Through a Glass, Darkly

Last night Mike and I were having a difficult conversation, and in the middle of it all I kept thinking about food. (And the conversation. I was still focusing on the conversation. I can think about more than one thing at a time. Yay for multitasking.) Was I hungry? No. I wasn’t hungry at all. I just wanted to eat to make myself feel better. I kept imagining bread sticks from the Olive Garden and brownies and chocolate cake and bread sticks and popcorn. And bread sticks. (Notice that my food fantasies are very carbohydrate-heavy.)

I am, unfortunately, one of those people who eats when I get stressed. I think it is far more desirable to be someone who doesn’t eat at all when she gets stressed. However, that is not my lot in life. (Except those rare moments of extreme stress that only come in times of personal crisis. During those, even I, the queen of comfort eating, cannot eat. But that hardly ever happens.) I didn’t actually eat anything last night, which was good. But that always seems to be my fallback position. I had a bad day? Bring on the chips and salsa!

I come by this pretty honestly - my dad is bad about comfort eating, too, and I eat just like he does. Except, he would tend more towards honeybuns and ice cream, whereas I only want sweet stuff if it’s chocolate. Honeybuns are a waste of my time. I tend to crave salty stuff. You know, like bread sticks.

There’s not really a point to this. I just noticed how easily I defaulted to that last night. Visions of carbohydrates dancing in my head. I am sure there are people who say instead of indulging I should exercise to distract myself. Or journal. Or take a walk. Or just use mind over matter. Those things are all good, but they wouldn’t work in the midst of a hard discussion like last night. And, generally speaking, I have been doing a little better about realizing when I am eating because I am stressed, so I can’t really complain.

So, to those wise people I say, please pass the popcorn. (Don’t forget the exta butter.)

My parents are turning my old room into an office, so they keep trying to give me things I have left there. In my mind, it’s still my room, and I think I should be allowed to leave things there. My dad disagrees. We were up there last week and he kept pointing things out, trying to get me to take them. Mike randomly picked up my old piggy bank and realized that there was some money in it. It turns out that it was all $2 bills and Susan B. Anthony coins. My dad always put those in our stockings as a special treat, and I never wanted to spend them for whatever reason. I guess I thought they were really special. Since Mike and I don’t have a lot of extra cash, I decided to get over my aversion to spending those bills and coins, and we used the money to buy some stuff at Wal-Mart for the baby shower. Mike handed the cashier the coins, and she was fine with that, but she looked at the $2 bills and said, “I have never seen this before. I will have to get someone to approve these.” It took a couple of minutes, but a manager-type person came over, looked at the bills, rolled her eyes and said, “Um, yeah, those are fine. Just put them with the bigger bills in the register.” The cashier, chastened, turned to the cashier in the next lane and said, “Have you ever seen these before?” He said he had, then he said, “What, have you never seen a $2 bill?” She looked at me and Mike and said, “Now I feel really stupid.”

We declined to comment.

This morning I was about to leave for work and I called to Mike, “Come here and give me a hug.” He has that magical gift for hearing what I am really saying, so he said, “It’s the in-laws, isn’t it?” He came out of the bathroom, saw my eyes brimming with tears, and enveloped me in his arms.

Last night I helped throw a baby shower for one of my friends. This is her second baby, so instead of typical baby shower games and cutesy food, we decided to surprise her with a girl night - pizza and chips and dip and Friends. She thought a couple of us were just having a movie night, so it was a neat surprise for her. The biggest shock was that her mother-in-law and her step-mother-in-law both came to the shower, driving several hours to be there.

I don’t want to be jealous of my friends but I do get that way when it comes to family-oriented events like baby showers and weddings. (I suppose you could say it’s not my most attractive quality.) Mike’s parents aren’t involved in our lives, and every time I think I’ve come to terms with it, something like this happens. It’s not that I am not happy for my friends. I am. I just wish that I could have that, too. A family on both sides who are happy for us and excited with us. My heart aches when I think about missing out on that. I feel embarassed and a little ashamed . . . I suppose I feel like people will look down on me or judge me for my “poor showing” at these events. Silly, I know. I know everyone has family troubles and that there are things I have that my friends don’t have. But I still get sad every time.

I know we have been blessed with family in so many other ways. I have an abundance of aunts and uncles who help fill those holes, and we have amazing friends. I know no one looks down on me for my situation. Last night I avoided thinking about it all night, but it hit me when I was in the shower this morning. Since I got to work, my eyes have threatened to brim over a few times (including while writing this), but I know that, like always, the pain will fade in the routine of daily life. Maybe next time I’ll be able to rise above it. Maybe next time it won’t hurt so much. Maybe next time will be different.

Yesterday Mike and I went to my grandparents’ house to get some fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden. We couldn’t stay long, because Grandma had an appointment she had to get to, but we did stay for a few minutes. When we left, Mike said, “You’re going to blog about this, aren’t you?” So, this one’s for him.

About four years ago, Grandpa had a stroke. Before then, he had seemed a little . . . off, so it was almost a relief to know that something was actually wrong. The past four years have been up and down. At times he has seemed lucid, at other times not so much. These days he’s pretty quiet and doesn’t seem to know what’s going on all that much.

After my mom went back to teaching when I was in the fifth grade, my brother and I would stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s house after school. Grandma always had a snack ready for us, and Joseph and I would play in the car port with the tennis balls or ride bikes until we had to do our homework. Joseph has a touch of ADD, so it always took him a little longer to do his, but I’d get mine done and then Grandpa would come home. He and I spent hours playing rummy and double solitaire (the rules of which escape me now, so don’t ask how one can play double solitaire).

Those times were when I really got to know Grandpa. He worked a lot when I was smaller, and he was tired, so we had to be quiet when he got home. We were a little afraid of him, because he could be pretty gruff. One of my favorite childhood anecdotes comes from a game of hide-and-seek at Grandma’s house. My cousin David and I were hiding from my brother, and we decided that Grandma and Grandpa’s shower would be an ideal place. While we were hiding, Grandpa, having no idea that we were there, came in and started using the bathroom. The, uh, sounds that were coming from the other side of the shower door made us giggle, and a horrified Grandpa told whoever was in there to get out of the bathroom. Our moms thought it was hysterical, but I know that I worried that Grandpa would be mad. I didn’t hear him laugh about that until many years later.

Somehow, though, all those games of rummy turned into an easy cameraderie. I would tell him about school and he would take me for walks. I brought him home a poster of a monkey (you know those posters that used to come free with Scholastic book orders? One of those) and told him it looked like him. He cut out a picture of a monkey from the newspaper and said it looked like me. I gave him a calendar full of monkey pictures. This went on for years and years. There is still a picture in Grandma’s kitchen of a big monkey and a little monkey sitting on a fence wearing overalls with the caption, “Grandpa and Kari.” And the last time I checked, the poster was still hanging on the closet door in their room. Sometime during my teenage years, one of my uncles accusingly said to me, “You’re his favorite,” but that doesn’t quite explain our relationship. My other grandfather died before I was born, so Grandpa is the only grandfather I’ve ever had. I think I needed him more, somehow, and I got more time with him after his retirement than a lot of the others, since we lived only 10 minutes away.

When I was in college, David and Joseph and I used to sit back and just watch Grandpa play with the two youngest grandchildren (who are currently almost 7 and 9). We were glad they had that fun time with him, but their relationship with him prior to the stroke was completely different than what we had experienced. He was a lot more easygoing. Since his stroke, several of the family have commented that whatever short temper and gruffness he had left were killed off by whatever happened in his brain. I know that makes it easier on Grandma, so I am thankful for that. It’s still hard on her, having to move him around and feed him.

The last time I remember having a conversation with Grandpa was on my wedding day. After the recessional, the family and the bridal party were all in one of the rooms at the church. Grandpa was standing by the window, and I went over to him. He wasn’t normally very demonstrative, but he hugged me and told me that he was proud of me and that I was beautiful. He had been kind of sick, so I was so glad that he was able to be there, and I told him that. We hugged again, and he said, “You don’t look like a monkey today.” He had his stroke a few weeks after that.

I get really sad to see him now. I wish he wasn’t sick and that we could joke around like we used to. I still ask him if he’s causing trouble, which has been our greeting to each other for many years now (the answer was always yes, because he says he takes after me). He doesn’t remember who I am, but every time I talk to Grandma, she says that when he sits in his chair during the day, he holds on tightly to the stuffed monkey I gave him one year for Christmas.

Yesterday I turned the corner into my cubicle and I saw this weird bug flying around. It was similar to this bug, so maybe he’s been hiding in my cubicle all summer. Great. He landed on the wall, so I did what any sane person would do: I took off my shoe and waited for him to stand still so I could smush him. Unfortunately, just as I was standing there holding my right shoe menacingly, the IT guy came around the corner to ask me something.

Seriously, no one ever comes into my cubicle unless I am doing something that looks a little odd like that. Why, God, why? hehe.

(He did offer to kill whatever I was hunting, but by then it had crawled behind my bookcase. He helpfully noted that it would probably breed back there. And then refused to switch cubicles with me.)

I have an American Heritage Dictionary word of the day calendar on my desk. I am not sure who chooses the words of the day, but it seems like the words are either everyday words or completely useless. Let me give you an example.

Yesterday’s word was swelter. Swelter is a good word for August here in North Carolina. Its primary definition is, “to suffer from oppressive heat.” But, you know, I use that word all the time (at least in August). It’s not a southern word, either (at least I don’t think). People in all parts of the country use it. It’s not really a vocabulary builder. It’s just a word I already knew. Thumbs down.

Today’s word is enfleurage. “A process in making perfume in which odorless fats or oils absorb the fragrance of fresh flowers.” Interesting, yes, but not very useful. Unless I start making perfume, which, let’s face it, is not likely. Thumbs down.

This calendar also has a lot of words dealing with plant parts or scientific equipment. They’re just . . . weird words. Kind of interesting, but mostly useless. I guess my expectation for a word of the day calendar includes something that I can show off in everyday life. Isn’t that what most people want? Isn’t that the point of a calendar like this, for overachievers who want to show off? Arborvitae doesn’t present a lot of conversational opportunities.

Next year I’m getting an origami calendar. (Because . . . when I think “useful” and “showing off,” I think . . . origami.)

I mentioned a few weeks ago that The Jesus Record is a huge summer album for me. The past few weeks I have been listening to it in my car. Well, I guess that’s only true if “listening to it” means “playing ‘Hard to Get’ over and over and over.”

You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardened by the hurt

I used to think that this kind of thing would get easier the older I got, but instead I get more afraid of being alone. I am afraid to cling, so I put up walls that only let people in so far . . . think Helm’s Deep here. Even if they get past one gate, there are others to keep them from completely infiltrating my fortress.

Do you remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread?
Did You forget about us after You had flown away?
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I’m so scared, I’m holding my breath
While You’re up there just playing hard to get

I’ve been living in so much fear, too, that God has forgotten about me. I think the best way to explain it is that I feel like I am last on his priority list. I know he’s there, but everyone else seems more important to him.

You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that’s not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then
Did You ever know loneliness
Did You ever know need
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on
And Your friends fall asleep
And don’t see the blood that’s running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You’re up there just playing hard to get?

One of the things I’ve been trying to remember lately is how accessible Jesus is. He was here. He does know loneliness and fear and betrayal. And he’s overcome those things so that we might live in that same freedom.

And yet . . . I don’t feel free. I don’t feel comforted.

And I know you bore our sorrows
And I know you feel our pain
And I know it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained

This is where I get stuck. Because I do feel like, in so many ways, if I just knew the reasons for things I could deal with them better. If I knew why things have worked out like they have, if I could just see a little more of the grand design . . . I feel like that would help me so much. I know in the past, when I have been given those glimpses, I have cherished them.

Of course we don’t always get to know. And maybe knowing wouldn’t really help. But in my head, knowing fixes it all. So I’m stuck.

And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I figured this, somehow
All I really need to know
Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time
We can’t see what’s ahead
And we can not get free of what we’ve left behind
I’m reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret

I’m stuck wondering, “Are you still listening?” I’m stuck reliving stupid mistakes and misunderstandings in excruciating detail. I’m stuck feeling foolish and embarassed. Shame and doubt, blame and regret describe it perfectly. I feel so weighed down by those things.

I can’t see how You’re leading me unless You’ve led me here
Where I’m lost enough to let myself be led

I think I am finally getting there. I am finally learning to trust God again. This morning I was reading in Philippians, and Christians throw around “the peace that passes understanding” a lot, but what really struck me about that verse was that God’s peace guards our hearts and minds. When he asks us to be vulnerable and to trust, he’s our safety net.

Just deciding to read my Bible was a victory. And small group last night was great, and I had an amazing phone call this morning. I feel like all of that together is me refusing to live in despair any longer and choosing to trust. I’m trying to believe I don’t have to understand it all . . . I’m trying to believe that, whether it was just God trying to get my attention or something greater, that what I have to do is follow Him starting now. And let the past take care of itself.

And so You’ve been here all along I guess
It’s just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get.

Amen.

My new book, The Ghost Writer by John Harwood, is turning out to be a bit of a disappointment. The reviews I read said that it was reminiscent of Possession by A.S. Byatt, so I was all over it. It’s not really like Possession at all, from what I can tell. In fact, I have been so disappointed with the first few chapters that I checked the end . . . and I had already guessed it. I don’t even know all the characters yet and I had guessed it. I don’t think I’m going to finish it.

Now to find something else to read. I was hoping this one would keep me occupied for at least a week.

My weekend was kind of meh. I worked on Saturday, as did Mike. He also worked yesterday, so I did the grocery shopping for the week and made vegetable soup. Making soup is a very comforting thing. I enjoyed slicing all the vegetables and the smell of soup permeating our house all afternoon. It was nice to putter around the house, though, watching TV, working on my scrapbook, and eating soup. I even went to bed early (Mike didn’t get home until midnight). This morning it definitely didn’t seem like it should be Monday.

I haven’t really been feeling like myself the past few days. I have been really tired lately. Hopefully I will start feeling more like myself.

Some providential things happened this morning.

1. This morning it seemed very bright in my room when I woke up. So I rolled over to look at the clock and realized the power was out. I gasped so loudly I woke Mike up, but when I leaned over to see his (battery-operated) alarm clock, I realized it was exactly the time I needed to wake up. Nice internal clock I’ve got going on.

2. It’s not winter, so it didn’t really matter that the power was out.

3. I did laundry last night, which included washing my favorite pair of pants. What’s so great about them? They don’t have to be ironed. So I didn’t have to iron this morning. Which was good, since, you know, no power.

4. Did I mention it’s not winter? Because that’s very important. The past few times our power has been out were after ice storms. Our apartment was 50-something degrees. This morning? No temperature problems.

5. I got ready except for drying my hair. It was about an hour before I had to be at work, so I decided to just go to work and dry my hair. As I was finishing breakfast, getting ready to walk out the door, the power came back on. I got to dry my hair at home!

6. It’s August, not January. I can’t stress this enough.

I am going to take this opportunity to tell a little cheesy story. After Hurricane Fran came through in 1997, our power was out for about 48 hours. Our church was about 45 minutes away, in Chapel Hill, and the damage was much worse there. That Sunday, a few days after Fran, we had our power back, so we happily went to church. Most everyone there was still dealing with downed power lines, but the church had lights, so we had service. I am not sure if it was intentional or not, but we seriously sang these songs: “Father of Lights” and “Show Your Power.” My mom and I tried very hard not to laugh, but we failed. To this day I cannot sing those songs without cracking up. I sang them in the shower this morning. hehe.

On Saturday, since Hurricane Charley cancelled our plans, Mike and I spent the afternoon at (an exceptionally crowded) Barnes and Noble. We even scored squishy chairs somehow. I finished Reading Lolita in Tehran, and he read another chunk of How to be Good.

I think Reading Lolita in Tehran would have been more meaningful to me if I had read more of the works they discussed. I have never read Lolita. Or any Henry James. I loved the Jane Austen section, though. The core of the book was the women who met together to discuss forbidden Western literature. In the end, I was really moved by some of the comments the women made about how meeting together each week like that changed them. It made me think about the groups in my life that have changed me.

I have been involved in a lot of small groups and Bible studies and Sunday School classes. The one I am in now (an offshoot of the group in which I met the Shearers) is young marrieds with babies. Except for us. We’re the only baby-less couple. The group started in March after our larger group split, but we have been with most of the people in our group for four years, the entire time we’ve been married. I have really learned how to be a wife with the help of that group (in all its different forms). (I have also learned other things, like the art of the awkward lunch, dog etiquette, and that there can in fact be too many side dishes containing potatoes.) Another memorable group for me is the group in which I met Shelby. That group met for two years - my freshman and sophomore years of college. We did Bible study, but we also just had a good time being together. We took trips and played games and ate tons of junk food. And we laughed. That group really defined my first two years of college. I don’t keep up with all of those girls like I should, but when I see them, there’s an instant connection.

Sandwiched in between those two groups is the group that I think most defined the person I am today. My junior year of college, I was on a planning team for my school’s chapter of InterVarsity. It consisted of four women (there was a guy involved the first semester, but he resigned over Christmas break) occasionally joined by two male staffworkers. We all had a lot going on that year. I was planning my wedding, one of the girls was going through a difficult on-again-off-again relationship, and one of the girls lost her mother. The fourth girl just had regular life stuff going on. Lucky her. She was the only one who we could pretty much guarantee wouldn’t cry every week. The rest of us? We were pretty emotional. I learned so much from meeting with that group every week. I learned how to let people into my personal space, and how to be vulnerable. I learned about planning and organizing events for a chapter. I learned what to do when your car breaks down on the interstate and someone offers to tow you for free (For the record: I rode in the cab with the driver and his friend. The other girls rode in the car on the back of the truck. Yes, that is illegal. Also, the nice driver kept offering me cigarettes). I learned that I wasn’t the only one who felt incompetent most of the time. I learned about passing that comfortable level of honesty and really talking about your crap. I learned how to make brownies when all you have to work with is a microwave. I learned how to let people do things for me and accept it graciously. I learned exactly how many people you can feed with a Stouffer’s lasagna and that not everyone knows how “boil-in-bag” rice works. We ate snow cream together and smoked cigars (well, everyone but me - I’m allergic. So I took the pictures and then used them as blackmail evidence) and cried many many tears.

I am thankful for all the small groups I have been a part of, and they have all changed me in some way. That one year, though . . . that was magic. At the time I didn’t appreciate those Monday night meetings as much as I do now. I am a better friend because of that group. I am more honest with myself and more real in my relationship with God because of those three women. It was not an easy year, but it would have been much harder without them.

Brian’s comment convinced me that what Mike and I were talking about last night should be the topic of a blog post. So, thank you, Brian.

Last night I was goofing off and I noticed that the girl (she’s older than I am, why do I call her a girl?) who plays Paris on the Gilmore Girls was on ER for a few episodes. Now, ER used to be my favorite show, but I couldn’t remember her character, so I checked some of the recaps on TwoP to see if I could remember her.

People! She played the wife of the crazy guy who stabbed Carter (my former television boyfriend) and killed Lucy!

That was some unforgettable television. Here’s a quick recap for those of you who aren’t familiar with the show. At the end of one episode, Carter walked into a patient’s room. The patient comes up behind him and stabs him. He falls to the floor and sees Lucy, who has already been stabbed and is lying in a pool of blood. The patient runs away to do goodness knows what. The episode ends.

I don’t think it’s possible for me to convey to you how incredibly disturbing and frightening I found that scene. Let me just say this: I had to sleep with the lights on for a couple of weeks. No lie.

The next episode featured the hospital trying to save two of its own. They even cracked Lucy’s chest open, but she didn’t make it. I can’t tell you much more about the episode, because after they cracked her chest open, I spent most of the rest of the episode covering my face with a blanket. It was really memorable television (when I could bring myself to watch the screen). Just thinking about it yesterday made me want to sleep with the lights on.

Most of my “really memorable television” moments come from sports. Laettner’s last-second shot over Kentucky. The Braves win the National League over the Pirates in the ninth inning. Chris Webber calls a timeout he doesn’t have. Michael Jordan plays with the flu (and scores 38 points). That crazy insane triple-overtime game in Cameron. It’s rare that a scripted TV show can bring that kind of emotion.

It makes me sad that I don’t follow ER anymore. I loved that show (and my television boyfriend). I gave up on it after Romano’s arm got cut off by the helicopter and Carter and Abby couldn’t make it work and Mark died and everyone was so darn unhappy all the time. I miss the glory days of ER, when I cared about the characters and I watched it faithfully every week with my friends. It was good community, and usually good (sometimes great) television.

I heard yesterday that Season 2 will be on DVD this December.

And after last night’s episode, there was a promo for Season 5 showing Rory continuing with her affair with Dean and Lorelai, obviously, disapproving. I haven’t seen Lorelai get sarcastic with Rory like she did in that promo. It was harsh. I know a lot of people disagreed with the Dean/Rory storyline, but all season they showed her being so lost at Yale. I can see how she would make decisions that weren’t “normal Rory” decisions. It will be good to see the girls be less codependent this season. They both kind of need to grow up. I’m excited to see where the writers take the characters.

Speaking of Season 5, I have had the hardest time staying away from spoilers. The internet has completely changed television viewing. I have been strong, though, and the only spoiler that I know about Gilmore Girls is something I read in TV Guide (which I won’t post here, since I don’t want to spoil any of my untainted readers).

It’s funny what I spoil and what I don’t. When it came to The Lord of the Rings movies, I didn’t mind reading spoilers, because I already knew the story and knowing, for example, that Sauruman wasn’t in Return of the King meant that I didn’t go in with expectations that got crushed. I often read Survivor spoilers, too. But I stay away from spoilers on dramas and sitcoms, because I like to watch the stories unfold. I remember back when I was an ER junkie, the episode where Susan was leaving to go stay with her sister and help take care of her niece was shocking to me, because I didn’t know that Sherry Stringfield was leaving the show. So, at the very end, when Mark ran after her train yelling, “I love you!” I thought for sure she was going to get off the train. But she didn’t. And since I didn’t know she was leaving, that was good TV.

So, I am going to stay strong these last few weeks. I hope. hehe.

During lunch a few weeks ago, I was reading the previous week’s Entertainment Weekly. It featured an article on readers’ favorite movie lines (that’s not the article, it’s just part of the list. It’s the best I could find). Mike and I quote movie lines all the time, so I was interested to see what the readers chose. When I was reading the article, it struck me as interesting that I have slept through Gladiator more times than I have actually seen it, and yet it still gives me chills to read this:

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the armies of the North, general of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

Most of the quotes that my friends and I toss back and forth are funny lines (”The veil is not attacking you!” “She said they were Satan’s panties!”) but I started thinking about lines that really move me. The ones that bring tears to my eyes or give me chills. The night before I was reading the article, Mike and I watched Miracle (which I quoted yesterday). So I guess I was in the mood to be inspired.

Gamling: Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor.
Theoden: No, we cannot. But we will meet them in battle nonetheless.

I mean, I love Aragorn, but there is something really compelling about Theoden’s character. In The Two Towers, he acts brave for the sake of his men, but by the time of the Battle of Pellenor Fields in The Return of the King, he’s given up on that.

Mike suggested that I include some quotes from Braveheart, of course, but since I haven’t seen Braveheart, I don’t know what the best quotes are. The only one I know is, “They may take away our lives, but they’ll never take our freeeedoooomm!” hehe. He also suggested several Gene Kranz (Ed Harris) lines from Apollo 13:

Chris Kraft: This could be the worst disaster NASA’s ever faced.
Gene Kranz: With all due respect, sir, I believe this is gonna be our finest hour.

Gene Kranz: We’ve never lost an American in space, we’re sure as hell not gonna lose one on my watch! Failure is not an option.

I had trouble thinking of more, to be honest. Here’s a couple favorites I came up with after perusing the users’ top 250 movies at IMDB.

From The Shawshank Redemption:

“Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”

From To Kill a Mockingbird:

“Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passing.”

And, one last quote, because I am a sucker for inspirational sports movies and the Olympics are a perfect time for them. And what better inspirational sports movie is there than Rudy? (Don’t argue with me here.) Sure, the “Five foot nothin’, a hundred and nothin’,” line is great, but where I really start to cry is when the captain of the team brings in his jersey, telling the coach they want Rudy to play instead of them.

“You’re an All-American and the team captain, act like it.”

“I believe I am.”

I read a review of Seabiscuit (which I have not seen) in which Roger Ebert says that his theory is that people “more readily cry at movies not because of sadness, but because of goodness and courage.” Looking at the ones I thought of (and I am sure there are dozens more that I couldn’t remember), I think he’s right.

We all throw around humorous movie quotes, but what are some of your favorite chill-inducing quotes?

I took an atlas home on Friday night so Mike and I could look up the countries we hadn’t heard of while we were watching the opening ceremonies. Every country we hadn’t heard of was an island country in the Pacific Ocean. One of my friends said, “You took an atlas home? Only geeks would do that.” Although she admitted that there were a lot of countries she’d never heard of, so she could see how an atlas would be useful. Ha! That’s what I thought!

I tend to get caught up in the Olympics. I cried when I heard about Jimmy Shea’s grandfather dying just a few days before the 2002 opening ceremonies. I am still disappointed about Michelle Kwan’s losses - she has been my favorite skater for years and years. It’s so unfair that she can consistently be the best skater in the world . . . except on that one night. But, you know, that’s how the Olympics are. We watched Miracle a few weeks ago, and the coach said something about that: “If we played them ten times, they might win nine, but not this game. Not tonight. Tonight, we skate. Tonight, we stay with them, and we shut them down, because we can!”

That “this is the only moment that counts” idea means we can get some pretty humorous moments, too. This article recalls one of my favorites:

One of the most memorable stories of the event occurred at the short-track speed skating. Australian skater Steven Bradbury, an honest competitor who had previously won a bronze as part of a relay team but well off the pace of the medal favourites, cruised off the pace in his semifinal only to see his competitors crash into each other, allowing him through to the final. Bradbury was again well off the pace, but lightning struck again and all four other competitors crashed out in the final, leaving a jubilant Bradbury to take the most unlikely of gold medals, Australia’s first in a Olympic Winter Games event.

I remember watching that with some of my friends and laughing for about 20 minutes. That Australian guy skated across the line as if saying, “This was my plan all along! I’ll wait for everyone else to fall down and then zip across the finish line!” Hee!

Another story that I love (and have searched InfoTrac and EBSCO for an article about . . . bonus points to any reader who can find me a link to an article about this guy) was from Sydney. There was a guy who came to participate in one of the swimming events who had very little swimming experience. He practiced in the hotel swimming pool. When he participated in qualifying events, it took him twice as long as everyone else to finish, but finish he did, to a standing ovation from the crowd. Watching the parade of nations on Friday, I thought they said he was from Ecuador (but I could be wrong ETA: In fact I was wrong), and that he’d been working on his time, but that he had some passport problems and he might not be able to make it to Athens in time.

[See the comments: Geof found him for me. His name is Eric Moussambani.]

I could probably keep telling stories like this for days (but don’t fear, I won’t). There’s just something about the idea of the entire world coming together to compete that I find really compelling. I love sports anyway, and I love to see the world’s best athletes for competing for two weeks, to hear about how hard they’ve worked and what they’ve had to overcome to get there. I wasn’t blessed with a single speck of athletic ability, but I sure admire those who have it.

So, tell me what your favorite Olympic moments are. And I’ll leave you with one final one of mine: Derek Redmond’s father helping him across the finish line.

Today I got the chance to redeem myself at church by being one of the communion servers. (I almost didn’t post about this, because I thought . . . what if someone gets on my case because I, a woman, helped serve communion? But then I thought . . . that’s not really being true to myself. So I am posting it anyway.) I did not in fact drop the tray I was holding with the juice (yes, juice. We may not be Southern Baptist, but we are still Baptists). So it turns out there is hope for me after all.

At our church, we do communion a little differently each time. And they try to get different members to serve at different times. This Sunday, since it was back to school, they got all the librarians to serve. Interesting fact: we actually have several librarians - four were there to serve this morning. Last year for back to school the teachers served, so it was our turn, I guess.

I don’t want to overly romanticize things, but it was pretty amazing to be a part of something so personal for people. When they would approach me, I got to look them in the eye and speak the truth about the sacrament we were all participating in: “The cup of salvation.” Some people I knew, but some I didn’t. Either way, it was really moving to see how some people were able to really take that in and think about what it meant. Being the body of Christ together means we get to experience those things together. We talk about a personal relationship, but the community aspect can’t be overlooked. We need one another for support and encouragement, for truth and, though none of us like it, rebuke. Today I got to serve people as they drank the cup that was poured out for the forgiveness of sins. Today I got to experience communion in a new way.

Mike and I have created a new rule for our house. The rule is, no TV after 8:00 pm unless it’s one of the few shows we actually follow (or something like the Olympics). The beauty of this rule is that we can still watch Jeopardy!, as it comes on at 7:30. We just don’t want to have the TV on for the sake of having it on. The other part of the rule is that we also turn the computer off at 8:00, unless Mike is using it for homework purposes. It’s been a very enjoyable rule so far. Last night we were both reading in the living room, and I fell asleep around 8:30. Yes, that does mean we are boring. It had been a while since I slept through the night without taking something to aid my snoozing. Last night, however, I got 10 hours of sleep. It was fantastic.

I’ve been thinking about ice the past few days. I can drink a soda at room temperature (although I prefer it over ice through a straw), but I like to drink milk only when it’s very cold. Last night Mike said that one of his favorite combinations is eating a brownie [yum] and then drinking whole milk [choke] over ice [ew]. I don’t like ice in my milk, but I can only drink water if it’s got lots of ice or has been refrigerated. I hate drinking room temperature water or water straight from the faucet.

I know a lot of people aren’t like this, because they will only give me one or two ice cubes when I ask for ice water. Or I will give them what I consider to be an acceptable amount of ice, and they will take some of it out of the glass. hehe. I just want to say to those people: Ice is good! Don’t question it!

Two of the most important days of my (short) life have been ruined by rain. So, while I generally like rainy days (as long as I don’t have to be out in them), when something important comes up that could get rained out, I get nervous.

Today I am feeling that nervousness. Hurricanes Bonnie and Charley are spreading rain through our area for the next few days. Including Saturday. When I am supposed to go see Patty Griffin and Emmylou Harris at an outdoor concert in Cary. While that certainly doesn’t count as one of the most important days in my life, it’s something I have been looking forward to since I got the tickets for my birthday.

I know better than to pray about the weather, especially when it comes to a hurricane. Let’s face it, during hurricanes, God has a lot bigger concerns than my outdoor concert. And weather is just one of those things that seems to have no rhyme or reason about it. Some important things get cancelled, and some don’t. For no discernable reason.

The website says the concert will take place rain or shine, but they did cancel one a few weeks ago for inclement weather. If it’s pouring on Saturday like it is today, I can’t imagine that they’ll hold the concert. Even if they do, it’s guaranteed to be pretty wet, which is not ideal.

And people wonder why I hate to get my hopes up.

You know why I haven’t been posting much lately? Because I haven’t been reading. And no reading leads to no thinking. My brains are a big pile of mush.

It’s not technically true that I haven’t been reading at all. I just don’t seem to be able to get really motivated about a book. I normally finish a book whether I am interested or not, just out of stubborness, but I have abandoned more books in the past few months than in the whole rest of my life combined. I just don’t feel excited about anything, or interested enough to meet new characters. (I said my brain was mush.)

I think I am finally going to make it through my latest book, though. I’m almost halfway through Reading Lolita in Tehran. You have probably heard of this book, which talks about the author’s experiences as a professor in Iran from 1979 to 1997, so I won’t bore you with the details. So far the main thing that has struck me was a discussion of whether to require women to wear the veil. The author said that her grandmother, a very devout woman who wears the veil out of reverence, was offended that the veil had become such a political symbol. Even though I am not Muslim, that statement completely resonated with me. I hate it when Christianity and politics mix, when something that’s so personal to me is used to gain political support. I’m not accusing one party of doing it more than the other . . . it just makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like to see Jesus used as a tool in American politics, as if he has no more significance than any other plank in the party platform.

I don’t like to talk politics, because I feel pressure to conform. If you are a Christian, of course you vote Republican. It doesn’t seem that simple to me. There are things that I value that are supported by both the major parties in our country.

I’m still just working things out, both with religion (”continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling“) and with politics. Which, I suppose, is how it should be. I guess it’s okay not to know all the answers.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow. - Anais Nin

Annoying or not?

My personal favorite:

He organized librarian conferences (starting in 1876), the biggest geek meetings to take place before Star Trek Conventions (which began in 1972).

(And, hey, as one of my coworkers said, I’m not crabby all the time! hehe.)

Over the weekend, Mike and I stayed with our friends Kelly and Scott at the beach. Good times were had by all. My friend Kelly has recently developed an affection for Diet Dr Pepper (which, she would like me to point out, does in fact taste more like regular Dr Pepper). Seeing her switch over to diet soda made me realize that we are getting older. Gone are the days in which we could eat as much as we wanted (although you wouldn’t know that from the amount of ice cream we consumed over the weekend). Now we are all being extra careful and eating and drinking things we would have shunned in college.

Summer is almost officially over. Mike starts school next week, and our small group resumed last night. We hadn’t all been together since our beach trip, so it was a good catching up time for us. All the babies were bigger, the adults were tanner, and everyone seemed kind of tired. Definitely the end of the summer. It seemed like some of us were going through some similar situations, which made me excited to start meeting again regularly. It’s kind of amazing how much community can both encourage you and make you stop thinking so much about your own problems. I highly recommend it.

I’ve been enjoying having Mike home all the time. I haven’t really convinced him to do much cleaning, but he’s cooking dinner every night. He’s going to make stuffed peppers tonight! I can cook, but I never think to make interesting things like stuffed peppers! Today he went to get immunized for school (he had to get two shots so I told him I’d bring him home a sticker) and check the prices on his books. He has to get 13 different books. If someone wants to donate to the “Mike and Kari really don’t have the money for 13 books fund,” please let me know. Oh, and he went to get his student ID today. It was kind of fun to tell him where all the buildings were and where he’d need to go to get his errands done. It doesn’t seem that long ago when I was a freshman, but it’s been seven years. Seven years since my roommate and I bought matching comforters. Seven years since that whole gang of us used to travel around campus doing the Monkees walk. Seven years since I started going to InterVarsity. Those were good times.

Well, it’s dinnertime. This was your Kari update for today, August 10, 2004.

Yesterday I realized that I have started doing something I have always found really annoying in other people. You know how you have a conversation with someone and you talk about doing something (let’s just say going out to eat) and they say, “We can’t afford that, sorry.” It’s so awkward. And uncomfortable. How are you supposed to respond? Should you offer to pay for them? What if you can’t afford to do that? Then what? Why do you suddenly feel so guilty?

I always said that if I was in that situation I would say we couldn’t do it without bringing up the money situation. Because it makes people uncomfortable. Now that Mike and I are suddenly destitute (that was an exaggeration for humorous effect), I realize that I have started doing that myself. Congratulations on those strong convictions, Kari.

What I didn’t realize is how intensely the money situation weighs on one’s mind. It affects my decision to drink water instead of Diet Coke (not a bad decision, but that’s not really the point). It affects my decision to bring my lunch instead of going out to eat. It affects my decision to make a cup of hot chocolate from the mix in my desk instead of buying a cup of coffee. (I also think about food a lot, in case you can’t tell.) Our finances are the reason I am so upset about the flat tire and the reason I haven’t been sleeping so well the past two weeks.

So, now that the shoe is on the other foot and all that, I feel that I should publicly apologize for having been critical of how anyone handled having to say no for financial reasons. I was insensitive to the stress that money causes, and that was wrong. And, if I’ve irritated anyone with my constant financial prattle, I am sorry. I am trying to work on it.

Today, though, I just feel like the worst version of myself.

I learned something last night: There is no way in the world that I could possibly change the tire on my Beetle. I believe this to be true because the tire is so heavy that I couldn’t even get it out of the back.

I am greatly discouraged by this. My dad had a rule that I couldn’t get my license until I could drive a stick shift, change the oil in my car (you know, for all those emergency oil changes by the side of the road), and change my tire. So I know how to change a tire. I haven’t done it in years, but I do know how. My dad even taught me how to get the bolts off if they were too tight by jumping on the tire iron. Boy, that makes a woman feel strong and independent.

Last night on the way home from work (I worked until 9, so this was after dark) some chain of events caused me to be slightly off the road for a few seconds, and when I pulled the car back on the road it gashed the tire. So I had to pull off on a side road ASAP. Being only three or four minutes from home, I called Mike instead of AAA. While he was coming to save me, I tried to get the tools out of the back. I got the little set of tools out just fine, but I couldn’t pull the tire out. It was incredibly heavy. (The tires on my Chevrolet Sprint and my Honda Civic were not that heavy.) Being as short as I am, I couldn’t get enough leverage to actually pull it out of the trunk. Do you know how pathetic that made me feel? Not as pathetic as when I got really desperate and tried to yank it out, causing a disturbing shooting pain in my knee. While I was doing all of this, men in pickup trucks kept driving by and asking me if I needed help. I would say, “No, thanks! My husband is on the way!” The first group of guys seemed like people I would probably have let help me if I had actually needed help, because they seemed concerned and not leering. The second group of guys, however . . . when I said, “No, my husband is on his way,” they responded, “Okay! We’re not married!”

Oh. Okay, then. hehe.

Since I am writing this, I suppose it’s obvious that I didn’t die at the hands of some unmarried strangers or even resist their attacks by beating them with the tire iron. Mike came and changed the tire for me (he had no trouble getting it out of the back, but he had a lot of trouble getting it on and getting the bolts in) while I held the flashlight. We even made it home in time for The Amazing Race. It seems like a “no harm, no foul” story except for one thing. I have been stressed about money as it is, and we really really can’t afford to have to buy a new tire. So I’m hoping that last night’s escapade doesn’t cost us too much money.

When I was visiting my mom over the weekend, I was sharing some of my money fears with her and she said that this is a chance for me to really step out in faith and trust the Lord’s provision. So, today while I wait for Mike to call and tell me how much it’s going to cost, that’s what I’m trying to do.

The tomato juice extravaganza was fabulous. I learned all the secrets of the family recipe. When I was adding the salt and the sugar to the jars, I asked Grandma how she knew how much to add - whether she had tried it different ways and settled on that one. She said, “I do it that way because that’s what my mama always did.” It was fun to feel like I can also be a link in that chain. I stood at Grandma’s old sink, the one on the old porch (it’s not a porch any longer, but it used to be outside) slicing more tomatoes than I have ever sliced in my life, thinking about some of the frustrations I have been encountering lately. Using the same recipe my great-grandmother used has the same effect that the Lord’s Prayer and the Doxology and old hymns have on me . . . I stopped focusing so much on the bad stuff and started thinking about God’s faithfulness to my family through the years. It was nice to get some perspective.