Through a Glass, Darkly

I still think people who enjoy running are sadists. This morning I went running, and, admittedly, it was the first time in a while, and, admittedly, it was very windy and therefore not prime running conditions. I wore my blue hat and my blue gloves. I had my iPod. I was ready to brave the elements.

Maybe I’m wrong here, but I do not think running should end in an asthma attack. It wasn’t the worst asthma attack of all time, but it was kind of hard to breathe. I always have this problem when I try to exercise in cold weather - I can’t breathe in cold air like that. Of course, they say that what helps is . . . exercise. So I’m not going to give up. But, just so you know, I am not going to enjoy it, no matter what all you crazy runners with your crazy runner’s high (that I still don’t believe in) say. I will not be assimilated.

It looks like we’ll be going to Florida for our regular spring break trip in March, so I’m trying to be in good shape for that. Hence the running. In addition, since I’ve been feeling kind of down the past few days, I tried to get up and be productive this morning. Before I came into work at noon, I cut Mike’s hair, went running, watched the Oscar nominations, changed the sheets on our bed, cleaned our bathtub, ironed a few things, folded some laundry, emptied the dishwasher, and went to the tax department to turn in some papers. I think I was more productive before noon than I have been since.

I had book discussion today, though, which is good reason to consider a day slightly unproductive. Our book was The Last Days of Dogtown, which we read because we all enjoyed The Red Tent. This book, though, was universally disliked. So we talked about it for only a few minutes, and then talked of other things. The group took December off, and I had really missed those women. It was nice to see them and to catch up a little bit.

Now I’m going to attempt to get some productive work done in the next couple of hours before my shift on the desk tonight. We’ll see how that goes.

Eragon was a book I always thought I’d get around to reading, and then I agreed to lead a book discussion on Eldest, so I figured I’d better read them both. I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, Eldest got so bad that I was counting down pages, announcing to everyone at work (and at home) exactly how much longer I had. And I showed them the EW review of Eldest that gave it a D+. (I know it’s my own fault, because I read the review back in August, but I thought EW was surely just being harsh. Now I know better.)

And, now for the spoilers (this is at Mike’s request - he didn’t want to accidentally see anything spoiler-ish.

(more…)

I know I wrote about settling back before Christmas, but I’ve been thinking about it again. Not just in relationships, but in life. Some of this, yes, is melancholy left over from yesterday, but some of it is just stuff that’s been weighing on my mind for the past few weeks.

I have been pondering whether the way that I still feel means that I’m settling. If I was doing the right thing, doesn’t that mean I wouldn’t be angry? Wouldn’t I be happier? Shouldn’t I feel more freedom? Maybe it’s because I wish things had turned out differently that I wonder if I’ve settled for less than a perfect solution. Something she said gave me that niggling fear that I didn’t give it my best shot, even though I am pretty sure (most of the time) that I did. Of course, the fact that she thinks I didn’t give it my best shot makes me worry. Maybe it’s that constant desire to please people that makes me think I am settling for resentment when I could be feeling much more freedom. After all, if she thinks I crapped out, I don’t know how not to give that some weight. I think that freedom is one of those paths, though, that each person has to find on their own - not in a new-agey way, but in an, “each person has issues that he or she needs to deal with and lessons that he or she needs to learn” kind of way. I think I’m still learning those lessons, but now and then I do get the feeling that I’m on the right path.

My tendency is to let the negative overwhelm the positive, so maybe that’s why I feel like I’ve settled. If I’m really honest, I’ll admit that I am settling by allowing myself to regret things that I have no business regretting. It’s right and good to have fellowship and to allow people into my life, and just because it didn’t end like I wanted . . . that doesn’t mean I have the right to regret it. If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that being angry is settling for a skewed version of events. If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that sometimes I wish I had worked things out on her terms. But I know in my heart that’s just another form of settling.

If I could talk to her, really talk to her, without all the baggage of the years getting in the way, I think I would say that I’m sorry about how all of this turned out. I would mean it, even though it seems too simple to make a difference. Despite how it may have looked, this rubble was never what I wanted.

(For the record, these are rhetorical questions. Don’t feel like you have to answer.)

I went and visited a friend in Carrboro today. That’s close to Chapel Hill, for you non-North Carolinians. I drove down Franklin Street to Carrboro, and I saw all these places that I used to know, places I spent time with friends. Caribou Coffee. 411 West. Jersey Mike’s. Armadillo Grill. I never spent quite enough time in the area to fully understand all of its ins and outs, but I did get to know it a little bit. My parents go to church in Chapel Hill, and have since I was about 11, so I spent time with youth group friends there, spent time with other families after church, spent time with friends who would drive to Chapel Hill on a Saturday night. I never thought a whole lot about where I would go to college, but as a die-hard Tarheel fan, I had kind of always thought I’d go to UNC. When I had to make the decision, though, I realized maybe it would be too big for me, that I needed something smaller. There were other reasons, too, like scholarships and roommates and feeling that maybe being in Chapel Hill and seeing my parents at church every Sunday wasn’t quite enough “going away” to college. It was a whole combination of factors, some large and some small, but ultimately I ended up at UNCG.

Being in Chapel Hill makes me realize what a big decision that really was. If I had gone to UNC, I would have different friends - a huge consideration, since I don’t have any high school friends. I would probably have gone to my parents’ church (and maybe even their college outreach instead of IV) all those years, so my spiritual journey would have looked different (though, who knows, maybe I would have ended up in the same place). I don’t know if I would have been a librarian. I wouldn’t have met Mike. Obviously, choosing to marry Mike was the biggest long-term decision in my life, but, at this point, I probably have many of the same friends I would have had if I’d said no to him. If I’d chosen UNC, I wouldn’t even know those people. I wouldn’t know him. My life really would be different.

I had fun with my friend today, but I got home and I just felt drained. It’s so strange to think about the different twists and turns your life can take. I don’t regret the choices I’ve made - after all, just yesterday I was talking about how great my life is, and I really feel that way. It’s just that being there today made me wonder what it would have been like to have that life, if I hadn’t let the size and scope of UNC intimidate me. If I had been a little more brave in some ways.

I don’t think I’m a very brave person in general - I have a sign in my kitchen that says “courage,” because that’s the message I think I most often need to hear. Lately I’ve been trying to be brave in small ways - asking someone I don’t know very well to lunch, worrying a little less about what people think of me . . . I find those things hard. I come from a small town, and I know my limitations, so I don’t expect I’m ever going to embark on any crazy journeys. At the same time, though, I’m trying not to play it safe. It’s easy to get into a routine, but I don’t want to look back and realize I was always too scared to take the risky path.

(Josh is going to say that this post was also inspired by The Format, and he’s probably right.)

I sometimes wonder where it is, exactly, that people who don’t go to church meet their friends. Sure, that’s a bit silly, but yesterday I hung out with my friend Melissa (met through IV and attended the same church), had lunch with my new friend Ginny (from church), and had afternoon tea (mmmm, scones) with two more friends (also from church). Although it’s been changing, there aren’t many people at work who are my age, so I don’t regularly hang out with anyone there. Mike doesn’t work full-time, so we don’t hang out with his colleagues. We’re not involved in any sports or clubs. That pretty much just leaves church.

Over the past year, our church has been changing the way I think about Christian community. I used to think community wasn’t really valid unless you spent a certain amount of time talking about God or how your heart was doing or other Christian-y things like that. And then I started going to Wednesday night services. Our Wednesday night services include options such as Bible study, exercise, and some kind of craft or art. At first I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but in the fall, when I was on my healthy living kick (that got kind of destroyed because of my surgery), I decided to do the walking group instead of doing Bible study. I didn’t get to go every week because of some work issues that kept me from getting there on time, but when I did go, I got to spend time walking and talking with friends and with other ladies from the church who aren’t as familiar to me. I realized later on that it was a little bit of a step in thinking of the whole church as a family, which we definitely felt during the Christmas season. It means that now, if I am actually dealing with a problem or need some advice or have something good to share, the circle of people I can share it with is just a little wider. It means that, instead of being thrown in with people I don’t really know and having to awkwardly talk about some of the things that are the most important to me, there’s a basis for sharing some of my heart. This session, I’m back in the Bible study, and, again, I feel good about getting to spend time with different people and learn how they relate to God, how they approach the Bible.

I spent some time yesterday talking about church, over Mexican food and later over tea. But I also talked about a lot of other things. My new friend and I have a lot more in common than I realized, having gotten married just two weeks apart and having similar backgrounds. The other two church friends and I talked about church and budgeting and dieting and movies and our husbands . . . all while eating cranberry scones. And Melissa and I ate cheese crackers, played with her daughter, and talked about Snakes on a Plane. One of my uncles always says that I am part of his “church,” and I’ve started realizing what he means. I didn’t specifically talk about “what God’s been doing” or even any of the things I’m going through, but I did open up about my past, I did share life and thoughts with all those women. It was real, true fellowship, which I needed.

Sometimes I wonder exactly how my life got to be the way it is, so different than I expected. But days like yesterday make me realize that it’s a very good life indeed.

KARI: Yesterday Jason linked to some pictures from Snakes on a Plane.

MIKE: How did they look?

KARI: There were snakes.

MIKE: What were they doing?

KARI: They were on the plane.

MIKE: And Samuel L. Jackson?

KARI: Was being his regular badass self.

MIKE: I wish I had known that he just likes working, that he doesn’t care so much about whether the movie is good. Because, after Pulp Fiction, I wanted to see a lot of his movies. And many of them are not good.

KARI: Snakes on a Plane.

MIKE: You’re going to make me see Snakes on a Plane on opening night, aren’t you?

KARI: Scott suggested that we have a .net get-together. Just to see Snakes on a Plane! I should suggest our house as a place to stay. We should have it here.

MIKE: That would be fun. And also a little crazy.

KARI: I’ll suggest we have it here.

MIKE: You’re going to buy me one of those shirts, aren’t you?

KARI: Maybe. Maybe I’ll get it for myself.

MIKE: We should all get them to wear to opening night. And we can get our names put on the back. Smith, Windsor, Gerace, Morris . . .

KARI: Not Morris. Geof hates snakes and planes so much he had to block the whole movie board.

MIKE: Wow.

KARI: I know. We kept posting in it and it was giving him the creeps. I love saying “snakes on a plane.”

MIKE: I noticed.

KARI: If we have the get-together here, we could have party favors of plastic snakes and plastic planes.

MIKE: That’s not predictable at all.

KARI: Instead of spin the bottle, whoever gets the snake and the plane have to kiss.

MIKE: That’s slightly more original. How about: We could have a bag full of pieces of paper, mostly blank, one with a snake and one with a plane. The two who get the snake and the plane have to go to the closet for five minutes.

KARI: That’s good!

MIKE: I got it from Teen Wolf.

KARI: Oh. I don’t remember that.

MIKE: What do you remember?

KARI: Um, him flipping on the top of the van. And he scared that one guy so much that he made him pee on himself.

MIKE: And the basketball game.

KARI: Was that Teen Wolf or Teen Wolf Too?

MIKE: I think it was the original. For our get-together, we can eat gummy worms. They look like snakes. We could sneak gummy worms into the movie and scare people with them!

KARI: There was a cake I saw on a blog about the movie. I’ll just need a Mace Windu action figure.

MIKE: If there were other movies about snakes on planes, we could rent those.

KARI: But there aren’t. This is the original snakes on a plane movie.

MIKE: Snakes.

KARI: On a plane.

MIKE: They’re no match for Samuel L. Jackson.

KARI: SNAKES ON A PLANE!

When I was in middle school, somehow or another I fell in love with Obnoxious Jerks. Not guys who treated me poorly, but The Obnoxious Jerks (or Obnoious Jeks), a book about a group of intelligent guys who made it their goal to shake up the status quo by doing things like performing the school song badly (and on kazoo) in the school talent show, bringing a fancy meal to school one day a week for lunch (and keeping jackets in their lockers to dress up for it), serving brains at the school International Festival, and, their tour de force, the day they wore skirts to school to protest the dress code. I loved the Obnoxious Jerks. There are still several phrases in my vocabulary because of them (although I usually just say them to myself, because no one has any idea what I’m talking about).

The summer I was at Governor’s School, I hung out with a group of girls that were pretty varied. We were kind of the group that didn’t really fit in elsewhere, which was fun and stretching all at the same time. I remember one afternoon we were hanging out, talking about the disgusting cafeteria food, when Emily said, “Looks like a booger, smells like a booger, tastes like a booger . . . ” and I finished, “It’s a caper, sure it is.” We looked at each other with wide eyes of understanding, and knew our friendship was meant to be. To be honest, Emily and I were only friends for another year or so, but every time I see the book on my shelf, I think about her. She’s the only other person I knew who read it (we made some of the other girls read it that summer, but they did not love it as much as we did. It is a particularly middle school book, I think. I don’t think I ever asked Mike to read it, exactly for that reason).

I have to admit that I have always been a fan of secret clubs of friends, even to the point of trying to start my own. Several times. Maybe that’s why the idea of the Obnoxious Jerks was so appealing to me - while I never went to school with guys like that, it was nice to imagine that they existed, and that they cared enough about things to try to shake them up. It’s the kind of person I wanted to be in high school (let’s face it -I probably would have benefitted from breaking the rules a little bit more), I just couldn’t find anyone else to be an Obnoxious Jerk with me. (And then there’s the whole issue of women in the group.)

When I made the link to the title, I was particularly saddened to see that it’s not in print anymore. A huge, influential piece of my growing up, gone forever. I wrote this, in part, to point out that, while I do favor books that are more . . . girly . . . I, too, can appreciate the appeal of an Obnoxious Jerk. So much so that I started the book last night. Eldest can wait. The Obnoxious Jerks wouldn’t have that kind of patience.

This morning I went to the dentist for my regular checkup. They asked how the surgery went, and I griped a bit about the side effects I experienced and how the oral surgeon’s office didn’t have quite what I was looking for in the customer service area. The dental hygienist thought I was overreacting, I could see it, but since I still don’t have all the feeling back in my chin, I feel perfectly justified in griping. Take that, nice dental hygienist!

Before she cleaned my teeth, I asked her if she could check Mike’s record (he hasn’t been to the dentist in a while) and see if his wisdom teeth were needing to come out, because when I had mine out, he said that no one had ever said anything to him about his. He wasn’t sure if he had some or if they’d come in okay, so she went to check. Before she pulled the file she said, “I’m sure he has some. There’s hardly anybody who has no wisdom teeth.” I’m sure you can see where this is headed. As soon as she looked at his x-ray, she said, “He doesn’t have any!” Lucky jerk. While she was cleaning, we were still chatting a bit about the surgery and she said, “I’ve hardly seen any patients who have more than four.” Great, two freaks in one family! (I didn’t feel so freakish at the oral surgeon’s office when the nurse-type-guy said he’d seen as many as twelve wisdom teeth. Five seems downright commonplace compared to that.)

I am now garnering an army of resentful people who had their wisdom teeth out and hate Mike just for the fact that he doesn’t have any. Let me know if you’d like to join.

For Steve.

Four jobs I’ve had:
- Bookstore clerk
- Library book shelver
- Graduate assistant
- Honor snack food box packer

Four movies I could watch over and over:
(I’m choosing different ones from this time so I don’t bore anyone.)
- Bend it Like Beckham
- Sense and Sensibility
- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (why, yes, I do like Kate Winslet)
- Notting Hill

Four books I could read over and over:
(Again, different books than here and here, just to shake things up.)
- Anne of the Island by Lucy Maud Montgomery
- A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
- I am a Bunny by Richard Scarry

Four places I have lived:
- In a house
- In a mobile home
- In a dorm room
- In an apartment

Four TV shows I watch:
- The Amazing Race
- Survivor
- Gilmore Girls
- Friends (on DVD)

Four places I have been on vacation
- Naples, FL
- Prince Edward Island
- Charleston, SC
- Chattanooga, TN

Four websites I visit daily other than email
- damnhellasskings.com
- google.com
- rmfo.net
- imdb.com

Four favorite foods:
- pizza (mushrooms, onions, green peppers, and olives)
- chips & salsa (medium)
- popcorn (no kettle corn, thankyouverymuch)
- chicken pie (grandma’s recipe)

Four places I’d like to be right now:
- in a snuggle sack (aka couch sack) because our house is cold.
- At the end of the book I’m reading.
- Downstairs with Mike.
- Disneyworld. I haven’t been since I was six.

(Some slight spoilers for Eragon below.)

I’ve been reading Eragon, finally, and while I like it okay, I was saying to Mike last night (or was it this morning?) that it’s never going to be a book I own. “We do own it,” he said. “That’s our copy.” “No, I mean, it’s not going to be a book that’s mine, that I love so much that it’s hard for me to believe that I have to share it with other people. Like The Lord of the Rings or The Beekeeper’s Apprentice.” We talked a little more about our feelings about favorite books, which confirmed my hunch that he liked Eragon more than I do.

As I said, I like it okay, but it does seem to be falling victim to some cliches, like the older-white haired man who is helping Eragon. His name’s Brom, but I call him Obi-Wan, because I am sure he’s going to die before the end of this book. Additionally, Eragon doesn’t know who his father is, and Mike says we don’t find out in this book, but my money is on the evil king being his father. Yes, it’s kind of like Star Wars set in Alagaesia. With dragons. We even had a scene where Eragon returned only to find his uncle’s farm had been attacked. And, yes, his uncle died. I didn’t read any whining about power converters, but maybe that’s still to come.

On a slightly more serious note, parts of the book have ventured dangerously close to the idiot plot, where if everyone just had the correct information, things would work themselves out, but everyone refuses to talk. Obi-Wan keeps refusing to tell Eragon things, which means that Eragon (like a normal teenager) stumbles into trouble because of the lack of information. I keep saying things like, “Just tell him, you idiot!” Yes, that’s right, I’m talking to the book. Eragon has been guilty of this, too, not telling his uncle or Obi-Wan about the dragon Saphira until it’s much too late. In some cases, it seems realistic and true to the characters, but in some cases, it’s just frustrating to read.

Of course, I’m just barely halfway through, so perhaps some of that will get itself sorted out. And I don’t mean to sound so negative - it’s just that I’ve heard so many good things about this book and I’m finding it a bit of a disappointment, which is sad. Mike read it right when it came out, and I kept meaning to read it but never got around to it, and then I signed up to lead a discussion for the sequel next month, so I figured I’d better get cracking. It’s definitely engrossing, and it has a bit of a Lord of the Rings feel, so if you like that kind of fantasy story (or dragons), I’d recommend at least the first one (but the second got very bad reviews, so I’m not sure about recommending it or not. I’ll let you know when I get to that one. And I’ll let you know how some of my predictions have panned out).

During the sermon, I think our pastor said something that included the phrase “the glory of heaven.” Maybe I’m imagining that he said it, because that’s actually a phrase I’ve been pondering a bit lately, as it comes up a lot in our Advent book. One of the angels tells Elisabet that wildflowers are “a part of the glory of heaven that has spilled down to earth.” I love that phrase and that idea, and this morning I was thinking about some other things I’d classify in that same way - little pieces of the glory of heaven here on earth.

In some ways, my answers would be very similar to the things I found impressive just over a year ago. Childbirth and forgiveness, love and courage. I think, though, that those tend to be my go-to answers for that question, at least in recent years. Similarly, I think I talk a lot about seeing God in things like having tea with my friends as we laugh and cry and share life together. I try to focus on the little things, because I think that’s often what’s really important.

Life has been busy lately, so the glory of heaven has seemed elusive of late. I’d say I’ve sensed its presence driving late at night, listening to music while looking at the stars. I’ve noticed it when snuggling under the flannel sheets for just a little longer in the mornings. It seems close when Mike and I spend time with friends eating good food and having good conversation. The promise of new babies, a wonderful novel, hearing the laughter of someone you love - those things that seem too wonderful to end with this world - all of that must be bits of the glory of heaven that has spilled down to earth.

I have long been an advocate of finding glory in the mundane tasks of life, even when I personally forget to do so. This afternoon a difficult relationship has got me feeling down, but instead of focusing on it, I’m going to go downstairs and watch some football, eat some turkey (Mike made a turkey today!), sit with my husband in our big chair under a pink wool blanket, and read. Surely that kind of quality time is exactly the sort of glory of heaven I need today.

I like my job, and I like how things have turned out, but now and then I wonder what it would have been like if I had gotten that other job, the one I thought I really wanted. I was there the other day, which is always strange. I know the building so well, I spent so many hours there, invested so much of myself, but I didn’t see anyone I recognized, and no one knew who I was. It’s always a little strange to realize that the space you filled has either been filled by someone else or has closed up without leaving a noticeable trace. I got what I needed and I walked out the sliding doors into the evening, feeling melancholy for no real reason. This was compounded by the trouble I had getting the door of the parking deck open while maneuvering the box I was carrying. I dropped my purse and its contents dropped all over the concrete, making me feel even more sorry for myself, though even I wasn’t quite sure why. I finally got it all loaded in my car, and as I pulled up to the booth in the parking deck and turned in my ticket, I realized it was the same lady that had been there three, four years ago. I smiled at her cautiously, thinking that she wouldn’t recognize me. And then, she did. She said she liked how my hair had grown out, she asked where I had been. And when I told her where I was working, she asked if I had graduated, and said, “You go, girl!” Just like the conversations we had nearly every day about work and the weather and the weekend. It was as if I’d never left. I pulled out onto the street with her brightly colored fingernails waving in my rear-view mirror.

There are all different kinds of jobs in the world, and I wonder sometimes if I am half as good at my job as the lady in the parking deck is at hers.

I had Friday off, because I had to work Saturday, so between cookies and scrapbooking time with Melissa and Emily and Jason and Alisa’s party (which all happened on Friday), it seemed like I almost got a four-day weekend. I haven’t seen any accounts of Jason and Alisa’s party yet, but I am sure someone will make a report, so I’ll just say that watching Mike worship to “Your Body is a Wonderland” was one of the highlights of my weekend for sure. We took the camera, but got no pictures, sadly enough. I think Jason took some. I am sure Alisa will make sure we see them.

Saturday night I rode with Susan to Dawn’s birthday party, where Susan, Alisa, and I behaved very badly (at least that’s what Mike thinks, but he wasn’t there, so what does he know?) as Jason watched on in amusement. Or maybe he sides with Mike, and that was really horror and disgust. Either way, good times were had by us. Except all those “Draw Four” cards Susan and Alisa kept playing on me. Hey, speaking of Uno, Mike says that he used to play with rules that you could stack Draw Two or Draw Four cards. Like, if Alisa had played a Draw Two on me and I had a Draw Two in my hand, then I could have played that and made Susan draw four. But if she had a Draw Two (or a Draw Four), she could have played that. He said it meant people could, at times, draw a lot of cards. I checked Wikipedia and saw it listed under Killer Uno as “Cumulative Draw Cards,” but I have never played it like that. However, reading the rules online made me realize that the “infinite draw” rule is just a variation. I like it better, though. Susan and I had our usual fun time being together. I am glad she’s back in the state. Too bad she’s moving away (I bet I can find a song about that).

Sunday afternoon was a lot of football and a lot of tension as we watched the Panthers beat the Bears. It took about two hours for my stomach to unclench after the game. I don’t know why I was so stressed out - maybe because, after watching the Panthers/Cowboys game on Christmas Eve, my distrust of the team has reached new and unprecedented levels. Seriously. While watching the game, I also made some cookie dough, which helped relieve my stress, and which I took yesterday to Mike’s sister’s house to make cookies with the niece and nephew. We mixed up another batch there, cut them out, baked them, and decorated them. I took our red hat and made everyone take turns wearing it.

In this particular picture, Mike’s nephew is holding a blue bear. He made it blue in honor of the Panthers beating the Bears on Sunday. hehe. (Also, I think that Panthers jersey might be the only shirt he wears these days.)

And this one is just too cute not to use.

It was nice to get to spend non-holiday time with the kids. The past couple of years, since I started working full-time, I haven’t been able to go and visit during the day. If we only see them on holidays, it’s more busy and stressful. Baking cookies was fun. We only had seasonal cookie cutters, though, so there were Christmas trees, turkeys, hearts, bunnies . . . something for every season. I might need some more normal cookie cutters.

After leaving them, I went and had cokes (not coffee) with Sarah, which really meant that we had cokes and a chocolate croissant, visited Ann Taylor Loft (someone give me a giftcard, please, because those shirts on sale were so cute and only $15), and got frightened by the self checkout in Lowe’s Foods. All in all, a nice weekend with lots of time spent with friends and family. Mike and I capped off the evening by watching the Golden Globes (well, I was watching it, but he was downstairs trying to get reading done. I kept making him come upstairs and see particularly funny speeches, though, so I was more of a hindrance than a help).

This week is back to work as usual. I guess, since I feel like I had a four-day weekend, that’s not so bad after all.

Last night I read Richard Roeper’s 10 Sure Signs a Movie Character is Doomed & Other Surprising Lists. One chapter made me think of you. I’d like to share it with you here.

5 reasons why George Bailey isn’t such a wonderful guy in It’s a Wonderful Life.

1. When George learns that Uncle Billy has lost the $8,000, he roughs up the kindly, absentminded old fellow, grabbing him by the lapels (that’s assault and battery right there) and screaming, “Where’s that money you silly stupid old fool? Where’s the money? Do you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal and prison. That’s what it means. One of us is going to jail–well it’s not gonna be me!”

Great. The guy’s going to sell his own uncle down the river for a perfectly innocent mistake.

2. After the money is lost, George goes home and terrorizes the entire family without explanation. When dear sweet Mary asks what’s wrong, he bellows, “Everything’s wrong! You call this a happy family? Why did we have to have all these kids?”

Some family man. The first sign of financial crisis and he’s lamenting the birth of his children.

3. Continuing his streak of verbal abuse, George berates Zuzu’s teacher over the phone, calling her “stupid, silly, [and] careless.”

4. When Mary asks, “George, must you torture the children, too?” his response is to run out of the house and head for the nearest bar, Martini’s, where he behaves rudely and slugs down drink after drink before getting punched by Zuzu’s teacher’s husband and staggering out of the bar and into his car.

I smell a DUI!

5. Sure enough, the inebriated George forgets to turn on his headlights and is soon swerving through the streets of Bedford Falls before crashing into a tree. And what does this drunk driver do when the homeowner comes running out to see a car on the front lawn? He leaves the scene of the accident.

So when the story comes to its happy ending and George says, “Attaboy, Clarence” while the townsfolk sing “Auld Lang Syne,” consider George’s life after the movie. He’ll have to take up another collection to cover his legal expenses on charges of driving under the influence, improper lane usage, reckless driving, criminal damage to property, and leaving the scene of an accident.

I guess Mr. Potter put it best when he said, “And a Happy New Year to you–in jail!”

Tee hee. (Of course, I think we all know that I don’t mind George beating up on Uncle Billy. But that’s not really the point, is it?)

“Love is a healing thing, love is a believing thing, like spring and swinging and talking with your friends over some tea.” -Sarah Masen’s version of “Love”

Yesterday morning I was doing some cleaning in the kitchen, and I looked around and thought how much I love that room of our house. It’s big and bright, with lots of counter space and plenty of storage. We spend a fair amount of time in there, and maybe it’s all my recent baking endeavours, but I feel more comfortable in the kitchen than I ever have before.

When we’re with Scott and Kelly, as we were this weekend, Kelly and I usually spend a fair amount of time in the kitchen. For Saturday evening we made something from a Rachael Ray cookbook that took longer than 30 minutes but was still very tasty. Sunday lunch was butternut squash soup with sandwiches. I also went through some of her recipe books (usually Mike is the one to do that, see how I’m growing?) and got some new recipes to try . . . maybe it’s because there aren’t fresh vegetables to do things with, but this time of year I feel like we get stuck eating the same things over and over. We didn’t bake this weekend, because we both spent most of December baking.

(Speaking of baking, I got a very interesting package yesterday from Susan, containing some baked goods, which I was instructed to share with Mike, and the recipe, which he is not allowed to see. Isn’t it nice that my friends are already helping me prepare for the Christmas Smackdown - oops, I mean Bakeoff 2006?)

Saturday morning, Kelly and I were drinking tea and eating English muffins, and the song from the title came into my head. That’s what the weekend was like for me, and that’s what it’s like when we spend time with those friends. All we did all weekend was cook and eat and watch all 12 chapters of Trapped in the Closet on the DVD that I gave Scott for Christmas (and Kelly may never forgive me for that, but my response to her is: “What I’m about to tell you is so damn twisted, not only is a man in the cabinet, but the man is a midget!”) and movies and football and Gilmore Girls (only one episode, despite trying to watch more). And it was lovely. That line in the song makes me think of them, not just because of all the time we have spent together, but it also reminds me of the swingset that used to be behind the EUC on campus at UNCG, and how I remember swinging with Kelly one afternoon in the late spring. It was probably the end of our junior year. I wish that swingset was still there.

Our own kitchen has lots of memories already, too, of friends and family gathered around, of cooking disasters and triumphs. When I think of having our friends over, I think about last fall when Scott and Kelly were staying with us for the Thanksgiving Dinner we were having at our house. We were having a girls’ day on Saturday morning, and I was making soup and Kelly was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. That’s the kind of home I want to have, where my friends and I can sit in the kitchen together over warm beverages and talk about how we are doing. In all those Friends episodes we’ve been watching, I’ve noticed how Monica is always putting food on the table and offering people chips as the gang hangs out. I want my home to be like that (even if I won’t ever be a chef like Monica - although I can make the world’s best chocolate chip cookies using the famous Nestle Tollhouse recipe).

Hanging out with Scott and Kelly was a great way to start out this year - my heart has been really hopeful the past few weeks about some exciting things that may be coming up. That hope and spending time with them also made me think of the words to another Sarah Masen song:

“Here the wind blows softly, carrying a note forever, cradling a melody of hope.”

Last year I saw about seven different movies in the theater. Two I loved: Pride and Prejudice, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. One I liked a lot: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. One was silly and fun: Bride and Prejudice. And two were disappointments: Revenge of the Sith and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I’m no movie critic. I judge movies on how I feel when I am done watching them. With that criteria, my favorite movie of 2005 was Millions.

When we saw Millions back in the spring, I was blown away. After I found the words to talk about it, I told everyone I knew to go and see it. Since we got the DVD, I’ve seen it several more times, and my love for it increases with each viewing. One of our classes at the Wednesday night service at church was a movie discussion class, and Mike led a session on Millions. We wrote questions about poverty, about faith, about parenting. I couldn’t go to the session because it was right after I had my wisdom teeth out, but Mike reported that most of our friends didn’t like the interplay of fantasy and realism, and they didn’t like the ending. That was hard for me, because when someone rejects something I like that much, I feel like they are rejecting me. I watched it again, and I still feel the same way about it. This is exactly the kind of movie I am thinking of when I say that, if a movie is sweet and does everything right throughout, I don’t mind so much if the ending isn’t completely realistic. That’s not to say there aren’t some inconsistencies, but I think the story triumphs over them (or in spite of them).

Yesterday afternoon I was thinking about why I like it, and I realized that Damian represents what I would want for myself. He believes in miracles. He knows that he can make a difference. He listens, and he knows that someone is listening to him. A lot of it is his age - in an interview with Looking Closer, Danny Boyle said that it was important that Damian be eight years old, because by the time that kids are ten, they become more like Anthony, thinking more like adults. I love how Damian is paying attention the whole movie, and that in the end he does get to make a difference.

One of my favorite scenes (it’s hard to pick just one) is when Damian is talking to St. Peter, and St. Peter tells him the story behind the loaves and fishes. He says that Jesus blessed the loaves and fishes and passed them down the row, and each person, shamed by the generosity of the little boy, took out his or her own food and started sharing. When the plate got back to Jesus, he was like, “Hey, what happened,” and Peter said, “Miracle!” But, as he tells Damian, “Now I see it was a miracle, one of his best. That little boy stepped up, and everyone around him just got bigger.” Of course, I don’t believe it happened like that, but that’s not really the point. The point is that the little boy made a difference just by doing what was right, what came naturally to him. And he changed everyone around him, just as Damian was able to do for the people in his life. By the end of the movie, there’s even hope for Anthony, who seems a hopeless cynic at the age of 10.

I don’t think a whole lot about being childlike, because it’s so easy to confuse it with being childish. But, watching this movie, I feel like I get a real tangible idea of what being childlike is all about. It’s about being like Damian, about being like the boy from St. Peter’s story. About stepping up and making the people around you bigger, even when you see things and other people can’t see them. It’s about being open to miracles in your life, about not explaining them away. Damian makes me want to do those things, to keep as much wonder about the world as I can. If the question is, “Can I still do good with it?” whether we are speaking about money or time or circumstances that seem broken beyond repair, the answer is always, “Yes.”

I should start off by saying that I know that my way of doing things is not the only way that works. I hope I am not so self-centered as to think that I have a corner on . . . well, pretty much anything. People are wired in different ways, and therefore do things in different ways. I like to think, I hope that I am respectful of that.

With all that said, one thing I don’t understand is when someone is actually mad at you and they act like they aren’t. “How ARE you? It’s SO GOOD to see you!” When, really, they’re holding a grudge. And I know it. But they refuse to talk about it.

If I’m mad at someone, I either (a.) try to work it out or (b.) try to stay out of their way until I am over it or ready to (a.) try to work it out. I am polite, but I am no good at pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I know that’s a flaw, and it’s one of my major ones, because I can’t hide my feelings at all. My version of the scene would be polite but not effusive small talk, after which I retreat to another part of the room in order to avoid further awkwardness. I know some people are not so good at the talking things out, or maybe they aren’t okay with being angry and don’t know what to do with the anger, but it’s really hard for me to know how to respond when things are not straightforward. I am not (nor, unfortunately, will I ever be) a subtle person. Just last night, Mike kept saying stuff about biscuits, and how tasty they are, but how I didn’t have to make them, but they sure would go great with the chicken soup he made, wouldn’t they? And I finally said, “If you want me to make biscuits, you have to say, ‘Would you make some biscuits, please? Otherwise I can’t tell if you seriously want them or you are just talking about them theoretically but would be fine without them.’” He has learned that he has to tell me what he wants for birthdays instead of hinting around, because the hinting around didn’t work in the past. It went right over my head, in fact.

That was a bit of a digression, but back to the original topic: One of the things that I have learned from my relationship with Mike is that things can’t always be worked out right away, and that that’s okay. I hope I am a little less forceful with my whole, “We need to deal with this issue and get back to normal levels of friendship RIGHT AWAY,” than I used to be. I no longer think that talking things out is the only way to heal wounds, because sometimes you just need time. But I still have a hard time understanding what to do when I know that someone is mad, really mad, at me but they don’t say so/act like it to my face. I know my way isn’t the only way that things work out, but it seems closer to an effective way to do things than . . . just ignoring or pretending. Maybe I’m putting too much emphasis on things being effective and not enough emphasis on being compassionate toward the capricious workings of the heart.

I still daydream about being straightforward in response to, “How ARE you?” but I think we all know that I’ll be polite but not effusive and retreat as soon as possible. I guess that’s okay, if that’s how they want to leave things, I can respect that. But it’s disappointing just the same.

I do not like stories about animals that talk.

Now, sure, Narnia features talking animals, but it’s not from the perspective of talking animals (or really about them unless you are going to say that the whole series is about Aslan, which is not really how I think about them. And I think you could say that he’s more than just an animal, but this is my blog and we aren’t having that argument here, okay? hehe). Not like the Redwall series (which I could never get into) or The Wind in the Willows (which I finally just read and found . . . not to my taste). Sure, I like Charlotte’s Web as much as the next person (or maybe more, because I always cry at the end) and James and the Giant Peach is fun (but those are bugs, so it might be different), but I don’t really care for The Incredible Journey or that book with the scary bunnies and I think Babe is cute, but it’s not a movie I want to see over and over.

In thinking about this, I decided that maybe I don’t mind a world where animals talk to people . . . a little bit, at least. But I am just not an animal person, so I’m not into, “What do animals think?” kind of books. Sure, there are some exceptions to this (hi, Peter Rabbit! Hello, Velveteen Rabbit who may or may not count as a talking animal!), but overall, if it’s about animals, I’m not interested (Misty of Chincoteague, I’m looking in your direction. You, too, Black Beauty).

I feel a little guilty about this, in case you can’t tell. I don’t kick cats, okay? I just don’t like reading about them. The Wind in the Willows was slow-going for me, because I was reading it because I thought I “ought” to. And I’m glad I read it, but I honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. So I’m just going to accept that I’m not an animal person, that the Redwall books creep me out (sorry, Roger, but I tried one and just couldn’t do it), that the myriad of Disney movies with funny talking animals are not for me, and that any commercial with a monkey is probably not selling something I want to buy.

I feel better already.

KARI: *hangs up phone* GAH!

MIKE: What?

KARI: You know how I baked five different kinds of cookies, two kinds of bread, and one kind of muffin for Christmas presents?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: You know what recipe people want?

MIKE: No.

KARI: The cookies you made.

MIKE: The chocolate ones?

KARI: You made one kind of cookie, and that’s the recipe everyone wants.

MIKE: Oh.

KARI: Don’t “oh” me.

MIKE: I’m sorry?

KARI: This is why I don’t cook. You always win.

MIKE: It’s not a competition.

KARI: Sure, you can say that, winner.

MIKE: I didn’t even like those cookies. They weren’t sweet enough.

KARI: That does not help!

MIKE: What are you doing?

KARI: Going online to get recipes!

MIKE: Are you baking today?

KARI: No! These are for next year!

MIKE: Next year?

KARI: I am going to beat you next year!

MIKE: We’ve been watching too much Friends. You sound like Monica.

KARI: You are going down! Look at this recipe! Sugar cookies made with cream cheese!

MIKE: Sounds tasty?

KARI: And this one! Pinwheel cookies with orange and chocolate filling! People love orange and chocolate! Like those oranges made from chocolate! They were all the rage!

MIKE: Actually, I think the evidence points to people just liking chocolate.

KARI: *gasps in horror*

MIKE: Ha!

KARI: You should just stop talking.

MIKE: I’m just saying. Maybe you should just use my recipe next year.

KARI: Next year, we’re having a Christmas bakeoff!

MIKE: Fine by me!

KARI: We are watching too much Friends. Because you just sounded like Chandler.

MIKE: It was intentional.

KARI: Oh. Well, you’re going down! I have all year to find recipes with which to beat you. People will be begging for my recipes!

MIKE: Bring it! I don’t need to research all year. Apparently all I need to do is find a recipe at the last minute and throw it together. It worked this year!

KARI: AH! Didn’t I say you need to stop talking?

I think, given Mike’s goal for this year, it’s appropriate that the first book I read in the new year was A Year at the Movies by Kevin Murphy. We’re apparently going to have quite a bit of movie watching in our house this year. Brian and Sarah gave Mike that book for Christmas, and he has read a few chapters, but I picked it up and read it over the past few days. I thought it might be my last book of 2005, but I forgot to take it with me to work on Saturday, so I finished it this afternoon during the Panthers game.

Speaking of books read during 2005, here is my list. I debated whether to post it, but I decided I would. It’s exposing my soul, so be gentle with me. I’m not linking the titles, because there are just too many.

1. Crazy Love by David Lozell Martin (read at the recommendation of a coworker)
2. Ordinary Losses by Elise Stanford (got as a Christmas present)
3. The Red Tent by Anita Diamant (reread, for my book club)
4. The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien (I counted each of these as separate books, because when I first read them, they were in three separate paperbacks, so I think of them as three books. There was vicious disagreement in my house as to whether it was one or three books. It’s my list. I’m counting it as three. A reread.)
5. English as a Second Language by Megan Crane (enjoyable chicklit)

6. The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien (see number 4, reread)
7. The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien (see number 4, reread)
8. The Reading Group by Elizabeth Noble (about a book club)
9. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal (she had a good marketing campaign)
10. Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon (aka Pamie)

11. P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern (at Alisa’s insistence)
12. Plan B by Anne Lamott (didn’t need any insistence)

I read these five on Spring Break.
13. Chloe Does Yale by Natalie Krinsky (don’t judge me)
14. Captain Saturday by Robert Inman
15. A Long Obedience in the Same Direction by Eugene Peterson
16. Prep by Curtis Sittenfield
17. Why I am Not a Calvinist by Jerry L. Walls and Joseph R. Dongell

18. The Yada Yada Prayer Group by Neta Jackson (again, don’t judge me. I liked it better than I thought I would. As you will see.)
19. Wishful Thinking by Frederick Buechner (given to me by my pastor)
20. The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith (reread, for my bookclub)

21. Mudhouse Sabbath by Lauren Winner (reread)
22. When Jesus Came to Harvard by Harvey Cox (saw it at the library)
23. The True & Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters by Elisabeth Robinson (hated it)
24. Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver (for my bookclub)
25. The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Down by Neta Jackson (it’s not a bad series, okay?)

26. Telling the Truth: The gospel as tragedy, comedy, and fairy tale by Frederick Buechner
27. Real Sex by Lauren Winner
28. Glittering Images by Susan Howatch (loved it)
29. In the Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith
30. Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers (reread)

31. Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (I wish I had liked it)
32. Cold Feet (wedding stories by five authors including Pamela Ribon)
33. Songbook by Nick Hornby
34. The Second Summer of the Sisterhood by Ann Brashares
35. Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell (didn’t like it as much as I expected to)

36. The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby
37. Girls in Pants: The third summer of the sisterhood by Ann Brashares
38. Glamorous Powers by Susan Howatch
39. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling (reread, getting psyched for book 6)
40. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling (reread)

41. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J. K. Rowling (reread)
42. Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns (reread, for my bookclub)
43. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling (reread)
44. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J. K. Rowling (reread)
45. The King’s English by Betsy Burton

46. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares (reread)
47. Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis (reread, with Mike)
48. The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst (this was Susan-influenced)

These four were the books I read on vacation.
49. With this Ring, I’m Confused by Kristin Billerbeck (Alisa-influenced)
50. A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken
51. Swimming with Scapulars by Matthew Lickona
52. The J.A.P. Chronicles by Isabel Rose

53. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
54. Life of Pi by Yann Martel (reread, for my book club)
55. Locked Rooms by Laurie King (probably my favorite book of the year)

56. A Monstrous Regiment of Women by Laurie King (reread)
57. A Letter of Mary by Laurie King (reread)
58. Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
59. Ex Libris by Anne Fadiman
60. So Many Books, So Little Time by Sara Nelson (birthday present from Sarah)

61. Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson (liked it better than Gilead)
62. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling (with Mike)
63. Confessions of a Pagan Nun by Kate Horsley (bookclub)
64. All this Heavenly Glory by Elizabeth Crane
65. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares (reread, for teen book discussion)

66. Love @ First Site by Jane Green (amusing chicklit)
67. The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd (bookclub)
68. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving (reread)
69. Shake Hands with the Devil: The failure of humanity in Rwanda by General Romeo Dallaire
70. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda by Philip Gourevitch

71. The Moviegoer by Walker Percy
72. The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank
73. Heartburn by Nora Ephron
74. The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty
75. Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt &Stephen J. Dubner

76. Everything Bad is Good for You by Steven Johnson
77. The Writing on the Wall by Lynne Sharon Schwartz
78. Savannah Blues by Mary Kay Andrews
79. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling (reread, for book discussion)
80. Blessed are the Cheesemakers by Sarah-Kate Lynch (bookclub)

81. Hissyfit by Mary Kay Andrews
82. Code of the Woosters by P. G. Wodehouse (and, actually, I didn’t like it)
83. Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander McCall Smith
84. Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen: How One Girl Risked Her Marriage, Her Job, & Her Sanity to Master the Art of Living by Julie Powell
85. The Friend who Got Away edited by Jenny Offill and Elissa Schappell

86. Little Chapel on the River by Gwendolyn Bounds
87. Bachelor Boys by Kate Saunders (chicklit)
88. Ridiculous Packaging by Karen Favreau
89. Now I Can Die in Peace by Bill Simmons
90. Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset (Mike kept saying I wasn’t going to make it to 100 books, because I wasn’t going to finish this one)

91. Chocolat by Joanne Harris (reread, bookclub)
92. The Garden Angel by Mindy Friddle
93. The Wonder Spot by Melissa Bank
94. She’s All That by Kristin Billerbeck (Alisa’s copy, which I still have)
95. The Bronte Project by Jennifer Vandever (I had to think hard to remember what this was about, because I read it on Vicodin)

96. Everyone Worth Knowing by Lauren Weisberger (liked it better than The Devil Wears Prada)
97. A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
98. A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
99. Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson
100. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (reread)

101. The Summer of the Great-Grandmother by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
102. The Irrational Season by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
103. Two-Part Invention by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
104. Camilla by Madeleline L’Engle
105. Dragons in the Waters by Madeleine L’Engle

106. A House Like a Lotus by Madeleine L’Engle (reread)
107. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis (reread)
108. The Narnian by Alan Jacobs
109. Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden
110. The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real by Neta Jackson

111. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson (reread, I read it out loud into a microphone so we could record it for Mike’s niece on CD. Mike listened. He’d never heard it before)
112. The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Tough by Neta Jackson (I hope this is the last one in the series)
113. The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg (with Mike. Usually I don’t include picture books on my list, but I made an exception for this one.
114. The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder (reread with Mike)
115. Girl Meets God by Lauren Winner (reread)
116. The Love Letters by Madeleine L’Engle

As I was typing all those in, it was interesting to think about where I was when I was reading them, to see how I worked my way through the year. I can see that I did all that rereading after my surgery, so I know a lot of that was just not feeling up to reading new stuff, as well as winter and Christmas meaning I like to reread. My three favorite fiction books would be Locked Rooms by Laurie King, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling, and Glittering Images by Susan Howatch. The one I was most proud of finishing was Kristin Lavransdatter. I can’t really tell you what my favorite nonfiction books were - probably We Wish to Inform You . . . and Julie & Julia. There were only two books I read twice this year, and both were for work.

My goal for 2005 was to reach 100, just to see if I could do it, and I am kind of sorry I set that goal, because I probably rushed through some things just to get done with them and write them down. But I never chose a book thinking, “This is short, I can finish it and count it.” Also, there were plenty of books I started but didn’t have enough interest to finish. I won’t set a goal for this year, but I’m not going to use that as an excuse to stop reading, either.