My favorite new online comic

Love the combination of brainy, geeky, sweet and insightful. This one made me smile:

http://www.xkcd.com/120/

God, laughing at me

A revised lesson.

After a full day, I drove from my drumming class to the Gator downtown for friend Ken's birthday get-together. An evening of dancing. Wasn't completely sure I was in the mood, but he's my friend. As I'm walking there, these guys in a car start calling "hey, hey!" I ignore and keep walking, then I hear one say "It's Alon!"

OMG! I turn and it is! It's the world's most amazing dancer, Alon, the Israeli guy, about whom I lamented concerning the last dance never taken. I thought it was a bitter-sweet lesson on the moment not seized. Instead, this is a chance for me to realize that you never know what is around the corner, and what bounty is in store for you moment to moment.

I created a minor traffic incident, running over to say hello and then dodging traffic. He pulled up and parked in front of the Gator - that was his destination for the night. The quiet guy beside him got out - his little brother Benny, also Russian speaking.

We went in, we all hung out, and then Alon & I danced - a jive (Alon can make even the cha-cha cool. And that is saying something). Half-way through I realized, I wasn't making eye contact with him. Maybe my strong anti-flirt vibes ... but I remembered that eye contact is part of the communication of dance, so I started to, and something shifted. Suddenly I was getting what he was doing; suddenly the dance took off. The sync, the connection happened, and we started flying! Spinning, dipping, even that one where he holds my hands and I free-fall backwards to the floor. We had it! We were both smiling and laughing from the sheer joy of the connection.

Later, his brother and I made it out onto the floor - another jive. He danced the jive to a different beat. It was a little disorienting at first - but then I just followed. And the same thing happened: at some point, we just GOT each other and started flying and styling and grooving and laughing out of the sheer exhilaration of dance.

Incidentally - he is a mini-version of his brother! Same moves, same stylings, same smile.

What I learned: it's not over. It's just starting again, continuing on, moving forwards. Magic is just around the corner. Live life and expect it - it will find you.

Home, home, home!

I LOVE home. I am such a home-body. Much though I love seeing the world, my greatest fantasies involve being in one place and creating a life there. An environmental, welcoming, creative life. I fantasize about gardening (well, yes ... it is admittedly currently more fantasy than reality ... but this summer I'll really do it!); about purchasing second hand items and decorating; about arranging things, painting things, cooking things, inviting people over.

Today I'm working at home - reading in the kitchen - just enjoying it all. My dad is refinishing my bathroom, which is a thrill, and I'd love to just drop it all and help. Or do some cooking. Or plan out our spring garden. The pleasures of life, seen small and local.

Upward progress

After a week's hiatus, I made it back to the climbing gym today. I was a bit frustrated - a week of no exercise, illness and limited productivity. But as often happens, after a break, things jumped ahead rather than fell behind. I got myself on the wall and just got moving - and it felt wonderful. I felt as refreshed as always.

And, I made two jumps ahead with my climbing!

First, there is a brown route - E1, not super-hard, but it had stumped me for a while. It goes up a steady negative slope. I've made strides on it already - learning to really hang and relax as I reach, and learning to use the side wall to "flag" my leg and get some of the higher hand holds. And though I've made it to the top once, it was very hard, and a long time ago. Today, I relaxed and climbed. And when I was within reach of the last hold, felt the familiar fear. It is quite high. And I can imagine losing my grip and falling. But I breathed and reached, and there it was: I had it. No strain, no pain, just stretch up and grab it. Incredible!

Then, in the cave, I've been trying this red route (E1 as well). The cave is all hanging. The first time I tried, I could only make 1 or 2 moves. Last week, I made it to the edge. And this week: I made it around the corner. Over the edge, into the last phase of the climb. Thrills! Big rush! I've figured that thing out!

I wish I could capture the thrills that climbing provides. After climbing, I am smiling, I am soaring. It is one of the best pick-me-ups I can imagine. Thank you for it.

A week of sick

It's been a week since I came down with whatever this thing is, and I still am not well. I am tired. My brain is fuzzy. My balance is a bit off. And I'm still coughing. Worst of all, I'm in a foul mood. Instead of a week to catch up on my work, I'm as far behind as ever, not any more prepared for the second half of semester. And, I still have no idea what I'm doing when this is all done.

And then came Buddy

My dad comes home tonight with another box filled with grass. "They get lonely," he says as he stuffs grass into the bunny cage. "Henry said he could take them back at any time." At this point, we still think he is referring to Therapy, and that we do not have to keep him forever. "They get lonely," my dad repeats with a suspicious smile. "Oh no," mom says. "Not another one?" "They get lonely," dad says as he pulls out an identical white bunny and places it in the cage.

Apparently, bunnies get lonely if they don't have a friend. So now we have Therapy and Buddy, who seem to get along beautifully, sleeping cuddled up together. We hope that they do not get too close, as none of us knows how to sex a bunny and we do not want to be supporters of bunny sex. We did, however, have an enjoyable evening cuddling up with those white bun-buns. They really are the softest, sweetest things ever.

Therapy Bunny

So, the bunny may stay. My dad claims the bunny is his "therapy bunny," essential to his emotional well-being as he goes through some more cancer treatment. If it's going to make my dad happy - I guess we'll have a bunny.

A cute, soft, nibbly, stretchy, utterly sweet bunny.

Yay, buns!

I wonder how Pico will react as she gets to know Therapy.

Laid low

I haven't been sick in a while, but Monday night I came down with something. I've spent the last two days sleeping. Flat on my back, asleep, coming up for air, food, water, and eventually (thankfully!) a shower. Lucky that it's reading break; but feeling a wee bit behind on my prep work for next week.

How people get sick and continue to take care of other people at the same time amazes me. I could barely stumble around the house. Here's to all the mothers of the world.

The night of the bun

My dad walked up to the back door tonight after work, carrying his water container and a box. "What's in the box, dad?" I asked. "A chicken?" If you knew my father's love of random farm animals, my guess might seem almost normal. "Yes!" he said. And opened the box to reveal ... a bunny!
A small, insanely soft white bunny, cuddling up in some straw!
"Henry insisted I take it," he explained to my mom.

My dad proceeded to pick up and play with and kiss - yes, kiss - the bunny. "How come you can kiss the bunny, but not the dog?" I asked. "The bunny is clean, and the dog is dirty." That's what you get for growing up in Israel.

Anyhow, the bunny is just visiting us for the night. Cute cute soft thing in a carrier case, he'll go back home in the morning.
(times I do wish I had a digital camera. it's on my list.)

Purging and loss

I recently got rid of something that has been haunting me ever since.
A bag.
A simple canvas over-the-shoulder zipped canvas bag. Kinda boring. Not super attractive. Rather washed out. I hadn't used it as a purse for quite a while, so I thought it was safe to chuck. But something niggled before I did - this bag is awfully useful. A very convenient size. Lots of pockets. But okay - I don't need it, it's gone.

After the fact - i've realized how utterly perfect it would be for an activity bag. For climbing - it would comfortably hold shoes, water bottle, shorts & socks, with pockets tape & bandaids. Easily portable and chuckable, not too big but big enough.

Also drumming. That bag would hold my music & music books, and a variety of small percussion instruments I'm about to buy. Zippable (closable), with a convenient shoulder strap, it so would be perfect.

Anyhow - we all suffer losses. Some are significant. This is just one of those random things that has been lingering in my consciousness far more than I could have anticipated. I hope to displace it with appropriate bag purchases this morning at Value Village's quarterly 50% off sale.

rrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRICK zkkkZIKK zzzzzzzzzz

Last night I went to a performance by Christian Bok, a sound poet out of Calgary. I haven't been to a lot of poetry events in the past while, and didn't know how much I would actually enjoy it, but I felt up for a new experience. And what a treat it was. Sounds and words, glorious, rolled into my ears for almost an hour. At least half the poems were in the dada form/style - the sounds, the intonation carried the meaning rather than the non-words that were used. Christian opened with an enviable rich and rolling r-sound, shouted whined declaimed and intoned, screeched bellowed and beat-boxed.

Several pieces stand out. A brilliant anagram co-written by he and a friend. An entire poetry book (he read selections from it) called eunonia - with each chapter dedicated to and using only one vowel. But my favorite was a selection from an opera in which he performed - performed at 4 a.m. on a lake in northern Ontario - called the "aria of the three-horned monster." Opening with an insane screech, the aria sent me giggling not from embarrassment or confusion, but from the sheer joy of the sounds. Who has not wanted to screech, holler, scream meaningful nonsense at the world?

The evening was a powerful reminder of the vital role arts and artists play in the health and functionality of society. Arts explore the feeling and philosophy of life that are as vital an element in our sanity and happiness as material needs. These explorations of ideas, outlets for what is hidden in regular life, let us acknowledge their reality, thus giving them a place in our lives while appeasing their potentially violent revolts. By touching the insane, silly and wild in us, they ground us in ourselves, freeing our energy for living.

And that all could be said so much better. Those words above barely touch at the importance of art. But they're all I've got right now.

Mind the mind gap

So now I've gotten rid of Minesweeper. I must say, while I wouldn't go back, and I'm glad I have the will-power to move towards eliminating these time-wasters, it leaves a bit of a mental blank space. I often used those games as a way of letting my subconscious process things; as a way of gathering my energy before starting something new. Now that gap is just a gap.

The gap is gappiest right before I start work on challenging projects. I sit down at the computer, maybe check email (okay - probably always check email) and then the gap emerges: how do I get from those starting-up activities to actually doing the work? I don't know why I resist settling down to do things that I find rewarding when I tackle them. I find my mind and fingers wandering in a million directions, delaying the actual commencement of the challenging task. And that is frustrating to no end!

Now that I'm increasingly mindful of the gap, I'm hoping I can identify ways to eliminate it. Stay tuned ...

Songwriting Rule #43

If you have a really cool line - a particularly clever turn of phrase, exceptionally effective image - use it as a throw-away line in a verse, rather than a repeated line in the chorus/ tag line at the end of verses. Because you are so cool, and your audience is so cool, they only need to hear it once to get it and appreciate it. If you repeat it, it kind of implies that's the best you could do, and you're going to use and re-use it 'cause it's your ace. Instead, you want to chill out by using something simple for repetition that they'll like, but that shows, once again, that you're TOO COOL to make a big deal about your chorus. You're just sharing your thoughts.

Well, that's one of my song-writing tips. Hope y'all enjoy it.

Mental fetter-loosing

Just had a "wow" moment. For some reason (really not sure what that reason was) I was thinking about Heath Ledger & Michelle Williams and their break-up. With his recent death, it appears he might have had some drug issues. And I realized that when I thought about them breaking up, my assumption was always that he left her. Poor Michelle, left by her boyfriend. Now, why did my mind do that? I think ultimately because he's a man; I attribute power on some level to men; and assumed that he had the power to choose, and she must necessarily feel abandoned by him. I don't think it really occurred to me that she might have made the choice herself and left him, for who knows what reasons.

Why is this worth blogging about? Well, it might not be, but I find it interesting that I still have vestiges of sexism in my head. Men are the ones with choice; women are the ones who need them. Hmm. Hope this insight can move me further away from it.

Turning to the source

I have something going on in my life right now which is a bit ... unsettled. I'm not quite sure what's happening, how things are developing, what I should do next, or how to think about things. While it is indeed "all good," I've found my mind dwelling on it more than I want, and my stress level rising. And in particular, I'm trying to figure out what I should do. In other words: how do I control this situation?

And with that, I know I need to change direction. It is sorely tempting to hash things over with every friend I have and strategize about what I "should do" and evaluate the potential implications of all my choices. However, that is moving me away from a place of trust and reliance on God and on His love for me. It's putting me out on a ledge of insecurity as I try and hang on with my fingernails and micromanage.

Instead, I decided to pray. And not just pray: pray more and more. There's a popular saying in Christianity: PUSH - Pray Until Something Happens. And that's what I've elected to do here. I know that the best outcome can only come when I'm completely comfortable, confident and aligned with all the spiritual forces out there. That's where I want to be, and I'm going to PUSH my way forward - as gently as possible! - until Something Happens.

Random Associations

I was lying in bed this morning, half awake and thinking about ... embarrassing to admit ... Minesweeper. Yes, I have found another evil procrastinatory tool. Fortunately, it doesn't work as well as spider solitaire, because the games end so quickly. Also (bonus!) it doesn't give me tennis elbow. It is soon to be deleted. I plan.

Anyhow, I started to wonder about the distribution of mines across the screen, and my mind wondered in several directions. First, how do they get the pattern? They must first put the mines in place, and then allocate numbers to all spots adjacent to them; then whatever's left becomes blank spaces. Second, how do they create random distribution? I began to imagine the computer algorithms involved, starting with the ULH space and spreading out from there, determining for each square if it would or wouldn't contain a mine. Then I wondered about the people who create those algorithms. They must be good at planning the fastest, most efficient routes for distribution of items. This transitioned to contemplating disaster zones, and then the epiphany came: who better than a computer programmer to manage supply distribution in crisis situations?
A brand new career option to IT graduates!

All My Relationships

I just finished a really great book - Singled Out: How Singles are Stereotyped, Stigmatized, and Ignored, and Still Life Happily Ever After (Bella dePaulo, 2006). She takes on a raft of myths about single people, unearthing the many ways they are culturally positioned as inferior to married people. Just a few that struck home: financial support given to married couples, while singles are not similarly supported; being treated as less mature and less of an adult than married people; and associating loneliness with singleness. What is interesting is realizing a number of the ways I've internalized some of these beliefs, forgetting that happiness and a full life is ultimately my choice, no matter what my relationship status.

dePaulo writes about the social conceptions of singles as selfish and married peoples as contributors to community. In contrast with this, she cites studies showing that involvement in community service often actually declines when people marry. If you know me, you know I value marriage, so I am not in any way critiquing married people. This does, however, make me think of two things: first, that indeed, as a single woman I feel strongly the social critique of single people as self-absorbed, and am relieved to have some writer publish findings showing the opposite. And second, I can imagine myself how, with my love of home and family, I could become completely insular if I married. This is the opposite my vision of marriage as a vehicle for personal growth and service, and I hope I avoid this.

More than this, though, appreciation of the way we stigmatize singleness opens the way for appreciating the richness that diverse relationships bring to our lives. By recognizing the tremendous value we gain from strong relationships with parents, siblings, friends, children, we can still appreciate the bond we have with a spouse, while reducing the tremendous pressure our society places on that bond to fulfill all our needs. It enables people to reach out and consciously build strong networks of support and mutual encouragement in a way that enriches life.

(Updated Feb. 8/08)

Deep career breaths

Had a great conversation today with one of my old geography profs. I had some questions for him for a geography writing project I have, but we wandered off into work, careers, life choices. He was talking about the importance of asking the big questions, things like, why am I doing this work? What does it mean? What do I really want to do? Something about his comments and our conversation reminded me that we need to be responsible only to ourselves and God for our life choices. Ultimately, these choices make us happy or not, give our lives meaning or not.

I want to make choices that give me a life worth living, a life with meaning. If I feel that involves doing more writing - so be it - and I want to - and I will. But I will choose for myself, and love my choices.

Doing and Being (and Judging)

I'm back to reflecting on self-acceptance and work and career and accomplishments and character and who I am, really. I don't like this space - comparing my accomplishments to others, calculating that I fall short, and thus feeling insecure. On the other hand, I think I could do and accomplish more (write more, publish more, serve more - but primarily the first two). Not that I'd be willing to give up many of my hobbies, or sleep time, or prayer & reflection morning and evening, in order to do so. I feel stuck.

Two responses come to mind. One is practical: if I care so much about my accomplishments, learn to become efficient and do more. Maybe. Seems simplistic. But might be true. The second: pure self-acceptance. I'm doing what I can, the best I can. That's my job - not anyone else's - so I need to just keep on doing it.

I feel like the truth is some deeper synthesis of these two perspectives, but I can't feel what it is yet. And it is frustrating. I am frustrated. And I suppose I should get some work done.

No perfection here!

Some of you may recall my post on how, the day I got my new writing desk, I messed up the surface by scoring it with ink. Well, that desk has been the site of another desecration.

A month or so ago, I went with my brother to a friend's house who was showing him some things on using lighting for photography. He asked me to model, and they took a bunch of photos. I've been eager to see then, and last night, his friend gave me a large version of one of the photos - a really beautiful shot, set against an enhanced background. Honestly - it's really beautiful, and for me, that is really an unusual thing. It's the kind of glamour shot I actually would frame and put up. So, to keep it safe, I put it on the desk when I got home last night.

I was brushing my teeth with my electric toothbrush - something I've been using without problem for over 3 months. I was wandering around, pulling some stuff from my table, and the toothbrush - bristles spraying - FLEW from my mouth. Landed on the table. Sprayed toothpaste all over. I quickly retrieved it, but some damage had been done. There was now a toothpaste watermark on the photo.

Now, why did this happen? What was this about? Maybe I should have been more careful - but I'd never before had a flying toothbrush incident. What am I to learn here?

It could be a lesson on vanity. But really, I'm not that vain, or really vain at all. It could be a strike against materialism - what is a photo compared to life? It could be a chance to humble myself and ask if he could print me another copy (I would willingly pay). Or maybe, my desk really is a swirling vortex of evil. Curious what lesson I will draw from this experience.

Dog and God: more than anagrams

Pico has developed the habit of sleeping with me at night. She's little and generally well-behaved, so I don't mind. However, she can be skittish and keeps changing her mind about when she's ready for bed. Last night she pushed her way into my room and sat on the floor by the bed looking at me with her big eyes, whimpering for me to lift her up on the bed. I kept saying, come HERE. come HERE, and I'll lift you up. Come here. Here! Come here! Come on! She kept moving away whenever my hands got close to her. I got out of bed, and she scuttled down to the end, further away the closer I got. Finally I grabbed her and put her on the bed.

"Why do you run away when you want me to pick you up?" I asked her, exasperated.
And then I realized that that's probably what God is asking Himself about me. Why do I run away? And run faster the closer He gets?