Through a Glass, Darkly

Cookie Monster interviewed on NPR. It’s as delightful as you would hope.

The “In Character” feature on NPR got me thinking . . . who is my favorite fictional character? Though it can be from literature, film, television, or song, they specifically want it to be American, so my first thought, Anne Shirley, isn’t an option. I mulled it over. Lord Peter Wimsey, for his humor and the way he uses it to deflect his true feelings, also isn’t an option. Neither is Elizabeth Bennet, though I always think she is just a little too clever to be my friend. In fact, most of my childhood favorites aren’t eligible: Bilbo Baggins (though I think he’s more admirable than affecting), Lucy Pevensie (now I think she’s kind of annoying, to be honest), Neville Longbottom (I didn’t read him when I was a kid, but I would take him over Harry Potter any day of the week). I admire Laura Ingalls and Jo March, but there’s also a distance between us in how tomboyish they are. I love a lot of TV shows, but none of the women I can think of seem quite well-rounded enough: Rory and Lorelai Gilmore, Monica Geller, Veronica Mars, Lindsay Weir, Angela Chase. Now, Claire Huxtable, maybe, for the way that she works, parents, and can kick your butt at the same time. A lot of my favorite movie characters seem a little too old and cosmopolitan: Kathleen Kelly, Sabrina Fairchild. Maybe I could go the obvious route and choose Atticus or Scout Finch, but though I admire that book more than I can say, I wouldn’t choose those characters (though I plan to reread it this year, so maybe I will change my mind). I can’t decide if Mary Russell is American enough. She’s anther who’s probably a little too smart to be my friend.

In the end, I think my favorite fictional character is Vicky Austin. Perhaps since Madeleine L’Engle felt so close to Vicky, there’s something more real and fallible about her than other characters. I know what it’s like to need time alone, to lose yourself in a book. I know what it’s like to feel as if you don’t measure up, to feel awkward and unsure. And I know what it’s like to have big questions about life and death and suffering. Madeleine L’Engle, through Vicky, taught me that those questions are okay, that they aren’t incompatible with a life of faith. It’s because of Vicky that my favorite Psalm is 121. I still, like Vicky, am learning what it means to be me.

I do really like cookies, though. So maybe I should have just gone with Cookie Monster.

Dear young, impressionable future teacher number one,

I did, in fact, bring my dinner to class. This is a three hour class. It goes from 4:00-7:00. I know I am going to get hungry, so, guess what? I plan ahead. There is no need for you to make snide remarks about me bringing dinner or me eating in front of you, because, guess what? You could act like a responsible adult and plan ahead as well. No, really. Though the concept is a difficult one, you, too, could pack yourself a meal to eat later. It’s pretty fun. I enjoy having regular meals. You should try it sometime. It seems like your blood sugar is a little low.

Leftover Christmas lasagna is better than whatever you would be eating anyway,
Kari

—

Dear young, impressionable future teacher number two,

For you to say, “Can I look at your engagement ring?” and then say, “That’s really interesting,” is, in fact, rude. For one thing, I’m sure you aren’t aware of this, but your dismissive tone made me think that you didn’t find my ring’s setting interesting at all. For another thing, since you weren’t wearing a ring of your own, I’m sure you don’t understand this, but . . . you really shouldn’t insult a woman’s engagement ring. It’s probably one of her favorite pieces of jewelry. In short, Mike bought that ring for me, and if you insult it, I will give you a roundhouse kick to the face.

I, for one, find the platinum color of your hair and your caked-on makeup rather “interesting,”
Kari

—

Dear actual instructor of this class,

I do get what you were trying to do here, teaching us about how hard it is to “come from behind” in “the game of life,” but I have to be honest. If I am going to play Monopoly for two hours, I would rather do it at home. In my pajamas. I would also rather not be paying tuition for it.

Thanks for bringing your dinner, though, and shutting young, impressionable future teacher number one right up,
Kari

I have never actually read any of the other “Gospel According to” books, so I don’t know exactly what they are like. My impression is that they tend to be about the messages put forth in, say, Peanuts or Harry Potter, showing how those messages reflect the truth of God. I think there is a place for that, but I was honestly not sure that it was going to work with Beatles songs.

Imagine my surprise, then, to find that this book didn’t take that approach at all. Instead, it focused on explaining The Beatles’ spiritual backgrounds and using that plus their experiences as The Beatles to explain the messages they were putting forth in their songs and how that message changed from the early 1960s to 1970 (and beyond). This was an intelligent analysis of how the Beatles’ philosophies evolved over the years and how that evolving affected their music. Most of them were raised with some form of Christianity, which faded to agnosticism, which then gave way to their drug use and involvement with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. The book also points out how they generally agreed on spiritual things at one point, but, spiritually, their paths diverged as they began to explore different things.

Two complaints:
1. There were some typos, which kind of bugged me.
2. The author clearly favors John over some of the other Beatles, and while there was enough of George (my favorite Beatle) to keep me satisfied, I thought Ringo and Paul weren’t focused on nearly enough. It could be argued that George and John thought more about spiritual things, and the book did certainly make that point. But it did make the book feel somewhat unbalanced.

I would recommend this book more to people who are simply interested in The Beatles rather than people who are intrigued by “The Gospel According to” part of the title. Regardless, it was an interesting and engaging book. Thanks, Alisa! (She gave it to me for Christmas.)

I’m sick, can you tell? I’m catching up on the pile of books next to my bed.

Alice is best friends with a boy named Jewel. They spend all their time together, know (almost) everything about each other, and insulate each other from high school life. The only thing Jewel doesn’t know about Alice is that she has a crush on Simon, a football player at their school. She couldn’t possibly talk about having a crush on someone so popular. When Simon and Jewel kiss Alice on consecutive days, she is forced to choose between them. Choosing Simon forces her out of her cocoon and helps her make new friends. But she wasn’t prepared for how much she would miss Jewel.

What I liked best about this book was how her friendship with Jewel was both good for her (she could depend on him) and bad for her (she never branched out because she spent all her time with Jewel). The same could be said about her relationship with Simon - his attention gave Alice more confidence, though she also felt unable to connect with him on a deeper level. This felt very realistic to me. I remember how it felt to be unable to express yourself because of your friends, and that was the part of Alice’s story that I liked best. She took glass blowing classes, she bought new clothes, she gave new people a chance. I liked watching Alice figure out who she was and what she liked without Jewel, even though I was rooting for them to get back together the whole time. This was a fun, quick read with good depth to the characters. I’m definitely glad I picked it up.

When I was in my teens, I got a book by Susie Shellenberger about dating for my birthday. It had exercises and things to fill out and was fairly informative. I liked parts of it, and learned some things, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the book was a little bit . . . dorky. (I tried to find it on Amazon, but none of the titles sound right.)

What I like best about 30 Days to Getting Over the Dork You Used to Call Your Boyfriend is how not dorky it is. It takes teen girls through a breakup by going through the stages of grief, each stage for about six days or so. Each day has a little project, things that range from a boyfriend box (Gilmore Girls is actually mentioned, yay!) to yoga, from listing people you admire and their qualities to finding your passions, from rearranging your room to volunteer work. Some of the projects are a little ambitious for a day (volunteer work, for one), but many of them could be completed quickly and are good ways for girls to focus on their own positive qualities and strengths. Each day also has a song (by the end of the book, I was wishing a CD had come with the book so I could hear all these songs), and there’s a great list of songs, books, and movies about relationships at the end. It’s a positive, humorous book about working through a breakup that would be perfect for a high school student. My advice? If you give it to a friend, you should definitely get the songs that it mentions and burn a CD to go with it. (And then send me a copy.)

If Mia Thermopolis were a presidential candidate’s daughter rather than a princess-in-training, she would probably be a little bit like Vanessa Rothrock. They have the same frizzy hair, the same tendency to trip, and the same insecurities about their bodies. In between worrying about boys and boobs, Vanessa is also dealing with the stresses of her mother’s absences because of being on the campaign trail. She is a little bit resentful about the things her mom is missing: the county spelling bee, their weekly Gilmore Girls time. Over the course of the book, Vanessa learns about Super Tuesday and the convention, as well as dealing with some threatening letters dealing with her mom’s candidacy. That mystery shapes the climax of the book, and teaches Vanessa what courage really means.

I liked the relationship between Vanessa and her mom. They both had things to learn about being there for each other and supporting each other. This would be a good choice for preteens/teens who like the Princess Diaries series, as it has the same self-deprecating humor and deals with awkward situations (by which, of course, I mean gym class) in similar ways.

Until now, I have managed to avoid whatever cold/illness/flu that was going around my school. This week, though, I have been particularly run down, and last night I felt the beginnings of a scratchy throat. A shocking number of teachers have been sick lately, so I’m hoping for a mild case of whatever it is.

I have been filming an art teacher who is applying for her National Boards Certification the past few weeks. I have had fun observing her lessons and getting to know her, but it has reminded me how bad I am at art. And also how much art class used to stress me out. Some of the students are very sure of themselves and what they want to create, but it would always take me a long time to come up with any ideas. And, invariably, my art projects would go unfinished. That’s what I remember most about art class: never actually finishing anything. We were always promised that we’d get back to whatever it was, but of course that never happened. Which is just as well, because . . . did I mention that I am bad at art? Her classes have been working with clay, and I have enjoyed watching their pieces come together. Some of them are really very talented, and some of them are creative in quirky and entertaining ways. It’s a fun way to get to know other sides of their personalities.

There’s this one kid at school who read The Book Thief and loved it, so when I got a copy of Zusak’s I am the Messenger, I took it to him, which pleased him quite a bit. And now every time I see him in the hall, he waves and says, “Hi, library teacher lady.” hee.

The book fair ended today at my school. I was very pleased to see that we kept selling out of the books that I had been talking up: the vampire romance series, in particular, and also Speak. A lot of girls have come to me and said that they liked Speak a whole lot, which is nice. Even better is that a lot of BOYS have been reading the vampire romance novels. I guess they got interested because of the vampires and then kept reading because of the CAPITAL LETTERS. Boys like drama, too, you see. Seriously, those boys cannot put those books down, and they keep coming to tell me how much they like them. One guy in particular is really enamored of them, and has started coming by to show me his drawings, which I enjoy. I showed him some of Brian’s pictures that I have hanging in my office, and he thought that was pretty cool. (Thanks for improving my street cred, Brian.)

All in all, things are busy but fun at school. It’s always different, but it really is starting to feel more normal.

I would not say that I am the most positive person in the world. If you know me, I am going to bet that you would agree. I tend to take a more negative view of things. (Some might call it negative, but I like to call it “realistic” or “practical.” That’s my positive spin. Look how positive I am.) I try to be a pretty upbeat person, though, during the day and with people I am not as close to. Sometimes this means that I take out too much negativity on Mike when I come home. I apologized to my mom today for that very thing . . . I don’t mean to take out my frustrations on those I love. I just have to have someone to talk to, to get my thoughts out, to feel understood. I am still learning about balance. I am also still learning to watch my tongue.

I am such a people pleaser that it’s hard for me to be around negativity. I know, how does that make any sense? I am not a positive person, but constant negativity in others makes me feel like I am drowning, like I have no escape. I want to find a solution, to prove that things aren’t as bad as the other person says. My insides cower in fear of being lashed at or mocked. I never feel on a sure footing. There are some people in my life who have made me feel that way for a long time, people who have consistently brought out the worst responses in me.

That’s how I have felt lately, for a myriad of reasons. Not wise enough to know which battles to fight, and too afraid, anyway, to speak my mind. I suppose there is always tomorrow to try to figure it out.

(Best Documentary Short is the pertinent category. My cousin edited that movie.)

On Friday morning, I got up, rolled my hair, put on a poodle skirt, a button-down, and a cardigan, tied a scarf around my ponytail, and went to school. Not because that’s what I normally do on Fridays, but because Mike’s school was having a sock hop that night, and I decided it was more fun to wear the skirt to my own school for no reason. And, indeed, it was a great amount of fun. I would pass people in the hall and they would look at me so strangely. I have never been checked out more in my whole life, I don’t think. Eyes on my face, eyes on my skirt, confused look, eyes on my face. People would try to have normal conversations with me while having the most awkward looks on their faces. Normally when I walk down the hall, kids don’t see me (I am not so much taller than they are, after all), but yesterday, every time I walked down the hall, a sea of kids parted as I came through. It was basically awesome. I had a lot of conversations that went like this:

OTHER PERSON: Why are you wearing that?

KARI: Wearing what? I always dress like this. Gosh.

To be fair, I think a lot of people didn’t say anything because the book fair is going on in the media center, and they thought that maybe it had something to do with that. Also, some of them probably just think that I am strange. Which is true.

The best conversation, however, was definitely this one:

GIRL: I like your outfit. What is it from, like, the 80s?

BOY: No, it’s the 70s!

KARI: No, actually, it’s from the 50s.

KARI LIGHTS SELF ON FIRE.

But, seriously, you guys. With her leggings and all, SHE was dressed kind of 80s. It’s hilarious that she didn’t know that, until you realize that, well, she was born in the mid-90s, so to her the 80s are ancient history. Which is why I lit myself on fire. And then told our principal that maybe we needed to do some work on the decades at our school.

I should mention that, just as I predicted, the artsy kids loved my outfit. They were like, “Your poodle skirt is AWESOME! I want to get one of those.” I was filming an art teacher for National Boards, and the artsy fartsy kids (as identified by their pink hair) were very excited to see me.

When I was in middle school, my school had a sock hop. To prepare for this, my mom and my grandma made me a poodle skirt. In purple, my favorite color. I don’t remember much about the sock hop itself . . . my “friends” were mad at me because there was this boy I had been talking to who was going to come to the dance, but then I told him I didn’t want to go out and they were mad at me for hurting his feelings because he really liked me. Or something like that. That guy didn’t even go to our school. Also, he “dated” pretty much every girl in my class. But I digress. The one main thing I remember about the sock hop is the hula hoop contest. I don’t know if you know this, but I am quite good at hula hooping. I can hula hoop for a long period of time. But I came in second. There was a girl behind me who was still going. This pains me to this day.

So. When Mike said that his school was having a sock hop, we dug out the poodle skirt (it still fits. Do you hate me?), I practiced my hula hooping skills (he bought me a hula hoop a few years ago for Christmas, which is one of the reasons I love him), and I was ready. I vowed to take the hula hooping crown this time. Eternal glory, people. Eternal glory. I even talked about it in our Sunday School class, because one of the girls in our class goes to Mike’s school. Apparently she told her mom that she was so excited that I was going to be in the hula hoop contest. And you know what that meant: I really had to do this thing, because I couldn’t let her down.

Now, when you think about a hula hooping contest, what do you think? Because I? I think longevity. Longest hula hooping wins. And that is where my strength lies. I practiced on Thursday night and again on Friday morning while wearing the skirt. That is some serious dedication, people.

However. Our story here takes a rather sad turn, because that is NOT how Mike’s school does their hula hooping contest. They battle it out by adding hula hoops every ten seconds. I had not known this, so all my big talk was for naught, because volume hooping is not my skill. This, as you might imagine, was devastating news. I did great on the first round, but the second round I was given two different sized hula hoops, which IS NOT FAIR. (No adults made it past the second round. One kid, however, had 11 hula hoops.) I think I might have been a contender with two hoops of the same size, but two different sizes? FAIL. The guy who won had two hoops of the same size. That’s all I’m saying. Mike keeps asking me why I didn’t say, “Wait, I need two of the same size!” It is very simple. I didn’t want to appear as if it was the most important thing in my life. Even though it obviously kind of is. hehe. (I was ROBBED.)

Look at these skills!

Anyway, it was very fun to see some of Mike’s students and kids from our church dressed up, and it was fun to twist and watch all the kids. And it was especially fun to be reminded of what elementary school students are like, the enthusiasm they still have before they get to us.

And you’d better believe that, if Mike gets a job at this school, I am going to make him buy me a bunch of hula hoops so I can practice. Next year. I will have my revenge.

Here I am with some of the girls from our church. They are sisters. The younger sister walked in and said, “You go to our church!” and gave me a big hug. Freaking adorable.

After the sock hop, we went to our favorite restaurant for a late dinner. The owner said, “Where have you guys been? Why are you dressed like that?” As I had all day, I said, “What do you mean? We always dress like this!” He said, “You have been coming here long enough for me to know better than that.” You guys! We are regulars! Hooray! (This eases the sting of the hula hoop defeat somewhat.)

I had dreams all last night about school being delayed or not delayed. In one of the dreams, I checked the county’s website for closing information only to find it pink (for Valentine’s Day? I guess?) and covered in weather maps. I woke up very confused . . . so was school delayed or canceled or what? What exactly does a pink website mean? Oh, that was a dream, you say. It’s only 2:30 in the morning. I went back to sleep and had further dreams of school closings and delays, waking an hour later because Big Bunny was rustling around her cage. She got some celery at 3:30 in the morning. My plan to be her favorite parent is totally working.

I slept downstairs last night because . . . wait for it . . . there is still something a little bit wrong with our heat upstairs. You guys, I have tried to spare you the saga of our broken heat/AC situation, because one time when our AC was broken (IN AUGUST), I was accused of complaining a lot. And, honestly, it’s way easier for me when it’s too cold than when it’s too hot. This is North Carolina, after all. Our hots are much hotter than our colds. But I have been keeping mum about it. Take that, person who thought I was complaining too much! I have totally been rolling with the punches! I am assured that our heat should be finally and completely fixed today, and for once I actually believe that that might be the case. Meanwhile, I am staying downstairs.

Anyway, I slept downstairs last night because our upstairs heat is not the warmest and Mike got stuck in Greensboro because of the snow. So it’s just the ladies here today. I piled blankets on the couch and put on my fleece pants and had a very comfy time.

Of course I don’t mind a snow day in the least. I am going to do some reading for my classes and sit under my big blankets and hope that the man comes to fix the upstairs heat. And since I don’t seem to have the knack of our new coffeepot (unless “knack” equals “coffee all over the counter.” Twice), I will be drinking hot tea today. And I guess I have to watch Pride and Prejudice (required snow day viewing) by myself. (The roads will be fine for Mike to get home this afternoon. It’s just that he’s gone into school to do lesson plans while I opted to stay home.)

The only thing I am a little bit disappointed about is that it’s Valentine’s Day. And, in the true spirit of my high school years, I had planned to wear all black today. (Further cementing my awesome status with the nerdy artsy outcast kids. They are flocking to me. I am their one true leader. It’s totally my favorite.) I guess that will have to wait until next year. But it was totally going to be awesome.

There will be even more awesome with tomorrow’s attire, however. I don’t want to spoil it for you. Let’s just say that there’s a dance at Mike’s school tomorrow night. A dance with a theme. And I will be wearing my costume all day long. (Perhaps that will cement my status with the theater kids? We shall have to see.)

In the spirit of alienating other people, which is what I believe Valentine’s Day is actually about, I will give you today’s reason that Mike and Kari are cuter than you: Mike and I have been trying to carpool a few times a week to save the environment. And now that it’s not pitch-black at 6:45 in the morning, we have been reading The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh out loud on our morning commute. Take that, Valentine’s Day! We don’t need a holiday to be completely adorable!

I don’t know anything about Tullycraft, but one evening I was listening to the radio station that Mike DJed for over the summer, and I heard this beautiful haunting song. I made Mike call the station and find out what the song had been, and it turns out that it was “The Lonely Life of the UFO Researcher” by Tullycraft. Now, sure, that’s a silly title, and in some ways it’s a silly song. I kept finding reviews that said that very thing. But, in my humble opinion, those people are missing the point. This is a song about faith and doubt, about believing in what is not seen, about questions and needing to know the truth. All of those things are set in the context of UFOs, but don’t be deceived. I experience these same emotions all the time, belief and unbelief forming an uneasy truce in my heart. Feeling misunderstood by people who don’t share my same faith. Desperately wanting a sign that I’m not wasting my time.

Antenna towers, and distant hopes
I’ve measured happiness with telescopes
Well, I’ve been face to face with what my future brings
The reels they turn recording blips and pings
Through the white noise and distortion
There’s a message I can feel
Just give me one sign that you’re real

Please give me one sign that you’re real

This year, our Lenten theme has to do with restoration, and I thought on Sunday about what Mike and I were like five years ago, how much we had managed to hurt each other and how, little by little, we have grown up and grown from those mistakes. If I am needing some sort of sign from above to confirm God’s existence, I only need to look at my husband, who faced his fears about college and grades and intelligence and returned to school, coming out of his shell and developing an incredible confidence in himself and his abilities. And not being satisfied with bettering himself, he has wholeheartedly embraced a profession that allows him to help other people.

There are so many ways that Mike encourages my faith, but none more than the way that he has quietly allowed God to work in his heart and give him the courage to change. This is what I picture when we talk about God restoring the years that the locusts have eaten: I think about how I will feel on May 16th.

Geof tagged me, but I am not going to tag anyone else. If you’d like to share six quirks about yourself, though, please post them on your blog and let me know in the comments.

You might call them weird, but I call them quirks:

1. We have Fiestaware in light blue and yellow. I love our plates, but it’s an unwritten rule that I have to eat off the blue plate rather than the yellow one. I like the way the food looks on the blue plates so much more.

2. I read Entertainment Weekly every week from back to front. I do this with most magazines, but I always do it with EW. We also get Time, and I often read it from back to front, but I have less of a problem going straight to the cover story when it comes to actual news, I suppose. I don’t know why I do this with EW, either . . . Uncle Stevie’s articles usually get me worked up, so you think I’d avoid reading them first.

3. I read a lot of blogs but refuse to use any kind of feed or anything like that. Bookmarks were good enough for my grandma, and they’re good enough for me. (My grandma has never used the internet.)

4. Speaking of bookmarks, it bothers me when I am using an actual bookmark that doesn’t coordinate with the cover of the book I am reading. But not enough for me to ever do anything about it. (I read fast, so it will soon be over.)

5. Though I like quotes as much as the next person, I am not able to remember quotes from movies or books very well unless I have heard them several times. (This is very different from, say, Brian.) Unless they are set to music. I am a maniac when it comes to remembering song lyrics.

6. Yard sales completely stress me out. I mean, we all know that I don’t like shopping in general, right? I say it often enough. It’s why all my t-shirts come from the internet. But the worst kind of shopping is where I have to dig through other people’s crap in order to find some reputed “treasure.” I remain skeptical about these treasures. Melissa can find approximately 30 items for $2.87 at a yard sale. I, however, never find one single thing worth purchasing. The only thing I leave with is anxiety about not “doing” yard sales correctly. And so I have decided that I have enough of my own crap. I do not need other people’s. I will buy my “treasures” the way that people should. On sale at a store. With coupons. (And when I want to get rid of my own crap, don’t even imagine that I bother to organize my own yard sale. Because I don’t. I take it to Goodwill. I get space in my closets AND a warm fuzzy feeling! Win-win-win!)

(I maybe need to work through my yard sale issues. I should probably not have that much to say about them.)

CASHIER: Do you have a PALS card?

MIKE: Yes. But I don’t have it with me.

CASHIER: What’s your name? I will look it up.

MIKE: Mike [we avoid last names on this blog as much as possible].

CASHIER: Hmmmm. Did you sign up recently?

MIKE: Yes.

CASHIER: Well, it takes about six weeks to show up.

MIKE: But we will save a dollar! What can we do?

CASHIER: We can just pretend you have a card.

MIKE: Try Ken Adams.

CASHIER: I was just going to use a fake card, but . . . there is a Ken Adams.

MIKE: Yessssssss.

KARI: My friend heard it from some guy.

MIKE: *points to self* Some guy!

KARI: No, no, his name was Ken Adams.

MIKE: *points to self* KEN ADAMS!

KARI: Regina Phalange.

CASHIER: Friends, right? I got it when you said Regina Phalanage. Sign here.

KARI AND MIKE LEAVE STORE, MUCH TO CASHIER’S RELIEF, STILL RECITING LINES FROM FRIENDS.

I remember the first time I read the story of the most famous spider in all of literature. The book was mailed to me by my great-aunt Margaret, who lived in New York and . . . was friends with E.B. White? I think? Maybe she just knew him. But still, very cool. He would have still been alive at that point, as it was probably a year or so before he died. I sat on our orange and green couch and learned about friendship from wise, kind Charlotte A. Cavatica.

If, after reading Charlotte’s Web, you find you have a hankering for another spider book, may I introduce Lulu Atlantis and the Quest for True Blue Love? Lulu’s best friend Harry just happens to be a top hat-wearing spider with a fair share of his own wit and wisdom. As Lulu comes to terms with her baby brother, discovers a frog prince, takes a trip to find the secret ingredient that will complete her brother’s oatmeal, and deals with a sassy cat named Princess Fancy, she continues to quest for the elusive True Blue Love that she craves. And, as you have probably guessed, Harry is just the spider to teach her about it in the end.

I thought that Lulu Atlantis was a charming book, but in a very different way than Charlotte’s Web. Charlotte’s Web is quietly charming, with its gentle humor and sweetness. Lulu Atlantis is whimsically charming, and because of that, it’s probably not for everyone. It gets pretty close to the line between sweet and cloying. At the same time, though, it’s wonderfully unapologetically imaginative. Lulu is a girl who embraces adventure, and you will either remember being Lulu or will remember knowing a girl like her. Reading this book felt like childhood summers, when the long lazy days seemed to stretch out forever. Even if Harry can’t replace Charlotte in my affections, I won’t soon forget the story of his true blue love for Lulu.

Yesterday the fragrance of baking filled our home. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Super Bowl weekend can only mean one thing: the Male Bakeoff approacheth!

Let’s review our Male Bakeoff experiences, shall we? The first year that Mike participated, he made a Chocolate Irish Cream Cake and won “Best First-Time Entry.” The second year, he made the infamous Foreskins Hill Cheesecake and won “Most Biblical.” And last year, he made Whore of Babylon Red Velvet Cake and won “Muy Macho.” How would he top those shenanigans? What would he make? And would he win anything?

Thankfully, I am here to answer your questions.

Mike had a hard time settling on a dessert or a theme this year. He made Cranberry Caramel Almond Tart as a trial run, and it was freaking incredible. Seriously. But while he liked the flavor, he wasn’t sold on the presentation, so he ultimately decided to go another direction. But I still expect him to make me that tart again. Because, oh my goodness.

Anyway, may I present Jesus’ Favorite No-Crumb-Wasted Pie. A peanut butter cup cheesecake pie. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.”

Competition was stiff again this year, as expected.

As you can see, we are not so much about the Patriots at church. Go Giants!

Here is the table full of trophies.

And many of our friends walked home with trophies, including David, who won the “Weirdness Cup” for his “Holy Poop!” Dark Chocolate Bread Pudding, Peter winning “Judge’s Choice” for his Spit-in-the-Mud Mousse, and Matt, who won “Best in Show” for his Grizzly Cake (seen above). (There’s a whole ‘nother story about that, but I won’t get into it here.)

And, yet again, Mike walked home with “Most Biblical!” I mean, hello! If it’s Jesus’ favorite, who are you to argue!?

(Aidan was also a fan.)

Mike really played it straight this year, and his presentation was remarked upon by many people. I am really proud of him yet again. (Also, I am a happy lady because he made two pies, so there is one just for us!)

If you work with teenagers or like teenage literature, Speak is one of those books you probably know about, one of those books that has achieved almost mythological status because of how powerful it is. That’s the impression I had, at least, but I had never actually read it before. One thing I love about YA literature? I can often easily read a book in a day. After being stuck in (and never actually finishing) The Worst Hard Time for most of January, I was happy to kick start my February with Speak, and, in an unbelievable feat, it did in fact live up to the hype.

Speak is Melinda’s story. We know that there is something wrong with Melinda, something that has changed her life and alienated her old friends. But all she will tell us is that she busted an end-of-summer party by calling the cops. We follow Melinda’s journey through the year as she learns how to speak the truth about what happened that night, first to herself, and then to others around her.

I liked this book because I liked Melinda. I liked her even when I wished that she would ask someone for help. I liked her when she found no value in herself, and I worried about her because I think there are girls like Melinda in every school in the country, girls who have stopped functioning for a variety of reasons. I liked watching the seeds of strength and bravery germinate in her. I liked seeing how art and gardening became her lifelines.

I think that anyone who has ever struggled to find his or her place in a school will find something to relate to here, and I highly recommend Speak for its honest treatment of some very difficult subjects.

At church on Wednesday, they said that the Ash Wednesday service is next week. Ash Wednesday? It’s almost Lent already? How did this happen?

I was doing yoga that night, and at the end there is a position called Savasana, which I believe is called the “corpse pose.” I have been told that we do this pose both to rest our bodies and slow down after yoga, but also that it has a deeper meaning, something having to do with embracing death. So usually when I am in that pose, at the end of yoga, I pray a little bit and I rest a little bit and I think a little bit about death. Mostly when I think about death, I think about my dad. Sometimes everything that happened seems so long ago, like something that happened in another life or to someone else. And sometimes the smallest thing will bring tears to my eyes. It’s strange to think about all the things we have done without him, strange to see how our family looks now. These days, I just feel baffled that he isn’t here.

One of the classes I am taking is a young adult literature class, and for that class I wrote an evaluation of A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L’Engle (arguably my favorite of her books, and the one I return to most often). When I was younger, a lot of the lessons that it teaches about embracing death as a part of life went over my head, but when my dad was sick, I thought of that book more than any other. I have been thinking about Vicky Austin this week, about affirmations of life in the face of death. I have been feeling sad and lonely the past few weeks, so it’s been a good reminder to me to reach out to the people around me rather than retreating into my own shell. And yesterday was an encouragement, as I got to know some of the teachers at school a little better, as we watched a documentary and drank wine with some friends (aren’t we pretentious? Don’t you envy our yuppie existence? There was not just wine but also cheese).

I don’t really know what it means to embrace death, but I am glad that we practice it every year. I am glad for a chance to try again to learn with those around me as we enter into Lent. And that is what I will be doing next Wednesday, when my head is marked with ashes and I am told, “Memento mori.“