1. On the plane to Baltimore-Washington, I fortunate to be sitting behind two gentleman--a smiley Mormon kid in his early-20s, and an aging Jewish man with an admirable beard and calming voice. They got to talking right away, and oh how I wish I had recorded their conversation for NPR. It was one of the most beautiful, curious, open, generous, and kind dialogues I've heard regarding religion. The young man kept asking these excellent questions, and the old man kept answering them in such a warm manner--explaining every word and concept with such a sincere desire to inform. And he kept talking about how he thinks Mormon architecture is so beautiful. By the end of the flight, the young guy said "Next time you're in Salt Lake, look me up--I'll take you out to lunch!"
2. My mom and I were pulling out of a shopping mall when we saw an unfortunate-looking minivan sitting there, the weight of the antediluvian vehicle flopping over its own tires. My mom waved it ahead, and as the van huffed and puffed to pull in front of us, the driver gave us the most exuberant TWO THUMBS UP.
3. Today I was in line at the Post Office, aka the 7th Circle of Hell. The line was long and the store's decor horrifying. The man in front of me had a couple packages to send, much to my chagrin as I had but one measly letter to drop off. When he got up to the counter, I realized that my annoyance was satanic since he was apparently the nicest guy in America. He was kind to the poor post office cashier, cracking bad jokes and asking questions. It was soon apparent that this guy had done nothing right; he bought the wrong postage, forgot a zip code, wrote "priority" when he didn't mean "priority." His trip to the post office was a disaster. And yet, even after the line-waiting, he brushed it off with a "Oh, I'm always forgetting something!" and "You can charge me extra for my mistakes" to the point where I just wanted to buy him some collectors' stamps for his trouble.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
No. 57
1. The grandmother of one of my gymnastics girls telling me "You have the patience of Job!" It was such a great thing to say and so kind of her to express that I felt very accomplished for the rest of the day.
2. I was in desperate search for baklava, but so far from Albany Park. I walked up a few blocks and found a fancy restaurant which I knew served my very favorite dessert but felt intimidated about asking for it to go. No matter, I charged in anyway and asked the host if I could buy a few pieces. He seemed to understand my plight and replied, "NOOOO problem!"
Not only did he arrange them in a lovely box for me, but he gave me a dollar off, AND a coupon. He explained, "Because you're so kind!" but I think he was just being Lebanese about everything. My favorite thing about Arabs at large is how generous they are with food. This is a huge part of Middle Eastern culture--the sharing of food with friends and strangers--and I see it in every Middle Eastern restaurant in the city. Even the fancy ones.
3. Warm clothes on a cold night
2. I was in desperate search for baklava, but so far from Albany Park. I walked up a few blocks and found a fancy restaurant which I knew served my very favorite dessert but felt intimidated about asking for it to go. No matter, I charged in anyway and asked the host if I could buy a few pieces. He seemed to understand my plight and replied, "NOOOO problem!"
Not only did he arrange them in a lovely box for me, but he gave me a dollar off, AND a coupon. He explained, "Because you're so kind!" but I think he was just being Lebanese about everything. My favorite thing about Arabs at large is how generous they are with food. This is a huge part of Middle Eastern culture--the sharing of food with friends and strangers--and I see it in every Middle Eastern restaurant in the city. Even the fancy ones.
3. Warm clothes on a cold night
Friday, October 9, 2009
No. 56
1. Me: Let's make tacos!
[4-year-olds lift their feet in the air and laugh hysterically]
Me: Let's make burritos!
[4-year-olds curl up into balls and laugh hysterically]
Me: What else should we make?
Chava, age 4: CHALLAH!
2. Cleaning the dance room by myself while listening to Tchaikovsky. Cleaning is my favorite part of work. It's relaxing, and meditative, and the smell of Swiffer spray is truly incomparable.
3. Feeling more inspiration to write.
[4-year-olds lift their feet in the air and laugh hysterically]
Me: Let's make burritos!
[4-year-olds curl up into balls and laugh hysterically]
Me: What else should we make?
Chava, age 4: CHALLAH!
2. Cleaning the dance room by myself while listening to Tchaikovsky. Cleaning is my favorite part of work. It's relaxing, and meditative, and the smell of Swiffer spray is truly incomparable.
3. Feeling more inspiration to write.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
No. 55
1. Two members of our parish died this week. I didn't know either one well--at all really--but there was a certain heaviness in the church today. Something felt amiss, and strange. But there was also a baptism today: a tangible reason to rejoice. And I think the heaviness made the joyfulness all the more light and lovely. Celebration was needed, and it felt so good to celebrate this tiny large-eyed person wearing a wonderful white dress with puffed sleeves, who softly cried as water was poured on her head and we welcomed her into our church family. She snuggled into Sarah's shoulder and resembled a little bear cub, so cuddly and at home in this candle-lit sweet-smelling sanctuary. At church it is not only helpful, but necessary, to rejoice in the midst of mourning. We rejoiced heartily with ice cream cones during coffee hour--a gentle goodbye to summer and a happy embracing of fall's arrival.
2. The surprising sight of the skyline at night. The skyline is surely one of the most spectacular man-made wonder. The Parthenon, the microchip, the skyline--they all evoke a similar awe at humankind's astounding creativity and desire for progress, and beauty.
3. A soul-enlivening conversation with 3-year-old Hana, who summarized for me the plot of "Mamma Mia" and told me that her 1-year-old brother was her hero.
2. The surprising sight of the skyline at night. The skyline is surely one of the most spectacular man-made wonder. The Parthenon, the microchip, the skyline--they all evoke a similar awe at humankind's astounding creativity and desire for progress, and beauty.
3. A soul-enlivening conversation with 3-year-old Hana, who summarized for me the plot of "Mamma Mia" and told me that her 1-year-old brother was her hero.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
No. 54
1. A sick day taken, and an afternoon at Chicago Botanical Gardens. Happy to be lazy, laughy, and warm while strolling through all this beautiful fresh life with my kindred spirit. Chicago has lifted itself out of that little dip into fall last week but I am not protesting; I know fall is coming and I will savor this sweet sunshine while it lingers, hanging on desperately to the first weeks of September when bright warmth is still acceptable.
2. The smell of my rosemary plant
3. Not missing the 5:21 train, for once in my life. A few precious free minutes before work to walk up and down a few of Evanston's mansion-lined streets, so quiet and stately in the very early morning light. Being up so early feels like being let in on a secret. I love sleep but I love to wake up.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
No. 55
1. You know you [Mari] are destined to be soul sisters with someone when:
a. you meet her at church
b. she is wearing a long red beaded necklace that she has wrapped several times around her neck
c. within 45 seconds of introducing yourself, you are already talking about:
-feminine energy in a living space
-Audre Lourde
-women's and sexuality studies in a religious context
-vintage dresses
-organic peaches
2. The taste of baked thyme with olive oil, the surprising sound of new husband and wife speaking in Arabic from the kitchen. Hannah now has an Arabic last name, Lebanese cooking utensils sent from new relatives she has never met with exotic names like Noor and Fadi, and I now have access to all the za'atar I could ever want. And I want a lot.
3. "It looks like a tornado swept through a church camp you guys."
This is how I best spend my Saturday nights, this is my kind of party: pumpkin soup and hymns, 3 glasses of pinot grigio and going home with an entire apple pie.
a. you meet her at church
b. she is wearing a long red beaded necklace that she has wrapped several times around her neck
c. within 45 seconds of introducing yourself, you are already talking about:
-feminine energy in a living space
-Audre Lourde
-women's and sexuality studies in a religious context
-vintage dresses
-organic peaches
2. The taste of baked thyme with olive oil, the surprising sound of new husband and wife speaking in Arabic from the kitchen. Hannah now has an Arabic last name, Lebanese cooking utensils sent from new relatives she has never met with exotic names like Noor and Fadi, and I now have access to all the za'atar I could ever want. And I want a lot.
3. "It looks like a tornado swept through a church camp you guys."
This is how I best spend my Saturday nights, this is my kind of party: pumpkin soup and hymns, 3 glasses of pinot grigio and going home with an entire apple pie.
Friday, August 28, 2009
No. 54
1. The way an Australian woman pronounced the word "ginger"
2. A quiet, warm morning at work. Listening to Andrew Bird and rain simultaneously. Eating orange-honey toast, drinking Sencha tea. I can feel fall on my skin already, and I relish it.
3. A tall man with long beard who topped his head with a yarmulke came pushing a stroller into the cafe. He ordered a hot chocolate [one of the most charming orders I must say], and I followed up, "Anything else?" He peered into the stroller and whispered, "Naomi, do you want anything?" The infant remained asleep. "Nope, she doesn't want anything," he told me.
Living in Rogers Park and working in Evanston, I am an instant part of a couple communities of which I am not actually a member: I live next to Loyola which unfortunately makes me feel like I'm living in a giant frat house sometimes; I work next to Northwestern which quite wonderfully makes me feel like I live in J. Crew catalog sometimes. And I particularly enjoy the Jewish community on the North Shore. I love how many times I hear the word "schlep" a day. I love the way my boss always exclaims "God bless!" whenever I do something well--"You're cleaning? God bless!" I love that meeting folks from Israel is a daily occurence. I love how many people I've met named Saul. I love how I have seen more yarmulkes in the past three months than I have in 22 previous years of life.
2. A quiet, warm morning at work. Listening to Andrew Bird and rain simultaneously. Eating orange-honey toast, drinking Sencha tea. I can feel fall on my skin already, and I relish it.
3. A tall man with long beard who topped his head with a yarmulke came pushing a stroller into the cafe. He ordered a hot chocolate [one of the most charming orders I must say], and I followed up, "Anything else?" He peered into the stroller and whispered, "Naomi, do you want anything?" The infant remained asleep. "Nope, she doesn't want anything," he told me.
Living in Rogers Park and working in Evanston, I am an instant part of a couple communities of which I am not actually a member: I live next to Loyola which unfortunately makes me feel like I'm living in a giant frat house sometimes; I work next to Northwestern which quite wonderfully makes me feel like I live in J. Crew catalog sometimes. And I particularly enjoy the Jewish community on the North Shore. I love how many times I hear the word "schlep" a day. I love the way my boss always exclaims "God bless!" whenever I do something well--"You're cleaning? God bless!" I love that meeting folks from Israel is a daily occurence. I love how many people I've met named Saul. I love how I have seen more yarmulkes in the past three months than I have in 22 previous years of life.
Monday, August 24, 2009
No. 53
1. My mom delighting with me in a recent victory for an issue very near and dear to my heart: food production. I am so very lucky to have a mother who cares so much for what I care for--who doesn't pass off my little interests or projects as youthful idealism, but takes a genuine interest in my passions. I love her so much.
2. Talking on the phone with my beautiful friend Megan for two and a half hours. She told me about her recent purchase of Georgia peaches from her farmers market in South Carolina, and observed to me that, "Peaches are really the most majestic fruit. Something about them is almost other-worldly...like they don't quite belong here. Something about their velvety skin or the color or the way they taste...I think they are a particularly royal fruit."
3. I would have never imagined Hannah's wedding ceremony taking place in the crowded basement at City Hall early on a Saturday, but there was something sacred about it despite the strange and comical circumstance. She looked lovelier than I've ever seen her, and radiated a happiness with which no one could argue.
Watching my friends turn into the people they were created to be--against my own expectations for them--has been such a gift of the growing-up process. Of course Hannah would get married in a silk blue dress, of course she would forget that she should probably have a bouquet, of course her husband would have had her ring made in Jordan, and of course right before her vows she would tell the judge, "Let's do the damn thing!"
2. Talking on the phone with my beautiful friend Megan for two and a half hours. She told me about her recent purchase of Georgia peaches from her farmers market in South Carolina, and observed to me that, "Peaches are really the most majestic fruit. Something about them is almost other-worldly...like they don't quite belong here. Something about their velvety skin or the color or the way they taste...I think they are a particularly royal fruit."
3. I would have never imagined Hannah's wedding ceremony taking place in the crowded basement at City Hall early on a Saturday, but there was something sacred about it despite the strange and comical circumstance. She looked lovelier than I've ever seen her, and radiated a happiness with which no one could argue.
Watching my friends turn into the people they were created to be--against my own expectations for them--has been such a gift of the growing-up process. Of course Hannah would get married in a silk blue dress, of course she would forget that she should probably have a bouquet, of course her husband would have had her ring made in Jordan, and of course right before her vows she would tell the judge, "Let's do the damn thing!"
Thursday, August 20, 2009
No. 52
1. I am enchanted with the way my little goldfish June swims all about her bowl as soon as I walk toward it. She’s just like a puppy, with her tail waggling around and her fins flapping up and down. When I put my head up against the glass, she jets to the top, in anticipation of food. I’m not kidding—either I have a genius fish, or everyone seriously underestimates the thought and emotional capacity of aquatic life.
2. “One of the things I love so much about his voice is how calming and soothing it is, almost like melted dark chocolate, in a small stainless-steel cup.” –Caitlin the Once-Dreadlocked but Perpetual Poet
3. I took myself out for a candlelit dinner last night, and I must say, I make a very hot date. I treated myself to some delicious Riesling, an entrée of Chicken Chardonnay, and apple crisp, with a second glass of Riesling. I invited myself for a casual walk on the beach after dinner, basking in the simple pleasure of a full belly, and an evening well-spent.
A married friend of mine recently revealed to me that she envies my independence; not too long ago she was able to frolic about the city on her bike, go out for solo dinners, or waste an entire afternoon in a coffee shop with no one but a journal and book for company. Now she and her husband bike most places together, she rarely eats dinner alone, and the romance of mysterious evening solitude at a coffee shop is slightly lessened by the fact that her husband always knows where she is and what she’s doing.
Of course these small changes do not lead her to consider annulment, but they are signs that life is now very different for her. And while of course I envy her for the stability, comfort, affirmation, affection, and consistent encouragement her husband brings her, I am inspired to be more thankful for this season of alone-ness (“sola-ness” as my Chilean amigas and I affectionately called it). I will appreciate these little gifts: modest flirtation with the loveliest of waiters, time to read a favorite book over a glass of wine in the overripe August night air, a walk on the beach—just me and George Harrison, then back to my small but bright apartment for an early attempt at sleep delightfully failed by late-night texting.
2. “One of the things I love so much about his voice is how calming and soothing it is, almost like melted dark chocolate, in a small stainless-steel cup.” –Caitlin the Once-Dreadlocked but Perpetual Poet
3. I took myself out for a candlelit dinner last night, and I must say, I make a very hot date. I treated myself to some delicious Riesling, an entrée of Chicken Chardonnay, and apple crisp, with a second glass of Riesling. I invited myself for a casual walk on the beach after dinner, basking in the simple pleasure of a full belly, and an evening well-spent.
A married friend of mine recently revealed to me that she envies my independence; not too long ago she was able to frolic about the city on her bike, go out for solo dinners, or waste an entire afternoon in a coffee shop with no one but a journal and book for company. Now she and her husband bike most places together, she rarely eats dinner alone, and the romance of mysterious evening solitude at a coffee shop is slightly lessened by the fact that her husband always knows where she is and what she’s doing.
Of course these small changes do not lead her to consider annulment, but they are signs that life is now very different for her. And while of course I envy her for the stability, comfort, affirmation, affection, and consistent encouragement her husband brings her, I am inspired to be more thankful for this season of alone-ness (“sola-ness” as my Chilean amigas and I affectionately called it). I will appreciate these little gifts: modest flirtation with the loveliest of waiters, time to read a favorite book over a glass of wine in the overripe August night air, a walk on the beach—just me and George Harrison, then back to my small but bright apartment for an early attempt at sleep delightfully failed by late-night texting.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
No. 51
1. The dish washer at work told me, "I was in a really bad mood this morning. But then I started singing 'Monster Mash' to myself and I felt better."
I stole his idea; it worked.
2. Waking up naturally (!) at 4:45, 15 minutes before my alarm clock was set to do the job. Not being incredibly sleepy despite very little sleep. The first order of business was to kill a bug fluttering about my kitchen on very many legs; initially I screamed and ran in the opposite direction but then got it together and squished him fearlessly. A very adventuresome way to begin the day. Making 36 scones for the morning rush seemed like childs' play in comparison.
3. Writing this from an internet cafe between my two shifts. Internet cafes remind me of dirty hole-in-the-wall places all over Europe and South America with slow connections, a skeazy guy behind the counter, and much fluorescence, and with keyboards whose keys are all in a jumble of alphabet spaghetti and strange accent marks; of course I find them terribly nostalgic and charming. Thankful for a nice-sized break between shifts. Thankful for time to sit and be productively lazy.
I stole his idea; it worked.
2. Waking up naturally (!) at 4:45, 15 minutes before my alarm clock was set to do the job. Not being incredibly sleepy despite very little sleep. The first order of business was to kill a bug fluttering about my kitchen on very many legs; initially I screamed and ran in the opposite direction but then got it together and squished him fearlessly. A very adventuresome way to begin the day. Making 36 scones for the morning rush seemed like childs' play in comparison.
3. Writing this from an internet cafe between my two shifts. Internet cafes remind me of dirty hole-in-the-wall places all over Europe and South America with slow connections, a skeazy guy behind the counter, and much fluorescence, and with keyboards whose keys are all in a jumble of alphabet spaghetti and strange accent marks; of course I find them terribly nostalgic and charming. Thankful for a nice-sized break between shifts. Thankful for time to sit and be productively lazy.
Monday, August 17, 2009
No. 50
1. Two interactions:
Sous-Chef: What did you do this morning—raid Annie Hall’s closet?
Me: Shut up.
[But what I’m thinking is: Finally! Dream come true! Annie Hall fashion comparison—I cannot be stopped!]
Me: Could I possibly get a dollar in quarters?
Barista: Do you want three dollars in quarters??
Me: GIRL, YOU ARE AN ANGEL FROM HEAVEN.
[I actually said that. Because it felt so so true.]
2. Doing nothing all day with someone with whom nothing comes so naturally, which is so much lovelier and richer than doing something all day with any other someone with whom doing something is such effort. The nothingness so much more meaningful and delightful than any something-ness; feels as comfortable and pleasant as being alone, except better. Reminds me of that Rilke line I like so well: Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
3. The colorful shadow of stained glass on the light wooden pews at church.
Sous-Chef: What did you do this morning—raid Annie Hall’s closet?
Me: Shut up.
[But what I’m thinking is: Finally! Dream come true! Annie Hall fashion comparison—I cannot be stopped!]
Me: Could I possibly get a dollar in quarters?
Barista: Do you want three dollars in quarters??
Me: GIRL, YOU ARE AN ANGEL FROM HEAVEN.
[I actually said that. Because it felt so so true.]
2. Doing nothing all day with someone with whom nothing comes so naturally, which is so much lovelier and richer than doing something all day with any other someone with whom doing something is such effort. The nothingness so much more meaningful and delightful than any something-ness; feels as comfortable and pleasant as being alone, except better. Reminds me of that Rilke line I like so well: Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
3. The colorful shadow of stained glass on the light wooden pews at church.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
No. 49
1. Smore fixins, a handmade quilt, a costume change, and meteor-spotting on the beach whilst conversing about the splendor of RVs, romantic Medieval notions of space and sound; singing showtunes.
2. Fun at work. I told the kitchen staff I would buy myself a cupcake the first day Head Chef didn't yell at me about something. I am always taking orders incorrectly, forgetting to consolidate the edamame salad, neglecting to put out the welcome mat in the morning, adding the incorrect amount of lavender to the lavender lemonade. BUT, yesterday, he yelled at me not once, not even a bit! A cupcake was had, congratulations given, and text messages were sent out among my co-workers: "Head Chef didn't yell at Mari today!" 'Twas grand, all of it.
3. Thought I had no coffee left in my small red mug; in fact had two more large sips!
2. Fun at work. I told the kitchen staff I would buy myself a cupcake the first day Head Chef didn't yell at me about something. I am always taking orders incorrectly, forgetting to consolidate the edamame salad, neglecting to put out the welcome mat in the morning, adding the incorrect amount of lavender to the lavender lemonade. BUT, yesterday, he yelled at me not once, not even a bit! A cupcake was had, congratulations given, and text messages were sent out among my co-workers: "Head Chef didn't yell at Mari today!" 'Twas grand, all of it.
3. Thought I had no coffee left in my small red mug; in fact had two more large sips!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
No. 48
1. Among a lot of Gap-wearing French-speaking kids whose uptight skinny yuppie moms won't let them eat Goldfish, Meg and Soren stand out as my favorites--totally cool, laid-back, confident, they get their clothes from thrift stores and can eat whatever they want. Their mother is this tall willowy bespectacled woman who paints, and their step-father an Allen Ginsberg doppelganger with a massive beard and Intelligentsia t-shirt.
Today as I walked into work, about to teach a ballet class, I spotted Allen Ginsberg Doppelganger himself and ran up to him in full enthusiasm: "Are you Meg and Soren's dad?!" He gave me an odd look, then softened into recognition and replied "Yeah!"
"I loooooove them," I told him, "They are the COOLEST kids." He said, "Yeah, they're awesome. I am so lucky they're in my life."
"I can imagine," replied I, "I mean, I'm lucky they're in my life too; I really love having them in class. They're very very special kids."
Then Allen Ginsberg got all wistful and wonderful. He said, "When I think back, even two years ago, I thought they had taught me so much...but now I realize how much more they've taught me since then. I've learned more from them than anyone. I'm just so so lucky."
2. A quiet night of baking, "Mad Men" playing on my laptop, the kitchen buzzing and warm and my hands caked in almond flour and egg whites--just as I like them.
3. A really, really excellent voicemail message from Andy. Talk about being lucky to have someone in your life.
Today as I walked into work, about to teach a ballet class, I spotted Allen Ginsberg Doppelganger himself and ran up to him in full enthusiasm: "Are you Meg and Soren's dad?!" He gave me an odd look, then softened into recognition and replied "Yeah!"
"I loooooove them," I told him, "They are the COOLEST kids." He said, "Yeah, they're awesome. I am so lucky they're in my life."
"I can imagine," replied I, "I mean, I'm lucky they're in my life too; I really love having them in class. They're very very special kids."
Then Allen Ginsberg got all wistful and wonderful. He said, "When I think back, even two years ago, I thought they had taught me so much...but now I realize how much more they've taught me since then. I've learned more from them than anyone. I'm just so so lucky."
2. A quiet night of baking, "Mad Men" playing on my laptop, the kitchen buzzing and warm and my hands caked in almond flour and egg whites--just as I like them.
3. A really, really excellent voicemail message from Andy. Talk about being lucky to have someone in your life.
Friday, August 7, 2009
No. 47
I'm not sure if my constant desire to move speaks more to my love for travel, or to the fact that I have a serious problem committing to doing any one thing for more than 3 minutes. I fear the latter, which is why I'm trying to be more Zen about things. Jon explained Zen to me last week: "Hm. That's a feeling. Now I gotta do a thing."
Okay, so, I am trying to not let my desperate desire to flee to Guatemala or St. Petersburg make me unhappy to be right here in Chicago, Illinois, a city I desperately missed while living in the beautiful land of Chile.
Much like the wife half of an old married couple, I am trying to remember the twinkle in my eye, the spark for Chicago I had but a few months ago when I visited during my summer vacation from teaching in Santiago. My first day back, I paid a visit the Whole Foods on Halsted, a place I missed more than would be appropriate to share. It was one of those really sunny winter days in Chicago when the air is frozen still but the rest of the city seems so vibrant and in-motion, awakened by the blessed light so dearly missed during our charactertistically grey Februarys in the midwest. It was one of those very rare experiences when I don't think I could have been happier to be exactly where I was.
Sometimes Chicago can seem a bit stale, and the lure of the road--air travel, that is--makes me itchy for new adventure. But, if I am going to re-commit to life in Chicago, a city where everybody knows my name and they're always glad I came, for the most part...I can't think of a place I'd rather be than this beautiful neighborhood of Rogers Park. There are a million magical things about it, and I keep discovering hidden treasures--a sculpture garden, a couple of houses that look like they came out of a Southern storybook, an apartment building covered entirely in ivy, a tree on the beach.
Thank you, Rogers Park, for continually dazzling me, even if my mind loves to wander anywhere but where it is.
1.
2.
3.
Okay, so, I am trying to not let my desperate desire to flee to Guatemala or St. Petersburg make me unhappy to be right here in Chicago, Illinois, a city I desperately missed while living in the beautiful land of Chile.
Much like the wife half of an old married couple, I am trying to remember the twinkle in my eye, the spark for Chicago I had but a few months ago when I visited during my summer vacation from teaching in Santiago. My first day back, I paid a visit the Whole Foods on Halsted, a place I missed more than would be appropriate to share. It was one of those really sunny winter days in Chicago when the air is frozen still but the rest of the city seems so vibrant and in-motion, awakened by the blessed light so dearly missed during our charactertistically grey Februarys in the midwest. It was one of those very rare experiences when I don't think I could have been happier to be exactly where I was.
Sometimes Chicago can seem a bit stale, and the lure of the road--air travel, that is--makes me itchy for new adventure. But, if I am going to re-commit to life in Chicago, a city where everybody knows my name and they're always glad I came, for the most part...I can't think of a place I'd rather be than this beautiful neighborhood of Rogers Park. There are a million magical things about it, and I keep discovering hidden treasures--a sculpture garden, a couple of houses that look like they came out of a Southern storybook, an apartment building covered entirely in ivy, a tree on the beach.
Thank you, Rogers Park, for continually dazzling me, even if my mind loves to wander anywhere but where it is.
1.
2.
3.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
No. 46
1. A beautiful rendition of one of the most beautiful songs, "Panis Angelicus" this morning at church. That song gives me chills, reminds me of my mom because of the Lady Di connection, and the woman who sang it was sweetly hugged by her husband afterwards.
2. A conversation that made me feel loved
3. Listened to Alexi Murdoch's lovely, melancholy, hopeful poetry set to guitar as I dug my feet in the sand on the beach. The moon pierced the light periwinkle sky and laughy people picnicked (picniced? pic-nic-ed?). I am thankful for the beach and thankful for non-muggy but warm summer nights of comforting solitude, and garlic-dill salmon waiting for me at home.
2. A conversation that made me feel loved
3. Listened to Alexi Murdoch's lovely, melancholy, hopeful poetry set to guitar as I dug my feet in the sand on the beach. The moon pierced the light periwinkle sky and laughy people picnicked (picniced? pic-nic-ed?). I am thankful for the beach and thankful for non-muggy but warm summer nights of comforting solitude, and garlic-dill salmon waiting for me at home.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
No. 45
1. I heard the name of a town: Culpepper, and I repeated it all day because I loved it so much. Culpepper, Culpepper. Perfect.
2. At 9:43pm I decided that a cupcake was in order. I knew a cupcake shop in the vicinity which closed at 10, but I knew I would have to hurry to cram a 25-minute walk into fifteen minutes. Rushing over with laptop and huge stuffed bag in tow, the minutes ticked along and I became sweaty and unhappy, and at 9:54 still blocks away I gave up, defeated and pungent.
I looked to my left, and quite magically, a cupcake shop appeared, open til 11. What are the chances?!
And this is where I delighted in the best carrot cupcake I have ever tasted! TELL me there is no God. TELL me.
3. The part I like most in this wildly popular video:
is at about 4:25, when the bride and groom link arms.
My favorite part of the traditional Western wedding ceremony is watching the groom's face as the bride walks down the aisle. Forget the bride; the groom is the real show. And not just because I love men's fashion.
Watch the groom's face next wedding you attend, given that the groom is remotely emotional and the bride is any prettier than an English bulldog, and you will be compelled to smile, if not release a small sigh.
I had never seen my married friend Tyler so much as heartily laugh, but at his wedding when Kelli walked down the aisle in this big beautiful gown I thought his head was going to float up to the ceiling of the church like a helium balloon, he looked so happy.
Anyway, I love how pleased and content this groom looks, like "Yep, that's my girl," and they look so joyful walking the rest of the aisle together. Not over-the-top explosion joyful. Just so happy.
2. At 9:43pm I decided that a cupcake was in order. I knew a cupcake shop in the vicinity which closed at 10, but I knew I would have to hurry to cram a 25-minute walk into fifteen minutes. Rushing over with laptop and huge stuffed bag in tow, the minutes ticked along and I became sweaty and unhappy, and at 9:54 still blocks away I gave up, defeated and pungent.
I looked to my left, and quite magically, a cupcake shop appeared, open til 11. What are the chances?!
And this is where I delighted in the best carrot cupcake I have ever tasted! TELL me there is no God. TELL me.
3. The part I like most in this wildly popular video:
is at about 4:25, when the bride and groom link arms.
My favorite part of the traditional Western wedding ceremony is watching the groom's face as the bride walks down the aisle. Forget the bride; the groom is the real show. And not just because I love men's fashion.
Watch the groom's face next wedding you attend, given that the groom is remotely emotional and the bride is any prettier than an English bulldog, and you will be compelled to smile, if not release a small sigh.
I had never seen my married friend Tyler so much as heartily laugh, but at his wedding when Kelli walked down the aisle in this big beautiful gown I thought his head was going to float up to the ceiling of the church like a helium balloon, he looked so happy.
Anyway, I love how pleased and content this groom looks, like "Yep, that's my girl," and they look so joyful walking the rest of the aisle together. Not over-the-top explosion joyful. Just so happy.
Friday, July 31, 2009
No. 44
1. I was feeling very busy and very stressed out and very miserable to tell you the truth, and one of my customers declared loudly and with great conviction when I delivered his sandwich:
You are so cute! Everything about you is cute! Everything you do is cute!
He was old and gay so it was not a come-on. It was just wonderful.
2. Laughter and a smile when I expected yelling and a furrowed brow
3. The BFF sent me this beautiful poem:
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
...and told me that Edna St. Vincent Millay always reminded him of me. This is such a grand poem and such a grand compliment from such a grand friend.
You are so cute! Everything about you is cute! Everything you do is cute!
He was old and gay so it was not a come-on. It was just wonderful.
2. Laughter and a smile when I expected yelling and a furrowed brow
3. The BFF sent me this beautiful poem:
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
...and told me that Edna St. Vincent Millay always reminded him of me. This is such a grand poem and such a grand compliment from such a grand friend.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
No. 43
1. Serious grace for a serious mistake
2. A very sweet, engaging, well-written letter from the remarkable Icca, whom I have not seen in 9 years, but whom I still consider to be one of my closest friends--though we communicate exclusively through epistolary means. That's snail mail, y'all.
3. The other night after work, I noted that I had 4 missed calls from my beautiful friend Megan. As quickly as I saw them, I phoned her, expecting either extremely exciting or terribly devastating news. She answered, "Mar Bar, how are you?" relieving me of dread, and went on to deliver the mirthful announcement that she was an hour from Chicago! This news could not have come at a better time--well, it's always a good time to hear from Megan--but for the past two months she has been desperately needed by me, but very distant in a far-away land called "Ohio."
So, yesterday, between my two shifts, I "shared a contemplative moment" (this is what we call our times together--your barfing is excused) with Megan and I met her husband Luke for the very first time!
It was splendid meeting Luke, and even more splendid to hear him say "I have heard so much about you. And even more about your relationship with Megan. And even more about how much she misses this relationship."
It was also delightful, after I declared "It has been plaguing me, and I'm in the depths of despair," to hear Luke say, "Whoa. You talk just like Megan."
With Megan, I am very much myself. I do not mean this to mean I "can be myself" with Megan, because that much is obvious. What I mean is that I am SO MYSELF-ISH with Megan; I am positively brimming with self-ness.
I so often worry that I am TOO MUCH:
I am TOO loud
I am TOO quiet
I laugh TOO much
I cry TOO much
I talk TOO much
I am TOO awkward
I am TOO enthusiastic
I ask TOO many questions
I talk TOO much about Zac Efron
I talk TOO much about Jesus
I am TOO much of a hippie
I am TOO liberal
I am TOO conservative
I am TOO outspoken
So very many insecurities sometimes!
But with dear ones like Megan, I feel TOO everything in such a deep, good way, as though I was meant to be as TOO as possible. This is how I want to feel with people--I don't have time for people who make me feel TOO much of anything! I want to delight in the freedom of being TOO MARI in just the right amount. Whether or not that makes a lick of sense, it is my desire.
I find it odd that the expression "full of oneself" has negative connotations...it seems like it would be a good thing, to not be lacking in any self-ness but be absolutely FULL...of yourself. Perhaps it refers to the fact that when you are thinking so much of yourself, you don't have room to think about others. But I find it the opposite when I feel SO MYSELF-ISH; I feel like when I am the fullest version of myself, I have all the room in the world to think about others.
Megan reminded me of this wonderful feeling of fullness, although our sharing of a contemplative moment lasted only 40 minutes.
2. A very sweet, engaging, well-written letter from the remarkable Icca, whom I have not seen in 9 years, but whom I still consider to be one of my closest friends--though we communicate exclusively through epistolary means. That's snail mail, y'all.
3. The other night after work, I noted that I had 4 missed calls from my beautiful friend Megan. As quickly as I saw them, I phoned her, expecting either extremely exciting or terribly devastating news. She answered, "Mar Bar, how are you?" relieving me of dread, and went on to deliver the mirthful announcement that she was an hour from Chicago! This news could not have come at a better time--well, it's always a good time to hear from Megan--but for the past two months she has been desperately needed by me, but very distant in a far-away land called "Ohio."
So, yesterday, between my two shifts, I "shared a contemplative moment" (this is what we call our times together--your barfing is excused) with Megan and I met her husband Luke for the very first time!
It was splendid meeting Luke, and even more splendid to hear him say "I have heard so much about you. And even more about your relationship with Megan. And even more about how much she misses this relationship."
It was also delightful, after I declared "It has been plaguing me, and I'm in the depths of despair," to hear Luke say, "Whoa. You talk just like Megan."
With Megan, I am very much myself. I do not mean this to mean I "can be myself" with Megan, because that much is obvious. What I mean is that I am SO MYSELF-ISH with Megan; I am positively brimming with self-ness.
I so often worry that I am TOO MUCH:
I am TOO loud
I am TOO quiet
I laugh TOO much
I cry TOO much
I talk TOO much
I am TOO awkward
I am TOO enthusiastic
I ask TOO many questions
I talk TOO much about Zac Efron
I talk TOO much about Jesus
I am TOO much of a hippie
I am TOO liberal
I am TOO conservative
I am TOO outspoken
So very many insecurities sometimes!
But with dear ones like Megan, I feel TOO everything in such a deep, good way, as though I was meant to be as TOO as possible. This is how I want to feel with people--I don't have time for people who make me feel TOO much of anything! I want to delight in the freedom of being TOO MARI in just the right amount. Whether or not that makes a lick of sense, it is my desire.
I find it odd that the expression "full of oneself" has negative connotations...it seems like it would be a good thing, to not be lacking in any self-ness but be absolutely FULL...of yourself. Perhaps it refers to the fact that when you are thinking so much of yourself, you don't have room to think about others. But I find it the opposite when I feel SO MYSELF-ISH; I feel like when I am the fullest version of myself, I have all the room in the world to think about others.
Megan reminded me of this wonderful feeling of fullness, although our sharing of a contemplative moment lasted only 40 minutes.
Monday, July 27, 2009
No. 42
I haven't written on this in a long time (okay a week, but that's like decades in internet-speak, no?), because I've felt very busy and rather uninspired and generally BLEEEEHHHH and, quite honestly, it's been very difficult to summon up the energy for thankfulness and optimism.
Is that kind of embarrassing?
That I have a beautiful apartment, a refrigerator full of farmers-market purchases, a closet of clothes, a wealth of the most brilliant, funny, good-looking friends a girl could ever want, PLUS a goldfish...and it is difficult to summon up the energy for thankfulness and optimism?
I make myself sick.
I'm sure I make yourself sick.
Lately, I wake up, and think of everything I must do, everything that is difficult:
my lack of direction
my lack of sleep
my lack of raspberries
the fact that 3-year-old Meadow in my ballet class at 4:30 is trying to ruin my life
my fish is already sick
Megan is far away
there are emails to write and calls to make and lesson plans to study, dishes to wash and blogs about thankfulness to write
Not to mention things I WANT to do but don't have time for: study French, do yoga, listen to a Phyllis Tickle lecture online, light candles and chant in Aramaic, take pictures around my neighborhood, read about organic farming, clean my bathroom, take a walk to the beach and fall asleep on the sand while listening to the Appalachian Picking Society, go explore a new place.
Instead I scurry around the apartment so I can leave by 5:20, fatigued and overwhelmed and always forgetting something. By the time I am back at my apartment, it is 9:15 and I am exhausted. I make Swiss chard frittata, pour myself a glass of wine if I'm feeling so inclined (and I usually am), then rush back into sleep. A cupcake is often involved.
Sometimes I feel resentful toward this blog, because during my days that feel particularly heavy, tired, busy, or just miserable, I think "Ugh, I have to come up with three moments of grace." I'm serious, this is what I think. This is why you should all publicly stone me in the town square.
And yet, they always come to me. Always. I never have to seek them out--they are just there. And I usually have more than three, shockingly enough. The days I don't write, they're still there--sometimes recognized, sometimes recognized a few days or even weeks later, and sometimes they go completely unrecognized, because I'm too involved in my own version of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
This is by no means the first time in my life I have felt this way, and it will by no means be the last. And I can feel thankful for the times I have been in a funk before, because I've seen what works, and what helps, and the tiny remedies I can whip up to help me remember that the world is not going to explode just because I want to go back to sleep.
Such as:
the earthy rich flavor of Swiss chard
my morning commute with all its silence and pink light
my little green table, suitable for peaches in the morning
my outfit that makes me feel like I should be stomping grapes in Naples in 1948
the immediate comfort of Earl Grey tea
the smell of incense before I fall asleep
I also really must start carving out more time to make pancakes.
The stunning thing is, is that the things that get me through are the small, lovely things that spangle the day with pockets of joy and peace--peace that surpasses understanding. I have come to rely on these things, in all times of life, to gently push me forward and remind me that the world is flooded with grace, that God supplies and refreshes the world at every moment with goodness.
Today I am panicking about what time I have to leave for work, the things I have to finish before I can head off for the day, leaving the comfort of my coffee shop and my apartment to the stressful and oft-cruel world of preschool dance classes.
But there has already been an iced soy latte (with an extra shot, which made all the difference) made by a beautiful Russian woman who was especially gracious, there has been an email from Nate which was signed "Peace to you Mari," some sort of Eastern European composer whose elegant music is being offered to my grateful ears by a small speaker above my head, peaches with Greek yogurt and Michigan honey and homemade granola at once so familiar and so exotic with all its imported spices, and there has been a haphazard stumblance upon my very favorite quote of all time: All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well (Julian of Norwich).
I have no obligation to you to write. What do you care? But what I am trying to do is condition myself toward observing grace, to surrounding myself in it--to recognize that God's desire for my joy in His world is demonstrated ubiquitously...in so many moments throughout the day that they could not be contained by a blog alone.
Is that kind of embarrassing?
That I have a beautiful apartment, a refrigerator full of farmers-market purchases, a closet of clothes, a wealth of the most brilliant, funny, good-looking friends a girl could ever want, PLUS a goldfish...and it is difficult to summon up the energy for thankfulness and optimism?
I make myself sick.
I'm sure I make yourself sick.
Lately, I wake up, and think of everything I must do, everything that is difficult:
my lack of direction
my lack of sleep
my lack of raspberries
the fact that 3-year-old Meadow in my ballet class at 4:30 is trying to ruin my life
my fish is already sick
Megan is far away
there are emails to write and calls to make and lesson plans to study, dishes to wash and blogs about thankfulness to write
Not to mention things I WANT to do but don't have time for: study French, do yoga, listen to a Phyllis Tickle lecture online, light candles and chant in Aramaic, take pictures around my neighborhood, read about organic farming, clean my bathroom, take a walk to the beach and fall asleep on the sand while listening to the Appalachian Picking Society, go explore a new place.
Instead I scurry around the apartment so I can leave by 5:20, fatigued and overwhelmed and always forgetting something. By the time I am back at my apartment, it is 9:15 and I am exhausted. I make Swiss chard frittata, pour myself a glass of wine if I'm feeling so inclined (and I usually am), then rush back into sleep. A cupcake is often involved.
Sometimes I feel resentful toward this blog, because during my days that feel particularly heavy, tired, busy, or just miserable, I think "Ugh, I have to come up with three moments of grace." I'm serious, this is what I think. This is why you should all publicly stone me in the town square.
And yet, they always come to me. Always. I never have to seek them out--they are just there. And I usually have more than three, shockingly enough. The days I don't write, they're still there--sometimes recognized, sometimes recognized a few days or even weeks later, and sometimes they go completely unrecognized, because I'm too involved in my own version of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
This is by no means the first time in my life I have felt this way, and it will by no means be the last. And I can feel thankful for the times I have been in a funk before, because I've seen what works, and what helps, and the tiny remedies I can whip up to help me remember that the world is not going to explode just because I want to go back to sleep.
Such as:
the earthy rich flavor of Swiss chard
my morning commute with all its silence and pink light
my little green table, suitable for peaches in the morning
my outfit that makes me feel like I should be stomping grapes in Naples in 1948
the immediate comfort of Earl Grey tea
the smell of incense before I fall asleep
I also really must start carving out more time to make pancakes.
The stunning thing is, is that the things that get me through are the small, lovely things that spangle the day with pockets of joy and peace--peace that surpasses understanding. I have come to rely on these things, in all times of life, to gently push me forward and remind me that the world is flooded with grace, that God supplies and refreshes the world at every moment with goodness.
Today I am panicking about what time I have to leave for work, the things I have to finish before I can head off for the day, leaving the comfort of my coffee shop and my apartment to the stressful and oft-cruel world of preschool dance classes.
But there has already been an iced soy latte (with an extra shot, which made all the difference) made by a beautiful Russian woman who was especially gracious, there has been an email from Nate which was signed "Peace to you Mari," some sort of Eastern European composer whose elegant music is being offered to my grateful ears by a small speaker above my head, peaches with Greek yogurt and Michigan honey and homemade granola at once so familiar and so exotic with all its imported spices, and there has been a haphazard stumblance upon my very favorite quote of all time: All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well (Julian of Norwich).
I have no obligation to you to write. What do you care? But what I am trying to do is condition myself toward observing grace, to surrounding myself in it--to recognize that God's desire for my joy in His world is demonstrated ubiquitously...in so many moments throughout the day that they could not be contained by a blog alone.
Monday, July 20, 2009
No. 41
1. I bought some brown eggs at the Green City Market. They were so fresh they smelled like fresh; they even felt fresh, and they tasted like Michigan sunshine. I can't imagine ever eating another egg at this point, after having beheld such egg perfection.
I took a look at the carton to remember the farm from which they traveled to Chicago, and on the bottom was a quote from a Psalm, declaring God's love for the earth.
I tend to freak out a little when people put Bible verses on their products, but in this case I believed it served as a meaningful mission statement for the family's farm. They work and care for the land because it is God's, because He loves it.
"For God so loved the world," John 3:16 begins...God loves the world right now, as it is. Not just as it will be, not just as it was, but right now: God SO loves the world. God SO loves the grass and the chickens and their gorgeous brown eggs. He delights in all of this, and so should we! Thank you, Family Farm from Michigan, for reminding me of this. And giving me fixings for a heavenly tomato-chard frittata. The thing melted in my mouth, y'all.
2. Chocolate milkshakes on the beach after dark, being told that things will get better and really feeling it.
3. Seth called me early in the morning; what comforting glory to hear his voice. I rode the bus and kept talking to him, crying twice quite explicitly, missing:
a) him
b) Chile
so, so much.
Almost exactly a year ago, I flumped all my luggage onto my tiny yellow bedspread at Hostel Santiago, then sobbed and shivered for half an hour, my insufficient blanket pulled over my nose as a shabby attempt to comfort myself. It was freezing and grey and it was such a strange, terrifying thought to acknowledge "I am on a continent where not one person knows who I am."
Eventually I summoned enough energy to walk out of my room to get some tea in the common kitchen, and overheard the following exchange from the living room:
"Te gusta Bob Dylan?" said a male voice.
"Siii, a mi me encanta Bob Dylan!" replied Zarita, our Peruvian hostel mom.
Then the gentle familiar guitar chords, and a soft sweet rendition of "Mr. Tambourine Man" from this tall guy with a hat. No more than an hour after beginning the Grand Chile Adventure, and I knew that it would be okay. This whole scene reminds me of that line in a Denison Witmer song: I thought about the day when we first met/I knew from there on out, you'd be my friend.
And Seth indeed became my friend, my first Chile friend: a friendship cultivated through many explorative walks and gelato afternoons and weekend travels and text messages of encouragement on nights of heartache and homesickness.
I hope that soon I can re-capture that feeling I felt with such conviction my entire days in Chile: the feeling that everything was going to be okay--that any challenge would be covered by God's grace, that any joy could be fully savored in its joyful moment. I want to come back to this feeling of reliance on grace. I want to again depend on these moments of grace, moments like hearing a familiar song on a drizzly morning when I felt so desperately lonely, a friend to show me around town and tell me that he'd be there if I ever needed, or wanted, anything.
I know I can rely on grace, but need reminders that I can. Seth's call was one of those. Now, I will make eggs.
I took a look at the carton to remember the farm from which they traveled to Chicago, and on the bottom was a quote from a Psalm, declaring God's love for the earth.
I tend to freak out a little when people put Bible verses on their products, but in this case I believed it served as a meaningful mission statement for the family's farm. They work and care for the land because it is God's, because He loves it.
"For God so loved the world," John 3:16 begins...God loves the world right now, as it is. Not just as it will be, not just as it was, but right now: God SO loves the world. God SO loves the grass and the chickens and their gorgeous brown eggs. He delights in all of this, and so should we! Thank you, Family Farm from Michigan, for reminding me of this. And giving me fixings for a heavenly tomato-chard frittata. The thing melted in my mouth, y'all.
2. Chocolate milkshakes on the beach after dark, being told that things will get better and really feeling it.
3. Seth called me early in the morning; what comforting glory to hear his voice. I rode the bus and kept talking to him, crying twice quite explicitly, missing:
a) him
b) Chile
so, so much.
Almost exactly a year ago, I flumped all my luggage onto my tiny yellow bedspread at Hostel Santiago, then sobbed and shivered for half an hour, my insufficient blanket pulled over my nose as a shabby attempt to comfort myself. It was freezing and grey and it was such a strange, terrifying thought to acknowledge "I am on a continent where not one person knows who I am."
Eventually I summoned enough energy to walk out of my room to get some tea in the common kitchen, and overheard the following exchange from the living room:
"Te gusta Bob Dylan?" said a male voice.
"Siii, a mi me encanta Bob Dylan!" replied Zarita, our Peruvian hostel mom.
Then the gentle familiar guitar chords, and a soft sweet rendition of "Mr. Tambourine Man" from this tall guy with a hat. No more than an hour after beginning the Grand Chile Adventure, and I knew that it would be okay. This whole scene reminds me of that line in a Denison Witmer song: I thought about the day when we first met/I knew from there on out, you'd be my friend.
And Seth indeed became my friend, my first Chile friend: a friendship cultivated through many explorative walks and gelato afternoons and weekend travels and text messages of encouragement on nights of heartache and homesickness.
I hope that soon I can re-capture that feeling I felt with such conviction my entire days in Chile: the feeling that everything was going to be okay--that any challenge would be covered by God's grace, that any joy could be fully savored in its joyful moment. I want to come back to this feeling of reliance on grace. I want to again depend on these moments of grace, moments like hearing a familiar song on a drizzly morning when I felt so desperately lonely, a friend to show me around town and tell me that he'd be there if I ever needed, or wanted, anything.
I know I can rely on grace, but need reminders that I can. Seth's call was one of those. Now, I will make eggs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
