The Agony and the Ecstasy

Prayer Works

2011-10-02T22:35:00.001-07:00

Who knew?!???!?!??

...

Did anyone else grow up in a church where prayer was on the back burner? We all said prayers....together....in unison because it was printed in the bulletins (Episcopalian - yes). And it was always for big things - like world peace, or the end of hunger.

And praying big things is good (for example: "Your Kingdom come..."). But big things aren't practical because they aren't personal. And the more personal, the more specific the prayer, the more the Lord gets to show up!

And tonight He totally showed up with the kids. I've been battling these kids ever since I started working with them a month ago. Part of that battle may come because they don't know me yet, and part of it may come from the fact that its got about 90% boys that have wayyyyy more energy than I'm used to. And I finally prayed for them this morning, that they would know the Father's love and grow in wisdom and grace. They weren't perfect, but I was so impressed with how good they were. Now to pray for a love for them.

Oh, its going to be so hard to leave Santa Barbara if I start loving any more kids here! The kids at Christ Lutheran are already like sons and daughters to me. Ohhhh man!!!

Sons of Issachar

2011-09-28T19:36:00.000-07:00

I think most people hate change. Or at least, hate change that is uncomfortable.

Although that's a little bit of a blanket statement - there is a broad range on this spectrum. A perfect example of this is the difference between me and the people at my church. They freak out the most minor adjustment in the schedule or mistake in the bulletin, while it takes a little more to get me to speak up.

And I guess that's something that I've been learning lately. We all go through seasons in life. But sometimes its hard to change seasons. I get so used to wearing shorts, that it shocks me the day I step outside and into a puddle.

One of the biggest things I'm learning right now is that my time with God can go through seasons, and that its OK. The past year I've become so dependent on connecting with God through visions. Every day would be just me and God, me and God, me and God. We'd spend time walking on the beach, eating lunches together, sitting in our garden. And I loved it. And I miss it.

God's brought me into a new season. And I've been holding on so tightly to those visions, to that super-tangible way of experiencing God's presence. I know that I can go back there at any point, I know that God lives inside of me. And yet....

So what's the new season? It took me about a month to figure out what was going on, but I've realized that God has placed inside me a deep love and longing for His word, which is something that I've never had! It exciting, especially since I've started memorizing verses, which has already come in handy. Now, if only I can get to be like the sons of Issachar, who understood the times and knew what Israel should do..... Maybe this season will be followed by a season of prayer. That can be first on the list. :0)

The Vision

2011-09-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

If I could recommend one book, out of all the books I've read throughout my entire life, no other book has spoken to me, touched me, or moved me as much as Rick Joyner's "The Vision". Its basically one humongous vision that the Lord gave him about the end times, the church, and the worship in Heaven. And tonight I finished it (its been process).

This passage made me cry:

"Then the Father became intent on one thing. All of heaven seemed to stop and watch. He was beholding the cross. The Son's love for His Father which He continued to express through all of the pain and darkness then coming upon Him touched the Father so deeply that He began to quake. When He did, heaven and earth quaked. When the Father closed His eyes, heaven and earth grew dark. The emotion of the Father was so great that I did not think I could have survived if I had beheld this scene for more than the brief moment that I did.

"Then I was in a different place, beholding a worship service in a little church building. As sometimes happens in a prophetic experience, I just seemed to know everything about everyone in the battered little room. All were experiencing severe trials in their lives, but they were not even thinking of them here. They were not praying about their needs. They were all trying to compose songs of thanksgiving to the Lord. They were happy, and their joy was sincere.

"I saw heaven, and all of heaven was weeping. I then saw the Father again and knew why heaven was weeping. They were weeping because of the tears in the eyes of the Father. This little group of seemingly beaten down, struggling people had moved God so deeply that He wept. They were not tears of pain, but of joy. When I saw the love that He felt for these few worshipers, I could not contain my own tears.

"I saw Jesus standing next to the Father. Beholding the joy of the Father as He watched the little prayer meeting, He turned to me and said, 'This is why I went to the cross. Giving My Father joy for just one moment would have been worth it all. Your worship can cause Him joy every day. Your worship when you are in the midst of difficulties touches Him even more than all of the worship of heaven. Here, where His glory is seen, the angels cannot help but to worship. When you worship without seeing His glory in the midst of your trials, that is worship in Spirit and truth.'"

I needed to hear that.

Addicted to Coffee(shops?)

2011-09-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

I just got offered another interview for a job today. My first thought was "The Lord's favor is so with me!" But, now that I'm up late, sleepless but determined not to take a sleeping pill, I'm rethinking that statement. Yes, its awesome to be considered for a job position, and even more exciting to get one! But I think I might be addicted to that feeling, or at least on my way. As exciting as a new job offer is, the fact remains = you have to do the work. And I'm not sure that I want to add anything else to my plate at the moment - its pretty full already.

One reason I'm considering taking this job (if its offered), is that I loved my experience at Coffee Bean. I loved my boss, loved my co-workers, loved the customers, loved making the drinks, loved scrubbing the toilet . . . . OK, that might be taking it a little too far, but you get the point. I had a really good experience in Carp, and sometimes I wish I could go back. And I know that I've been more and more drawn into the church recently, which has been amazing in and of itself. But I really felt like I was making a difference at Coffee Bean, as strange as that sounds.

Another reason I have to face this job is that I have a really hard time saying no. Boo! I wish I just knew what I wanted and that was that. But I'm that person at the buffet who has to get 3 plates of food because I want to try everything! And anytime a job is offered to me, I'm like "I can totally do that!" But its not about if I can do it, or even what it would be like - I want to live a manageable life.

That was one of my problems with the secretarial positions I held at Hope 4 Kids. I hated rushing around, throwing together my work at Christ Lutheran, then getting home and feeling too tired to do anything.

So I guess the question boils down to - have I learned my lesson? In a sense, only time will tell ;0)

Lights Out

2011-09-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else have it where you get a great idea when you're doing something, and then by the time you have time to write it down, its fallen out of your mind and you're left with the same plain old thoughts?

That happened to me today. I was at the gym, reading "The Call" by Rick Joyner, and I had this brilliant thought on God's just nature, and I was intending to blog about it. And now I'm stuck writing about the same old stuff.

And yes, this blog post is also written late because I couldn't sleep, and hopefully I don't get too loopy from the sleeping pill I just took. Seriously, I couldn't remember what I'd written in my previous post the day after because of the sleeping pill.

The Christian Worker

2011-09-02T23:58:00.000-07:00

I really don't know why I'm up right now. Does anyone else have those nights where you just toss and turn for hours, and then the only thing you think that will calm you down is some music, but you're roommate is sleeping so you're forced to go downstairs to sit on the computer and wait for your body to calm down? Unfortunately, those nights are almost all my nights at the moment, but I have faith that one day I won't have to deal with any sort of insomnia.

One of the things that has been pricking at my brain for a few weeks now is a new job I accepted at a church in Goleta called Light and Life. Funny enough, that's the church that shares Christ Lutheran's building, so basically I work for 2 churches but don't have to leave the property. Convenient.

It just blows my mind that the Lord seems to be drawing me into the church - aren't the people outside of the church those that need Christians? Isn't it basic logic, or even just plain common sense, that strong Christians need to be out in the world saving the lost and loving the broken-hearted?

And yet....

Here I am, comfy cosy in not one, but two congregations, and really am enjoying my work at both churches. Its a blessing to see how each church works, how they go about their business, how and who gets things done. And I love being in the church in general, surrounded by people who at least agree that Jesus is Lord with their lips. Now that's the sticky thing inside the church: how do you mentor and help someone who needs a spiritual revolution in their life, who needs to meet Jesus face to face and repent? How do you lead people into a deep, personal, intimate, loving, beautiful, captivating relationship with a stranger they don't know?

So I guess that's the weight upon my shoulders right now, but I get the kids, so I get to ask all those questions in light of how it would effect the kids. And I guess that would be my goal for this next year: to help them understand what it means to have a relationship with the Lord, how to personally know Jesus, how to feel His Love and His Grace in your life. Exciting stuff!

It My Anniversary!

2011-07-04T09:55:00.000-07:00

100 Posts!!! And it only took me 4 years....

In other news, I wanted to write an update on my experience at Bethel. Currently, I'm at my parent's house in Oakdale, CA, but for the past 3 weeks I've been living in Redding, CA. Why Redding? Because that is where God has placed me. For now, at least. If you haven't heard of it, there's a big, beautiful church on a hill on the outskirts of Redding where amazing things are happening. And I get to be a part of it! At least, for another week.

Its hard to explain what has changed within me from my experience there. My relationship with Jesus is so much more tangible, my worship is so much more joyful, my eyes see so much more. But how did that happen?! I don't even know! Maybe its from being around so many other people who are seeking the same things as me = to know God more intimately.

I'm going to give up describing it. But I've found out that those changes come out in conversation. So talk to me! hahahahaha

Trees and Things

2010-12-24T22:07:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I've been meditating for the past couple of days what it means to be saved by faith. Or more specifically, saved by faith and not by works. The Bible says a lot about works - both the Old and New Testaments stress both good deeds and righteous living. This is seen in the OT with laws and regulations, living life according to the moral code. The longest chapter in the Bible is Psalm 119, a song about the glories of God's law: "I treasure your word in my heart, so that I may not sin against you. . . .Turn my heart to your decrees, and not to selfish gain" (Ps 119: 11, 36).

But why is that? If we are saved by faith, which is the free gift of God (Eph 2:8-9), why work for anything? And why emphasize works in the first place? And what do we do with James, who writes: "What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? . . . So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead" (James 2:14, 17).

Works are important. Faith is important. What it boils down to is: which comes first.

Let me give you an example: the Pharisees. The Pharisees were a religious sect within Judaism, one of the three main sects at the time (the other two were the Sadducees and the Essenes). Their basis of religious life consisted of the law, and nothing but the law. They had rules and regulations for how many steps you could take on the Sabbath, the right ways in which to wash yourself, how to dress, how to eat, etc. This rigorous adherence to the law gained them righteousness. But Jesus calls them out on it: he says they have a false righteousness: "Either make the tree good, and its fruit good; or make the tree bad, and its fruit bad; for the tree is known by its fruit. You brood of vipers! How can you speak good things, when you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks" (Mt. 12:33-34). It's pretty clear: purify your heart and then your body!

Works can't get us into heaven. That phrase I've heard often: As long as I'm a good person.... And lets just put aside the fact that we have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Rom. 3:23). But what if we could make it to heaven on our own merit? But see, therein lies the problem: our own merit. It is for God's own glory that He saves us, not for ours. And by attempting to make it to heaven with our own hands, we put ourselves in God's place. We hold our hand up and say, "That's enough Jesus, I can take it from here."

But the thing is, we can't! Not in the least! There is nothing that can give me eternal life, eternal happiness, eternal pleasure, endless joy other than accepting and sharing in the love of the Father for the Son. It reminds me of a scene in the movie Ever After, when the king, enraged by his petulant son, declares: "Then I will just deny you the crown, and live forever!" We laugh at that part, for we know that this is impossible: obviously the king has spoken before he has thought. Its like trying to make the freckles on your nose disappear or your legs grow longer - you have no control. We cannot save ourselves no more than we can make our hair turn grey.

But that's the great thing about Easter: Jesus does. He descended to earth, humbled himself and took the form of a man, died on the cross for my sins, and rose from the dead. He conquered death so that I might live. And that's why I have faith. Faith as a core, belief as a statute. Works spring forth from a pure heart, but are not the source. "Figs are not gathered from thorns, nor are grapes picked from a bramble bush. The good person out of the good treasure of the heart produces good, and the evil person out of evil treasure produces evil; for it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks" (Luke 6:44-45). Amen.

People

2010-12-17T11:41:00.001-08:00

Dear Readers,
Its almost been 6 months since I last posted.

That feels refreshing to admit. My writing has almost completely deadened for the moment, with the exception of a few crappy poems. I still feel this love for writing, like if I could only write down to the foundation of who I am, I could hold the world in the palm of my hand. Maybe I should become a cloistered nun, like Julian of Norwich. She found that kind of peace. But I don't think I'm the cloistered type. I like people too much.

And that's what I've been discovering these past 6 months - I like people. There aren't many things I do well, and fewer things that I feel absolutely passionate about. Working with people is one of the few that fits both of those categories for me. And it sucks too, because people hurt. They scratch and bite and frown and cry. But I love them anyway. And that's why I'm feeling more and more of a draw to work in the church long-term. Taking two of my greatest loves - God and His creation - and combining them.

We'll see.

If Music Be the Food of Love

2010-06-27T20:22:00.000-07:00

Dearest Readers,
Does a melody ever make you want to cry? And not just cry readers - bawl your eyes out until you have nothing left, like you could gather all your emotions in your hand, open your palm, and let the wind carry them away? Sometimes I want to do that, just so I could have a second start, forge a new path for myself, clean out the furnace and put on a new log. But I don't think life works like that. I was just talking with a friend today about marriage. He said that he wanted to take a year-long honey moon so that he and his wife could reenter their lives completely reoriented toward each other. And I think in some ways, that would be nice. To take a vacation from the world, come back to find all your neighbors moved and tangles of weeds in the front yard, then start fresh. Pack your bags and move to a new city, a new life. A new world almost.

But somehow we carry ourselves - and not just ourselves, but our friends and families, the chipped blue paint on the front porch, the scar from the rusty watering can - all with us. We can't escape who we've been made and who we are being remade into. Maybe its all in our mind. But we can't remove our mind and wring it out like a dish towel.

In some sense though, we don't have to let our thoughts fester in our minds, to let the juices sink so deep that they dry into the foundation. We remake ourselves, freshen our lives with books and gardens, get away from ourselves by staring into the sky and then come back again to rediscover who we were all along.

And that readers is what happened to me. I was sitting in the sanctuary after church, just me and the stained glass. Everyone had gone home. The counters were cleaned and the dishes put away. And I played the piano and sang, and it felt like if I just kept singing, somehow I'd be able to break through the glass keeping me here - cut down the trees and see the horizon for what it really is: a crisp clear line in the setting sun, shades purple and gold rather than the watered blue that I can see from between the branches if I strain my eyes upward toward the heavens.

Coffee

2010-05-12T14:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Today I finished my third consecutive day of working at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in Carpinteria. While its not the most glamorous job, I decided to take it for a couple of reasons: 1. I want experience handling food 2. I don't want a stressful job and 3. I want FREE COFFEE! And the perks of this job only go as far as that, although I think I get $15 a month to purchase on store items. I first wanted a French Press, but after trying it today, I think I'm going to stick with plain coffee flavored with tons of cream - or a Chai tea latte (best thing EVER!).

So what haven't I learned how to do? Make a latte! Can you believe it? It seems like such a basic thing, but actually lattes are more complicated than the iced blended drinks because you have to deal with steam, which can be really scary. Plus, getting the milk to foam perfectly is quite an art (one that I'm beginning to master though). Espresso goes bad after 30 seconds, so you have to be really quick about serving it or putting it in a drink. I haven't even been told about different powders or syrups (maybe tomorrow...)

But more importantly, I'm learning. And as my boss always tells me: Its just coffee. No pressure.

Revision

2010-05-04T20:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I hate to revise my work. Especially my poetry. For some reason, I can't get it through my head that the finished product will be better than the beginning. And this semester has taught me a lot from that standpoint. Having to constantly revise my short story for Creative Writing taught me a lot about how to use the delete button on my computer. And while I still have a hard time letting phrases disappear from the page, I'm becoming more used to it.

So without further ado, here's a revision of the poem "Joy Eluded Us". I really like the way it turned out, which I guess speaks to the benefit of revision *shudder*. haha, but really readers, sometimes only practice makes perfect.

The day we learned

Joy eluded us in that moment, took
its black coat and slipped softly
out the glass doors. I remained
with the cold sunlight
that somehow pushed its way
through the black glazed windows.

There were violets outside the hospital,
rich blue-purple velvet, the kind of color
you want to dive into. They drooped
a little with the heat. Water would have helped.

That day we learned that germs
can’t travel through white, and hospital
beds can resemble coffins under the right
circumstances. But he wouldn’t go in one,
wouldn’t stop the day for a moment
to take off the stiff lab coat and enjoy
the weight of the full April sun
which burst through my open windows
where I sat thinking not of philosophy
nor the fact that my yellow roses
were starting to wilt from lack
of water.

ALSO - I mentioned a short story. If you would like to read that, just shoot me an email. Just to whet your appetite, its about two deadbeat men who rob a 7-11 to get money to start their own basement marijuana business. Don't you want to read more? haha

Down the Lane

2010-04-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I'm almost done with school! I can't believe it; it seems so close in my memory when I running on the playground of RC and thinking about how far away high school was. And now I'm almost done. Completely. Its ridiculous! And I'm not trying to think of it too much; trying to make it in Santa Barbara is daunting, but I'm confident that I can scrape by. But I'm not in the mood for the future right now readers. And the present is blah right now. So its the past that I can turn to.

Favorite memories from this semester:
-Sharyna (my roomie), the "comedy vampire"
-writing TONS of poetry
-chapel band awesomeness
-making tiramisu for my friends
-making food in general; I'm shamefully good at getting an al dente pasta
-cheap daffodils from Vons
-becoming completely addicted to the Food Network
-History of World Christianity: the class that has slowly sucked the soul from my body yet been the most healing thing at the same time. The world is a paradox.
-taking an hour out of every night for one whole week to learn all the steps to the Thriller dance
-having a car and yet taking the shuttle, and getting that good feeling when you know you're saving gas
-running around trying to find a vacuum
-visiting Maria and AmaDeus and playing their Steinway
-going to the beach at 6am to watch the sun rise
-orchestra tour: Disneyland: 8 hours of nonstop craziness!
-breakfast dates with Lucia Bostick
-playing the piano for fun
-meeting new people: Aimee, Megan, Anna, Sharyna, Lucia, Sarah, and so many more!
-writing letters
-making notebooks
-swimming!
-learning that I can actually function on 6 hours of sleep
-playing the crash cymbals in the orchestra
-learning how fast time really does go by

and so many more readers! I have 3 weeks, and am determined to make the most out of those weeks. Wish me luck!

For Easter

2010-03-28T18:38:00.001-07:00

Dearest Readers,
Its palm Sunday! Yay! I didn't realize this until my Italian phrase-a-day calendar told me that todays word is "alleliua". I thought to myself "That's a strange word," and then it dawned upon me - my Italian phrase-a-day people are clever. heh heh. Anyway, here's a poem to commemorate this upcoming week. The story behind this poem, like so many of my recent poems, is that I had to write it. I have to do this project for my New Testament class where I create something (aka, a poem!) having to do with a Biblical text, then write a review on why I did this and blah blah blah. The point is, I have a new poem, and I actually really like how it turned out. Looking for inspiration, I stumbled on a William Carlos William poem that I really like. Hence, I stole the format he used and decided to condense my images into just a few.

One disclaimer: I just finished this poem. Therefore, its in its super-rough phase, but sometimes poems are the best like that. Besides, wouldn't you like to have it before Easter, since it turns out that I accidentally wrote a poem on the Easter story?

The Resurrection
Matthew 27:50-52

No one could
ignore
the blackened sky,

a black like burnt wood.
And then
the cry stabbed through

that black, a curtain
dripping
with purple velvet

ripping just like the sky
and the graves
bursting forth with people,

their sweaty, grimy bodies
filling
the streets, bones rattling

the blackened cobblestones
that Augustus
had worked so hard to standardize.

Loss of a Friend

2010-03-07T15:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
This has been a good poetry weekend for me! Sheesh! I'm having to revise a bunch of poems (and write a few new ones) so you guys are totally reaping the benefits; that is to say, if you like reading my poetry. Anyway, this poem started out as a "Nonsense" poem (like Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky). I tried really, REALLY hard to make it nonsense, but it wasn't really. Dr. Willis told me "Maybe you're just not meant to write nonsense". And I think he's right. So I completely revised it, added on a couple stanzas and made it into a coherent poem. And again, this one isn't about an actual event at all! I just bought daffodils today for our house, so that's where that image comes from, but the rest is completely made up. Let me know what you all think!

Loss of a Friend

I plucked from the ashes of this
slow burn of a friendship the tattered
remains of bubblegum wrappers - plastic
lace like a lady’s gloves, fitted tight
around diamond rings, like the diamonds
your mother used to wear. They sparkled
at the parties with champagne and strawberries.

Those summer nights we hid beneath
the stars, tucked away between the arms
of weeping willows. That place was
filled with honeyed air and your blue
eyes, the blue that you find beneath
stones at the beach and, if you’re lucky,
in the frozen center of a peach pit
just pulled from the refrigerator.

Then we woke, opened our eyes to find
the cold dawn rising from its bed. We
rose too - but now the grass stained our shorts
and your blue eyes turned black as the back
of your mothers hand ran across your face
like it was slapping all of me out of you.

Your red-brick house never looked the same
to me. And sometimes, when I’m out picking
daffodils among the fields across the river,
I’ll pluck from our time together the hard edge
of a dirty rock and throw it as hard as I can.

Moving On

2010-03-06T20:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I just finished a sonnet! Woo hoo! I met with Dr. Willis, my creative writing prof, about my other sonnet (Comments to a red rose) and he gave me the option of writing another one since that one wasn't strict iambic pentameter. Well, I don't think this sonnet is strict either, but I kinda like how it turned out so I'm going to keep it in my portfolio (which is due next week, btw!) Readers, confession time: I usually write from actual experience, but this sonnet is totally made up! hahaha! Its about breaking up with someone, which I haven't ever done - but if I did ever break up with someone, hopefully I wouldn't do it like this. Anyway, tell me what you think, I always enjoy all of your comments. They are so encouraging.

Moving On

It once was with this old blue coat, stuffed in
my closet now, you covered the cold thoughts
that spread beneath my trembling lips like thin
cracks in summer ice. Pictures, like ink blots
on white napkins, stain my house with your face -
they’re packed in boxes now - shadows without
a meaning, yet the past I can’t erase.
Was it just yesterday you called about
the coffee stain I left on your brown couch
the night we learned your grandma died? I held
your hand, even though all you did was slouch
back in the seat. And there among the swelled
remains of once a love and now a lost
desire, I found I hadn’t paid the cost.

Lunchtime

2010-02-28T11:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
So sorry for my long absence! It has just been a crazy semester so far, so much so that I'm still trying to prune my schedule of anything excess. For example, I dropped chamber singers this week because it was much more stress than it was worth. But readers, I've been writing poetry! Although this is a requirement for my creative writing class, I can feel myself getting better and better at poetry - its fantastic! Sometimes I read my old poems and laugh at how much image I crammed into those lines, while now I look for the one image that will be convey my experience exactly. So readers, without further ado, I give you my latest poem; I'm not saying its perfect, but I feel pretty proud of this one. Let me know what you think!

Lunchtime, February 16, 2010

Today the black tar asphalt sizzles
beneath our tires.
I can’t breath; the air lies down upon us
like an old man slumped in his rocker,
but here I am, stuffed in this blue sedan, surrounded
by Snickers wrappers.

How can Allison and Kat not care
that my stomach feels
like an empty plastic bag?

If only I could reach up,
pluck the sun
from the egg-blue sky - peel back
the rich skin and squeeze the juice,
let it burst
from the packets of flavor wrapped
inside to leave tears of sticky sweetness
down my salty face.

Comments to a

2010-02-03T20:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I'd almost lost hope in my love for poetry, that is before I wrote this poem! Its just that my semester is absolutely crazy!!! I have no time for fun things like writing poems - I'm always reading for my religious studies courses, both of which are GEs which makes them annoying rather than fun. But readers, even though I don't even have time to be writing this, I wanted to share this small sonnet I just completed for tomorrow's creative writing class. I'm not a big fan of sonnets, so I didn't really have a purpose when I started writing this. But I think it turned out pretty well, so let me know what you all think!

Comments to a red rose

Once in these petals, soft as night, that blur
into my rusted gate, bees took their fill
of sweet white wine. The golden nectar
that drizzled down their legs fell on your frills,
your sweet red dress then stained with amber jewels.
I watched awhile on those blue steps before
the door leaned into me, the handle cool
upon my fingers. Winter comes in poor
disguise - your petals blackened in dismay,
pooling around the earthen pot set out
to catch the final boat of the sun’s rays.
And now, the stiff air that runs throughout
the rooms meets my lungs, tightens the gap
between our worlds - my present to unwrap.

The day we learned

2010-01-25T23:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I'm learning that its very difficult for me to process things. One of my favorite professors is my poetry teacher, Dr. Willis. He publishes poetry pretty frequently, and most of his recent work has been about the Tea Fire - his house burned down. I think poetry is a beautiful way to express your deepest thoughts, since many of the things we know about ourselves are only snapshots. While the fire was a traumatic experience, I have yet to put into words some of the most difficult emotions I face. I think one of the things I've always wanted to have an outlet for is the experience of dad's cancer - being able to put that experience down into words, and words that mean something to me, has been one of the hardest things. And while I don't feel like I've hit the mark in this poem, I've come the closest so far in remembering that experience.

So here it is; the rough draft of my mental snapshot:

The day we learned

Joy eluded us in that moment,
slipped softly out the glass doors
without so much as a parting
word. I remained with the cold sunlight
that somehow pushed its way
through the black glazed windows.

Chrysanthemums exploded outside the cement,
blinding pink, a defense mechanism against
sticky-fingered guests. They drooped a little
with the March heat. Water would have helped.

That day we learned that germs
can’t travel through white, and hospitals
beds can resemble coffins under the right
circumstances. But he wouldn’t go in one,
wouldn’t stop the day for a moment
to take off the stiff lab coat
and enjoy the weight of the full
April sun which burst through
my open windows where I sat
thinking not of philosophy, nor
the fact that my yellow roses were
starting to wilt from lack of water.

In the Morning Light

2010-01-18T10:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
Doesn't everything look better in morning light? I'm convinced that I could wake up early every day of my life and be satisfied just because of the light in the morning. I believe it was Henry David Thoreau who talked about how men would bottle up morning air because it was so healthy and sell it to those who slept in late. Everything seems more attainable in morning light; you have a whole 24 hours ahead of you, but only a few hours to enjoy the sense of a fully-realized day before the sun moves and all you have is a blue sky and hours of work ahead of you.

But readers, even better is the morning light that is obstructed by gray clouds. Its the perfect excuse to stay home and enjoy a good book with a steaming cup of tea while watching the rain. That may be one of my favorite things on earth to do. Unfortunately though, you need a good window, something which I currently do not have. I have a window. It, sadly, doesn't look out onto a picturesque lake, or mountains, or even a meadow. No, I get to see all of the other apartments. Yay. But readers, I have a dream that one day a lake or mountain (or better - both!) will be outside my window one day, covered in sheets of rain so I can have that beautiful light bathing my surroundings and be in the moment when life seems to be taking its time so I can have that one perfect day of reading/tea drinking.

But for now, all I can do is turn off all the lights in my room (my house-mate just came in and told me it was like a cave) and listen to the sound of the rain hitting the pavement outside my window.

Happiness

2010-01-13T15:50:00.000-08:00

Dearest Readers,
Here's the poem I'm turning in tomorrow for my first creative writing assignment; tell me what you think!

Happiness

I bought a silk flower today,
tugged it out of the bouquet
packed into the white bucket
of the thrift store on 22nd.

It now catches sun in the window
of my apartment. I hope it’s happy
there, among the grime and dead
flies of another year that has gone
by without a breath of fresh air.

Maybe one day it will shake the dust
from its coral feathers - wake to see
that only the glass keeps it safe, confined
from the wind and earth and life
that sprouts outside the musty white
apartment where it now sits, just
waiting to be awakened.

The Day the Circus

2010-01-12T23:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I really am more creative at night! My best poems always come to me when I'm already in bed with the light turned off. But, I always get the best results when I actually get back up and finish the poem instead of waiting until the morning - so here it is: my latest poem! I hope you all like it, its not quite like anything I've done before. I've been reading a lot of TS Eliot and his strange rhythm and rhyme is definitely at work in this poem. Its also a very dire poem, but don't read very far into that: I've just been reading the Waste Land which is very dire. So don't call me and want to talk about this "depression" because I'm actually really enjoying my time at Westmont so far.....all 2 days of it. Also to note: this is a very very VERY rough version of the poem. I actually just completed it a couple seconds ago, so this is in no way going to be a magnum opus or anything. OK, have to go (back) to bed! Here's my poem: (PS - feedback is MUCH appreciated!)

The day the Circus came to town

The day the circus came to town
the masses came in droves,
flocked like crows
to see the freaks and clowns.
The crunch of gravel hung
between the jaded streets,
a symphony of feet
herded on by weary patrons.

But now the red tents are
gone, and the tired streets look
beaten in this light. I might look
that way too, if I screamed
“suburban”
all day long.

Look again
Look again

The streets are full of hollow men
and girls in pink tights say
If only I looked like them
to the gaunt faces of pages
who only stare back
from their windowless cages.

And now the day packs up
and leaves us only with black,
the top hat
of a day which rests on nothing but
weary bones and a sweaty forehead.

The Agony of Moving

2010-01-08T00:17:00.001-08:00

Dear Readers,
It's that time of the year again. The furniture seems to be moving closer, the road looks like its trying to become a gate, the trees wave goodbye. That's right peeps, its moving time! But its not only moving time; its the "I'm moving into my own apartment, need to buy a whole new set of supplies" moving. aka, I'm trying to find a TV at the lowest price possible.

But its not only that readers. Its packing up the life I left behind in August, trying to find those scattered remains from this summer in the boxes and cabinets of a house that still feels a little strange to be staying in. Not only has it been tiring - almost everything has been buried under a mountain of my sister's stuff - but its also been a little sad. Sad because I have to unearth everything, that this will be my last trip down to Santa Barbara for the purpose of moving into Westmont, maybe that from this point on "home" will be a transitive place. And its scary to think about. Which might be the reason why those boxes have remained underneath the house, gathering dust among the other obscurities and faded memories that have long since gone out of style.

They're all in the car at home now, awaiting my final goodbyes to family and friends and that sound of the key in the ignition. Maybe this is just life; those final moments in which the inevitable is coming, yet you are holding onto those slippery seconds like they are your last tie to life. Hm.

The Most Wonderful Time

2009-12-02T11:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
It has been a long absence. I wake up every morning with the intention of writing letters, of finishing that book sitting on the dresser, of writing in my blog. And yet, so far none of that has happened. Its like my motivation has become frozen with the weather; all I want to do is sit on the couch and waste away into nothing staring at facebook. Actually, that's not what I want to do at all, but yet I let myself get mired into the murky bog that is the internet.

After all, I tell myself that I am supposed to be relaxing. And laying on the couch all day is relaxing. I take walks. I go out for groceries. Sometimes I open up a can of bean soup and cook it for my sister who has a cold at the moment. And its true that my legs have felt like jello for over a week, and it takes me a long time to get around. Yet, I was much more fulfilled in Italy when I didn't go out of the monastery for weeks; maybe it was being around people all the time. I think this "resting" has been good in a way, but its also made me best friends with my computer. Which is not optimal.

So I did something productive today: I helped my mom pack Christmas presents for our relatives. It was really fun! We listened to Christmas music and bagged nuts, then taped up the boxes and addressed them. I felt like I was part of something bigger, which hasn't happened in a while. I can't help missing Italy, especially with the last week where everyone came together and put on the most amazing Christmas concert. But I've decided that home shouldn't be a place of mourning for that, but a place of respite where I can do all of those little tasks that always build up when you have no time to spare.

Next up: writing some awesome letters.

Italy Post #26

2009-11-18T08:37:00.001-08:00

Dear Readers,
I've been avoiding you. Not because you smell, or make bad comments or anything like that. No, readers, something much worse than that has caused me to evade and stutter and close the computer before writing you.

I'm going home early.

Next week, to be particular. And I'm sure you can guess the reason why: I'm still not feeling great. The nerve pain has been reduced to a dull ache; whether that's the medicine or the disease dying down is anyone's guess. But I'm still afraid of doing more damage to my nerves. Italian doctors are an option, but not an option at the same time. Yes I could find a doctor, but the problems that come along with finding the right doctor, namely a neurologist, then getting over the language barrier, then being re-diagnosed and getting an Italian prescription. Basically, its not worth it. Then I always have the option of staying and risking more damage. But that's not worth it, not in my mind. I'm not great at listening to my body, but I know when too much is too much. And the risk of staying outweighs the benefits of a chilly month in Italy taking a class I don't really need.

And readers, I'm sad to leave. But, at the same time, I feel like I got a good dose of Italy: 3 months. I know the language now, at least enough to get around. I can walk safely on cobblestones. I know the best cappuccino in town. And that's all I really wanted. I get the Italian credit out of it I needed. And I get a nice long break in which to see doctors, rest, and re-orient myself to American life. And maybe lose a few pasta-pounds. Plus, EVERONE is in the choir now!!! We're having our performance next week, which is going to be awesome!

But the thing that reassures me is that I'm at peace about the decision. And that's really all that matters.

So if you live in Oakdale, give me a call; I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to hang out. Maybe write me a letter. Lets keep in touch.

Italy Post #25

2009-11-13T08:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I walked around outside again today! It was glorious!!! Italian weather is so strange; it has been completely rainy and cold outside this whole week, but today and yesterday were like glimpses of paradise. And finally being able to move without large amounts of pain was an added bonus. Today was my search for the perfect pen. Italians have a lot of quirks, and selling very particular things is one of them. They really like stationary and pens, complete with leather-bound notebooks and hand-made paper. Its big business. And I wanted in on some of it today, so I went out before lunch to search out the perfect pen. After a few stops, plus a run to the grocery store, I ended up with cookies and pasta but no pen! So I waited again for the shops to open after riposso (the "nap time" of Italy, usually from 1-4), stopped at Montanucci's for a cappuccino and some Dante, then went out again in search. Success! I found a little store on the corso that wasn't too pricey, and now I am the proud owner of a calligraphic fountain pen. Which I'm hoping will feed my letter-writing obsession. Heh heh.

Italy Post #24

2009-11-12T08:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I have an obsession here. And no, its not gelato (although that comes in a close second....) Its mail. Receiving mail, sending mail, decorating my letters, picking up bits of Italian paper and writing letters on them. And readers, I haven't gotten anything in the mail for a WEEK! While this seems like a travesty to the rest of my.....monastery-mates (?).....since I seem to get the most mail out of anyone. And I know that I do get a lot of mail; but here's the thing - I love writing, its a way for me to express myself through words. But writing also allows me to reassess myself, to take a good look about how I really feel. Sometimes I discover myself in writing. And I think the fact that I've been cooped up for almost a whole week with nothing but my bed as company hasn't helped this desire for some distant communication.

But readers! I have exciting news as well!!! I went outside today! For the past week, I've been living as a cloistered nun, with only the window as a connection to the outside world since there was no mail for me! Yes, the air was even sweeter outside than I had remembered. And the gelato tasted delicious! Italians really like to celebrate the seasons and come out with tons of seasonal treats to try to help you pass the cold of winter. Vendors roast chestnuts in the streets. The supermarkets are stacked from floor to ceiling with seasonal cakes (which are delicious, they taste like light sugary butter). Orvieto is strung with Christmas lights all over the place, between the alleys and buildings. Even the gelato has new flavors - my favorite so far: marron glaces (chestnut). Its a very festive town, even though there is no Christmas music yet, although that should be remedied with the choir! yay! I love Christmas! And walking outside!!! Double bonus!!!!!!

Italy Post #23

2009-11-09T08:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I want to be honest in this post. Completely honest. There are things that don't come easily to me: triathalons, handstands, giving good advice. But there are other things that I have complete control of that sometimes I just don't want to admit to myself. Its not a power thing; I don't think that admitting I am in incredible pain right now is making me doubt my own abilities. Just sometimes I feel like I whine a lot. And I don't want to be a whiner.

But readers, I'm in pain. My dad says its an inflamed nerve in my left shoulder. It comes and goes. A lot of times it makes it hard to walk, and the pain doesn't reside until I lay down. So I haven't been out of the monastery in days; I haven't played piano this week; I don't go to lunch or dinner any more. I'm confined to my room and the sala, with an occasional trip to the library for class. Its miserable, and yet its a good reality check. I may not have been taking care of my body in the best ways this semester, and now I'm suffering the consequences. And I have to get better. And there is hope of that too; I'm already able to walk all the way down to the first floor without doubling over in pain.

I wanted to let you all know so you could pray. And maybe write (I've had a craving to write letters like no other now that I'm mired to my room), and maybe even send a box of junior mints if you're so inclined. I'll be in touch.

Italy Post #22

2009-11-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I have exciting news!!! I've started a Christmas choir! Yes, I know, its so daring of me to take on this risky enterprise, but I'm willing to sacrifice countless hours of shuffling sheet music, the comfort of my comforter to sit instead in the cold by the piano plunking out notes, and maybe even my voice for this group of people who have pledged the same things to me. Its actually been one of the best experiences here so far, dear readers. I find myself singing Christmas songs to see if they would fit into the program, dreaming about the organization of the songs, spending extra time in the chapel to go over melodies and harmonies. Plus I feel like the choir is giving me the sense of community that I have been missing here for so long; so many people are excited about it, and while I don't have 100% participation, the people involved are 100% dedicated to making the choir as good as possible! Its just a good feeling to be surrounded by friends who love the same things you do, and respect you for the effort you're putting in.

I know I talked a lot about fall in my last post, and I still miss it, but I'm also starting to see the beauty of fall here. Its colder for sure, which is not a requirement to an amazing fall, but I'm starting to find a joy in the routine here. I think this feeling might come from this past weekend when my friend Kelsey came and visited. She's on Europe semester and came down here for the 4-day, so we got to have some good quality time together. I think I was getting mired in my loneliness here, which is weird because I'm not alone. Actually, I'm never alone! But I have felt isolated in the community for a while; she reminded me of the touchiness of social dynamics, the way things can take a while to click.

And that was what I needed. For, dear readers, things HAVE started to click and its great! I still don't feel like this is as comfortable as home, but there is a sense in which I have become more of a part of the group. And I think one of the best answers to this mystery is singing!

Italy Post #21

2009-10-30T09:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Most of you know that my sister is home right now. If not, she's home right now. Anyway, there is a sense in which I'm jealous of her. Or maybe just envious. I miss home; not even Westmont, but actually Oakdale. The way the leaves would change colors all the way down the driveway, the bite that is in the air if you get up early enough to catch it, the comfort of sitting on the couch with a hot cup of tea and a good book. Fall is definitely here, but its not a comforting fall. It creeps in through the walls and floors and staying your bones. I'm even cold right now. But its not even just the cold; its the feeling of fall. I can't help missing it: fall is my favorite season. Pumpkins! Pumpkin pie, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin muffins. They don't have pumpkins here. There is also a missing sense of rejoicing, that feeling that keeps you going until Christmas. The feeling that rejoices in the coolness of the days. Here everyone just bundles up and keeps their head down, as if they want to live in summer forever.

But what am I saying, dear readers? I live in Santa Barbara! I don't like the cold! But there is a part of me that misses being home in this moment. And maybe its the fact that I miss the people there as well, the comfort of being around people who know you intimately and care for you even more. Letter writing has kept that feeling alive in me, but the quick comfort of crying on the shoulder of someone who loves you is absent here. But what can I do? Eat my fill of roasted chestnuts (they're really into that here) in some wind-sheltered alley among the cold stones? NO! I choose to live vicariously through the visits of friends and family: Kelsey for sure on Sunday (yay!!!) and then maybe KiKi and Julie on Thursday! While I know its not quite home, the presence of people from California will hopefully give me a new perspective.

People from the program has described this feeling as the end of the "honeymoon" stage of Orvieto living. I know this town pretty well, and its not quite as romantic as I first thought it. Yes, its still just as beautiful and I could sit and stare at the duomo forever! But, in the same way, there are things I just don't like about Italian culture. They don't have sidewalks. People never smile at you; actually, they talk about you freely behind your back. Everything is more expensive, except cookies. I'm so glad I came here and was able to spend time getting to know another culture, but in some ways that has made me appreciate America so much more. I still will always hate strip malls and chain stores. But if I could trade my cappuccino maker for a chai tea latte from Coffee Bean in this very moment, I would probably do it.

But watch: when I get back from Italy, I'll be dying for some good pasta and olive oil and won't be able to keep to the sidewalks. I'm expecting it. And I guess that is why I'm still carrying on here and making the best of my time: its growing ever thinner as the weeks and months pass.

Italy Post #20

2009-10-20T09:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
We've reached number 20!!! How exciting! Well, dear readers, its that time again. The time when the clock starts to move faster, the rain seems to fall a little harder, the colors on the chrysanthemums don't look quite as bright. That's right, its finals week. I have: 1 poem due tomorrow, 5 revisions due Thursday, and a banquet to follow it all. But don't feel sorry for me; think of the poor drawing students who have to work outside in the freezing cold, drawing straight lines with wobbly fingers. heh heh

Its been a pretty uneventful week though, sorry to say. Oh, although there has been one bright spot: I'm going to Ireland!!! yessss! I'm so excited! Even just today I read some Eavan Boland and my heart fluttered with joy at the thought of being in the green fields and blue skies of the island. Now, just to get through the next week.

In other news (sorry, this is a bunch of random thoughts): I'm going to Padua this weekend! The past few weeks have been a bunch of disappointments: first mom and Kiki couldn't make it out, then Bailey cancelled on me (both for good reasons, but still...). I didn't have any plans for this weekend, but then suddenly my whole weekend was made free so I was kinda left in the lurch. But the drawing students are so wrapped up with work that they didn't make plans either, so I'm either making just a day trip there, or I'm going on Friday to Padua and then to Cortona on Sunday. There is apparently a great chocolate festival in Padua and I have a friend in Cortona.

So, my friends, do not fret: my spirits have been lifted. Sort of.

Italy Post #19

2009-10-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I want to talk about the weather. Not because I don't have anything else to say, but because I'm finding that Italian weather is very different. First of all, Orvieto is built on a mesa. While this is the coolest thing EVER, it also creates strange effects with the weather. Because the landscape changes so drastically, Orvieto gets rained on a lot. The rain also seems to have a mind of its own, waiting until you're about half way from the convent to the corso to downpour. Another strange thing about this place is that the weather has suddenly dropped. In a bad way. Tuesday I was walking in the sun in a t-shirt and jeans; Wednesday I was wearing my pea-coat and scarf like they were an extra skin. Seriously, I've never seen the weather decide to change so drastically, but maybe that comes from living in Santa Barbara.

Well, everyone in the poetry class was fearing going to Rome yesterday because the trip spanned the whole day: 6:15am departure, 8:30pm arrival back. I opted to dress lightly, and froze until I got on the train at 7 but after that the weather was beautiful. It was probably in the low 60s, sunny and brisk, perfect for a fast walk around Rome. Some highlights from the trip include seeing Raphael's School of Athens/the Disputa, the Laocoon, and the Sistene chapel, but my favorite was 3 paintings by Caravaggio (the calling/inspiration/death of St. Matthew). The chiaroscuro technique that Caravaggio used is breathtaking! I came away from Rome with this desire to see more, so I might be making a trip back to wander around and see more of the city....we'll have to see :0)

Newest poem - you should look up the painting to go along with this one, the assignment was to write an ekphrastic poem about a contemporary piece of art; the title is the work of art I chose.

Up in the Studio, 1965 Andrew Wyeth

She sits quietly, back straight, hands resting
on top of her knees - knees that have often bent
to kneel at the dim altar in the church downtown
onto the slick velvet carpet, or to help carry

her groaning father across the splintered wood
to a bed braced with pillows. She catches rest now,
bathed in the thin light struggling through her favorite
window. She can hear the whistling of wind around barren

trees; it is always like this in winter. She has watched
this floor become the color of the many shoe soles
that have walked upon it. You would think she likes
that color - her jacket is the same trampled brown -

but in reality it is a deep green, the color of the winter
weight of pine and mistletoe. It is what she looks on now,
her one break in the day between cooking and cleaning
a house that isn’t hers for a father too decrepit to hire

a maid or nurse or even supply an artist’s easel -
for that is what she really wants to do - paint -
paint herself a room with walls the color of lemon
curd, where light reaches its warm fingers into every

corner and children’s bubbly laughter is audible
from the open windows hung with white lace. Winter
would remain only in the trees scattered outside
the window. I want to be in that picture too.

Instead she is here, uncomfortable in a Quaker
chair inherited from a generation that wanted
to punished themselves with the harsh white light
reflecting off the snow drifts, resting in the only

part of the day where the forest outside becomes
a living painting for her to watch as the seasons
erase then redraw the leaves on the trees and the only
sounds she has to hear are the whoosh of the wind

outside her window and the gentle squeak of the rocking
chair as she slowly pats the floor with her worn feet.

Italy Post #18

2009-10-11T08:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Its that time for another update I think. Although I love providing snapshots of daily life, the little things that I find fascinating or the things that interest me, sometimes the dryness of a play-by-play is good just for orientation. And I want to keep you oriented readers.

Life here has been pretty regular, which is not a bad thing. I have a schedule for each day, usually starting out at around 7 with a cappuccino and a good read or some singing in the chapel (have I mentioned that the acoustics here are AMAZING?!). Class goes pretty much the same way every day, split equally between a discussion of the reading (which I excel in) and a critique of the poetry (which I fail in). I find it much easier to discuss the reading, probably because literature classes have been my main focus up until this semester. Its so hard to have my poetry critiqued, to have people tear apart this work that I've spent so much time on. I've gotten a little more used to it, but it still is hard. Lunch is next, which has been going pretty good; they serve amazing pasta, usually followed by some sort of meat and veggie course. Not bad, right? This is where the variations come in: after lunch, each day includes different activities, which are sometimes mandatory (eg. Italian class). It just fills up my day, but not in a bad way. By the time dinner is ready, I've made a good use of my time, writing and reading in the breaks in my day, usually with a warm glass of tea by my side. Its quite enjoyable.

Florence was AMAZING! I couldn't believe how daring I was: getting on a train for the first time by myself, venturing off into a foreign city alone with some sketch plans to hopefully meet up with Jenny. But it all worked out in the end, we met up and ducked into a cafe for some lunch since it was raining and got to catch up with each other. All in all it was a great time, plus I got to get a TON of christmas presents for people :0) And the best part was that I walked into dinner late that night back in Orvieto; everyone was sitting down already and saw me walk in and they were so happy to see me! I just felt so welcomed, it was great! Then we all went back to the monastery and played 3 games of Werewolf (like Mafia, but horribly inferior). Fun fun fun!

Italy Post #17

2009-10-07T08:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
As of this afternoon, I booked my train ticket to Florence! Yay! This will be the first time I'll have travelled all alone in Italy; yay? I'm pretty scared, especially since I don't speak much Italian, but the train goes directly. Also I will be traveling part of the way with two of the students who speak lots of Italian and fluent Spanish who are going to Pisa.

Things to do in Florence:
-Visit Jenny!
-look for Christmas presents, especially a cameo for JuJuFruit
-buy lots and lots of scarves
-gaze at the Arno
-visit the Boboli Gardens

Newest poem:

Beneath arches of tufa

When I recall those days of August heat,
the blind light of summer streaking through
beams of brick and stone around the patio
where I played with mud and sticks as a child,

the problem of pain and understanding sinks
beneath my realm of comprehension, losing
itself in the days and weeks and months
where walking became a tear-stained memory

and nights were tormented by muscles like scissors
tearing up my back. I didn’t want
home to be the place to rest, but there
I found myself, wrapped in the old worn

blankets of my childhood while
my mom poured her love like olive oil,
thick and rich, upon the scars and wounds
that had built up like a crust over years.

Rest never came to me there, where
love grew in the shadow of daily
life, and time was clogged with stress and school.
Bible studies were the only place

where we met in love. I could use it now.
The mother of my savior meets my gaze,
flocked by angels and saints of ages past.
I couldn’t reach out to her in moments

of pain or trial. No, that is not
my Mary. The Mary I like to think of
rests beneath faded arches of tufa,
tucked away in an old church where

the altar, clothed in light and lace, takes
the place of honor. A veil of cobwebs graces
her weathered head, which doesn’t bend
to peer at you; no, she is focused

on her son, broken and bent at
her knee, his arm extended across her lap
like a rod. There they sit, forever
silent amid the musty pews and dwindling

parishoners who come each week to cast
their worries and burdens and hurt aside at
the feet of their savior who accepted the pain
and suffering and understanding of humanity

to show the compassion of a loving God,
a God who chose a single mother to bear
the good news of a child who would one
day grow to be the man who needs her balm

of love spread across his scarred back,
for her to hold him and support him even
when the nails are driven into a plan
that takes the pain and comprehension of

a good God to understand.

Italy Post #16

2009-10-06T08:33:00.001-07:00

Dear Readers,
What I've learned in Italy:

-Rain comes unexpectedly here, often in big drops.
-Stink bugs are abundant.
-Walking along the road is a guarantee for danger.
-Cappuccino's are a necessity to life. In general.
-The duomo provides endless inspiration.
-A small felt topcover is not enough to keep you warm at night.
-Not slipping on wet tile is an art form.
-Rusty old pianos sound better over time.
-Acoustics in a monastery can't be beat.
-Small children who love green and pirates are lots of fun!
-Taking shots isn't so bad.
-Hymns are the greatest thing EVER!
-The chocolate cake from Montanucci's is to die for!
-Cobblestones and wedges do not mix.
-A tiny kitchen is a recipe for disaster.
-The law of entropy double and triples when there are two or more people around.
-Cafe Barrique has the best view and the most comfortable seats.
-Almost everywhere is accessible by train.
-Orvieto Classico is the best white wine. And the cheapest.
-Almost everything here is more expensive. Except, oddly, cookies.
-Cookies here are delicious and often eaten for breakfast.
-Scarves are a must for every woman's closet.
-Every street eventually leads to the duomo.
-The Catholic mass is more beautiful in Italian.
-Puzzles make my life worth living for sometimes.
-The best thing they serve at Locanda del Lupo is pasta. And lasagna.
-Italians don't dip their bread in olive oil.
-Having the hope of visitors from home can pull you through a terrible week.
-Getting mail has never been so precious.
-The placemats at Locanda make excellent paper for letter-writing.
-Men are sketchy. Especially the old men.
-Poems can be difficult.
-There is such a thing as a Charismatic Catholic.
-Cobblestones are slippery when wet.

Italy Post #15

2009-10-06T08:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I want your honest opinion: do you like reading my poetry? Since taking this poetry class, I've had to write a lot of poems, some I liked and some I wanted to ground up in the garbage disposal. I like to post my best ones for advice or comments, both positive and negative. But no one seems to comment. I've constructed 2 possible answers for this situation: 1. No one actually reads my blog and just follows it to seem like they are good friends/family. 2. Everyone is shy of commenting. But, here's the thing readers: I LOVE comments! When I see that 3 people have commented on my blog, I get this warm bubbly feeling inside, like my heart is growing in size just a little. Its so exciting to hear what you guys have to say, plus it makes this blog into more of a conversation than a monologue.

So, let me know what you think of my poetry, whether you'd like to see more or less. Or what I should write about if not the world around me as I see it. Its yours to comment on.

Newest Poem (a sonnet):

The Annunciation

It must have filled her with terror to see
him towering there, white wings spread against
the star-clothed sky. She did not ask or even need
a sanction of divine favor, the recompense
for a plan nailed into place long before
her eyes had first fluttered. The situation -
a name ingrained in her flesh - whore,
adulteress. Angels waiting in trepidation
did not know what they asked. Gabriel paced
the shimmering air; time came in bated breaths
from her quaking lungs. Finally a word braced
the night with slender sound, a quiet “yes”
following cracks of thunder - he was gone
leaving her to decide if she chose wrong.

Italy Post #14

2009-10-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I've become addicted to writing villanelles. A villanelle is a very frustrating formal form of writing that actually originated in Italy (explanation for my obsession perhaps?) that doesn't really allow the poet to go anywhere. The movement of the poem is repeatedly stopped by the form of the poem itself - a turning in. The first and last lines of the first stanza are repeated numerous times throughout the poem, making it difficult for a progression of thought. One of my classmates described them as "utterly worthless". Yet, villanelles can be quite endearing, which is why I'm attracted to them; with modern poetry pushing its boundaries, the villanelle has been given a little room to grow. I'm also quite inspired by Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art" (look it up if you don't know it!), which is a villanelle that has such passion and poignance in it that I felt inspired to write not one villanelle, but two. Tell me what you think of this one; I may be submitting the first one for our next assignment, which is to write in a classical form.

The Annunciation
Had you refused that fateful night
said No, that is not to my liking and gone
to sleep, would the world still be under the plight

of generations living and breathing with no light
nor hope in their lives, barren of promise
had you refused that fateful night?

Could it have been at the fright
of golden Gabriel that you refused
to submit, the world still under the plight

of Adam’s curse, the world made right
only with a sacrifice on your part, unless
you had refused that fateful night,

gone against a God who just might
have nailed your future into his plan
to save the world with his son’s own plight?

And could you resist the glorious sight
of a future wrapped in tinsel and misteltoe -
No, you couldn’t refuse that fateful night
to show a world about hardship and plight.

Italy Post #13

2009-10-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I have one word for you - VENDEMIA! No, its not something violent or even remotely painful. Unless you get stung by a bee. A vendemia is the Italian grape harvest, where for one day people get together and go out into the vines to cut off the grapes to make wine. Its a festival in a sense, but more people take it as a great tradition that celebrates the end of a good year.

So, Saturday we woke up very early for a Saturday and took the train out to a little area called Volpara (or "little fox"). Albert and Inga (our lovely, very Dutch wine-makers) met us at the train station and wisked us off to their vineyard. Actually, only 5 of us got to ride in the car (me included because of my legs), but the walk for the rest wasn't very far. The vineyard was situated on the peak of a small hill that looked on to the valley; Inga's erratic driving took us up the hill with a few jolts and a lot of swearing, which I thought was hilarious. But finally we reached the top, which gave a glorious view of the valley. Their house reminded me of a fairytale cottage, it was small and compact. Very cute. They took some time to tell us what grapes to pick, how to cut the stems, and encouraged us to have as many grapes as we wanted. I definitely took that idea to the max, eating all of the grapes I wanted but I ended up getting soooo sick of them! Each bunch that didn't look perfect or that was smaller than the rest needed to be taste-tested to see if the grapes were sour; I tested almost each bunch that I picked. That adds up to a lot of grapes! These grapes were also smaller and more concentrated in flavor and most had 3 or 4 seeds in them.

Not the best for eating.

All in all though, it was a wonderful day filled with eating, laughter, grapes and seeds, and bees. Lots of bees. Plus the satisfaction of having picked hundreds of grapes off of a vine that would eventually go into a high-quality wine that people would eventually drink. How cool is that?!

Italy Post #12

2009-09-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I really do like to write poetry. If you follow my blog in any way shape or form you should know this. But really readers, I do. I love the way words can wrap themselves around images, the delicate tendrils of sound and rhythm. I've never taken a poetry class. Before this semester (cue evil laugh). Yes, I'm hoping for a lot of things this semester, but one main goal is to completely get outside of myself and write poetry that I would have never thought of writing. Example one - the poem I wrote today. While I didn't quite take myself out of the poem, I never thought I would be cool enough to write a monologue, and while it may not be the best monologue EVER, it is a monologue. With meaning.

So, let me know what you think! Its due tomorrow, so feedback will probably be a little past the fact, but I'd still love to hear your thoughts/comments/critiques. I also should tell you all that the context for this poem is a little strange: we are supposed to take a figure in a painting or decoration from the monastery and write from their perspective. There are these weird little faces that decorate the cupola on the second floor and I've always found myself looking at them. So I decided to write from one of their perspectives.

On Stopping Underneath the Cupola

Would you place, dear girl, take me
from this chilly white wall where I have rested
so long in a frozen smile, the last
thought of an artist whose hair was greasy
and hands were careless as he moulded
the everlasting features that I have stared
down through the centuries with while
nuns with downcast eyes never cared to
grace me and look up, and new students
have done nothing but shun me.

Take me out into the garden,
rich with a painting of purple and
green. . . .

NO! Do not remind me of what I am
missing, flesh-colored stone grown to
life, dark stones beneath my feet, yellow
walls sprayed with bouganvelia and tormented
by bees. Do not talk of these things.

Does the sun still shine as bright as it did
back then, when golden light pierced the sky
with intent. . . .

Why does no one look? Does no one see
my cold features, staring from up above with
disdain, stuck inside the ninth level of Hell
with the betrayers. What was my sin, sickening
girl, with breezy curls and wide blinking eyes?
Tell me!

Wait, do not go at the beckon of those living, breathing
bodies you call friends! They will all leave you, just
as I have been cast aside into the dim light
of a dingy cupola to forever stare into the patterns
of the red tiles and count the dust particles that fly
like eagles in front of my stone cold
eyes.

Italy Post #11

2009-09-26T08:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I apologize for the length of time which I will term my "absence". Yes, yes, I know the story, you waited by your computer every night this past week in anticipation only to be let down, yet again, by my lack of communication. Believe me, I would have rather been on my computer, pouring my heart out in electronic text to you all than studying for finals. But alas, this was my fate.

Yes, it was finals week last week. I can say that cheerfully at the moment because it is over and done with, but at the time I felt like I was slowly traveling through Dante's Inferno. Let me just rant a bit: Weds was a memorization test (80 slides with name, date, artist, location, and medium), Thurs was a group project (we got the worst one - Renaissance Humanism, which is wayyyy too broad to cover anything), and Fri was the individual paper (mine was on Fra Angelico). Blah. It was horrible.

Yet, as I was strolling the streets of Orvieto this morning without the weight of homework strapped to my back, I felt the joy of taking one class at a time. Yes, there is a period of crunch time once a month; but this is balanced with the fact that there is only one subject to focus on. Its quite comforting. And I get a great period of rest in between. For instance, I woke up this morning at 9:30, leisurely made my way around the market at 10:30, and sat at a cafe reading Dante until 12:45. It was fabulous. I can do whatever I want for the next day and a half because I have no homework clouding my fun.

Its great. Buonissimo! And the next break I have to look forward to is only in a month, and hopefully will be filled with people that I love who made plans to come visit me in this little walled city on a cliff. In conclusion - this is great!

Remembrance

2009-09-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

About what we don’t learn - this is life,
the worn slacks that belonged to you, packed
away between crates of pantyhose and Christmas
decorations; I didn’t realize their impact

until you showed me the importance of
remembrance. Oma - the name I repeated
as a child, the trips to Delaware with air you could
slice with a knife and hanging gardens of succulent

life ready to be plucked; this is what I remember.
Those old photographs - can’t you see them -
dusty, yellowed moth’s wings screened with an ink
from the past and the bleary eyes that stared back

from them. That was a time apart from mine,
calloused with the scraping of pennies against
palms. You must have worried back then.
I worry too. The fingers of time push hard against

my back, propelling me into a cobwebbed future.
How do I chisel a life for myself out of a block
of stone? Michaelangelo had a vision; all I see
is a white marble slab before me, with nothing but a few

veins of promise running though its rough surface.
To give breath to Pygmalion. To return to the past.
This is our task - to share the remembrance of
worries, the way breathing begins to hang like ivy in

the blue night. The chrysanthemums bend to
listen. And suddenly, a clear shot in the darkness,
icy fresh as the past overwhelms me once more in the
soft leather couches, holding rusty picture albums as

your weathered hands sift through the moth wings you
call photos and the presence of home slaps me in
the face with the realization that
remembrance is my heritage.

And you are with me.

Italy Post #10

2009-09-18T08:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I'm supposed to be in Florence right now. Probably sitting by myself in some cafe somewhere a few steps from the river Arno, sipping on a sugary cappuccino and sketching in my moleskin.

But I'm not. I'm in Orvieto. As always.

It was the great debate last night as to whether I would go or not. I've been feeling under the weather (and apparently the elements have decided to make that a reality - its been raining for the past 3 days). Not sick; no stuffy nose, no sore throat, not even a small cough or two. My MS has been acting up, making my feel numb and my legs heavy, and that's something I can't cure with a couple of ibuprofens and a hot glass of tea. Unfortunately.

So this morning I woke up after 6 hours of sleep, ate breakfast, packed my bags with every intention of getting on the train with everyone else; I almost made it too, if only Christine (our wonderful RA) hadn't caught me taking the elevator down instead of walking the steps. She questioned me as to why, and when I explained that I didn't feel safe because my feet are numb and I have balance issues, she expressed her concerns with me walking in Florence. I have to admit though, I completely agree with her. MS is always a guessing game - how much should I do, how far can I walk, will this hurt me in the long run? I don't want to miss out on the rushing waters of the Arno (and the Orsanmichele, monastery San Marco, the David, Boboli Gardens, etc.....you get the picture) but I also don't want to end up hurting myself more. Its such a delicate balance that I'm still trying to figure out.

But, as to not add to the seeming dire-ness of this situation, I AM in Orvieto, sitting here at a cafe in the twilight, sipping on my creamy cappuccino while sketching the cobblestone streets and the ancient buildings that surround me. Its wonderful! I could stay in this town forever, but I always think I would feel like a tourist. The people know each other here better than any community I've ever seen. Even the few Italian friends that I've made here (the nuns, Alessandro - our Italian teacher) I can find out and about, always ready to stop for a kiss hello and a few Italian pleasantries. It's so intimate.

(LEXY ALARI: Don't read this!!! I wrote you a letter all about it!) Finally, before my internet time runs out, Story of the Week: last night I decided to take the scenic route back from dinner, which takes a loop up the corso (main street) and around to the duomo, then turns back toward the Monastery San Paolo. I was sitting, staring at the duomo as usual, when the front doors, which must be around 30 ft. tall, opened! I couldn't believe it! So, being the curious pumpkin that I am, I walked inside. Turns out there was a free concert that night that I'd stumbled on to. It wasn't very good, but I was just so excited to participate in something unusual for me, but completely usual for the people of Orvieto. I guess it was the kind of great community-building experience that I was in need of, to remind me of the differences between here and home. And make me grateful for being here, even if I'm not in Florence.

Italy Post #9

2009-09-15T08:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Yes, this is the 2 week anniversary of my journey to Orvieto. Exciting, no? Well, to celebrate, I'd thought I'd let you all in on a little bit of normal Orvieto life just to get a feel for the program. The directors and many of the teachers advocate a pseudo Catholic/monastic life here. No, they don't cloister us (I know that's what you were thinking) but they do encourage us to spend more time than usual in contemplation, in church, in regular daily activities that constitute a very steady life. A monastic life. Sort of.

So, here's the basic schedule of events in the day of a pseudo-Catholic/monastic student:
7:30 - Anna wakes me up
8:15 - Optional prayer and praise in the chapel
9:00-noon - Class, right now a Renaissance art history course which is turning me steadily more Catholic
12:45 - Lunch at Locanda del Lupo
2:00-8:00 - Free time; exception: Weds. Italian class from 2:15-whenever Alessandro stops talking

All of this time is peppered with breaks and the occasional cappuccino (which I can make now!!!). The people on the program are all pretty motivated, and its a nice change to have a whole environment dedicated to a steady stream of events. I'm also beginning to learn the quirks of this place. For example, the best gelato in town can be found in the piazza of the Duomo and the park right down the street has a secret fig tree where you can go when you're hungry. I know there's lots more to discover and learn about this place, but for now I'm taking my time to do it. One of my favorite things to do so far is to go to the refectory and play the old, beaten down piano in there (seriously, the thing is SO out of tune); its not the greatest sounding thing in the world, but the acoustics are amazing and the whole fact that I'm in a monastery singing in a great room just makes the whole thing that much better.

Well, that's all for now. Classes are going moderately well, we only have one more week after this of the Renaissance class. The homework load is a lot though for something I don't care that much about; it's a great subject and its great to learn, but there is a part of me that just wants to save my energy for the poetry class......

One more thing: I'm so sorry about this, but I don't think the picture posts are going to be happening. The internet is sketchy as it is right now, and I don't think that an hour would be enough time to upload a few photos. You'll all just have to come visit me once I get home and I can tell you ALL about them!!!

Love!

Italy Post #8

2009-09-12T08:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Today has been the first restful day since I left my couch in Oakdale. It seems like every day has been loaded with something new and exciting, which in reality means that it has been entirely draining. And wonderful. But that’s beside the point.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m absolutely loving it here; I know this semester is exactly what I need, to figure things out, to get back to a good place in my life in general, to think. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But at the same time, I’m exhausted. I’m adjusting to a new way of life, new food, new friends, new routines and schedules, and an art history class that seems way too hefty to fit into 3 weeks. All of that on top of a schedule which looks like its had one to many plateful of pasta the way its spilling over its belt. The one thing consoling me at this point is that Matt, Christine (the RA) and Dr. Skillen are super-attentive. In a good way. They meet with me frequently about my symptoms, exhort me to tell them in what ways they could help and if I’m having any more problems. Dr. Skillen has even given me permission to miss a few classes if I’m having too many problems. The care they show me is something I’ve never experienced. They’ve also encouraged me to share my disease with all of the students at the meetings we have daily; I’ll be the first to share (we all have to do it). While the community here sometimes seems too small, its going to be great to have everyone know.

I stayed up late last night; Orvieto had something like a fair called “Shopping under the stars” where all of the shops stayed open later than usual and about 30 bands were dispersed all over the city in the various piazzas. So I woke up late today; we usually don’t have class on Fridays, but the rest of the group went to the scheduled activity for the day. It was hard to say no to a trip to Siena, but I decided for the first time in a long time to listen to my body. So I slept in. Then I got up and made a HUGE cappuccino for myself. It was great! The rest of the day went much the same way, some cleaning, some laundry, a lot of resting.

I think this is going to be one of my focuses for the semester: listening to myself. I often put my own body by the wayside for my own wants, whether that’s running the extra mile or laying on the couch for one more hour. I’ve trained myself to get what I want, not what I need. And then all of that stress and fatigue builds up until my body fails, just like it did this summer when I couldn’t walk. Or sit up. So I’m going to pay attention and do something good for myself - rest.

Italy Post #7

2009-09-10T08:54:00.001-07:00

Dear Readers,
I cried in earnest today. Not for the first time either, sadly. Its not that I don’t want to be here. Its not even that I’m homesick, although I do find myself missing Westmont. Or maybe just the community at Westmont. I’m disoriented by my place in this small group of people; I’m not the chapel band singer, the Writers’ corner tutor, or even the English major. It’s terrifying to stand on my own again, without any labels to back me up, no activities to prove my worth in this place. I’m finding it difficult not to refer to the things that I’m known for at Westmont, whether its chapel band or chamber singers; I can’t avoid these labels, but at the same time I want to distance myself from them, to be known just as Erika.

I posted earlier that I was surprised to see how close everyone was getting. I don’t regret that post, and I don’t want to make it seem untrue. I’ve made great friends here already, and I hope that in the end I will be friends with everyone here. Yet both my roommate and I have noticed that the Gordon people are starting to become a clique - they sit at the same table every meal, they include each other exclusively in their outings, they talk amongst themselves with no extra effort to include others. Its not frustrating because I’ve definitely found good friends among the people on this program, but it still gives me a lot of sadness.

Which leads directly into why I cried tonight. Its been so frustrating being here and having MS. At Westmont its not that big of a problem - if I’m having symptoms, I deal with them directly, whether that’s sleeping more, choosing my classes wisely, or even just walking a lot slower than everyone else. I can’t do that here. We all take class together at the same time, from 9-12. There are also a lot of trips involved, which usually include a rigorous amount of walking; its not quite ideal. While I’ve come to realize the drawbacks with this program, I’m also in a controlled community - there are 24 of us. Matt and Dr. Skillen want me to present my situation to the whole group (everyone has to do something like this, so its not weird); that would mean my entire community would have that knowledge of me. No more explaining, no more awkward absences - everyone would know.

But not only this medical concern has been on my mind - Dad has. I can’t help it - I worry. I worry that this trip was the wrong thing, that I’ll regret not having stayed home for the rest of my life (melodramatic yes, but still...), that I’ll be missing out on some precious time. I know life is tempermental and we have that enduring hope in the return of Jesus. But I still worry; I can’t help it. And I think that’s the thing that really hit home tonight - when I found out Dad was alright, all of those worries rushed to the surface of my mind, while before this time I had been restraining them in the interest of my own health and the trip.

So I bottled it in. I didn’t cry, I just went back to the sala and studied. Dinner came around; people gathered in groups and left for the Locanda del Lupo. I ran back to my room for a jacket and followed another Gordon student into sala to wait for any other stragglers who might still be around. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, the Gordon student got up and left for dinner without a word. And without me. I think that was when I really broke down. I realized that in this moment, in this culmination of emotion and sadness, I have no one around me who knows me, who could talk me through it and comfort me.

So what’s the rest of the story? I walked to the restaurant in tears, arrived on the brink of breaking down, and finally my friend Becky took me on a walk so I could regain composure. I ended up making it through dinner without another episode, then went to the duomo by myself and cried. And cried. Then I came back to the monastery and cried. I’m crying right now.

And I think its OK.

Italy Post #6

2009-09-06T08:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Its surprising how close I am to people already on this trip. Yes, there are people who came with good friends, and yes they do seem exclusive at times. Yet there is this sense of togetherness that our group has already embraced, a sense that we are all in the same situation. I feel comfortable talking with every person on this trip. Even though I gravitate to particular personalities, there is no one particularly intimidating.

We had our first chunk of free time today. There are so many things I want to do in this town that it was hard to decide on one, but I concluded that a relaxing walk to the park would fit the mood of the day the best. As I was walking out of the monastery, I came across a friend who was also going out; we decided to go to the park together. We talked for a couple hours; I couldn't think of a better way to spend an afternoon. The park was on the edge of the cliff (which really isn't very far anywhere you go here) and we sat on a bench overlooking the surrounding valleys and talked, talked about ourselves, our beliefs, our struggles, our hopes for the coming semester. I don't often feel recharged by people I don't know well, yet this long conversation gave me such an excitement about my time here in Italy. These people are my companions and my friends for the next 4 months. I think I'm starting off pretty well. :0)

Rome update: It was amazing and exciting and tiring and beautiful. The whole city is a collage between the ancient and the modern. Basically, it stunned me with its simplicity and its energy.

Italy Post #5

2009-09-04T08:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I’m learning each day how much there is to learn about Italy. And how much I don’t know. The past few days have been filled with long lessons about the people of Italy, the town of Orvieto, and Gordon’s place in it.

Italy is so much different than the states in both good and bad ways. People dress up (like, really dress up), they don’t have air conditioners in their homes, they eat carbs. A lot of carbs. Each day is like a new adventure into the culture of Orvieto.

I went on a walk this morning. I woke up at 5 and couldn’t get back to sleep, so at 6:30 as the sun was finally coming up over the hills, I stepped out of the iron gates of San Paolo to walk around the base of the cliffs of Orvieto. No one was out; I had the whole city to myself. As I made my descent from the cobblestone streets to the dirt path that wraps around the “tufa” stone that gives Orvieto its unique-ness, I encountered another culture in the rock and cement. Orvietans take care of the place they have been given, using modern technology to solve ancient problems. They inject cement into the soft rocks that are the base of the cliffs to make the city more stable. They chop down invasive trees to protect the view that the city provides. They create paths and walks around the city to further enrich the experience of living in Orvieto. Even the Duomo is being cleaned at the moment, a routine event that keeps the cathedral out of harm’s way. The city has found ways to work around its space issues, revering its medieval roots, yet not shunning technology.

Of course, the town isn’t perfect. And is there a possibility that I’ve romanticized it? More than a possibility, I’d say. But, I think that speaks for the time I’m having here. Each day is filled with a routine, but a routine that varies so much that it doesn’t feel old. I don’t think I could ever get used to the beauty of this place.

Off to Rome tomorrow!!!

Italy Post #4

2009-09-03T08:19:00.002-07:00

Dear Readers,
The purpose of this blog is to record the daily realizations that I come to, the small yet necessary decisions and revelatory epiphanies that make up my life. Italy has already shown me so much in the ways I need to change and the ways in which culture can organically shape a nation. While the experience has been disorienting, it has also shown me a side of humanity that I never would have seen before. I want to write about the changes I see in myself and the world around me, to record the most intimate details of my experiences and comment on the landscape and culture in which I live.

But I realize this is also a travel blog, at least for the next 4 months. Which means if you are reading this, you want to know what I’m doing. So this post is going to be an update. Ready for this? You may want to prepare a little, get a glass of water (or vino perhaps), bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies.....

OK, here we go: The past 48 hours have been filled. Filled to the brim, maybe a little bit overflowing if you asked me. But they have been amazing hours, each one filled with something more exciting than the last. We arrived in Rome at 8:30am. That was horrible. Seriously. I had actually dozed for about 2 hours on the plane ride over which was better than nothing and much better than a lot of other people had fared. Matt (our director) was there to pick us up and insisted on keeping us up as well to help with the jet lag. So we immediately got on the bus and traveled to Orvieto, playing cards and watching the grape vines and olive orchards fly by.

My first view of the town can only be described in one word: breathtaking. Although I don’t have a picture to show you (yet), I can tell you that the town is set on top of a cliff. The whole city rises from the plain, adding to the surreal-ness of this whole experience. The duomo (cathedral) is your first sight as it dominates the city with its vertical height and the incredible size of it. We drove up to the base of the city and walked our bags the rest of the way to the monastery which was a lot of physical exertion for so much sleep deprivation. After getting partially settled, we had a series of meetings and tours around the monastery and a small walk around town to orient us. Lunch was amazing - huge salads and endless bowls of home-made bread. Dinner was just as delicious, especially because it was followed with a trip to the gelateria. I think it hit me then that I was in Italy, as we sat on the steps of the duomo and enjoyed a true Italian treat.

I woke up today rested for the first time since I was in Oakdale. It felt wonderful to enjoy myself here; I guess it felt more like I was living in this town today. We started today off with a walk around the bottom of the cliffs of Orvieto, then made our way into the town and inspected the duomo for a while. All the while Matt would stop us and talk for a while, explaining the Italian way of life and the ways in which we should be exploring and questioning ourselves and the places we have lived. This was all summed up by a very intense walk up to the top of the bell tower which is the center of Orvieto and provides a completely panoramic view of the whole countryside. It was amazing. Lunch followed, with conversation among our group centering on the importance of art and theater in life. Then another meeting, and now, internet time.

This trip has been completely amazing so far. Even though its only been 2 days, I feel at home in this small town yet terribly out of place. I don't speak Italian. I don't understand the ways of life in this place. I don't feel comfortable as an American in this foreign place. But, I'm hoping this will gradually fade as I get more used to navigating the streets, speaking the language, and interacting with the town and the people. Matt and the other directors are doing an excellent job of integrating us into the town - for example, tonight we're having a get-together with the nuns who share this building with us, and tomorrow we're having families from around town host small groups of us in their homes. I also learned today that there is a church where we're encouraged to join the choir. I feel like I'm definitely going to be fitting in here sooner than I think.

Italy Post #3

2009-09-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
The past 24 hours has been a time of first impressions. A first impression can only carry you so far, yet in that small time span of measurement, calculation, and judgement you can make certain assumptions and predictions. The first person I met at the airport in DC was a girl from my program; her name is Jodi and I happened to bump into her. Over the next few hours, several of us accumulated into a mass of people. There were a lot of introductions, some hesitation, and certainly a willingness to get to know one another.

I mentioned in an earlier post the anxiety I felt over the strain of getting to know new people. There is a certain vulnerability in that situation. You have to put yourself out there, let people judge you on your presence (or lack of it), make sure you don’t misrepresent yourself. Little things like the way you eat your food or that small scar underneath your left eyebrow become the way in which you are perceived. It’s frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

I can’t say that I’ve had the best time so far in Orvieto, what with a 5 hour flight to DC then a 7 hour flight to Rome. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours straight right now, my eyes are slightly starting to cross and I feel like my head is filled with 5 extra pounds of weight. Meeting up with the entire group for the program was disorienting in itself, connecting with so many new people, trying to figure out their life stories, their situations, their goals for the program. My mind was stressing out just trying to figure out how the group dynamics would work. But we got ahold of ourselves as a group. Its only been 24 hours and I feel like I know this small collection of people intimately; we’ve all shared the same experience of traveling and playing cards on the bus, from hiking up the hill to the monastery with all of our luggage to the amazing salads we had for lunch. We are all united in the surreal-ness of the situation, the reality that we’re actually here walking the cobblestone streets. That might have partially come from the sleep deprivation though.

I remember telling one friend at Westmont that I didn’t think I was ready to go abroad until this year. As a senior I’m coming with more experience than most people in the group, but this experience comes with a sacrifice: one half of my last year at Westmont is taken. I can’t help wondering what it is like there at this very moment, if my friends are missing me, if chapel band and choir will be the same when I come back. I wish I could put the world on hold while I traveled. This trip is for me; its for my growth as a person academically, spiritually, but mainly socially. I don’t think I’ve ever had the confidence before to throw myself into a new situation, a strange environment where I would be uncomfortable and maybe even miserable. This trip is partially to tell myself that I can do this, I can live on my own and make new friends and experience new things all by myself.

Italy Post #2

2009-08-25T16:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I finally have my address! It is:

Erika Olson, Gordon College
Monastero San Paolo
Via Postierla, 20
05018 Orvieto (TR)
Italy

So here's the deal: you send me a letter and I will send you one back. There are many benefits to the situation. Not only are you sending me your love and support which I greatly appreciate, but there is also the fact that you also will receive a letter back from me (100% guarantee) which will have cool Italian postage and stamps on it which will in turn make you look and feel more awesome because someone cared enough to send you something from Italy. Sweet stellar action (this is for you Kelsey).

Please please please write me!

Italy Post #1

2009-08-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I never thought this time would come. I remember in February I would sit at the reference desk in the library, lonely and bored, and dream about being in the Italian countryside. I never thought I would make it to this time; my last semester at Westmont obscured any reality of the summer or even the next semester. I'm through that fog now. And I'm looking at an unfamiliar place, filled with unfamiliar people who speak an unfamiliar language. It's a bit daunting.

There is some part of me that wants to just be there at this very moment. I think its the uncertainty of this whole situation that is making me the most nervous. I don't know what to expect. I don't even know what really to bring and what to buy there (although there has been some help in that area, thanks Allyson!). I don't know what life will be like, if there will be a schedule and a routine, or if every day will be completely unpredictable. I'm hoping for the routine.

But, with only 9 days to go, I'm starting to become nervous and excited at the same time, like the two parts of my emotions are converging into this one jumpy feeling towards Italy that I hope will fade once I get there. I'll find out soon enough.

Lessons from today

2009-08-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

I retired my old pajamas today. Burning,
trashing and recycling all came to my mind
for the disposal of this old friend, but I decided
to keep them hidden away in the back recesses
of a drawer, among all the other worn-out refugees
from my past. Maybe, I thought, some day I'll

take them out when I have learned to sew from all
of the patched knees and ripped socks of my
future, when children tangle my legs and crying
becomes my alarm clock, when soccer practice
and ballet class become my schedule and dinner
time is the one moment of the day where

I can sit and watch the future unravel before
my eyes as the high chair is replaced with
a booster seat and I time my day with the
honk of the school bus and the swimming
lessons that come right after the last bell rings.
Maybe then I will go to that obscure drawer

and pull out the old brown moth-eaten pants
and think back on the time when life didn't
rise above me like floodwaters, where toys
never were a concern and the only responsibility
I had was my own.

Inheritance

2009-08-17T00:34:00.000-07:00

Grandpa Charlie, my mother would tell me, used the earth
as his trash can. I can see them now on those long
trips to Michigan in the power-blue '69 chevelle,

rushing past the saturated plains of golden
leaves and sky-blue lakes to a dingy
vacation trailer and a swarm of

relations. Smoke rose like incense
in that car, creating a carcinogenic fog
to accompany their entrance. I can still

see Grandma Helen sitting on the porch,
surrounded by a cloud of white exhaust.
We breathed in the same smoky haze,

the distinct perfume clinging to our
clothes with each expiration. She had the same
attitude about our world as she did back then.

But its now my world.
How could our generation not see
the signs of a burdened inheritance,

the reckless spending and waste
of the years gone by, a consumer
culture raised in terms of economics

and exchanges, not in responsibility?
How can we abandon this place, our
birthright, to become a wasteland? -to turn

our eyes from the only home we have
been given? When land is laid on the operation
table while men tear open the veins of the earth for his own

benefits, we have lost all right to an
inheritance. We have sold it to our younger
brother, for the meager price of a quick

satisfying pleasure.

The [Bucket?] List

2009-08-16T07:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I'm feeling old this morning. Not old in the sense that my bones creak when I stand; old in the sense that I've lost something which can't be regained. Being home is hard: I have conflicting interests here. I want to be the mature, sensible young woman that I know I am in Santa Barbara. Yet, I find sometimes that I revert to the teenager that once lived here. It haunts me sometimes; my mannerisms come back, my attitude changes and I can't get over the fact that I should have homework. Instead of my life spreading out before me, I see the walls closing in around me.

So, in lieu of this feeling, I've decided to create a list. A list of things I want to do before I die. And yes, I know that's (hopefully) a long ways off, but I also know that time stops for no one and I don't want to look back on my life one day and have one more dying wish that will remain unfulfilled. This list has a few things already covered; they've been marked by an x.

One last disclaimer: this list isn't complete. These are just the things I've wanted to do up until this very moment. Some dreams may drop off the list and others be added; some will take lots of time and might go unfulfilled.

Let's hope not though.

-Write a novel and have it published
-Sponsor a world vision child continuously
-Write a book of poetry and have it published
-Get a higher degree of education than a Bachelors
-Fall in love (this one is optional)
x Be published
-Sing in an opera (also optional, because unlikely)
-Go to an opera
-Go on a sailing trip
-Take a backpacking trip
-Go to the British museum/Llouve
-Decorate a home
x Be in a band/be recorded
-Continue to sing after I graduate
-Be completely surprised
-Visit the cathedrals of Europe
-Live in another country (Italy!)
-Learn another language
-Live all on my own
-Have a pet that's not a beta-fish
-Mentor someone
-Be mentored
-Live differently

-Not let my life pass me by

That which comes upon us in sudden moments

2009-08-11T08:58:00.001-07:00

-the instant realization that life is
fragile, the necessity of suffering and
joy in equilibrium - this is my study.

But I cannot focus. The light bursts into
the room where I wait, anxious at the prospect
of waiting for my mom to come out of the drug-
induced coma. Nothing stirs outside the

windows lining the waiting-room, the cars
even seem sullen for their tasks. The world
gasps. And yet my memory rifles through the
years, where moments become pages in

my memory, all that time wasted which stares me
in the face like an old crippled man.
The air shutters. And yet nothing
changes. Conversations bubble over the

room where we are all kept awaiting the
fate of a moment in time. Carmina Burana
marks my time spent here, creating a
musical limbo for my eyes. I close them.

And wait.

Poetry and God

2009-08-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
It's hard writing to poetry with any religious tint. Yes, references and allusions are acceptable and even can enrich poetry, but any poetry written directly to God seems old and out-dated, or even just simply over-played. The songs on the Christian radio stations sound all alike (although I can't make much more of an argument for pop music; they just focus on a different subject). Christian poetry isn't any different. We have the whole book of Psalms; how could you beat that? Then there's the fact that every writer of Christian poetry wants to slip into using the dozens of cliches that have developed over time. For example: "struggle", "wrestle", "joy", "peace", and "speaking to me" are all words or phrases that I have heard a thousand times. They have become meaningless sayings that people rely on to get their point across. My problem with them is that they don't convey what I'm trying to say, but they're easy to use and Christians react to them because they are similar to what everyone else says. Maybe its the fact that these words unite the whole Christian culture is why they are so popular.

One conversation about poetry that has impacted me was with the director of the Phoenix this year. I was asking her about the kind of poetry submitted; she said that a lot of it was directed as praise toward God. That surprised me, although maybe it shouldn't have. A Christian school should have tons of students writing poetry to praise God. The problem was, they were relying on the phrases and cliches that every Christian uses to explain their life, situations, and faith.

So I've decided to make my Christian poetry decidedly different. It may not be good, technically or creatively, but its an attempt to break away from the formed rhetoric of faith and to forge a new path ahead into the pagan culture that surrounds us. I don't want to forget my Christian roots, but I don't want to make them blatantly obvious. I think that my poetry is trying to be a meditation on the words that God has given us instead of a song to God, which is comforting to me since I think that faith should be based on the mind and not on emotions. Which is definitely hard for me, since I'm a feeeeeler.

Purpose

2009-08-06T11:03:00.000-07:00

Esther 4:14

White buildings burst from my spot
on the porch, covering the city in red
roofs and winter leaves. Peace surrounded
that place, where the Bible and hot tea

met like two long-lost siblings to convince
me to believe. Does everything happen for
a reason? If we hadn't been caught in this
fin-de-cycle of broken promises between the

faith of science and the matters of man, the
assurances of people who are only guessing,
maybe I could be convinced of certainty.
But I can not be. Thread is woven and becomes

unravelled, cycles of time turn in a widening
gyre. Hearing becomes hard. The written words
age over time, voices of the past become distant,
and still we wonder if there is a purpose to

all this madness.

The Sadness of the Soul

2009-07-25T04:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I always take sickness as a personal affront. Yes, it is an extremely intimate experience; at the moment my white blood cells are fighting off the virus that is making me feel like crap. I've always seen sickness as a good time for me to get some (usually) much-needed rest; its a good thing that forces me to slow down and take time for myself.

Maybe that's the irony of this situation: I've done nothing but rest all month. The fact is that my ms has just absolutely wrecked my body this past month. I went home in early July because my back had a nerve right under my right shoulder blade which was giving me a dull aching pain. I couldn't balance, which resulted in me barely being able to walk. This was helped along by the fact that my legs felt like lead. I lost all coordination in my right hand. I could barely walk, barely sit up, couldn't write. I lost all function, all way in which I could live a normal life.

So maybe right now I'm just a little angry about having to sit here sick. I've been sick long enough. I just want to live.

For the Love of God

2009-07-22T12:43:00.000-07:00

Matthew 22: 36-40

White buildings shot up from the
pavement, scraping the sky in an attempt
to challenge wind and earth with
their skeletons of steel. We walked

along the gray pavement, turning our
eyes from the Babel towers emblazoned
with the pagan designs of commercial
manufacturers. The heat rose from the

streets in waves of liquid light. She
must have been hot in those black
clothes, hair knotted in an act of
disobedience while the plastic crucifix

bounced against her chest as if it wanted
to break free. Just another street-walker,
begging for money. She told us she was
hungry, her own body odor making our stomachs

do somersaults. Those rotten teeth
made us wonder if a crunchy taco would
crack the fragile remnant of what once was
tiny white child's teeth. How did she make

it this far, begging for food or
working low-end jobs to gather a pitiful
sum to hoard and save in order to
live better than the animals which

she lives among now. A hug goodbye,
the purifying water that now can
wash me clean of her signature scent,
like so many others like her.

How could I forget the greatest
commandment, and the outpouring that
should come from a love of God which
shows us the despair of the uncleanly?

The Delicacy of Healing

2009-07-12T07:57:00.001-07:00

Dear Readers,
My mom is a huge proponent of miraculous healing. At least once a week while I'm having symptoms (which I have been for the past month) she sends me some kind of link or offer to go and "get healed". Usually these things are at revivals involving hundreds of charismatics who get taken by the spirit and do who knows what. I'm not quite a skeptic, but I'm definitely bordering the boundary. This isn't helped by my mom's insistence on the subject; sometimes I just want to be left alone with my disease. I feel like a healing should come from someone I know and trust, not as one of the hundreds who have come blindly with a hope of getting a fresh set of eyes, or a healed back.

I know that I don't put lots of stake in dreams, but sometimes they actually speak to me. In this dream I was back at Westmont for the summer; I wasn't in school, but they were having some kind of event that I was invited to on Kerwood lawn. My dad showed up in his workout clothes to embarrass me (this isn't TOO far off either). But, I think the most important part of the dream was me: in the middle of it, I looked down and noticed that there was a small hole in the middle of my chest with a delicate sprout growing out of it. It was kinda pretty, but I had this urge to pull it out at the same time. I asked my dad about it, and he said it was a disease I had to get rid of, but I had to be careful about how I took it out because I needed to remove the whole thing.

I often feel like my MS is a lot like this little plant. It gets worse and worse inside of me, yet I need to remove it delicately; I can't have someone else rip it from me. The fear of getting more symptoms will always be with me, but I can't just let someone I don't know lay hands on me and take this disease from me. It's my cross to bear until the Lord gives me someone to remove it from me.

2009-07-11T17:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I hate being considered a kid. In every church/workplace/family reunion/etc. that come along, older people have a hard time relating to me. It's like they have all made this assumption that I would rather talk to no one than to them. If I'm in a place with no other young adults I'm shoved into the "young" category all by myself, stuck in a place where I have the intelligence to reply, but am never asked to.

Right now I'm on the annual Olson family reunion. The two sides of my family combined create a continuum of ages. My twin sister is the youngest on my mom's side (oldest is 28, not tooo old) and I'm the oldest on my dad's side (youngest is 3). While Julie and I have each other, we get lonely being on the outskirts of the spectrum, either too old or young to want to/actually participate in what the others are doing. I'm barely 21 and still am not considered an adult at this family reunion, left to try to construct relationships with my 15 yr old cousins.

Which is why I'm getting used to making my own fun. Like this blog for example, is one of the activities that I can perfect in my free time. It's an exciting life.

2009-07-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I am a bad traveler. Not only do I get super stressed out by the process of packing/getting to the airport, I don't feel like the ratio of enjoyment on the trip outweighs the costs of actually getting to the vacation. I hate the box seats in airplanes, waiting in those endless lines to just get rid of that overpacked suitcase which contains way too many shirts and shorts for only a 7 day trip. The whole process seems worthless to me, and although I realize its necessary, I can't remove this bad feeling I get whenever I'm on the shuttle approaching the airport.

There's a part of me that doesn't want to admit this hatred of traveling; I feel like I should be cool enough to see the joy in an unexpected situation. It's taken me a long time to actually realize the regularity of my life. I ate bean soup at least 5 times a week for the whole month of May; I wear the same pjs every night; I get enjoyment out of watching the same movies and shows over and over again. There is a part of me that is scared to venture out into the unknown, to step out of my comfort zone and explore the world around me. Sometimes I'd much rather stay in bed....or at least in Oakdale.

Which is precisely why I'm so frightened to go to Italy: not only is there a new routine to get used to, but a new language! But in proportion to my fear of the unknown is a desire to explore outside the boundaries I've set for myself. I have an acquaintance who was raised to work; that's all he does. He has never traveled for fun....ever. And I fear turning into him. He has a lot of the same tendencies I do, but exaggerated because of a family that hasn't pushed him to step outside his routine. That is maybe one of my biggest fears: to miss out on an opportunity that would possibly be life changing.

Italy here I come!

The Dream

2009-07-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I was baptized at 11 days old. I left the same church at age 18. Before I came to Westmont, I hadn't ever had to make a new church family; it was built into my life. I knew everyone, especially since church attendance barely ever topped 100 people. The parties, the fundraisers, the music, even the functioning of the church service was held up by my family, and other people in the church had their own roles. Every family was vital.

I guess that is what I have missed the most about leaving my home church (which has fallen apart since I left home, thankfully not from my departure....). There has been no place in Santa Barbara that has replicated the family aspect of St. Matthias, nor has there been any church where I felt I could help. Reality is huge; Montecito Covenant has it all together; Ocean Hills has plenty of servers. There is no place where I am needed.

I had a dream last night that got me thinking about all of this. I was in church, singing a solo when a family came in that obviously didn't belong. There was a girl who was not dressed appropriately for church, who I had the impulse to make a connection with, and I remember going with her into the courtyard and giving her a massage while she cried. I woke up feeling like I had been meant to be in that situation, to help someone who felt out of place, maybe by even just being there to rub her back. That familiarity, that sensitivity and love is something that I have missed giving and receiving from churches in a long while.

The Fall

2009-06-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

I almost tripped and
fell
Into a life that wasn't
mine,

an era filled with
work
and endless hours of
sun.

That's not the life that I want to
live,
a place with no
hope

of returning to the past,
of returning to the present,
of carrying on to better
things.

My Future Husband

2009-06-20T18:41:00.001-07:00

Dear Readers,
I can't wait until I have a husband (if ever). Yes, I know what you're thinking (Kelsey!): "Why are you thinking about marriage, especially when you don't even have a boyfriend". Alternately, you could have thought: "You don't need a man in your life". And I believe you are right. In every respect, especially since I don't see a man in my future. But there is also something intrinsically imprinted within me that desires someone who is so close that I can tell them anything about me and they will respect it and value it and try within their power to make everything right. And I want that, that closeness and proximity that comes with a spouse.

And yes, I know its not a fairy tale, and I know that there are times when my (insubstantial) husband will not want to listen and vice versa. But there is some part of me that wants to let a person who loves me for all my faults and lackings come into my life and listen to all of the ways in which I fall to my faults and deal with my lackings.

I guess I'll have to settle for a cat. Or a very understanding roommate.

Why awkwardness is a detriment to society

2009-06-19T13:15:00.000-07:00

1. Awkwardness leaves no closure. You sit there and wonder what that comment could have meant, what the other person thought about that awkward silence, if you are friends or not, ect.

2. Awkwardness makes friendship hard. I could never be close with someone who is always awkward because it would stress me out a lot. There is point where awkwardness has to dissolve or the friendship won't catalyze.

3. Awkwardness leaves you in relationship nebulous. Are you friends? Are you not?

4. Awkwardness is a barrier to true conversation. It sucks it dry and leaves a bunch of long pauses in its wake.

5. Awkwardness always occurs with someone you would rather not be awkward with.

6. Awkwardness leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

7. Awkwardness is so traumatic, there are some people who resort to using useless hand signals to designate the awkward moment, thus aggravating the already awkward situation.

8. Awkwardness is why there can never be world peace.

9. Awkwardness is the reason I don't have a 4.0 gpa.

10. Awkwardness will never die. And that sucks.

Meh!

2009-06-18T15:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Sorry, but I just had to write about this. A guy who I want to get to know better just asked if I wanted to play volleyball later this afternoon. Poo! I can't!

Meh!

Oh well, I like to swim anyway, and I brought my suit and towel today so maybe I'll just take my time and lay out a little and read before I get into the water. That sounds good, especially after a long day of staring at a computer screen, trying to keep myself occupied....oops, phone! Got to run!

The Dilemma

2009-06-18T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I've been experiencing symptoms. Yes, I know, its horrible and I wish they would just go away, but I have to face the facts and just admit that my legs are numb and that I have a hard time just balancing when I stand, not to mention doing more athletic things like run! Meh!

I just feel so anchored down by this stupid disease. I remember being thankful when I got the diagnosis because it explained a lot of things, why I didn't feel energetic (ever) and my balance issues. But, this is getting more and more annoying. I have a huge weight on my shoulders of keeping stress down, which is totally stressing me out!

I want to go to Yosemite so badly, but I know that my desire to hike will remain unfulfilled - I'll have to sit at the campground and read. And I get paid for sitting and reading here already. I guess I just have a decision to make, but the stress of that is putting me off, so maybe I'll wait another day or two before I decide what the hell I'm going to do.

Sorry dear readers, this post was more of a rant than anything, but sometimes I just gotta let it all out.

Crystalization

2009-06-17T15:16:00.000-07:00

My newest poem:

How can you sit there
calmly
and talk on about the red wine you
spilled on my favorite purple shirt,

or the plants you have been growing
in the faded white boxes
that I have seen you clutch to your chest
as if they were your children?

I sit here, a wreck at the sight of your
messy hair and stained t-shirt that
wouldn't even be sold at a thrift store.
We gave you a name, a code that I

say lovingly whenever I'm pretending
that I'm angry at your constant presence,
and the way you saunter back into my
life like I was put on hold for you at

the grocery store. You don't know any of it,
the sleepless nights, the haunting dreams
where you are out of my reach
and glad to be there.

So I keep it inside, like a bottled memory of
coke that fizzes when opened.
And still I sit here, a nervous wreck, and wait for you
to reappear the next day with your

white boxes and stained shirt
so we can continue the conversation of
your project, and my love for you
that I can see slipping through my

fingers as the summer nights
grow colder and the sky gradually
fades into
night.

The Never-Ending Paper

2009-06-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
AHHHHH! I'm sure this has happened to everyone who has written a long essay - it just won't end! Unfortunately, due to a series of events beyond my control, I ended up taking an incomplete in one of my classes. While it was a God-send at the time (6 extra weeks to finish up any homework that I didn't complete in the semester), I have been plodding away at this essay, chipping away piece by piece, sentence by sentence the page limit. I have 8 pages; I need 10.

I don't think I've written a harder essay in my life. Hopefully I won't ever have to again.

2009-06-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
This is an unusual post for me. I decided when I started this blog that I would put out each post with a purpose, and this is what I have tried to accomplish with each post. Each has a resolution, a point on which I've focused or a note of hope to end on. Which is where I've differentiated in this post: I have no point, just a bunch of feelings wadded up inside me like a discarded rag.

I focus way too much on the past. I find this much easier than focusing on the future, because the future is an uncertain gray space in my mind; the past is vivid. I find myself going over things I could have done better in the past, those moments when I should have (or shouldn't have) said something, the things I wish I could erase and rewrite in my own colorful language. Then I find myself wishing I could rewrite myself. There are moments when I want to be the shy wallflower sitting in the corner or the first one to make an impression. I wish I had more imagination, less social restrains, and a bigger sense of my own impact on those around me.

So, no, I don't have a moral for this story; but I'm finding out that life doesn't have a moral to its story. So, that's the moral for today: no moral.

Poetry

2009-05-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

So a good friend of mine asked me about any recent poetry I have written, and this is the first poem that I have worked significantly on. At the moment I'm trying out new ways of poetry; while I emulate the poetry of Eavan Boland and Seamus Heaney, I want to see what different subjects and voices feel the best. I wrote this poem thinking about the 2 months I spent living on the Sea of Cortez on my uncle's boat. He cleverly named his boat "Odyssey", and I took this theme a bit further, especially in the last lines of the poem.

I guess you could say that this poetry is my attempt at being mysterious and ambiguous, but I really enjoyed writing the imagery in this poem (but maybe took it a little too far...?). Let me know what you think!

We Cut Through Waves of Glass

We cut through waves of glass, letting
the sprays of crystal liquid grow around the prow
like shimmering baby’s breath in the morning
light. The blue air rose from the water,

Biting our exposed skin, while the liquid velvet
underneath beckoned us into its silky

Depths. Dawn dispersed the siren’s cry
as the blushing clouds above us became
varnished in gold and the sea submitted
to the color of the sky.

The chains rattled in your hands,
groaning about their disturbance as rivers

poured down their caked sides, rumors of
lotus on their lips. We revolved around
the table, stringing coordinates and
compasses together to form a journey.

Do you remember it? The air blocked
our passage, the sea mirrored the deepest

fears of shadow, broken only by the
sound of waves across the water. You
found peace among that black liquid, a sweet
drowning in the silence; I lost you in that

instant, saw you fade away to only an echo.
The mountains tore the horizon.

The ocean swirled in circles around our
ship as we pierced through the glass to
make it home to a wife and son long
lost in the midst of all this.

[no title]

2009-01-28T00:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I have never written poetry before...that is, before tonight. I was hit with a moment of brilliance while I was at work tonight: I wanted to write a poem. Why? Well, my main motivation was to get it published of course! At Westmont there is an organization called "The Phoenix" that celebrates the fine arts by publishing/recording original works in the Westmont community. I thought it would be a great opportunity to see if I could get something published, so I wrote this poem for the event. Now, here is where you, my dearest readers, come into that equation: I want your feedback! So, either email me or comment on this blog how you liked the poem and if there is anything I should fix. Please keep in mind that it is due Jan. 30 (3 days away), so hurry with the feedback/suggestions/comments. PS, I also need a title.....

Fall reminds me of my home,
dead dry cracked skeletons hanging
lifeless from tree branches,
as if a sponge has gone and soaked
up all the moisture in the air.

Where I come from is hot and dry,
Barren hills of fruitless wheat
meet the eye in pure cascades.
They call it golden summer grass,
But I know better than that.

I would always wonder on
the winding roads and turns,
dodging trucks to Sacramento,
how long it takes to climb
those dehydrated hills of windblown weeds.

It didn’t seem so steep at first,
the peak barely scraping the sky.
I was confident then, my dad
more cautious of the climb.
Fractured land, taut and red,

Crumbled beneath my eager feet,
broken by gray bones, the stepping stones.
I reached the top in no time
at all, the earth below a sea
of gold. The hill swelled in

Seconds, piercing the cerulean sky.
“One foot in front of the other”
my dad would mutter: determination
made it to the top. Thorns and briars,
ticks and sticks all came home with us

That night, a membrane of memories...... (see below!)
that can’t be scrap-booked. Fall remains
in me. Dry weeds and atrophied
earth stay at home, waiting for my
return.

......(alternative ending) That night. The membrane of memories
converges and in an instance,
the golden sea swallows me whole.
Fall reminds me of my home,
the brittle leaves crackling under
my feet.

The Agony.....Or the Ecstasy?

2009-01-22T12:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
There is nothing like a good night's sleep. Yes, it is raining outside and I am trapped in the library right now, but I'm absolutely OK with that because of one thing: rest. Which is the reason I'm writing this: I'm in a good mood at the moment.

This semester has dragged on and on for me; all two weeks of it. Really, right now I just want to be off-campus, preferably in Italy (where I am applying to for the fall semester!).

I'm closing in on my third year here at Westmont. These years have been the most productive, stretching, and enjoyable years of my life; yet, there is still a part of me that wants to get away, to experience the world outside of Montecito. I really have nothing to complain about: my semester looks great this year, I have an amazing schedule, I'm involved in countless activities around campus, and I feel like I'm still learning at an exponential rate. But, for all of this, I want to leave. Its the strangest thing knowing you should love and appreciate the place you are at, but still long for a place far away. I don't want to go home; I want to go around the world, although not quite in 80 days.

So, what can I conclude? This semester is shaping up for me nicely so far, but there is still that longing, nagging feeling that I should be across the globe. Maybe I don't have a conclusion for myself: sometimes we have to live with the uncomfortable, to bask in the ambiguity, to wade into the unknown. And that is what I hope to accomplish this semester: become comfortable with the uncomfortable.

Sticks and Stones

2008-11-01T14:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I have a boulder hanging over my head. Actually, three of them. On the imaginary timeline of the semester which gives me a general scope of limits, there are three humongous projects due, all within the same week. Its terrifying to think that all this research and writing will have to be done by then, but I still find myself procrastinating. Why is that? I'm excited about the projects, want to research and discover, explore the possibilities. Yet, every time I'm at the computer I find myself slacking off instead of working. This isn't like me at all. Maybe I'm having an identity crisis.

I have a problem with the execution of plans. For example take two summers ago. I planned my whole summer out, created lists of exciting trips, daydreamed about the fun things I would fill my time with. Then what did I do? Lay on the couch the whole summer! There is something satisfying about making plans, tediously weaving the strands of time together in your head to form a picture of what could happen. But it never gets done. Plans like this help me get through the semester: I create a time for myself when I have nothing else to do but sit down and read a book or go out to coffee with a friend. But when the time comes around, I'm too lazy to actually get up and do it.

The good thing is, my friends, that I've realized the problem. No longer do I tell people that I would like to talk to them with no intention of ever following through with the action. I go on coffee dates, stop in the middle of homework to check up on my roommates, and drop by my friend's rooms just to say hi. Its tiring, annoying at some times, inconvenient at others, but most of all, its satisfying. I'm true to my word, and true to my work. I get things done! Yay for me!

Creature Comforts

2008-09-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I miss my Brit Lit book. Remember that thing? It looked like a large paperback brick, was about 3,500 pages long, and consumed my life for the past year. It was my baby. I carried it around everywhere, whether it was to coffee, the DC, or even all the way home on long weekends. It fit into my arm like a puzzle piece; it just felt right to have it by my side at all times. This attachment wasn't extraneous or delusional: I needed my Brit Lit book by me at all times. At every spare moment, I got a jump start on the reading that was due the next week. I wasn't overachieving; I was finishing the assignment the only way I could. It consumed my life, but this wasn't a bad thing. I enjoy reading with all of my heart; I love being able to say that I have read a certain passage or take a pity quote from an author.

I have found out this semester that there was a certain comfort in my Brit Lit book. It was so predictable. Every assignment consisted of reading (which could be found on the one page syllabus folded in between the pages of my book). There weren't multiple books to keep track of, no special papers or projects that were assigned. Every day we would take a quiz then have 2 hours of lecture. Every couple of weeks we would have a test. That was it: simplicity and elegance in a college course. But I've graduated since then to other English classes. More specified English classes, ones that you have to write papers for and give reports in. This scares me: it's not predictable! Every class has a different date for each project, each project has certain specifications, plus the regular reading that comes along with it. I'm going out of my mind trying to think of what is due in the next week that I get so overwhelmed by just those facts that I completely miss the regular homework assignments.

I haven't quite found a moral to the story yet. I'm still getting used to the different schedules and classes that are being thrown my way. I'm absolutely enjoying every minute of the classes I'm enrolled in, but they are a lot of work (though I think worth the effort). But the good thing is that I'm a junior still: I have a year and a half yet to figure it out.

The Seventh Day

2008-09-22T21:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
Its been a hard semester for me so far. Enjoyable, yes; relaxing, no. Rest has been a problem for me ever since I came back to Westmont. Of course, this problem did not just start inexplicably when I came to Santa Barbara; it has been building up in my daily routine for quite a while.
The root of the cause is that I don't find enjoyment in the things that I used to. My entire Ripon Christian experience consisted of basically two different mindsets. There was the hard work and dedication that I put into learning, as well as the time that I put into extracurriculars, musical and athletic. This was my 5-day work week, the time when the main amount of effort and exertion of my mind and body was poured out into those five days. I got a social, educational, and physical respite on the weekend: I would stay cooped up in our house, surfacing once or twice for a walk around the park or for church, maybe even a party once and a while. These days were wasted in electronic (yet ignorant nonetheless) bliss, eaten up by computer games and endless TV shows. This was how I relaxed, and it worked for me at the time. Sure, it wasn't the most wholesome or enriching use of my time, but it wasn't like I did that all the time; it was reserved for the weekends, something that I looked forward to, a goal that I worked towards.

I'm in college now. My world has been turned upside down; actually, more like bleared and smeared. My worlds have collided, to use a quote from Seinfeld. School and home are no longer separate entities to me. I no longer have the usual 8 hour school day with unlimited (OK, from 4-10pm) hours at home that I could fill my time with. My days are now filled with classes and commitments - I don't have spare time! Between 2 jobs, 3 classes, 4 singing groups, and 3 meals, I can't seem to find any time to take out of my schedule for the main purpose of relaxing. Not only this, but the times that I actually do have to relax are taken up with trying to figure out the best way for me to relax. I don't find the same enjoyment in the computer and the TV as I used to - to be honest, I'd much rather be reading a book. But the problem with this collision is that I'm afraid that my school work would interfere with my relaxation. Let me make this clear - I'm afraid that the reading I do for leisure will becomes confused and intermixed with the reading I have to do for my 2 English classes; bleared and smeared you might say.

Although this seems to be quite the paradox of a situation, don't depress yourselves gentle readers. I recently talked with a professor who offered me some sage advise: write. Therefore, I am going to be trying to take more time out of my schedule to do something which I love. And, thanks to this blog, you get to see the fruits of my labors. They might be short posts, they might be absurd or fragmented, and they might come at irregular intervals. But, know this my dear readers, you will be hearing more from me from now on. That I promise.

Windy Cities

2008-07-14T11:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
As I sit here in my comfortable living room, waiting for the day to start, I am faced with the fact that tomorrow I will be off for a very busy/exciting/fun week in Chicago. The anticipation for this week has been building ever since I actually went down to the Davids Bridal in Oxnard to be sized for the two weddings that I would be in. At the time, these two weddings seemed horribly far away, and the dress I was trying on had no meaning to me. They were both beautiful satin outfits, one black, on dark blue. It didn't really make sense that this dress would be only one of many purchased by several loved ones to represent their commitment to the two people who would be getting married.

To tell you the truth, I never thought this day would come. This day where I would be packed up, waiting for my mom to shower and lug her bags out to the car where my dad would take us to the airport. Chicago seemed like a distant dream. Of course, I had loved the time up until now, sitting in my English classes looking up bridesmaids dresses instead of studying, thinking of how much fun I would have at this event, the joy that I would have in seeing the faces that I have loved so much over the years. It truly is an exciting thing to be sitting on this couch at this moment, waiting for these things to happen, because for the first time they finally seem tangible. Tomorrow I will be in Chicago!

There's no place like Home

2008-06-09T14:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
I hang my head in shame that it has been so long since I have written. Let me tell you that it was not because I don't love you all, but in this past month I have horribly busy. You see, I stayed in Santa Barbara for a month longer than the rest of my fellow students for summer school. It was a bittersweet experience: I made some great friends, a few that I had never even met before, but I also had to take two horrible classes that I dreaded going to every day. Even though it was hard to say goodbye to my friends, I am glad to finally be at home even if it is only for a couple of days.
On Wednesday my mom and I head out for Iowa; we are going to go visit Julie and Erik. I'm not sure what we are going to do to entertain ourselves there for a week, but I will be bringing many books along just in case. When I get back from that, I'll have lots to keep my busy: camping trips, two weddings, organizing the DVDs, and of course reading. My friends and I have started a club called the "Finer Things Club"; we each picked out two books and we're going to have a rotating schedule to read and discuss these books every 2 weeks. I am very excited about this. Otherwise, my summer is looking pretty open, hopefully I'll have a lot of time to relax and catch up on some things. Peace out!

Martha, Martha, Martha!

2008-04-25T15:52:00.001-07:00

Hello Readers,
I know that it has been a long time since I've written; and this sentence is giving me the strange sense of deja vu. Hmmm. Well, on other matters, it has been quite a good year for me. I'm sad to see it go, it seems like time is a thread slipping through my fingers, going just faster and faster while I can see it spinning on. My last class was yesterday, my last and only final is on Monday. Then, only a short time passes (3 days) and I'll be back at school. Yes, I know, its a travesty, but it can't be helped. College choir is singing at the graduation and they need my voice. Sigh.

To share some better news with you, gentle reader, I auditioned for the musical being produced next year. It's called "The Secret Garden", you have probably heard of it, its a famous children's book/movie. Well, I got the audition results late last night: I'm Martha, Mary's chambermaid. It's a pretty big part and I get a couple of songs that I get to sing, so I'm really excited. It's actually the part that I hoped for. I also found out that I got a music scholarship yesterday, which just puts some more money in the bank. :0)

Well, I've got to start getting ready to go out tonight, its our last time at juvenile hall tonight and we're leaving at 7. Peace and love!

Even Though I Walk....

2008-04-06T21:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I know that it has been a long time since I have written. It has been quite a journey from my last blog post to this current one: more school, a choir tour, spring break, a trip to LA, all compacted within a little over 1 month. To give a little background to this next post, I need to inform you of some things that happened over spring break. After traveling 4 days around central California (where I got to see several friends and KiKi), I went back home with 2 friends for spring break. We planned to do many glorious things; a trip to San Francisco, a day lounging around the pool, journeying down to LA for a few days. It was going to be amazing, although this was before I happened to get horribly sick, which managed to incapacitate me for over 3 days of the break. Sadly, my friends traveled to LA without me but I managed to make it down the next day and was able to see them for the rest of the break. My point in telling you all this is that ever since coming back from break I don't feel quite the same. I wrote this note a few minutes ago and posted it on facebook for my friends, and I thought that I would share it with all of you as well. It describes my thoughts and feelings as I've tried to cope with feeling distant from others around me, as well as with my Father in heaven.

I feel like an eagle right now; soaring above the valleys of human life, I am exempt from having to encounter any of it. Alighting on a lonely mountain top, I can sit out of view while still going through the motions of life while not really experiencing any of it. Like walking through murky water, some things stand out while other things recede into the shadowy distance, all resisting me as I try to move forward in life. I find myself eating a lot of my meals alone by choice, perched in a corner table in an almost empty DC. I feel more comfortable there. Maybe it's the fact that it is almost summer; maybe it is the fact that I'm not getting enough sleep; maybe its just the sophomore slump finally hitting. All I know is that I don't crave human contact, which is strange because I've always enjoyed being around people. I'm not sure what to do with this new feeling, whether to ride it out or to force myself to be social. Maybe a little bit of both. Even though I've had some great times in the past couple of weeks, I find myself slipping back into this funk.

God seems distant too, as distant as the clouds above my head. I can't go up there and bring Him down to me, neither can I escape the fact that He is there watching me, guiding me. He just seems unreachable, ungraspable. Going through the book of Judges currently has got me down as well; maybe I should switch to something more encouraging - Romans perhaps? Sometimes I feel like I cry out to God, and all I can hear is my own voice echoing across the distance until it fades out entirely. But I still keep yelling until my voice is cracked and sore, until I have no more left in me. I feel utterly alone, forsaken by both God and man. And the problem is that I feel no concern about it. It's the feeling you get on your last final, when you know its going to be terribly hard and that this grade could make or break your GPA, but you still feel yourself avoiding studying, foolishly convincing yourself that you remember it all. I don't feel sick to my stomach; I feel empty. I don't crave human attention; I crave inner peace. And the worse thing is that I don't want to do anything about it; I want to lay on my back in the sun and stare into the sky.

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

2008-02-24T20:39:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers,

Well, I had my first celebrity citing of my time here at Santa Barbara. Coming to Westmont, I believed that I would be seeing famous people all over the place; after all, we have Ellen DeGeneres living on the street next to us! This, however, is not the case. Montecito is full of college students, middle-aged balding men, and moms driving huge shiny suburbans; this is contrary to my expectations of Santa Barbara before coming to Westmont. Ironically, it wasn't even in SB that I saw him, but after church at a little cafe called Jack's Bagels. I was standing in line, trying to decide what type of bagel I would like my eggs on, and all of my friends start going crazy. This went unnoticed by me for a while, as I was very wrapped up in the choice of my breakfast. Finally, my friend Vicki was kind enough to let me know that Jack Johnson was only a couple feet away from me. It was really cool seeing him, and even more awesome to come back and let everyone know that I had seen him in person. haha

The Sweetness of Friendship

2008-02-21T20:55:00.001-08:00

Hello Readers,

I baked the most delicious chocolate chip cookies this past Sunday. Rich, soft, buttery little treats, they were filled with not only chocolate chips but also butterscotch ones. Taking a huge bag back to college with me, I planned to ration them out, hiding half of them for myself while letting only a few choice friends share in the joy with me. My sentiments quickly changed however, when the word got out that I had some in my room. The amount in the bag quickly dropped, and many people expressed their thanks and praise.

Throughout this process, I realized something; although the cookies would have given me a temporary joy that only chocolate can give, this would have quickly died into feelings of regret. By giving the cookies away, I was able not only to lift other's people's spirits, but also my own. There is something irresistibly pleasing about seeing someone else enjoy a treat that you have given them. I ended up not only letting everyone take my cookies, but even went around with the bag, giving them to random people to lift up their day. Now, with a bag full of crumbs, I feel satisfied in the fact that everyone that matters to me here at Westmont got a homemade cookie, baked with love and given with joy.

The Ecstasy of Accomplishment

2008-02-11T20:41:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers,

I must first start out this entry with an apology, mostly to you my dear readers. In the hectic and sometimes stress-fraught schedule which I happen to call my life, I sometimes tend to get behind schedule on things. This past week was one of those times, when the work keeps on piling up, even though you are speeding your way through Romeo and Juliet while doing your chemistry homework. This is a period in everyone's life where the left and right lobes of the brain work together, pulling their weight often at the same time. And, dear readers, it is in this time that I could not tear myself away from all of the piles of homework that clutter up my desk to write you, my beloved friends. I hope that my apology is warmly taken.

Now, on to my accomplishment. It really was quite a feat, and because of this I am extremely proud of myself for the fact that I am finished. Let me explain myself. My major American authors class is taught by one of the best profs at Westmont. This is her last semester here, which is why I am in the class at the moment. The two hours every TTH that I have spent have been some of the most rich and fulfilling times in my life, the discussion and lectures are absolutely riveting. At the present we are finishing up Walden, and while this has been a struggle to read, the real test of our knowledge comes with our first big paper. That's right, 5-7 pages of carefully chosen words, thought-invoking ideas, and tedious editing. This paper has been said to equal a normal 10-12 page research paper in the amount of work that we should be putting into it. And guess what......I'm done! I just finished, and let me tell you, it is a masterpiece. I have explored every crevice of the chapter on Solitude, teased out the meanings of different words and ideas, dug deep into the rich soil that Thoreau planted his seeds of genius on. And I'm going to celebrate now by finishing up my other homework, which consists of the whole of Frankenstein and yet another short story by Edgar Allen Poe. But, before I did this, I decided to write you, my dear readers, because you matter to me. And I wanted a break from the work.

Busy Bees

2008-02-02T21:59:00.001-08:00

Hello Readers,

As you read this post, you may be thinking to yourselves, "why has there been a considerable gap of time in which there was no posting"? To answer this question, dear reader, I will describe the frenzied events of the past week, and maybe then you will be able to sympathize with my procrastination.

Being a sophomore in college, naturally my weeks are filled with an abundance of classes, tests, papers, and reading, which take up a considerable amount of my time. In addition to these regular appointments, I have other extracurriculars which eat up even more of my time. One of these was the chapel band recording session that happened on Monday. We just did the recording for our upcoming CD (I sing on 3 of the songs!), which took from 6 to 11 at night. I also have several juvenile hall meetings that go on throughout the week, whether is leading the worship at the Bible study that is on Monday nights, praying for the kids on Tuesday, or going there to play games with the kids on Fridays. On top of all these activities, I have been rushing around trying to get papers written and forms signed for my application to the Oregon Extension, which has been difficult.

So, you see dear reader, even though I love to keep you updated on the numerous thoughts running through my head, some things take priority. But, I will let you know, it does feel good to be back on the computer, releasing some of my thoughts for the first time all week. Right now I am feeling pretty lonely because all of my friends are attending a musical (Into the Woods) that I saw last week, so I am all by myself doing homework. Kind of sad, but at least I'm getting it done. I did have a pretty good week, even though it was busy. I was getting sick last Sunday (sick to stomach, runny nose, cough) but I got over it by Wednesday, which is a true miracle! yay! I also have been trying the whole week to get in touch with both Erik and Julie, both of who will not return my calls! Grrrrrrr.

In closing, I want to let all of you who actually read my blog that I really do appreciate you checking up on me and taking the time to read my thoughts. It means a lot to me.

PS, In response to my previous post, entitled Joy by Surprise, I am willing to address several complaints that I have gotten. I will not revoke the statements that I put out in that blog, though I must point out that they were not directed at any one in particular. I also must say that I have enjoyed the care packages that I had received so far. My point was mainly to inspire relatives to be a little more spontaneous (one way would be to send me a care package!).

Joy By Surprise

2008-01-24T19:24:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers,

This post comes in response to a conversation that I had with one of my dear relations only a couple of minutes ago. It seems that in my family we do not know the joy, nor the technique, of surprise. Now, in my limited experience, surprise can be one of the best experiences, whether it is a flower placed outside the door of a friend, a loved one taking the time to write you a little note, or a huge care-package that is filled with tons of goodies. Many of my close friends have received one of these packages, and I have also but from someone I wouldn't expect. This person was someone that I had once babysitted for and who I knew vaguely from youth group. It was a great joy to open up the box and discover many foil-wrapped baked goods, along with a little note explaining how she hoped that I would get through this semester. Not only did the snacks satisfy my appetite and get me away from the horrible DC food for a while, but this little gesture of love and kindness filled my day with joy.

What I'm really trying to get at is that there is no way that a college student can express the joy that he/she gets from receiving a little unexpected love from home. Not only does it make us happy for the week, but it reminds us that there are people at home who love and care about us. Now, I know that not all of us have the time to go around making care packages, but students realize this, which makes a care-package all that more special. Stuffed with necessities and goodies, this surprise that can easily be provided by parents is something that people like me dream about, and look forward to with anticipation.

Unfortunately, I have never received one from my parents. Nor my relatives (except Julie, who sent me a card once). Not only is this horribly disappointing for me, it makes me feel like no one at home cares enough about me to take the time to collect a few trinkets and snacks to surprise me with. And this fact makes me sad.

Yet there is hope in this - I still have more than 2 years of college left. So, repent of your sins and get those packages in the mail!!!

Tuesday Blues

2008-01-22T09:12:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers,

I am currently suffering with a horrible case of the Tuesday blues. That's right, the Tuesday Blues. Not only am I tired from getting way to little sleep last night because of a bad dream, it is also sprinkling outside, which really sets the mood for today. Actually, today should be a good day because I have my Monday class schedule today (don't ask me why they switched it for just today), which is much less of a work load than my Tuesday/Thursday class schedule. I only have one more class to go to today, other than college choir, where we just sit around and sing for an hour. So, I really should be happy. But for some reason, I have this horrible feeling in my stomach, like I have forgotten a huge paper to write or I have accidentally left the water running for the bath that I took two days ago. I've been racking my mind, trying to think of what I have forgotten, but really there is nothing. I did all of my work this weekend, with the help of the 3-day weekend that we had. Maybe it is that I haven't finished all of Walden yet, but that doesn't have to be done until next week. Then there's a paper that I wrote over the break, where I actually screwed up and wrote it about the wrong thing, but I know that the teacher will still take it because she only cares about whether it is well-written. But, still, there is this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that just won't go away.

The Perfect Morning

2008-01-19T12:16:00.001-08:00

Hello Readers,

I just wanted to update you all on the perfect morning that I have been having. It has been so picturesque, so perfect that it could be straight out of a movie. Now before you start laughing at my ridiculousness at this idea of "the perfect morning", let me explain to you exactly what happened.

All good mornings start with sleeping in. This is a prerequisite to having a good morning in the life of a college student. Now, some may argue that a good morning constitutes getting up early and, for example, watching the sun rise. I concede that this also may be a good way to pass a morning, but this is why I added the phrase "in the life of a college student". So, I woke up around 10am this morning, feeling rested and ready to start the day. After doing my regular hygiene routine, I ripped the sheets of my bed and headed downstairs to the laundry room. Although you may say that this looks like the start of a regular day (aka, doing work), this is a big step for me. I only washed my sheets 2 times last semester (yes, I also cringe at that number, yet it is, sadly, true). I am determined to be better at that this semester. Anyways, back to the story. Next I made myself a steaming hot cup of English breakfast tea, supplemented by generous doses of milk and honey, and taking my Norton Anthology of English Literature, I leisurely strolled down to the lounge and read William Coleridge for the next hour. This was really the best part of my morning. It felt freeing, yet good because this is part of my homework.

The rest really isn't that interesting. I took a shower, got my sheets and put them back on my bed. There's something about the smell of newly washed linens that lifts my spirits. Now, for the rest of the day, I will be doing various tasks which involve shopping for tights (I'm going to a Pinkus Zuckerman concert next week), spending my gift certificate to Macys, and watching another movie with my friends tonight.

I'm predicting that today will be a good day.

Twenty Two

2008-01-17T23:03:00.000-08:00

Hello Gentle Readers,

This is the way in which my super-cool, soft-spoken English teacher addresses us, the class, in her emails to us. So, I thought that I would update you on that first of all, and secondly to give credit to her for that fine phrase so I don't get charged with plagiarism with what is only my third attempt at blogging. Anyways, I digress

Twenty two. The importance of this number is indicated/implied by the title of this blog. Why twenty two, you may ask yourselves? What is the reason for this obscure number taking the title of one of the infinite pages of cyberspace that chronicles the thoughts, ideas, and daily life of a college student? I'll tell you why! Because that is how many profile views I have already! Twenty two! Actually, I prefer to write it out 22 because I think it looks bigger. This useful little tool on the side of my dashboard (tech speak for how I view and manage my own profile) tells me how to measure myself against other bloggers by telling me the exact number of people who have visited my page. The worst thing about it is that I keep telling myself that this is just a number, yet I find myself wanting that number to go up.....a lot.

Not that these things matter much to my life at all, but I would like all of your readers to keep updated on my daily life, which I should actually start updating you on. I'm currently quite excited about tomorrow, since I don't have my normal 8o'clock early-bird-special class so that means that I get to sleep in until 9. Yessss. Even though I know that it isn't very late to sleep in, the thought of not having to wake up early and go listen to Mozart is bliss. Plus, since Martin Luther King's holiday is on Monday, I also get that off!

Now, on the downside, I have 150 pages of reading in only 1 class! 150! Plus an extra 80 pages in my British literature class. Then an essay where I have to stare at an inanimate object for 30 minutes and write down only what I see (if you have any suggestions on what I should stare at, please post them on this blog!). Wow, I'm getting tired just thinking about it. I should probably go to bed too, speaking of tired. OK, I'm off to count sheep, but please before you go to bed tonight, think of me. Pity me. Pray for me. And, most of all, thank God that you aren't the one that has to stress out over some dead person wrote 100 years ago.

In the beginning...

2008-01-16T22:45:00.000-08:00

Hi peeps,

Wow, my first blog post ever! This is certainly a monumental moment in the history of my life, as was my first wall post on facebook or the first time that I sent a text message. And, even though I resist these technological changes to my lifestyle, they keep on creeping in, and finally getting me addicted like the rest of America to the worthless desire that everyone in America wants to know my thoughts. But, seriously, this blog is for the few people I tell about it, unless my writing style is much better than I think it is and this blog becomes wildly popular. Then, I may have to pay a little more attention to my grammar.

Anyways, it is 10:49 right now in Santa Barbara and I should be heading to bed shortly, but I was in a literary mood, having read several different renowned authors in the past couple of hours, and wanted to make my crude, yet heartfelt contribution. I have my hardest day coming up tomorrow and I just want it to be over with already. Selecting classes last semester, I truly thought that it would be "fun" to have two two-hour-long English classes back to back every TTH. Not the case, as I am quickly finding out. Although, I am not quite brimming with teenage angst, I fear that it may get to the point in the semester where it comes to collapsing on the floor in tears after realizing that your computer, containing the 6 page paper you spent a month working on, has crashed and you are now hopelessly doomed. This is real life Tragedy (take that Romeo and Juliette!).

Even though I should be going to bed shortly, I will make this one promise to my faithful, yet few devotees (a coterie following, if you will have it): that I will try and keep this blog up as best as I can. I can't promise that my life and thoughts will be interesting, thought-provoking, or even just entertaining, but I can assure you that I will devote myself as best as I can to posting them on this obscure little page among the masses. And, please, tell me your harshest critiques. As an aspiring English major, I should be able to take them, or at least cry myself to sleep and learn from them years down the road. OK, enough of being morbid, goodnight my fair readers, I will be updating you shortly. Amen and goodnight!