In no particular order, here's some stuff I've found noteworthy in the past couple of weeks:
1. Musically speaking: Andrew Bird, Iron and Wine, and Josh Ritter. All equal love.
2. Meridian, Mississippi Habitat For Humanity ground rule: Only people who already have experience with nail guns can use one. So here, I say. Respect it, but don't be afraid of it. See the safety? Not so scary. Practice on this windowsill while the site supervisor isn't looking--so now you've used one before, haven't you? Have fun! :p
3. I really do have the same facial expressions as my mother, but we react differently to anger. My aunt and her daughter tend to repeat things that people say, for no sensible reason but to add emphasis and to have something to say--I do the same thing. I also gesture with my hands and tend to say things that are for some reason are awkward, although it's difficult to pinpoint the cause of the awkwardness.
4. When your uncle gets divorced, you will probably never see you (ex?)aunt again. Sad.
5. Northwest Treatment Center is a bad place for your mother to go if she feels something funny with her heartbeat--even if she is not in pain, even if the EKG and heart monitor don't show anything dangerous or even unusual, even if she feels otherwise perfectly fine, they will still hook her up to oxygen and an IV and transport her to the ER, because they do not have their own cardiologist. Then the cardiologist will tell her she is fine and she will be nothing bad but embarrassed and annoyed.
6. Lower Wacker Drive looks like hell but isn't haunted with anything more than sadness. Homeless people are humans, too: you do not need to approach them slowly, you do not need to stay in the car to hand lunches out the window, you do not need to be afraid of "them" at all--just use a bit of common sense and travel in groups, just like you would anywhere else. Not everyone agrees with me on this.
7. Friendships are funny sorts of boats, and I'm really bad at predicting which ones will sink and which ones will sail indefinitely.
8. Recipes work best if read thoroughly. If you want to make three batches, don't add enough butter for 6, because then when you realize it -after- you've already started adding other ingredients, you'll end up with 6 batches of peanut butter cookies.
9. Forbidden Broadway is freaking hilarious--it is essentially a series of songs/skits that make fun of pretty much every musical I've ever heard of, and a lot more that I haven't. I'd highly recommend it for the cynical and sarcastic among us.
10. I still don't know what I'm doing on New Year's Eve. Somebody invite me somewhere--you know you love me. And I'll bring cookies! (Lord knows I have enough of them :p)
24 December 2007
01 December 2007
Yellow Tail
I'm trying to write an essay about how capitalism is problematic, specifically for Catholics. Why Catholics, you may ask? Because Weber talks about them, and I had to narrow down my thesis somehow. And I'm supposed to be one, right? So I may as well consider how capitalism affects people like me. I have one page of notes that I might be able to turn into a thesis and a rough outline, if I actually can concentrate on it. It's not due until Monday, so I technically don't need to do it tonight, so it's hard to focus. Plus it's a Saturday night. "Home with all my doors locked up tight, I won't be thinking about you, baby." It'd be nice to have someone to think about, or even someone to try not to think about--even if he depressed me with a complete lack of interest, at least I wouldn't be bored.
I've been ill entirely too much this quarter. Colds and earaches and headaches and food poisoning all in a sickly ghastly train. Maybe it has been the shock of feeling again, manifesting itself, a counter-reaction to a reaction. Feeling is, after all, a positive reaction, even if the feelings themselves are negative. Being numb, you lose out on so many emotions. It's inhuman not to be angry, or sad, or even manic depressive, once and a while. I've realized that this quarter--even bad feelings are good in the sense that they are alive. As for my illness--it's because a good thing should always come with a bad; otherwise it wouldn't be guaranteed that a bad would always be followed by a good, and my optimism would be destroyed.
I really think that all makes a lot of sense, but then, I am writing this after a glass and a half of Katie's white wine, so it's hard not to be optimistic. My cheeks are rosy and my head doesn't hurt anymore.
Yup... back to the paper.
I've been ill entirely too much this quarter. Colds and earaches and headaches and food poisoning all in a sickly ghastly train. Maybe it has been the shock of feeling again, manifesting itself, a counter-reaction to a reaction. Feeling is, after all, a positive reaction, even if the feelings themselves are negative. Being numb, you lose out on so many emotions. It's inhuman not to be angry, or sad, or even manic depressive, once and a while. I've realized that this quarter--even bad feelings are good in the sense that they are alive. As for my illness--it's because a good thing should always come with a bad; otherwise it wouldn't be guaranteed that a bad would always be followed by a good, and my optimism would be destroyed.
I really think that all makes a lot of sense, but then, I am writing this after a glass and a half of Katie's white wine, so it's hard not to be optimistic. My cheeks are rosy and my head doesn't hurt anymore.
Yup... back to the paper.
17 November 2007
Terror and Beauty
The city is terribly beautiful, or beautifully terrible. I can't decide. There is jazz in the summer, lights and colors, snowflakes on my tongue and garlands stretched from pole to pole. I like the business and the bustle. I love looking up at the buildings and feeling the city's pulse--it is bright and beautiful, and I am everything and nothing all at once.
But looking down, there is darkness that I don't know how to judge. Two levels below ground trapping all the dripping smells of congested traffic, sewage and who knows what steaming out of vents in the walls--the sinus of the city. A man lays his head down to sleep behind 2 cardboard curtains. This decent blocks out the bite of the wind, but not the freezing blackness in his eyes. Another man does not speak, but holds up two fingers for two free lunches. The tense gathering of skin around his cheekbones says please. And thank you. Then he returns to his broom and dust pan, sweeping up the place he calls home.
It's a home, isn't it? A small, fragmented society exists quietly below the streets, behind the music and the architecture, and this is where it lives--underneath everything. A home is a perfectly rational place to sweep. But this home is so grossly removed from the homely and the comfortable, the warmth and the family, that his lips make no sound and his eyes, too, are frozen like colored glass, empty of some things but so incredibly full of others.
Everything about this side of the city is so terrible. So terribly unjust, so terribly wrong. Perhaps society is terribly at fault. Yet I can't help but say that this man with the untold story in his eyes is somehow very beautiful.
But looking down, there is darkness that I don't know how to judge. Two levels below ground trapping all the dripping smells of congested traffic, sewage and who knows what steaming out of vents in the walls--the sinus of the city. A man lays his head down to sleep behind 2 cardboard curtains. This decent blocks out the bite of the wind, but not the freezing blackness in his eyes. Another man does not speak, but holds up two fingers for two free lunches. The tense gathering of skin around his cheekbones says please. And thank you. Then he returns to his broom and dust pan, sweeping up the place he calls home.
It's a home, isn't it? A small, fragmented society exists quietly below the streets, behind the music and the architecture, and this is where it lives--underneath everything. A home is a perfectly rational place to sweep. But this home is so grossly removed from the homely and the comfortable, the warmth and the family, that his lips make no sound and his eyes, too, are frozen like colored glass, empty of some things but so incredibly full of others.
Everything about this side of the city is so terrible. So terribly unjust, so terribly wrong. Perhaps society is terribly at fault. Yet I can't help but say that this man with the untold story in his eyes is somehow very beautiful.
11 November 2007
Books and Movies and Boys, Oh My!
The main villain in No Country For Old Men has to be the creepiest character I have ever seen. Javier Bardem is brilliant, but he is going to haunt me in my dreams until I see him in another movie that doesn't involve him waiting in dark, empty rooms and shooting people without bullets and generally just being the scariest man on film.
More importantly, however, that was an excellent movie. I liked it especially because it was different than what I am used to. The suspense was brilliant. There was no soundtrack, and the dialog was the bare minimum necessary--cowboys don't waste words. I remember senior year English class, Ms. Witham talking about Cormack McCarthy's brilliance. She was right, I need to read more of his work than just half of All the Pretty Horses.
Now that she is retired, I have this romantic image of her on her horse in New Mexico, galloping around looking for cowboys. I just hope she doesn't run into any drug deals gone wrong--and if she does, let's hope she has the sense not to take the money. She seems to be the teacher from High School that I remember the most--granted, I had her for two years, and she was the sponsor for the Literary Magazine, but she was also more than just a teacher somehow. She had her horse and a mysterious past life that she would only talk about in sparse context. Like a cowboy. I barely knew her. Funny where stream of conscious writing gets me.
So add McCarthy to my reading list (I'm told The Road is excellent), after I finish V for Vendetta. I might want to, ya know, do some of my reading for class, too. And I have a list of books recommended to me over the summer that I still haven't read. I don't think there's much hope for my level of cultural literacy, though. It seems like every time someone mentions a book or movie or show or band I have no idea what they're talking about.
So little time, it seems. But I'm so prone to waste it. I've been incredibly lazy this week. I go to a frat to dance and have fun, and I do, and a guy trying to be suave introduces himself: "So my friends and I are playing this pick-up line game." I laugh of course, until he adds, "but I wasn't going to use any lines on you, I was just wondering if you have any suggestions for how I can pick her up?" And I wonder what they heck I'm doing there being tempted to dump my drink on this guy's head. "No... sorry... can't really think of anything..." Bastard.
I've been told I should have kicked him in the balls for hitting on me just to get to a friend, but then, I've also been told that I wasn't even insulted. I think it's both, but for different reasons. Whatever, I have books to read. And I should sleep.
More importantly, however, that was an excellent movie. I liked it especially because it was different than what I am used to. The suspense was brilliant. There was no soundtrack, and the dialog was the bare minimum necessary--cowboys don't waste words. I remember senior year English class, Ms. Witham talking about Cormack McCarthy's brilliance. She was right, I need to read more of his work than just half of All the Pretty Horses.
Now that she is retired, I have this romantic image of her on her horse in New Mexico, galloping around looking for cowboys. I just hope she doesn't run into any drug deals gone wrong--and if she does, let's hope she has the sense not to take the money. She seems to be the teacher from High School that I remember the most--granted, I had her for two years, and she was the sponsor for the Literary Magazine, but she was also more than just a teacher somehow. She had her horse and a mysterious past life that she would only talk about in sparse context. Like a cowboy. I barely knew her. Funny where stream of conscious writing gets me.
So add McCarthy to my reading list (I'm told The Road is excellent), after I finish V for Vendetta. I might want to, ya know, do some of my reading for class, too. And I have a list of books recommended to me over the summer that I still haven't read. I don't think there's much hope for my level of cultural literacy, though. It seems like every time someone mentions a book or movie or show or band I have no idea what they're talking about.
So little time, it seems. But I'm so prone to waste it. I've been incredibly lazy this week. I go to a frat to dance and have fun, and I do, and a guy trying to be suave introduces himself: "So my friends and I are playing this pick-up line game." I laugh of course, until he adds, "but I wasn't going to use any lines on you, I was just wondering if you have any suggestions for how I can pick her up?" And I wonder what they heck I'm doing there being tempted to dump my drink on this guy's head. "No... sorry... can't really think of anything..." Bastard.
I've been told I should have kicked him in the balls for hitting on me just to get to a friend, but then, I've also been told that I wasn't even insulted. I think it's both, but for different reasons. Whatever, I have books to read. And I should sleep.
06 November 2007
I Don't Hate Life
I haven't been updating very much because I feel like everything I say sounds dumb or pretentious or just plain pointless--when will I outgrow blogging? But I know that people must read this sometimes, because I've had people ask me about things I've written--specifically, my rant over the summer about how UChicago sucks and how I wanted to transfer.
To clarify, that post was meant to say, these crazy ideas have been going around in my head for a while, but spending a day with Salisbury during O-Week reminded me that there are definitely good things about this school. I was frustrated and reluctant to admit that, but it's what I really meant to write.
Now that I am back, I am happy to say that those feelings have solidified, and I'm not going anywhere. People in the house are awesome--really really awesome, like family sometimes. And I'm more involved with some things, and actually busy with schoolwork. I tend to procrastinate as always, but I'm working on that (when I'm not blogging, that is), and trying to plan my life.
I'd like to say I've been happy--for the most part, I really have been. The past couple weeks have been a little rough and overly dramatic and stressful, but such is life when midterms and episodes of freaking out have their way with you. Overall though, it's looking up, it'll work itself out. Like the Explosions in the Sky album, "The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place."
That is, not until the Chicago winter sucks the life out of everything.
(Bitterness and negativity are not the same as unhappiness, i.e. I didn't just contradict myself entirely :)
To clarify, that post was meant to say, these crazy ideas have been going around in my head for a while, but spending a day with Salisbury during O-Week reminded me that there are definitely good things about this school. I was frustrated and reluctant to admit that, but it's what I really meant to write.
Now that I am back, I am happy to say that those feelings have solidified, and I'm not going anywhere. People in the house are awesome--really really awesome, like family sometimes. And I'm more involved with some things, and actually busy with schoolwork. I tend to procrastinate as always, but I'm working on that (when I'm not blogging, that is), and trying to plan my life.
I'd like to say I've been happy--for the most part, I really have been. The past couple weeks have been a little rough and overly dramatic and stressful, but such is life when midterms and episodes of freaking out have their way with you. Overall though, it's looking up, it'll work itself out. Like the Explosions in the Sky album, "The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place."
That is, not until the Chicago winter sucks the life out of everything.
(Bitterness and negativity are not the same as unhappiness, i.e. I didn't just contradict myself entirely :)
29 October 2007
Today Is Not A Good Day
I had one of those moments where everything seemed perfect. There were rays of sunlight filtering gently through the trees and birds chirping and crunchy leaves to step on, even. This moment of divine happiness occurred when I walked into the Burton-Judson courtyard and saw all the fall colors and blue sky and realized that while my econ midterm had been horrendous, it hadn't killed me.
But then somebody looked down from that cloudless sky and said, "No no no! You are mistaken! Today is going to be a shitty day just like every other!"
And just to make this fact inescapably clear to me, one of the so-called chirping birds flutters by, and takes a shit on my forehead. Today is no longer a good day.
But then somebody looked down from that cloudless sky and said, "No no no! You are mistaken! Today is going to be a shitty day just like every other!"
And just to make this fact inescapably clear to me, one of the so-called chirping birds flutters by, and takes a shit on my forehead. Today is no longer a good day.
14 October 2007
Academic Crutches
I haven't devoted very much time to blogging lately, and since I don't really feel like finishing my homework, now is better than never.
I want to go jump in Lake Michigan. Again. Not because I enjoy freezing my ass off or sliding around on slimy rocks or watching my step for broken glass and hypodermic needles, but because that late night excursion to the "beach" was the most fun I'd had since coming back to school. I do wish that there weren't photos of it on Facebook, but then, I don't mind reminders of how much fun and vaguely rebellious that was. I also enjoyed Blues and Ribs--free food and several blues bands with lots of opportunities to show off my mad dancing skillzz. Actually, Ilana said I dance well. So there--bask in my awesomeness. Just don't try to dance with me, because I'll probably step on your feet.
Work this quarter is... eh. For Public Policy, I'm actually really enjoying Deborah Stone's Policy Paradox, but the rest of the class doesn't follow that book very much, currently focusing more on this really terribly written book (by my professor!) that's supposed to be about why the public and the experts disagree on environmental issues, but instead has strange logic-problem metaphors and inapplicable theories scattered around references to his other books that no one reads. Blargh. Econ is difficult and I have a midterm in a few weeks, but I think I'll survive if I actually study. Self, Culture and Society is a lot of reading (Rousseau, Adam Smith, Constant, E.P. Thompson) but it is mildly interesting sometimes. I'm not very excited about my midterm paper, though.
Art is kind of my anti-class. It is a lot more work than I anticipated--I have to write a paper with every project, as well as turn in sketches of random things unrelated to the main project every week, and do some readings--but I still get to think about art twice a week in class, and more often during late nights spent in the studio. Somehow staying there until after midnight the two nights before a project is due, zoning out with my iPod and getting covered in charcoal and acrylics and bits of foam insulation, is relaxing despite cutting into my sleep schedule.
My next project, due this Thursday, is to build a monument. A monument in any medium to whatever I deem worthy of memorializing. I admit I was pretty nervous last week when we had to present our ideas to the class--I waited anxiously to go last, and was thankful that time ran out and I just had to quickly summarize what I was doing for my professor after most people left. This student is making a monument to Consumerism, this one to Materialism, this one to Human Progress, this one to The Feminine Ideal, this one to Censorship. Lots of isms and Capital Letters. You know those dramatic ideas and heavy societal critiques, symbolic and profound and important.
Me? I'm making a monument to my summer job. And it's going to kick ass.
God bless and may your academic crutches support you for more than 2 weeks past graduation.
I want to go jump in Lake Michigan. Again. Not because I enjoy freezing my ass off or sliding around on slimy rocks or watching my step for broken glass and hypodermic needles, but because that late night excursion to the "beach" was the most fun I'd had since coming back to school. I do wish that there weren't photos of it on Facebook, but then, I don't mind reminders of how much fun and vaguely rebellious that was. I also enjoyed Blues and Ribs--free food and several blues bands with lots of opportunities to show off my mad dancing skillzz. Actually, Ilana said I dance well. So there--bask in my awesomeness. Just don't try to dance with me, because I'll probably step on your feet.
Work this quarter is... eh. For Public Policy, I'm actually really enjoying Deborah Stone's Policy Paradox, but the rest of the class doesn't follow that book very much, currently focusing more on this really terribly written book (by my professor!) that's supposed to be about why the public and the experts disagree on environmental issues, but instead has strange logic-problem metaphors and inapplicable theories scattered around references to his other books that no one reads. Blargh. Econ is difficult and I have a midterm in a few weeks, but I think I'll survive if I actually study. Self, Culture and Society is a lot of reading (Rousseau, Adam Smith, Constant, E.P. Thompson) but it is mildly interesting sometimes. I'm not very excited about my midterm paper, though.
Art is kind of my anti-class. It is a lot more work than I anticipated--I have to write a paper with every project, as well as turn in sketches of random things unrelated to the main project every week, and do some readings--but I still get to think about art twice a week in class, and more often during late nights spent in the studio. Somehow staying there until after midnight the two nights before a project is due, zoning out with my iPod and getting covered in charcoal and acrylics and bits of foam insulation, is relaxing despite cutting into my sleep schedule.
My next project, due this Thursday, is to build a monument. A monument in any medium to whatever I deem worthy of memorializing. I admit I was pretty nervous last week when we had to present our ideas to the class--I waited anxiously to go last, and was thankful that time ran out and I just had to quickly summarize what I was doing for my professor after most people left. This student is making a monument to Consumerism, this one to Materialism, this one to Human Progress, this one to The Feminine Ideal, this one to Censorship. Lots of isms and Capital Letters. You know those dramatic ideas and heavy societal critiques, symbolic and profound and important.
Me? I'm making a monument to my summer job. And it's going to kick ass.
God bless and may your academic crutches support you for more than 2 weeks past graduation.
06 October 2007
Remember
It's late, but remind me to tell y'all that today was awesome. Peach (and by Peach, I mean I) kicked some serious butt at Smash. And then I randomly decided that I wanted to go to the beach. So I said hey! Let's be spontaneous and walk to the point at 7:30 tonight. And people actually listened.
So we walked to the point and we climbed down a scary ladder and slipped around on the rocks. Then we found some sand and waded in and took really embarrassing photos.
It was hawt. And by hawt, I mean really really freaking fun. And super cold. But fun.
The end.
So we walked to the point and we climbed down a scary ladder and slipped around on the rocks. Then we found some sand and waded in and took really embarrassing photos.
It was hawt. And by hawt, I mean really really freaking fun. And super cold. But fun.
The end.
05 October 2007
Typical
Today was very busy, but a slight panic of business is good for me once and a while. I like having things to do, so I shall bore you with the details.
I had my first critique in art class this morning, and it went better than I anticipated. My late hours in the studio paid off, I guess, because my professor seemed to like my work. Fifteen representations of a framing hammer in all sorts of medium. I have to say that on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, it was rather amusing to walk back from the studio at 12:30 a.m. with an unusually heavy hammer in my hand. I like to think that people saw me and ran away scared, thinking I was crazy, but there was no one around to notice and I only had to walk one block.
Lunch today was fantastic because it was Cuko's Famous Burritos Day, which is essentially the dining-hall equivalent of Holy Week, only compressed into one delicious and heavenly meal. Every Thursday. I'm there.
I skipped public policy today because a) all my professor does is draw pictures and talk really really really quietly, and b) I had a paper to write (out of my rear end) for art.
But I did go to my Econ homework session. I swear, people at this school think way too much, and then proceed to sidestep the entire purpose of the problem (of their existence, too, I bet). Everyone wants to change the answer to something ten times more complicated. Assuming the ticket prices are the same, is it economically more expensive to see a concert here on campus or downtown? Sure, maybe you can bum a free ride to the city, and maybe you can read your econ textbook in the car so as not to waste any time--but the problem doesn't freaking say that, so hush. Details can be important, but they can also be completely pointless and completely a waste of time. Mmk, end rant.
After econ, I went straight to Calvert House to make bagged meals, which we took downtown to pass out on Lower Wacker and Michigan Ave. We actually had a hard time finding people today--I wish that meant that there weren't any to be found, but even I am not that optimistic. I kind-of think it would be interesting to research where homeless people live--have a map of the city with popular places marked in red so that food runs can be more efficient. Also, Fr. Pat tells me there's an ASP-like trip over spring break, so if I can't go with Habitat, I might try to join them instead.
I got back around 7:45 and had to shower, bake cookies for Habitat's bake sale tomorrow, help decorate Katie's door (it was my idea to put Marx on a beach, but unfortunately all I had time to do was make the sun), and finish my bullmush art paper. I also ate Katie's brownie cake and jumped up and down on a sheet of bubble wrap from Katie's present. Good times :)
Even in the midst of friends and work and whatnot, there is a different kind of loneliness and a different kind of boredom, like standing still.
I had my first critique in art class this morning, and it went better than I anticipated. My late hours in the studio paid off, I guess, because my professor seemed to like my work. Fifteen representations of a framing hammer in all sorts of medium. I have to say that on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, it was rather amusing to walk back from the studio at 12:30 a.m. with an unusually heavy hammer in my hand. I like to think that people saw me and ran away scared, thinking I was crazy, but there was no one around to notice and I only had to walk one block.
Lunch today was fantastic because it was Cuko's Famous Burritos Day, which is essentially the dining-hall equivalent of Holy Week, only compressed into one delicious and heavenly meal. Every Thursday. I'm there.
I skipped public policy today because a) all my professor does is draw pictures and talk really really really quietly, and b) I had a paper to write (out of my rear end) for art.
But I did go to my Econ homework session. I swear, people at this school think way too much, and then proceed to sidestep the entire purpose of the problem (of their existence, too, I bet). Everyone wants to change the answer to something ten times more complicated. Assuming the ticket prices are the same, is it economically more expensive to see a concert here on campus or downtown? Sure, maybe you can bum a free ride to the city, and maybe you can read your econ textbook in the car so as not to waste any time--but the problem doesn't freaking say that, so hush. Details can be important, but they can also be completely pointless and completely a waste of time. Mmk, end rant.
After econ, I went straight to Calvert House to make bagged meals, which we took downtown to pass out on Lower Wacker and Michigan Ave. We actually had a hard time finding people today--I wish that meant that there weren't any to be found, but even I am not that optimistic. I kind-of think it would be interesting to research where homeless people live--have a map of the city with popular places marked in red so that food runs can be more efficient. Also, Fr. Pat tells me there's an ASP-like trip over spring break, so if I can't go with Habitat, I might try to join them instead.
I got back around 7:45 and had to shower, bake cookies for Habitat's bake sale tomorrow, help decorate Katie's door (it was my idea to put Marx on a beach, but unfortunately all I had time to do was make the sun), and finish my bullmush art paper. I also ate Katie's brownie cake and jumped up and down on a sheet of bubble wrap from Katie's present. Good times :)
Even in the midst of friends and work and whatnot, there is a different kind of loneliness and a different kind of boredom, like standing still.
23 September 2007
z0mg school!
"Well it's about freaking time!" That's what you're saying right now, I know it. I'm thinking the same thing.
I moved in on Friday, in 90 degree heat without AC, up four flights of stairs without an elevator. But it actually was not bad--my mom and I got a lot of help from some of the guys in the house, and while I felt pretty gross, I was too excited to really care very much. My room, I think, looks pretty fantastic: most everything matches, I have several chairs so people can sit when they visit, and my Christmas lights held up by turquoise duct tape are pretty hot. I woke up on Saturday after my first night sleeping here and already I felt like I was at home, so I think that's a good sign.
Friday night a group from the house went to Pilsen for delicious (and cheap) Mexican, so I finally got to meet some of the "firsties." They are pretty hip, I must say. I'm excited to get to know them even better.
Yesterday there were quite a few Salisburians at brunch--I was there for 2 hours as people came and went, and it felt just like any other Saturday, except better because I was noticing how good it felt be be there. And after church, I met up with people again for Thai at The Snail and desserts and whatnot at the Museum of Science and Industry. We saw the Imax on Antarctica--it was pretty intense, let me tell you :) Dancing penguins ftw.
By the end of the night, my cold was getting the better of me, so I went straight to bed when we got home. Sickness ftl? I hate it. But I feel better now after sleeping, so perhaps it is going away.
I moved in on Friday, in 90 degree heat without AC, up four flights of stairs without an elevator. But it actually was not bad--my mom and I got a lot of help from some of the guys in the house, and while I felt pretty gross, I was too excited to really care very much. My room, I think, looks pretty fantastic: most everything matches, I have several chairs so people can sit when they visit, and my Christmas lights held up by turquoise duct tape are pretty hot. I woke up on Saturday after my first night sleeping here and already I felt like I was at home, so I think that's a good sign.
Friday night a group from the house went to Pilsen for delicious (and cheap) Mexican, so I finally got to meet some of the "firsties." They are pretty hip, I must say. I'm excited to get to know them even better.
Yesterday there were quite a few Salisburians at brunch--I was there for 2 hours as people came and went, and it felt just like any other Saturday, except better because I was noticing how good it felt be be there. And after church, I met up with people again for Thai at The Snail and desserts and whatnot at the Museum of Science and Industry. We saw the Imax on Antarctica--it was pretty intense, let me tell you :) Dancing penguins ftw.
By the end of the night, my cold was getting the better of me, so I went straight to bed when we got home. Sickness ftl? I hate it. But I feel better now after sleeping, so perhaps it is going away.
14 September 2007
<3 Salisbury
(Does anyone in Salisbury read this?)
To begin, I have a confession: I have spent a good deal of time this summer thinking about transferring schools. I do not know where, just somewhere that is not the University of Chicago. This reasoning may sound ridiculous, but really it is the school's ridiculous schedule that has turned me off to the entire institution.
To rush an entire quarter of my education, finishing the year two and a half weeks early, is insanity. First of all, I did not have time to process the fact that, hey, I just finished my first year of college! I am one to generally remain calm as events unfold, but I need to take the time to think/journal/meditate about what has just occurred, or I become emotionally numb and confused, incapable of feeling much of anything until I later explode quite randomly. I never processed my first year. And once I got to Virginia, I feel that I missed out on some of the socialization and emotional processing that went on during training, because between sessions I was rushing back to my room to study for the final exam that I still needed to take the following week, instead of hanging out on the porch. Then when I got back home, I needed some time to think, but I found myself drowning in that time waiting for school to start, bored and still emotionally numb--sitting and doing nothing but thinking would have been torture, and I had all kinds of time to do it, so I did not think at all.
In a nutshell, UChicago's deviant schedule made working for ASP difficult, both logistically and emotionally.
But I still, as always, find myself in love with ASP, setting it far above any school on my very short list of fantastic-amazing-incredible experiences that make me feel alive. Having rushed so much to leave, I felt very little connection with the school--it has seemed to me nothing but an obstacle. As a result, I have thought and said pretty much every negative thing that there is to be said about the school. Not all of them were untrue: theory is not always practical, socialization can be difficult, maybe fun really does die... it really is difficult to find groups of people with similar interests, but then, the failing in that area is more my own fault than the school's. But I digress--the point is, I was hatin'.
Today, however, was anything but hateful. I visited the incredible Salisbury House to help with decorations, and it was ten kinds of a good time. After dinner, I was hugging everyone goodbye, and suddenly I felt extremely content. Blue skies, silver trumpets, sunshine, rainbows, all that crap. What the heck? On the ride home, I turned off the radio and thought about how everything seems to be lined up so perfectly right now--my house-mates are incredible people, the campus is gorgeous, my room is even more fantastic than I imagined, and even the house theme is ten times better than I anticipated. Thank you to everyone who was there for a really incredible day.
This burst of good feeling towards my school makes me very excited for next week when I (finally!) get to move in. But in terms of next summer, I have to wonder if my suddenly strengthened attachment to my school will make my life more difficult--at some point, I may have to chose between UChicago and ASP. I do not think I can do both (although I certainly intend to try) and ASP is still something I am in love with.
So while today brought me this incredible warm-fuzzy "OMG UChicago" feeling, I still have a lot of figuring out to do, and I think attachment is going to make future choices more costly, like the $20 parking + $9.89 lunch I spent today despite the beauty of everything else. I may be grounded in two places all at once. I have no more conclusion to offer.
<3 ASP
<3 Salisbury
ASP + Salisbury =
To begin, I have a confession: I have spent a good deal of time this summer thinking about transferring schools. I do not know where, just somewhere that is not the University of Chicago. This reasoning may sound ridiculous, but really it is the school's ridiculous schedule that has turned me off to the entire institution.
To rush an entire quarter of my education, finishing the year two and a half weeks early, is insanity. First of all, I did not have time to process the fact that, hey, I just finished my first year of college! I am one to generally remain calm as events unfold, but I need to take the time to think/journal/meditate about what has just occurred, or I become emotionally numb and confused, incapable of feeling much of anything until I later explode quite randomly. I never processed my first year. And once I got to Virginia, I feel that I missed out on some of the socialization and emotional processing that went on during training, because between sessions I was rushing back to my room to study for the final exam that I still needed to take the following week, instead of hanging out on the porch. Then when I got back home, I needed some time to think, but I found myself drowning in that time waiting for school to start, bored and still emotionally numb--sitting and doing nothing but thinking would have been torture, and I had all kinds of time to do it, so I did not think at all.
In a nutshell, UChicago's deviant schedule made working for ASP difficult, both logistically and emotionally.
But I still, as always, find myself in love with ASP, setting it far above any school on my very short list of fantastic-amazing-incredible experiences that make me feel alive. Having rushed so much to leave, I felt very little connection with the school--it has seemed to me nothing but an obstacle. As a result, I have thought and said pretty much every negative thing that there is to be said about the school. Not all of them were untrue: theory is not always practical, socialization can be difficult, maybe fun really does die... it really is difficult to find groups of people with similar interests, but then, the failing in that area is more my own fault than the school's. But I digress--the point is, I was hatin'.
Today, however, was anything but hateful. I visited the incredible Salisbury House to help with decorations, and it was ten kinds of a good time. After dinner, I was hugging everyone goodbye, and suddenly I felt extremely content. Blue skies, silver trumpets, sunshine, rainbows, all that crap. What the heck? On the ride home, I turned off the radio and thought about how everything seems to be lined up so perfectly right now--my house-mates are incredible people, the campus is gorgeous, my room is even more fantastic than I imagined, and even the house theme is ten times better than I anticipated. Thank you to everyone who was there for a really incredible day.
This burst of good feeling towards my school makes me very excited for next week when I (finally!) get to move in. But in terms of next summer, I have to wonder if my suddenly strengthened attachment to my school will make my life more difficult--at some point, I may have to chose between UChicago and ASP. I do not think I can do both (although I certainly intend to try) and ASP is still something I am in love with.
So while today brought me this incredible warm-fuzzy "OMG UChicago" feeling, I still have a lot of figuring out to do, and I think attachment is going to make future choices more costly, like the $20 parking + $9.89 lunch I spent today despite the beauty of everything else. I may be grounded in two places all at once. I have no more conclusion to offer.
<3 ASP
<3 Salisbury
ASP + Salisbury =
13 September 2007
But I'm Still Here
... says Vertical Horizon. And says me, too.
But not for long! Tomorrow I get to at least visit and help decorate the grand estate that is Salisbury House, and then I move in next Friday.
I thought of the phrase "silvery sigh" or "silvered sigh" and I want to put it in a poem, but I am otherwise uninspired. That's pretty much all that my mind has accomplished today--I am actually jealous of my brothers' homework. How sick is that?
The rest of me was more productive today. I stained and polyurethaned the shelves that I bought yesterday for my bedroom at Ikea--I would be assembling them right now if they weren't supposed to dry for 24 hours. I ran some errands, picked my brother up from school, finished moving the rest of my stuff into my room... I also went for a run, and managed to make three miles. I was proud :p
Now I am excited to finish watching the second half of Hamlet with Kenneth Branagh on DVD. Sexy.
If anyone reads this anymore... sorry I'm boring :p
But not for long! Tomorrow I get to at least visit and help decorate the grand estate that is Salisbury House, and then I move in next Friday.
I thought of the phrase "silvery sigh" or "silvered sigh" and I want to put it in a poem, but I am otherwise uninspired. That's pretty much all that my mind has accomplished today--I am actually jealous of my brothers' homework. How sick is that?
The rest of me was more productive today. I stained and polyurethaned the shelves that I bought yesterday for my bedroom at Ikea--I would be assembling them right now if they weren't supposed to dry for 24 hours. I ran some errands, picked my brother up from school, finished moving the rest of my stuff into my room... I also went for a run, and managed to make three miles. I was proud :p
Now I am excited to finish watching the second half of Hamlet with Kenneth Branagh on DVD. Sexy.
If anyone reads this anymore... sorry I'm boring :p
11 September 2007
Green
My bedroom is green. It is also half the size it used to be.
My house is kind of like a circus. Teal, bright green, dark green, light green, grey, light yellow, canary yellow, dark red, tan... and white on the ceilings. I suppose the colors fit my family, though. We're a bit out there, a bit insane, but still have the common sense to keep the ceilings white. I like the canary yellow kitchen for my mom because she is always laughing. I like the light green in my bedroom because I've gotten much calmer than I used to be, and sometimes like to think I'm pretty. I don't understand the teal in Mike's room; but then, I don't really understand Mike all that much, so I guess it fits.
Talking about all this color, I think it would be very sad to be color blind. Or blind at all, really. But then, I suppose I would notice other things, like smells and sounds and touches, and still be able to associate them with different family members. And it would be more difficult to be racist.
My mind is kind of like a circus right now, too. It reminds me of the stacks of books and papers and binders scattered on the floor waiting for me to buy new shelves--disorganized, chaotic. I should have thrown away some of that stuff a long time ago, but for whatever reason, I like to save certain things. What if I need it later? I'll keep it jumbled up in the grey matter for a little longer. And I'm not sure that thoughts can actually be consciously thrown away. Usually I'm either happily remembering, or cursing and wanting to forget but finding myself incapable of doing so--I've never really considered whether or not it's possible to rethink a thought that's been successfully disposed of.
It's like this little blister slash cut on my finger that would heal if I didn't keep picking at it. But I keep picking anyway--maybe I want it there. Maybe it fits perfectly. Maybe it matches the paint under my fingernails but I'm too concerned about the color of things to notice.
My house is kind of like a circus. Teal, bright green, dark green, light green, grey, light yellow, canary yellow, dark red, tan... and white on the ceilings. I suppose the colors fit my family, though. We're a bit out there, a bit insane, but still have the common sense to keep the ceilings white. I like the canary yellow kitchen for my mom because she is always laughing. I like the light green in my bedroom because I've gotten much calmer than I used to be, and sometimes like to think I'm pretty. I don't understand the teal in Mike's room; but then, I don't really understand Mike all that much, so I guess it fits.
Talking about all this color, I think it would be very sad to be color blind. Or blind at all, really. But then, I suppose I would notice other things, like smells and sounds and touches, and still be able to associate them with different family members. And it would be more difficult to be racist.
My mind is kind of like a circus right now, too. It reminds me of the stacks of books and papers and binders scattered on the floor waiting for me to buy new shelves--disorganized, chaotic. I should have thrown away some of that stuff a long time ago, but for whatever reason, I like to save certain things. What if I need it later? I'll keep it jumbled up in the grey matter for a little longer. And I'm not sure that thoughts can actually be consciously thrown away. Usually I'm either happily remembering, or cursing and wanting to forget but finding myself incapable of doing so--I've never really considered whether or not it's possible to rethink a thought that's been successfully disposed of.
It's like this little blister slash cut on my finger that would heal if I didn't keep picking at it. But I keep picking anyway--maybe I want it there. Maybe it fits perfectly. Maybe it matches the paint under my fingernails but I'm too concerned about the color of things to notice.
05 September 2007
There's Something Badass About Home Depot
The highlight of my day today was taking Tommy and driving my dad's Ford F-150 (color: Black) to Home Depot in order to buy him two bundles of ridge cap shingles (color: Weathered Wood) to finish the roof of the shed (style: hip), and explaining to Tommy the difference between a drill and a hammer drill while waiting for a rather attractive young man to retrieve our desired shingles from the top shelves with the fork lift.
BAMF d:|
BAMF d:|
03 September 2007
See Photo
And I Have Shed No Tear Since
I haven’t cried since July third
when I became nothing but paper and pen
tossed carelessly on an empty wooden bench
where the leafy canopy was a halo,
wrapping in yellow my
blue ink smudges still searching
for God in the margins.
It was almost enough that I could be ruffled by the wind,
modest enough for a deer to trust
yet alert enough to free thought,
like light releases summer’s colors—
brilliant linens and blinding daffodil.
But then I became like too many unanswered prayers,
verses pleading for truth and certainty,
each line as biting and unforgiving as the next,
until a river ran through me.
Each tear was a question,
ruining every controlled motion of my pen.
All I knew, once darkness fell,
was what star to look for,
if not where to find it,
and I was numb
both to the blackness of the night
and the quiet warmth of the moon.
I haven’t cried since July third
when I became nothing but paper and pen
tossed carelessly on an empty wooden bench
where the leafy canopy was a halo,
wrapping in yellow my
blue ink smudges still searching
for God in the margins.
It was almost enough that I could be ruffled by the wind,
modest enough for a deer to trust
yet alert enough to free thought,
like light releases summer’s colors—
brilliant linens and blinding daffodil.
But then I became like too many unanswered prayers,
verses pleading for truth and certainty,
each line as biting and unforgiving as the next,
until a river ran through me.
Each tear was a question,
ruining every controlled motion of my pen.
All I knew, once darkness fell,
was what star to look for,
if not where to find it,
and I was numb
both to the blackness of the night
and the quiet warmth of the moon.
Processing
Rereading my journal, I came across another excerpt to share. I'm not sure if anyone even reads my blog, even with it imported to Facebook. But if you do, that's great--if you don't, that's great, too.
*** *** ***And to end on a happier note, here is something amusing that happened:
13 July 2007
11:22 pm
Something I want to remember from this summer: it's the little things that are most awesome. ASP staffers find joy in the strangest things, and I want to take that enthusiasm for life's little quirks home with me. Bubba at the h'ware store is awesome. Why? Because he has a mullet and wears plaid and knows everything. And the Webb's house is awesome. Why? Because they're so full of love, plus we just this week finished installing 4-60' girder beams under their floors. Awesome. I love how it's usually people that staffers find to be awesome--I want to find that back home, too. That wholesome, friendly, accepting feeling.
Surprising my church with a visit yesterday was also awesome. I'm so proud of my dad, how he told me he wishes he could take that "warm fuzziness" from ASP back home with him forever. He's grown, but I think still growing. It was really, really great to see all of them. Really great.
I don't want to write anything depressing. The... group... with St. M's was awful--to the point Howard didn't want to insult my "lady-like" ears with what the 20 year old GL was doing. Gross?
And Wild Cherry--the situation at [this particular] home is one I don't feel ready to confront. We're not working there anymore. I actually felt faint and nauseous hearing about it. The isolation of the mother--the 9-year-old girl's description of sexual abuse--the mother jaded by her own abuse--and there isn't anything we can do except report it to social services.
I'm not prepared to think about that.
*** *** ***
*** *** ***I later found out that our cook had found it on the floor in the kitchen and thrown it away, thinking it was some kind of prank. The assistant cook might have carried it in with the towels and dropped it en route to the cabinets? Who knows.
20 July 07
12:47 am
This morning I woke up and realized that I had forgotten to take my laundry out of the dryer. Dammit. I went to retrieve it, only to discover that our staff liaison had folded it for me so that he could dry his own clothes. He folded probably better than I would have, I was impressed :)
But something was missing. Something rather awkward. I knew for certain I had put a pink bra in with that load. But where did it go?
Awkward.
So I thanked Ryan for folding my clothes, but then I had to ask him where it might have gone. He remembered it--he had put it on top of the towels, he said, to avoid touching it. Ok. So I went back to look for towels.
No towels. No pink bra.
But then, as I was looking around confused, Ryan met me in the laundry room and motioned for me to follow him. He led me to the kitchen.
"So I was eating pizza."
"Ok."
"And I had a napkin for my pizza and when I finished my pizza I went to throw it away and... look what I found." He pointed to the garbage can.
What the hell?
Awkward. But hilarious. Kristina and Ryan were wondering how we could make an announcement to the church group asking for the return of a missing bra... interesting possibilities, no? :)
*** *** ***
02 September 2007
Good Weekend
My dad didn't know how to put on a ridge vent--that is, until I told him. He might put one on the shed he's building (it's a pretty hard-core little house, let me tell you) and was wondering aloud about how it should be installed. I had a mini flashback of climbing up a rather steep hip roof to inspect a newly installed ridge vent (only to discover that I'd have to come back later with some tar because the group left one stinking nail head exposed) and then I remembered--I know how to install one! It was a happy moment.
I also advised him that Gatorade is not a very good mixer. His look told me that he was going to try it with Grey Goose anyway and I probably shouldn't be giving him advice on drinking until I'm old enough to actually know... :)
Septemberfest has been fun so far. Tonight there was a local band, 7th Heaven, opening for John Waite. They did covers of oldies and some of their own stuff. Despite their having the worse band name ever, they were very energetic, very good--and did I mention the lead singer had a pretty hot Irish accent? They had tshirts... my grandma bought me one.
John Waite sang well, but had absolutely no personality. How can you frown when you're singing about smiling? And I didn't really know any of his music, so I zoned out halfway through and started thinking about random stuff: "I wonder if my back tanned at all when I was floating in Lauren's pool earlier today? 'Hell is for Children' made me sad yesterday."
Tomorrow I will most likely end up watching the parade and having lunch with Lauren and her family. They always have beef sandwiches... yummy...
I've been running almost every day (be proud :) But the way I keep mentioning food in this post makes me wonder how it is that the new jeans I bought 2 weeks ago are already feeling a bit baggy :p
I also advised him that Gatorade is not a very good mixer. His look told me that he was going to try it with Grey Goose anyway and I probably shouldn't be giving him advice on drinking until I'm old enough to actually know... :)
Septemberfest has been fun so far. Tonight there was a local band, 7th Heaven, opening for John Waite. They did covers of oldies and some of their own stuff. Despite their having the worse band name ever, they were very energetic, very good--and did I mention the lead singer had a pretty hot Irish accent? They had tshirts... my grandma bought me one.
John Waite sang well, but had absolutely no personality. How can you frown when you're singing about smiling? And I didn't really know any of his music, so I zoned out halfway through and started thinking about random stuff: "I wonder if my back tanned at all when I was floating in Lauren's pool earlier today? 'Hell is for Children' made me sad yesterday."
Tomorrow I will most likely end up watching the parade and having lunch with Lauren and her family. They always have beef sandwiches... yummy...
I've been running almost every day (be proud :) But the way I keep mentioning food in this post makes me wonder how it is that the new jeans I bought 2 weeks ago are already feeling a bit baggy :p
30 August 2007
Today I Painted My Ceiling and Primed the Walls, But This Is More Interesting
I was sitting on a lawn chair in my driveway getting whittling lessons from my brother when I noticed a familiar car driving down the street. It was white, mostly. And smallish--I never did catch the make and model. And a large woman with curly hair and a giant smile was driving it.
I couldn't believe it, but apparently Candy and her 2 sons (and presumably her husband and brother-in-law) had moved from Virginia to a house right down the street from me! I met this family while working for ASP this summer--I never expected to see them again so soon!
So naturally, ran out to the road to say hello.
Except then she yelled at me for spying on her--how did I know that she'd moved in down the block from me if I wasn't spying? "It's not nice to watch people like that!"
I was mortified--I hadn't been spying, somehow I just knew! I ran into the house crying my eyes out about how all I wanted was to say hello and give her a hug and learn more sign language. "I just... Candy... Tommy..." I choked.
My mother promptly handed me a chocolate bar and went to go find my brother Tommy to see what he'd done to make me cry.
...And then I woke up.
I don't dream very often. Based on the above, that's probably a good thing.
I couldn't believe it, but apparently Candy and her 2 sons (and presumably her husband and brother-in-law) had moved from Virginia to a house right down the street from me! I met this family while working for ASP this summer--I never expected to see them again so soon!
So naturally, ran out to the road to say hello.
Except then she yelled at me for spying on her--how did I know that she'd moved in down the block from me if I wasn't spying? "It's not nice to watch people like that!"
I was mortified--I hadn't been spying, somehow I just knew! I ran into the house crying my eyes out about how all I wanted was to say hello and give her a hug and learn more sign language. "I just... Candy... Tommy..." I choked.
My mother promptly handed me a chocolate bar and went to go find my brother Tommy to see what he'd done to make me cry.
...And then I woke up.
I don't dream very often. Based on the above, that's probably a good thing.
29 August 2007
Mah Na Mah Na
I always found myself wondering: how does she do it? How? Is it really possible for one person to overflow with that much happiness, that much love?
Evidently it is possible, because there she stood before me, ordering me into the kitchen to get myself a plate of food. She is infectious--it is not possible to frown when seated in her living room.
She doesn't understand sadness. When she cannot bake from the recipe her cousin gave her because she is still angry at her for dying, I think she must feel sadness, but feeling is not the same as understanding, certainly not the same as accepting. Emotions can be felt reluctantly, as perhaps should be sadness.
What she does understand is love--joyful love. That is one emotion that should never take company with reluctance. I saw her cook and hug and smile and laugh and worry over her family like each member was the most beautiful thing on earth.
And she was so busily happy.
I still do not understand the how, although I wish I could duplicate it. But the why... Why not? Why not smile?
* * *
Rereading my words, I feel cheesy. But I also feel they are true.
Evidently it is possible, because there she stood before me, ordering me into the kitchen to get myself a plate of food. She is infectious--it is not possible to frown when seated in her living room.
She doesn't understand sadness. When she cannot bake from the recipe her cousin gave her because she is still angry at her for dying, I think she must feel sadness, but feeling is not the same as understanding, certainly not the same as accepting. Emotions can be felt reluctantly, as perhaps should be sadness.
What she does understand is love--joyful love. That is one emotion that should never take company with reluctance. I saw her cook and hug and smile and laugh and worry over her family like each member was the most beautiful thing on earth.
And she was so busily happy.
I still do not understand the how, although I wish I could duplicate it. But the why... Why not? Why not smile?
* * *
Rereading my words, I feel cheesy. But I also feel they are true.
Finally.
Evidently I don't know how to set the alarm on my phone properly, because it didn't go off at 8:00 as planned. I slept until almost 11--by the time I got my butt out the door to run, it was really hot and humid.
But in my bedroom I still managed to cover up all of my floors and furniture, mask all the trim and the ceiling fan, and spackle all the nail holes.
It's too late to paint the ceiling, says my dad, because it's getting dark. Bah.
But finally. I've actually done something useful with myself--not as much as I had hoped, but it's something.
But in my bedroom I still managed to cover up all of my floors and furniture, mask all the trim and the ceiling fan, and spackle all the nail holes.
It's too late to paint the ceiling, says my dad, because it's getting dark. Bah.
But finally. I've actually done something useful with myself--not as much as I had hoped, but it's something.
18 August 2007
Life Inside
Excerpt from my journal, 10 June 2007, 12:18 am
Volunteers are coming tomorrow (today actually). I'm really, really nervous, I'd say. But excited. And encouraged.
We watched The Guardian tonight, and while it was too intense to be relaxing, it was really good and made me think.
I want a job like that. Not an actual cost guard job, but something just as powerful. Something so a part of me that I am defined by it and by me it is defined. I do not want to be ashamed if someone were to address me as "the one who works for this" or "does this." It will be mine and it will be me and I will be it. Of course, I don't know what this job is yet. And I do want a life outside my job. But I want there to be life inside my job, too. So much life that it hurts to retire. Then I will know I have earned old age.
*** *** ***
The reason I am resorting to excerpts is that I want to tell y'all my thoughts from my summer away from blogging, and because not much worth noting really happened today.
Also, Christine said "Um, I love this song. Listen to it, 'tis worth it." She was right. Aerosmith's "What It Takes" is proof that even rock stars can be a little emo.
16 August 2007
With Love From the Momster
I know I already updated with a poem today, but maybe my faithful readers (heh) would like something happier than sexual abuse to ponder. I've been thinking about strength.
I once wrote in my LiveJournal about how the woman in charge of Habitat for Humanity in Tupelo, Mississippi commented on my apparent toughness: "You're tough, you know. I don't have to worry about you." She said this as I was climbing onto the back of a rather ornery horse that I, as the one in the group with the most experience, had volunteered to ride. And this was at the end of a week of working with power tools, so there was her basis for judgment. But that didn't make me feel strong. Not emotionally, anyway.
My mother, however, happened to read this LiveJournal post. Her response, I think, is worth highlighting:
After reading that, I made a mental note to avoid letting the stress and frustration my job might bring make me stop caring less about it. I felt like I was succeeding for the most part, until the last week, week eight, when I knew I was ready to go home. I still cared about the people and finishing the projects, I more felt tired of the complaints of volunteers and the more menial tasks that needed to be done (i.e. paperwork!)
But now that I'm thinking more about it, I do feel jaded, which frustrates me like any weakness would. I'm not reacting to things the way that I have normally reacted in the past. I haven't really cried in months, and I probably should have on numerous occasions. I do not feel strong, in any sense of the word. But I do still care, about people and crappy situations and everything I've always cared about, even if I haven't shown it--or am I just telling myself that?
No. I care. A lot. A family member emailed me today just to say "hi" and "I love you". It made my day.
I just need some time, is all.
I once wrote in my LiveJournal about how the woman in charge of Habitat for Humanity in Tupelo, Mississippi commented on my apparent toughness: "You're tough, you know. I don't have to worry about you." She said this as I was climbing onto the back of a rather ornery horse that I, as the one in the group with the most experience, had volunteered to ride. And this was at the end of a week of working with power tools, so there was her basis for judgment. But that didn't make me feel strong. Not emotionally, anyway.
My mother, however, happened to read this LiveJournal post. Her response, I think, is worth highlighting:
The question isn't whether or not you are tough. Anyone can be tough. After all "toughness" isn't necessarily a desirable trait--no one wants tough steak, tough luck, tough homework assignments...you get my point.
The real question should be how do you conquer the challenges of life and yet remain soft? Not spineless. But soft. Softness allows you to bend instead of breaking, to be open and approachable and touchable. Softness allows you to feel, which might sometimes lead to pain, but is still far better than a life without feeling.
So wield those power tools, shoot your guns, climb a ladder (or a tree or a mountain), and ride ornery horses (remember the ornery ones need you the most), but through it all, remain soft. Ever-soft.
That's my advice on life this week!
Love you!
The Momster
After reading that, I made a mental note to avoid letting the stress and frustration my job might bring make me stop caring less about it. I felt like I was succeeding for the most part, until the last week, week eight, when I knew I was ready to go home. I still cared about the people and finishing the projects, I more felt tired of the complaints of volunteers and the more menial tasks that needed to be done (i.e. paperwork!)
But now that I'm thinking more about it, I do feel jaded, which frustrates me like any weakness would. I'm not reacting to things the way that I have normally reacted in the past. I haven't really cried in months, and I probably should have on numerous occasions. I do not feel strong, in any sense of the word. But I do still care, about people and crappy situations and everything I've always cared about, even if I haven't shown it--or am I just telling myself that?
No. I care. A lot. A family member emailed me today just to say "hi" and "I love you". It made my day.
I just need some time, is all.
Mysteries
The following is not a happy poem. It was not happy to write, it is probably not happy to read. And I'm not sure it's finished just yet. But the negative aspects of things need to come out, somehow.
I'm thinking about my summer--there an entire spectrum of thoughts to sort through where that is concerned. Thing difficult to communicate perhaps belong only to poetry.
*** *** ***
Mysteries
A lake is an ocean
in a child's wide eyes. It collides
with the horizon and sends up golden sparks,
pink lemonade gushing and overflowing, pop!
Then color rushes into black waves
but still the child is mesmerized,
fishing for how and where, and why?
Something about particles
and selective scattering,
and it's just the tilt of the earth
that makes little lakes look big.
So why's it still before a storm
And how do animals stay warm
alone outside on winter nights?
And polar bears-do they ever bite?
Why do people go to church?
What does daddy do at work?
What makes people sad?
And why did grandpa look so mad
when I told the visitor about all the places
he'd kissed me hugged down on the mattress?
Some lakes shrink as they grow
and yet remains in memory
an ocean impassively wide--
no fisherman can ever touch the sunset.
I'm thinking about my summer--there an entire spectrum of thoughts to sort through where that is concerned. Thing difficult to communicate perhaps belong only to poetry.
*** *** ***
Mysteries
A lake is an ocean
in a child's wide eyes. It collides
with the horizon and sends up golden sparks,
pink lemonade gushing and overflowing, pop!
Then color rushes into black waves
but still the child is mesmerized,
fishing for how and where, and why?
Something about particles
and selective scattering,
and it's just the tilt of the earth
that makes little lakes look big.
So why's it still before a storm
And how do animals stay warm
alone outside on winter nights?
And polar bears-do they ever bite?
Why do people go to church?
What does daddy do at work?
What makes people sad?
And why did grandpa look so mad
when I told the visitor about all the places
he'd kissed me hugged down on the mattress?
Some lakes shrink as they grow
and yet remains in memory
an ocean impassively wide--
no fisherman can ever touch the sunset.
14 August 2007
Poetry, Even If Nobody Ever Notices
Nailed
in the style of Kenneth Koch, revised
I would like to take this moment to stop and thank the six-penny nail
and the broken birdhouse that I fixed last Saturday, because I’ve always wanted
to smash my thumb with a hammer. Really, who wouldn’t want this purple finger
crushed by the labor of putting the roof back over the heads of several little birds?
I certainly must thank that nail for being so small
that I might miss it and hit my hand instead.
A nail really isn’t much of anything stocked in the hardware store,
aisle three, in a grimy cardboard box surrounded by other dusty little boxes
full of bolts and nuts and screws of various sizes.
The aisle is long and straight and disappears in the distance,
and so does a nail if you are a curious little flea seated at the head,
enjoying a blend of sweet lumber and glue and fertilizer wafting in
from aisles four through ten. The nail is too metallic to smell any different
than it tastes, like sharp cheddar cheese sliced ready to eat.
A paper towel keeps the flies and dust away from the food at the Fourth of July party
while the cousins chase each other through the dirt with water guns and noise makers.
Little Michael will inevitably get water squirted in his eye. It will sting and he will cry,
but only for a few minutes once he discovers the brownies just set out in the kitchen.
Licking frosting off of fingertips is a most satisfying rebellion,
one which is intensified if the frosting is stolen from the corner of an uncut cake laden with entire gardens of buttercream flowers.
Unfortunately for sneaky finger-lickers, the sort of nails made of keratin protein that grow on their tips make tiny receptacles storing fluff and dirt.
Small children are especially guilty of collecting black gunk
while spending hot summer days building castles and pies out of mud.
They squelch and mush and mold entire cities that dry in the sun and crumble by evening,
and then their mothers yell at them to wash up for dinner.
“Thomas Emil, did you use soap?! I don’t smell any!”
and little Tommy scampers away to try again.
Washing is especially important in the fall. School starts
and boys like Tommy must be relatively presentable,
or at least as presentable as Mrs. Smith’s son, who is always clean and well-prepared with Lunchables and every-color gel pens.
Good students must learn how to add and sit with proper posture and they should never be dusty,
even though they are very much the same as gadgets in a hardware store,
and accomplished politicians, when they can be found, are just like skyscrapers built by a thousand hammers.
Even Abe Lincoln once sat in school picking his nose with dirty fingernails.
Meanwhile, the wallflowers are like finishing nails, small and discrete—
you’re not supposed to see them at all. They are like winter
when for several months the earth dresses in chastity—
brush your hand around your doorframe and you’ll feel nothing
but maybe a little grit if you haven’t dusted.
People can be nailed, too, but that’s of a far different sort, kind of like a person being hammered
is not at all the same as the door frame built with finishing nails.
Someday, when spring comes, all the little boys and girls will hatch out of school.
The foreman will say “Spike it!” and they might be carpenters built like skyscrapers with steel bone and cement muscle.
Or they might save the world, or invent ice cream that doesn’t melt and dry like mud pies.
They can be professors or actors
or poets if they’re lucky.
And they can fall in love.
People are like nails keeping families stuck together,
keeping sanity relatively flush with reality.
I hope, then, that my love—your love—
is like one of those nails so strong it’s frightening,
the kind that is always without fail
well-stocked on the bottom shelf at the hardware store—
brush it off and reveal cold silver, glistening galvanized steel,
sold individually, 10,000-pennies at least!
Nobody knows what it’s for exactly,
but they sell it, so it must be good for something.
And love is something, like doorframes and birds
and children are some things
worth smashing your thumbs for,
even if nobody ever notices.
in the style of Kenneth Koch, revised
I would like to take this moment to stop and thank the six-penny nail
and the broken birdhouse that I fixed last Saturday, because I’ve always wanted
to smash my thumb with a hammer. Really, who wouldn’t want this purple finger
crushed by the labor of putting the roof back over the heads of several little birds?
I certainly must thank that nail for being so small
that I might miss it and hit my hand instead.
A nail really isn’t much of anything stocked in the hardware store,
aisle three, in a grimy cardboard box surrounded by other dusty little boxes
full of bolts and nuts and screws of various sizes.
The aisle is long and straight and disappears in the distance,
and so does a nail if you are a curious little flea seated at the head,
enjoying a blend of sweet lumber and glue and fertilizer wafting in
from aisles four through ten. The nail is too metallic to smell any different
than it tastes, like sharp cheddar cheese sliced ready to eat.
A paper towel keeps the flies and dust away from the food at the Fourth of July party
while the cousins chase each other through the dirt with water guns and noise makers.
Little Michael will inevitably get water squirted in his eye. It will sting and he will cry,
but only for a few minutes once he discovers the brownies just set out in the kitchen.
Licking frosting off of fingertips is a most satisfying rebellion,
one which is intensified if the frosting is stolen from the corner of an uncut cake laden with entire gardens of buttercream flowers.
Unfortunately for sneaky finger-lickers, the sort of nails made of keratin protein that grow on their tips make tiny receptacles storing fluff and dirt.
Small children are especially guilty of collecting black gunk
while spending hot summer days building castles and pies out of mud.
They squelch and mush and mold entire cities that dry in the sun and crumble by evening,
and then their mothers yell at them to wash up for dinner.
“Thomas Emil, did you use soap?! I don’t smell any!”
and little Tommy scampers away to try again.
Washing is especially important in the fall. School starts
and boys like Tommy must be relatively presentable,
or at least as presentable as Mrs. Smith’s son, who is always clean and well-prepared with Lunchables and every-color gel pens.
Good students must learn how to add and sit with proper posture and they should never be dusty,
even though they are very much the same as gadgets in a hardware store,
and accomplished politicians, when they can be found, are just like skyscrapers built by a thousand hammers.
Even Abe Lincoln once sat in school picking his nose with dirty fingernails.
Meanwhile, the wallflowers are like finishing nails, small and discrete—
you’re not supposed to see them at all. They are like winter
when for several months the earth dresses in chastity—
brush your hand around your doorframe and you’ll feel nothing
but maybe a little grit if you haven’t dusted.
People can be nailed, too, but that’s of a far different sort, kind of like a person being hammered
is not at all the same as the door frame built with finishing nails.
Someday, when spring comes, all the little boys and girls will hatch out of school.
The foreman will say “Spike it!” and they might be carpenters built like skyscrapers with steel bone and cement muscle.
Or they might save the world, or invent ice cream that doesn’t melt and dry like mud pies.
They can be professors or actors
or poets if they’re lucky.
And they can fall in love.
People are like nails keeping families stuck together,
keeping sanity relatively flush with reality.
I hope, then, that my love—your love—
is like one of those nails so strong it’s frightening,
the kind that is always without fail
well-stocked on the bottom shelf at the hardware store—
brush it off and reveal cold silver, glistening galvanized steel,
sold individually, 10,000-pennies at least!
Nobody knows what it’s for exactly,
but they sell it, so it must be good for something.
And love is something, like doorframes and birds
and children are some things
worth smashing your thumbs for,
even if nobody ever notices.
Let It Be
And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer--let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer--let it be.
I'm back! Actually, I've been back since Saturday afternoon but have been too lazy to update. Or maybe I was subconsciously avoiding it, since I'm not quite sure what to say. Apologies.
I don't really want to unpack, repack, move rooms, repack again for school... I'm glad to be able to say in one place for a little while, and I'm excited to get to organize a new bedroom once Tommy and I trade, but I have no motivation to start. I should, though. Soon as I'm done writing this.
Hanging out at Lauren's on Sunday was a lot of fun--there were so many of you I didn't get to see all summer, so it was nice to catch up a little.
I have so many stories about this summer, I don't know where to start. I'm put on the spot and speechless when people ask for them, which makes very little sense to me. They'll come out sooner or later. For now, know that I missed you, but I also had a really great experience.
06 July 2007
Sleepy
I kind of want to take a nap, but Kristina will be back soon to take me out on runs with her and her visiting sister--I stayed behind this morning to finish finances and so the rest of her family could fit in the van for a few homes.
So I've given you outlines of some of the families and the work we're doing, but I don't know if I've told you how my day goes, so I'll use yesterday as an example. I was lucky to be able to sleep a little bit longer, until 7:30, because my morning deal was to check phone messages and emails and call for building permits/request inspections--otherwise, it's 6:30 to be at the hardware store by 7:00 or 6:45 to wake up the volunteers by 7:00. My favorite is border patrol--you stand at the end of the driveway and don't let anyone leave until they have all of their supplies checked off as being either in their van or in another vehicle for delivery. It's even more my favorite to stand there in my overalls wearing a bright green hard hat, in case the I get hit by an anxious crew--wardrobe is key :p
So yes. I checked messages, we didn't need any permits (our inspector is out of town) and then I passed back my binders to my contact homes. Each house has a binder, with work orders filled out by the staff, "pink sheets" filled out by the volunteers asking for supplies for the following day, and lots of other info about the family and project. Somewhere in there I grabbed a granola bar for breakfast. Then I left around 9:45 for runs with Stephen. We visited 8 houses--inspected the crews' work, answered questions, delivered some supplies, and checked in with the families. We mooched lunch off of a crew at some point, too. Cheezits... mmmmm.... :p
But of course we run into some challenges (I'd say problems, but I'm trying to be positive). For example, we arrived at "Soft Cell" only to discover that our rover had delivered them finished lumber for their floor joists instead of pressure treated. Everyone knows that floors sitting less than 18" off the ground must be constructed with pressure treated lumber!! But Stan forgot. And of course, this crew was working super fast and had already installed all of them when we arrived. Dammit. "Sorry guys, those need to come out... have that done in the hour it'll take for us to go to the hardware store for those 2x6's, k?" Thankfully they had not started the blocking, which was also about to be done with finished instead of PT.
Another issue yesterday---plumbing! We encountered a copper pipe that was supposed to be the supply line to a toilet which had swollen with age and no longer fit any fittings. The GL in this house graciously stayed late and visited the hardware store twice for us to make sure that this family had a working toilet before they left. Of course, he wasn't actually plumbing anything (ahem), because in the good 'ol
Something else I did yesterday was take quite a few photos--both of projects to show our out-of-town inspector, and of people to send to the volunteer department at
Our 8 houses turned into 10 visits, and then after runs were finally done around 3:00, we stopped at the grocery store for massive amounts of hamburger and hotdog buns, bread, and milk. Then Stephen had to be back to set up for the picnic, since it was Thursday. Then staff meeting got started super late and I was up until 1:30. Then I woke up at 6:20 this morning to go to the hardware store. And now I have to leave! Hope you're all doing well and I miss ya!
03 July 2007
Halfway Point
Week 4
It's really weird to think that my summer here on the mountain is halfway over already. So much has happened these past 4 weeks, but then, I feel like so much hasn't happened yet. I'm already thinking about how hard it is going to be to say goodbye to some of the people here, but at the same time I'm still working on my own weaknesses as if I've just arrived. I apologize to my faithful readers for not updating more often, but I have been pretty busy. I'll start with my usual family profiles for my contact homes from last week and this week. Don't forget to try and guess the theme for group names!
"The Buggles"
At the Buggles, we installed foundation under the trailer and last week finished a vapor barrier and trailer anchors (obnoxious things that serve no purpose other than to please our inspector) and this week we've moved on to underpinning and repairing the laundry room floor. My group that week was not particularly out of the ordinary, but they got quite a bit accomplished. The family at the Buggles is pretty fantastic--a mom and dad and their son. The son has cerebreal palsy (our next project is to build him a new wheelchair ramp) but is still a very bright and pretty hilarious. He has the biggest crush on Kristina :p And his parents take exceptionally good care of him. You can tell that all they have goes into caring for their son and they love him to death. It's a great home to visit.
"Sir Mix-a-Lot" 1 and 2
A project this big needed two crews! We had one working on a 180-foot drainage ditch that went around three sides of the house and out to the creek in front, and another working on a retaining wall in back. As you may have guessed, there is a moutain threatening to drench and bury this house. A lot of the back floor has already been pushed underground, so this week we've started work in their kitchen, replacing rotted flooring. Lots of flashing everyone! (the metal variety, that is :) The family is pretty great as well, an older couple and a daughter with down's syndrome and two sons that I rarely see because they work all day. The mom is particularly great to talk to.
Unfortunately, that house seems to be cursed for me. On the Sunday night when I took the new volunteers out to see the site, I was busily trying to make a good impression when a ground wasp stung me right in the ribcage, near my neck. All I could say was, "Ouch! It got me!" as I commenced worrying about whether or not I was allergic and if my throat could swell up. Thankfully it didn't, but it did hurt like a you know what, and only recently stopped itching. Then last week I was visiting the house during the day, checking out the group's measurments for the retaining wall, when all of a sudden my feet were no longer underneath me where they were supposed to be. I landed flat on my butt in the mud and the underside of my arm hit a wheelbarrow, leaving a lovely bruise that people keep asking me about whenever I raise my hand. That was rather embarassing :p
** ** ** **
Another embarrassing moment from last week that has nothign to do with this house: Stephen, our operations coordinator, had the day off on Thursday, so Britt and I were in charge of getting everything ready for the picnic. Not only did we have trouble finding things and properly mixing pink lemonade, but we almost lost a grill. And when I say lost, I mean forgot to tie down in the back of our pickup truck to drive to the picnic site. I also mean that it flew out of the back of the truck just as Britt got to the bottom of the hill. I was behind her in the van and saw it wobble, did the whole Dane Cook gasp (I did not have time to say, "You are about to lose your grill!") and watched it soar about 30 feet away from the truck. Ooops. Luckily, it didn't break. And luckily we had a group leader (Yodel!) brave enough to grill for us in the pouring rain that ensued.
** ** ** **
Back to my families for week 4...
"Dr. and the Medics" 1 and 2
Another double crew makes my life easier. A porch was put on in previous weeks, but still needs a few touch-ups (spindles and Y-bracing, mostly). It's a great looking porch that wraps around the side of the house, with a nice wide staircase up in front and a table and chairs already in place for visitors. The next step for crew 1 is to work on the bathroom floor. Similar to the house at Sir Mix-a-Lot, the moutain is attempting to devour the house, so we're replacing wet and rotted floor. Group 2 is in the back building a massive retaining wall that will eventually be 2 tiers high. I really love being at this house--the homeowner is the sweetest person ever, a single older woman, with perfect Appalachian wrinkles and long white hair. And she has kittens!! :p The group leaders for this house are also pretty great. Unfortunately there's a floating adult leader who seems to have assigned himself to this project, and the group is more than grateful to accept his assistance. He is helpful, but the problem is, he doesn't actually know as much about construction as his strut knows he does. And he's sexist. And I really just don't care for this man very much. It's possible I'm letting first impressions get to me--he made a grossly innapropriate comment during Sunday night GL meeting that instantly made me hate him and that I would rather not repeat. After hearing that, I exaggerate the rest. But in my own defense, he really was grossly innapropriate. We'll see how the rest of the week goes.
"Deep Blue Something"
I like the project, first off because it's pretty easy--board and batten siding, everybody! w00t! And second of all, there are puppies. Four of them. They trip over eachother and let you hold them, and aren't they just the cutest things? I want one, until it gets old and barks too much. There is also an adorable little 4 year old girl who is sometimes shy, sometimes very loud, depending on the situation. I imagine I was kind of like her, only less of the shy part. The group leader was at first uncertain, but now seems very into the project. I don't know this group or family super well yet (all I know is that they're awesome, as usual) but hopefully I'll get to visit more later this week.
* * * * * *
I have today off, which has been nice. I went for a run/jog/walk this morning because it wasn't too hot yet when I woke up, except the route I chose turned out to be one giant hill. It was fairly gradual, but it went on and on and on... I ended up walking, but then running down was quite nice. Unfortunately, my knee now hurts quite a bit, especially stepping up or down hill. It's the left one--the royally messed up one that I was hoping not to have problems with until I was at least thirty. Cross your fingers it's temporary and meanwhile I'll avoid running. But despite that, I'm really glad I went.
On the way back, I realized that going up our driveway, there's a little path veering off to the right. I was tired and sweaty, but also thinking a lot, and I felt like following it. It ended quickly in weeds, but I could still make out where it once had been, and I had the feeling I was about to discover something, so I kept going. Eventually I got to a little clearing where there were benches rising up the hill and a stage and an old campfire pit--it was clear that ASP had once used this place for EG's, because I found half of the words to "Prince of Peace" on a rotten piece of plywood underneath the stage. There was some kind of historical, maybe holy, feeling about this place, the way the light filtered down through the trees directly onto the stage. I half expected to find cobwebs--even the firewood was so old that mushrooms were growing all over it. I just sat there for a good half hour, stretching and thinking (and thinking and thinking). There has been a lot on my mind lately. And even though I didn't come to conclusions about much of anything, sitting there laying out all of my unanswered questions, and just accepting them as unanswerable and uncertain, made me feel so much calmer.
Whatever happens will happen, whatever comes will come. Here is the wisdom to know the difference--there are things I cannot know and questions I cannot answer just yet, so I will just have to wait and see and feel as I go. So refreshing. After I showered (and took a trip to Wal-Mart and painted my toenails hot pink) I went back there to journal and think some more, and I brought my camera. Maybe next week I'll get to the library so I can upload the photos and you can see them--they're pretty fantastic.
19 June 2007
Affirmation
It's been a while since I've updated, but here I am again, still safe and sound up on the hill. Actually, right now I have a day off, so I'm at the Lee County Library using their high speed internet to attempt to upload photos onto facebook. We'll see how it works.
Just so y'all know--if you comment on my photos, please don't expect a speedy response because I will not be checking Facebook very often, it takes forever and a half to load at the center and I can't come to the library very often.
(That's "Apple-at-cha" for all you midwest people who say "Apple-ashia" :)
- ASP:
- Building Manager: Ours is Kyth, and he's pretty awesome. The building manager is in charge of the facility we're using--we repair houses, but not our own :) And being a local, he is also invaluable for his knowlege of seemingly every single person in the county and how best to deal with public relations issues.
- CD: Center Director, a returning staff member hired with some extra responsibility
- Crisis Management Plan: a black folder that details what to do in case of emergencies, including but not limited to, the discovery of a meth lab or an infestation of bats at the center.
- Devos: Morning devotional, presented by the staff or a volunteer group
- Contact Home/Person: Each staff member is in charge of answering questions and being the construction expert for a certain number of homes per week. We rotate being the contact person for each home so that we all know something about every home in case there are questions.
- EG: Evening Gathering, an activity or presentation that the staff puts on for the volunteers every evening.
- FA: Finance Accelerator, the program made especially for ASP that I use to keep track of all of our money.
- FC: Field Coordinator, basically our boss. There is one FC for every couple of counties in charge of making sure that we're doing our jobs properly and whatnot.
- GL: Group Leader, the adult volunteers in charge of their teen groups. They can be both a blessing or a curse, depending on their levels of cooperation, independence, sexism, preconceived notions about ASP, etc.
- IHV: Initial Home Visit, when the staff visits the home of a new applicant to assess need and meet the family.
- Isotonic Solutions: Craig's favorite use of salt when discussing that "we are the salt of the earth”
- No Calls/No Letters: The most depressing things ever, this is how we notify a family that we will not be able to work on their home.
- OSB: I have no idea what that stands for, but it's the board we use for decking a roof or flooring :)
- Runs: Not to be confused with the unpleasant bodily function, "going on runs" is what ASP staff does for most of the day. Each house that is being worked on requires a daily visit.
- Sketch: Today's unofficial "word of the day." OMG that's so sketch...
- Staff Share: During an EG, staff memebers have the opportunity to share something personal about why they decided to be on staff.
- Summer Theme: This year, the theme is "You are the salt of the earth." We try to relate all of our programming back to this theme.
- The Three S's: Safety, Stewardship, and Sensitivity! They're a good way to teach the volunteers how best to act at the worksite and in the community.
- V's: Volunteers! They're pretty awesome.
*** ***
I love having volunteers here. Last Friday for EG, the day before our first group packed up to leave, we had a share circle with everyone, and listening to their experiences really reminded me why I'm here. Having volunteered in High School, I could relate to everything they were saying. They had an amazing time, and knowing that I had been a part of making that happen really made me feel good about being here.
My contact home for that first week, "The Proclaimers", was really great (I will be using our code names, see if you can guess the theme!). The mother has a lot of health problems and is deaf, but she can read lips very well, and after a few days I found that I could understand her pretty well when she spoke. She taught us some sign language--I don't always remember all of it, but I know the alphabet and a few random words (weird, beautiful, scared, I love you, smart, dumb, I understand). Her two sons are pretty fun to have around, always asking questions and showing us things like their chickens and playhouse and dogs. And her husband and brother who also lives there were eager to help and show us around.
Construction-wise, we are repairing the floor and roof in their trailer. Trailer floors are generally built out of particle board, which is probably the weakest material you could possibly use. Spill a drink on the carpet or over a tear in the linoleum and you get a hole right through to the ground underneath. We started in the bathroom and removed the entire floor, replacing it with OSB and fixing some plumbing issues on the side, and this week we're moving into the living room and kitchen.
A trailer roof is pretty difficult to repair because it's so weak and the walls cannot support very much added weight. We installed a metal patch, caulked the snot out of it, and added a layer of elastomeric, a rubbery roof coat that protects the metal underneath.
This week, I'm in charge of Los Del Rio and Piero Umiliani.
"
"Piero Umiliani" is my favorite family, I think. They have so much energy, so much warmth, so much love just pouring out of their home, it's overwhelming at first, and always unreal. I've only been there a couple of times, and already I can say I love being there. The first-year volunteers on the house seem to agree with me--the GL was telling me how much he loved the way the kids interacted with the family and how willing they were to climb under a house covered in spider webs. In short, they seem to be having the absolute ideal ASP experience. That's one more thing going well that makes me feel like I belong here.
Their positive attitude is made even more perfect by the nature of the project--by the end of the summer, we will have installed 4 60-foot long girder beams on 6x6" posts underneath this house. That's a lot of digging, a lot of concrete pouring. And the girder itself is a sandwhich of 3 2x8's nailed together--that's heavy! It's also difficult to assemble, because the seams need to be staggered by 2 feet. So far this group has dug 12 or so holes and cleaned out a lot of the stuff they found underneath the house--even though there are a lot more holes to go (the posts must be placed every 6 feet, so for all 4 beams, that's something like 40 holes), we're going to try to get an inspector out there tomorrow so that they can start pouring the concrete instead of just digging all week long.
** ** **
Now then. Something that I was just rereading that I would like to share because it makes me smile whenever I see it:
The willow is deceptively strong. It bends, but it does not break. Its roots are
deep and can withstand the worst storm. It promises rest, and shade, and cool
breezes to those who would find a haven beneath it. You have become my willow
and I have always found shelter in your kindness.
Thank you :) Even though I've met so many awesome people, it is difficult to be here far from home. I love getting emails from people, especially the one who sent me that beautiful quote :)
I promise I read them every chance I get.
07 June 2007
Signing Houses
After several days of initial home visits (IHV's), we're finally starting to sign houses! It is going to be sad to have to tell people no, we cannot work on your house, but at least we get to tell some people yes, we are going to fix that leak/porch/rotten floor. For Week 1, we only have 6 work crews coming, so that's only 6 houses to start off with (later on, we'll have up to 16 between the 5 of us... the max is supposed to be only 15, but somebody messed up, I think.) We're awesome, we can handle it. Hopefully :)
The families we're working for are great. We're doing foundation work and a wheelchair ramp for a family who's son is in a wheelchair, he was so excited about being in a 4th of July parade next month, it was cute. There's an adorable older woman with the prettiest Siamese cat I've ever seen. And I'm really excited about starting one house in particular--the family is pretty much insane, but in a good way. They're so outgoing and friendly, the mom wanted to feed Craig and I lasagna and give away some of her (numerous) garage sale purchases when we were there for the IHV. One side of their foundation is slipped outward, and the ASP group that fixed it years ago cut the 2x10 rafters 2 feet short of the band joist and scabbed on 2x6s instead (that's bad!).
Somehow, no matter what I do, I seem to get injured. On the first day here, I was trying to unplug the calculator so we could move the desk--it was stuck so I was pulling and pulling and when it finally gave, my hand flew back and hit the desk, leaving a nice purple bump right below my thumb. Then yesterday, Kristina, Stephen and I took a break to play horseshoes here at the center--I wasn't paying attention and Stephen nailed me right in the shin. And this morning at one house we visited, this neighborhood kid ran up to me and hit me in the arm with a stick. It turned all red and stung for a bit. Little punk. This afternoon, we drove a bunch of crappy windows from the barn (2 van loads!) down to the dumpster. It was oddly satisfying to chuck them in there and hear the glass break. Of course, I cut my finger on a hinge that was sticking out. Oye.
Fun fact: the mascot for the
Yup. I love this town.
06 June 2007
What I've Been Doing
“You’re going to go home and find you can’t tell people what you’ve been doing…
Your friends are going to say to you, You did what?... Are you
crazy?”
--Norma Dean, ASP Volunteer from 1969-2000
That being said, I’m still going to try. First let me say, I miss you all, and I’m sorry I can’t keep in closer contact. My cell phone has no signal at all—if you left me a message, I won’t get it until the end of the summer. I have some access to email, if you want to contact me that way. I probably will not be checking Facebook very often—we have dial-up, and with all the pictures, it takes forever and a half to load a page. But my mailing address is on there, if you want to send me letters or anything!
Now then. A quick description of Appalachia Service Project might be a nice start. ASP is an emergency home-repair ministry, focusing not just on providing quality home repair, but on developing lasting relationships between families, volunteers, and staff members. As staff, our responsibilities are incredible—they break down to: finding families to work for, ensuring we legally can build for them (permits, zoning, etc.), working with volunteers, providing food and quality programming for volunteers, and overseeing 8 weeks worth of construction projects, all the while working within a very limited budget. While most of the work is shared between 4-5 staffers per county, each staffer is assigned an additional specific job—this summer, I am
But backing up, training was quite possibly the busiest week I have ever experienced in my life thus far, although it was so structured most of the time that I could go from one hour-long session to the next without thinking too much. It was kind of like going to class, except we sat on rocking chairs on the porch or on couches in the lodge, or on the floor. Breakfast was usually at 7 am, and lights out was at 11—in between, the day was pretty packed. In sessions, we learned about everything construction, moving from foundations to floors to walls to doors and windows to the roof, and expanding on manufactured housing and drainage issues we might face in
Mixed into these sessions was the more active stuff. We had a hands-on day where we actually built wall panels and part of a roof for practice, a “Sunday Driving” day to practice maneuvering old, large vehicles on narrow gravel roads, and a team building day at a nearby park just to have fun with other staff members working through obstacle courses and whatnot. There were three “Culture Nights” as well: a bluegrass band, a square dance band/caller (TONS of fun!) and a fiddler. On “Sim Day,” we actually drove around to real ASP houses, where returning staff members acted out possible scenarios we might face in approaching a worksite, and we had to practice/ discuss how to deal with them. (Things like: a chauvinistic group leader is excluding female volunteers, the group decides to start projects not already agreed upon, the group is lazy, or the group isn’t at the work sight.) During the summer mornings and afternoons, most of my time will be spent driving from one house to the next, making sure everything is going well with the groups, the construction is completed to code, and the families’ needs are being met to the best of our ability, so that was good practice.
Overall, training wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t all amazing. At the beginning, I still had my final exam hanging over my head, so I kept running back to my room to study instead of bonding with the rest of the staff members and learning their names. I wish that hadn’t been the case—as I am, I am not an easy person to get to know; I do not open up to people very easily, so I should have put in the effort immediately instead of waiting until after my exam was taken. People all week were raving about the fantastic deep conversations they’d been having with new people they’d met—I can’t say I experienced the same until the last night of training when Tim and I caught each other up on our lives since High School.
And this has been a very awkward transition for me. I came here pretty much directly from school—it would have been nice to have a few days, or weeks even, at home with my family like everyone else, or some more time at school to finish everything at a normal pace and enjoy myself a bit more. I’ve been a little homesick and missing people—if I’m thinking about other people far away, I can nearly shut down socially. Even at school, I was close to my family, but
Speaking of Jonesville, aka my home for the summer, this is one of ASP’s year-round centers. That means it’s awesome. Lots of space, and less work for us because a lot is already set up (accounts at gas stations, and grocery and hardware stores in the area, are already taken care of). And since training happened here, the other staffers had to clean everything before they left for their own counties. And did I mention the 5 of us are sharing a 4 bedroom apartment with 2 bathrooms and a combination kitchen, dining room, and living room? I have my own room. *brushes shoulders off* This is the Hilton compared to the center in Hancock county that we helped out last weekend. That staff is working out of an abandoned hospital—it was a mess. Ceiling tiles falling in, water damage and black mold, three legged tables, expired medical supplies, a fridge full of rotten food, furniture and mattresses piled everywhere at random, dust and dirt and grime… by the end of this week, that hospital is going to be an awesome ASP center, I’m sure, but with all the clean up to do, the staff was grateful for our help.
Right now is set-up week. My amazing staff (Craig, Stephen, Britt and Kristina) and I have been hanging up signs, organizing everything for the volunteers, and most importantly, selecting homes for the summer. All day yesterday, I drove around with Craig doing IHVs (Initial Home Visits), talking to the family, taking notes. The phone here rings off the hook with people wanting help—we have over 100 applications, we have to say, as of right now we cannot say whether or not we’ll be able to work on your house, but we’re doing our best. It’s heartbreaking sometimes, and frustrating. But by the end of this week, we’ll have all the homes for week 1 signed. That’s when the real work starts.
17 May 2007
Pieces of Poetry, or, Being Artistic at the End of the Year
in the style of Russell Edson, revised
Neon lights have tiny paint brushes at the ends of their rays, specially designed to paint over the stars with dirty orange and pink.
She says, Let us take a ladder to the shore where the galaxy stretches crystal black and blue and silver for miles and miles and miles!
He shakes his head. Nothing wrong with dirty orange and pink.
She says, It is hard to reach to the moon for unpainting when you are alone on the shore.
He shakes his head. Your optimism is not my fault.
She thinks her arms could stretch far enough to wrap around the moon and pull it down to earth where she could clean it off and tie a satin ribbon around its waist.
He shakes his head.
I will just plant my elbows on my desktop and push my palms against my eyelids, she decides.
Eye-pushing breeds constellations of sandy grey fireworks that explode like spots on an appaloosa in a lightning storm. Soon she is leaning full speed into the galaxy where stars and little pink erasers snap off pencil ends to hit the windshield.
Eye-pushing starts to hurt. She pushes harder and sees the moon. It is a hazy circle that refuses to stay in one place, shaking back and forth like his disapproving head.
She wonders, if she were to jump reaching for the moon and miss, if the stars could still support her.
15 May 2007
Pre-post
I'm still at school and I quite frankly wish I weren't. Part of it is the child in me whining “everyone else gets to go home now, why can't I?” But part of it is that I've half grown-up to realize that everything that makes sense is also eating away at my concept of home. It makes sense (to me, at least) that I should go and live in some random school in
Anyway. I just finished one paper, all I have left to finish is my giant public policy paper (20 pages! eep!), one poem, and the public policy final exam that I will be taking from
* * *
Right now, there's a thunderstorm to watch outside my window. It reminds me of the mountains, gentle but angry all at once. Good background music for writing. And there is still a little bit of sun peeking through, giving the grass that neon quality it only seems to have when it rains. The more intense color has something to do with increased levels of nitrogen in the air, but I'd rather not think about that. Pura vida. Just enjoy it.
27 February 2007
The Call
Just before 11:30 today, I got "the call" from ASP:
As you know, we had a wide range of applicants
tellme tellme tellme!
but we have decided that you are one of our strongest candidates for the position
OMG you're my new best friend!
I've been in a state of cheesy euphoria ever since. It's pretty pathetic. I cannot concentrate. I cannot speak clearly. I called my mom, I called my dad, I called Howard. I received emails and Facebook messages right and left, some from people I don't even know. I jumped up and down and danced a little jig to the ASP playlist I've compiled from four years of driving long distances as a volunteer. And I smiled--damn, am I smiling!
Swearing, too.
As they say, when it rains gumdrops, it pours milkshakes, too. Or something like that.
thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou
The next step involves a bit of begging. Groveling perhaps.
I have to get out of school two weeks early so that I can make it to training.
UChicago, why on earth is your schedule so different from the schedules of every other freaking school across the freaking country?
But I will make this work. I think I might die if it doesn't, and since I very much value my own survival, this all has no choice but to fall into place. I'm not leaving any room in my mind for doubt.
If possible, this blog will track my adventures as an ASP Staffer, 2007. Enjoy!
As you know, we had a wide range of applicants
tellme tellme tellme!
but we have decided that you are one of our strongest candidates for the position
OMG you're my new best friend!
I've been in a state of cheesy euphoria ever since. It's pretty pathetic. I cannot concentrate. I cannot speak clearly. I called my mom, I called my dad, I called Howard. I received emails and Facebook messages right and left, some from people I don't even know. I jumped up and down and danced a little jig to the ASP playlist I've compiled from four years of driving long distances as a volunteer. And I smiled--damn, am I smiling!
Swearing, too.
As they say, when it rains gumdrops, it pours milkshakes, too. Or something like that.
thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou
The next step involves a bit of begging. Groveling perhaps.
I have to get out of school two weeks early so that I can make it to training.
UChicago, why on earth is your schedule so different from the schedules of every other freaking school across the freaking country?
But I will make this work. I think I might die if it doesn't, and since I very much value my own survival, this all has no choice but to fall into place. I'm not leaving any room in my mind for doubt.
If possible, this blog will track my adventures as an ASP Staffer, 2007. Enjoy!
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