coming up

my friend, laura. soon to be your friend, too.

2011-07-07T19:31:00.000-07:00

meet my friend, laura. laura is, hands down, one of the most a-mazing people/friends i've ever met. we met in the most random of ways. a high school friend set me up on a blind date with a college guy the summer after my senior year. my english student teacher knew said date. student teacher was friends with laura. i won't bore you with the how and the why, but laura and i became instant friends. she came into my life during a very dark time. she's probably the reason i'm here and happy today.

anyways. i could drone on and on about her, but why am i blogging about her? besides the fact that she's paying me (HA!), she just started a new blog that i have fallen in love with. i want you all, dear readers, to check it out too. she's a motivator. she's an athlete. she's a saint.

read it HERE!

reversed roles

2011-07-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

last wednesday i made the trip to my hometown of waverly, ia. when going home, i have two options of routes: the short(er), boring, straight route or the longer, curvy, beautiful route. with nothing on my schedule, i chose the latter route.

i haven't been home in seven months, my longest absence ever. it's always fun to see what's changed in my hometown, in my parents' neighborhood, and in my parents' house. the one thing that's really struck me on this trip is how much my parents have changed over time. my dad is skinnier (much to his weight-obsessed delight) and seemingly shorter. quite simply, he's not getting younger. my mom's had health issues for years, but this trip home has really made me realize her condition. i've seen her have two of her mini seizures in the couple days i've been home. my dad's told me about them-seeing them has made them real.

it's scary when roles start to reverse. when you realize that you're the one that is the healthy one, the one that will soon have to be the caretaker. as my cousin and i were discussing today, it's a role we'll gladly take on, but it's still hard.

as i get ready to go on this trip across the ocean, i can't help but worry about my parents. i also can't help feeling a little guilty for leaving. but i guess now is the time. i'm not getting younger, and they aren't either.

ode to discount stores

2011-06-20T18:07:00.000-07:00

dear marshalls and tj maxx,

hi, friends. you know, i need to apologize. in my 27 years of life, i've made some mistakes. i've said some things i didn't mean, i've done some things i shouldn't have done, and i ignored some advice i should have taken. one piece of advice is that you two, you sweet, beautiful two, are worth some attention. i've driven by you my whole life; i dismissed you as just another generic store.

but then i stumbled upon you two this year. i don't even remember our first time together. i wasn't led to you by my own volition; someone made me visit you. and even though it wasn't necessarily love at first site, i formed an appreciation for you that has turned into a passionate, true love. your cheap prices, your designer brands, your discounted stationary-you just know how to make me happy. and when you throw in those surprise items that make me squeal with joy, it makes me think that you somehow read the desires written on my heart.

so, while i haven't always been attentive and loving, you have my attention now, marshie and teej. i promise to never dismiss you again, for this is a love that will never die.

all my love and money,

lyndsay

something's fishy

2011-06-19T13:34:00.000-07:00

as you may or may not know, i made a drastic change in August of 2007. i went from eating salami-cheese sandwiches, yogurt, and cheese for lunch each day to a strict vegan diet. legumes and nuts became my new best friends. since then, i've made many alterations to my diet. i am now what i would call a "lazy vegan." it's not even about being lazy; i eat what i want. simple as that. however, there is one thing i haven't budged on: meat. can't do it. won't do it. no desire to do it.

therein lies my latest moral dilemma.

i'm moving to spain. they love ham. they even have a museo del jamon (ham museum). i just can't do ham. i mean, never say never. but never (until further notice).

since the thought of munching on a ham hock makes me nauseous, i've contemplated starting to eat fish again. spain is also lush in seafood, and it would be a lot easier to survive if i was open to eating seafood. i don't know why i'm a little better with the idea of eating fish over eating ham, but i am. but i'm still not ok with it. for moral, environmental, and health reasons, i just don't want to do it; yet, I DO! i want to experience spain's culture. i want to go out to eat and not have to scrounge the menu for SOMETHING (ANYTHING) non-meaty to eat. but it still doesn't make those guilty feelings go away.

*sigh

i just don't know what to do.

until i can come to some conclusion, you'll find me munching on my spinach. crunch.

check check!

2011-06-16T13:51:00.000-07:00

spain checklist

passport-check

backpack to pack my stuff for a year-check

apartment-no check. i desperately wish i would have paid more attention in my (many) past spanish classes

haircut-check

resume-no check

title for new blog about spain experience-no check

neck pillow for the plane ride-check

excitement-check

hodgepodge: shocker

2011-06-13T21:04:00.001-07:00

i feel like i haven't had a nicely written, cohesive blog in a long time. the thought of sitting down and turning out something well-written seems exhausting to me as of late. i think i've graded so many papers this year that my brain rebels at the mere thought of organized writing.

this blog, unfortunately, won't be any different. maybe i'll feel more inspired and motivated once i get to spain.

so, without further excuses, let the hodgepodge roll call unfold.

-i've felt like a pretty lame friend/daughter these past few months. between forgetting and not listening and being disconnected, i'm starting to see that i've been in a cloud for awhile. i'm hoping i can redeem myself before i physically disconnect from everyone i know.

-been thinking a lot about permanence, or, rather, impermanence lately. people. places. the ones you thought would never leave. the places you thought you'd always know and that would always know you. it's not so easy. and it makes me sad. but i'm starting to be ok with the idea that life is all impermanent. i need to trust it. embrace it. not dwell on it. or them.

-i love living in oak park, but i hate constantly running into students. god love them, but they're everywhere. i ran into a hoard of them when getting off the train today. the other day i had to walk around two of my students making out against a pole. i'm just waiting for them to show up in spain.

-i haven't had a good cry in a really long time. i'm ok with this, but i also worry at my emotion-less state as of late. or maybe i'm just that happy.

-one of my students made me some killer cd mixes. i truly believe mixing a perfect cd is an ART.

and i'm tired.

maybe my next post will be readable and read-worthy.

until then...adios!

by the numbers

2011-05-23T22:05:00.000-07:00

300_Number of papers to have graded by next Wednesday.

240_The beads of sweat on my forehead. My apartment is a sauna.

4_Rolls of sushi I ordered tonight

2_Cups of coffee I drank tonight

5_Minutes my classes were shortened today in order to have an emergency pep rally

2_Times a cried at pep rally (coach with cancer=emotional lyndsay)

3_Number of days of work I have left this week

120_Number of students who are going to be pissed when they see their atrocious essays grades tomorrow

2_Times my students and I prayed for the tornado victims

128_Approximate number of times I've smiled today (thanks to co-workers, friends, and students)

dead end

2011-05-19T20:14:00.001-07:00

i have hit a wall. bam. hit.

school is almost over, and i feel as though i have no more to give. i'm out of lessons, i'm tired of analyzing text, and i desperately want to stop. it's not that i hate what i'm doing; i actually love it. but i'm just tired.

i have been really self-consumed lately (i admit it!), which only adds to my apathetic attitude towards teaching. my fun weekends and late nights have spilled over into that part of my brain that is supposed to keep me motivated and on track. instead of thinking about my students, i have been thinking about me, my life, and my adventures.

i know this isn't all bad, but i hope i can finish out the year strong. my kids deserve it. i do, too.

inspired

2011-05-10T20:24:00.000-07:00

today, i'm inspired.

i'm inspired by my student, S, who, each day before leaving class, thanks me. her manners and her gratitude make my heart glad, and her small act reminds me how far two words can go.

i'm inspired by my friend, libby. libby, my friend who, through the years, has always been there when i needed her, has always told me the truth (even when it hurt), and has always inspired me to be a better teacher. her writing brings me perspective; her wisdom helps me to grow.

i'm inspired by biggest loser. yes, the t.v. show. shhhh. don't tell. i love it. i love hannah and olivia. i love the trainers. i love the empowerment they give me.

i'm inspired by my student, K, who faithfully comes in for extra help. she's humble, she's appreciative, and she's growing. she found me last week, a smile from ear to ear. her ACT essay-she scored a 10. she thanked me. i cried. she did it herself. she did. but for her to say thanks to ME meant the world.

i'm inspired by my dad. his heart is bigger than his shoeing rig, and with each spare minute, he does what he can to help others. today he made the paper for his efforts. his compassion, his humility, and his service make me want to be more. daily.

i'm inspired by my friend, bob. a writer, a father, and now my roommate, he is the most care-free (yet responsible) person i've ever met. his zest for life, his ability to adapt to any situation, and his amazing organizational abilities teach me so much.

i'm inspired by adah, who is the (almost) one year-old daughter of my friends, paul and mariah. she radiates love, she encompasses joy, and she relishes in the simple yet divine. ah, the lessons wee ones can teach.

i'm inspired by the fact that i could go on and on and on.

what inspires YOU?

a decision to live

2011-04-26T17:12:00.000-07:00

i was raised to be cautious: be safe. don't risk it. always play it safe. an admirable mindset to instill into a child.

as i've gotten older, i've realized just how debilitating such a life can be. to avoid doing things and spending money and going places because (gasp!) SOMETHING bad COULD happen keeps the body alive, but it kills your soul.

if you know me at all, you know that, if i get an idea in my head, i usually pounce on it (my inner cat, if you will). well, that happened on my birthday last year. i woke up, did a lot of thinking (i'm good at that), and realized how many opportunities i had missed out on in my 27 years of life because of fear: fear that i would fail, fear that i would end up broke and homeless, and fear that stepping out of the box would end in disaster. so i decided to change. and i have.

as you may know, i made a list of 11 adventures/new experiences to accomplish in 2011. i'm about half done after last sunday's skydive. in july i'm headed to rome, croatia, and spain. after that? who knows. but i know i'll be living. or at least i'll die trying.

sick lovin' lamentin'

2011-04-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

i'm sick of huck finn research papers (only seven more!) feeling lonely whiny kids i'm in love with my plans my new, cheapy pair of leggings pandora, etsy, and all my cyber hotspots i'm lamenting not saying more saying too much safe facades

mash-up

2011-04-03T20:02:00.001-07:00

lots of random thoughts tonight. in no particular order...

-phone calls with old friends are spiritual experiences.

-it always surprises me just how much the weather affects my mood. warm=happy.

-i am a huge believer in karma. it slaps me in the face daily.

-i'm relishing in the fact that i've almost survived my first year of teaching. success!

-the best compliment i received today was someone writing on my fbook wall, "way to live!" living, truly living, life was this year's goal. i feel like i'm surpassing what i thought possible, and that makes me smile.

-i called my aunt tonight. just because. and it was great.

-thinking of my grandma still makes me cry.

-i feel like EVERYONE is falling in love/getting engaged/having babies. evidently there was a love train, and i missed it. i hope i can catch the next one.

-one of the best feelings in the world is seeing your good friend(s) in happy, healthy relationships. nothing's better.

-it both scares me and excites me how closely literature can describe my life. i read a book last night that was so similar to my thoughts and feelings that i felt as though the author had tapped into my brain. for real. that's holy, baby.

-i'm going to start derby again this week. i'm really scared, for some reason.

-my stomach is freaking out tonight. nerves or refried beans? hum...

-i found a great orchestral version to death cab's "such great heights" tonight. thanks, pandora!

-sending you love, dear reader. whoever you are.

stashing away memories

2011-03-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

i'm a saver. not a hoarder, per se. but a saver. as in i save personal items. notes passed to me in junior high? i have them all. doodle laced notes from high school boyfriends? got 'em. movie stubs? concert tickets? prom corsages? i have them all. throwing such items aways feels wrong, as if i'm throwing away memories. so i store them away in shoe boxes, hat boxes, and drawers, just in case. just in case...

i recently read this article from slate. it made me think a lot about the day when i'll have to clear out my many boxes of junk, er, artifacts from my parent's home. i'd like to think i could keep all those tangible memories, but, realistically, there will come a time when i'll have to throw some of it away. but you know, maybe that's ok. maybe i don't need to remember everything. maybe i need to have faith in my brain, understanding that i'll remember what i do, and what i forget is meant to be.

but right now, as a large box sits under my bed that is full of everything from dive bar coasters to wristbands from sweaty summer festivals, i'm not ready to part with these things. and, to be honest, i'm going to keep saving until i have someone or some situation tell me i can't.

coconuts for president!

2011-03-08T19:46:00.000-08:00

have you ever experienced the power of coconuts? no. i'm serious. they've saved my life.

a friend recently introduced me to the power and magic of raw coconut oil. a little goes a long way, but this stuff will make your skin glow like it hasn't glowed since the day you were born (ok. i've been studying too many poems with hyperbole...clearly). anyways. you can buy it online (obviously), or you can buy it at your local health foods store. put some on your face at night, and wake up to a lovely looking you! (i have clearly missed my calling as a saleswoman...).

the best part (besides the fact that it's all natural)? it's edible. so, if you find yourself getting hungry while slathering up your face, just take a bite (keep in mind it's pure oil though. i wouldn't recommend actually eating it. but you can cook with it!).

so go! support your local coconut grower. and by local, i mean not.

in praise of mysteries

2011-03-06T21:42:00.001-08:00

sunday nights. i hate them. the day before the doom.

but not tonight. tonight i'm consumed with myself. and i don't feel bad about saying so.

my mind feels full to the brim. deciphering cryptic messages. making future plans that are too big to speak, because if i speak them, they might come true. making meaning of what she doesn't say. weighing my love for this place with a need to put on new glasses.

yes, tonight i'm making plans. well. that is. as many plans as one can make in one's mind.

shift

right now i'm teaching poetry. my house is littered with anthologies that have been loved by me and the people i bought them from. Billy Collins' 180 Poems. Garrison Keillor's Good Poems. they are nearer than friends some nights. especially on nights like this, when my brain is full and my heart feels abandoned. the poems pay the heart attention it needs. stanza. by. stanza.

Edward Hirsch writes:

I shall begin scouring the sky for signs
as if my whole future were constellated upon it.

I will walk home alone with the deep alone,
a disciple of shadows, in praise of mysteries.

***********************

I'm walking. My head is up. My eyes are open. And, little by little, I'm starting to like the mysteries.

life lessons from a 14 year-old little lady

2011-03-05T15:16:00.000-08:00

i had my kids do the following journal entry: i am young. i am _____ years old. and this is what i know about life."

one of my faves wrote, "I know music can never hurt me."

how lovely teenage perspective is.

a random smattering of thoughts

2011-02-21T18:19:00.001-08:00

i've been wanting to blog for weeks. alas, i'm just now allowing some time to do so. i order to write about everything i want to, i'll do a quick and dirty version of my thoughts.

-did you hear about this story? an english teacher got in big trouble for complaining about her students on her blog. on one hand, i TOTALLY feel her pain. she said what we all think. on the other hand, her action was not professional. however, if she's going to get into trouble, i feel like students should get the same heat for blasting their teachers online (shout-out to the student who gave me a sassy "fuck you" on her tweet).

-i spent the weekend in madison for a retreat. i found myself at the capitol on saturday protesting with over 60,000 people against the proposed bill that would end unions and collective bargaining rights for civil servants. it was empowering. it was scary. it was inspiring. it was heartbreaking (especially to see kids holding signs in support of the bill. after approaching three kids, my friend mariah learned that they were adamantly against the bill because they were homeschooled. our hearts sunk a little to see how apathetic these kids were to what may happen to other kids in their state as a result of the proposed changes).

-relationships. whether platonic or romantic, they're complex, emotional, and ever-changing. the challenge, for me, has been accepting changing relationships and being open to new relationships. easier said than done.

-i bought NOW 37. it's amazing, in a horrible, pop culture kind of way.

-my goal for this week is to not eat french fries at lunch. this will be hard, as i love french fries and their sensual saltiness.

-quote of the day, as overheard at the gym by a mid-2o-something man: "yo, my mama say she would buy me a shaker weight. i'm like, mom! where's my shaker weight?!"

-this blog post has quickly digressed.

-i completely forgot how old i was yesterday. i was talking to amy, and i, for the life of me, couldn't remember. i thought i was 28. imagine my pleasant surprise when i learned that i was only 27!

-i have 300 written test responses i should be grading right now. *whimper

-ok. really. i have to do them. now.

career vs. job

2011-01-30T18:14:00.000-08:00

sunday nights. i hate them. i always go through mourning for the weekend lost and dread for the monday that awaits. great attitude. i know.

tonight and all weekend i've been thinking a lot about jobs vs. careers. it's all i've talked about with friends (thanks becca and amy a.). it's what's on my heart.

i want the feeling of a career. the feeling of a calling in life, the feeling of giving something meaningful to the world, and the feeling of dedicating my life to a cause.

but damn, i miss having a job. 8-5. only working five days a week. vacation days. but i don't miss the empty feeling i had inside when i had a job.

i have to believe that there is a "position" out there that combines the fulfillment of a career with the lifestyle of a job. right? do these exist? they must. because right now i'm tired of this career. i'm tired of grading. i'm tired of planning. i'm tired of kids tweeting "fuck you" to me because i assigned them homework. i'm tired, quite literally.

i need to find that balance. because right now i feel like i'm on a see saw with me on one end, and a one-ton boulder weighing me down so that all i can do is wave my legs in the air and yell until someone comes and moves the rock. truth be told, i've got to move it myself to get the balance back. or i need to jump off.

the power of vulnerability

2011-01-15T20:35:00.000-08:00

vulnerability.

makes you feel so...so...vulnerable.

my friend stacy sent me this 20-min. talk by brene brown that talks about the power of vulnerability. novel idea, this concept of vulnerability being a good thing.

take note, ya'll.

"give me one reason to stay here, and i'll turn right back around"

2011-01-10T20:04:00.001-08:00

the longer i stay,

the harder it is to leave.

i want someone to give me a reason to stay,

but then i guess that's no reason to stay at all.

but i like these four walls

and i know these streets.

and while it's lonely and loud,

i've made it mine.

i want someone to give me a reason to stay,

but then i guess that's no reason to stay at all.

the grass seems greener over there

because when i look down here, i just see cement and tears.

but maybe i'm just running.

i'm good at that.

i want someone to give me a reason to stay,

but then i guess that's no reason to stay at all.

honk honk honk honk honk-honk honk

2011-01-09T17:38:00.000-08:00

after a weekend visit from my parents, who live in iowa, i have had cultural differences on the brain. laying next to my pantless friend this morning (the radiator in my apartment is scathing hot, so angela had to resort to stripping in order to sleep), i heard a car honk outside. since i moved to a place far away from the street, being awoken by honks has been a rare event. one thought led to another, and i started to think about car horns (they seem so...random) and how a car honk in chicago is gravely different from a car honk in waverly, iowa.

a car honk in chicago is used in the following manners:

succession of honks: the ever-present car alarm. either there is an epidemic of sensitive car alarms in chicago, or many a car is being broken into.

short honks: the light is green. GO. OR...i'm driving through an alley, and i'm warning anyone who may be approaching the sidewalk that parallels the alley's exit.

long honk: what the hell are you doing? GOOOOOOOO!

laying on horn: i am frustrated that i'm not in control of the traffic, so i'm going to lay on my horn as if the sound vibrations can magically move the cars in front of me.

however, car honks back home have a different language. in the rare even that the horn is used, it means:

one honk: i'm here! come out of the house!

double honk: bye! hi!

and that concludes horn usage in waverly.

funny thing, that horn.

honk.

teaching by the numbers

2011-01-06T17:38:00.000-08:00

2 JUGs (Justice Under GOD, aka detention) given this week

20 classes I've taught this week as of tomorrow at 12:50

1 kid I saw (a senior, mind you) pick his nose hardcore during study hall

5 times I had to tell my "special" student to pay attention in class today

328 number of questions given to my students for their finals

60 essays to grade

5 mini candy bars eaten today

8 hours spent working on the yearbook this week

20 times I've prayed this week (see correlation to #2)

new year: new beginning

2011-01-01T17:02:00.001-08:00

"go confidently in the direction of your dreams. live the life you have imagined."

-henry david thoreau

hello, blog. remember me? i was a little hesitant to blog again, but i've desperately been wanting to write, and i realized my reasons for putting off this blog post was silly. so here i am, in the kansas city airport, thinking of a new year ahead. psychologically, i think new year's is a rocking holiday. it's hard for me to arbitrarily rationalize new beginnings, so that's why this holiday is perfect-o.

in the past month, i've done a lot of thinking, reflecting, and soul searching. my zen trance started when i had to teach my kids romantic and transcendental texts. i love the fact that, 150 years later, a little anti-social man by the name of thoreau can completely tug at my heart and stretch my brain.

the past year has been hard: emotionally, mentally, etc. i'm not the best handler of change, and this year was defined by change. but i feel like i'm getting my bearings, finally. or, at least i'm trying to. while there are still a lot of uncertainties, i'm taking intentional steps in my life to be at peace, of which i am proud. i'm understanding more and more that my happiness is my responsibility, and i'm intending to make decisions in my life that lend themselves to happiness. while i know this is easier said than done, i'm going to do my best. life is too short not to.

so, while i don't know where 2011 will take me, who it will take from my life, and who it will add to my life, i'm ready. i'm ready to embrace 2011. watch me.

reading mrs. dalloway

2010-04-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

have you ever read virginia woolf's modernist classic mrs. dalloway? if you haven't, i don't know that i can explain it to you. if you have, you know it's a cluster---- of characters, points of view, and insights into isolation vs. connectivity, among other things. having to read this for the AP class that i am about to teach once my cooperating teacher delivers her bambino, i've spent some QT with the book (a pro AND con of being an english teacher: getting to read vs. being forced to read and analyze until you've analyzed every last period and adjective). i hated the book at first. loathed, even. it's an extremely difficult read, and being short on time and patience, i met the book with much trepidation.

and then i kept reading.

and reading (even at 5:30 this morning!)

and, lo and behold, clarissa dalloway and i came to some good understandings. what i most took away from this novel, and why i felt compelled to write this blog, was its commentary on our connectivity with everyone in the world. from showing characters across the city of london all observing a plane in the sky to the wind affecting multiple people who have never met, we all, strangers or not, are connected in various ways. from observing a stranger's mood and disposition on the train (why are they stern? is he a lawyer? where does he live?...and to think people wonder about me, too!) to looking across the street to see a neighbor whom you've never met and being able to recount his routine (take dog out while not wearing shoes (socks only!), have cab take you to the grocery store, smoke while sitting on the fence, spend hours toiling on the computer), we are intertwined more than we know.

in addition to connectivity (i'll spare the commentary about isolation, which is also present throughout the novel), mr. dalloway, clarissa's politically involved husband, states, "[...] it is a thousand pities never to say what one feels," which i found to be such a poignant thought. it is a pity. truly. there are so many things in life that go unsaid (i know! i'm the queen of hoarding my thoughts). how would this world be different if we told how we feel? better? worse? will we ever know?

and just as random as mrs. dalloway is, so is this blog. goodnight.

traveling back

2010-04-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

part i

on the first leg of my trip back to iowa, i stopped in marion, ia to stay with my dear friend, amy. we enjoyed conversations about friendships, proximity, and our oh-so-similar families. we sat around on all too familiar furniture: couch (my permanent napping spot when living with amy in the Res), papasan chair (which garnered her freshman dorm room on Vollmer 1), and the gliding rocker (a garage sale find that fit well into her graduate school apartment). inevitably, she reminds me who i am again and again.

the next morning, amy went to work. getting hungry, i ventured into the small town of marion to scrounge up some chain restaurant grub. on my way, i got stopped at a stoplight. red, green, yellow, red, green, yellow. no one moved. my chicago road rage kicked in, and instead of laying on my horn, i peeled off down a side street only to see the cause of the traffic jam: a funeral procession. feeling like a mega bitch, i drove to jimmy john's with my tail between my legs. on my way, i stopped at a small boutique called willow tree or willow something or another. after talking about the weather (naturally), the owner told me about the coyotes and barn owls she had heard the night before. i was jealous, for a second.

part ii

after leaving amy's, i backtracked to iowa city to visit lovely angela. i made a pit stop along the way to see an old boyfriend (old as in ex, not age), only to find that, while it was great to see him, some things never, ever, EVER change. and that's okay.

angela and i drank mojitos, watched beyonce videos, went to target, got pie at village inn, and dreamt about our futures. refreshing, no?

i left her house late, determined to get to waverly to spend some time with my parents.

part iii

i was going to drive to her house alone. i could cry that way. but on saturday morning, my mom suggested i just come with her. so i did. and i pinched my elbow the entire way up the hill. this way, i didn't cry.

we all met on the hill, grandma's possessions laid out like trinkets at a bazaar. she was so...exposed. i opted for sentimental items (her favorite mowing hat, sweat stained as it may be) over tvs and vacuums. i had planned to spend the night there, but everything i loved about the house was gone. the walls were stripped, the kitchen table was gone, and her smell was replaced by others. it was easier to leave this way. i felt a sense of finality. closure. understanding.

part iv

i pondered whether or not to drive by her house once more before i left town this morning. i didn't. but i did cry most of the way home. not because of the house soon being sold, but because i can't believe she's gone. even with her possessions in my trunk, it hardly seems real, which was evidenced by the two times i picked up my phone to call her. i drove back to chicago, and when i got into the city, i was greeted by homeless people, people walking in the middle of the street, and throngs of people hurrying to and from the train. with my grandma's spatulas and blankets in tow, i imagined she was coming home with me. and i think, maybe, she did.

crossed

2010-02-17T19:57:00.000-08:00

ah, the perks of working at a Catholic school. yay ash.

teeter-er

2010-02-14T20:06:00.001-08:00

i'm a teeter-er.

i constantly teeter between wanting to lay down roots and wanting to explore...

between loving and hating...

between happiness and abysmal sadness...

between wanting it too much and not enough...

between insomnia and deep dreams...

between forgetting she's gone and thinking about her absence with each breath...

between being a kid and a grown-up...

between caring too much and not caring at all...

between strong and weak...

between ying and yang...

i'm a teeter-er, always balancing on a thin line.

i hope it's not always so.

2010-02-05T14:15:00.000-08:00

student teaching...

means being parched. constantly.

makes you feel like you're the dumbest person in the world.

reminds you that you know more than you think you do.

means faking it until you make it.

teaches you the magic of hearing someone call you "ms. legel."

is another way of saying "kiss every aspect of your life goodbye."

teaches YOU more than you teach students.

humbles you. daily.

makes you realize that there is textbook knowledge, and then there is reality.

makes you want to cry and smile and scream and rejoice, all at the same time.

makes weekends look like glorious gems from God.

is worth it all.

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

2009-12-29T19:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-26T20:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-11T19:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-11T19:46:00.001-08:00

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

2009-10-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

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?)

2009-09-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-23T08:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-29T12:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-11T19:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-20T19:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-08T19:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-06T20:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-28T08:58:00.000-07:00

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:

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

2009-05-25T15:07:00.000-07:00

-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.

2009-04-23T06:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-12T09:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-09T11:07:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-05T19:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-03T08:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-02T07:46:00.000-07:00

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.