To everything there is a birth, and a death

May Saint John the Wonderworker pray for us all. We are in need of a miracle.

As of March 31, 2011, those of us who have made the Live-In community at Raphael House our home and mission will be... homeless.  The management and the board have decided that our Live-in/volunteer model is outdated, an old-fashioned model of service which has no place in the 21st century. 

On Monday morning, we gathered at 6:45 to begin preparations for the Santa Lucia procession around Raphael House. Each year, on the darkest and shortest day, "Santa Lucia" dons a wreathed crown of candles, a gown of white, and moves through the house to light the way for those still sleeping. She brings breakfast for sleepy-eyed dreamers, and walks to the quiet song of her followers. 

Santa Lucia is a light in the shadows, a reminder of the hope that will overcome the darkness.

Pray for us, and pray for the families at the shelter. May Santa Lucia guide our way.

There is snow in the house

It has been officially the Christmas season since five minutes after Thanksgiving dinner was over; however, I had yet to properly acknowledge the fact on this blog.

Now I have:

First time ever to have a "2-3 foot" tree. In the corner. It's magnificent. 

I also painted paper mache eggs to look like penguins

Zak and I have gone from this:

to this:

They all said marriage would make you round. At least we are tastefully decorated.

Merry Christmas season. Make it a good one

I have a new appreciation for power steering

Part 1: Weightlifting

Although the gaslight has been blinking for a full day, I thought I had more time. I always think I have more time.

When I started the car this morning, I was five minutes late. About five blocks from work, the car began to stutter, as if it didn't want to keep going forward but did anyway under the tyranny of my foot.

I decided it was time to get gasoline.

I pulled toward the Chevron on the corner. The only driveway into the station was under construction, so I decided to go around the block. I directed my car into the righthand turn lane.

My car turned itself off. In the middle of the intersection.

And then it started raining.

I was two blocks from work.

I tried to start it again a couple times, convinced that my car had made a mistake, and that it wasn't all the way out of gasoline. No luck. I turned on my hazards and put my head on the wheel, waiting for inspiration, or a miracle.

When neither showed up, I decided to accept my fate. I put the car in neutral, got out of the car--in my new, high-heeled boots and skinny pencil skirt--and started to push.

I didn't consider the fact that once I pushed the car through the intersection and onto the nearest side street, the downhill would make the car pick up momentum. As it sped up, I jumped into the driver's seat and slammed on the brakes, just short of knocking into the parked car in front of me.

I went to my first hour of work, certain I was going to walk back out to my car and find a $55 ticket slapped on the windshield, due to the fact that I had managed to wedge my car into the only "Out-of-Order" meter in the neighborhood. Finally, I ran to the meter, half an hour after I should have already gotten the ticket, and found my car ticket-free.


Part Two: Flammable liquids

Since, as I said, the Chevron station was literally 75 meters from where my car had died, I thought it would be fairly simple to walk to the station, get gasoline, and be on my way.

The station worker made me buy a $14 gas holder, when he could have perfectly well lent me one, and did not show me how to use it. I stood in the parking lot of the station, trying to read the instructions, people staring, until I finally managed to direct the treasured liquid in my dinky plastic container.

I walked back to my car holding a bright red tank that might as well have shouted "Look at me! I'm for dummies who let their cars run out!"

And the top was screwed crooked. When I began to "insert gas into tank", the whole thing popped off and half my gallon of gasoline spilled out, across my new boots, and onto the side of my car and the asphalt beneath.

Awesome.

I managed to get a portion of the red tank into the car. I tried to start it. Fail.

I walked back, head hanging, to get more gas.



Part Three: Someone Helps

Yes. It took till part three to get to 'someone helps'.

As I previously mentioned, some construction was going on at the first driveway. The men working at the site were about to go on brake, noticed the distress on my face, and asked if I needed any help. I told them that I put gas in my car, but it would not start. I also mentioned that half of it was now on my hands and on the ground.

They decided they would push my car to a flat space so that I could at least start it. Apparently hills make a difference when you have drained your car.

We put my car in neutral again, and while I steered, they pushed me backwards (uphill) back into the intersection, backwards down the street, and into the Chevron station.

We all cheered when it finally started. I was so relieved, I almost drove off without refilling the tank.

My hilarious sister has begun a blog. You should follow it. It's good for your health.


Doctor's offices cause anxiety meltdown in my irrational brain. For any regular occasion I would never cross their threshold. Sore throat? Suck it up. Nausea? It'll pass. Amputated fingertip? Flesh wound.

Unfortunately, after a lengthy bout of a bizarre, painful ailment which will remain unnamed for the purposes of this conversation, I resorted to the unthinkable. I visited the Dr's office yesterday. This was only because I was convinced I was about to die. I was afraid to sleep because I might wake up dead. I was afraid to eat because it might feed the minions. So I did it. I went to the clinic.

The nurse: "So what seems to be the problem?"
Me: *stares blankly*


Then: "I think I'm dying."
Nurse: "Alright. Let's check your vitals."

She proceeded to load me up with a plastic thermometer under my tongue, a blood pressure cuff, and a clip thing on my fingertip which apparently, through some unseen magic, took my pulse.

My resting heart rate read 102bpm.

She made a concerned face.  "Hm. Your pulse is a little high."
Of course it's a little high. I'm in a doctor's office. Doctors are morons. I am surrounded by idiots, who through some sick and twisted turn of fate, have been entrusted with my life.

Nurse: "Maybe I'll check it again after the appointment?"
I thought, You mean after the doctor tells me I'm going to die? Will my pulse drop when I find myself resigned to the inevitable?

During the appointment, the doctor informed me that I was not, in fact, going to die. I had an infection which was eating my flesh, but I was not going to die. Phew, I thought. At least I'll get to live while my skin creates its own mini-inferno.

Doc: "Does it hurt?"
No. It does feel like little worms are eating me from the inside out. Worms with sharp, pointy teeth.
Me: "Sure. What caused it?"
Doc made an intelligent thinking face. "I don't know."

Silence. Then: "... Aren't you a doctor?"
At least she still filled my prescription.Ten days of "aggressive antibiotics." We're gonna knock the buggers out.

Except I have Kaiser, which means I waited in line for an hour and a half with thirty other dying people. This was after going through their eight different pharmacies, where the pharmacists all told me, 'Well. Your prescription is ready to be picked up. But it's not at this pharmacy. I don't know where it is, actually. You might try the one on the ninth floor. Take the stairs cause the elevator is broken'.


Moral of the story: Kaiser is for people who are either in really good health, or who would die anyway. Also, just because it hurts doesn't mean it's cancer.

A moment

Teacher walks a student out of the class and has him stand outside the door.

Teacher: "Now, you are going to stand here for two minutes. Tell your feet to behave so you can come back into the class."

Student (2nd grade) nods and watches teacher go back into classroom. Student is facing the wall. Student moves his attention to his feet.

Student (faithfully) pointing and commanding repeatedly: "Feet, behave. Feet behave, Feet behave feet behave."

Repeat for two minutes.

The aftermath

   This week promises to be a week of recovery from last week's constant chaos. First, the drama: the King (aka Father Michael) tied his daughter, the Princess (Me) to a tree as a sacrifice to the dragon (Alexander). But St. George (Zak) arrived just in time to free the Princess and befriend (note: not slay: this play is kid-friendly) the dragon.

The rest of the week consisted of massive amounts of homework and lesson planning and teacher meetings. Saturday, Zak and I escaped to Sausalito for a late breakfast and a walk through the quiet waterfront town. 

Yesterday, we made lunch for Holy Trinity (BLTs and potato salad--huge hit), then spent the evening at a reception for CEUSA (translation: all you can eat of elaborate appetizers and treats) with some new friends from USF who are connected to old friends from Westmont. 

This world is small and cozy and I like to snuggle into it.

A moment today

Having been kicked out of his class, a 2nd grade student walks across the eating hall and waits patiently outside the office.

Fr Irenei opens the door. 

"And what can I do for you?"

The child sighs and shakes his head.

"I was misbehaving in class."

Leyla

Yesterday, a student proudly showed me his notebook--full of little boy code and secrets--and declared, "Girls can't see this!"

I laughed and said, "But I am a girl!"
He rolled his eyes. "No you're not. You're a teacher."


The apartment was clean for a total of 24 hours and I consider this an accomplishment.

A fog descended over the bay today and I forgot my jacket at home. Wet drops stick to my skin and I have been trying not to shiver as I move from St. John's, to Raphael House, to Mills.

I forgot my frozen dinner at home. I could use a shower.

I have to decide what to read next for my 5th grade literature class. More Sherlock Holmes? A Little Princess? Jungle Book? Johnny Tremain?

New Post

Yes; well, Heather's blogging and I thought I might as well, too. I feel as if there may be a thousand items on my "to-blog" list. Maybe I will take this one day at a time.

Tomorrow we are putting on a Michaelmas play for the Raphael House families. Zak will play the role of St. George. Alexander shall be our dragon. Erin dramatically narrates while Ralitza and Magdalena scream and get eaten. Father Michael is our internally tortured king and I his passive daughter sent to slaughter.

In other news, I was forced to make my 2nd and 3rd graders write lines (standards) instead of decorating crosses today. The reasons included dancing on backpacks, sucker punches to classmates' jawbones, and an earth-shaped pencil sharpener that kept making its rounds through the air.

Their lines read "I am sorry" ten times, and were decorated with complementary color-schemed hearts.

A long time coming

I am not sleeping because I have no need for dreaming.

In one month I'll be (one times two is one) and that's a good thing.

I have grown to appreciate the absurdities: one hundred and ten tiny flowers sprouting from bubble wands; the purposeful folding of a table napkin (is it white or eggshell?); should the hem be one or two inches shorter?; grand entrance and get-away; nail polish color; the height of a centerpiece ...

I don't even remember how write because all I do is build this fast-approaching wedding, piece by glue-gunned piece.

In the fall I might remember I am a writer. I might pick up a notebook and recognize the blankness of the space between the lines. Right now I'm a fiance. And in a month I'll be a wife.


Don't say those words out loud. I might wake up :)

It is my Nail in your Hand

Red eggs in my palm and I squint at them, remembering:
who is this child?

What Man is this that slays
down his life

for his strangers--
who lay sleeping in the brush when we are dancing around His head.

Shalome. Are you yet the Messiah?




Condemn me, red egg. Do not die for me.
Do not descend into that dark place for me. I cannot lift your Cross.

What Justice? What Mercy?
What God? What God?

Who Are You, that carries thorns without promise of roses,
that Redeems without reasurrance of repentance?

( space )

I like it when you remember to smile.

We, put our toes in blue bells. The leaves seep between our bodies.
A bee lands on your nose.

We make a wish when it goes.

You aint nothin but a Hound Dog

Hm.

Planning a wedding is quite the extravaganza.

Elaine told me to keep it simple and I PROMISE I am trying my HARDEST.

But I really want a cappuccino bar, live music, and a Mediterranean vibe.

As the guest list continues to involuntarily expand, not mind you due to the work of my own fingertips, I half-heartedly consider Zak's dad's suggestion of Vegas.

Elvis seems so much more practical at this moment. And when you're saying he's simpler than the vision in my head, you know our lives are getting interesting.



Today, when I went to pick up lunch for work, I got an intense craving for Skittles. Allow me to undo all my bridal bootcamp workouts with a 1lb bag of rainbow colored goodies.

Hello, Cavities, meet my sweet tooth.

Blood is thicker than water

When I say family the word softens in my teeth. It is a round word, a Whole word.

I know a lot of words that are clipped, or broken. Fear is a broken word, and Money sounds like a window that has shattered. Even Faith has its ups and downs.

Words that have no meaning like cup or plate are broken, too. I dropped a cup this morning and it sprinkled across my toes like the dust from which we come.

Family never returns to dust. Family comes from bones, travels in blood, slips into the next generation because the previous one gave it breath.

A sister is a Conspirator. A sister shares your emotions, shivers when you're cold, sips from your cup of coffee and laughs when the froth gets stuck on your nose.

A mother is a Dreamer. A mother knows your brain, gets inside your heart, fills your limbs with the will to move forward, to reach larger, to love deeper.

A father is a Listener. A father's kiss rests eternally on your forehead, hands consistently support your step, eyes forever watching and breathing and encouraging you to learn, to pause and appreciate, to memorize the glory of the lines in the faces of your loved ones.

A cousin is a Learner. A cousin stumbles through your same problems, wades through the same experiences, gives and takes advice when your foreheads are pressed together in the middle of the night waiting for the next big Change, for the next great Adventure.

An aunt is a Helper. An aunt recognizes the fear in your voice and the joy in your eyes with her hands outstretched to lead you between each stepping stone even when your ankles are wobbly and your heart is afraid to be strong.

An uncle is an Example. An uncle shows the way to walk and not trip, the way to laugh contagiously, the way to life a life steeped in prayer, fluent in understanding, drenched in compassion.


---
In 141 days, the list will be longer.
It already feels longer, to me.

Feb 1 - March 1 was surreal.

Well, how's THAT for overdrive?

It's been exactly one month today since it all started and I don't know how to catch you up. Maybe three-word phrases?

- We are Engaged
- Wedding's in July
- Vendors like Brides
- Stopped doing laundry
- and all homework
- TheKnot New Bestfriend
(that one cheated)
- All Dresses Ordered
- Photographer, Musicians - Check
- Afternoon Waterside Reception
-  Can't Remember Poetry

The reason behind this last one is that poetry--well, any writing--requires a time/space set aside for quiet contemplation and complete absorption in a world of make-believe.


Space moves silent
if treetops wave;
triptych waves listen:
trip frostbitten toes.


Dear World-Diary you are my oyster. I have diamonds on my fingers. The future rests on my nose.

Segregated

Some people get tougher living here: Harden the creases in the corners of their eyes, permanentize the frown to look natural, like we were all born squinting at each other as if there is no other--human,--but those that are Same. Am I another species because we are not?

As if, You, are Human only; the rest lesser specimens to pick apart with your teeth. Does my Achilles taste good in your molars?

I breathe Human too, even if the symbol around my throat is not Wiccan or Buddhist or Greek for Green Peace. My Cross you despise and you wear your scorn on your lips as if I am going to rub off on you, should you take a whiff.

Yes, I said Cross. Sometimes I even say Christ before I eat.

Your curse shifts in your seat as you stare, daring the contrary when you announce to your Humans that God is Dead.

And who am I to say your Otherwise? Your knuckles are white. I am not blind.

I don't want to get rough, living here. I want to keep getting softer, keep changing and shifting because I still have something left to Know: that I have nothing left to prove. My callous surrenders to pink skin. Maybe when I am thirty I will still have petals on my forehead from sticking my nose in the flowers at your feet.

You are my Human. You are my Someone else who is fascinating, is completely different, is sometimes angry and is all the time: Beautiful.

I have a Story like you: unfinished, in the preliminary drafts that is penciled over, crossed out, pages burned so I can pretend they never happened, only to re-write them later as my Self continues to soften out. Melting down.

Edges smooth over. The cracks split and I would Pour willingly, if you sit still enough to catch Me.

You, Creature, are my Human.

Our sigh is the Same.

Timeline of the 20th Century

In my Craft of Poetry class, we were asked to make a timeline of the 20th century, without referring to any resources other than our memories.

I keep track of history in relation to things that have happened to me. This may be egocentric but it’s really just because my world is a lot smaller than the world I'm in. What follows is my list of Twentieth-Century memories.


1. The start of WWII--no idea regarding the date (40s for certain)--but in 10th grade I reported on Weisel’s Night and developed a mini-obsession with learning the novel’s historical context.

2. If I'm going to mention WWII, I should make a note of Pearl Harbor, as well. Leave it to Hollywood to compress the tragedy into a three-hour film. I won't even touch Titanic, mostly because my parents wouldn't let me watch it. DiCaprio was the sole cause of my fifth grade social demise.

3. Y2K. I journalled it. & packed a huge suitcase of my most prized possessions in case our house computer decided to implode.

4. The 1994 earthquake in Northridge, CA. The first journal entry I ever wrote was from the day after the earthquake: "I thought Daddy was dead but he walked in the door today. I guess he is not”). That was before cell phones and television. Not for the world—just my family.

5. Years previous, there was an earthquake in San Francisco. Twice. I just learned about it last semester.

6. Wizard of Oz in Technicolor.

7. The Bay of Pigs. I know nothing about this incident, except that my dad was on the runway to take off for it and the President called the troops back. It exists because it touched my world.


8. Sidenote: I taught Social Studies for a semester to a bunch of jr/high school students and all I remember is Ellis Island. We learned about Pablo Neruda and Frida Kahlo, and Heinrich Himmler and the assassination of Kennedy. But if I get to pick and choose what goes on my time-line, only Ellis Island will make it.

9. “Man” landed on the moon. My mom remembers the word “astronaut" on her spelling list for the week.

10. We also discovered the world-wide-web without having to leave our desks. Now we can virtually tour the moon at a penny of the price.

11. Big Bang was silenced. So was Martin Luther King Jr — but not his Dream, because they still post it on the walls of elementary classrooms.

12. There was the Great Depression, and a mother was photographed in black-and-white with her children. I remember this event because Disney put the photograph in the California Adventure theme park.

13. The Pope died. Nine times.

14. Tom Cruise discovered Scientology. So did the rest of Hollywood.

15. The Berlin Wall rose and fell, along with women's bangs and disco balls.

16. The general world survived 1984 sans-Big Brother. London did not

17. Pink leggings and blue leg warmers.

18. My rabbit got eaten by an owl and my dad told me the Easter bunny took him on as hired help. This was two days after the Oklahoma City Bombing in ‘95.

19. Princess Diana died (‘97?). I distinctly remember: A. Not knowing who she was, B. Watching the funeral on television at my aunt’s, and C. Thinking they meant Shirley Temple.

20. By the end of the 20th century, I could fit a whole computer in my pocket.


It’s not that these things are only relevant as they're linked to me. They just make sense, when I put them in the context of me. The history of the world is too large to fit in the small space of my life; my existence barely wedges into a quarter of the history of the 20th century. What do you do with history that isn't yours? And what history/History is yours?

I am interested in WWII because it happened in 10th grade.

My Weeks' Todo

1. Send an email
2. Pay Lavender's Electric Bill
3. Deposit my paychecks
4. Laundry
5. YA Homework Reading
6. Find a poem about history
7. Free the spider.

Things 4

My calendar says school in one hour and I am hoping the rain outside the window will shut up before I have to go out in it.

Mills College is a black hole.

There are many dark haired lesbians and sideways artists with half-goatees. One man is lanky and towers over me like the crooked man who walked a crooked mile. I like to poke their papers with my fingertips and watch their words bleed into my skin. I wonder if he has a crooked cat.

In the hallway, I trapped a spider in a tupperware. It is an unhappy, fuzzy bug. I will free him later this evening.

Still raining and I've left my umbrella in the car.

Things 3

On Memory&Dreams


I don't remember the difference between you and me. I wish it was you and I because it would be good to end a sentence with sight. I am reading about other people's lives today, because nothing happened in my own.

Oakland. I dislike the gray city and long for City that is more real and alive than the streets where I can hear boom boom (a gun?) outside and I decide I am not going to Safeway for dinner tonight. My thoughts ramble. I  rearranged my room.

Ladybugs keep getting in through the walls. This is not a metaphor.

Here is a ladybug on my cow. I thought it was trying to lay eggs in MooCow's open throat.

But it is yellow. So I think it is a man.

This is a metaphor

My tomorrow is work and school. Today I am catching lady&manbugs and freeing them into the night.

Things 2

I drink a lot of caffeine because I like the electricity in my veins when I'm looking at the floor of my room and wondering if it will clean itself.

Imogen Heap and espresso pairs with the rain on my windowsill and I fight the urge to scream its good to be in love at the top of my lungs.

My clothing will not fold itself but it knows how to wrinkle all on its own.

My tea is cold

My toes itch

Things 1.

As I am now: two-pounds fat. I will request two honey sticks for breakfast.
They taste sweet (would say like honey but for once the simile isn't necessary).
I wish I was a bee.

My God laughs at me and I do not understand what He finds so funny.

There are ants between my toes.

The floor of my room is a complete mess, courtesy of my inability to get anything done these past few days.

My fingers are frozen.

As the pendulum swings

Well. Radio silence suits the buzzing brain.


I was in a total of four states this break.


First, California--

Break started with Jeff and my annual light-looking, in which we found a nativity scene where Jesus had been replaced by a turtle, and we shook our heads at the other scenes and their premature Christs. I missed Nelly Furtado.

Christmas Day with the cousins is always a joy. We knew we were getting old when we stuffed our faces with the traditional cheesy potatoes, then sat around watching television until about 8:30 when someome finally said, "So, uh, ... should we open presents?"

The rest of California included Crumbs Cupcakes in Beverly Hills, a massive reorganization of my room which resulted in trashbins full of high school paraphrenilia, and some quality bonding time with my immediate family.

Second, Michigan--

It's been a while since I spent that semester long-ago in the snow. Michigan's white landscape served me a brisk reminder. Usually birds go south for the winter. I flew north.

In addition to taking above precious photos, we (Zak's family, anyway, I stared in horror) burned an innocent gingerbread house, completed a puzzle, and watched Avatar in 3D in the local IMAX. AMAZING. I also would like to note that, due to Zak's mother's magnificent cooking, I gained two pounds. No kidding. I am now fat.

Third State: Indiana--

Zak and I road tripped to Josh and Chelsea's wedding in Chicago, driving through Indiana on the way. We stopped at an overwhelming Antique Warehouse, I sang a theme from the Music Man at the sign for Gary, Indiana, and we clogged our arteries with Frozen Custard Double Butter Burgers at Culvers.

 

Fourth State: Illinois--

More accurately, Chicago, for a visit with cherished friends from Westmont at and after Josh and Chelsea's lovely winter wedding. Shane and Sonja housed us in their charming apartment and we spent the first half of a day chatting and warming our hearts with feast and fellowship, then the second half of the day taking a drive-by tour of Chicago, courtesy of Sonja's extremely helpful directions.

 

The only time we got lost was when we failed to find the Sears Tower.

 

Ahem. Yes. Someone misplaced the tallest building and we had trouble tracking it down. I suppose it would have helped if A.) We'd been informed that the tower had been recently renamed and B.) We knew what it looked like to begin with.  

---

My final days of break will be spent in my hometown, celebrating my dad and sister's birthdays, then making the long, lonely drive back north so I can get back to work and the real world.

This break was long talks with my mom, dreaming about pirate ships with my dad, snow covered cars through Hartford, snuggles with my sisters, building new relationships, and learning a lot more about the depth of love.

Happy 2010, everyone~