not reduce me to tears...not yet!)
Rilke writes nothing that is entirely new to me, but much that touches a certain place in me that corresponds to what he writes...I mean, if I can explain it, a place that has always known what he says, and thought of it, and tried in various ways to express it. And it is like how I feel when I play a particular chord in the first movement of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"--this one chord always makes me want to close my eyes, because it is so sweet it hurts. And I can't say how, but I know this chord belongs to me, comes from me in the playing of it, just as much as it belongs to beethoven, and came from him when he penned it.
In Letter #3, Rilke talks about gestation and birth, and I think a lot about those things. Not because I am a woman and I want children, because I don't, though I am. But because I have felt the past two years that I was caught up in a pregnancy of sorts...my own or the world's, I don't know. The transitions of my life, recently, have taken place for the most part in 9-month stretches--9 months in New Zealand the first time, 9 months the second; then 9 months working in a transitional job and struggling through feelings of such disappointment, such anger with God, that it perplexes me to remember them, and I hardly recognize myself in those months.
Now perhaps I am embarking on a new time, but toward what? And what have all these pregnancies brought forth, after all?
That remains to be seen. But I like what Rilke says:
Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.
In this there is no measuring with time, a year doesn't matter, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn't force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!
(trans. by Stephen Mitchell)
Ah, but about Rilke. i have been reading his Letters to a Young Poet when I have no jobs to proof, and he made me almost cry today, except that I did not let myself because it might have been awkward trying to explain if a co-worker came suddenly into my office, as they do. (The work can be demanding, but it has not reduce me to tears...not yet!)
Rilke writes nothing that is entirely new to me, but much that touches a certain place in me that corresponds to what he writes...I mean, if I can explain it, a place that has always known what he says, and thought of it, and tried in various ways to express it. And it is like how I feel when I play a particular chord in the first movement of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"--this one chord always makes me want to close my eyes, because it is so sweet it hurts. And I can't say how, but I know this chord belongs to me, comes from me in the playing of it, just as much as it belongs to beethoven, and came from him when he penned it.
In Letter #3, Rilke talks about gestation and birth, and I think a lot about those things. Not because I am a woman and I want children, because I don't, though I am. But because I have felt the past two years that I was caught up in a pregnancy of sorts...my own or the world's, I don't know. The transitions of my life, recently, have taken place for the most part in 9-month stretches--9 months in New Zealand the first time, 9 months the second; then 9 months working in a transitional job and struggling through feelings of such disappointment, such anger with God, that it perplexes me to remember them, and I hardly recognize myself in those months.
Now perhaps I am embarking on a new time, but toward what? And what have all these pregnancies brought forth, after all?
That remains to be seen. But I like what Rilke says:
Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.
In this there is no measuring with time, a year doesn't matter, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn't force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!
(trans. by Stephen Mitchell)
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Allow Me To Introduce...
my brother, the pod person.
I have suspected for some time that E-rock is not like the rest of us--and by rest of us, I mean human beings. He seems to live in this world of perpetual good luck, where everything he does or wants to do works out in golden spades. Midas would be jealous of this man.
For example, people give E-rock--on a regular basis--random things like expensive running shoes, snowboards, and computers and they don't ask him to pay for any of them. It's weird, especially since these people aren't always even his friends. One time, a complete and total stranger gave him the keys to an expensive hotel room in Tahoe and told him to make himself, and his friend T, at home.
Now honestly. These sorts of things do not happen to normal, everyday people. (Especially that last one.)
I remember one time driving around Huntington Beach with E, and he was completely amazed at the fact that he was having difficulty finding parking. "I always find a place to park!" he said in wonderment. I looked at him, disbelieving, and said something along the lines of, "Welcome to the world of the rest of us." Because who on earth finds good places to park in HB on a sunny, beautiful weekend? No one, that's who! But I did not suspect the truth even then (which was, of course, that it was because I, a normal human being, was in the car, thereby effectively blocking by my mere proximity his alien find-awesome-parking-place powers).
Last night, though, it all became abundantly clear, through one short conversation that started like this, "Oh by the way, I won tickets to Vegas."
(And you better believe it wasn't ME that said that.)
I stared at my brother. "What?!"
"Yeah."
"No wait, what do you mean, you won tickets? Won them how?"
"On the radio. I listen to this talk radio station and the other day I called in and I got these tickets."
"To...Vegas."
"Yeah. Wanna go?"
Cue "Twilight Zone" music.
What made this really eerie was the fact that we had been talking a few weeks ago about taking a trip to Vegas, because we were bored and we thought it might make for a fun little adventure, but we couldn't find any tickets at a good price. Then suddenly ("by the way"!!!) he just WINS tickets. I mean, come on! Talk about blowing your cover, Mr Alien Man.
Well, I guess there are worse things in life than finding out your brother is not actually from Planet Earth. One might be that he would decide to take someone else with him to Vegas.
So what can I say? Beam me up, Scotty.
I have suspected for some time that E-rock is not like the rest of us--and by rest of us, I mean human beings. He seems to live in this world of perpetual good luck, where everything he does or wants to do works out in golden spades. Midas would be jealous of this man.
For example, people give E-rock--on a regular basis--random things like expensive running shoes, snowboards, and computers and they don't ask him to pay for any of them. It's weird, especially since these people aren't always even his friends. One time, a complete and total stranger gave him the keys to an expensive hotel room in Tahoe and told him to make himself, and his friend T, at home.
Now honestly. These sorts of things do not happen to normal, everyday people. (Especially that last one.)
I remember one time driving around Huntington Beach with E, and he was completely amazed at the fact that he was having difficulty finding parking. "I always find a place to park!" he said in wonderment. I looked at him, disbelieving, and said something along the lines of, "Welcome to the world of the rest of us." Because who on earth finds good places to park in HB on a sunny, beautiful weekend? No one, that's who! But I did not suspect the truth even then (which was, of course, that it was because I, a normal human being, was in the car, thereby effectively blocking by my mere proximity his alien find-awesome-parking-place powers).
Last night, though, it all became abundantly clear, through one short conversation that started like this, "Oh by the way, I won tickets to Vegas."
(And you better believe it wasn't ME that said that.)
I stared at my brother. "What?!"
"Yeah."
"No wait, what do you mean, you won tickets? Won them how?"
"On the radio. I listen to this talk radio station and the other day I called in and I got these tickets."
"To...Vegas."
"Yeah. Wanna go?"
Cue "Twilight Zone" music.
What made this really eerie was the fact that we had been talking a few weeks ago about taking a trip to Vegas, because we were bored and we thought it might make for a fun little adventure, but we couldn't find any tickets at a good price. Then suddenly ("by the way"!!!) he just WINS tickets. I mean, come on! Talk about blowing your cover, Mr Alien Man.
Well, I guess there are worse things in life than finding out your brother is not actually from Planet Earth. One might be that he would decide to take someone else with him to Vegas.
So what can I say? Beam me up, Scotty.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Happy Thanksgiving!
I am thankful for many things, of course--God, family, friends--you know, the requisites. But I thought that I would dedicate today's post to you--my legions of frogg files readers! Because I certainly am thankful for you. Many's the time I thought about quitting this silly blog, and then someone would say they like reading, or that something I wrote made them think, or laugh, and I would say to myself, "Ok. If one person is still getting something out of it, then I'll keep it up just a little longer."
And here it is, more than a year later since I started! Who would've thought.
Many thanks to Steve for getting me started with the blogging and for all the fun stuff we've done over the years; to Mark for the same thing (except for the idea to start blogging!); to Aunt B for being one of my biggest fans (hey I still have that "creativity" stone you bought me at Harper's Ferry years ago!); to my cousin the noble lady, who is a beautiful, talented girl and a good writer and singer; to beccaline for her friendship and all the laughs; to Single Proposition who is not unaware of my shortcomings as a friend, and yet is friends with me anyway; to andi for encouraging and praying me through a rough time this year; to daily pepper for being a cool writing buddy and a good friend; to beautiphil for being my IWT partner in crime; to Bees for the offer to spend his future lottery winnings on a private jet so he can fly out to see me, or bring me back to NZ for a visit; to expectmuch who said some very nice things about me on his blog once, and who also stops me from being as hard on myself as I try to be; porter for the occasional late-night glass of bourbon and the oscar wilde nightingale story; to skwerlman7 and thelittlekappa who have always been supportive and encouraging, of both me as a person, and also my writing.
If you did not see your name in the above list, you should comment more often...or just let me know that you read the next time we talk! Whatever the case, don't be sad. I am thankful for you too.
I will raise a glass of Martinelli's sparkling cranberry juice to you, my readers, today. Thank you, and remember me as you eat your pumpkin pie! Also mincemeat.
PS After all that, I won't be writing for you for the next few days...off to the San Francisco Bay Area, where I am lucky enough to have a second family who all but adopted me, and who is having their Thanksgiving on Saturday! So I get two Thanksgivings this year! Yay!
PPS and for those of little faith among you, who doubted my veracity on a previous posting, I give you...the dinosaur eating the giant clock! I bet he would rather have turkey though. Feel sorry for him as you gobble yours down.
And here it is, more than a year later since I started! Who would've thought.
Many thanks to Steve for getting me started with the blogging and for all the fun stuff we've done over the years; to Mark for the same thing (except for the idea to start blogging!); to Aunt B for being one of my biggest fans (hey I still have that "creativity" stone you bought me at Harper's Ferry years ago!); to my cousin the noble lady, who is a beautiful, talented girl and a good writer and singer; to beccaline for her friendship and all the laughs; to Single Proposition who is not unaware of my shortcomings as a friend, and yet is friends with me anyway; to andi for encouraging and praying me through a rough time this year; to daily pepper for being a cool writing buddy and a good friend; to beautiphil for being my IWT partner in crime; to Bees for the offer to spend his future lottery winnings on a private jet so he can fly out to see me, or bring me back to NZ for a visit; to expectmuch who said some very nice things about me on his blog once, and who also stops me from being as hard on myself as I try to be; porter for the occasional late-night glass of bourbon and the oscar wilde nightingale story; to skwerlman7 and thelittlekappa who have always been supportive and encouraging, of both me as a person, and also my writing.
If you did not see your name in the above list, you should comment more often...or just let me know that you read the next time we talk! Whatever the case, don't be sad. I am thankful for you too.
I will raise a glass of Martinelli's sparkling cranberry juice to you, my readers, today. Thank you, and remember me as you eat your pumpkin pie! Also mincemeat.
PS After all that, I won't be writing for you for the next few days...off to the San Francisco Bay Area, where I am lucky enough to have a second family who all but adopted me, and who is having their Thanksgiving on Saturday! So I get two Thanksgivings this year! Yay!
PPS and for those of little faith among you, who doubted my veracity on a previous posting, I give you...the dinosaur eating the giant clock! I bet he would rather have turkey though. Feel sorry for him as you gobble yours down.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Dog Ate My Boyfriend, and Other Fun Holiday Disclaimers
Well, it's that time of year again...the time when you, as a single person, are surrounded with what seems to be suddenly ENDLESS, INFINITE amounts of couples holding hands, and smiling endearingly at one another as they stroll through the mall, or eat at McDonald's, or drive cars. And while this may be charming and picturesque and cuddly and all, the trouble with it is that your relatives are seeing these VERY SAME CUTE DARLING COUPLES, so that when they see you (all by yourself) at a holiday function (such as, for example, Thanksgiving), they are more than primed, not to mention prone, to pop The Question.
Namely, "Why are you still single?"
In the interest of public service and the sanity of singles everywhere, I have spent a great deal of time--10 whole minutes, I think--considering possible answers to what has become, for many singles, the Mt Everest of Stupid Questions, and I am proud to say that I have come up with a few ideas that should help the single person to smoothly deflect any well-meaning, but annoying, attempts at deciphering the mystery of why you are not part of a Cute Couple. (If you are not single, you should probably not read this, because you'll spoil the surprise.)
I hereby offer to you my Top Five Answers to The Question, as a way of getting the simple point--"Because I just AM, ok??"--across, without resorting to heavy artillery or weapons of mass humiliation, which after all, tend to put a bit of a damper on holiday get-togethers.
1) Say, "I'm sorry, but that is top-secret information, classified under the Act of Fabrication, according to the third amendment (section A) of the Code of Non-marital Ethics, Statute #342-X71. Technically, I have to kill you now, but I'll let it pass just this once."
Sometimes the best weapon at your disposal is complete and utter confusion. And this phrase has the added bonus of making sure you have absolutely no competition for first-in-line for the food, or for dessert. I bet you won't even have to fight for elbow space at the dinner table; in fact, you just might get the whole table all to yourself! More pumpkin pie for you!!
2) Shrug airily and say, "They were out of the model I wanted when I went to the boyfriend store the other day, and I didn't care for any of the others."
I swear I am going to use this one for real. I can't wait! NB: Men, this would not be a good one to adapt to your singleness situation. It sounds much worse to say that they were out of girlfriends at the girlfriend store. I'm sorry, but sometimes life is unfair like that.
3) Look startled, then amazed as you say, "I'm--I'm single? What the--why doesn't anyone ever TELL me these things! Dammit, where's my publicist?!" Then go running out of the room.
If people don't start laughing at this, I despair of your relatives. You must find new ones, fast. NB: Don't forget to grab a piece of pumpkin pie as you dash away.
4) Pretend you have gone deaf.
This one might be a little tricky to pull off if you have seen or talked to any of your relatives recently. They are liable to say embarrassing things like, "Deaf?! Why, I just talked to you on the phone last night, you weren't deaf then!" That's when you gesture for a writing pad, and scribble down "His name is John"--er, wait. You don't need a writing pad--you're deaf, not mute! D'oh. Ok, so just make sure you pretend to read your relatives' lips as they express their incredulity, and then explain that you have a rare case of Nilaudioconfamilia deushelpmeinsis (you might have to write that down for people, actually), which has rendered you temporariily incapable of hearing, but it's being treated and you expect to be right as rain soon--tomorrow in fact, or maybe even this evening after everyone has left and you have the pumpkin pie leftovers to yourself (mmmm, pumpkin pie!).
5) Collapse into the arms of whoever asked the question, sobbing uncontrollably.
When all else fails, tears are your heavy artillery...and hey, I bet this one will get you extra pieces of pumpkin pie, with whipped cream!
Finally, as a bonus answer, I'd just like to say that "The dog ate my boyfriend" is actually pretty hilarious.
Well, now that you are armed and dangerous with the above responses, go forth and conquer! If nothing else, I am sure that use of any or all of the above answers/excuses to the question of why you are single will be cause for much hilarity and good cheer, and there is nothing wrong with adding a bit of those to the holiday mix, now, is there?
And by the way, just in case I didn't make it clear, I really really like pumpkin pie.
PS Also mincemeat.
NB: I must credit beccaline for the inspiration of this post, since it was her posting of an article about this whole topic (minus the fixation on pumpkin pie), that gave me the idea for my post. Thanks, beccaline! Looking forward to seeing you soon!
Namely, "Why are you still single?"
In the interest of public service and the sanity of singles everywhere, I have spent a great deal of time--10 whole minutes, I think--considering possible answers to what has become, for many singles, the Mt Everest of Stupid Questions, and I am proud to say that I have come up with a few ideas that should help the single person to smoothly deflect any well-meaning, but annoying, attempts at deciphering the mystery of why you are not part of a Cute Couple. (If you are not single, you should probably not read this, because you'll spoil the surprise.)
I hereby offer to you my Top Five Answers to The Question, as a way of getting the simple point--"Because I just AM, ok??"--across, without resorting to heavy artillery or weapons of mass humiliation, which after all, tend to put a bit of a damper on holiday get-togethers.
1) Say, "I'm sorry, but that is top-secret information, classified under the Act of Fabrication, according to the third amendment (section A) of the Code of Non-marital Ethics, Statute #342-X71. Technically, I have to kill you now, but I'll let it pass just this once."
Sometimes the best weapon at your disposal is complete and utter confusion. And this phrase has the added bonus of making sure you have absolutely no competition for first-in-line for the food, or for dessert. I bet you won't even have to fight for elbow space at the dinner table; in fact, you just might get the whole table all to yourself! More pumpkin pie for you!!
2) Shrug airily and say, "They were out of the model I wanted when I went to the boyfriend store the other day, and I didn't care for any of the others."
I swear I am going to use this one for real. I can't wait! NB: Men, this would not be a good one to adapt to your singleness situation. It sounds much worse to say that they were out of girlfriends at the girlfriend store. I'm sorry, but sometimes life is unfair like that.
3) Look startled, then amazed as you say, "I'm--I'm single? What the--why doesn't anyone ever TELL me these things! Dammit, where's my publicist?!" Then go running out of the room.
If people don't start laughing at this, I despair of your relatives. You must find new ones, fast. NB: Don't forget to grab a piece of pumpkin pie as you dash away.
4) Pretend you have gone deaf.
This one might be a little tricky to pull off if you have seen or talked to any of your relatives recently. They are liable to say embarrassing things like, "Deaf?! Why, I just talked to you on the phone last night, you weren't deaf then!" That's when you gesture for a writing pad, and scribble down "His name is John"--er, wait. You don't need a writing pad--you're deaf, not mute! D'oh. Ok, so just make sure you pretend to read your relatives' lips as they express their incredulity, and then explain that you have a rare case of Nilaudioconfamilia deushelpmeinsis (you might have to write that down for people, actually), which has rendered you temporariily incapable of hearing, but it's being treated and you expect to be right as rain soon--tomorrow in fact, or maybe even this evening after everyone has left and you have the pumpkin pie leftovers to yourself (mmmm, pumpkin pie!).
5) Collapse into the arms of whoever asked the question, sobbing uncontrollably.
When all else fails, tears are your heavy artillery...and hey, I bet this one will get you extra pieces of pumpkin pie, with whipped cream!
Finally, as a bonus answer, I'd just like to say that "The dog ate my boyfriend" is actually pretty hilarious.
Well, now that you are armed and dangerous with the above responses, go forth and conquer! If nothing else, I am sure that use of any or all of the above answers/excuses to the question of why you are single will be cause for much hilarity and good cheer, and there is nothing wrong with adding a bit of those to the holiday mix, now, is there?
And by the way, just in case I didn't make it clear, I really really like pumpkin pie.
PS Also mincemeat.
NB: I must credit beccaline for the inspiration of this post, since it was her posting of an article about this whole topic (minus the fixation on pumpkin pie), that gave me the idea for my post. Thanks, beccaline! Looking forward to seeing you soon!
Sunday, November 20, 2005
A Promise is a Promise
Aunt B has reminded me a few times now that not long ago I promised to post a picture of myself with my "new" haircolor (meaning my real haircolor!) here on the blog. I had sort of hoped people would forget about it, and I think they all did except for her, and if it were anyone else I would laugh and gaily renege, but since she is my aunt I want to stay on her good side. Especially because I like visiting her. She takes me cool places like Ocean City, Gettysburg, and Rita's.
So Aunt B, this one is for you! (Sorry I couldn't make it for Thanksgiving, but maybe next year.)
PS Red eye is "in." Trust me.
So Aunt B, this one is for you! (Sorry I couldn't make it for Thanksgiving, but maybe next year.)
PS Red eye is "in." Trust me.
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