Monday, July 30, 2007
Ready.
I miss Autumn. I do. I know that these are supposed to be the best days of the year, but I'm not nine years old anymore. Or fourteen. While I would love to be exploring the riverbed just half a mile north of where I'm currently (pretending to be) working, I have responsibilities. Yuck.
So. I dream of crisp cool mornings where I rush out the door with a cup of coffee in my hand. I will most certainly spill some on myself, but that's okay. I dream of firing up the sewing machine again (because it works better in the cooler months) and finding something to do with the skeins of yarn that I purchased in January.
While I love tomatoes and basil and boccocini, I'm beginning to hate upon this trifecta. Give me butternut squash soup and cinnamon raisin bread and oven-roasted chickens dripping with fat.
I want frost on my tree branches and I want the giant elephant leaves on the side of my house to stop growing. I want to prune the bushes and the clematis. And I want to bake.
I want the colors that I love to be around me again. Warm browns and reds and cool greys and blacks. Oranges and grey-blues. I'm ready to be just a little bit chilly. Not so much that I can't be outdoors, but enough that a hot cup of (French press, please) coffee won't be too hot.
Of course, I desire to long for this during what will probably be the hottest week of the summer. Because I'm good like that. But at some point, hopefully soon, I'll go outside and fail to see my shadow. When that happens, I will know that cool days are on the way.
I miss Autumn. I do. I know that these are supposed to be the best days of the year, but I'm not nine years old anymore. Or fourteen. While I would love to be exploring the riverbed just half a mile north of where I'm currently (pretending to be) working, I have responsibilities. Yuck.
So. I dream of crisp cool mornings where I rush out the door with a cup of coffee in my hand. I will most certainly spill some on myself, but that's okay. I dream of firing up the sewing machine again (because it works better in the cooler months) and finding something to do with the skeins of yarn that I purchased in January.
While I love tomatoes and basil and boccocini, I'm beginning to hate upon this trifecta. Give me butternut squash soup and cinnamon raisin bread and oven-roasted chickens dripping with fat.
I want frost on my tree branches and I want the giant elephant leaves on the side of my house to stop growing. I want to prune the bushes and the clematis. And I want to bake.
I want the colors that I love to be around me again. Warm browns and reds and cool greys and blacks. Oranges and grey-blues. I'm ready to be just a little bit chilly. Not so much that I can't be outdoors, but enough that a hot cup of (French press, please) coffee won't be too hot.
Of course, I desire to long for this during what will probably be the hottest week of the summer. Because I'm good like that. But at some point, hopefully soon, I'll go outside and fail to see my shadow. When that happens, I will know that cool days are on the way.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Africa Trip.
When I went to Cambodia, a little less than a year ago, I wasn't excited until I boarded the plane. The preparation - the fundraising, the shots, the packing, the goodbye's - preoccupied me until those final few minutes in the airport. And then, hours later, I was in Singapore, wild with the possibility of meeting the Cambodian people, a group that had occupied much of my prayer life for so long. I was so wild, in fact, that I left my money, passport and plane ticket with the cashier at one of the food courts. Because I'm a world traveller. Nice.
So. I'm a tiny bit excited about Africa, but my thought life is filled with details. What shoes will I need to wear? When will I have time to go get a Yellow Fever shot? Did I already get a Typhoid shot? Should I finish off my Hepatitis series? How will I come up with the money to pay my host family?
Host family? Right. You know nothing. I am going to Tanzania in August, to meet up with my dear friend Beth, who is working at an orphanage in Arusha for two months. I am going to bring her company in the middle of her trip, and to bring her junk food. I will be staying with Beth in her host family's home.
I have no idea what we'll do there. We may spend the week in the orphanage, working with children with HIV/AIDS. We might go on a safari in the Serengeti or visit Mt. Kilimanjaro or Zanzibar. The schedule is up to Beth.
Along the way, I hope to learn something about God and about his love for the people on this earth. How easy it is to forget that what's happening in my tiny sphere of influence isn't the only thing going on right now.
And so. I'll get the stuff done, the packing and whatnot. And then, in a few weeks, I'll board the plane and start to get excited. This time I'll be alone. This time, hopefully, I'll keep my passport and plane tickets with me.
When I went to Cambodia, a little less than a year ago, I wasn't excited until I boarded the plane. The preparation - the fundraising, the shots, the packing, the goodbye's - preoccupied me until those final few minutes in the airport. And then, hours later, I was in Singapore, wild with the possibility of meeting the Cambodian people, a group that had occupied much of my prayer life for so long. I was so wild, in fact, that I left my money, passport and plane ticket with the cashier at one of the food courts. Because I'm a world traveller. Nice.
So. I'm a tiny bit excited about Africa, but my thought life is filled with details. What shoes will I need to wear? When will I have time to go get a Yellow Fever shot? Did I already get a Typhoid shot? Should I finish off my Hepatitis series? How will I come up with the money to pay my host family?
Host family? Right. You know nothing. I am going to Tanzania in August, to meet up with my dear friend Beth, who is working at an orphanage in Arusha for two months. I am going to bring her company in the middle of her trip, and to bring her junk food. I will be staying with Beth in her host family's home.
I have no idea what we'll do there. We may spend the week in the orphanage, working with children with HIV/AIDS. We might go on a safari in the Serengeti or visit Mt. Kilimanjaro or Zanzibar. The schedule is up to Beth.
Along the way, I hope to learn something about God and about his love for the people on this earth. How easy it is to forget that what's happening in my tiny sphere of influence isn't the only thing going on right now.
And so. I'll get the stuff done, the packing and whatnot. And then, in a few weeks, I'll board the plane and start to get excited. This time I'll be alone. This time, hopefully, I'll keep my passport and plane tickets with me.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
One Line.
I am going to go to Africa in a month.
I am going to go to Africa in a month.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Punch This.
So I'm throwing a Bridal Shower for my lovely friend Sarah, and (don't read this, Sarah) I was looking up punch recipes on Martha Stewart's website. I know that making punch for this party is silly, because mimosas trump punch in all social situations. But every Bridal Shower has punch and I don't want to fuck up the beginning of their marriage by taking away tradition. So, Sarah (because you're totally reading this), you're going to have punch at your Shower. Act surprised.
A friend suggested Martha's site for ideas, and the first recipe I found was this:
Sparkling Citrus Punch
Makes 1 gallon
* 8 cups freshly squeezed orange juice
* 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
* 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lime juice
* 7 cups sparkling water, such as Perrier
* Pineapple wedges, thinly sliced and peeled , for garnish
* Ice cubes, for serving
I stopped reading the recipe after I got to "8 cups freshly squeezed orange juice."
I've decided to write Martha an e-mail and ask her to come to my home and freshly squeeze 8 cups of orange juice for this punch. It's going to be the most special Bridal Shower ever. While she's here, I might see if she can do something about my landscaping. And maybe clean out the gutters, too.
So I'm throwing a Bridal Shower for my lovely friend Sarah, and (don't read this, Sarah) I was looking up punch recipes on Martha Stewart's website. I know that making punch for this party is silly, because mimosas trump punch in all social situations. But every Bridal Shower has punch and I don't want to fuck up the beginning of their marriage by taking away tradition. So, Sarah (because you're totally reading this), you're going to have punch at your Shower. Act surprised.
A friend suggested Martha's site for ideas, and the first recipe I found was this:
Sparkling Citrus Punch
Makes 1 gallon
* 8 cups freshly squeezed orange juice
* 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
* 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lime juice
* 7 cups sparkling water, such as Perrier
* Pineapple wedges, thinly sliced and peeled , for garnish
* Ice cubes, for serving
I stopped reading the recipe after I got to "8 cups freshly squeezed orange juice."
I've decided to write Martha an e-mail and ask her to come to my home and freshly squeeze 8 cups of orange juice for this punch. It's going to be the most special Bridal Shower ever. While she's here, I might see if she can do something about my landscaping. And maybe clean out the gutters, too.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Halfway.
I started a prayer journal a little over a year ago. It's a simple book, a black moleskin number with the elastic band. I keep a pen inside the journal, to mark my place and assure that I won't be forced to write out my prayers with a mediocre writing utensil.
I schedule prayer. I have to. Otherwise I'll forget. And trying to live a spiritual life without prayer is like trying to sail a boat without wind. It's impossible. You don't move. Or you're forced to use the propellor motor, which will indeed move the boat, but will leave you without the silence and beauty and power that comes when the sail is filled. Physics is far more gorgeous without a gas-run motor.
So I pray every evening before bed. I write out my prayers to keep my mind disciplined, to stop myself from thinking about the things I need to do. It also helps me stay awake in the process.
When I'm in a healthy state, my prayers consist of a combination of four things: praising God for being God, confession (whether it be bitterness, a judgemental attitude or not trusting God to guide me, I always have something to confess), gratitude for answered prayers, and finally, petition - asking for help, for guidance, for specific things to happen in my life, the lives of the people around me, and for the injustices in the world.
My natural tendancy, though, is to pray for myself. I confess this on a regular basis, asking for a larger heart for people.
A few days ago, I got to the center of the journal, evidenced by the black ribbon tucked into the middle of the moleskin.
Now I am a literary woman. The symbolism lessons that came with the Scarlet Letter in American Literature class were not lost on me. Sometimes this gets me in trouble, because I add meaning to things that do not necessarily carry meaning.
But. I do believe that I have come to a center point in my spiritual life. A point that I can reference when looking back. The thing about seeking a life with God is that it is impossible to know everything and understand everything concerning our Creator while living this life. But, thankfully, that doesn't mean that I can't know God. And learn more about God, as I get older and more spiritually mature. I'm not saying that I'm halfway to understanding God, or halfway to knowing him. But the halfway point in the moleskin is, in my heart, a milestone.
Sometimes I run on that propellor motor. I don't even want the sail. For much of my spiritual journey, I pretended that I want the sail to be filled with wind, but I kept the motor on, just in case. This realization is the milestone.
I started my prayer journal on July 15th, 2006 at 2.08 p.m. There are several gaps in the timeline, but in the past five months, my entries have been pretty consistent. Sometimes it's difficult to read, painful to remember the things that my heart pleaded with God. More often than not, it's funny.
In one entry, I realized that I truly loved a woman that I'd been struggling to love for years. I was shocked. "God," I wrote, "What did you do to my heart?"
Truth be told, I haven't read through the entire thing. I don't know that I will for awhile. But I do have the joy of opening up a page at random, reading through, and seeing how God has moved and answered prayers. It's an amazing and faith-building experience.
At any rate, I'm rambling. I started this entry to say that I'm excited for the second half of the journal, for those empty pages. Hopefully it won't take a year to fill.
I started a prayer journal a little over a year ago. It's a simple book, a black moleskin number with the elastic band. I keep a pen inside the journal, to mark my place and assure that I won't be forced to write out my prayers with a mediocre writing utensil.
I schedule prayer. I have to. Otherwise I'll forget. And trying to live a spiritual life without prayer is like trying to sail a boat without wind. It's impossible. You don't move. Or you're forced to use the propellor motor, which will indeed move the boat, but will leave you without the silence and beauty and power that comes when the sail is filled. Physics is far more gorgeous without a gas-run motor.
So I pray every evening before bed. I write out my prayers to keep my mind disciplined, to stop myself from thinking about the things I need to do. It also helps me stay awake in the process.
When I'm in a healthy state, my prayers consist of a combination of four things: praising God for being God, confession (whether it be bitterness, a judgemental attitude or not trusting God to guide me, I always have something to confess), gratitude for answered prayers, and finally, petition - asking for help, for guidance, for specific things to happen in my life, the lives of the people around me, and for the injustices in the world.
My natural tendancy, though, is to pray for myself. I confess this on a regular basis, asking for a larger heart for people.
A few days ago, I got to the center of the journal, evidenced by the black ribbon tucked into the middle of the moleskin.
Now I am a literary woman. The symbolism lessons that came with the Scarlet Letter in American Literature class were not lost on me. Sometimes this gets me in trouble, because I add meaning to things that do not necessarily carry meaning.
But. I do believe that I have come to a center point in my spiritual life. A point that I can reference when looking back. The thing about seeking a life with God is that it is impossible to know everything and understand everything concerning our Creator while living this life. But, thankfully, that doesn't mean that I can't know God. And learn more about God, as I get older and more spiritually mature. I'm not saying that I'm halfway to understanding God, or halfway to knowing him. But the halfway point in the moleskin is, in my heart, a milestone.
Sometimes I run on that propellor motor. I don't even want the sail. For much of my spiritual journey, I pretended that I want the sail to be filled with wind, but I kept the motor on, just in case. This realization is the milestone.
I started my prayer journal on July 15th, 2006 at 2.08 p.m. There are several gaps in the timeline, but in the past five months, my entries have been pretty consistent. Sometimes it's difficult to read, painful to remember the things that my heart pleaded with God. More often than not, it's funny.
In one entry, I realized that I truly loved a woman that I'd been struggling to love for years. I was shocked. "God," I wrote, "What did you do to my heart?"
Truth be told, I haven't read through the entire thing. I don't know that I will for awhile. But I do have the joy of opening up a page at random, reading through, and seeing how God has moved and answered prayers. It's an amazing and faith-building experience.
At any rate, I'm rambling. I started this entry to say that I'm excited for the second half of the journal, for those empty pages. Hopefully it won't take a year to fill.
Friday, July 06, 2007
More.
I'm kind of afraid that somehow one of the women will come across this and I'll get fired from my unpaid role on the Board of Directors. But this stuff is too good not to pass along.
I find it amusing, at least.
I receive a phone call today.
Me: Jill speaking.
Woman: Hi Jill, this is So-and-so from the Women's Club. I heard you were having a difficult time coming up with a theme for the summer social. I went online and have a suggestion that I think you'll like.
Me: Um.
Woman: What do you think of, "Dog Days of Summer"?
Me: Um. Well, that's a good one and all...
Woman: Do you know what "Dog Days of Summer" means?
Me: Yes. It means that...
Woman: It's an old phrase from back in West Virginia. They say that to talk about times when it's really hot outside. I was thinking that you could put a picture of a dog on the invitation and then for the food...
Me: Um. Well, I think that they already decided on Lazy Days of Summer. It's kind of like Dog Days, but, yeah. I think that that's what they're doing.
Woman: So you don't want to do Dog Days?
Me: It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I don't think that I have a choice. The board met and decided on Lazy Days of Summer.
Woman: The board doesn't meet in the summer.
Me: Well, someone met and told me to do Lazy Days...
Woman: And I was social chair a few years ago. It's all up to you. You're the one who gets to choose. The board doesn't vote on that. So if you don't like my idea, then I understand. I mean, I printed out all of these suggestions and...
Me: I'm sorry. I just don't think this is up to me. But listen. (INWARD SIGH) I need a committee. Do you think that you could be on my committee? I'd really love your help.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
President: Hello, Jill?
Me: Hi.
President: Did you get my e-mail?
Me: Yes.
President: So you know that we've decided that we like your ideas and we're going to go ahead and have you change the party back to a Luau?
Me: So it's not Lazy Days of Summer anymore?
President: We really like the Luau idea. It's great. If you can could just change the invitation back to the hula dancer that would be wonderful.
Me: No problem.
I'm kind of afraid that somehow one of the women will come across this and I'll get fired from my unpaid role on the Board of Directors. But this stuff is too good not to pass along.
I find it amusing, at least.
I receive a phone call today.
Me: Jill speaking.
Woman: Hi Jill, this is So-and-so from the Women's Club. I heard you were having a difficult time coming up with a theme for the summer social. I went online and have a suggestion that I think you'll like.
Me: Um.
Woman: What do you think of, "Dog Days of Summer"?
Me: Um. Well, that's a good one and all...
Woman: Do you know what "Dog Days of Summer" means?
Me: Yes. It means that...
Woman: It's an old phrase from back in West Virginia. They say that to talk about times when it's really hot outside. I was thinking that you could put a picture of a dog on the invitation and then for the food...
Me: Um. Well, I think that they already decided on Lazy Days of Summer. It's kind of like Dog Days, but, yeah. I think that that's what they're doing.
Woman: So you don't want to do Dog Days?
Me: It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I don't think that I have a choice. The board met and decided on Lazy Days of Summer.
Woman: The board doesn't meet in the summer.
Me: Well, someone met and told me to do Lazy Days...
Woman: And I was social chair a few years ago. It's all up to you. You're the one who gets to choose. The board doesn't vote on that. So if you don't like my idea, then I understand. I mean, I printed out all of these suggestions and...
Me: I'm sorry. I just don't think this is up to me. But listen. (INWARD SIGH) I need a committee. Do you think that you could be on my committee? I'd really love your help.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
President: Hello, Jill?
Me: Hi.
President: Did you get my e-mail?
Me: Yes.
President: So you know that we've decided that we like your ideas and we're going to go ahead and have you change the party back to a Luau?
Me: So it's not Lazy Days of Summer anymore?
President: We really like the Luau idea. It's great. If you can could just change the invitation back to the hula dancer that would be wonderful.
Me: No problem.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Summer Social.
An e-mail from someone in Women's Club, regarding the party that is scheduled to happen in less than three weeks:
There are a few things I wanted to talk to you about. The executive board met the other day, and decided that we do not want a "Luau" because they do not want to do any work. The theme we came up with was, "Lazy Days of Summer". Can you revise the invite?
Also, she wants me to write out a menu of food and drinks so that it can be approved by the Executive Board.
I somehow envision something very bad coming out of this whole Social Director role thing. It's a party. A party. Do we really need to vote on whether or not there are four cherry tomatoes on the chicken kabobs? Parties are supposed to be about getting together, meandering around the back deck with a glass of wine, and mingling.
I've thrown several parties in my life without an Executive Board, without a planning committee. All you need is some booze, music and a marching band video. Duh.
I don't know if I'm cut out for this stuff.
To be continued...
An e-mail from someone in Women's Club, regarding the party that is scheduled to happen in less than three weeks:
There are a few things I wanted to talk to you about. The executive board met the other day, and decided that we do not want a "Luau" because they do not want to do any work. The theme we came up with was, "Lazy Days of Summer". Can you revise the invite?
Also, she wants me to write out a menu of food and drinks so that it can be approved by the Executive Board.
I somehow envision something very bad coming out of this whole Social Director role thing. It's a party. A party. Do we really need to vote on whether or not there are four cherry tomatoes on the chicken kabobs? Parties are supposed to be about getting together, meandering around the back deck with a glass of wine, and mingling.
I've thrown several parties in my life without an Executive Board, without a planning committee. All you need is some booze, music and a marching band video. Duh.
I don't know if I'm cut out for this stuff.
To be continued...
