In Transit

Wish me luck- I'm off shortly to the Frozen North. That's not so frozen. Because it's summertime.

Next post may be a while in coming... and is sure to be full of notes on moving, nesting, and choir notes.

Love to all!

Specialty shopping

I'm re-living a particular memory today- I'm not sure exactly when it occurred- somewhere in the 5th/6th grade time period. But the memory is one that comes to my mind often, keeping me up nights, bothering me at work.

It's of my mother taking me shopping. Just me- no siblings. This was a rare enough occurrence to make me ask, "Just me? Why?"

"There's a new section that just opened in a store that I want to take you to," she answered, and then seeing that I still didn't understand she said, "It's for girls who are too big for girls' sizes but aren't ready for the Ladies department yet."

So we went. We shuffled through the racks, of which there weren't many. I didn't try anything on; we didn't buy anything- my mother deemed it too expensive I think. I don't remember the clothes at all, just how I felt. I remember watching the other girls that were there with their mothers- measuring myself against them, recognizing that we shared similar heights, the rounder tummies, the big feet. By the time we left, a new identity had been formed: The Big Girl.

Funny how one shopping trip can open your eyes to a truth about yourself, can shape your idea of who you are. This way of identifying myself- The Big Girl- it's worked its way deep into me, until it feels like it's my definition, the most succinct way to describe me as a person.

So how, I wonder, do you change that deep-seated idea? How do you go about rooting out this image of yourself that's been in residence for so long? How do you make room for other, better self-ideas to establish themselves?

destinations

The recovery of my passport has inspired me to daydream of places I'd like to go/things I'd like to see. When possible, I've put links...

Fiji
the Taj Mahal
St Catherine's Monastery on Mt Sinai
Monastery of St Thekla in Maloula, Syria
Paris (again)- especially this church
Mont St Michel
Scotland
Capri, Italy
the Vatican
Hagia Sophia
Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Great Wall of China
Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church in Tokyo, Japan (aka Nikolai-Do)
Salzburg, Austria
Romania
Tierra del Fuego (Argentina)
Kenya
Australia (again)
Hadrian's Wall
Angel Falls, Venezuela
Oaxaca, Mexico- just because "Oaxaca" is fun to say.
Kodiak, Alaska
Vancouver, BC
Prince Edward Island (yay Anne of Green Gables!)
This statue

amendment

Must now admit to there being some advantage to packing as I unearthed a very important artifact:


MY PASSPORT!!!


So, anyone considering offering me a last-minute, all-expenses paid trip to exotic locales may now step forward. Even Canadian offers will also be entertained.

Forecast for the week

A weekend away... have returned exhausted but glad to have spent time with old friends. The move to the Frozen North is just around the corner, and I've been struggling to get in these visits to all of my close Midwest friends, savoring up the moments with them.

In the next two evenings I must complete the hated task of packing. I'll take down the pictures, fold the clothing, unroll the bubble wrap, wrestle with the tape and boxes. The dust will make me sneeze, the cats will dart back and forth, tails twitching from under the dresser.

I'll try hard to tamp down the worry that it will be a repeat of Texas. I'll try to resist the urge to look through all the old cards, letters, and pictures, especially in one particular flowered box of memories. I'll try not to fret about money and the new job.

I'll make resolutions: spend less, eat less, curse less, exercise more, pray more, love better. I'll fill up the weekend with "lasts": last day at work, last Liturgy, last trip to Jarlings, last chapter read to my sister, last thing in the car (the cats). And I'll try my best not to cry.

Notes from a singleton

Bear with me, dear readers, because I'm having an I-hate-being-single day. Week. Month. Decade.

"Why are there so many unmarried women in their thirties?"
"Oh, I don't know. Suppose it doesn't help that underneath our clothes our entire bodies are covered in scales."

from the film Bridget Jones' Diary.

The above quote is the perfect example of some of the dumb things people say to single people. And of the snarky things we would love to say back.

So below are my Top Ten Things NOT to Say to a Single Orthodox Woman (at least not this one):

10) You're so wonderful, why aren't
you married yet?

9) You must be one of those "career
women."

8) Honey, you don't know how lucky you
are to be single, no reponsibility, all that freedom...

7) I need to get home to my kids, can
you stay and lock up the church hall, since you don't have anywhere to go?

6) From the medical
professional: Do you use any type of birthcontrol? No? The Pill? Condoms?
No? Any chance you might be pregnant? No? Are you sexually active? No?
Boyfriend? No relationship of any kind? No? Yeah right, well, I'll just
leave this pamphlet about your options...

5) So, have you made any new friends lately (wink, wink)?

4) But you're still young, you have
plenty of time!

3) Have tried online dating? I hear
there's an Orthodox site now.

2) Maybe God's calling you to
monasticism.

1) I know this great guy- he's a
seminarian!

(Yes, these all came from real life.)

Mis-treated love

"When someone treats us badly, we withdraw our love."

Someone said that to me today. I can't decide if it's true. My gut says it's not.

I can only explain it through my experience- I can think of 3 people I love very much, but whom I perceive as treating me badly- 1 through neglect, 1 through selfishness, and the last through rejection. And my response to each has been different.

Neglect was answered in me at first by an extreme desire to please, to do everything I thought this person would want of me. But recently has come a loss of respect and a good deal of anger. This person I subject to constant teasing and ridicule, and a picking apart of everything little thing. It seems that when the positive behavior failed to gain attention, I tried the negative instead.

I've responded to self-absorption by ignoring that person. Things are kept superficial, light, and uninvolved.

And the sting of rejection? What has that person gotten from me? An initial torrent of anger, but then... silence, at least in terms of our communication. Internally there's this weird combination of confusion, self-doubt, and profound loss.

But for all three, there is still love. Love that is tucked away, bruised and hurting, scared to come out for fear of further injury. Sometimes it doesn't hurt as much, but occasionally my dissatisfaction with one or the another relationship will surface to trouble my sleep and fill my journal. (The neglected love is biting especially hard at present.)

It's as though there's a disconnect between love and its acts. Between the basic core of emotion/care I have for each person, and the kindness or affection that should be it's expression on my part.

So, is the love withdrawn? Still not sure. Is love really love that is not expressed? But then what do I call that feeling, that connectedness I have to each person?

And... whose love have I neglected, rejected, or not seen through my own self-love?

A little rainy day quiz

If you're like me, then this type of weather makes you want to curl up with a good book. In that vein, take this little quiz... the American Book Review recently published the "100 Best First Lines from Novels." Think you know the top ten? I've given you the line, you come up with the novel and it's author.

1. Call me Ishmael.

2. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

3. A screaming comes across the sky.

4. Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.

5. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.

6. Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

7. riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

8. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

9. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

10. I am an invisible man.

Super-Special Bonus Question (#47 on their list, #1 on mine):

47. There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.

You can find the answers here.

The only way to end a bad day

For starters, it is rainy and cold again today. I got into my car to go to Matins, saw the drizzle mingled with bird doo on the windshield and thought, “Dammit!” and then was mad at self for such language on Sunday. Matins and Liturgy were interminable- when did the Doxology add so many verses? Must we sing Christ is Risen so slowly?

And the day went on, from one vexation to the next: You can’t prepare the green beans THAT way, Dad! I mean, honestly, does everything have to be boiled to mush? (And no, Sis, you are not to point out that mashed potatoes- this writer’s favorite food- are of necessity boiled to just that consistency.)

I trudged up to my room, at odds with even the carpet for slowing the door down from providing a satisfying slam.

Even the felines were fighting- knock-down, drag-out, go-for-the-jugular, would-fire-a-gun-if-I-had-opposable-thumbs fighting.

I thought to myself- there is only one thing that can redeem this horrid day:

Mozart.

(To those of you who thought I’d say something holy like “Prayer” I’ll remind you that I am, after all, the type who uses the “d” word on the way to church.)

Ahhh… good music is ‘zackly what I need. So I’ve compiled my playlist: First I need something for all of my anger… “Dies Irae” from the Requiem for starters, followed by the first movement of Symphony No. 25 in G Minor.

Then I’ll need to calm down and repent a little, so I’ll insert the only non-Mozart bit of the evening: Allegri’s Miserere Mei Deus… aka Psalm 50/51, which is probably good as I was not paying attention when it was read at Matins this a.m. (Incidentally, this is not wholly unconnected with Mozart, as you can read about here.)

Then I’ll move on to my favorite Mozart aria: Ruhe Sanft from Zaide, sung by Renee Fleming.

And now for the piece de resistance, my absolute favorite piece of classical music, hands down: the Overture to the Marriage of Figaro. Pure unbridled exuberant joy.

But of course, I’ll then be all keyed up and in no mood for slumber, so I’ll close with W.A.’s Serenade for Winds (3rd mvmt.) and the 2nd mvmt. of the piano concerto in Dmin.

Who knows, maybe I’ll pray after all.

Book of Kells

Found this pic... my journal's image has a lot more red tones in it, but this gives you an idea:

New Journal

Have just returned from Pages, having spent 30-odd $$$ on non-necessities. Mother's Day card, another Elizabeth Berg book (so excited!) and a new journal.

The journal was the object of the outing, having recently filled the last one. It was both fun and frustrating trying to pick a new one- to find the right size and shape, the right spacing of lines, and the right cover. The old one was a pale blue and flowery in an Impressionist sort of way. The new one's a beaut- the cover is an image from the Book of Kells (Middle Ages Celtic Gospel) and has the symbols of the four Evangelist. Lovely.

A new journal is an intriguing thing... what will I write in these pages. Given that I only seem to journal when feeling blue, probably more in the vein of the last journal. But maybe.... ?

A Poem

Come with purrs, small beastie

for the ghost is strong now.

Hold him at bay for

a little while

if you can;

I'm overcrowded with memory

just now.

Water Lily

First Post

I sat at my computer for a long time, trying to think of what words could capture who I am, what I feel about my life right now. How to capture this feeling of desperation mingled with hope? And then the words of the Psalmist:

Psalm 130
1Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord.
2Lord, hear my voice: let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications.
3If thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?
4But there is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared.
5I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.
6My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.
7Let Israel hope in the Lord: for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.

8And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.

The first verse says it all: I feel as though I am calling out to God from a deep blue abyss, my words fighting their way up through the dark water. Sometimes I wonder if my words make it to the surface- the water seems too murky. But other times I can see the sunlight peering through.

So- there it is. My first post.