what i would blog about, if i were to write a blog

i'm still here.

since my last post, many blogs have flowed through my head. blogs about the funny man at the gym and new year's resolutions and things i've learned.

but sometimes, there are bigger things than blogs going on in life. since my grandma got sick and died, all in the span of six weeks, sharing my random musings seems insignificant to all that's on my heart.

because, to be honest, if i were to share what i was really thinking about, i wouldn't write about the aforementioned subjects; i would talk about things that people get tired of hearing about: about how my heart aches; about how i've reached for the phone three times to call my grandma, only to realize i can't; about how when people ask me how my christmas was, i want to be honest and say it was horrible rather than giving a passive, "great. and you?"; about how i pray she will give me a sign that she made it okay, at the same time praying she doesn't, as it would probably freak me out; about how i went to her house at night, laid in her bed, and cried, selfishly upset that she left me; about how numbness can be confused for strength.

i'm sure i'll return to my random musings, in time. but for now, my thoughts are consumed by un-bloggable feelings.

my list-o-thankfulness

on my five-hour drive home tuesday, i had some good time to think about all i am thankful for. here's a few things i'd like to share...

i'm thankful for the opportunity to get an education. i complain about my program a lot, but in the end, i'm really humbled that i have the opportunity to learn, grow, and further my knowledge.

i'm thankful for my car. although i lovingly refer to it as the "burgundy bastard," he's a reliable, warm, and smooth piece of machinery.

i'm thankful that, in her sickness, my grandma is not feeling pain and still has a memory as sharp as a tack.

i'm thankful that i live with joanna. she has taught me a lot about life, and, most of all, she gives the best hugs whenever i need them. she's a true gem.

speaking of friends! i have the best circle of friends in the whole world. hyperbole, you say? no. it's true. whether they live in wisconsin, iowa, nebraska, kansas, north carolina, (fill in state where my friends live HERE), i am continuously humbled by the bonds i share with the people who let me call them friends. i could go on, and on, and on...

i'm thankful for my parents' generosity and for their faith in me. i really don't deserve it.

music. i'm really thankful for music. from lady gaga (paparazzi, baby) to real artists (no offense, lady g), music makes me feel alive when nothing else does.

i'm thankful for extended family. for the most part (each family has exceptions, right?), i have a stellar collection of aunts, uncles, cousins, spouses of cousins, etc. that a person could ask for. i often times leave family gatherings wishing i knew more about them because they are such cool people. my dad always says, "you can pick your nose. you can pick your friends. but you can't pick your family." truth is, i'd pick a lot of them.

most of all, i'm thankful that this list could go on for a long time.

not enough tapes, not enough memory

death isn't a secret; we all know that it's the final destination for each person. but when you know it's coming soon, you take it more seriously. you stand up straight, look it in the eyes, and tremble.

when you know she'll be gone soon, you study her face like your grad school textbooks, engraining each line in your memory so that you never forget the contours of her face. you hang onto everything she says praying you'll remember each morpheme, each word, and each story that escapes her mouth. you even secretly hide a voice recorder in your purse to preserve your last conversations forever.

but then the old, trusty recorder breaks, and you realize that there's not enough tapes to capture what you want: for her voice to ring in your head forever. so you listen harder, trying to remember. you repeat her words in your head over and over, but then you find yourself forgetting them just as soon as the words are spoken; like your mind won't let you hang on to the particulars.

and so you just focus on how you feel with her. and you know that's a feeling you'll never forget.

i don't want no new bestie

ah, george. remember that friendly old man that i befriended in my previous post? yeah. he's a creeper.

you know, you try to trust people, but it just ends up exploding in your big, hopeful face. george thought it would be fun if we were best friends. he wrote me e-mails about all the places he wanted to take me: the zoo (i.hate.zoos), the mediterranean restaurant, the hemingway bistro...

and then there are the phone calls...

sweet goodness. shit like this just persists my speculation of peoples' intentions. i just wanted a friend. instead i got an unwanted mole on my ass.

today, i didn't get mugged

sometimes i come back from trips home weary and unnerved. it never fails that these trips back home mean hearing some criticism of where i live and why i live there. there have been times when i just wanted to move back so that i would no longer have to be criticized about where i live.

then days like today happen, and i know that comments i hear are merely chalked up to ignorance. not that i didn't know this before, but i wish everyone who is quick to think of chicago as a surefire place to get mugged would meet people like george.

i went to the park today to do some reading for school. i wanted to enjoy the beautiful fall day and get a healthy dose of vitamin D, so i parked myself on a park bench in scoville park and dove into discussions about high school curriculum.

i hadn't been there long enough to get through the introduction when a man stopped and commented on the nice day. from there, we learned all about each other.

an older man in his eighties, george (whose name i didn't learn until we parted) is from istanbul, turkey. when i asked why he came to america, he explained with a interesting analogy: "coming to america to a foreigner is like the desire to go to heaven after you die. it's the ultimate goal." (more or less)

we continued to talk about everything from the romance languages to obesity, our talk only interrupted by a hassidic jew holding a mango and some greenery, asking if either of us were jewish.

he told me that i looked extremely american. he also said that, while i looked like a teenager, i was mature well beyond my years, which i appreciated (i'm sure some of my friends may disagree with this!).

george told me of his life, from living in hell's kitchen in nyc to growing up to two french parents in turkey. he explained that he'd rather be a fool than mature (making his former compliment...?)

i told him of my future plans of teaching. he offered eight crossed fingers that i would get a job and the thought that "[i] am the mistress of my fate. [i] must mold it with both hands."

george and i exchanged e-mail addresses (he just completed a class about using the Internet at the library) and plan on having breakfast together soon. while 60 years separate us, i think we both have a lot we can learn from each other. and more than anything, maybe we both just need someone to talk to.

yes. i. can. (right?)

remember in my last post when i said that i am pretty amazing at avoiding anything that involves risk and failure? yeah. about that...

so...teaching scares me. freaks me out. that's why i refused to pursue the field for so many years. it is also why i finally decided to pursue it; i realized that the very thing i feared was the very thing i wanted to do more than anything. the latter won out over the fear.

while i'm excited to teach and think about it night and day, i'm still, admittingly, scared of what will happen when i enter my first classroom. i have nightmares a couple times a week about my first day of teaching. i dream that kids beat me up. i dream that kids run away. i dream that i can't find the classroom in which i need to be teaching in and the bell has already rung. i have yet to have a dream where i'm a spitting image of erin gruwell.

i know these dreams and fears are unrealistic, at least in the grandiose way that they are portrayed during my REM cycles. but the nervousness still ebbs and flows in the pit of my stomach.

tonight i gave two presentations in my curriculum design class. i felt good. i felt confident. and it went well. in fact, the professor came up afterwards and sincerely complimented me on what i had delivered. "you're already a great teacher," she said, enthusiastically yet casually. little did she know that i needed to hear those five words more than anything else in the whole world.

i can do it. i will do it. and i'll be good, damnit.

risky business

RISK (noun): exposure to the chance of injury or loss; a hazard or dangerous chance

in the midst of homework, nannying, and generally living, i have been thinking a whole heck of a lot about risk lately. i think it was spurred by something i read about taking risks in the classroom. as a teacher, i will best reach my students if i model responsible risk-taking and create an environment that lets students feel as though they, too, can take risks.

a great idea. but just READ that definition. why would i want to do that? chance injury? loss? hazards, for pete's sakes!

i then started thinking about how just anti-risk taking i am. i've always been this way, and, to be honest, it's no big revelation to realize that i absolutely hate risking anything. in the midst of these thoughts about my riskphobia, my friend sent me this quote: "I always imagine the worst possible thing that can happen, she told me. It gives me a great excuse to stay home & have tea."-Brian Andreas (Storypeople Creator)

while knowing i, to a fault, live in a safe, little bubble, i've really started thinking about all that i have missed out on because i don't want to mess up, fail, or generally feel uncomfortable. i could go on and on about how debilitating a fear-of-failure/loss/injury is. but i won't. i guess the important thing is that i start, one safe baby-step at a time, trying to take chances. i have to believe that, even if i lose, i'll in some way win.

neckin' on the sofa

i've been thinking a lot today about how awkward it is to share a first kiss on a couch. don't get too excited; i haven't shared a first kiss on a couch in awhile. but it's so AWKWARD. because if you're sitting on a couch halfway normally, you're both sitting with your faces looking forward. if you sit close enough to be able to touch lips by a mere twist of the head, you still have this uncomfortable periphery judgement time where you look out the sides of your eyes to see if his head is turned. then, if his head is turned, you have one of two choices: you can turn your head 90 degrees (and get a crick in the neck!) and meet his gaze and a possible smooch, or you can keep looking forward, knowing he's in prime smooching position.

there is also the other option of having one person sit in a non-traditional couch-sitting position. i'm a fan (i originally typed "afraid." HA!) of "native american style" couch sitting, in which you pretzel up your legs and face the person, creating a perpendicular alignment of bodies. this takes the pressure off you, as the native american sitting party, to be looking in the right direction. you're lookin', and if he wants to come in for the touchdown, BAM. easy. but i will warn: native american style sitting is not conducive to elongated kisses. you pose the threat of tipping over if you lean too far forward.

bottom line, i think first kisses should be shared somewhere conventional, while in the full and upright position.

then again...beggars can't be choosers.

a day with hemingway

connie is a crazy 'ol hoot. she's the volunteer coordinator at the Ernest Hemingway museum, and ever since i volunteered there about a year ago, she's called frequently ever since, asking if i could help out. i normally dismiss her late-night calls and her melodic voice messages (she seems to speak in a rhythm, complete with crescendos), but i decided to call her back this time. with no job to report to and no classes to study for, i figured i could offer society SOMETHING during this sedentary state-o-mine.

unlike when i volunteered before, when i was the greeter at the museum, i worked yesterday in hemingway's birth home. i was the "traffic controller," which is an authoritative name for "take tickets, greet, and tell guests when the next tour will be offered." i got to work with some lovely elderly docents who knew more about hemingway than hemingway even knew about himself.

what made the day so extraordinary was all the people i got to meet and talk to. people from taiwan, ireland, rome, california, pennsylvania, the netherlands, and korea all came to see where ernest first popped his manly head. while waiting for tours to start, i got to learn more about the visitors. one woman, from taiwan, was here on a three-month work visa. her and other international students spent the summer at six flags working food service. she loved it.

another man, whose name i never caught, was so generally interested in my life that it amazed me. i told him of my life here, my goals, my struggles, and he listened with a smile. he then introduced me to an English teacher he was traveling with on the tour group. upon hearing of my future plans to teach, the woman got giddy with excitement, telling me i would be great. it was just what i needed to hear.

it amazes me that one person, a person who lived decades ago, can still bring people from all over the world together in one tiny, humble place, such as a queen anne style house on oak park avenue. sometimes i think writing is self-centered and egotistical; then i remember the power of a book, the influence on a world, and common themes that we can all relate to, and writing and their authors take on a humble, magical aura.

grandma haikus

she sure is lively

my grandma who lives up high

on timbertop ranch

she is up by 4

greets the sun and the birds

with a lonely smile

she still speaks in "we"

knowing that he's gone but still

imagines he's there

she knows every bird

that graces her window pane

they are her t.v.

when asked if it rained

she can tell you exactly

a tenth of an inch

she keeps a photo

album nearby to paste in

obituaries

i often wonder

what i will do without her

i just close my eyes

turning it over in my mind

sorry for my blogging hiatus. i've been nose-deep in a puddle of contemplation, nothing of which belonged in this sharing space. while i feel self-awareness is a good thing, i've been muddling over my life, who i am, where i am, etc. to the point of retreating into a hole. sometimes i think i will never figure me out. and maybe that's ok. but i hope i can, someday, reach a point of contentment. that's my only desire.

i've been reading a book called this i believe II, which has impacted me profoundly. i used to believe in a lot of things. i used to believe in a lot of things PASSIONATELY. i don't anymore. not in the way i used to, at least. as i reflect on the beliefs of others, i've been trying to reconnect with my own beliefs, which has been uplifting.

sometimes i yearn to be 30. for some reason, i think i'll have it all figured out by then. but i probably won't. and i think that, perhaps, that's what life is all about; a continuous cycle of trying to figure it all out.

lovely ladies in my life

there's this one

she's sassy.

she leaves long voicemails

2 minutes sometimes

and she always ends them with

a period and a smile.

then there's this one

she's silent and strong.

she walks with me

the whole while making me laugh

with each step.

and at the end of each day

a hug awaits me. peace.

oh, and this other one

she's vivacious.

she's my teacher

my therapist

and my confidant.

she puts it all in perspective:

even if the subject is wilford brimley.

i can't forget this other one

she's graceful.

but in her grace, she's forceful.

intentional.

she listens with interest

and concern: the best kind of listener there is.

oh yeah, and this other one

she's silly.

she doesn't try; it's just her.

her demeanor is innocent,

and her questions are true.

she's a socratic saint.

and not to mention this one...

i. am. blessed.

ignorant coexistence

tonight when i got home, my next door neighbors were sitting on the deck drinking beer. as i walked by them and their stellas, i said, "i'm tempted to steal one of those," and we exchanged some awkward laughter. i had never said more than "hi" to them, a boyfriend-girlfriend duo who, from their kitchen, i have heard speak a different language. i didn't even know their names.

i went inside, dropped my backpack, and went to get dressed to go on a run. i could hear them through the creak in the back door, so instead of walking by them again, i decided to leave from the front door, as to avoid another run-in with them. as i rounded kenilworth ave. toward home, i could see they were still sitting on the deck. having only my back door key with me, i had no choice but to walk by them. again.

i lingered in the parking lot, stretching, hoping they would go inside. for as social as i can be, i also have some social phobia issues. realizing that they were not going to go inside, i doubled up the stairs and turned the corner towards where they were sitting.

"do you still want to steal one?" the blond woman asked.

"i do, but i had better not," i said, smiling as i passed.

then i turned around.

"i'm sorry, but what is your name?" i asked, extending my hand to introduce myself.

i ended up talking to them, learning their names (maggie and davy), and finding out a little about their lives. they could not have been nicer, and all i could think about after i left was how guilty i felt for skating around them. maggie said that they had lived here for 10 months. 10 MONTHS! i am truly embarrassed that it has taken us 10 months to even introduce ourselves.

why are we so afraid to get to know about the lives of those who live in close proximity to us? how can we share a common space with people and not even know their names? it's a perplexing aspect of big city culture that i'm not sure i'll ever understand.

getting on the vegan soapbox

did you see this story about the teen in miami who went on a cat killing spree? supposedly (innocent until proven guilty, right?), this teen went around and mutilated a bunch of cats in the miami area. a sick, gut-wrenching tragedy that suggests that this teen has some serious disturbing behaviors.

however, what i don't understand, truthfully, is the fact that each day 27 million animals are slaughtered so that people around the world can eat them. that's 19,000 a minute. why don't we A) see this headline in the papers and B) bury our heads in atrocity at the grim reality that millions of animals die, unnecessarily, each day?

i could go on. and on. and on. but i won't. at least, not tonight...

*statistics from this really dandy site

the potential of me, you, and us

realizing that those who are great are as such because they unanbashingly, wholeheartedly, passionately, and unfailingly believe in themselves.

here's to believing in ourselves to the point of utter, ridiculous exhaustion. we owe ourselves nothing less. 

an accent thick as oil

after i left school today, i stopped by a nearby forest preserve that i have been meaning to explore. it was gorgeous-undoubtedly my new favorite place. the trees were plentiful, and at its center was a huge meadow, completely surrounded in a thick of trees. 

i took my sun magazine and my newly acquired strawberry swisher sweets and sat on a picnic table that overlooked the open grassy space. in the summer of 2005, i smoked flavored cigars constantly. however, after i lit matches from my matchbook, one, two, three, four, five tries until i got it lit, i quickly realized that fruity cigars do not taste nearly as good when you're alone. the summer of cigars was filled with good friends, camp, sweat, tears, and campfires by which we smoked. alone in thatcher woods, it tasted like fire and ridiculousness. 

i wasn't sitting there four minutes until the field was infested with little soccer players who seemed barely old enough to be potty trained. i welcomed the company as i smoked on my stogie with wrinkled face. 

all of a sudden, i heard it: a man's voice with a british accent so thick i was convinced his words spilt to the ground. i looked up to see an amazingly handsome 20-something who was coaching the team nearest me. i tried to avert my eyes and continue to read, but i couldn't even fake indifference towards his presence. i quickly put out the cigar, guessing that it probably didn't look too "lady-like," and i watched as he conducted his little soccer players. i wished i could put every word he said into my pocket to listen to later. "run!" "defend!" "goal!" oh, he was dreamy. 

i entertained ways to get his attention. i was praying for a stray ball to come hit me upside the head, the injury knocking me unconscious and necessitating mouth-to-mouth. but the ball never came.

getting chilled, i eventually left my british beauty and went home. but i have all intentions of attending soccer practice next week, sans the cigar. 

brain mish mash

thoughts:

sitting in my chair

eating animal crackers (is that non-vegan?!)

i get to the bottom where 

only the limbs of 

cats, elephants, and rhinos

remain

i've been wanting to run away

but then i realize the thing i want to escape

will still be there:

me

it's amazing to me that

the indifference of one person

can throw off your whole world

and make you feel so small

i'm trying to invent a way

to remove the brain

and trade it in

for one that doesn't think so much

about all the wrong things

i am excited for 

summer, heat, and concerts

a tan that awakens my freckles

and drinking cold wine on a hot deck

sometimes music

is the only thing that makes sense

and so i sing it loudly

in hopes of making it come true

a memorial day post

-part i-

it started with a birkenstock clog.

i was organizing the shoes in my closet, matching the mates and putting them into two different blue milk crates based on the season in which i wear them: summer shoes on top and winter shoes on bottom. but the mate to the birkenstock was missing.

i carefully balanced on one foot as i leaned into the depths of my tiny closet, teetering on the bridge of skin that lays between the arch and the toes. i looked behind the pizza costume and the family picture that i have never hung, and then, while looking for my clog, i saw it: my grandpa's favorite jacket.

i yanked the jacket off the floor, embarrassed that i had not noticed its departure from the green plastic hanger on the rod above. i inspected it for dust, worried that it had been on the floor long enough to collect the filth that seems to penetrate my room. i was happy to see that the navy jacket with red, white, and blue stripes was unscathed.

shortly after my grandpa died, i sheepishly asked my grandma if i could have a piece of his clothing. i settled on the jacket over his dress shirts, as so many of my memories were of him in that nylon jacket. after he was moved to the nursing home, they wrote his last name on the tag; "Hicock" is what they wrote in thick, permanent marker. I have always hoped that the misspelling of his real last name, "Hicok," was an innocent mistake and not an inside, sexual joke between the nurses.

i took the jacket to my bed, held it to my nose, and inhaled as deeply as my lungs would allow. since he died in 2006, i could always smell him when i smelled the jacket. but for the first time, my scent had replaced his. my eyes instantly filled with tears as i realized that memories were truly now all i had.

-part ii-

sitting around the kitchen table watching the birds feed on her three bird feeders, my grandma and i made small talk as we usually did. from the weather to the news, we casually discussed the world and all its problems.

the conversation then turned to death, as it more frequently does as years go on.

"lyndsay," my grandma said. "i just wish that, when you reach a certain age, there is a line drawn, and when you reach that age, you are just gone."

"don't say that!" i exclaimd, always uncomfortable and easily upset when my grandma hints at her death.

she then goes on to explain, in few or more words, that after a certain point, there is not much to live for anymore. the days get long, your thoughts get deeper, and all you want is to have it all be over.

what she doesn't know is, selfishly, how very much i need her here.

-part iii-

i've avoided going to the cemetery since he died three years ago. with enough excuses, you can avoid pretty much anything. but this year i ran out of excuses.

we had three cemeteries to visit, and the order in which we were visiting them was unknown to me. the first cemetery was home to my great aunt and uncle. as we stepped out of the van, i began to dread what was to come. the lump in my throat started to swell, and the tears were knocking at the back of my eyes. as we saw the headstones of other family members, i suddenly panicked at the cemetery yet to be visited. i pinched my left pointer finger as hard as i could, more willing to feel pain than show my sadness to my parents and grandma.

we then got back in the van and headed to cemetery #2. much to my delight, it was not yet where my grandpa was buried. "can i say i'm sick and demand we go home?" i wondered. "i bet i could walk home," my mind thought. but my thoughts were interrupted as we headed back to the van to head to the last, dreaded cemetery.

when we entered, i did not even recognize the cemetery; so much so, in fact, that i honestly did not think it was his cemetery. we then came to his grave, and i realized that i had blocked all detail from that day out of my mind. to my surprise, i did not feel sad or weepy; i felt calm. we decorated his headstone, and i kept reminding myself that he was not there. his body was there. but he, his spirit, the part that mattered, was not there. displacing myself and my thoughts seemed like the best thing to do.

after taking some pictures, swatting some mosquitoes, and exploring the neighboring headstones, my mom, dad, grandma, and i got into the van and left. while the trip was easier for me than i had expected, i couldn't help but wonder how my grandma, tenacious and strong, felt. as we drove away, i couldn't help but notice a big part of my grandma's heart being left on the ground by his headstone.

ah, grad school. as i was talking about with my roommate last night, it's such a bittersweet endeavor. while i'm thankful for the education and while i enjoy what i'm learning, school really takes a toll on about every aspect of your life.

ever since i've started, there have been numerous occurrences when i have arrived at work, looked down, and said to myself, "really, lyndsay? honestly, did a monkey dress you?" clothes don't match, underwear is on inside out, and flys are down. but you're just too tired to put a functional outfit together at 6 in the morning after staying up late to study.

today i decided to wear a skirt. i thought i had heard it was supposed to be warm outside, so i dug into the depths of summer wear, which was kept in a storage bin under my bed. it didn't take me long after i left my house to realize that it was not appropriate to wear a skirt today as i passed person after person decked out in winter coats on my walk to the train. maybe people didn't notice i was wearing a skirt, you may say. false. my legs are whiter than my dad's dance moves. i think i saw people squint as i walked by, as the sun reflected off my legs and sent sunbeams burning into corneas. feeling already ridiculous for being optimistic in my dress, i looked down only to remember that i haven't shaved my legs in ages. so now i'm an inappropriately dressed sasquatch roaming around the office hoping no one notices my long flowing leg locks.

anyways, i blame my lover, grad school.

in thinking about all the other ways grad school adversely affects your life, i've come up with a few slogans. t-shirts coming to a wal-mart near you:

grad school: making people fat and out of shape since 1920.

tuition: $5250

books: $300

gas to drive to observations: $80

permanent bags under your eyes: priceless

i may not have any friends left, but at least i'm smart!

grad students: giving insomniacs a run for their money for the past 100 years

agoraphobic? nah, just a grad student.

the ones that hold on

today i find myself thankful for a certain type of friend. it isn't the friend who calls regularly. and it isn't the friend that e-mails every day, writes on my facebook wall continuously, or texts me a hello. while i deeply appreciate these types of friends, i'm thankful for a different type of friend today.

today, i'm thankful for the friends that don't let you go, even when they probably should, by all rules of friendship. no matter how busy you get, and no matter how many letters you let go unanswered, they keep holding on to you as if to say, "i know you're busy. but i'm not letting you off the hook. i'm holding on, whether you deserve it or not." these friends are true jewels.

yesterday i got a letter from one of these friends. while i'm the one who is long overdue to write, she doesn't care. she writes me anyways to say hi. to say she cares. to check in. she holds on, even when i don't write back, even when i fail to call, and even when i don't inquire about her life nearly as much as i intend to.

it's these friends that are magical. and it's for these friends that, today and everyday, i am thankful.

my easter celebration

i'm celebrating easter in my own way this year. partially by choice, partially by circumstance. so far, it's been a very peaceful day, which has been great for my soul.

in lieu of easter morning plans, i decided to take a walk. 

my goal was to slow down from my normal legel pace and try really hard to notice things. i really believe that holiness is everywhere; we just need to be willing to see it. i saw a lot of things this morning that i had never noticed. and there were many sights i saw that i see everyday, but i saw them in a new way. 

first was my hallway. i just love how the sun spills in. 

here is my living room. lovely sun shining on joanna's tree. 

this is right outside my apartment. this wrought-iron handrail looks handmade. i had never noticed it.

this lamp head reminded me of the statue of liberty...

i had never noticed, but these oak park plaques are on every lamp post.

i wonder what these numbers on this dumpster mean?

someone dropped their hearts.

thank goodness for directions!

home. 

nebraskans: weird looking

i babysat last night. for four kids. all under age 9. 

not only did i get a large dose of birth control, but i had a pretty funny little exchange with julia, who is 4. she is the most articulate and snarky 4 year-old i've ever met. 

george, the oldest, asked where i went to college. i told him that i went to the U. of Nebraska.

and then this unfolded...

julia (looking at me intently): you look weird.

lyndsay (not knowing quite what to say): no i don't! i look just like you (sans snarky look). 

julia: all people from nebraska look weird.

lyndsay: have you ever BEEN to nebraska?

julia: no. but they do.

lyndsay: that's what i thought.

kids sure know how to perk the self-esteem. 

spare me

ah, bowling. the funniest things come across my desk sometimes. recently, there was a little nugget in the April BJ magazine. they quoted an open letter Norman Chad wrote to Barack Obama. it made me chuckle:

"I am disappointed that you just signed a $787 billion economic stimulus package that didn't include a dime for bowling. You want to put this country back on its feet? For starters, there ought to be a bowling center on every corner instead of a Starbucks."

shame on you, Obama. shame. on. you. how dare you put global warming and education before the first great american sport? and, according to Chad, you obviously lobbied to place a Starbucks on every corner. the american people don't need lattes! they need balls and cheese fries!

i thought better of you, Obama. where are your priorities? not in the alleys, that's for darn sure.

ja. ja ja jaded.

today i've been thinking about the science of dating. i can't help but wonder lately if, in the words of ani, "it's not fate, it's just circumstance."

sounds like the work of propinquity to me. not much more. not much less.

but maybe i'm just jaded.

i'm a bitch

today i got a little distracted from writing about psychological theory in the context of memoirs, so i perused some music on iTunes. i stumbled upon an iTunes essentials "90's One-Hit Wonders" playlist, and there it was in all its glory: bitch by meredith brooks.

i played the 30-second clip, and i was immediately transported back to a record store in tennessee. i had gone to visit my cousins at some point during my jr. high years, my aunt jan acting as a watchful chaperone. when aunt jan wasn't looking, i snatched the cassette single (yes, cassette, and yes, single) from the shelf, purchased it, and toted it around like a concealed weapon. 

when i got back home to iowa, i keep my naughty little cassette hidden on the top shelf of my closet under a box where i also kept pamphlets about "your first period" and "how to deal with depression." i would covertly pop the beauty that was "bitch" into my walkman and walk around the house listening to those naughty little dirges, unbeknownst to my parents. when my parents left the house, i would take my cassette down, put it in my boom box, and blare it so loudly that it shook the rafters. "i'm a BITCH, i'm a lover, i'm a child, i'm a mother, i'm a sinner, i'm a saint, i do not feel ashamed..." but i did feel ashamed. 

i still remember driving with my mom in denver, ia. when that song came on the radio. it was censored, naturally, as was customary in the 90's in rural iowa. "i can't believe any woman would ever sing that way about herself," she said, as my thoughts went to the cassette burning a hole in my closet shelf. but i did understand. i felt guilty for liking a song that my mom portrayed as being so horrible. but i knew deep down that the song wasn't about just being a "bitch." it was about being so many different things "all wrapped into one" and wanting someone, ANYONE, to accept all those things. it was a theme i could relate to (sans the "goddess on my knees" part)  during those awkward, rocky adolescent years.  

i don't know where that cassette is now. perhaps i burned in in fear of the wrath i would suffer if i ever left it laying around the house. but i'm thankful for having that song. it made me feel like someone understood. it made me feel like a rebel. it made me feel like i understood something my mother did not. "and i wouldn't have it any other way..."

culture of violence

this semester i'm taking the most intriguing class called "diversity in the classroom." each week i come away with swirling thoughts as i think about my beliefs, what shaped those beliefs, and the beliefs of our society in relation to culture and diversity. sometimes i come away angry: angry of the lessons i was taught, whether purposely or inadvertently, about people of different cultures, colors, religions, and the like. what i am thankful for is an education that has helped to me to create my own beliefs and decipher for myself what is true and good.

last week we talked about something that i just can't shake out of my head. in our discussion of African American history, we started talking about the culture of violence. unfortunately, a culture of violence is a perpetual cycle that is very difficult to break. for example, if a child witnesses his father being lynched, he is going to harbor that anger and take it out on others, which will be witnessed by his child, which will be mirrored and copied, etc. it's a cyclical pattern that, without education and intense intervention, will not stop.

in this discussion, we talked briefly about the taliban. in today's world, i think we are all, myself included, quick to say, this group of people is evil. period. end of story. the greater question that we need to be asking is WHY these people do the evil things they do. people do not just go around bullying others out of context. when you look at the history of the taliban, you find that almost all of the members of the taliban grew up in orphanages and/or refugee camps. they witnessed their parents being murdered. they never experienced stability, and they never had the foundation of a home, family, and education that so many of us take for granted. they have witnessed atrocities that are beyond our comprehension. in an effort to belong to something, they belong to the taliban who, in their mind, is fighting against that which stripped them of their lives.

does understanding this history condone their behavior? no. absolutely not. does it give it context and, perhaps, explain why they are angry? absolutely. enter a perpetual culture of violence.

what worries me about entering afghanistan and overtaking the taliban is that it will cause the disheartening destruction that inspired the current taliban members to join. if we go in, kill off kids' parents, displace families, and exude destructive forces, are we not fighting fire with fire? as we look at history, we can see that demonstrating violence will only perpetuate the cycle of that which we want to end. does something need to be done? yes. but our tactics have to be thoughtful and intentional if we truly want the violence to end.

while i do not have a solution, i do know this, as so wonderfully said by albert einstein: peace cannot be kept by force. it can only be achieved by understanding.

another blog in the pot-o-blogs

i've been debating on whether or not to start a new blog for awhile now. my livejournal account has collected dust, and while i contemplated reviving it, i realized that my livejournal represents a different time in my life, and to combine then in now would be awkward.

i'm not blogging again because i have intriguing, groundbreaking things to say. i don't. i want to start a blog because i want discourse. i want to share things that i think about and, because of my crazy schedule and other variables, i feel like i can't. and so they ferment inside of me, eventually fading away. even if no one reads this, it will help me to share, to analyze, and to sort out my thoughts, beliefs, and ideas. and if someone reads and takes something away along the way, all the better.

i'm calling this blog "coming up." the title is somewhat loaded, so let me explain. first of all, it refers to my thoughts and feelings coming up to the surface and being transferred into a reality outside of my mind. "coming up" also refers to my latest need to push myself to be more. by "coming up," i am stepping up to the plate of potential and taking swings that i am so often too scared to take. finally, "coming up" is a great poem by ani difranco, which talks about social inequities, life's busyness, and a whole mirage of other themes.

so, as difranco says, "I'm getting bold in my old age." I am coming up.