Sham of a blogger- I made a list.

I can't stop reading recreationally, and the result of this isn't astronomically great in regards to my workload.

Beth, one of my mom and aunt's best friends, died yesterday. She knew Jesus. It was so wonderful being with my mom and aunt today, as we celebrated her and remembered her. I ask for prayer for Beth's children and husband. The Lord is the ultimate caretaker, and I pray that these beautiful people will know God's presence and His peace, and that His love would cover all pain and loneliness.

If I could only explain to you my week. Perhaps soon I will be able to further detail this following bulleted explanation, but for now this is the best I have:

+Jim Leffel from Xenos faciliated a wonderfully interactive conversation/lecture at Perspectives. I just want to get coffee with this guy and spend some time picking his brain!
+Lecture at Miami from Dr. Paul Farmer about global vulnerability and health care distribution. Just when I thought my contentment was sky high...
+Hung out with the Dr. Paul Farmer with wonderful friends in a park in Oxford, OH.
+Was able to befriend his filmmaker co-worker, and was honored to have her slumber on my couch.
+It rained and I had the best time walking in it.
+Good conversation with Mom and interesting documentary lent to me by a guy at the library.
+Got to talk to brother on the phone!
+Wonderful dinner cooked by Christina with Bethlehem girls.
+Prayer meeting.
+Erin Radigan's surprise birthday party.
+I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem reading time, and appreciation for Maryse Conde's use of personification time. Starting of Happy Are You Poor by Fr. Thomas Dubay
+Mom, Aunt Kathy, "The Queen," floats and existing together.
+Fruit of the Vine.
+FOX! Simon & Co! Great conversation with Elmo about Jesus and ecumenism. Great conversation with Eugene and Simon about Chinese chess. Fantastic visit to the empire of Steve & crew at the Brickyard.
+Jesus

I'm growing Marigolds, and whenever the Sun comes out they reach for the window. I play games with them, so that after I pick up the pot to water them I turn them around so they have to reach the other way for the sun. It works, and I get to come back to them in a different position all the time. I like to call that dancin' plants, try it for yourself.

I think I have to pick up a minor of some sort. My brother suggested Business Management. It's true it would be useful, but I'm so terrible at business-related things. Just awful. But as I don't think I want to be a librarian anymore, I need more substance to my major. Sociology is so attractive, but that would help me out much, will it? I just want to love people, but you can only major in love at Antioch.

Starting Student Global AIDS Campaign at OSU? Anyone want to help me with this? There is so much to do... we will see.

Speaking of so much to do...sleep is first on that list for now.

I abandoned Tolstoy-- I am a bad mother.

........... [kelly is tired and doesn't feel like starting at the beginning, OR, begin scene, in media res:]

A holy peace came from all directions, insulating me. Not only was I given energy, but I was given this great happiness for the desires on my heart! I felt like running or writing. I couldn't do either, and promised myself I would write about this feeling tonight on here. The thing is though, I don't feel like writing right now. That may have something to do with why this feels so bland. I need to start saving my break for when I have a thought cloud that needs documentation, because when I'm at work expending all this straight logical thinking energy, all I have left is a little creative thought that needs an outlet.

I would rather my thoughts escape into soil, not air [nor concrete, as Al-Daif would suggest.]

Meanwhile, Passage To Dusk, by Rashid Al-Daif, is a worthwhile short fiction read. I would recommend reading it without allowing yourself to read the Introduction, or any background material on the setting or author and doing so afterward instead. This is how it was assigned to me and this is how I experienced it. I was injected into the midst of the narrator's personal terror and it didn't make any sense. You'll feel that way, but it won't make plenty more sense with the information up front anyway, trust me. I don't like the title "Passage to Dusk" for it though, seems to me there is no passage, more of a wandering through--back and forth and out again. The narrative is cyclical, I believe its title translated directly from Arabic suits it best:
"A Targeted, or Intentional, Zone or Space, Between Drowsiness and Sleep." I think I am possibly the only one in my class who not only thoroughly enjoyed it, but appreciated it and loved it (whatever that means.) It says so much about the darkness in loneliness, our need for peace and community, lest we become insane. It speaks of a pit, drowning in it, and of our need to surrender gnawing and heavy pain (though really, all pains, gnawing and heavy or not) to the saving Lord. It showcases that without this vital surrender, our destruction is inevitable. All this it says without saying all this.

Here I go-- destination close-my-eyes.

Today, in class, this stole my pulse

"And why do you now flee from that
Which makes of wheat eyelashes for the earth,
from that which makes of the volcano another face for jasmine?"
Darwish


[I do not know the name of the translator responsible for this translation from Arabic, forgive me reader and dear translator, for the lack of citation]

"the idea for this record came together after a long phone conversation Suf and I had"

Rosie Thomas' newest album, "These Friends of Mine," arrived in the mail today and I snatched it up with a quickness rivaled by none. After finally scraping off the packaging, which never seems to become a barrier to me until I want to hear a record so bad that my coordination is compromised, I turned the pages of the compact disc booklet to discover riches. Under each handwritten songtitle, the following words, scratches, and ideas are not those sung on each track, but instead brief notes regarding the circumstances from which the lyrics evolved, and also the endearing places the recording took place (i.e. Sufjan's kitchen). Forget the music, I could go on forever about this treasure of written proportions.

Please don't forget the music--it is some of the loveliest music I've ever closed my eyes to.


Tonight at Perspectives we talked about Jesus, poor people, and Chinese people and Jesus amongst poor Chinese people. Can you imagine what this did to me?

"All my friends I've returned to Sister Winter..."

My Michigan friend's photos turned out mostly blurry, so upcoming is one of her's followed by three of Pitchfork's.




[pitchforkmedia.com]


Meanwhile, the surrounding outdoors was significantly white with snow all of yesterday, particularly last night. Some remains, but not much. There is mostly chill and air and chilly air.
"Oh my thoughts, I return to summertime."

"Industry, industry!"

Actively listening and joining together in joyous wonderment of our Creator and His outrageous plans is one of the best gifts we can give one another, rest assured. I'm thankful for my roomate and the few moments of downright silly excitement we participated in yesterday, jumping up and down out of glee for the who-knows-what that the Lord is planning for us for each moment to the next. Standing under the multi-colored origami cranes hanging from my ceiling, our movements caused the paper birds to flutter, as though they too could not manage to remain still. Laura, each bird, and I-- we are all aglow for the weird uncomfortable life ahead.

Speaking of origami cranes, I gave a red one to Shane Claiborne, author of The Irresistible Revolution on Sunday night. It contrasted well with his homemade earth green toned clothing. What else can I say about Claiborne in Canton? It was just as it should have been. Thanks for the company and navigation, my Claiborne compadres. Splendid.

Speaking of Shane being splendid, another splendid stud was Sufjan Stevens in Grand Rapids, MI on Friday (I use "stud" for alliteration purposes. I was on a role and abruptly halted by my lack of suitable words beginning with an 's,' thus the use of "stud") Sufjan had more of an epic quality to his presentation, however, which I attribute to the banjo, his pure voice, and Annie Clark (St. Vincent), who provided the female back-up vocals and stunning bass stylings... Once a new friend from Michigan posts her photos on the old FB, I'll be sure to post them here. Anathallo did not play, the speculated reason because they filmed a DVD for Sufjan throughout the show. Band members of Anathallo and Psalters were walking around the Calvin College theater like it was a family reunion, and maybe it was in a way.

Georges Houssney last night at Perspectives was so revealing. His stories, too numerous to even begin to expound upon, looked me in the face like Jesus. Thank You God for teaching me through your passionate children.

Class and work filled my day, praise the Lord I have both! Tonight pre-homework time has consisted of walking around my neighborhood and admiring creation, Thai noodles from a package, finishing a recreational reading selection (Bessenecker, mentioned last post) and starting a new one. I'm going to post an excerpt, though I'm only about 7 pages in... I fear I won't get much further tonight. Dangarembga's Nervous Conditions is in dire need of finishing, along with some good analysis. Also, my Perspectives workbook needs a workout. I think I'm going to implement an intermission from those things with craft-time. Good thing you know what my evening consists of now.

Aforementioned excerpt:

"The community itself can easily become the reason for the existence of the community. That is, having paid a high price (it seems) for the blessing and peace that marks the community, the protection of all that has been gained can become the new (and false) telos of the community. If the life of the community is truly found in its always living toward the eschaton, then it is that future and not the community itself that is the life of the community."
Schools for Conversion: 12 Marks of a New Monasticism, edited by The Rutba House, this particular excerpt written by Jonathan R. Wilson.

In my detailed explanation of my night above, I forgot to mention doing the dishes. Off I go...