good news!

I’d like to start this post by resolutely stating that there are few things better at 8:45 pm than a nice big bowl of Fruit Loops.

(Unless that thing is this little-understood concept called “self control.”)

Oops.  Out of cereal.  BRB…

Ah.  That’s better.  Onward.

Now that you’re all hungry for sugary children’s cereal…

Good news has hit the Lawlii household.  You may find it odd, given that I’ve just typed five sentences about little rings of high fructose corn syrup saturated with artificial color, rings that leave the roof of your mouth raw – but I received a scholarship to a weeklong writing conference a few days ago.  It came completely out of the blue — my Spiritual Autobiography prof wrote me and said, hey, there’s this scholarship available for this conference, and the school will pay your room and board, so if you’re interested…

Um, yes please!  I had checked out different writing retreats and conferences before, but they were out of reach — at times in terms of cost, and other times in terms of how long they are (some are a month or longer).  The thought of actually being able to go raised my heart rate up quick!

A few conversations (with Justin, then my new boss) later, I was signed up to go the third week in July.  As if I didn’t already have enough reason to be thankful for my new job, the doc said to me, “Well, of course you have to go.  I’m not naive.  I know this job is a stopping off place for you, not the end goal.  If I can help you get toward things that will get you closer to that end-goal, then I want to do that.”  Seriously, she’s amazing.  It’s nice to be appreciated.

I’ll be doing a creative nonfiction workshop every morning, workshops in different genres in the afternoons, spending time alone for some free writes, and then going to readings by faculty and guests in the evening.  For a week: eat, breathe, speak, sleep writing.  With other writers.  Who hopefully won’t mind that I’m a baby writer, just a wittle guy.  Writing, writing, writing. 

For months and years to come, I’ll be chirping, “This one time, at writing camp…”  Oh dear.

The only drawback is it will be the first time Justin and I have spent a night apart, which, to be honest, was something I had to consider for a moment before good sense overcame me and I said I’d go.  I’m a light sleeper, so I haven’t exactly gotten great sleep ever since we were married, but I have a suspicion I’ll sleep horribly on my own that week in my sparse little dorm room, too.  That’s the way it goes, I guess.  I’m just thankful Justin was so supportive.  He was up at Western’s campus working on a group project when I texted him the news.  “You write her back and tell her you’re in,” he said.  “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

He’s kind of incredible like that. 

I’m going to miss him like crazy.

It occurs to me: this may be even harder than letting him go to the grocery store without me.

I’m not going to think about that now.

More Fruit Loops, stat!  (Just kidding.  Probably).

golf? really?

Julie: “Wait a minute, you’re telling me you have your own set of golf clubs?” she says, fighting disbelief.  I detect the slightest traces of a snicker in that sweet little voice of hers.

Me: “Yep.  They’re baby blue.”

Julie: “I have your permission to give you a hard time about this, right?”  What she good-naturedly means but does not say is, “I know you’re trying to be a supportive wife and all, but golf?  Now you’ve officially gone off the reservation.”

Yes, friends, I went golfing for the first time on Thursday night.  I was speaking with an acquaintance at work and told her that Justin was resuming golf now that the weather was finally starting to appear almost June-like, but that he kept on having a hard time scheduling with his buddy.  “Well, you should totally just head out there and play, too,” Pamela said. 

I mentioned this conversation to Justin when we were out to lunch later that day, and his eyes took on a shine the way they do when I say something like, “Man! When is it going to be football season again?” or, “Sure, grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good for lunch.”  “Play another game of DOTA.  You’ve earned it.”

(Ok, so actually I don’t really say that last thing very often, or ever, but you get the idea.)

We stopped by Play It Again Sports on the way home from lunch, bought a beginner’s set of clubs (did I mention they’re baby blue?), and set a tee time for later in the evening.  How hard could it be? I reasoned.  You wear awful pants, bend over, stick your ass out, and hit the white ball.  Done and done.

Like this guy:

Justin took me over to a little side area with a net where folks can get warmed up and practice.  A few swings into this whole brouhaha, I realize: there may be a little more to this game than I’d previously believed.

Already feeling self-consciousness rising within me to approximately the level of my throat, I trek on over to the first hole.  My golf bag is fashioned to hang from my shoulders kind of like a backpack, but it keeps me a little off-balance and the way the clubs clink with every step feels noisy on the quiet course.  This is one of those moments I’m going to make a complete and utter fool of myself.

We’re just about to tee off when we hear a voice come over the loudspeaker.  To me it sounds just like the “Wah wah wah waaah wa wah” from Charlie Brown, but my husband determines we should wait — we have two people joining us.

“What?” I ask Justin, my voice rising a few octaves instantly.  Oh, crap.  Witnesses to this disaster?

Two gentlemen in their fifties join us on the green.  That awkward feeling rises approximately to the level of my eyeballs.  But we all shake hands and introduce ourselves, we explain this is my first time, and Stan and Beau smile to welcome me.

It could be that had we golfed with cold, rather snarky people, it could have ruined the experience for me forever.  (By the way, don’t you just love that word “snarky”?  I do).  But these guys were cool and laid back and extremely helpful.  For instance – Stan, after watching a rather impressive run of me swinging eight times without hitting the ball, decided to have mercy on my soul and take some action.  He had me line up my swing.  Then he stood in front of me and placed his hand on my head.  “Okay.  I’m going to hold your head down while you swing, alright?” 

It’s been a while since someone I’ve been acquainted with less than half an hour has grabbed me by the top of my head, but as Justin didn’t appear alarmed, I kept my cool.  Amazingly, I didn’t hit Stan’s shins, but the golf ball.  (I’m going to patent a product for beginning golfers that pretty much just involves a dude in his fifties who will stand in front of you and hold your head down while you swing.  You see, that’s what you have to do. You have to use your mind and come up with some really great idea like that and you never have to work again!).

It certainly was one of the worst rounds of golf Raspberry Ridge has ever seen, but I did hit the ball less-than-obscenely a couple times, and even managed a Tiger Woods fist pump a time or two, just for grins.  I’ve had muscles hurt the last few days that I wasn’t aware I had, but I’m sufficiently recovered enough to head out to the driving range this afternoon for some more punishment.

Ah, the things we do for love.  Like see The Incredible Hulk in the theater.

Side note: I really hate CGI characters other than Gollum.  It’s been completely downhill ever since then.

Next time: join me for a rousing tale of my forays into the exciting game that is Warcraft 3.

(Then again, maybe not.  A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere).

a new member of the Lawlii family

No, not that kind of family member.  That’s a few years off hopefully.

We have a piano in our home again… and I am in heaven.

 

Greta, the woman who I took over for as receptionist (she’s having a baby any day now), wanted to get rid of her digital piano.  This is the only piano I can have right now in a third story apartment, and the price was right, so we drove out a few weeks ago, popped it in the back of our Vibe wagon (miracle), and drove it home. 

Ninety pounds was hard enough to get up three flights of stairs… I couldn’t imagine a real piano.

The notes still come rather slow to my rusty fingers, but I’m reading music better and better all the time.  Not having had a piano in my home for most of the last 10 years, I didn’t know how much I’d missed it.  Being able to play on a regular basis again — it’s near-bliss. 

Yay for having a music corner in our office!

I’m sure some of you at least are familiar with the soundtrack from the new Pride and Prejudice — I’m working at learning that (and whatever Regina Spektor I can get my hands on).  We played one of the P&P themes as I walked down the aisle at our wedding, so it’s even more enjoyable because of that significance.

Speaking of which, it’s calling to me now… getting prepped for finals can wait…

summer is so close

I can taste it. 

Well, kind of.  The weather here has been and will continue to be crap — outside it looks more like March than June.  All week my shoes and pantlegs have been soaked by the time I walk from Red Square to our car. 

But we had our last day of classes today, and the last of my work will be turned in Tuesday.

I’m anticipating A) reading sheerly for enjoyment’s sake, and B) getting a chance to put words together totally unattached to assigned work, having time to play with what I learned.

Against all odds, and thanks mainly to the power of my buddy Caffeine, I finished my spiritual autobiography piece in the wee morning hours.  (Years have passed since I experienced the delirium that is hitting the wall at 10 pm, downing a few more cups of coffee and pressing through another three hours, and I’m proud to know I’m still capable of it when necessary.)  The piece is still rough in places and no doubt will see tons of revisions over the months to come, but if any are interested and would like to provide feedback, send me an email and I’ll shoot it on out to you. 

It may be that the cover is out ahead of the quality of the actual piece — but I like where the words are on their way to, and that’s a hell of a good start.

poems, etc.

Something that caught my notice today in class:

On subjects of which we know nothing, we both believe and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.  –Emily Dickinson

And this, a portion of a poem from a visiting professor that I found deeply moving, for reasons I’m not quite sure of:

Oh, Holy-of-Unholies, I followed the detailed
inset map of You
but could never find the juncture
from it to the vague, rumpled,
folded and refolded, surrounding small-scale map that leads

someplace real.

–Bruce Beasley 

yup, that’s about right.

No kidding.

new job (no blood!)

I need to change my about me blurb to no longer say “poker of fingers, wearer of scrubs.” 

This is an awesome development!  (Although I miss many of my fellow peons at the plasma center very much).

It’s quite strange, really.  Out of habit, I still turn out of our apartment complex in the direction of the old job.  It all happened pretty fast.  One week, I was almost done with my phlebotomist (translation: wielder of needles) training, and the next, I was hunting Craigslist for job openings.  One week I was throwing on scrubs each morning, the next I was (gasp!) having to iron clothes.

Before spring quarter began, I checked my schedule with a supervisor to make sure this new Tuesday-Thursday classes thing would work.  It was all good in the hood, they’d just need me to be flexible occasionally when people were on vacation, etc.  Done and done.

Well, then that supervisor quit, along with about 8 other people that month.  A mass exodus of sorts.  Oops.

My schedule went a little nuts, which I expected because I knew we were short-staffed, but when I asked about when my schedule would go back to normal after the new hires were up and running, I was told by a supervisor, “We’ve decided not to work that hard around student schedules anymore.  We figure we’re doing you a favor by letting you work here while you’re in school.”

Um.

Okay, here’s my two week notice.  Peace!

Justin and Chris really wanted me to compose my two-week notice in sonnet form, since we were doing sonnets that week in poetry class, and I did write one (entitled “Damn the Man!”), along with a few haiku (haikus?  What’s the plural?).  I just couldn’t go through with turning it in.  It would have made a great story, kind of like when Chris told his boss he was quitting to go play Madden, which had just come out… but guess I lack conviction.  That, and the boss I had to turn it into was actually a pretty nice guy.

During the last two weeks, there were several moments I thought, “I could keep doing this,” but around the time of my fifth one-day-weekend in a row, I was exhausted and glad to be done.

Now that I’m working my new job, I wonder what took me so long to search out something that fit me better.  I’m now a receptionist at a chiropractic/massage clinic, and it’s wonderful.  A laid-back boss.  A calm environment.  My own desk.  A sensible schedule.  Free chiro and massages every few weeks.  What’s not to like?

(Not to mention, Justin has a wife who’s a little saner, and dinners that consist of frozen junk a little less often).

Yay me!

A haven from my unbelief

I’ve been sitting in front of my computer for an hour or two tonight, staring yet again at a white screen and blinking cursor.  I’m supposed to be writing a 12-18 page essay regarding some aspect of my spiritual experience.

***

Why is it that I’m always called upon to say the most about something when I feel I have so little to say?  I’m not really even sure anymore how I came to be here, but here I am.  The details feel foggy.  Kind of like when you see someone on a talk show, and they’re asked about why they haven’t spoken to a family member in 10 years.  They would be hard pressed to remember what it was that ever drove them apart, what it was that started that ridiculous argument, but as soon as the anger receded, awkwardness took over rather heartily.  They never quite found the words to begin the relationship anew.

I’m like that lady trying to remember why she hasn’t spoken to her sister in a decade, except that in my own case I’m trying to remember why I can’t sit five minutes in a church without utter regret at having walked in the door.

Julie and I talk about it sometimes.  She says that where usually I’m so full of sure words, here I become halted, fumbling.  She’s so patient with me while I alternate between rambling and crying, badly attempting to put words to my thoughts.  The best thing she’s ever said to me: “I’m not worried about you.  You haven’t disappointed me here.  Believe it or not, you’re in a great place, an honest one.”

Gulp.  Honesty honestly feels like a bit more than I’ve got in me most days.  It’s too hard to remain vulnerable very long.  Too raw.

***

The internet being my favorite distraction from that nagging cursor, I surfed for a while.  It’s been so long since I’ve really been in church that I can’t really say what it is that’s hard for me.  So, I went back to my old intern stomping grounds (rather, my old stomping grounds’ website) and listened to some sermons.

Listened to about five minutes worth, anyway.  I can’t go too long without having the same gut reaction that I have, say, to watching Jesus Camp.  It’s not that people have inherently bad intentions.  On the contrary, their intentions are for good.  It’s just all too familiar, and yet, so unfamiliar after these years away. 

In kind of a “help!” moment I wrote Dan and asked him to tell me what it was like for him during the season he was away from church world before re-entering ministry.  (I’m kind of open to whatever thoughts people who have walked there can offer, by the way). 

I’m just wondering what you did during those years away from church to keep your faith alive, if anything.  I know you and Julie think this is a great place for me to be faith-wise because I’m asking so many questions and trying to do this thing for myself, but the truth is, I feel pretty lonely and wonder if I’m just totally off my rocker to be wondering the things I do about how to “live for Jesus.”  Even saying those words feels awkward and horrible.

I think the tears started to trickle right around this point.  Just around the moment I finished up my email, this song came on my Pandora, and while it may be complete coincidence, it still moved me in a way that I haven’t been moved in a long time.  Two minutes later, I bought it on I-tunes and it’s been on repeat ever since.  Alison Krauss sings:

A LIVING PRAYER

In this world I walk alone
With no place to call my home
But there’s one who holds my hand
The rugged road through barren lands
The way is dark, the road is steep
But He’s become my eyes to see
The strength to climb, my griefs to bear
The Savior lives inside me there

 In Your love I find release
A haven from my unbelief
Take my life and let me be
A living prayer, my God to Thee

In these trials of life I find
Another voice inside my mind
He comforts me and bids me live
Inside the love the Father gives

In Your love I find release
A haven from my unbelief
Take my life and let me be
A living prayer, my God to Thee

Take my life and let me be
A living prayer, my God to Thee

***

In her sweet voice, the words seemed to say:  It’s dark sometimes.  It’s lonely often.  And unbelief shows up for some of us far more often than moments of certainty.  Still, we offer what we can of ourselves, knowing it’s not enough – knowing, somehow, it might yet be.

For me, tonight, it’s enough.

yes, this really happened…

At the Starbucks I used to work for.  Imagine!

Remember the difference between your gas and the brakes, people!

http://www.bellinghamherald.com/103/story/402467.html

Animoto.com

fun with videos…

Animoto.com