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Septiembre 24, 2005
What would James do?
James Bond is very important around here. He is one of the few things we can always agree on; even if he is a sexist bastard we marvel at his gumption and resourcefulness. We can't be troubled by certain things James does; I took a class on these films for graduate level credits (it was the only way to get my student loan, if you can believe that) and I still can't muster even a genuine distaste for him, that jerk.
Martin on the other hand, can't be bothered about James bad personality traits or his archaic beliefs. Martin is this type of person: He never bought any of those plastic bracelets to raise a dollar for anything, especially not the yellow one for testicular cancer. However, people thought he ought to be reminded of certain things so in the course of a few weeks he acquired two. Instead of wearing a big yellow rubberband in hope that we might one day find a cure for something, he has these two black things that look more like belts from the engine on a Barbie corvette. I find them whenever I try to straighten up his desk to look for the bills we have to pay: one has a little heart on it, right between "I" and "PIRATES." The other must have been left in the sun because it was cracked when he brought it home, says: REVENGE. It is plain to see what we worry about.
It gets a little confusing though, given certain scripture about "vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord" somehow intersecting with the idea behind those old WWJD bracelets that we might attempt to do exactly what Jesus did, VENGEANCE is really something we could consider wearing around, or trying to cure... depending on your theology, if the bracelet wasn't cracked and ready to break.
But on a less muddled line of thought: Martin says this whale is very funny.
I say Bill Murray would have made one hell of a Bond.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 08:48 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Septiembre 21, 2005
test lesson
The sniffles comfort me. One tiny way and then another: like a backward sneeze. Instead of cleaning things out, emotion and ailment taking in everything close by which is not much at all, really. It is a mighty effort.
Sometimes when I am embarrassed, I sniffle a little because the idea of lifting the belly out and opening up to the air seems to take up too much space.
I think back to the times I found comfort at the end of crying, when I knew it would stop hurting, finally. The ebb of the drama and the flow of tears and triumph in managing to stave off the resulting hiccups.
The woman with the pretty lips and one purple latex-free glove took about 16 ounces of blood from my arm and I tried to be brave but I jerked. I thought of bee stingers stuck in my arm and cats holding on by the teeth and blackberry thorns grabbing through the t shirt, and a splinter deeply followed by one heroic needle dipped in peroxide. Oh grief, if I didn't flinch so hard she warned me she would do it again if I couldn't remember to be a grown up.
If you could have seen me today complaining to Juliana about a bruise the size of a blueberry muffin and nearly so ugly purple, you would have thought I really had one, but I suppose most of you know I am prone to exaggeration.
The preschool day is full of crying, it is absolutely breathtaking and burns the eyes, almost instantaneously contagious. We weep for one another and call it love and when the clean-up sniffles finally come, the real cause for the sobbing is washed away by the shock of hope. We convince the children to rise and put off the thought of stings and bites and pokes, open up their little belly bellows to breathe deeply and that too is as contagious.
So it is a good to know what is in your head and through your heart, even if it means giving a little up, because you never know what is catching.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 09:42 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Septiembre 19, 2005
for the trees.
I lived in the forest a long time now I miss it... the trees: the forest for the trees.
The Oaks that twist, pinching bits of skin on the yellowing hillsides, do not offer to hold in the clouds like Redwood trees can.
And it feels as if you have to try harder to stay on the ground, there is so much sky trying to get at you.
The nice thing is that the moon isn't quite so often ducking behind the branches, only once or twice behind the hill as it rises and Martin says: ah ha, we are gaining on it... It is as if he is slowly remembering a good dream.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 09:38 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Septiembre 12, 2005
If you can't
say anything nice, then you are probably Basque like me. I boycotted the Passion of the Christ because I don't need that.
The Savior, in my imagination, sweats like bleeding and when I am at my angriest shaking and wild from eye to eye I can figure most of this out, on my own.
In all honesty, I should confess: I am not yet sick of The Last Temptation of Christ because I like to hear Harvey Keitel frustrated with Willen Dafoe: "I'm not like them." I have already been reprimanded for really liking this movie, so if you were headed down that path consider it well worn, and keep in mind I come from good sheep-herding/ Pyreneese stock.
Don't mind me, you know I nearly ruined my copy of Sayers' Creed or Chaos? from overuse; I'm not afraid of drama. But if we were supposed to be working it out with fear and trembling this whole time, why were we surprised by the impact of the violence? I am particularly proud of a certain Children's Minister who is notorious for crying at church staff meetings. She admitted to me today that she fell asleep while the subtitles flashed across the passion, and it isn't due to lack of interest or lack of emotional involvement. In fact she blames a glass of wine.
And speaking of chaos...I don't have children of my own and I'm not sure I ever will. I do have 40 four year olds who bring me their broken expectations and their untied shoelaces and their faces angry and knotted by injustice. It is my reminder of even the tiniest scrapes on the back of the man who made it clear that these expectations and this faith are our way to an understanding of our place in His kingdom.
So I pull out a pink kleenex and smear around some salty tears while we wait for the clumpy eyelashes to dry and sing "deep and wide, there's a fountain flowing deep and wide." And I'll be damned if we don't all throw ourselves into it with wide arms and wide eyes everytime.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 10:07 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Septiembre 10, 2005
untie
There is this new show: Weeds.
An ironically accurate Showtime comedy about the suburbs of California. I know we can't all live here, that is okay, I was born in Alaska... you never know where you will end up.
Every town I live in has one favorite road.
Vallejo: Arkansas St.
Occidental: Bohemian Hwy.
Lake Forest Park: Lake City Way
Edmonds: Hwy 99
Santa Cruz: Mission St.
Moraga: Let's be serious, there was only one road out of there.
San Francisco: Mission St.
San Martin: New Ave.
Gilroy: Watsonville Rd.
I drive Watsonville Rd. everyday to work. It ties you around a few hills and runs up in the valley curved like the hand of God. And everyday I am reminded
I have one thing to learn today: I can't run away; Untie myself and just hold still.
You know how children can be, they run to you and it is like a gosling flying into your face. I love to watch my students run away from me. The motion of it rocks me to sleep, the rhythm of it throbs against my chest. I wait for them to disappear around the corner of the building and I wonder what God is doing whenever I spin on one heel and sprint. He must be as sure as I am that in another moment I will stop.
No matter what road I am on, at the end of the night I will stop where the two hills cleave together to make the creek lie down and listen for His crickets also throbbing, slowly but loudly, to keep me sure of Him.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 07:51 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Septiembre 06, 2005
pookas
My wedding ring is designed to minimize spin on the finger.
Last night Martin told me "I've got the girl who pulls her earlobe." I usually get around to that point, you know.
Joel asked me if I still get the spins when I drink. I asked him if he checks to see if his teeth go numb- that is my favorite way to tell. Earlier he bet me three dollars that Zephaniah is not a book in the Bible, but it wasn't fair because I didn't tell him that one of my favorite verses is in that particular book. Staying with Boo and Joel is good because they don't really wake up until I arrive and then we have champagne and beer and whiskey and pizza, in that order. And when it is time to get to work there is a great deal of cleaning and organizing and putting tiny little things where she thinks they should go and then maybe more beer and finally MeeKrab (should I worry about spelling it in English?) and then back to champagne. It is a sort of cycle I need every once in a while to keep myself sane so it is good that they are back where I need them. Joel is right, you have to find communion where you can.
Exactly how much can you prepare for? Rings spinning, heads spinning, signals for I want to go home, tapping your teeth when you are sober just so you know what it ought to feel like, marrying an MDiv doesn't mean you will win every bet about prophets.
I got a new student today. His mom told me that if I find any pookas she would be glad to fill in. It means if there are holes in the snack calendar I should call her. Her little boy, just turned four, told me to be careful, a centipede had crawled into the grass near my feet. I told him I'd keep my eyes open. He told me: don't even blink.
Does a cycle always have a pooka? Does it always spin?
Posted by crymytinyflood at 10:14 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Septiembre 01, 2005
Brenda says
i'm having a book party on sept 27 at 5 30 in berkeley-- university press books on bancroft and telegraph-- please come! yay for poetry-- xobrenda
and also this whole long thing for all of you in California:
dear friends, this is from real brenda, not a form letter; but please forgive the group mail and the bcc addresses-- some people don't want their addresses out there.
i have been involved in an effort on behalf of codepink (and all of california) to try to lobby our state assemblypersons to author or co-author a resolution to bring home the national guard from iraq (i am attaching a copy of the proposed resolution and one of several letters i'm sending as follow up-- yours will be different).
a few weeks ago, some of us went to sacramento and spoke to our state assembly person, senators or staff. we took the information about the national guard to them, and we took copies of the resolution. we were encouraged to continue.
we have just learned that assemblyperson loni hancock has agreed to co-author a resolution if (and only if) we can find 15 other assemblypersons to help her. we/ code pinkists know of five assemblymembers who look like they are willing, but they could use some phone calls and letters to encourage them. and others need to be contacted from 'scratch.'
i am hoping that you will become ''instant activists'' even if you are busy or shy and make that phone call or two. or even more... send some letters, priority mail, soon!.
i hope some of you who live in the following areas, or who **know** people in the following areas, will please pick up the phone and make one phone call (or more) to your assemblyperson who might co-author this resolution. it's a bit scary, but if i can do it, you can do it! (pasted from code pink:)
keep reading, California birds.
Continue reading "Brenda says"
Posted by crymytinyflood at 07:29 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
don't fall fat squirrel
I have been dipping down into quite a loneliness lately and you can ask my students if you want to verify, but this is despite the large amounts of pretend ice cream I have been eating.
I think it is change that does this to me. It is getting to be obvious too, which really embarrasses me, so I thought I ought to confess. I tell myself that four year olds offer everybody pretend ice cream, it is only if you are crying right next to them that they put their arms around you and tell you not to be scared.
I was thinking about Sarah Chambliss briefly using her blog like a Christmas list (I usually hate Christmas lists on principal and in practice) but Julie actually bought her the plush toy models of Staphylococcus that she had hinted about. And then threw them at her in the breezeway at church.
Imagine Juliana throwing toys at the librarian's daughter, the one who dressed up as Jeremiahtheweepingprophet for Halloween last year, in the hallway on a Friday afternoon.
Why in hell would I be lonely with people like that around?
I'm going to call my voicemail and leave a message for myself to quit being such a baby. Feel free to call my phone anytime between 815 and 315, PST, M-F. I won't answer, I'll be teaching, so you can leave any kind of "Abigail, knockitoff, sovereignty of God, Jeremiah 29:11" message you can think of.
I am also wondering if it has anything to do with 25.
I'm a teacher so I think to myself that maybe it is something I will outgrow; it could be developmental. In high school we think we will die if we don't get the hell out of here. In college we tell ourselves that we aren't going to get anywhere this way. In graduate school we ask ourselves what the hell am I doing here, do I even belong here? And at 25 the question is how the hell did I get here and can't I undo this somehow? Just consider yourself lucky if you finished grad school before turning 25, right? I can just hear Emile whispering don't fall fat squirrel. I missed her birthday again. They say confession is good for the soul...
I'm not going to complain about this anymore. I am sitting next to my husband who is throwing grapes from his parent's backyard to the cat. What do I have to complain about?
I just have to figure out a way to stop thinking, did I do this wrong? How long will I miss my old life? Why is it hard for me to believe we have been wearing the same clothes for the past five years? help.
Posted by crymytinyflood at 06:42 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack