Through a Glass, Darkly

Over the weekend, I finally saw Mean Girls. My friend and I both enjoyed it. It’s not going to win any Oscars, but it was cute and rang true as far as how girls relate to each other. I liked that, even though the “Queen Bee” was a mean girl, they didn’t make her completely one-dimensional. People aren’t, no matter how unkind they might be to one another. And the ending, where everyone had made their peace with one another, was very reminiscent of my high school experiences.

I went to a very small, rural high school in the Bible Belt, and as much as I didn’t fit in at the time, I look at movies like that and I realize how beneficial it was for me. The pressures weren’t as harsh as they would have been in a larger, more urban school where people were wealthier. A few weeks ago, I read Reviving Ophelia, which is about the struggles teenage girls face these days, and a lot of it resonated with me, but a lot of it was very surprising for me to read. I have heard girls say they won’t eat in front of boys, but I never acted like that. I love to eat, and I can’t remember ever holding back in front of a guy. And girls acting like they aren’t as smart as they really are so the boys won’t be intimidated? I can honestly say that that never ever crossed my mind. It’s like there was some “girl memo” that I never got. In Mean Girls, the main character doesn’t want to be on the Math Team because it’s “social suicide,” but there I was, rocking the Quiz Bowl team. That’s where all my friends were, plus I was never going to be that popular anyway. I’m not musically talented, and I was still pretty awkward-looking in high school, so getting good grades was my one skill, my niche, and I worked as hard as I could. I guess it helps that I am pretty competitive, so I never wanted to let anyone (male or female) beat me. But it is odd to me that it’s apparently a common girl thing to do.

That makes me thankful that my parents were and are so supportive. It would be wrong of me to paint a happy picture of my middle and high school memories, because I wouldn’t go back to that time for anything. Girls can be pretty vicious to one another, and I was both hurt and hurtful during that time. But my parents gave me a solid home base and let me know that they were my biggest fans . . . which meant I had to toe the line when they knew I wasn’t doing my best or I had been unkind or broken the rules in some way.

I’m on the list at the library for the book the movie was based on. I am not sure why I have been so interested in this topic lately, but I do hate the way girls that age are prone to tear each other apart. I look back at that time of my life with a lot of pain about some of the things that were said to me and embarassment about some of the ways that I was hurtful and inconsiderate. I am not sure whether any of this reading and pondering will lead me anywhere specific, like a youth ministry, but I have been thinking a lot lately about my tendency to respond out of insecurity, and how I have made some steps in that area in the past year. At least I can be thankful that I have come a long way in learning how to relate to people. And I’m very thankful I’m not in high school anymore.

Thanks for suggesting books! I have checked out copies of The Devil Wears Prada, My Name is Asher Lev, and Lake Woebegone: Summer 1956. Since I am driving, I can take as many books as I want to the beach without repercussions (except using more gas - I just filled up my car for $26.50. I have never spent that much to fill up my car before. Good thing I didn’t check out Anna Karenina or something)! I placed holds on a few of the others, but they didn’t make it here in time, so they’ll be kept in the queue for the next book emergency.

This morning I got up about 30 minutes early because I needed to finish packing and make sure I had everything for my trip, since I’m not stopping back by the house before I hit the road. The only thing I have realized that I forgot (so far) were some pictures I wanted to show my friend from the wedding we were in a few weeks ago. Not the worst thing to forget, so I feel good.

This morning I realized that I am compulsively weird when getting ready for a trip. I did my last-minute packing and printing out the directions and getting quarters for the parking meters at the beach and all that kind of thing . . . and then I cleaned the kitchen. The sun is barely up, and I am standing there in my pajamas scrubbing our flat-top stove. Do you know why? It’s because Mike mentioned after we went to bed last night that Brian might be coming over to hang out and play X-Box this weekend. Do you think Brian is going to notice my stove? Yeah, I don’t either (but he’d better after reading this!). Nor do I think he would have really cared if I had left some unfolded clothes on the floor upstairs just outside of the laundry room. But just in case he would have, I stuffed them all back into the dryer. Unfortunately, I guess mentioning that I did it kind of negates the whole process. (Brian, don’t look in the dryer when you’re there!) I also put away a few dishes and cleaned off the kitchen table and made the bed (well, I usually do that last one every morning anyway). The house wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t perfectly straight, either. So, since I was going out of town, what did I do? I became my mother for 30 minutes and cleaned. Which, of course, made me five minutes late for work, since I still had some packing to do. However, I did get a sense of satisfaction when I walked out the kitchen on my way to work. At least my queendom is clean.

Any guesses as to how it will look after Mike’s weekend of bachelorhood? (It’s probably a good thing I got that last perfect look before I left.)

I was checking some links on the website to make sure they were still up to date, and I ran across this. Check out question number seven.

Some states have designated fossils?! And we don’t?!

I decided to find out which states have fossils. You can find a list here.

The disappointing part is that some states not only have designated fossils, they have a designated state dinosaur! We don’t have one of those either. What a gyp. I am going to move to a cooler state.

I will probably have time for a real entry later today, but I wanted some input first. I am going to Wilmington this weekend to stay with one of my friends and have girl time. We’re going to the beach on Saturday, and I am not especially enamored of anything I am curently reading. I need suggestions for a good beach book. A few things on my list might work, but I wanted to have some different options. Suggestions, please?

Last night Mike and I skipped small group and had a good talk about some things. He’s pretty concerned about me these days, and rightly so. I have talked before (especially here) about my walls and my fears. I am aware that I am in a lot of pain and that only God can help, but I am very afraid that in order to do so he has to Teach Me a Lesson. And I’m pretty sure that will hurt.

Somewhere along the line I started to believe some things that aren’t really true about God. At least, I think that’s what’s happened. I missed out on the caring father part and I only see the strict disciplinarian. My dad? Not like that at all. So I’m not sure where all this came from, to be honest. I am a perfectionist to be sure, and I have made plenty of mistakes. I think I imagine God treating me like I would treat myself if I were him.

What keeps coming to mind is the picture of Eustace Scrubb when he was changed into a dragon. For a lot of people, it’s a pretty inspiring picture (in fact, it used to encourage me a great deal), because Aslan sets Eustace free to be the boy he was created to be. But it hurts terribly, and right now I can’t imagine surrendering enough to let God do that to me. After all, Aslan as a Christ figure “is not safe.” If he’s not safe, then it’s going to hurt and I might be worse off than I am now.

The problem is that I’m forgetting the second half of the quote. It’s true that he’s not safe . . . “but he’s good.” All I can remember these days is the first part, and the somewhat scary implications it has.

Mike and I talked about all these things - my pain and my fears and my doubt. He kept correcting me when I said things that weren’t true, and he knows I learn a lot from reading, so he has some books he wants me to read. He said I needed to stop focusing on trying to get anywhere, and just learn how to rest and stop fighting God so much.

I’m willing to try, but it’s not going to be easy. (Plus, I’m afraid he’s going to make me read some schmaltzy book by Max Lucado. hehe.)

On a somewhat related note, I enjoy a few songs on Andrew Peterson’s Love and Thunder CD, but I have never been a fan of the whole CD. This morning when I was driving, I randomly gave it a spin and heard these lyrics:

It’s enough to drive a man crazy; it’ll break a man’s faith
It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane
When he’s bleating for comfort from thy staff and Thy rod
And the heaven’s only answer is the silence of God

I haven’t paid much attention to that song before, but it really speaks to where I am right now. The song doesn’t just let you wallow, either - there’s some hope:

And the man of all sorrows, He never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that He bought
So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
In the Holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God

So that’s where I am today. I feel a little more hopeful than I have in a few weeks.

I am still working on finding the perfect librarian wardrobe. I need more twinsets and that kind of thing. And I definitely need more khaki pants. Actually, I need more pants in general. My lack of a wardrobe means that I tend to wear the same stuff a lot. Not today, though! Today I have on a cute little skirt and a red sleeveless top. Woo-hoo! I thought when I looked in the mirror this morning. I look cute!

I still think I look cute, but now I am starting to doubt. No one here at work has mentioned my attire. This is only the second or third time in 6 months that I have worn a skirt to work. But apparently no one has noticed.

Either that, or I look not as cute as I thought.

Ah, insecurity, my friend, welcome back.

I have mentioned these sites before, but not on my blog. So, if you are in need of something entertaining, may I suggest Muffin Films or Big Bunny?

Our favorite Muffin Film is “Pssst. . .” (Mike is also partial to “Beware”) and we have been known to go around saying, “Hello crunchy children!”

I am pretty sure my brother introduced me to these twisted sites. You can blame him if you are weirded out. hehe.

So, we have really nice neighbors. At least, it seems that way. But they are older than us and we don’t seem to have a lot in common with them. What are some good neighborly suggestions for ways to get to know them? They do a lot of yard work, but we are not yet at that point, so we don’t get to chat while hanging out in the yard. Should we bake for them? Is that too cliche?

Talking about neighbors makes me think of Mr. Rogers. I can’t help it. I love Mr. Rogers. They are releasing all these TV shows on DVD now; do you think Mr. Rogers will ever be on DVD? If I have kids, I would love to have a set of Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street. By the way, there is some really fun Sesame Street trivia here in honor of their 35th anniversary. I played it at work one day when it was slow and I was on the reference desk. My boss came out to the desk and saw that I was on the Sesame Street site and that one of my coworkers was on the Dancing Bush site. He looked at us, started to say something, thought better of it, and went back into his cubicle. hehe. This “librarians at play” moment was brought to you by the letter K, the letter J, and the number 35.

Yesterday’s thoughts on sleeping plus the killer thunderstorm we had last night reminded me of a story from early in our marriage. We had been married no more than six weeks, and school had just started. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the loudest thunder I have ever heard in my life. Not only did I wake up, I also jumped and totally spazzed out. It really scared me. Mike reached over and grabbed me before it thundered again, and he held me during the rest of the storm. It’s funny now, but it really did scare me.

Since then, I always flinch a bit during thunderstorms. I am still afraid they will be louder than I expect. Mike knows this, so he held me during last night’s storm, too. As soon as he heard the thunder, he rolled over and pulled me close. I guess I won’t give him a hard time about his socks this week.

After reading Peter’s rant on bedmaking earlier this week, I feel inspired to share some of my own thoughts on the subject of sleeping. Mike, like Peter, doesn’t like the sheets tucked in at the end. He wants to be able to tuck all the covers under his feet. Which, to me, is practically demonic. (But, then, I can sleep with my socks on, so what do I know?) As I am the one who makes the bed, my desires have prevailed. And Mike has gotten over his wretched habit of destroying all the bedcovers. He still has a tendency to take his half of the bed from the middle, but I am working on [beating] that [out of him] as well.

Speaking of sleeping with socks, sometimes Mike goes to bed with socks on. That’s fine . . . in the winter, I also like to sleep while wearing socks. No problem. Except, wait. There is a problem. Mike never wakes up in the morning still wearing his socks. He kicks them off during the night and leaves them in the end of the bed. There were times early in our marriage when I was not aware of his midnight sock aversion. I would pull the sheets off the bed at the end of the week only to find 10 or 12 socks piled up. We would then have discussions where I would say incredibly logical things like, “Why would you wear socks to bed if you know you are just going to kick them off?” He would respond with “But my feet were cold!” So on and so forth.

We have reached a happy compromise. Mike rarely wears his socks to bed now, and if he does kick them off, I am allowed to give him the evil eye of death, which I do quite well, if I say so myself. Meanwhile, I allow him to put his cold feet on me during the night (he wasn’t kidding - the boy has cold feet). See, boys and girls? Marriage is all about compromise.

I think that’s the correct quote from Gaudy Night - “Someone had a headache.” I don’t have my copy here, and the library’s copy isn’t checked in. And a Google search produced nothing. But I do believe that’s correct. If it’s not, I’ll correct it when I get home. [ETA - it's been corrected. "Somebody had a headache." I was close.]

Anyway, in this case, I am the one with the headache, though I haven’t fallen and hit my head after an attempt on my life. I have been headache-y all week, just feeling a little off. Very tired, too, even though I have been getting enough sleep. But enough complaining. I’ll talk about something more fun instead.

Sunday while we were driving to Mike’s sister’s house, we started reading The Wedding by Nicholas Sparks. Mike and I like to read out loud together, but we hadn’t read anything together in a while. We both enjoyed The Notebook (The Wedding is a follow-up to The Notebook) and A Walk to Remember, so we thought we’d give this one a try. So far it’s really good. When it comes to sweet romantic stories, it’s pretty hard to top Nicholas Sparks. I haven’t read his most recent books - I think the last one I read was A Bend in the Road - but I enjoy the comforting feel of his stories. They are usually set in North Carolina, and the characters and places are warm and familiar. Basically, his books definitely qualify as fluff of the best kind. Mike and I are about halfway through, and though we think we have figured out what’s going to happen, we are enjoying the ride quite a bit.

When someone regularly repeats stories (not the same stories over and over, but a new story is guaranteed to be heard at least twice), it begins to make me feel as if the conversations I have with this person are not important - this person is only talking to me because I am a warm body. We all repeat stories, and that’s not a big deal, but when it happens regularly to someone about my age, what does that mean? Are conversations with me that forgettable?

We had a pretty good weekend. I caught up with Mike on the Gilmore Girls DVDs on Friday night (for the record, the Gilmore Girls are also good for relieving a bad day), so he promised not to watch any of the rest of them without me. So, for the past two nights, we have been spending time watching the show, gearing up for tomorrow night’s season finale (woo-hoo for smooching! boo to Rory and Dean!).

Yesterday we went to see Mike’s sister and her family. Mike’s niece graduated from kindergarten on Friday night, and we couldn’t make it. As we are the only family on Mike’s sister’s side, we try to show up for as much family stuff as we can, so we made the trip yesterday instead. Our celebratory dinner was at Chuck E. Cheese. Victoria wanted us to go there because Mike and I always win her a lot of tickets on skee ball. We were fine with this, because we have never turned down a game of skee ball.

The best part of the afternoon was before we went to Chuck E. Cheese. For her graduation present, we gave her an origami book with some fun origami paper. I thought it would be fun because she really liked some of the origami animals I gave her (one of my coworkers really likes origami) and she is fairly artistic. At first she did not seem too impressed, but then we showed her how to make different animals and flowers with the paper, and she really got into it. Before we left, she had happily folded about 20 tulips, 5 bunnies, 3 dogs, and a cat. I made a family of penguins and a family of swans. Jacob wanted me to fold him a lion, but I got stuck at step 9 (out of 36). It looked like a paper airplane, but he said, “I like my lion! Will you draw a face on it please?” It’s nice to be 3. Things are much simpler. Anyway, it was fun to spend that time with her and to see that she really did enjoy the present. When we were leaving, she said, “I really like origami, Aunt Kari.” Warm fuzzies all around.

It’s not that it was a bad day, exactly, just kind of long and boring. And then tonight I went to an event where I put my foot in my mouth. And Mike wasn’t there, so I had to drive home by myself. Luckily, it was dusk, the thermometer in my car showed the temperature outside to be a perfect 71 degrees, I have a sunroof, and I had Living with Ghosts to sing along with. Loudly. As in, I am currently hoarse. There’s not much that driving at dusk with Patty Griffin can’t fix.

I have always wanted to be a fan of the Gilmore Girls. But I (much to my shame) watched American Idol instead. I knew I should be watching the smart, funny show, but Simon Cowell sucked me in. I did check in here and there, and I read the recaps to fill in the holes I was missing. This season, I started out as a devoted fan, but I work on Tuesday nights, and it got hard to keep up. Last week Mike bought season 1 on DVD and we have been watching and enjoying it (but not together - he refused to wait for me, so he’s a bit ahead). Anyway, although the WB’s promos are notorious for being misleading, it does appear that we are finally going to see some Luke/Lorelai snogging on next week’s season finale.

And there was much rejoicing in our household.

(And I love that Mike loves the show as much as I do - maybe even more. He is a good man.)

This morning I was thinking what I could write about, and the word that kept coming into my head was longing. “What am I longing for?” I thought. I like my job, I have a new house, Mike and I are doing well. And yet, there is a sense of discontentment, something missing. I touched on this a bit the other day, how I tend to focus on things that make me discontented instead of pursuing contentment.

I have been told quite a bit lately that I am expecting God to work a certain way, and when he doesn’t, I act as if he has let me down. People say that, and I think it’s true, but I also do feel very let down, abandoned, even, by God, and I’m not sure how to change that. It’s not as if these comments are suddenly opening my eyes to a new revelation, and suddenly my heart has changed and the world is in technicolor again. Instead, I hear my friends say these things, and I know they are true, but I can’t figure out what to do. And I get resentful - my friends make it sound as if it’s supposed to be easy. “Just trust,” or, “Live in truth,” or, “Take that step of faith.” Well, okay. Any idea how to do that? How do I make my cold heart respond to the Lord, when I am afraid it will just hurt again, or that I will be abandoned again in my need?

The women in my family have always been strong women of faith. I always thought I was, too. And, I guess the fact that I haven’t given up does give me a little hope. It’s not as if I believe that God has abandoned me forever - just that he abandoned me when I needed him the most, and I can’t seem to find him again, because I am afraid of opening my heart to him again.

I feel kind of like a spoiled child, to be honest. But I’m afraid of being even more broken than I already have been.

So, what am I longing for? Healing, I think. Healing of my heart and of my relationship with God.

I like reality television.

There, I said it. I watch reality tv. I have watched it pretty regularly since the second season of Survivor. My favorites are The Apprentice and The Amazing Race (season premiere - the day after my birthday! yay!), and we keep up with Survivor and a bit of American Idol (though I only watch the results shows at this point). I watched Big Brother one season, but I don’t like it as much. Personally, I don’t understand the vitriolic criticism people have regarding “reality tv” (I am actually with Mark Burnett on this one - I like the term “unscripted drama”). I don’t see that it’s really any worse than any other TV. Survivor is fun to watch to see how people act in groups. The Amazing Race (which I could never ever do) is so interesting, because true colors are shown because of fatigue and extreme situations, which is similar to Survivor, but in TAR, you’re not on your own - you have someone who is very close to you along on the trip. The Apprentice was just plain fun because of Donald Trump’s enormous ego. I mean, have you seen his hair? And his apartment was the tackiest thing EVER. But he doesn’t care - everything he’s built is the most beautiful or the best in some way. I love it. And I loved how he wasn’t afraid to put the contestants down. Jeff Probst has been getting more snarky lately, and Survivor has benefitted from it greatly. Sometimes people need to be told when they are behaving like crap.

Anyway, I am tired of feeling as if I have to defend my poor taste in television. I never go to the movies. I don’t watch much tv other than these shows. I watch them for entertainment. So sue me.

The other thing about reality tv that is funny to me is that people see the characters so differently. On a regular drama, it’s easy to tell who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. And nobody really takes the bad guys’ side. Like in Alias, who is pulling for that bad guy with the fluid and the channeling? Nobody. (I don’t watch Alias - this is just what I have gathered from my friends). But, take Survivor as an example. This season I have had my sanity called into question for liking some of the characters and disliking some of the others. I just had a conversation where I said I wasn’t voting for Rupert to win the second million (I am with many TwoP-ers in supporting “Operation Deny Rupert” by voting fast and furious for other contestants because I think that he is probably going to win) and the girl I was talking to looked at me as if I was a disgusting bug. “Oh, sure,” she said, “give the money to someone who lies and manipulates. Rupert was honest during the whole game!” Well, sure, but I don’t think honesty is what Survivor is about. I think it’s about lying and manipulating while not pissing people off too much. I don’t like Rupert. I haven’t liked him either season. He’s sexist, and he relies on the “I was teased as a child” shtick too much. His popularity is very confusing to me. You know who I do like? Big Tom, until the reunion show. Alicia (which is a very unpopular choice, I know). Jerri, because she didn’t seem as bad this season (although I didn’t like her at the reunion show). Jenna L, even though she is a little dorky. I even liked Rob and Ambah okay. I didn’t hate them like most of America does, which I have been afraid to admit. I thought Rob played the game well. But I have been kind of afraid to say who I really liked and didn’t like, because I want people to like me and not think I am crazy. Who did I dislike besides Rupert? Richard Hatch. Lex. Kathy. Shii Ann. I liked Rudy, of course, and I thought Sue Hawk was telling the truth when she said she felt humiliated by Richard (another unpopular thing to say).

Mike and I enjoy pulling for teams and we usually see the teams similarly, which is fun. It’s like watching any game show, really, just with personal drama added. I have been put down too many times for watching these shows, and I refuse to apologize anymore. I like competition. I like sociology. I will keep on watching as long as I am entertained.

So, I have voted online for the second million. I have voted a lot. hehe. I have voted both the Robs, and Jenna L, and Rudy. And Big Tom a few times. I just don’t like Rupert, and I have a new policy of not apologizing for that.

It feels good to get that off my chest.

The air conditioning man (also known as a god among men) came and fixed our upstairs air this morning. It was okay at night with the windows open, but during the day it got unbearable. We don’t have any shade around our house, and the afternoon sun just bakes the front rooms. So, thank you Mr. Scott Air Conditioning Man, for making the upstairs tolerable once again.

Over the weekend I was in a wedding, and I went to a bridesmaids’ luncheon on Friday. When I got there, the bride’s aunt told me to go out back and join everyone for mimosas. On the deck were some of the bride’s female relatives and friends, all drinking mimosas. I thought about how very different that was from my family. My parents drink very very rarely, and they taught me that drinking’s not a sin if done in moderation. But I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen them drink. My mom’s sister drinks occasionally, and my dad’s sister has wine pretty regularly (both of those are mother-figures to me), but I don’t think any of my mom’s brothers drink. And my grandma and grandpa never ever drink. They are devout Southern Baptists and believe that it’s a sin, so none of us would wish to cause them grief by drinking in front of them. Which of course means that none of my wedding showers that included grandma had alcohol, and my wedding was alcohol-free. I don’t have a problem with those decisions . . . they were my decisions, out of respect for her. But it also gave me pause to see my friend having a drink with her grandma. It’s very much out of my paradigm.

You hear about little old Southern ladies having a drink in the afternoon . . . think The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood or something like that. But in my family, it would be sweet tea or lemonade, not alcohol. I imagine that all of this sounds very quaint to some of you, but it’s very normal to me. In situations like the one on Friday, it makes me feel very uncool, because my family is so different. I don’t know a whole lot about alcohol or the different kinds of drinks, because I didn’t grow up around it. There’s a restaurant in Charleston called Jestine’s, and they call sweet tea their “table wine.” I love that, because I can relate to it.

Oh, and, I’d never had a mimosa before. It was very good.

I love my brother, and we generally get along well (although we were a bit snippy with each other yesterday), but I have always wanted a sister. Not that I wanted to get rid of him - I just wished for an older brother who would protect me (my brother is both younger and non-confrontational) and a sister as well. I wanted more of us because you can’t play Clue with just two kids. And sometimes mom was too busy doing housework to play Clue with us, so we had to pick another game.

I have realized lately that what I wanted was a storybook sister. A sister who would be my best friend, so I would always have someone, just like in the movies or my favorite books. I have mentioned before that I run with a group of three other girls. All three of them have one older sister (one also has a younger half-brother and half-sister, but they are much younger than she is). None of them have the ideal sisterly relationships that I imagine. One of the relationships is better now, but the other two are really hard. That’s not to say that sisters can’t be close, because my mom and her sister are very close to one another. But I always wanted a sister because I assumed we’d automatically be inseparable, and that’s just not the case. I might not be any closer to a sister than I am to my brother, because he and I, though from the same family, are radically different.

I think I do this a lot. I tend to imagine how things are going to be, which of course means they don’t live up to my expectations. I overly glamorize things that I don’t have. I tend to act like I am the only one going through something, and no one else understands. I did that this weekend, and it led me down the same old path to jealousy.

I think the answer is learning to be content in your given situation. Well, not really . . . I guess the answer is learning to be content in the Lord. And he can help you deal with your current situation. I am finding that difficult these days.

Mike and I enjoyed the end of Friends last night. A series finale is usually unsatisfying, but we thought it was decent as far as they go.

A lot has been written lately about Friends in comparison to Seinfeld. I watched Seinfeld, and I laughed at it, but looking back, it’s not as funny as it was then. People quote lines, and I don’t remember them. Mad About You is the same way - I watched it religiously, but I watch it now and I don’t really laugh. Friends, though . . . there’s a Friends moment for just about everything. Mike and I quote lines all the time. My (real, not TV) friends quote it all the time. Obviously not everyone watches it, but I think it’s a real touchstone for people my age. For me, at least, it is kind of like Cheers in that the characters were so well developed that half the time you were laughing at what you knew was coming.

So, in honor of Friends, here’s my favorite episode and Mike’s favorite episode. I don’t remember the exact names, and, really, why should I look them up when most of my readers will know what I am talking about. hehe.

My favorite is the one where everyone finds out [which might actually be the name] about Monica and Chandler. I watched it by myself the first time, and Mike came home to find me laughing so hard I was crying. Between all the, “They know we know they know,” and, “He’s afraid of bras - can’t work ‘em,” and, “Hello Mr. Bicep!” Mike and I quote this one a lot. It’s classic Monica that she won’t let Chandler back down. My favorite line is : “They’re trying to mess with us?! They don’t know that we know they know we know! Joey, you can’t say anything!” “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Mike’s favorite is the Thanksgiving episode with Brad Pitt. I don’t think this was the one where Monica wouldn’t let anyone eat on the china. This was the one with the turkey-eating pants, though. Mike loves Brad Pitt, so pretty much all of his lines are Mike’s favorite, but I’ll go with this one: “Look at her standing there with those yams! My two greatest enemies Ross, Rachel Green and complex carbohydrates.”

Good times. I am not weepy about it being over or anything like that. It was definitely time for it to be off. Mike and I are saving our pennies so that we can buy the different seasons on DVD.

Per Autumn’s request, I have been trying to think of some favorite fluff. She has unwittingly exposed one of my deep insecurities. I don’t think I am very good at recommending books to people. Reading is very personal, and what if I recommend something I really like and people hate it? I will feel rejected. Also, when people ask me for book recommendations, I go completely blank. I don’t know why that is.

So, anyway, less therapy and more books. Here are some favorite fluffy books and authors of mine.

-Maeve Binchy. I don’t think she ever topped the greatness that is Circle of Friends, but some of her others are very good too.
-Rosamunde Pilcher. I prefer September to The Shell-Seekers. Oh, and some of her shorter stories were pretty good.
-I hear Sophie Kinsella (Shopaholic series) is pretty good, but I haven’t actually read her.
-Grace Livingston Hill. Here’s where I admit that I read the same books my great-grandmother loved. They take me back to a simpler time, and I like that. Marcia Schuyler is my favorite, and less preachy than a lot of them.
-Robin Jones Gunn. I liked her stuff better when I was in high school, but she’s good for a quick read.
-The Cadfael mystery series. These are pretty short, but I always enjoy them.
-Nicholas Sparks. *swoon*
-The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith.

I also like to read YA stuff when I’m in the mood for something lighter. The subject matter isn’t always light, but they’re often shorter. I TA’ed for a YA lit class, and really enjoyed reading a lot of the material. And I don’t know if Harry Potter counts as fluff, but I will go ahead and mention him here. Share your favorite fluff, too - I am always looking for light reading.

(Mike read something that said that, when someone asks you what you’re reading, you should always mention three books. But I only read one book at a time. I think three sounds pretentious if I am only reading one. What do you think?)

Over the weekend I scrapbooked for the first time in months and months. I don’t know for sure why it had been so long - obviously we were consumed with house details for a while, and I still haven’t hung pictures yet. I have been reading a little more than average, although most of my reading has been fluff. I haven’t really been challenged.

I don’t have musical talent, and I’m not very artsy-craftsy. Scrapbooking is my only female-type thing that I am good at. Unfortunately, it’s a lonely thing for me, too. Some of my friends like to scrapbook, but none of my friends do Creative Memories like I do. So when I go to the events, I go alone. I like Creative Memories, because I like supporting small businesses, I think their products are a little higher quality, and they speak my language as far as all the acid-free products. For example, my consultant told me that the pens they use are the same pens used in the Library of Congress. That is speaking my language - I understand the importance of making sure the ink and paper won’t fade, and it impresses me that they would use LC-quality products.

Scrapbooking is different than other creative ventures. You can’t exactly leave it open on the table and display it like you would a piece of pottery or a painting or a mosaic. People have to ask to see it, and looking at someone else’s scrapbook is not necessarily all that interesting (I realize that I am running the risk here that reading about scrapbooking is also uninteresting). Mike is supportive but clueless about all my tools and how much work I put into a page. I have come to realize that I can’t scrapbook for approval, or to be admitted into the crafty women’s club (I know there’s a club! I just haven’t been accepted yet). I do it for me. It’s like journaling plus cute stickers.

I am reasonably good at scrapbooking, probably because I focus on the journaling and making sure I tell the funny or cute stories to go with the pictures. I have a real sense of accomplishment about what I have done, and I like to look back on my pages and remember the fun times I have documented. I do find myself taking better pictures now, and my interest in photography has grown.

I consider myself feminine, but not really girly a lot of the time. Scrapbooking isn’t something I thought I would get into - I just wanted to do our wedding book and leave it at that. But I like the idea that my kids can look back and know about the things Mike and I did together. I like that, when we are having a hard time, we can look at my books and remember the good times. I like having something as solid as a book to document our history. And I especially like that it grows along with us. It’s not stagnant, but it’s a growing document.

It’s nice to feel like I’m doing something valuable.

This morning on NPR I heard a segment about Sandra Cisneros, an author, discussing her use of language and what influenced her style. What I found so interesting was how she remembered visiting the Chicago Public Library as a child and looking in the card catalog. She saw that some of the cards were more dirty and dog-eared than others, and she wanted to read those books, because they must be great, important ones. From there it was only a quick jump to wanting to write her own books, books that would have their own dirty, dog-eared cards.

That made me kind of sad, because we just don’t live in that world anymore. I’m not bemoaning technology, because as a librarian I am incredibly thankful for computers and boolean searches and OCLC. But, when the catalog is on a computer, we can miss out on the human aspect of accessing information, or the serendipity of flipping through the card catalog and running across exactly what you need. We might be more exact, and it is certainly easier, but it is also more impersonal.

There’s a journal on my desk entitled “Books to Check Out.” I keep a list of stuff I would like to read in there, jotting down titles or authors as I come across them. The cover looks like the inside of an old library book, with all the due date stamps. We don’t do that anymore, either. It’s not really good for the books. My university did it, though, and I remember the fun of checking out a book that hadn’t been checked out since the 60s. I guess that’s another human aspect that has faded away.

Enough reminiscing about the past. Since I’m already talking about the library, this seems like a good time to give a job update. I have now been at my job six months(!!!), and I had my review at the end of last week. It was a good review, and very encouraging (and now I can use vacation time! yay!). Not only that, but I was discussing some of the changes I’ve made on the website with one of my coworkers, and she said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” It is nice to work in an encouraging, affirming environment. I am glad I like my job. It was a long, hard road to get here, but I am thankful to see how it has all worked out.

Last night I watched the first half of JFK. I had never seen it before, and I was working on some scrapbooking and wanted to have something on in the background to entertain me. First I watched Legally Blonde, but that one is only an hour and a half, so I needed another movie to watch, and I randomly decided on JFK.

Obviously, JFK is just a movie, and to my knowledge it twists quite a few things around for dramatic effect, but I think Roger Ebert is right when he says that what is so compelling about it is that it captures the way people feel about the assassination of the president. He says, “JFK accurately reflects our national state of mind since Nov. 22, 1963. We feel the whole truth has not been told, that more than one shooter was involved, that somehow maybe the CIA, the FBI, Castro, the anti-Castro Cubans, the Mafia or the Russians, or all of the above, were involved. We don’t know how. That’s just how we feel.” Whether you believe that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone or not (I personally do not), there do seem to be a lot of unanswered questions, things that don’t make sense. Unfortunately, it seems that the people who believe the lone gunman theory think the conspiracy-hounds are crazy for not believing the facts presented by the Warren Commission, while the conspiracy-minded think those who are satisfied by the Warren Commission are woefully naive and misinformed. Not much common ground between the two, and the relationship often seems to degenerate into name-calling and worse.

I have been told my whole life that Lee Harvey Oswald was a patsy, that he was killed because he knew too much. I do tend to believe that there was someone else, but I have no idea whether that’s actually true or not. A quick poll of my coworkers revealed four in favor of conspiracy and only one who believes the lone gunman theory. I have asked a lot of my relatives what they believe, and there is a huge majority in favor of a conspiracy, whether it was LBJ or the FBI or the Mafia. My coworkers and my family aren’t exactly a fringe element. They are reasonable individuals, maybe a little skeptical of the government, but in this case, who can say which came first? One of my coworkers (I believe accurately) pointed out that much of the current skepticism and doubt in our government is rooted in the fact that many average people just don’t feel that the truth was told about the assassination of our president. That’s when things really began to change.

I have an uncle, a very wise man who I greatly respect and love. A few months ago I asked him his thoughts on the Kennedy assassination, and he said that when he gets to heaven, the second thing he is going to do is ask God whether LBJ had JFK killed. (He wouldn’t tell us what his first question would be.)

On one hand, I would like for life to be uncomplicated and straightforward. I wish all the facts would always add up in straight little lines. Unfortunately, I understand that life isn’t always like that - not even just on the big stuff. There are plenty of things that happen that make no sense, at least from our very limited perspective. I am thankful that I can trust there is someone in charge, or I would go crazy like some of these conspiracy-minded folk. Maybe they’re right, but it’s an awful way to have to live - as though the truth is being deliberately hidden and there’s nothing you can do about it. I am thankful that God’s not like that, and that’s not the reality we have to live in.

“Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the LORD . . .” - Jeremiah 29:12-14a

I told my uncle that, when I get to heaven, I’ll come ask him what he found out.

This was my second Friday night in a row watching a movie and being domestic. Last Friday night I did some sewing and watched Bridget Jones’ Diary. I enjoy my Friday nights alone, especially when I have to work on Saturday, because it means I generally have a quiet night and get to bed early. Do I sound like a little old lady?