Source

I could give you all an update, I suppose. And when I say "you all," I mean the 3 readers google analytics tells me I get on a monthly basis.

This week begins Lent. Last week, I saw a bunch of Catholics walking around with the ash on their foreheads for Ash Wednesday. We don't do Ash Wednesday, but I get a little thrill when I see those crosses, because it means our Lent is about to begin.

The students were required to attend church every night this week; therefore, I was required, too. Even though most of the service I spent trying to keep the kids from molding their candles into balls of wax, I did enjoy it by the fourth day. And then it was over, and I felt as if it had only just begun.

Photo at Holy Virgin Cathedral, from Tikhon Thompson

Castleville

In other news, I've quit drinking caffeine, which means I never get anything done. I come home and my clothes are on the floor and I think I should pick them up but instead I end up clearing shrubbery in my Castleville.

That's a Zynga game. Don't ask.

Most things are the same, I suppose. I don't write as often. Obviously. Sometimes I think I should move back up to the mountains, where the only thing I ever did was write -- write, and complain about the snow and try to cook things that always ended up worse than I thought possible.

I dwell on Common Threads. Lives naturally take on a theme - or perhaps more accurately, a motif. For some people, it's addictions - to people, drugs, travel. For others, it's accomplishments - in school, at the workplace, finishing project after project in the home.

I don't know what my theme is, my 'common thread'. I bounce around from one place to the other and before I know it, I've forgotten where I started. On purpose, mostly.

In fact, I forget where this blog began.

6:30 a.m.

Even though the morning aches my joints, and makes the nerves at my knuckles and hips feel as if they were pressed between a cannonball and a centrifuge, I still rise into it.

I was a night creature, once. I'd like to say "many years ago" but you'd call me a liar and quote those things that have since become part of that blurred backdrop, my indefinite past.

Some days it is difficult to get out of bed.

In this city, we are all waking up mourning. We force ourselves to cross the threshold as the fog settles into our skin.

"And maybe blogging makes us all feel a little less alone or a little more unique or a bit more the same. Or a little more anything at all." (Terra)

Manic

Mills people are really awesome. Every time I interact with any of my Mills friends, I just get so stoked that I decided to go there and got to meet all those genius individuals. No words to explain it.


And, my equally awesome housemate Erin just asked Zak if he wanted to be a polygamist so she could use his gym discount.


I am so blessed.

:P

Self-Improvment Plan Part 1: Like List

Lately, I've been reading this book called 

Character Makeover 

which I got from the Hume bookstore. It has a few good points but overall it's not really what I was hoping for. Mostly because it talks about improving your 'self' as something that's super easy to do. "Oh yeah, just stop doing x, y, z and pray more."

Good advice, yes, but not for the person who does x, y, z, a little bit of t and a regular dose of j. (Just to be clear, those variables are not drugs. This book in particular focuses on confidence, pride and humility, honesty, those kind of things.)

So I am taking their ideas in principle and applying them in a way that makes more sense to me. 

Step 1 in my Self-Improvement Plan is working out/getting fit. That's mostly because once I become this awesome person, I want to live long enough to enjoy it.

Step 2: Make a list of things that I like 

This reason is one-fold (is that a thing?). I don't really know what I like. I know what other people like. So: what do I like? (in no particular order. and I'm purposefully leaving out human beings because if I start on those I'll never stop.)

• the ocean and all the creatures in it. But mostly dolphins.
• pirates
• lists (obviously)
• the color blue in the grayer hues
• coffee and caffeine in general, though the word "caffeine" is on my ultimate list of "words I hate to spell"
• the desert heat - so dry. So not San Francisco.
• the permanence of family 
• Grey cats and black labs
• graph paper. I like to color in the boxes
• organizing (particularly labeling things.)
• Buying junk
• doing other people's hair
• taking pictures
• vodka
• researching anything
• the early morning
• sand in my hair. I like to feel it rub against my scalp. I also like sand under my nails.
• nostalgia; it is like a drug.
• cooking, but not necessarily food. I just want to make stuff and force-feed other people.
• reeeeally tall bookshelves
• the ring of fancy crystal
• collecting things (spoons, cows, bells, thimbles, books, notes, bookmarks, plates .. I could go on for days)
• anonymity
• silver hair

I might have to spread this out over a couple posts. I am discovering that I like many things. And some of the things on my list should be there multiple times.

Also, how perfect is this?

The length of this post is one of the reasons why I'm not a famous blogger.

This post will not change your life

Zak and I got up at 5:30 this morning so we could go to the USF gym and work out.

When the alarm went off, I tried to pretend that I couldn't hear it. I thought that if I seemed like I was going to cave, then Zak would too. (Un)fortunately for me, my husband has more self-discipline than I do. He got out of bed and got ready to go to the gym. As much as I wanted to stay in bed and sleep, I couldn't be shown up by him.

After a sweat-inducing work-out, I'm back and showered and trying to decide whether I'm going back to sleep, getting back out of bed, or getting out of bed AND getting dressed.

Anyone who's seen me this summer knows that even if I'm out of bed, I'm most likely still in my pajamas. At 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Yep. I cook dinner in my pajamas. What? It's the summer. In San Francisco summers, we don't get to wear bikinis and soak up the sun. We wear long johns and build a fire in the fireplace.

Also, whoever invented the elliptical machine really didn't thoroughly examine the mechanics of the human body. For those of you who've never seen one, it's like a standing bicycle. It's supposed to be better for your knees than running. But I toppled over every three minutes. There's just no way to balance on a thing like that. And then when I'd fall off, the machine made this high-pitched beeping noise and told me to pedal faster.

I'd rather have to get new knees at forty.

I hope this post makes you feel enlightened.

Yet another reason why I'm the luckiest wife in the world

A few weeks/a month or so ago, I saw this online:

I loved it. I coveted it. I showed the picture to my husband. I said, "Look, isn't this amazing? I could really use something like that."

We don't have much of a pantry, so our canned goods end up ... well, all over the kitchen and laundry room.

Zak looked at the image briefly, answered in the affirmative that it was, in fact, cool. Then, he made me one. A better one. A more beautiful one. A perfect one.

My perfect sliding pantry:

It takes up almost no space. 

It just slips into the five inches beside the fridge 

that we were previously wasting.

All the 'foods' in their places:

Demonstrating the genius of it:

Rolling on its smooth rollers, the magic pantry APPEARS:

I mean, really. Who does that? 

My awesome husband does. That's who. 

Knowing that he was willing to take time out of his lunch hour,
to stay late after hours at work, to come in early to work,
in order that he could get this made for me,
knowing I would looove it,
just blows me away.

It is now a daily reminder that I am loved.
Every time I go to eat (which is more often than I'd like to admit)
Every time I go to get a cup of coffee
(or to make the second of my three daily pots)
I see it and I think, there is no way I deserve that.
But he made it anyway, because he loves me.
I'm riddled with flaws, irritating habits, stressful mood swings, immature antics--

But still he loves me,
despite,
and because of,
those things.


Yet another reason why I'm the luckiest wife
in the world. 

Though I feel as if I am out of bed before the majority of the rest of the world, even at 6am there are cars and buses careening down Geary. Therefore, someone else must be up.

When I am up this early, I like to try to get something done. I have to make good use of the gray hours of the morning, since my thoughts slow to a crawl around 3pm and after 8pm I'm only good for sleep.

I sound old. I am old. Figuratively speaking.

This particularly early morning, I have decided that either I am going back to sleep, or I am beginning the first chapter of Book 2 of my Trilogy.

If I do the former, I will feel so good. If I do the latter, it will suck, but I will feel as if I am finally doing something with my $40k degree.

Oh the dilemma. Book 2 does need to be started, because if she doesn't get started, then Book 3 will never be written, and I will never find out how my main character solves or does not solve the problems, or whether or not she figures out who she is and what she wants from the world.

Are we still talking about fiction?

This post failed to convince you that I am normal.

It's a good day when your biggest concern is whether or not you are going to remember to water the plants.

Which reminds me, I need to introduce you to my plants.

That sounds weird and I-live-alone-ish. But I don't live alone. I live with four other people. So I'm allowed to talk to my plants and name them.

Okay fine I didn't name them. Publicly.

Last night, I was trying to lesson plan my grammar lessons. I opened the book. I read the lesson. I proceeded to do the exercises. For fun.

What is wrong with me?

Uncontainable

Is that a word? My computer says yes.

This weekend was SO fun. More details to come on it, but for now I'll just say that the St. Athanasius students are some of the most talented middle/high school students I have ever met. Plus they're hilarious.

I had almost forgotten what a real sun looks like. San Francisco sun is never real: always filtered by a gray cloud layer, making the yellow rays cold and the light a glaring blue tint. Not so in Santa Barbara! Santa Barbara sun threatens to burn your skin just when you look at it. It's glorious. And it's warm warm warm. Even the gray mornings are pleasant because you know that eventually it will be warm.

Not so in San Francisco. This morning I woke up to wet sidewalks and the promise of rain.

I curse you, San Francisco skies.

Hail and Sunshine in San Francisco

I have officially turned in my thesis and completed my first novel.

Now to the real stuff: making a living. Or trying to and failing.

We are adequately housed: five of us have made our home in a five-bedroom, 1907 Edwardian-style place in the Richmond of San Francisco. We still hear sirens but they are miles away. And we have a garage and a stove and oven. We're moving up in the world. 

Living in community has its ups and downs; for instance, I'm never home alone (that's an up) but sometimes my shower is cold by 8am (a definite down). Our landlord lives in an in-law below the house (could go both ways, but he keeps to himself) and it takes me five minutes to walk to: work, the beach, my favorite cafe. In sum, I think we're doing fairly well.

Our room is always freezing cause we're cheap and don't want to run the heater. I am reminded of Hume, a little, when this whole blog world started. I wish I could write like I did but the poetry has long since forgotten me. Or I it. I write Young Adult now. It's okay, I guess.

I wish I could remember how to turn a phrase. 

In the last week I have gone running twice because my doctor said that if I continue at my current blood pressure, a stroke is on the way. Brilliant. How old am I?

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.

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.

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.

Winding down 2009 and preparing for the rest of my life.

- I am in love.

- Today is my last day of 2009 in the Bay Area. This morning was my last morning in Oakland for 2009. Praise all that is good in this world.

- Tonight I drive home to Santa Clarita to see family. My sisters and I are all going to be under the same roof. This is very, very, very Good.

- Christmas is Thursday. The Nativity fast will be over. I'm eager for the birth of Christ.

- Michigan next week, then Chicago for a wedding, then Michigan. I get snow around Christmastime!! Be very jealous, please. Thank you.

 - My mouse is cooped up in my car today while I work.

- So are the flowers Zak bought me this week. I hope my mouse doesn't die of Lily poisoning. It would be ironic because her name is Lil which is short for Lily.

- I'm in love. This is first and last on my daily report. I am very much in love.

Done with Semester One

- A 1/4 of the way done with graduate school.

- The floor is covered in cookie crumbs. My dorm room windows are foggy.

- The Bay Area is cold and understands an inkling of winter: forty-two degrees this morning and I shivered in my blankets before remembering I had a thermostat. Temperature regulator.

- Jesus is on my bookshelf. He watches me sleep and sometimes it is comforting and sometimes I am afraid because he Knows. Whatever it is that I am always hiding. And I never know what I am hiding, for.

- It is easier to write when I am thinking. Today I am not because my fingers are cold.

- I want to live in the city. I want to live in the sometimes sun. I like our friends in the city. They are warm and memory and feel bless-ed ages even though it's only been since August. September. January. My life will be young when I am old.

- I said our because you are my home.

It all started with a craving for the Sea

Ask me what I did this weekend.

Go on: ask.


I'll tell you even if you don't ask, because it's my blog and I get to write what I want.

Short version of the story: I followed an impulse and ended up in San Francisco, on a beach, in the arms of the one-and-only Zak Landrum.

Long version: I learned all over again what it is to feel yourself so poured out, so poured into, that any question may be asked and the answer freely given; any task may be proposed and the completion eagerly fulfilled; any dream may be shared and the hope willingly infuses the entire air so all you both breathe is Light and all you feel is Belonging.

Mmm.

Ask me what I did this weekend. Sunday morning I woke up in my bed on a mountain. By eight I was at church in Merced. And an hour after church I was nose-to-nose with my dear Friend--with my cherished Heart.

----

(photos all by Zak :) )

I prefer the ocean over the forest, over the mountain, over the plain, over the desert, because the Ocean is old without being ancient, it's young without naivety, and it's friendly without being invasive. Every wave feels new, no matter how many times I've seen the crash of white foam on the rocks, or smelled the salt as it seeped up the shoreline and across my skin. The ocean feels--is--endless. The ocean breathes eternity and I sing back Rest into its quiet expanse.

The stars in your eyes light up the Skies

Well I have returned to the comfort of four familiar walls and now place myself before a blank computer screen, beginning to attempt to sum up the past six days in something that gives you at least an inkling of my grand adventure. For now, I'll stick to a summary of events. The emotions, I will save for another journal entry.

It all began with Thursday's trip through the airport: my lonely gaze out the window as we swept over unrecognizable terrain, heading north along the California coast. After an interesting adventure involving a confusing bus line and a homeless man asking me if I needed directions (while he eyed my conspicuous luggage), I arrived at my ugly, 70's-style hotel with its gold decorations and cigarette water.

The bathroom: pink tile~ and the Carpet: green&gold.

After settling into the room, I took my own adventure down to Fort Mason, said a surprise hello to Zak Landrum, and then traipsed about the city in search of USF and a good cup of coffee.


I ate dinner alone in a crowded restaurant and the waiter gave me a series of pitying looks and flirtatious remarks, including, "Hey. You're keeping me company, too."

I thought, This is very, very sad. But strangely liberating. I ate dinner alone, surrounded by lovey-dovey couples, and instead of staring at my plate, I made conversation and got a free drink and left a cute tip. I should do it again.


Thursday night, I sat in a round room on a squishy sofa in the heart of the University of San Francisco and discussed the MFA program with a representative and about five other prospective graduate students. The night concluded with a glass of wine at a wine bar, by the light of a candle and the warmth of conversation with Zak.


Oh, and a round of gross battle wounds erupted across my heels so I was forced to take action, involving the purchase of tacky socks and a lot of bandaids.

Friday, I made my way through the deepest part of Oakland's ghetto and arrived at Mills College: the all-girl's oasis nestled in the middle of a large forest surrounded by barbed wire in order to maintain a safe separation between the students and the gang-infested surroundings.

On the bus ride to the college, a black woman leaned over the bus chair behind me and said loudly, "Whatchou-Doin here, White girl?"

On the other hand, the college was gorgeous. And the interview was fun. I went on a tour of the school and spread myself out on the grass, reading and burning my skin.

Saturday morning, after a breakfast of crepes with Zak, I met up with my cousin (well, actually, I am her mother's cousin... my family's weird) Erin and had delicious tea and GREAT conversation. Like I've said before, I love family. I hadn't seen her since I was a kid, but she's as lovely as I remember her, with sparkling eyes and a heart full of wisdom.

The rest of the weekend is a blur, bookended and caressed by moments of self-realization and a continual outpouring of myself into the nurturing of a beautiful friendship. Zak and I visited the Opera House on Saturday and the San Francisco ballet gave us a performance of a classical piece that was familiar to my aching limbs, an interpretation of Ibsen that moved my heart to tears, and a more modern piece that dragged me to the end of my seat and left me begging for more. I also saw Zak's play Saturday night--the Magic put on a performance that displayed raw, beautiful human relationships--at both their best and at their worst--driven by the conflict surrounding a cancerous diagnosis, one woman's desire for survival, and the ultimate acceptance of Surrender. I am so proud to know that Zak was involved in its development.

Sunday we basked all day in the light of the sun and in the warmth of a deepening friendship, then took an adventure to Cory's, where we witnessed (and, unfortunately, sampled) a bacon concoction just begging for a heart attack, played a few rounds of Mexican Train, and tried to remember who played in the Superbowl and half-heartedly wondered who won.

(Zak's domino creation before he let me destroy it)

As far as the Super Bowl goes, I still have no idea. But I did win one round of Mexican Train.




After wandering through a few bookstores, after a few more long conversations, after a dinner adventure at Cora's and after a rather normal viewing of the Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I bade my farewell to the city and all its beautiful occupants, and returned to the airport, where I got felt-up by a security guard, got my bag opened and inspected, and wondered, "Do I really look this threatening?"


When I spotted a little girl being returned a violated-looking teddy bear, I felt a little better. But not much. I mean, seriously. Do I look like I have a gun hidden in my cleavage? Or a bomb under my belt? I don't think so. America.


Needless to say, my graduate interviews are complete. I came home to a telephone call offering a raise for my pending job (which I start next Tuesday, by the way). I will have about four more students, twenty more dollars a day, and not much more work. So now, not only am I responsible for the 8th-10th grade English and History, but I'm also proctoring the English independent study course for the 11th and 12th graders.

Life's ridiculous. But grand.


I've missed you all. Thanks for putting up with the overflow of information. Now: to clean my room and pack for my next move.


I'm reminded again of how temporary every resting place has come to be for me: I visit a city, I sleep in two beds and a couch, I come back here and spend a few more nights beneath my parents' roof, then I make my way back to the snow and to a basement without the warmth of another human to press their comforting hug around my shoulders at the end of a taxing day, or to join me in prayer at the beginning of another. I long even more for permanence. But I am excited for my next grand adventure.