Crybaby

Whoever (in JAY-sus name) dares to meet the challenge of being with me 'till death do us part will have to be able to withstand a weeping woman. Good Lord, I don't know if I know anyone who cries as much as I do.

At least this time, I wasn't in an abysmal abyss, crying tears of existential anguish. Today they were angry tears. Oh, but it felt so good to get it all out.

In other news, I finished my stories. ::curtsies:: Thank you, thank you.

Now, I shall feast on such healthy things as chips and dip and miniature Twix bars while my still fast metabolism does what it does. Ain't nothin in this world a good cry and some junk food can't help.

Let me go ahead and get my procrastinating out of the way.

1. Tornado. Good God. When I woke up the next morning and looked at pictures of Tuscaloosa . . . a city I lived in for a good 5 years, it was heartrending. 15th Street, just gone. Thankfully, family and I are fine (and thanks to those who sent inquiries of concern), but there are a few others we know of in other cities who aren't.

2. Almost done with stories. Gotta finish these bad boys this weekend. And then that's going to be it for a while. I've got to get my life together before the big move.

3. This morning I did a little cultural activity at a local junior high. Brought some paella, pictures, Mexican sombrero, castanets, etc. The kids seemed to enjoy it.

4. God, help me endure. My learning center gig is wearing out my brain's welcome. Because of my genius move of quitting the best paying job I'd ever had in the middle of the year, I have to work this summer. (Can I stop sounding so spoiled and just be glad I have a job? Sheesh.)

5. There is a bespectacled man in here with a t-shirt on that has a picture of some muppets dressed gangsta-style. It gives him zero street cred or respect. And he has it tucked into some dusty black jeans. Boo.

6. Lady sitting next to me out of the blue starts involved emotional convo about the tornado. I gave her some kleenex.

7. And after chatting about other stuff, I told her I had to get back to work. So I have to be a woman of my word.

Last Saturday

I had a face painting spot upon a spread out blanket at a park. We had an Easter egg hunt outreach at a subdivision not far from from our church.

A little two-braided girl wanted her face painted.

"What would you like me to paint?"

"What've you got? What are my choices?"

"Anything you can imagine."

"Woooowww."

A Sunday School Story in Real Life

Scripture reference: Matt 22:39 "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

A young lady walks into Wal-Mart with the purpose of getting cupcakes for the Sunday School kids early Easter morning. As she gets in line to pay, an elderly lady ahead of her dressed in all her Easter finery turns around and asks the young lady where she got the cupcakes from.

"Over there in the bakery section." The young lady pointed in the general direction.

"Oh, I don't know if I like these cookies I have here. I think I might like some of those instead."

"Well, you can have as many of the ones I have as you like--I have five of them--and I'll go back over and get some more. Do you want some? How many of them?"

"You'd do that for me? Bless you! I'll take three of them."

"No problem. Do you want me to put these cookies back?"

"You gonna be blessed today."

The young lady smiles and puts the cookies back on the way to get a few more containers of mini-cupcakes. She wasn't really trying to be a do-gooder, she just didn't like the idea of the poor old lady all nice and dressed up to have to get out of line and walk all the way over to the bakery section to get some cupcakes.

When the young lady came back, she planned to get at the end of the line like normal, but there was a couple which was originally behind her who must've overheard the exchange and called her to come back up to her spot behind the old lady. Then the old lady, in front of her, finishing her purchase, told the young lady she would bestow her Wal-Mart senior discount on the young lady's purchase.

The young lady was surprised and pleased. She gave the old lady a hug and wished her a Happy Easter.

The moral of the story: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Willie the Shake

That's what my uber-nerdy Creative Writing instructor in undergrad (on whom, inevitably, I had a super crush) called William Shakespeare.

Well, today's the bard's birthday. He would have been 447. And what better way to celebrate than to go to the Alabama Shakespeare Festival to see my all-time favorite Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar, with my little bro. I convinced him to dress up, which is no mean feat:

And the play was fabulous. We got to yell along with the plebeians. "Caesar, Caesar!" "We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied!" "We'll mutiny!"

Happy Birthday, Will. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Today I

1. got up super early to give a presentation to another local Rotary club about my French experience. Brought back SO many memories.

2. discovered that my sunbabies need an intervention:

The leaves are starting to yellow and droop. No, babies! Mommy's gonna plant you in a better place, don't worry.

3. took a look at the contract for my on campus apartment whose lease begins August 10. I guess now I have a specific answer for "So, when are you moving?"

4. made good progress on my latest installment of Sunday School stories.

5. got the awesomest Easter basket ever:

My Sunbabies Again

My little guys are really growing up. Compare the pictures from last week to today:

I love you, sunbabies. One day you're going to have big fat sunflower blooms. Just keep drinking your water and soaking in your sunshine like good little sunbabies. Mommy loves you!

And I dunno if anyone reading this has any gardening expertise (cuz I sho'ly don't), but as you can see, right now, they're in a planter. Will they be okay left in there? Should I somehow transplant them into the ground? If I do, will they be okay?

Ensconced

Ensconced again at my favorite haven of procrastination.

I'm in a corner, in a plush chair. Away from the coffee grinder, the chatterers, the gray skies outside.

Right now, I exist in my own world and am not resisting the urge to plunge deliciously into it.

For the people who like to snap me out of it when I stare out into space: True, I'm not in the present. I'm in the romanticized past. I'm in the imagined future. Or in the hurtful past. Or the feared future.

What I wonder: What is out there? What is really out there? I thought I'd already been out there, but I wake up every day realizing more and more that I've only scratched the surface.

What I remember is on my desk: A Spanish-English dictionary. A French-English dictionary. Two volumes of World Literature. A cylindrical can with sunflowers painted on it which holds a basket of artificial sunflowers. A small bottle of superglue. Two postcards with the same black and white photo of a young Langston Hughes. A still-unopened heart-shaped box of chocolates from Valentine's Day.

A man once said to me, "You already know I can't be what you need. But what do you want?"

I remember the discomfort I felt being faced with a smiling girl in her mid-twenties with grimy, eaten-away teeth. She was not ashamed.

Sometimes I can still feel the aching loneliness I felt when I was in France. It was penetrating, like rain.

I'm amazed by the sheer pleasure I get in watching something grow. It's a miracle, a testament to a living God.

I'm comforted by a silly face my brother makes. He wrinkles his top lip and his cheeks take on a frog-like cast. He speaks in an exaggerated, almost hillbilly voice. What this really means is that no matter what, no matter how old we get, he will be my little brother.

When I went to pick up my shoes from the Chinese shoe repair place at the mall, I was pleased with how completely they restored the heels. "Better than original!" the owner beamed.

I smile at the relation between friends and well-being. When you can talk about stories and flower children with one friend, speak other languages with another friend, and laugh about awkward classroom dynamics with yet another friend, I think of all the different ways you can connect with other human beings and how the knowledge of them is connected to the knowledge of yourself.

Mother of All Living (revised 4/17/2011)

She had never been this close to the plum tree before.

A green-eyed, panther-like creature, a sable cat, had wound its way through her idyll. She caught glimpses of its smooth dark pelt as it slunk past a wall of tangled vines. This wasn't one of the usual creatures with which she'd frolic during her rounds about the Garden. It was exotic, unfamiliar, and it awakened in her a sense of curiosity unlike any she'd ever felt before. She was drawn by its subtle scent of jasmine and intrigued by its deliberate, stealthy gait. She had decided to follow.

She followed until the creature paused at a tree whose branches hung heavy with dark fruit. She'd eaten the fruit of all the other trees of the Garden save this one. She had been warned by Man never to touch it. But the creature fixed its emerald gaze upon her, silently beckoning her closer.

She inched forward, transfixed, her footprints in the rich, moist earth the only evidence of her advance. At last, she was close enough to touch this beguiling creature, but before she dared, it caressed her leg with its tail. Disarmed, she knelt down and began to stroke its blue-black fur. The smell of jasmine was intoxicating. She began to tire and sat on the ground, reclining against the trunk of the plum tree. Her lids drooped and she nearly fell asleep, but she was fully awakened by whispering in her ear. As the creature spoke, she could feel its warm breath lingering against her cheek.

"The Ancient One said not to eat of this tree, didn't He?" the creature purred, pawing a fallen plum. She faced the creature, arrested by its piercing green stare.

"He-He said not to eat of it or even touch it or else we'd die." As the words left her mouth, she scrambled up from leaning against the trunk. The cat laughed and began to circle her.

"You shall not die. What nonsense. The Ancient One knows that if you eat of this tree, your eyes will be opened and you will understand good and evil. Like a god."

Why would the Ancient One want to keep something so enlightening from her? After all, she had nearly fallen asleep against the trunk of the tree and she still lived. She plucked a single plum from the low-hanging branch right above her and examined it. She suddenly felt watched. She spun around to find Man peering from behind a nearby tree, observing the entire scene wordlessly. Why had Man not tried to stop her? She felt the creature rub itself against her leg as it continued to circle her. She held up the plum. It was good for food, pleasant to the eye, and would allow her to see, to give her a knowledge she'd never possessed.

She bit in. Juice dribbled down her chin. It was sweet. Heady. Exhilarant. She did not die. She held it out towards Man.

My Sunbabies Are Growing Up!

Hey, my little sunbabies . . . c'mere, give Mommy some kisses. You're growing up, yes you are! If you drink all your water and soak in all your sunshine, you're gonna be big sunflowers one day, yes you will! Ooh, Mommy loves you loves you loves you! Mmmuah!

Booklove

Two Slate essays about two of my favorite things—books and falling in love:

Love in Bookstores

Judging a Girl by Her Cover

Enjoy!

New 'Do + Sunbabies

New 'Do
Curlicues! The sun will come oooout tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorroooooow, there'll be sun! Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow. It's only a day away! Now all I need are some patent-leather shoes with little buckles on the side. I can tap dance, too.

Sunbabies

My sunbabies are my future little pride and joy. I love sunflowers. With a passion. So I decided to grow some in the backyard. They're gonna be my little babies. I planted them today. I'm going to water them and make sure they get lots of sunlight and give them little bits of sunbaby num nums. I wuv you wittle sunbeebees. Mommy's gonna take gooood care of you.

"You have no power over me."

Some of you children of the 80s know what I'm talking about when I mention the movie Labyrinth. It's a muppety, fantasy flick featuring David Bowie as the seductive Goblin King and a teenaged Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, a girl who has to get through the Goblin King's labyrinth to get her baby brother back.

So after Sarah's gotten through the labyrinth, defeated the Goblin King's goblin army with her muppet friends, etc., she has a final showdown with him in this awesome inverted/upside down/winding staircase scene.

But in the end he still tries to get Sarah to give in. "Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave," he beckons. The whole movie she's been trying to remember this certain line from a fantasy play (also called Labyrinth) before entering the Goblin City. And she finally remembers it (and sorry, she does briefly use a mild expletive. I forgot about that part. Please skip it if it would offend you):

The Goblin King's game is up. The facade melts away. The key to her success the whole time was realizing the Goblin King actually had no power over her!

In a way, I sort of feel like Sarah after she remembers her line. There are negative things and icky lies that constantly work to bring me down. But I realized anew today, they have no power over me. Not unless I allow them to. To the Goblin Kings, Lord Henrys, Satan and his lying lies: You have no power over me.

The Last Twenty

This is it. Today marks the beginning of my last twenty. This is the last year I'll be able to legally consider myself a twentysomething. What choice do I have but to rock it? Les get it, 29.

This day has been a right pleasant day. I decided to bedeck myself in my all time fave color, purple (lavender, to be exact, but all shades of purple make my world go round):

I also rocked these shoes:

Yeah, baby. Rocked 'em.

I came home to a wrapping-papered door:

Opened a longed-for present:

And helped myself to a nice chunk of pretty ice-cream cake:

Ya'll don't know nothin bout 29! It's allaway live up in dis 29 right herr! On my momma and er'thang I luh we gon do DIS 29, cuz! Train 29 is leaving the station and it's rollin on, honey. It's rollin ON.

Pizza and Cookies

On Sunday nights after church, I go to Publix and get a frozen pizza and Toll House cookies. I could eat pizza every day for the rest of my life, and I will kill for freshly baked Toll House chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes my little bro and I will split it. You get the pizza, I get the cookies.

But last night I went to Publix and had my socks knocked off when I saw this in the frozen pizza section while trying to decide on whether I wanted pepperoni or supreme:

Wait . . . what?! Who read the innerworkings of my mind? How could someone so precisely discern my post-Sunday night church heart's desire? That's so bizarre . . . I mean, pizza and cookies sold together in the same box? But at the same time, it's genius. I thought I was the only one who craved that exact combination. But there must be more me's out there. In fact, there must be so many me's out there that DiGiorno and Toll House were willing to stake their profit indices on it. So I just snagged that sucker and saved myself a trip to the cookie dough/pudding place in the dairy section.

And yes, this begs a metaphor: I'm doing my little routine. La-dee-dah. Having all intentions of doing my normal thing, making my normal stops. But then BAM! Out of nowhere, the unexpected, surprising, almost unbelievable, yet utterly perfect emerges. And I snatch that sucker up. Awww, shucks! Y'all don know nothing bout that! Awww, snap!

God. Dude. If You can infiltrate the minds of the CEOs of DiGiorno and Toll House and incept them with the genius of idea of selling frozen pizza and cookies together to satisfy my heart's desire, couldn't You like, tell that God-loving, tall, bespectacled, educated, handsome guy with a Colgate smile somewhere out there to get a move on? Kthanxbye.

Three: The Leaving Game

Fickle, thy name is me.

Should I, shouldn't I? Pros and cons. Vacillation. Pluck petals from a flower. Mull it over long and hard.

I do come to decisions. Decisions have to be made. But once they're made—ay, there's the rub.

A telemarketer with a tantalizing hook—$120 in gas vouchers. "Sure," I said. I can cancel the whatever savings coupons you want to send me and I can still keep the $120 in free gas. That's what they said. But once I was transferred over to the, shall I say, "deal sealer," they started talking about magazine subscriptions and additional shipping costs and—I said, "No, I don't want it anymore." "But Ms. Smith, you can still enjoy the $120 in gas vouchers with no additional obligations and blah blah blah blah." "No, I'm not interested in it anymore." They gave up. They were wasting their breath with this fickle chick. I wanted it and then I didn't want it. I almost fell for it.

I've almost fallen for it. I've made decisions to do it and then regretted it. I've made decisions not to do it and then regretted it. I know what I want, then want what I know I don't want. I know what I don't want, then don't want what I know I want.

But I have to move on.

Once someone asked me, seemingly out of the blue, "You really like to win, don't you?" Then, I was puzzled. Why did he ask me that? Now, I know why. Yes, I like to win. Winning, if you can call it that, is not what you think; it's self-preservation. It's leaving. First.

No trophies, no plaques, no gold medals. Just a decision set in stone and the ambivalence that constantly surrounds it.

Two: My Mouth

My mouth is to blame.

Death and life are in the power of the tongue is what the Good Book says.

It's astounding how many negativities I verbalize on a daily basis, it really is. I knew this, but for the first time in a while, I realized it. It hit me that I've been doing nothing less than speaking death into my own life. If I sit there and think about it for a moment, it's shocking and incredible. The thing about a lie is that it becomes a truth once spoken and believed by the one to whom it's spoken. I've been believing the lies about me, reinforcing them, making them manifest, giving them power with my mouth.

This realization is way past due. I've known it, but I have to act upon it. I'm beautiful, I'm capable, I'm intelligent, I'm talented, I'm important, I'm powerful, I'm loved, I have a purpose, I have a future, I'm a child of God. This is the report I must believe.

One: Those Ladies Who Pull You Out

One of my afternoon students didn't show so I got a smidgen of extra time to come to my favorite refuge of procrastination before my professional development classes this evening.

There are a couple of things I'd like to talk about, but I don't want to just scatter them all over in a sporadic list, I want to kind of essay them out.

Those Ladies Who Pull You Out

In the thick of a Spirit-filled service where everybody is getting their blessing: Women doubled over wailing, ecstatic rolls of speaking in tongues, hands upraised, long-skirted spins and stomps of joy. I've got the victory! In the midst of this divine cacophony, there is a doubter. Not a doubter as in, this isn't real, (though there are those), but one who hangs back. Who affirms with a leaden heart that an emotional response is as substantial as cotton candy. What matters, after all, is what happens when the shouting is over. What do you do, how do you behave, what do you tell yourself when the move is still? Why bother, when you know that your mind is going to meander down the same destructive path? "Getting the victory" is not jumping up and down while the organ wails. It's choosing each and every day not to believe the lies. It's a matter of overcoming inertia. It's a nearly stoic exercise of trudging forward. The doubter doesn't doubt the power of God, but herself. Which is indirectly doubting the power of God.

In the thick of this mentally justified hang-back: Spirit-emboldened ladies prodding, guiding this leaden heart out of the confines of plush conference seats. Lifting the arms from the elbows, a trembling hand between the shoulder blades, eyes squeezed tight, spiritual commands seasoned with King James English. Tears are never hard to come by for this doubter. Nostalgia washes over her rather than a lightning shock of "the victory." She knows that a lightning shock is what the ladies crave. This lightning shock would zap her back onto the bright path. No more sad days! The joy of the Lord is your strength!

Those ladies who pull you out aren't deterred by a possible rejection of their holy advances. They have faith that the doubter still believes in the same God they do. They are the faithful. They are the trusting. They are the believing. They are the hoping. And they care enough to do what they can to breathe that God-given hope back into a leaden heart.

Photo Shoot at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens

I went to visit a bosom (pronounced BOSS-um) buddy for a couple of days in Birmingham. It was my idea to go to the Botanical Gardens, but it was her idea to do what turned into a photo shoot starring me as the model. And no, I am not a model (as someone awkward to the weirdo power asked after inserting himself into the tail end of lunch at a purloined outside table) and am rather skittish about the prospect of being one because of my many imperfections. But I humored my buddy's need for artistic expression (though I did leave out the tree trunk pics . . . forgive me from the bosom, buddy) and I must say they turned out lovely.

Those days I was in Birmingham were flower days. I saw flower babies being born. I saw buds ready to burst. Flowers in pots, flowers in dirt, flowers in hanging baskets, flowers with lips which opened and closed. A daffodil that sprang to life. I even got a sunflower umbrella for Christmasmybirthday. Flowers are quite a beautiful.

Numbers 1-3, 5, 6 and 18 were taken by yours truly and the rest were courtesy of bosom buddy. Enjoy!

Omg! Today is the Ides of March!

How could I?

How could anyone who claims to consider him or herself a Julius Caesar enthusiast dare to almost forget today's fateful date?

I was so caught up in existential angst this morning that I forgot to pay tribute to the day when the Roman Empire was shaken at its core.

Even at the base of Pompey’s statue, / Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. / O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! (III.ii.183-5)

The whole play the soothsayer was warning Caesar about the Ides of March. Then when the Ides finally arrive, Caesar sees the soothsayer out on the street and tries to get smart with him real quick:

Caesar: The Ides of March are come.

But then the soothsayer comes back with a zinger:

Soothsayer: Aye, Caesar, but not gone.

Ooh, zing, Caesar! Owned! You got told! NO comeback to that. Next thing you know, he's murked and bleeding at the base of Pompey's statue. Shoulda listened . . .