I’ve
never been a fan of bad language in movies. There are times I can get past it, for the most part, but I never fully justify it: a movie like “The Town” bombards you
with constant f-words but is also set in a very rough environment with
some very messed-up people. And while that’s still not an excuse, it
makes it a little more understandable. In that situation I will usually
say something like, “It’s a very good story, but the language is
terrible," meaning that I think the story could have been told just as effectively
without it.
A
few months ago I started working at an office where it’s common
to hear s- and f-words every day. I had never before been exposed to bad
language on a daily basis - if someone I know (or myself) uses it, it’s during times of pretty extreme anger or frustration. But at
this job the words slip out from my coworker’s mouths like any other
adjective or exclamation, punctuating times of anger, frustration,
excitement or casual commentary.
Some
people are able to tune it out or become desensitized, but it weighs
heavily on me. I cringe internally every time. “Jesus Christ” used as a curse word is the worst - it makes
me feel sick.
A
few weeks ago Matt and I turned on a movie he’d wanted me to see for a
long time. It was about the underworld of high-stakes poker, so
obviously none of the characters were shining examples of humanity, and
the cussin’ was strong and constant. We got about halfway through before
I got up, shut myself in the bathroom and cried. I just couldn’t take
it. It was almost like a panic attack - every f-word and JC doubly heavy
since I’d spent all day hearing the same thing.
I’m
not expecting to live in bubble or “require” people to never curse
around me, but it makes me thankful to live most of my life around
people who don’t swear just because they can. It wasn’t ingrained into
my vocabulary as a kid. I’ve never felt pressure to use bad language to
“fit in” or “be cool.” And if there are kids around and someone’s
swearing, I’m not afraid to say, “Hey, stop it. There are kids here.”
That may seem old-fashioned, but I still believe it matters.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Superheroes
The following excerpt taken from Slate.com’s article “In the Aurora Theater the Men Protected the Women. What Does That Mean?” *
At least three of the 12 victims of the [Aurora movie theater] shooting died because they were physically protecting the women they came to the movie with. Alex Teves, 24, used his body as a shield to cover his girlfriend. He was shot, and she survived. Matthew Robert McQuinn threw his body in front of his girlfriend, Samantha Yowler. He too was killed, and she was pulled to safety by her brother, Nick Yowler. Jonathan Blunk, 26, pushed his girlfriend, Jansen Young, under a seat. Again, he was killed, and she got out after the shooting was over.
...Papers have described what happened in the theater as "chivalry." But it's not really that. Chivalry is a code of conduct connected to social propriety. Throwing your body in front of your girlfriend when people all around you are getting shot is an instinct that's basic, and deeper. It’s the same reason these Batman and Spider-Man franchises endure: Because whatever else is fading away, women still seem to want their superhero, and men still seem to want to be him.
_____________________________________________________
Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises is honest, painful, triumphant, tragic. It shows the difference a few good people can make against an overwhelming onslaught of evil, and that those good people are just as flawed as the rest of us - Commissioner Gordon lives a lie for 8 years, Bruce Wayne hurts Alfred again and again through his selfish acts, Selina Kyle has a dark past she just can’t shake. Nobody good is perfect, and nothing evil is undefeatable. Rises is intense and painful without the manic brutality of the second movie in this series, and real enough to make you stop and think “what if?”
The weekend after the Aurora shooting I read many, many news articles detailing the attack and aftermath. I had read that the attacker entered the theater and set off his gas bombs just as two bombs exploded on-screen. I saw the movie on Monday night, and as that scene approached I found myself tensely watching the exits at either corner of the screen. I told myself nothing would happen...but at the same time, I couldn’t be sure.
Later in the film Bane sets off a massive explosion in a crowded arena and his thugs swarm the stands, preventing anyone from fleeing. I cringed and tensed because even amid the fantastical elements of a superhero story, it felt real. A very similar event had just happened; on a smaller scale, yes, but a masked stranger has burst in without warning and taken lives. The real-life attacker didn’t bring down a city, but he did enough. What was entertainment before had become a reminder of real life.
Many themes in The Dark Knight Rises mirror those in Charles Dickens’ French Revolution classic A Tale of Two Cities, and at one point a main character even quotes the book’s heroic closing passage. The lines he reads are the last words spoken by a man about to die, a man who has taken the place of another at the guillotine. For a large section of the film the citizens of Gotham must provide their own protection, their hero missing. One police officer hides behind closed doors as an epic battle approaches, yet ultimately chooses to join the valiant men he had led before, during times of peace. A reviewer from Relevant Magazine’s website** remarked that The Dark Knight Rises is “a morality tale and a mortality tale,” which I believe sums it up very well.
If the men in the Aurora theater had time to think at all, something inside each of them must have said, “if you do this, you could die,” and they did it anyway. They protected their girlfriends. Their wives. Their children.
They didn’t have time to plan. It wasn’t part of a script they had rehearsed. When given the split-second choice to save themselves or protect the ones they loved, they chose the latter. They weren’t wearing armor and had no special powers, but they were superheroes, plain and simple.
*http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2012/07/23/aurora_dark_knight_shooting_the_men_protected_the_women.html
**http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/dark-knight-rises
At least three of the 12 victims of the [Aurora movie theater] shooting died because they were physically protecting the women they came to the movie with. Alex Teves, 24, used his body as a shield to cover his girlfriend. He was shot, and she survived. Matthew Robert McQuinn threw his body in front of his girlfriend, Samantha Yowler. He too was killed, and she was pulled to safety by her brother, Nick Yowler. Jonathan Blunk, 26, pushed his girlfriend, Jansen Young, under a seat. Again, he was killed, and she got out after the shooting was over.
...Papers have described what happened in the theater as "chivalry." But it's not really that. Chivalry is a code of conduct connected to social propriety. Throwing your body in front of your girlfriend when people all around you are getting shot is an instinct that's basic, and deeper. It’s the same reason these Batman and Spider-Man franchises endure: Because whatever else is fading away, women still seem to want their superhero, and men still seem to want to be him.
_____________________________________________________
Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises is honest, painful, triumphant, tragic. It shows the difference a few good people can make against an overwhelming onslaught of evil, and that those good people are just as flawed as the rest of us - Commissioner Gordon lives a lie for 8 years, Bruce Wayne hurts Alfred again and again through his selfish acts, Selina Kyle has a dark past she just can’t shake. Nobody good is perfect, and nothing evil is undefeatable. Rises is intense and painful without the manic brutality of the second movie in this series, and real enough to make you stop and think “what if?”
The weekend after the Aurora shooting I read many, many news articles detailing the attack and aftermath. I had read that the attacker entered the theater and set off his gas bombs just as two bombs exploded on-screen. I saw the movie on Monday night, and as that scene approached I found myself tensely watching the exits at either corner of the screen. I told myself nothing would happen...but at the same time, I couldn’t be sure.
Later in the film Bane sets off a massive explosion in a crowded arena and his thugs swarm the stands, preventing anyone from fleeing. I cringed and tensed because even amid the fantastical elements of a superhero story, it felt real. A very similar event had just happened; on a smaller scale, yes, but a masked stranger has burst in without warning and taken lives. The real-life attacker didn’t bring down a city, but he did enough. What was entertainment before had become a reminder of real life.
Many themes in The Dark Knight Rises mirror those in Charles Dickens’ French Revolution classic A Tale of Two Cities, and at one point a main character even quotes the book’s heroic closing passage. The lines he reads are the last words spoken by a man about to die, a man who has taken the place of another at the guillotine. For a large section of the film the citizens of Gotham must provide their own protection, their hero missing. One police officer hides behind closed doors as an epic battle approaches, yet ultimately chooses to join the valiant men he had led before, during times of peace. A reviewer from Relevant Magazine’s website** remarked that The Dark Knight Rises is “a morality tale and a mortality tale,” which I believe sums it up very well.
If the men in the Aurora theater had time to think at all, something inside each of them must have said, “if you do this, you could die,” and they did it anyway. They protected their girlfriends. Their wives. Their children.
They didn’t have time to plan. It wasn’t part of a script they had rehearsed. When given the split-second choice to save themselves or protect the ones they loved, they chose the latter. They weren’t wearing armor and had no special powers, but they were superheroes, plain and simple.
*http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2012/07/23/aurora_dark_knight_shooting_the_men_protected_the_women.html
**http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/dark-knight-rises
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Life point
I love Texas, but I would like to move somewhere cold. I try not to make a habit of complaining about the weather, but I honestly enjoy the cold so much more than the heat. The only problem is that cold places are hundreds and hundreds of miles away from family...and I really like being close to family. We're at a point in our lives where we don't have that many connections, so could easily pick up and move across the country provided the jobs were good. But where? And for how long? And would we be more successful making friends there than we have here? I just don't know.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
A Smattering of Thoughts
When the office cat is the only thing keeping me sane, there’s kind of a
problem. I want to face each day with anticipation and creative
solutions and hope. I know I can’t drop everything and wait for a dream
job to appear, but I don’t want a job that I hate. I think I hate hating
my job more than I hate the job itself.
On another note...
A thunderstorm blew in rather violently one recent evening. The wind whipped across the road and a glance in my rearview mirror revealed a dense wall of dust rising behind me. It took a second to realize it was kicked up from all the dirt driveways on either side of the highway. Initial thoughts included “Dust storm! Close the shutters! Cover the food! Will the cows be OK?” ala Little House on the Prairie. But that’s just silly. I don’t own any cows.
And one last random tidbit...
I had a dream last night where evil people had surrounded our home, and the only thing comforting to me was a marmoset I cradled in my arms. When I woke up I couldn’t remember exactly what a marmoset is - a quick internet search gave me the disappointing answer of “a small species of monkey.” I am not a fan of monkeys, so wasting a name as beautiful as “marmoset” on it seems a shame.
On another note...
A thunderstorm blew in rather violently one recent evening. The wind whipped across the road and a glance in my rearview mirror revealed a dense wall of dust rising behind me. It took a second to realize it was kicked up from all the dirt driveways on either side of the highway. Initial thoughts included “Dust storm! Close the shutters! Cover the food! Will the cows be OK?” ala Little House on the Prairie. But that’s just silly. I don’t own any cows.
And one last random tidbit...
I had a dream last night where evil people had surrounded our home, and the only thing comforting to me was a marmoset I cradled in my arms. When I woke up I couldn’t remember exactly what a marmoset is - a quick internet search gave me the disappointing answer of “a small species of monkey.” I am not a fan of monkeys, so wasting a name as beautiful as “marmoset” on it seems a shame.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
"Frankenstein"
Last night my sister and I went to a National Theater Live event at a nearby movie theater. In 2011 Danny Boyle directed an incredible new stage production of “Frankenstein” starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller. Every night the actors would switch roles: one night Miller was the monster and Cumberbatch was the scientist, then the next night they switched, creator playing created. The play was filmed and shown on movie screens across the globe, and last night was one of two encore performances.
I was surprised at how crowded the theater was. Mostly teenagers or 20-somethings, whispering to each other over popcorn as the show began. The screen showed a stage, blank except for an upright “womb” of canvas eerily lit from behind. As the audience on screen still chatted and settled into seats, a figure inside the fabric began to move. A hand stretched out and probed the fabric, searching for a seam. The crowd quieted as the figure’s movements became more intense. Simulated lightning rent the air as the figure tore forth and fell, helpless, to the floor.
What followed was at least 10 full minutes of excruciatingly slow progress as the creature violently flopped and gargled, trying to stand and breathe and understand his surroundings. When he was finally upright it was a victory, even though the audience chuckled at the sight of a grown, nearly-naked man wobbling around stage like a toddler. As the play progressed we watched him learn to eat and dress and talk, his limbs and tongue never quite sure of their true purpose. He learned poetry and prose; he learned jealousy and pain and the importance of memories. He learned that he was different and that mankind shuns the unfamiliar. He learned to give and then to take. He learned desire. He learned revenge.
The technical details of this show were incredible. Sets were minimal and uncrowded yet intricate in design. A thin stretch of grass became a field glowing in the sunrise. The middle of the stage turned, rose, and fell, causing a storm-battered cottage to appear from one half while a pristine white room sank out of sight behind it. Over 3,000 assorted light bulbs stretched across the ceiling, providing blinding lightning and shimmering stars.
A steampunk locomotive charged on stage in one hectic scene, the hoots, screeches and howls of its passengers mimicking a mechanical cacophony.
While there were visuals that were gory and unsettling, Danny Boyle wasn’t going for bloody shock. The theater gave it an “R” rating (dark content and partial nudity) and the website advised that this show was only appropriate for ages 15+. The bleak setting of each scene tells the story much more effectively than outright gore; it disturbs to see the shadows of an action almost more than the action itself. And the dialogue is heartbreaking, eloquent and chilling.
I’ve seen adaptations of this story with over-the-top effects and crashing soundtracks, but here there was no need. Boyle didn’t need to create towering icebergs on stage to bring the audience deep into a frozen wasteland. Two weary figures and a swirl of fog told us enough. The focus was on the two men, creator and created, different and yet similar.
A previous engagement prevents us from going back to see the roles reversed tonight, so I sincerely hope they show it again. If there was ever a version of this gothic tale to see, it’s this one.
For a video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuYDiaT-mtg&noredirect=1
For more details on the incredible stage lighting (pictured above): http://www.whitelight.ltd.uk/news/?n=1276
Friday, May 25, 2012
Song Stories
This
is the first in a new series of posts. Song
lyrics tell stories, both directly and indirectly. Some are very easy to understand: “Oh yeah, his girlfriend died and he took her ashes to the
beach and watched the sunrise while playing her favorite song,” while
some are more open to interpretation.
There are several songs where I imagine elaborately detailed “music videos” every time I hear them. I know that most of the time what I imagine is not what the artist (or other listeners) had in mind, but I thought I’d share a few and see what happens.
So without further ado, Song Story #1: “We are Young” by fun.
“We are Young” by fun. has been topping the charts all spring. The official music video is a set of slow motion explosions set in a dimly lit bar, a hectic mismash of band shots and stylized chaos. While I don’t know exactly what inspired the story behind the words, this is the story I would tell if I had the chance to direct a new video for this song. (song lyrics in italics)
A young man sits by himself in a corner of the bar, slowly turning a glass that’s still mostly full. He’s talking to the bartender, who’s only half listening.
Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight
My friends are in the bathroom getting
Higher than the Empire State
My lover, she is waiting for me
just across the bar
My seat’s been taken by some sunglasses
asking 'bout a scar, and...
The bartender turns to fill an order and the young man watches a stranger in expensive sunglasses flirt with his lover on the other side of the room. His hands clench around his glass as the man traces the pale pink line beneath her right eye. She turns from his touch and meets his eyes. She quickly looks down and excuses herself from the stranger. The scene shifts...
I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you’re trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I’m trying hard to take it back...
...to show the couple arguing in a living room. The young man turns from the girl and slams the bedroom door. He pounds the wall and kicks the bed and picks up a vase, spinning manically to throw it towards the door. Just as it leaves his fingers the door opens...she cries out, hands rising to her bloodied face...she backs out, shutting the door, and he stares, falters, crumples to the floor in shock.
Back in the bar, he watches her return to her seat. The stranger has moved on. They lock eyes and he sings to her, oblivious of anyone else.
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home...
Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun
The scene changes back to the house. They sit at the dining room table. He sings to her, but she is looking past him to the photos of her family on the wall.
Now I know that I’m not
All that you got
I guess that I, I just thought
Maybe we could find new ways to fall apart...
He’s brought back to reality by his friends’ rowdy return. He and she are pushed together by the crowd.
But our friends are back
So let’s raise a toast
‘Cause I found someone to carry me home
(Refrain)
His friends take up the song of life, love, and youth. He loses sight of her in the crowd, but she appears behind him and takes his hand in hers. She sings to him,
Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight
Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight
During the next verse we see them fighting at home again, and to blow off his anger he takes off running down the street. He sees her face on everyone he passes; he slows, calming down, and returns home.
The world is on my side
I have no reason to run
So will someone come and carry me home tonight
The angels never arrived
But I can hear the choir
So will someone come and carry me home
(Refrain)
Outside the bar, he whispers the last verses to her as their friends drive off in a taxi. She wraps his arms around his neck and he picks her up, carrying her away down the deserted streets.
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home
Tonight.
Back to their empty dining room, sunlight streaming in through the window, slowly moving up to reveal their wedding photo on the wall.
There are several songs where I imagine elaborately detailed “music videos” every time I hear them. I know that most of the time what I imagine is not what the artist (or other listeners) had in mind, but I thought I’d share a few and see what happens.
So without further ado, Song Story #1: “We are Young” by fun.
“We are Young” by fun. has been topping the charts all spring. The official music video is a set of slow motion explosions set in a dimly lit bar, a hectic mismash of band shots and stylized chaos. While I don’t know exactly what inspired the story behind the words, this is the story I would tell if I had the chance to direct a new video for this song. (song lyrics in italics)
A young man sits by himself in a corner of the bar, slowly turning a glass that’s still mostly full. He’s talking to the bartender, who’s only half listening.
Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight
My friends are in the bathroom getting
Higher than the Empire State
My lover, she is waiting for me
just across the bar
My seat’s been taken by some sunglasses
asking 'bout a scar, and...
The bartender turns to fill an order and the young man watches a stranger in expensive sunglasses flirt with his lover on the other side of the room. His hands clench around his glass as the man traces the pale pink line beneath her right eye. She turns from his touch and meets his eyes. She quickly looks down and excuses herself from the stranger. The scene shifts...
I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you’re trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I’m trying hard to take it back...
...to show the couple arguing in a living room. The young man turns from the girl and slams the bedroom door. He pounds the wall and kicks the bed and picks up a vase, spinning manically to throw it towards the door. Just as it leaves his fingers the door opens...she cries out, hands rising to her bloodied face...she backs out, shutting the door, and he stares, falters, crumples to the floor in shock.
Back in the bar, he watches her return to her seat. The stranger has moved on. They lock eyes and he sings to her, oblivious of anyone else.
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home...
Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun
The scene changes back to the house. They sit at the dining room table. He sings to her, but she is looking past him to the photos of her family on the wall.
Now I know that I’m not
All that you got
I guess that I, I just thought
Maybe we could find new ways to fall apart...
He’s brought back to reality by his friends’ rowdy return. He and she are pushed together by the crowd.
But our friends are back
So let’s raise a toast
‘Cause I found someone to carry me home
(Refrain)
His friends take up the song of life, love, and youth. He loses sight of her in the crowd, but she appears behind him and takes his hand in hers. She sings to him,
Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight
Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight
During the next verse we see them fighting at home again, and to blow off his anger he takes off running down the street. He sees her face on everyone he passes; he slows, calming down, and returns home.
The world is on my side
I have no reason to run
So will someone come and carry me home tonight
The angels never arrived
But I can hear the choir
So will someone come and carry me home
(Refrain)
Outside the bar, he whispers the last verses to her as their friends drive off in a taxi. She wraps his arms around his neck and he picks her up, carrying her away down the deserted streets.
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home
Tonight.
Back to their empty dining room, sunlight streaming in through the window, slowly moving up to reveal their wedding photo on the wall.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Rain
Days like today are why I want to move to Seattle. I’d love for the patter of rain to be a normal, everyday sound, and for sunny days to be the special occasions. Rain has been so rare for the past year that I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of hearing it, watching it, feeling it. Yes, the healing power of rain is also matched by its destructive power, but there is a beauty in that power.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Given the circumstances...
A resume is a strange thing. My resume is 3 pages* long, but what does that really mean? Does it mean I am well-experienced, well-rounded, or does it mean I move around a lot? Most are part-time or seasonal jobs held around and during school, then a full-time job following graduation, and finally the newest data I added today, against my will. I don’t want to be updating my resume. I don’t want to think of entering that uncertain field again. But despite all that…
“Given the circumstances, we will probably need to lay off about 30% of our full-time employees...” Those words were received by my fellow staff members and I last Thursday. The Wednesday before we had been told it would be 25%. Common sense tells me it will get worse before it gets better, and those in leadership above us have prompted us to be prepared: update resumes. Prepare cover letters. Start looking.
Start looking? Terror strikes my heart at that very idea. I spent 4 months looking...looking…looking. This job has been our saving grace, our answer to prayer, our chance to start again. And now, not even 18 months in, it could all be over?
It is further complicated by the fact that where I work is also where I worship. Do I look for another church job? That means leaving the groups we've come to know, the ministries we've invested in...it would mean so much more than just a new job.
There is no doubt that I am struggling with this. I am resisting reality, telling myself it won’t happen, pretending nothing has changed. But that is foolishness, and I know it. I know God has a plan, but my human heart hates not knowing where that plan will take us.
*(Those 3 include a page for “References” and “Honors and Activities,” which can be removed depending on the employer’s guidelines. Which brings up another odd thought: what other part of my life experience is expendable? To edit the “story of my life” with crossed out sections and notes of “remove,” “unnecessary,” and “nobody actually cares about this, do they?” But I digress.)
“Given the circumstances, we will probably need to lay off about 30% of our full-time employees...” Those words were received by my fellow staff members and I last Thursday. The Wednesday before we had been told it would be 25%. Common sense tells me it will get worse before it gets better, and those in leadership above us have prompted us to be prepared: update resumes. Prepare cover letters. Start looking.
Start looking? Terror strikes my heart at that very idea. I spent 4 months looking...looking…looking. This job has been our saving grace, our answer to prayer, our chance to start again. And now, not even 18 months in, it could all be over?
It is further complicated by the fact that where I work is also where I worship. Do I look for another church job? That means leaving the groups we've come to know, the ministries we've invested in...it would mean so much more than just a new job.
There is no doubt that I am struggling with this. I am resisting reality, telling myself it won’t happen, pretending nothing has changed. But that is foolishness, and I know it. I know God has a plan, but my human heart hates not knowing where that plan will take us.
*(Those 3 include a page for “References” and “Honors and Activities,” which can be removed depending on the employer’s guidelines. Which brings up another odd thought: what other part of my life experience is expendable? To edit the “story of my life” with crossed out sections and notes of “remove,” “unnecessary,” and “nobody actually cares about this, do they?” But I digress.)
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Weekend
I struggled with severe jealousy and self-pity this past week. I watched a joyful event play out from a distance, an event I hadn’t been asked to join. It wasn’t that far and I would have gone in a heartbeat, but the lack of invitation brought me up short and I didn’t want to poke and prod with questions of “why not me?” So all week I wallowed. I snapped at Matt and got frustrated at work until finally giving in to tears late Wednesday night. I sobbed my selfish troubles to a husband who was glad to finally find out what the heck was going on.
As the weekend drew closer I tried to distance myself from the updates of social media. Little things came up to help point out that my life doesn’t really suck as much as I felt it did: Friday afternoon at the park, Saturday playing with a new “techie” purchase, Sunday night enjoying the Oscars with my family.
It’s amazing how much energy can be channeled into bad feelings. I spent days feeling like every little thing was the world’s vendetta against me, which is really incredibly laughable. I’m not saying that it’s wrong to get upset about the little things in life, but it is wrong to let those things consume me.
When my mind wanders off to the possibilities of “why/WHY ME?/when/how/HOW SOON?” I can almost feel God gently tapping me on the shoulder and replying, “Why are you looking ahead? And dissatisfied? When will you be satisfied with the here and the now? How are you accomplishing what I’ve given you right now?”
And I sigh, because He’s right (obviously). So I suppose my goal is to work toward not letting negative emotions fester, because festering is gross. (Just say it slowly: Festering. Blech.) Just cry it out, brush it off, and move on. Focus on where I am, what I have and what I can do with it.
Easier said than done, but I’m gonna try.
As the weekend drew closer I tried to distance myself from the updates of social media. Little things came up to help point out that my life doesn’t really suck as much as I felt it did: Friday afternoon at the park, Saturday playing with a new “techie” purchase, Sunday night enjoying the Oscars with my family.
It’s amazing how much energy can be channeled into bad feelings. I spent days feeling like every little thing was the world’s vendetta against me, which is really incredibly laughable. I’m not saying that it’s wrong to get upset about the little things in life, but it is wrong to let those things consume me.
When my mind wanders off to the possibilities of “why/WHY ME?/when/how/HOW SOON?” I can almost feel God gently tapping me on the shoulder and replying, “Why are you looking ahead? And dissatisfied? When will you be satisfied with the here and the now? How are you accomplishing what I’ve given you right now?”
And I sigh, because He’s right (obviously). So I suppose my goal is to work toward not letting negative emotions fester, because festering is gross. (Just say it slowly: Festering. Blech.) Just cry it out, brush it off, and move on. Focus on where I am, what I have and what I can do with it.
Easier said than done, but I’m gonna try.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Valentine...
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I’d much rather stay home anyway.”
But I knew she didn’t mean it. I could see the pain clearly on her face. Her cap of gray hair shone almost silver against her festive red sweater. Alone all her life, she now has someone who loves her, someone who cherishes her. A true Valentine. And oh, she wanted to them to know. To show that she’s cherished. To walk in on his arm for all the world to see.
But the banquet that night was for married-couples only. It has started as an open event - married, dating, engaged- but morphed into a celebration of marriage and marriage only. As wonderful as that is, it was causing her pain. The office staff gossiped about the few couples they knew who were shunning convention and going anyway. But not her. She’d been the topic of gossip enough over the years – why put herself out there for more? It doesn’t matter that he loves her. It doesn’t matter than now, in their later years, they have found joy. They sit close together every Sunday morning. He calls to check on her during the day. Her face lights up at his name. But for this event, this should-have-been celebration, they have been deemed unacceptable, and shut out.
We close up the office together. Everyone else is gone, preparing for the big night. My husband had to work, so I hadn’t purchased tickets either. We walk together to the parking lot, an empty stretch of concrete between our two lonely cars.
“We are the only people here!” she sighed again. “What’s wrong with us?”
It’s not us, dear friend. And it’s certainly not you. They don’t see the beauty of your love, the purity of your affection. Your happiness together is not enough for them. He is a widower jut past eighty, and you’ve been single for sixty years. You have found joy in each other through simple companionship. You revel in this new-found affection, and they are foolish who do not see what a wonder it is.
Don’t let their snub discourage you. Don’t let them damage your joy.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"John Hofmann, 1952"
This evening I was going through the books in our study and pulling out a select few for “decoration” on the living room shelves. I had just purchased a candles-on-a-tray set and wanted some nice hardcovers to place around it. I pulled out a large blue volume from a lower shelf: The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Oxford Edition. The spine crinkled softly as I opened it and read the two inscriptions:
“John Hofmann, 1952”
“To Teal, May 2004”
I sat down and just held it for a moment. I turned a few more pages to find the publication date: March 1938.
I never met my grandfather. He died when my mom was only 2. Grandma always had a photo of John on her dresser; a smiling young man in black and white. He loved books, especially science fiction and the many Oz novels by L. Frank Baum.
In high school I developed a love for Shakespeare – a passion that has never waned. On my 17th birthday Grandma presented me with the heavy book, my first Complete Works. I read the inscription written in blue ink below and to the left of the original. Her handwriting was elegant and smooth; John’s handwriting in black above it was slightly sharper but still beautiful. Handwriting has already become a lost art.
Grandma died of cancer two years after giving me the book. I cried for her at our wedding. I cried that she couldn’t be at my college graduation, or my brother’s, or see any of us growing and changing and coming into our lives.
The book is water-stained in one corner and fraying around the edges, but I cried holding it tonight. I wish I could have known the man that bought that book in 1952. It was probably used when he purchased it, but he kept it and cared for it through the rest of his short life. Then Grandma kept and cared for it and gave it to me 8 years ago. I’m going to keep it and care for it the best that I can.
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